Asking Robby To Walk You Down The Aisle After U Said Yes To Jack HOLD MY HAND SYDDDD 😭😭😭😭

Asking Robby to walk you down the aisle after u said yes to Jack hOLD MY HAND SYDDDD 😭😭😭😭

The Handoff 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

a/n : I fear I took your idea and turned it into a 4k word emotional spiral. I genuinely couldn’t help myself. like… Jack crying in uniform??? Robby soft-dad-coded and holding it together until he can’t??? the handoff?? the dress reveal??

Asking Robby To Walk You Down The Aisle After U Said Yes To Jack HOLD MY HAND SYDDDD 😭😭😭😭

summary : Jack proposes in the trauma bay. You say yes. Before the wedding, you ask Robby to walk you down the aisle.

content/warnings: emotional wedding fluff, quiet proposal energy, found family themes, Jack crying in uniform, Robby in full dad-mode, reader with no biological family, soft military references, subtle grief, emotional intimacy, and everyone in the ER being completely unprepared for Jack Abbot to have visible feelings.

word count : 4,149 (... hear me out)

You hadn’t expected Jack to propose.

Not because you didn’t think he wanted to. But because Jack Abbot didn’t really ask for things. He was a man of action. Not words. Never had been.

But with you? He always showed it.

Like brushing your shoulder on the way to a trauma room—not for luck, not for show, just to say I’m here.

It was how he peeled oranges for you. Always handed to you in a napkin, wedges split and cleaned of the white stringy parts—because you once mentioned you hated them. And he remembered.

It was how he left the porch light on when you got held over.

How he’d warm your side of the bed with a heating pad when your back ached.

He’d hook his pinky with yours in the hallway. Leave your favorite hoodie—his—folded on your pillow when he knew he’d miss you by a few hours.

Jack didn’t say “I love you” like other people. He said it like this. In gestures. In patterns. In choosing you, over and over, without fanfare.

No big speeches. No dramatic declarations.

Just peeled oranges. Warm beds. Soft touches.

So when it finally happened—a proposal, of all things—it caught you off guard.

Not because you didn’t think he meant it. But because you’d never pictured it. Not from him. Not like this.

The trauma bay was quiet now. The kind of quiet that only happens after a win—after the adrenaline fades, the stats even out and the patient lives. You’d both been working the case for nearly forty minutes, side by side, barked orders and that intense, seamless rhythm you’d only ever found with him.

You saved a life tonight. Together.

And now the world outside the curtain was humming soft and far away.

You stood by the sink, scrubbing off the last of the blood—good blood, this time. He was leaning against the supply cabinet, gloves off. Something in his shoulders had dropped. His body loose in that way it never really was unless you were alone.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched you in that quiet way he always did when his guard was down—like he was trying to memorize you, just in case you weren’t there to catch him tomorrow.

You flicked water from your hands. “What?”

“Nothing.”

You gave him a look.

He hesitated.

Then, casually—as casually as only Jack could manage while asking you something that was about to gut you—

“I’d marry you.”

You froze. Not dramatically. Not visibly. Just enough that he caught the subtle change in your face, the way your mouth parted like you needed more air all of a sudden.

His eyes didn’t move. He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke.

“If you wanted,” he added after a beat, voice a little lower now. A little rougher. “I would.”

It didn’t sound like a performance. It sounded like a truth he’d been sitting on for months. One he only knew how to say in places like this—where the lighting was too bright and your hearts were still racing and nothing else existed but you two still breathing.

Your chest ached.

“Yeah,” you said. It came out quieter than you meant to. “I’d marry you too.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

And then he stepped toward you—not fast, not dramatic, just steady. Like he’d already decided that he was yours. Like this wasn’t new, just something the two of you had known without ever having to say it.

No ring. No big speech. No audience.

Just you. Him. The place where it all made sense.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured.

And you smiled too, because yeah—he didn’t say things often. But when he did?

They wrecked you.

Because he meant them. And he meant this.

You. Forever.

You didn’t tell anyone, not right away.

Not because you wanted to keep it a secret. But because you didn’t have anyone to tell. Not in the way other people did.

There were no group texts. No parents to call. No siblings waiting on the other end of the line, ready to scream and cry and make it real. You’d built your life from the ground up—and for a long time, that had felt like enough. You’d learned how to move through the world quietly. Efficiently. Without needing to belong to anyone. Without needing to be someone’s daughter.

But then came residency.

And Robby.

He hadn’t swooped in. Hadn’t made it obvious. That wasn’t his style. But the first week of your intern year, when you’d gotten chewed out by a trauma surgeon in the middle of the ER, it was Robby who handed you a water, sat next to you in the stairwell, and said, “He’s an asshole. Don’t let it stick.”

After that, it just… happened. Slowly.

He checked your notes when you looked too tired to think. He drove you home once in a snowstorm and started keeping granola bars in his glovebox—just in case.

He noticed you never talked about home. Never mentioned your parents. Never took time off for holidays.

He never asked. But he was always there.

When you matched into the program full-time, he texted, Knew it.

When you pulled your first solo central line, he left a sticky note on your locker: Took you long enough, show-off.

When a shift gutted you so bad you couldn’t breathe, he sat beside you on the floor of the supply room and didn’t say a word.

You never called him a father figure. You didn’t need to.

He just was.

So when the proposal finally felt real—settled, certain—you knew who you had to tell first.

You found him three days later, camped at his usual spot at the nurse’s station—reading glasses sliding down his nose, his ridiculous “#1 Interrogator” mug tucked in one hand. He didn’t notice you at first. You just stood there, stomach buzzing, watching the way he tapped his pen against the margin like he was trying not to throw the whole file out a window.

“Hey,” you said, trying not to fidget.

He looked up. “You look like you’re about to tell me someone died.”

“No one died.”

He leaned back in the chair, eyebrows raised. “Alright. Hit me.”

You opened your mouth—then paused. Your heart was thudding like you’d just sprinted up from sub-level trauma.

Then, quiet: “Jack proposed.”

A beat.

Another.

Robby blinked. “Wait—what?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Three days ago.”

His mouth opened. Then shut again. Then opened.

“In the middle of a shift?” he asked finally, like he couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or impressed.

You smiled. “End of a code. We’d just saved a guy. He said, ‘I’d marry you. If you wanted.’”

Robby looked down, then laughed quietly. “Of course he did. That’s so him.”

“I said yes.”

“Obviously you did.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure.

“I didn’t know who to tell. But… I wanted you to know first.”

That landed.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, his face soft in that way he rarely let it be. Like something behind his ribs had cracked open a little.

Then he let out a breath. Slow. Rough at the edges.

“He told me, you know,” he said. “A few weeks ago. That he was thinking about it.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Well—‘told me’ is generous,” he muttered. “He cornered me outside the supply closet and said something like, ‘I don’t know if she’d say yes, but I think I need to ask.’ Then grunted and walked away.”

You laughed, head tilting. “That sounds about right.”

“I figured it would happen eventually,” Robby said. “I just didn’t know it already had. This is the first I’m hearing that he actually went through with it.”

He looked down at his coffee, thumb brushing the rim. Then back up at you with something warm in his expression that made your throat go tight.

“I’m proud of you, kid. Really.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t really have… anyone,” you said. “Not like that. But you’ve always been—”

He waved a hand, cutting you off before you could get too sentimental. His voice was quiet when he said, “I know.”

You nodded. Tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“You crying on me?” he teased gently.

“No,” you lied.

“Liar.”

He reached up and gave your arm a firm pat—one of those dad-move, no-nonsense gestures—but he kept his hand there for a second, steady and warm.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said. “The two of you. That’s gonna be something good.”

You smiled at the floor. Then at him.

“Hey, Robby?”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

You opened your mouth—hesitated. The words were there. Right there on your tongue. But they felt too big, too final for a hallway and a half-empty cup of coffee.

You shook your head, smiling just a little. “Actually… never mind.”

His eyes softened instantly. No push. No questions.

Just, “Alright. Whenever you’re ready.”

And somehow, you knew—he already knew what you were going to ask. And when the time came, he’d say yes without hesitation.

It happened on a Wednesday. Late enough in the evening that most of the ER had emptied out, early enough that the halls still echoed with footsteps and intercom beeps and nurses joking in breakrooms. You’d just finished a back-to-back shift—one of those long, hazy doubles where time folds in on itself. Your ID badge was flipped around on its lanyard. You smelled like sweat, sanitizer, and twelve hours of recycled air.

You found Robby in the stairwell.

Not for any sentimental reason—that’s just where he always went to decompress. A quiet landing. One of the overhead lights had a faint flicker, and he was sitting on the fourth step, half reading something, half just existing. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows.

He looked tired in that familiar, permanent way. But settled. Like someone who wasn’t trying to be anywhere else.

“Hey,” you said, voice low.

He looked up instantly. “You good?”

You nodded. Walked down a few steps until you were standing just above him.

“I need to ask you something.”

He squinted. “You pregnant?”

You snorted. “No.”

“Did Jack do something stupid?”

“Also no.”

He closed the folder in his lap and gave you his full attention.

You hesitated. A long beat. “Okay, so—when I was younger, I used to lie.”

Robby blinked. “That’s where this is going?”

You ignored him.

“I’d make up stories about my family. At school. Whenever there was some essay or form or ‘bring your parents to career day’ crap—I’d just invent someone. A dad who was a firefighter. A mom who was a nurse. A grandma who sent birthday cards.”

Robby didn’t move. Just listened.

“And I got good at it. Lying. Not because I wanted to, but because it was easier than explaining why I didn’t have anybody. Why there was no one to call if something happened. Why I always stayed late. Why I never talked about holidays.”

You looked down at him now. Really looked at him.

“I didn’t make anything up this time.”

His brow furrowed, just slightly.

“Because I have someone now,” you said. “I do.”

He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

You took a breath that shook a little in your chest.

“And I’m getting married in a few months, and there’s this part I keep thinking about. The aisle. Walking down it. That moment.”

You cleared your throat.

“I don’t want it to be random. Or symbolic. Or just… for show.”

Another breath.

“I want it to be you.”

Robby blinked once.

Then again.

His mouth opened like he was about to say something. Closed. Then opened again.

“You want me to walk you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He exhaled hard. Looked away for a second like he needed the extra space to catch up to his own heart.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re really trying to kill me.”

You smiled. “You can say no.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” He looked up at you, and his voice cracked just slightly. “Of course I’ll do it.”

You hadn’t expected to get emotional. Not really. But hearing it out loud—that he’d do it, that he meant it—it undid something small and knotted in your chest.

“You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me, you know that?” he said.

“I didn’t have a plan when you showed up that first year. Just thought, ‘this kid needs a break,’ and next thing I knew you were stealing my chair and bitching about suture kits like we’d been doing this for a decade.”

You laughed, throat thick. “That sounds about right.”

“I’m gonna need a suit now, huh?”

“You don’t have to wear a suit.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m going full emotional support tuxedo. I’m showing up with cufflinks. Maybe a cane.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

He stood then—slower than he used to, one hand on the railing—and looked at you with that same warmth he always tried to hide under sarcasm and caffeine.

“You did good, kid.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

The music started before you were ready.

It was quiet at first. Just the soft swell of strings rising behind the door. But your hands were shaking, your throat was tight, and everything felt too big all of a sudden.

Robby looked over, standing next to you in the little alcove just off the chapel doors, tie only mostly straight, boutonniere slightly crooked like he’d pinned it on in the car.

“You’re breathing like you’re about to code out,” he said gently.

You gave him a half-laugh, half-gasp. “I think I might.”

He tilted his head. “You okay?”

“No,” you whispered, eyes already burning. “I don’t know—maybe. Yes. I just—Jack’s out there. And everyone’s watching. What if I trip? Or ugly cry? Or completely blank and forget how to walk?”

Robby didn’t flinch. He just reached out and took your hand—steady and instinctive—his thumb brushing over your knuckles the way he had that night during your intern year, when you’d locked yourself in the on-call room and couldn’t stop shaking after your first failed intubation. He didn’t say anything then either. Just sat beside you on the floor and held your hand like this—anchoring, patient, there.

“Hey,” Robby said—steady, but quieter now. “You’re walking toward the only guy I’ve ever seen drop everything—without thinking—just because you looked a little off walking out of a shift.”

You blinked, chest already starting to tighten.

“I’ve watched him learn you,” Robby continued. “Slow. Quiet. Like he was memorizing every version of you without making it a thing. The tired version. The pissed-off version. The one who forgets to eat and pretends she’s fine.”

He let out a quiet laugh, still looking right at you.

“I’ve seen Jack do a thoracotomy with one hand and hold pressure with the other. I’ve seen him walk into scenes nobody else wanted, shirt soaked, pulse steady, like he already knew how it would end. He doesn’t rattle. Hell, I watched him take a punch from a drunk in triage and not even blink.”

His hand tightened around yours—just slightly.

“That’s how I know,” he said. “That this is it. Because Jack—the guy who’s walked into burning scenes with blood on his boots and didn’t even flinch—looked scared shitless the second he realized he couldn’t picture his life without you. Not because he didn’t think you’d say yes. But because he knew it meant something. That this wasn’t something he could compartmentalize or walk away from if it got hard. Loving you? That’s the one thing he can't afford to lose.”

Your eyes burned instantly. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good. Less pressure on me to be the first one.”

You gave him a teary smile. “You ready?”

Robby offered his arm. “Kid, I’ve been ready since the day you stopped listing ‘N/A’ under emergency contact.”

The doors creaked open.

You sucked in a breath.

And then—

The music swelled.

Not the dramatic kind—no orchestral swell, no overblown strings. Just the soft, deliberate rise of something warm and low and steady. Something that sounded like home.

The crowd stood. Rows of people from different pieces of your life, blurred behind the blur in your eyes. You couldn’t see any one of them clearly—not Dana, not Langdon, not Whitaker fidgeting with his tie—but you felt them. Their hush. Their stillness.

And at the far end of the aisle stood Jack—dressed in his Army blues.

Not a rented tux. Not a tailored suit.

His uniform.

Pressed. Precise. Quietly immaculate.

It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t for show. It was him.

He hadn’t worn it to make a statement. He wore it because there were people in the pews who knew him from before—before the ER, before Pittsburgh, before you. Men and women who had bled beside him, saved lives beside him, watched him shoulder more than anyone should—and never once seen him like this.

Undone. Open.

There were people in his family who’d worn that uniform long before him. And people he’d served with who taught him what it meant to wear it well. Not for attention. Not for tradition. But because it meant something. A history. A duty. A vow he never stopped honoring—even long after the war ended.

And when you saw him standing there—dress blues crisp under the soft chapel light, shoulders squared, mouth tight, eyes full—you didn’t see someone dressed for a ceremony.

You saw him.

All of him. The past, the present, the parts that had been broken and rebuilt a dozen times over. The weight he’d never put down. The man he’d become when no one else was watching.

Jack didn’t flinch as the doors opened. He didn’t smile, didn’t wipe his eyes. He just stood there—steady, quiet, letting himself feel it.

Letting you see it.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could’ve said.

The room stayed still, breath held around you.

Until, from somewhere near the front, Javadi’s whisper sliced through the quiet:

“Is he—oh my God, is Abbot crying?”

Mohan choked on a mint. Someone—maybe Santos—audibly gasped.

And halfway down the aisle—when your breath caught and your knees went just a little loose—Robby spoke, voice low and smug, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Well,” Robby muttered, voice low and smug, “remind me to collect $20 from Myrna next shift.”

You glanced at him, confused. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes forward, deadpan. “Nothing. Just—turns out you weren’t the only one betting on whether Jack would cry.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“She said he was carved from Army-grade stone and wouldn’t shed a tear if the hospital burned down with him inside. I disagreed.”

You gawked at him.

“She told me—and I quote—‘If Dr. Y/L/N ever changes her mind, tell her to step aside, because I will climb that man like a jungle gym.’”

You almost tripped. “Robby.”

“She’s got her sights set. Calls him ‘sergeant sweetheart’ when the nurses aren’t looking.”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, laughing through the tears already welling. And the altar still felt a mile away.

He finally glanced at you, face softening. “I said she didn’t stand a chance.”

You blinked fast.

“Because from the second he saw you?” Robby added, voice lower now. “That was it. He was done for.”

You had never felt so chosen. So sure. So completely loved by someone who once thought emotions were best left unsaid.

Robby must have felt the shift in your weight, because he pulled you in slightly closer. His hand—broad and warm—curved around your arm like it had a thousand times before. Steady. Grounding. Father-coded to the core.

“You got this,” he murmured. “Look at him.”

You did.

And Jack was still there—still crying. Not bothering to wipe his eyes. Not hiding it. Like he knew nothing else mattered more than this moment. Than you.

When you finally reached the end of the aisle, Jack stepped forward before the officiant could speak. Like instinct.

Robby didn’t move at first.

He just looked at you—long and hard, eyes bright.

Then looked at Jack.

Then back at you.

His hand lingered at the small of your back.

And his voice, when it came, was rougher than usual. “You good?”

You nodded, too full to speak.

He nodded back. “Alright.”

And then—quietly, like it was something he wasn’t ready to do but always meant to—he took your hand, and placed it gently into Jack’s.

Jack didn’t look away from you. His hand curled tight around yours like it was a lifeline.

Robby cleared his throat. Stepped back just a little. And you saw it—the tremble at the corner of his mouth. The way he blinked too many times in a row.

He wasn’t immune to it.

Not this time.

“You take care of her,” he said, voice thick. “You hear me?”

Jack—eyes glassy, jaw tight—just nodded. One firm, reverent nod.

“I do,” he said.

And for once, that wasn’t a promise.

It was a fact.

A vow already lived.

Robby stepped back.

A quiet shift. No words, no fuss. Just one last glance—full of something that lived between pride and grief—and then he stepped aside, slow and careful, like his body knew he had to let go before his heart was ready.

And then it was just you and Jack.

He stepped in just a little closer—like the space between you, however small, had finally become too much. His hand tightened around yours, his breath shallow, like holding it together had taken everything he had.

The moment he saw you—really saw you—something behind his eyes cracked wide open.

He didn’t smile. Not right away.

He didn’t say anything clever. Didn’t reach for you like someone confident or composed.

It was like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life—and still couldn’t believe it was real.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tried to laugh, but it cracked—caught somewhere between joy and everything else swelling behind your ribs.

The dress fit like a memory and a dream at once. Sleek. Understated. A silhouette that didn’t beg for attention, but held it all the same. Clean lines. Long sleeves. A bodice tailored just enough to feel timeless. A low back. No shimmer. No lace. Just quiet, deliberate elegance.

Just you.

Jack took a breath—slow and shaky.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was speaking out loud.

You blinked fast, vision swimming.

“You’re not supposed to make me cry before we even say anything,” you managed, voice trembling.

He gave a small, broken laugh. “That makes two of us.”

You could feel the crowd behind you. Every attending. Every nurse. Every person who thought they knew Jack Abbot—stoic in trauma bays, voice sharp, pulse steady no matter what walked through the doors.

And now? They were seeing him like this.

Glass-eyed. Soft-spoken. Undone.

Jack looked at you again. Really looked.

“I knew I was gonna love you,” he said. “But I didn’t know it’d be like this.”

Your breath caught. “Like what?”

He smiled—slow, quiet, reverent.

“Like peace.”

You blinked so fast it almost turned into a sob. “God. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” you whispered, smiling through it.

Behind you, the music began to fade. The officiant cleared his throat.

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t look away. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like it had done a thousand times before—only this time, it meant something.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said softly. “Not in combat. Not in med school. Not even the first time I intubated someone on a moving Humvee.”

You laughed, choked and real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected. “That’s the important part.”

The officiant spoke then, calling for quiet.

But Jack leaned in one last time, voice so low it barely touched the air.

“Tell me when to breathe,” he said.

You smiled, heart wrecked and steady all at once.

“I’ve got you.”

And Jack Abbot—combat medic, ER attending, man who spent a lifetime holding everything together—closed his eyes and let himself believe you.

Because for once in his life, he didn’t have to be ready for the worst.

He just had to stand beside the best thing that ever happened to him.

And say yes.

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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mackycat11

4 years ago

When ppl met me for the first time they think that I’m a completely normal girl but they don’t know that by night I’m a FANGIRL 😭😭😭😭😭

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mackycat11

4 years ago

I love this

Okay, so… idk why that came to my mind but I’ll roll with it.

Also there are surely some discrepancies in timelines and such but it’s an AU and I don’t really look for accuracy here

WifeSwap!AU

- The chief of the Southern Water Tribe is like “Oh shit, we have only like seven benders left. We can’t afford another attack of the Fire Nation” and he meets up with Fire Lord Azulon to propose a peace treaty. Only Azulon’s an asshat and he’s like “Peace and no further attacks on you? Well, you can have that, no problem, but for that we’ll need tokens. You can still have your benders but we will trade nonbending people between our two cultures… sort of a slave trade deal. You can do whatever you want with the people we send you and we can do whatever we want with those you send us. Oh! And of course, the Southern Water Tribe will raise our flag additionally to yours and, before I forget it, you’re obligated to send us Water Tribe specialities as our nobility finds them quite… interesting.”

And the chief is overwhelmed and can’t quite understand why the slave trade thing has to happen (it’s because Azulon’s eager to see if he can manipulate the genetics into his favours so that they’ll end up building a waterbending force additionally to a firebending one (which they can use as healers if they have that gift), firebenders born into the Southern Water Tribe also are sort of lifetime test subjects who show whether they can remain in such conditions or not (also if they can be trained to withstand the cold and become better benders that way) and most of his war council consists of those creepy old men who are weirdly obsessed with “exotic” features) but he has no other choice but to agree because he knows another (last) attack is on the horizon. It’s better to essentially become a Fire Nation colony than to lose all of their benders for good, he thinks.

- Fast forward a couple of years. Azulon has managed to gain forty waterbenders by mostly trading men from the Water Tribe for women from the Fire Nation. As you know men can um… make a lot more children in a short period of time than women. The Southerners aren’t really treated as people and more as concubines while the Fire Nation people in the south are treated as equals (and become enamoured with the culture - because they’ve always known only the strictness of the Fire Nation.) and they bring equality for men and women because now there are more women than men => leads to a fighting force consisting of men and women.

- One day Ozai really pisses off his father. It’s a minor thing, really, but it leads to his fiancé getting shipped off to the Southern Water Tribe and he gets the most fierce nonbending warrior woman of the Water Tribe as his wife instead - Kya. She is straight up able to make him eat dirt and refuses to be treated as a slave. Hakoda gets Ursa - this meek, shy girl who refuses to raise her voice or look him in the eyes. There’s a whole subplot for Hakoda and Ursa slowly getting together while Kya dominates the shit out of Ozai because she wants kids and has no hope of ever returning to Hakoda (her true love). She sort of takes over the Fire Nation after Azulon’s… unfortunate death.

=> Kya and Ozai’s children are Zuko and Katara while Ursa and Hakoda’s are Sokka and Azula (who Ursa names after the man who essentially set her free)

- just. think. of. the. implications.

- Zuko is allowed to be a soft boi and because Kya all but overtakes the government, there’s never an Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko. Also Ozai’s forced to love his children. Kya won’t take a no.

- Kya loves her two children equally. She doesn’t mind that Zuko’s a firebender. It’s just the way things are.

- When Ozai foolishly asks his father if he can have the throne after Prince Lu Ten’s death and Azulon asks for Zuko to die Kya fucking explodes and stealthily poisons the Fire Lord but with such a slow acting poison that nobody can trace it. => Ozai’s like “DAmn wife, poisoning my dad?? Kinda hot ngl…”

- So, like, Ozai’s more and more showing his human side because Kya just yeets the throne out of his hand (”No, someone unstable like you is not going to reign a freaking country, what the hell? Gimme those documents, husband.”) and after being manhandled into caring for his kids he has those little moments in which he shows that he can, in fact, love but it’s burrowed under layers upon layers of jealousy, hatred, anger and manipulative demeanour. Kya’s not one to turn down a challenge, though.

=> so. many. trips. to. ember island.

- Katara’s a fierce thing. She loves her brother, feels conflicted on her country and gives like a speech a day to the personnel who cowered under Azulon. Her waterbending is treated as something desirable by Ozai who, in turn, makes sure she gets teachers but he’ll also imitate Iroh (only this once, of course, and he’d never say he saw a merit in an idea his brother of all people had) by also teaching her firebending forms. Katara’s so dangerous but she’s still herself. In this AU, her healing abilities come when Zuko falls from a roof and breaks his leg.

- Ursa and Hakoda take things slowly. Initially, there’s a major heartbreak on Hakoda’s side, of course, because he really loved Kya wholeheartedly but slowly (and I’m talking real slow - like slow burn times 3) he starts warming up to Ursa who doesn’t know how to act in this new society she’s been thrown into. Hakoda shows her how to fight… ugh, that’s so cute I CAN’T and then she someday is gifted a bethrotal necklace but it’s dark red and omg utreghuigheguhenffberfievbhue

- Sokka and Azula are siblings. This is interesting on different levels because for one, Sokka’s a nonbender. Meaning that he only can impress with his boomerang and intelligence while his little sister’s a goddamn firebending prodigy who can?? Shoot lightning??? Wtf???

- Hakoda is Best Dad and instantly sees Azula’s unhealthy desire of perfectionism early on and sends her to the tribe’s psychiatrist. She still has anger outbursts but she is a lot more stable than in canon. Also, she’s obsessed with Sokka learning new fighting styles. She won’t stop arguing about the merits of him learning the sword or him learning the bow or him learning the art of chi blocking or him learning… basically, it’s Azula’s form of care but it annoys Sokka to no end (even though he loves his little sister too, obviously).

- There is not an ounce of sexism in Sokka because… um… have you seen his sister?!

- So, one day, there’s a letter from the Fire Nation. To Hakoda. Saying “Hey, what’s up, my old fiancé? I took over the Fire Nation - how about we meet up some time for a renewed peace treaty and to show off our kids?” And Hakoda’s like “Omg, Kya. What the hell?” but he grins the whole time and is so glad that his almost-wife is thriving. He wouldn’t have thought she’d give in easily but to hear the good news lifts a rock off his heart. Ursa’s a little bit hesitant but Hakoda tells her that she’s his wife now and a meeting between the two couples won’t change that.

- They all meet up when Sokka & Zuko are 14 and Katara & Azula 12-ish; surprisingly, it goes super well? Oh, well… apart from the fact that Katara and Azula begin arguing like crazy when they’re on Southern Water Tribe territory and accidentally free the Avatar.

- So now they have the Avatar.

- But Aang’s kinda not needed all that much because Ozai sure as hell won’t do anything to capture him - not when Kya’s been stopping a war that he slowly begins to see was totally f-ed up

- Aang grows up with Katara, Sokka, Zuko and Azula at his side. They then later on stumble upon a lemur, a Kyoshi warrior and Toph during one of their trips (which they can do only when they’re at least 14 because Kya isn’t going to let her kids roam around when they barely hit puberty yet.)

- Sozin’s Comet comes and goes. Ozai guesses he could have technically taken out the Earth Kingdom but who the hell does that kinda stuff? He’s not a villain in some theatrical play or something.

- The war ends for sure when Ozai finally gives in and signs the peace treaty between the different remaining nations (and Aang as the last airbender). It’s not like everything’s alright now that they’re not attacking but it’s a lot better than before.

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mackycat11

1 week ago

THE PITT X AVENGERS crossover

masterlist (and writing guideline) — #avenger!reader x the pitt

For my last trick (coming soon)

Jack Abbot x former avenger!reader

Summary: The new attending on the night shift is a complete mistery. She carries herself as if she's seen something worse than hell but smiles as if she has no worries. There's at least 7 bets running about her, and Jack can't stop wondering if she has skeletons in her closet too... And then, her past comes crashing down on the ER like a ticking bomb.

Hero 4 Hire (coming soon)

Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x former avenger!reader

Summary: There's a new regular in The Pitt, a woman prone to stumbles and misfortunes. She always comes when her wounds need stitching and wearing fading bruses, to the point Robby's getting worried. Until her face is all over the news: former avenger tears down crimelord and political connections.

No one dies from love (coming soon)

Jack Abbot x avenger!reader x Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Summary: People called them the three musketeers of the Pitt, they were inseparable and had an absurd amount of bets on them. So it took everyone by surprise when she accepted a fellowship at Stark Industries and never looked back. Years later, she's right where it all started, forced to face unresolved business and not planning to stay.

Seven minutes in heaven (coming soon)

Jack Abbot x avenger!reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple charity event to get donations for the ER, so how he ended trapped in a room with a deadly beautiful woman flirting with him as if she hadn't been stabbed?

Sugar and honey (coming soon)

Samira Mohan x avenger!reader

Summary: A hero level treat brings even more chaos to the emergency room of the Pitt, something they have only seen on the news and never thought it could happen with them. And in the middle of the calamity stands an avenger in all her glory, helping to keep the ER safe and stealing Samira Mohan's heart during the process.

Please, share this post with your friends or reblog it to reach more people that will enjoy this too! Your support is lovely and appreciated 💜

There's no taglist, but you can follow the tags #starkenobi writing and #avenger!reader x the pitt.

456 notes View Post

mackycat11

3 years ago

False God Masterlist

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

“I’m with you because everything you do, you do because you know it’s right. I’m with you,” he whispered now, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m with you because you remind me that there is good in this world. And I would die before I let that good be lost…I would die for you, if it meant the world got to see what you had to offer.”

False God Playlist

A Terrible Timeline

A Permanent Paycheck (drabble)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Three Good Things (drabble)

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Religion’s in Your Lips (drabble)

Part 13

A Love Like Religion (drabble)

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Devils Roll the Dice (drabble)

Part 17

Part 18

Paper Cut Stings (drabble)

Blind Faith (drabble)

A Really Good Lawyer (drabble)

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mackycat11

3 years ago

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!

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mackycat11

5 years ago

My new favorite song

Queen of Mean by Sarah Jeffery

O:O3 ━●─────── 3:30

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

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mackycat11

3 years ago

i CANT HANDLE THE FACT THAT OWEN WILSON, O W E N FREAKING WILSON IS AT THE CENTER OF MY HYPERFIXATION FOR THE MONTH,,,,,, AAAAAAAAH I MEAN DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVE HIM BUT I CANT,,,,COMPREHEND H E L P????

Um so yah I never post fanfics but I might here soon

321 notes View Post

mackycat11

6 years ago

kevin feige: chris you can’t keep pitching these scripts to the writers

chris evans: why bro

kevin feige: on the last one you wrote “tony takes off his mask to share a heated kiss with steve on donald trump’s grave. everybody cheers. facism is over.”

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mackycat11

4 years ago

Someone please write something

There is a significant lack of atla hakoda x reader fics. Someone fix this

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