🪩

synopsis :: you’re a kook, jj is a pogue. your parents find out you’re together. what could possibly go wrong? thankfully jj is there to catch the falling tears

based off this request

warnings :: none, mentions of a fight

word count :: 1.2k

pairing :: jj maybank x kook!fem!reader

outerbanks masterlist (not yet linked!)

The humid Kildare air was thick with the scent of marsh water and cheap beer as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the marsh in bruised purples and golds. At the Chateau, things were as chill as they could be. John B and Sarah were tangled together in a hammock, Pope was trying to explain the mechanics of a rusted winch to Kiara, and JJ was perched on the porch railing, mindlessly flicking a lighter open and shut.

The rhythmic clink-flick of the lighter was the only thing grounding him. He’d been off all day. Shorter fuse than usual, eyes constantly darting toward the dirt path leading to the road.

Set in the New Faces universe! Potentially poor medical terminology and jack thinks reader’s a victim on dv but she isn’t so read if you can🤍

He notices the weird gait to your step first as he watches you walk to the board. Maybe you slept badly, he thinks, or maybe you’ve got a dead leg. It happens much more often than you’d think being on your feet all day.

He catches you after you intubate a patient with Mohan and finds you pressing an ice bag into your hip.

“Everything okay?” You startle easily, nearly dropping the ice bag.

“Yeah, I think I hurt my hip last night. A little ice and it’ll be better.”

He hums, “You want me to check it out?” He’s halfway to the gloves when you stop him.

“It’s all good, Dr. Abbot. I’ve got to check on a patient now anyway.”

You’re out of the room before he can respond.

The next time he spots you, your scrub shirt has ridden up during chest compressions and he can see deep purple bruises through the glass.

His chest constricts instantly, hands curled at his sides.

He pushes his way into the room and slips gloves on, “What are we looking at?” Even his voice is off.

“Possible overdose. Shallow pulse turned into no pulse, trying to get a response with the chest compressions and vfib.” Mel rattles off quickly, then Mohan shouts,

“Clear!”

You back off and tug your shirt down, Jack doesn’t miss the action.

You bite your lip as you watch the monitor, and let out a breath when the readings are normal.

“Okay pulse, but we need to rush that toxicology report.” Mel says and you nod,

“I’ll head down to the labs or have Lena call them.” You throw your gloves in the bin as you walk out, Dr. Abbot hot on your heels.

“Can I speak with you?” He asks quietly, gently holding onto your wrist. “It’s important.”

You frown, panic rising instantly. Have you done something wrong? “Um sure, let me just give Lena a heads up.”

He nods, “Sure.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as he leads you to the corner where the lockers are located.

You watch as Dr. Abbot crosses his arms over his chest, his face a mask of seriousness.

“Are you being abused?” There’s no preamble, just straight to the point.

You scratch your head, you both live in the same building. An expensive townhouse complex, semi-detached; you’re number 7 and Dr. Abbot is 12. You only know this because you’ve seen his car parked in the spot. You’ve never actually seen one another though; side effect of working nights.

“No? I don’t even have a boyfriend right now.” You say to him, but his face doesn’t change.

In fact, his frown turns more severe.

“Explain the bruise on your hip, then.”

Your frown relaxes and then you twist your fingers. You don’t actually want to tell him because then you’ll admit to something you don’t want him to know.

“You see,” he taps his foot, the glare on his face unmoving. You stammer again and he stops, lets his arms fall and puts a little more space between you both.

“You’re not making a good case for it not being abuse, sweetheart. Give me a name and I can handle it, if you want.” His voice is more gentle than you’ve heard it in your three months of being here and your heart tightens involuntarily.

You shake your head, “It’s really not.” You inhale sharply, best you just get it out. “We live in the same complex and I was shoveling snow this morning to get out of my spot and yours also had snow so I shoveled it and I might have slipped on the walk back to my side.”

His hands drop but the crease between his brows remains.

“You shoveled my drive?”

You bite your lip and nod sheepishly. “I didn’t know we lived in the same complex and there’s a couple older couples so I do theirs too. Yours was there, all snowed over so I just wanted to do it to finish everyone off.”

He sighs, “Life your shirt, it’s already purple.”

You nod, hissing a little as you turn and lift your shirt. “I bruise easily and I didn’t brace in time so it’s my hip and I think also my coxis.”

Dr. Abbot frowns as he presses against your hip and you hiss, his hand goes all the way to just above your butt and when he presses there you yelp. “I want to get an x-ray and see what your coxis is looking like too. It could just be tender, but I want to get ahead of that.”

You nod, “Are you going to send me home?” You really can’t be sent home right now, being an R3 is nice, the pay is definitely better, but the debt is still there.

He shakes his head, “I really think it’s just sore, once we confirm you’re free to work, but don’t overdo yourself.”

You let out a breath of relief, “Okay, I’m gonna check on Lena and the tox report and then meet you in the x-ray room.”

Dr. Abbot nods, “Don’t shovel my drive again. I’ll do it, don’t want you breaking anything.” He says as he’s walking away, and you watch him shake his head, his heavy footsteps echoing in your ears.

“I won’t break Dr. Abbot.” You say as you follow after him, albeit much more slowly. “Plus if you fall, you’re much more likely to break something.”

He chuckles, “You calling me old?” You shrug as you pass him to go see Lena.

“The boot fits, doesn’t it?”

Keep up the beautiful work on here! Please remember to hydrate and stay warm :)

Thanks for requesting angel girl!

a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 679 words

Thunder booms as you close the door behind you, as if to echo the day you’ve had. The rain pounds on the roof, but aside from that your home is quiet. It feels an almost shocking contrast to what you’ve just experienced outside. Your throat contracts without reason. 

“I thought you’d never make it back!” Sirius’ voice comes from the next room, moving closer. “We were about to send out the calvary, gorgeous, what…happened?” 

His voice quiets when he turns the corner, spotting you in all your sodden misery dripping on the welcome mat. 

“I walked,” you say. 

Sirius laughs, sort of. It’s an unsure, borderline pitying sound. “I can see that,” he replies, crossing the room to you. “Jesus, why didn’t you…” He sets his hands to your shoulders, then your waist, almost like he thinks he can squeeze you out. Finally, Sirius looks you in your eyes. “Why?” 

"I'm starting to wonder if you guys ever do any work over at that hospital," You murmur, glancing up at your regulars as they slide into seats by the counter.

You've become all too familiar with the quad in these past few months - Dennis Whitaker, Victoria Javadi, Emma Nolan... and Trinity Santos.

"Trinity spent the whole shift talking about how she was desperate for your cake-" Dennis is cut off by a swift elbow to the ribs from Trinity, her cheeks burning as she avoids eye contact with you. "-the chocolate cake," He finishes, shooting her a glare.

"Great! There's still some going. What can I get the rest of you?" Your gaze searches out Trinity's, but she's still pointedly ignoring it.

"Uhm, carrot cake-"

"Decaf coffee and a brownie, thanks-"

"Chocolate for me too-"

Finally, Trinity speaks up. "Yeah, I'll take a slice of the chocolate, thanks. A cappuccino too, if that's okay?"

"Coming right up," You smile, and head back down to start organising their order.

It takes just a second for Trinity to appear, leaning against the counter. "Look, I'm sorry about Whitaker, he's not so good with the social cues-"

"It's fine, really."

"Anyway, I wanted to pay, tip a little extra for the hassle-"

"It's on the house," You insist.

"What? Really? Why?"

Trinity Santos x Reader

Synopsis: Dana notices everything

Tags: Medical trauma depictions (blood, emergencies, surgery references). Mild workplace tension (rivalry, exhaustion). Romantic tension (implied kissing, secret relationship).

A/n: I apologise for the delay, I'm in the middle of my final exam. hope you enjoy this read!

Dana’s POV

I've been a nurse at The Pitt for thirty two years. I've seen gunshot wounds, cardiac arrests, a guy who tried to fight a forklift and lost. I've held dying patients' hands and celebrated saves that made the whole floor cheer. But nothing has tested my sanity like being in the same room as those two.

It started in their intern year. You could feel it from day one, this weird electrical charge whenever they were within ten feet of each other. Not romantic. At least, not then.

Dr. Y/N called it a parasitic relationship.

I remember overhearing her once in the break room, voice sharp enough to slice through an apple.

“Her existence is like a parasite, just makes me want to—ugh.” She jabbed a plastic fork into the cafeteria salad. “Every time I see her, I want to stab her, you know?”

Poor Javadi, cornered between the fridge and the table, nodding like a man trying not to get caught between a crossfire.

I pretended to check my phone, my eyes flicking over the notifications while my ears strained for every word.

“And yet,” Cassey said carefully, like she was testing something fragile, “you always know where she is in the ER. You checked for her three times during that last code.”

Dr. Y/N froze mid-stab. “I was making sure she stayed out of my way.”

“Sure,” Cassey murmured.

The funny thing is… she wasn’t wrong about the parasite part. Santos did drain her dry. She’d steal her ideas during rounds, take credit for her catches, leave her the scut work when she thought no one was looking. Watching it made my teeth grind. More than once, I pictured conveniently “tripping” with a full cup of coffee on her.

But here’s the thing about watching people for thirty-two years, you learn to spot the cracks in the story.

I noticed Santos only pulled that performance when eyes were on her attendings, seniors, whoever could feed her ego. When it was just her and Dr. Y/N, though, she acted differently.

I saw it one night. 

Bad car wreck. Teenagers bleeding out faster than we could transfuse. Dr. Y/N was focused as ever, steady, voice clipped but calm. And Santos? She wasn’t competing. She wasn’t talking over her. She was listening. Really listening. When Dr. Y/N reached for a line kit, Santos was already there, handing it off without a word. Anticipating her actions like she’d memorized them.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. It was like watching a really screwed-up dance.

Afterward, when the kid was finally stable and rolling off to the ICU, I saw them in the hallway. Dr. Y/N was slumped against the wall, scrub top streaked with blood, exhaustion carving shadows under her eyes. Santos passed by, slowed, and set something on the bench beside her.

A cold energy drink. Her favorite. The one you could only get from the third-floor vending machine.

She stared at it, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was fighting back a smile.

Santos was already walking away.

I pretended to be very interested in a chart.

The double shift from hell started like any other Tuesday. Overcrowded waiting room, three traumas in the first hour, and a sinking feeling in my gut that said today’s the day you finally snap.

I was assigned to Dr. Y/L/N’s case. Great. Love that for me.

She wasn’t in her usual form, snapping at a med student for handing her the wrong size tube, running on what looked like four hours of sleep and caffeine. Santos was across the room, handling her own chaos, but somehow they were still aware of each other. I kept catching Santos glancing at Y/N like she was checking her vitals from a distance.

Around hour ten, we got the call. Multi-casualty incident. Bus vs. delivery truck. ETA five minutes, at least eight patients, three critical.

The next four hours were a blur of blood and beeping monitors and shouting. I lost track of how many patients we pumped through. At some point, Dr. Y/L/N and Santos ended up in the same trauma bay together, worst possible scenario, right?

Wrong.

It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

They moved like they shared a brain. Santos would be assessing the rhythm, and Y/N would already have the ultrasound positioned for the FAST exam. Y/N would call for pressure, and Santos would be at the bedside, hands ready to take over compressions. No fighting. No sniping. Just pure, efficient, life-saving coordination.

The patient, a middle-aged woman with a crushed chest and internal bleeding, made it to surgery. Barely. But she made it.

And when the bay went quiet, when the gurney was wheeled out and the chaos moved on to the next room, they just stood there. Breathing hard. Staring at each other across a floor covered in bloody gauze and empty packaging.

For once, neither of them had anything to say.

Then Santos did something I’d never seen her do before. She looked away first.

“You missed the tamponade,” she said quietly. Not accusing. Just… stating.

“Caught the hemothorax, though,” Y/N replied, just as quiet. “You would’ve missed it without the ultrasound.”

Santos huffed something that might have been a laugh. Or a rattle. Hard to tell.

Then she walked out.

Y/N stayed behind, staring after her. For a second, I thought that was it, until her gaze dropped to Santos’s empty coffee cup on the counter, the one she’d abandoned hours ago. Y/N picked it up, rolled it between her fingers like maybe she could still feel her grip on it. Brought it halfway to her lips. Then set it down again.

I cleared my throat. She jumped about a foot.

“Jesus,” she said, hand over her heart. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you two should just get a room and save the hospital the therapy budget.”

Her face did something complicated, flushed, then pale, then flushed again.

“It’s not—we don’t—”

“Mmm.” I grabbed a new bag of saline and started restocking. “You know, enemies don’t bring you energy drinks. Or cover your patients when you forget to eat. Or know exactly how you like your coffee.”

Silence.

I glanced over my shoulder. She was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Three weeks ago. Peds code. When you were having an existential crisis. She took your next two admits so you could have ten minutes in the locker room. Told Robby you were helping with a procedure.” I shrugged. “I was getting supplies. Saw the whole thing.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“And last month, when you were convinced you’d missed that early sepsis and nearly talked yourself into quitting? She left a printout of the patient’s follow-up labs on your desk. Highlighted the normal values. No note. No signature. Just… evidence that you didn’t screw up.”

Her face went completely still.

“How do you know about that?”

“Because I’m the one who printed it for her.” I met her eyes. “She stood at the nurses’ station for fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to work the printer. Looked like she was defusing a bomb. When I finally helped her, she made me swear not to tell you.”

The silence stretched. You could hear a monitor beeping. A patient moaned. Normal hospital sounds.

“Honey.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been doing this job a long time. I’ve seen hate. I’ve seen rivalry. I’ve seen two residents go at it so bad security had to separate them.” I squeezed. “That’s not what this is.”

She looked toward the doorway where Santos had disappeared.

“What is it, then?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know you two just saved a woman’s life because you work better together than anyone else in this hospital. And I know she’s been in love with you since intern year.”

She choked. Like actually choked. I had to pat her on the back.

“She is not—”

“Girl. Please. I watch people for a living. The girl can’t look at you for more than three seconds without her face doing something embarrassing. She’s just also an idiot who doesn’t know how to handle feelings except by being a complete asshole.”

She leaned against the counter, looking dazed. Like someone had just told her the sky was actually green.

“What do I do with that information?”

“Not my problem.” I handed her a fresh pair of gloves. “But maybe next time she steals your idea in rounds, or any of the other bullshit, ask yourself if she’s actually trying to make sure everyone knows it was you.”

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, slowly, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The first genuine one I’d seen from her in weeks.

“She really struggled with the printer?”

“For fifteen minutes. It was pathetic. Endearing, but pathetic.”

She laughed. And when she walked out of the trauma bay a few minutes later, she wasn’t heading to the locker room or the break room.

She was heading toward Santos.

I didn’t mean to catch them.

I was just looking for a spare suture kit and an unbroken pen. The supply-closet door was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the dark hallway. I nudged it with my shoulder.

“You know we have to be more careful,” I heard her whisper. Her voice. Close. Too close.

“Huh? What did you say?” Santos’s voice, low, answered from inside.

My hand froze on the handle of the door.

“I said we have to be more careful,” she repeated, a little laugh tucked into the words. “Dana’s catching up.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

A soft thud. Fabric brushing fabric.

“What’s wrong with you?” she murmured.

“Uh,” Santos said, and this time there was a smile in it. “Just trying not to kiss you again when we’re ten feet from the nurses’ station.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of breathing. I didn’t need to see to know what was happening. You work long enough in hospitals, you know what it is.

I pushed the door open, trying to peek through the tiny gap.

They were standing way too close, Y/N’s back almost against the shelves, Santos’s hand braced by her hip, their faces inches apart. Guilty as sin. Happy about it.

“Ahem,” I said.

They jumped apart like teenagers caught by a parent. Santos nearly tripped over a box of IV tubing. Dr. Y/N’s hair was a little mussed, lips a little too flushed.

“Jesus, Dana,” she snapped,“Do you mind?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I said, folding my arms. “I’m just thrilled we can finally retire the ‘parasitic relationship’ metaphor.”

Santos’s ears went red. “This isn’t—we were just—”

“Doing an in-depth study on symbiosis?” I offered. “Looked very hands-on.”

Y/N made a strangled noise. Santos stared at the ceiling like she was praying for the floor to open up and swallow her.

I let them squirm for a second. I’d earned it.

“Relax,” I said finally. “I’m not reporting you to HR. As long as you don’t start making out in the middle of the ER, we’re fine.”

Dr. Y/N let out a breath she’d been holding for what sounded like weeks. Santos glanced at her, then at me, then back at her again, like maybe this was the moment everything fell apart.

Instead, I smiled.

“For what it’s worth? You two are disgusting together,” I said. “But you also just saved a bunch of people because you’re a ridiculously good team. So… maybe don’t hide it so hard you drive each other insane.”

They both stared at me.

“You knew?” Y/N asked, soft.

“Honey,” I said, stepping past them to grab my suture kit. 

“I knew before you did.”

thank you so much!! 🫶🏻

I really liked this request and I'm sorry it took me so long to start writing. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Not really, just a brief mention of fatigue and possible fainting, plus Trinity saw your medical records without permission.

They had been dating for a few months, which in their minds translated into a lifetime together. They spent most of their time together at work in the hospital.

You started as a nurse shortly after she began her second year of residency, and things progressed to the point where you practically lived at her house. You had your own drawer for clothes, your hairbrush was religiously placed next to hers (and Whitaker's), and you had a copy of the key so you could come and go as you pleased.

Of course, even though they spent an obscene amount of time together, there were things that were overlooked. During a particularly difficult shift, you became severely dizzy and had to hold onto the edge of the nurses' station, your face pale and your head spinning.

Dana had to drag you to a nearby chair to give you some air with a folder and bring you something to eat. You took the granola bar with trembling hands, not noticing that Trinity had come over to update hers medical charts when she saw you completely out of sorts in a swivel chair.

“Wow, what happened to you?” she asked in her usual carefree tone, but with a hint of real concern underneath.

You slowly raised your head and gave her a smile that was meant to reassure her but came out as a twisted grimace.

“I've had some problems with my hemoglobin, but I'm taking supplements for it... when I can,” you mentioned casually, giving a thumbs up as if to downplay the possibility of you fainting.

“Yeah... sure, just stay close where I can see you,” Trinity said, patting you on the back of your shoulder before walking over to a computer.

Of course, it wasn't that she didn't trust you or how you would take care of yourself, but deep down she did. You worked like a stubborn mule and I almost never saw you taking breaks. You jumped from patient to patient as if they all mattered more than you, so she made it her own task.

After all, she was a doctor, not a chef or nutritionist, but she definitely knew that if you didn't regulate your diet to supplement the iron you were lacking, you would end up on a stretcher in the emergency room yourself.

On the days you stayed at her apartment, she would prepare a balanced lunch so you wouldn't start feeling sick. She made baked chicken with lentil soup. It was delicious, and her little plan never even crossed your mind.

Not only did she not tell you about it, she wasn't poisoning you or putting anything harmful in your food. It was just a little help, a little care that you weren't giving yourself.

The next day, she pushed a round topper across the desk near where you were sitting, and you nodded when she looked back at you.

“I packed you some leftovers from last night so you can eat during your break,” she said without much fuss before continuing with herrounds.

Of course, they weren't leftovers. She had gotten up 45 precious minutes early to prepare you a hot meal of chicken, broccoli, and chickpeas. She even bought a topper that kept the food warm just for you. What more could you want?

It was almost a month of her managing your diet almost unnoticed. When you began to suspect she was doing something, she asked you directly:

“How have your blood tests been lately?” Trinity asked, reclining on the sofa with one of the cats purring on her chest.

“Uh? Fine, I guess,” you said without paying much attention at the time, focused on passing a level you were playing.

Then, you walked into the kitchen while she was preparing dinner one weekend, hugged her from behind, and noticed what she was cooking in the pot, spotting a small figurine in the boiling water. You frowned, resting your head on your girlfriend's shoulder, trying to guess what it was.

“Wait, aren't those iron tablets for anemia? I have several at home and I never use them,” you exclaimed with realization as you remembered where you had seen them before. You turned your head to find the implacable face of the black-haired woman, who pressed her lips together without saying anything.

“I thought it would suit you,” she defended herself.

You let out a small laugh, leaning against the counter and resting your cheek against the palm of your hand.

“You've been putting iron in my food just because I felt sick one day?” you asked.

“It could easily have turned into something worse, you can't blame me,” she clarified as she took out the small figurine and placed it on a cloth to serve the soup. “You didn't complain about the food either.”

You ran a hand over her cheek before kissing the other one repeatedly with a persistent smile on your face.

“That's the most adorable thing you've done this week,” you said.

“Technically, it wasn't just this week,” he corrected on her way to the dining room, leaving you standing in the kitchen. “And I also checked your medical history. Sorry about that,” she shouted from the other room.

Intrusive, yes, but somehow it stuck in your mind how much she cared about you.