PS. This is reminiscent of me struggling to get scrubs from the scrub machine for like a solid hour before someone came to my rescue, now I just hoard them.

—————————————————————————

The first few nights feel like walking into a room that used to belong to someone else. The kind where you recognize the furniture but not the way it’s arranged, where the light switches are all in the wrong places and the shadows fall in unfamiliar ways. She knows medicine. Knows emergency. But this version—slower in some ways, sharper in others—asks something different of her. And she’s not sure yet if she has it to give.

The second night she almost cries at the Pixsys machine when it refuses to recognize her password after the third try. It’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t matter—small, stupid—but it breaks through the last thin layer of calm she has left, and for half a breath, she thinks about walking out. Just…leaving. Going home, curling into her sheets, and letting the hospital continue without her.

But she doesn’t. She takes a step back, lets her forehead lightly knock repeatedly against the machine, and closes her eyes.

“You’ll bruise,” comes a low voice behind her, dry but not unkind. “Not worth it. Trust me.”

She blinks. Jack Abbot. She hadn’t heard him approach. He moves like that—quiet, unhurried, like he’s made a career out of learning when not to speak. He’s standing just to her left, coffee in one hand, the other resting against the wall. Relaxed. Like he has all the time in the world.

“I forgot my password,” she says, like it’s an explanation for everything. Her voice sounds small.

He nods, then steps forward, takes the stylus, and taps through a couple of screens. Types in a code she assumes only attendings know. “You’re in.”

“Thanks.”

Jack doesn’t move away. He watches her for a second longer than necessary. She can feel it—the weight of his gaze. Not heavy, not inappropriate. Just… present. She knows he’s sizing her up the same way he sizes up traumas. Quietly, efficiently, without judgment but with a precision that leaves no room for error.

“You’ve been on days too long,” he says. “Still running on their time.”

She shrugs, tries to laugh it off. “I guess I haven’t adjusted yet.”

“You will.”

Something about the way he says it makes her stomach twist. Not reassurance exactly. More like certainty. Like he’s already made space for her in this place, even if she hasn’t.

—————————————————————————

She follows him back to the nurses’ station without thinking. They fall into a rhythm over the next hour. He doesn’t hover, but he doesn’t disappear either. She charts at the corner terminal, glancing up every so often to see him standing with Shen or reviewing labs. Always close. Always tracking.

When she finally catches up, her hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline of the last two consults, she looks down at the keyboard and forces herself to breathe. She didn’t mess anything up. She was fine. Just a little scattered.

Jack slides a cup of tea beside her elbow. She blinks at it, then up at him.

“You looked like you were trying to vibrate out of your skin,” he says, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “Tea helps.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.” She doesn’t know what to say after that. So she sips it. It’s exactly how she likes it. She hadn’t told anyone. She wonders when he noticed.

He leans his weight against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You’re doing alright, kid.”

There it is. Kid. Not in the dismissive way she’s heard from others—some kind of half-condescending joke. With Jack, it lands differently. Gentle. Protective, maybe. Not mocking her age so much as acknowledging it. The years she hasn’t lived yet. The weight she hasn’t carried—but might. If she sticks around long enough.

She swallows hard, nods. Doesn’t trust herself to speak.

He straightens again, draining the last of his coffee. “You need anything, you come find me. Don’t wait till you’re bleeding.”

And then he’s gone. She doesn’t move for a long time. Just sits with her tea, the heat bleeding into her hands. There’s still a shift left to finish. Patients to see. Orders to input.

But something’s different now. A little steadier. A little safer. She thinks maybe she can stay a while.

—————————————————————————

This piece is definitely inspired by my new piece about Dr Jack Abbot x shy!resident OC/ reader. I have serious brain rot from this man!!!

Warnings-NSFW (only interact if 18+- or you will be blocked)

A – Aftercare

Gentle but firm. Jack’s a grown man who knows that sex is vulnerability, especially with someone inexperienced. He always holds her after, often massaging her thighs or tracing her back. If she’s overwhelmed, he’ll help her breathe through it.

“You still with me, baby? Breathe. I got you.”

Soft showers. Warm compresses. Water with ice. Kisses to the forehead. Holding her hand while she trembles post-orgasm. The whole package.

B – Body Part

He has a thing for her thighs. Whether she’s sitting in his lap, straddling him, or just lying beside him—he lives for the way she squirms when his fingers trail there. He also has a near-worshipful obsession with her mouth: what it says, what it does, how she kisses when she lets go.

On himself? His back. He likes the pain of her scratching when he’s deep—something raw and feral about it.

C – Cum

Messy. Deep. Intentional. Jack’s a little territorial without being possessive. He likes cumming in her—seeing it drip out of her, watching her reaction to it.

He’ll say things like:

“Look at that. You took it all. Such a good girl for me.”

When she gets curious about giving head, he’ll warn her first—but if she insists, he’ll grip her hair and whisper filth while she gags on him.

D – Dirty Talk

This man is filthy. Raspy, slow voice in your ear filthy. He paces it though—sometimes soft praise, other times utter depravity:

• “That’s it. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

• “No one’s ever touched you like this, have they? You were just waiting for me.”

• “You’ll come when I tell you to. Not a second before.”

• “Mmm… look how wet you are. Bet you didn’t know your body could want like this.”

E – Experience

Plenty. And it shows. But he’s never smug. His past is heavy—he hasn’t really let go in a long time. With her, it’s a slow unlearning. But he knows exactly what to do to get her legs shaking, her body begging.

She’s his fresh start, and he treats her with both reverence and ruin.

F – Favorite Position

• Missionary, but with her legs over his shoulders. Deep, eye contact, intense.

• From behind on his lap. Her back to his chest, one hand on her throat, the other teasing her clit.

• Eating her out with her thighs over his shoulders. His favorite fucking meal.

He likes control, but once she gets bold and rides him—he becomes unhinged.

G – Goofy

Rarely, but when it happens, it melts her. Like when she’s trying to be sexy but trips on her own pants, or gets flustered. He chuckles, helps her up, kisses her knuckles and murmurs, “You kill me, kid.”

Then ruins her 30 seconds later.

H – Hair

Salt-and-pepper down there. Trimmed. Neat. Masculine.

He thinks her hair (downstairs or otherwise) is perfect as it is—won’t let her apologize for anything. If she ever wants to do something fancy (like shaving completely), he’ll still kiss every inch. But he’ll always mutter, “Didn’t need to change a thing.”

I – Intimacy

High. He holds eye contact. Kisses her deeply mid-thrust. Cradles her face when she’s close. Calls her “sweetheart” and “baby” and “love” when he’s buried inside her.

Even when it’s rough, it’s connected. They’re always feeling something.

J – Jack Off

Used to be a regular thing—late nights, grief, stress. Now? Only when she’s not around. Or when he’s thinking about the way she said his name last night.

Sometimes he’ll let her watch. Slowly. Eyes on her. Hand slick. “This is what you do to me. Come here and taste it.”

K – Kinks

• Praise & control: Loves telling her she’s good for him, that she belongs to him.

• Overstimulation: He lives to push her past what she thought she could take.

• Breath play: His hand on her throat, light pressure, always in control.

• Degradation—but soft. Stuff like, “You’re such a needy little thing, huh? Bet you like being ruined by someone older.”

He also adores tying her wrists with his tie.

L – Location

Mostly his bedroom. But: Against the counter in the clinic when no one’s around. Backseat of his car after a rough shift. Her place on her tiny couch—legs hanging off the edge

If she asks to try somewhere new? He’s game.

M – Motivation

Her. Always her.

The way she says his name. The way she clings to him during kisses. The innocence paired with the want.

He gets hard at the sound of her voice sometimes—especially when she doesn’t realize how she sounds.

N – NO

Won’t degrade her to the point of humiliation. Won’t play dumb jealousy games. Won’t ever hurt her without her consent—and never emotionally. Never uses sex to manipulate or punish. That’s a hard line for him.

O – Oral

He’s a devotee. Jack will go down on her for hours.

Sloppy. Tongue-flicking. Moaning into her pussy. Watching her unravel. He’ll whisper against her, “Come on, give it to me, sweetheart. Let me taste all of it.”

When she finally sucks him off, clumsily at first? He loses it. Guides her, praises her, damn near explodes.

P – Pace

Controlled and deep. Jack fucks like he’s trying to ruin her for everyone else. But when she begs? He can go fast, rough, and leave her breathless.

Q – Quickies

Yes. Especially when she’s being a brat, teasing him in public. Up against a wall, hand over her mouth, fast and filthy. But he always finishes the job properly later. In bed. Slowly.

R – Risk

Will take calculated risks. Clinic hallway after hours. Closed office. His car. The idea of her almost getting caught makes her wetter—he loves discovering that about her.

S – Stamina

He’s older, but controlled. One orgasm isn’t enough for him—he wants to wring every one out of her.

Can go multiple rounds if she teases him enough. Always takes care of her first.

T – Toys

He introduces a vibrator. At first she’s shy—but curious. He uses it on her while whispering filth in her ear.

Also loves blindfolds and silk ties. Keeps a small, locked drawer just for their fun.

U – Unfair

So unfair. He’ll edge her for hours. Deny her until she’s sobbing, legs shaking.

Then he’ll say, “Think you’ve earned it now?”. And give it to her until she forgets her own name.

V – Volume

Jack is more verbal than loud. Groans. Deep moans. Filthy praise.

But when she really gets to him? He growls. Breathless and low. Her? He tries to make her scream. And succeeds.

W – Wild Card

One time, he let her tie him up. Just once. Just to give her control. She was nervous—but the way he gave in? It changed something. She’s never looked more powerful. And he’s never come harder.

X – X-Ray

5.5’inches, thick girth, pinkish head with two thick veins running up the shaft. He’s got a scar on his hipbone—shrapnel from some medical crisis years ago.

He lets her kiss it during slow nights, hand on the back of her head. Softest he’s ever been.

Y – Yearning

He wants all of her. Not just her body—but the shy glances, the sleepy smiles, the hunger behind her inexperience.

Jack’s addicted to the way she trusts him. And he worships it.

Z – ZZZ

He doesn’t sleep easily. Trauma, memories.

—————————————————————————

It’s three-thirty in the morning when she sees it. Barely a flicker, really. A small misstep—Jack closing the trauma bay curtain just a little too fast, like he wanted to be done with it. Like he needed to put space between himself and whatever had just happened in there.

The rest of the shift is moving as usual. Shen’s elbow-deep in charting and cursing at the printers again. Ellis is somewhere in central, humming low under her breath as she sorts labs and pushes meds. Everything’s still moving forward. Normal enough.

But she sees him. He doesn’t go back to the station. Doesn’t linger for rounds. He just disappears into one of the supply rooms like he’s forgotten something, and doesn’t come back out.

She waits a beat, two. Then she follows. The door is slightly ajar. She hesitates. Taps once, gently, with her knuckles. No answer. So she pushes it open with the kind of quiet that’s become second nature to her now.

Jack is sitting on the edge of the counter, elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. Not in pain. Not overwhelmed. Just—off. His hands are clasped loosely together, knuckles a little too pale. He looks up when she enters, and for a split second something flickers across his face. Something close to oh, it’s you.

She doesn’t ask what happened. She doesn’t need to. She remembers the patient from earlier—the teenage girl in bed two who didn’t make it. DOA, massive head trauma. No time to run it. No family yet arrived.

She doesn’t ask. She just sits on the floor across from him, knees pulled up to her chest, arms loosely wrapped around them. They don’t speak. The air hums with quiet—the whir of the air vent, the distant sound of a monitor somewhere down the hall.

She doesn’t try to comfort him. Doesn’t reach out or soften her voice or say you did everything you could, even though she knows it’s true. That’s not what he needs. He’s heard it all before.

Instead, she matches his silence. Gives him that small, undemanding presence he’s given her again and again. A room to breathe. To fall apart, just a little.

He stays where he is for a while. She thinks he’s watching the floor. Then his voice cuts through the quiet, low and rough around the edges:

“She was fourteen.” She nods. Doesn’t move.

“Had a stupid little bracelet on,” he says. “Pink and plastic. Said ‘lucky.’” That’s all. He doesn’t say more. She feels her throat tighten. But she doesn’t cry. Not now. Not here.

She unfolds herself slowly, stands, and walks over to the counter. Doesn’t touch him. Just sets a bottle of water down beside him like he’s done for her a hundred times. Soft things. Wordless things. Then she leans against the opposite wall, arms folded.

Like I imagine the staff room was half-empty, just a few nurses, a tech or two, and one of the newer residents—sharp, too cocky for their own good. Jack had just stepped in for coffee, half-distracted, until he heard it.

“She looks like Rogue from X-Men,” the resident snickered to someone across the room. “The grey streak thing? What is she, thirty? It’s giving midlife crisis.”

A laugh. Too loud. Too cruel.

Jack stopped mid-step, mug frozen in his hand.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just placed the mug on the counter with deliberate care, then turned. His voice, when it came, was gravel low and unnervingly calm.

“You,” he said, eyes locking on the resident.

The kid looked up, smirk still plastered on. “Yeah?”

“Come with me.” A pause. The smirk faded slightly. “Uh, is this about—?” “Now.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

They stepped into the medication room, door clicking shut behind them. A tight space, sterile and humming with fluorescent light.

Jack didn’t waste time.

“You don’t speak about her like that again. Ever.”

The resident blinked, caught off-guard. “It was just a joke—”

“It wasn’t funny.” Jack stepped closer, not touching, but towering. Still calm. Still ice-cold. “She works harder than any damn person in this hospital. Has more compassion in her little finger than you’ll scrape together in your whole career. And you think mocking something she can’t control makes you clever?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I—”

“You meant to belittle her.” He leaned in just slightly. “You don’t get to do that. Not on my watch.”

Silence. The fluorescent light buzzed above. Jack straightened, jaw tense, voice still quiet. “You keep your comments to yourself. Or you’ll find yourself off my shift. Permanently.”

The resident swallowed hard. “Understood, sir. Jack nodded once. “Good. Now get out of my sight.” The door clicked open. The resident vanished. Jack stood alone for a moment longer, breathing slow and steady, fists flexing once at his sides.

When he finally returned to the staff room, his coffee was cold. He poured a fresh one without a word.

Later that night, she passed him in the hallway—quiet as always, eyes tired, earbuds in, a few stray strands of silver curling out from under her cap.

Since there is a Noah Wyle renaissance of sorts, we can’t forget his most iconic role as Dr John Carter. That golden retriever rich boy was truly the most boyfriend thing the 90s had. This fanfic is definitely a true representation of just how Carter is, with Amelia (the OC) being a medical student at County General. Amelia definitely can be read as an insert-reader, she is truly likeable and really just reminds me of myself. We do get some cameos from other ER stars. If you love watching the Pitt, I would highly suggest watching ER. I just truly think of it as Dr Robinavitch formative years. The piece below is inspired by the story. So go check it out!!!

This amazing piece was written by @eureka-its-zico and has been the masterpiece that has taken up most of my week. I have re-read this story more than a handful of time and it doesn’t get old. The writing and dialogue is beautifully written in a way that is complementary to the tv show. The reader (Dr Fullerton) feels like an actualised character that fits perfectly in the narrative and is honestly the missing piece of the cast.

If you haven’t already, go and watch The Pitt, it is really something. Noah Wyle, has always been Bae and will forever be bae. He literally went from cutie in ER to Zaddy and I can’t complain. As a healthcare professional, it’s refreshing to see how they interpret healthcare and the behind the scenes. It is quite accurate in alot of areas, and questionable in some. But, all together it is a show that keeps you on the edge of your seat. And if this weeks episode is anything to go by (Episode 13), this show should clear the Emmys.

This is a little piece I design whilst reading this story, as always, I envision myself (a black girl), which was easy enough to do with this story.

@rise-my-angel truly has made The Jon snow fic, if not the best a song of ice and fire fic there is. They truly understand the underlining narrative that the tv show had no time to dedicate. They masterfully have crafted the characters we so much adore, along with not only a main character that is a work of art, but beautiful relationships with characters that we know and love. This Baratheon OC is truly a well written complex character that doesn’t shy away from their flaws and instead confronts the demons that came their way. There is truly to writing that can hold a candle to this work of art in the game of thrones fandom. I have formulated these moodboards as an ode to this amazing writer, although this is just my way of imaging the characters as a WOC.

This is dedicated to Carson x Brian from @saintsir4n StereoLove which is just one of her many amazing fanfics where they are not afraid to some black girls some love. Brian is just as much as an hopeless romantic as he is in the films. Carson is definitely the ‘it girl’ and Brian better wise up to what he has before it’s too late. Just another one of their masterful piece of writing, the piece below is inspired by their story!!

This piece is inspired by The Last of Us Games which I have been playing recently and I couldn’t help imagine Apocalypse!Rhett Abbott settling in Jackson. These are the head cannons I have for him:

Works as a farm hand on the ranch there, helping to tend to the animals and other farm chores

Couldn’t help himself when he sees the chief farmer daughter her tending to the small lambs, teaching the young children of Jackson how to feed them

He spends a lot of his moments thinking of her, from her sweet treats that she hands out (that peaches and apple pie never fails to make him satisfied)

They start to spend more time together whenever the other is tending to the animals of Jackson

They both try to forget everything before Jackson, especially Rhett and he can see this could be his real chance of something

This is a house of dragon fic that writes the main character as a beautifully legacy child that no nothing but tragedy, from the moment her and Aemond are together. This story sets a compelling character that is written alongside the characters of the main show without squeezing themselves unnecessarily into story points that don’t serve her character development.

@saintsir4n is one of those writers that can make you fall so effortlessly into their stories through their talent. Their stories are among my favourites as a POC, as all the main characters are WOC that are rightfully fawned over by many love interests in the stories. To have the main characters of the stories I read be undoubtedly admired by society most acceptable individuals, should not be a rarity, however this writer has taken a lead in my eyes as writing it in a way that is not fetishising or demeaning to both the character and the audience. I made this moodboard in vision of the story that we have so far, the quotes are respective of both Daenys and Aemond.

This is the Magnum Opus of the Jedi Order Games (apart from the actual games itself). This masterpiece was beautifully written, developing a surviving Jedi in a universe that actively trying to extinguish the few remaining into a character that sought not vengeance but atonement for those that were sacrificed. Cal is an inquisitor with a thirst for everything red and for this poor Jedi. Will there journey’s be the very thing that rips apart the universe or will they be able to bring a new form of order. I have been contemplating a mood board for a while and hope this does it justice.@droidrights is a wonderful writer and I have admired their dedication to their craft (check out the amazing art for the series) and most importantly this fic. You won’t regret it!!!