you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
summary: a struggling pasty chef finally catches a break when you're given a chance to work at 'The Pitt', a popular restaurant in Pittsburgh. you find it difficult to find your confidence, it will be harder with Jack Abbot around. you make it harder for him to remain a good mentor.
tags/description: 18+ MDNI, pastry chef!fem!reader, swearing, NSFW comments, an attempt at slow burn, crack fic, maybe possibly OOC for everyone LOL, me trying to be funny, smut maybe mehehehe, additional tags at the beginning of each chapter
synopsis: You're way too trusting for your own good. Garrett realizes quickly that he has to step in to make sure you're not taken advantage of. And if he ends up getting you in the process, well, that's just a bonus.
It kind of just happened, given how impossible it was for him to take his eyes off you.
He didn't recognize you as one of Briar U's infamous puck bunnies, mainly because there wasn't a group of sophomore hockey players surrounding you. You stood near the fridge in the hockey house kitchen, nursing a red Solo cup, a cute pink purse tucked under your arm and held close to your side. The way your wide eyes wandered around the room gave him the impression that you were a little out of your depth.
If he were anything like Dean, he would've approached you already and figured out your deal.
Why did you smile politely when partygoers pushed past you?
He watched as a dude fully grabbed your hip. Your body jolted at his touch, and he could read your lips as the word sorry left them.
Sorry.
To the guy who'd touched you.
Your eyes lit up when a tall redheaded girl in an impossibly short black dress approached you. She stood in stark contrast to your mom jeans and light pink tube top.
Your friend, Garrett assumed.
She leaned down to whisper something into your ear. Your face fell for only a moment before you nodded.
He was almost sure your response was:
"Okay, that's fine."
He understood your disappointment moments later when Dean made his appearance, shirtless and drunk off his ass. He swept up your redheaded friend and started carrying her toward the back hallway.
Garrett had no excuse for not approaching you now.
If you were waiting for your friend to finish hooking up with Dean, you'd be waiting a long while.
Garrett took a swig from the one beer he was allowing himself on a night before a game.
Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.
He recognized the guy immediately. Tall. Lanky. One of Beau's fraternity brothers. A senior on the swim team.
Mark.
Or Mateo.
Probably not Michael.
Whatever his name was, he wanted to fuck you.
Curious, Garrett decided to keep his distance. He watched from across the room as he approached the speaker blasting '80s rock music. He grabbed Logan's phone from the table and changed the song, all while keeping one eye on you.
It was almost offensive how forward the guy was being.
He had a hand on your shoulder, and he was standing so close that you were forced to tilt your head back to look at him.
"Yeah... we talked upstairs. Remember?"
You politely shook your head.
"I don't think it was me."
Your voice was sweet.
Garrett could tell that much.
Wanting to hear more of the conversation, he lowered the volume of the music.
"I know I'm so fucking drunk right now, but we ran into each other outside the bathroom. I remember. You're so hot I know I'd remember you. You don't want to kiss me again?"
He grabbed your hand.
"Uhm, no, thank you. B-but... I really don't... uhm—"
The guy started pulling.
And your feet followed.
Your eyes were panicked, but your body moved anyway.
Jesus Christ.
He wasn't getting the hint.
It didn't help that you still had that polite smile on your face.
Fuck.
Were you seriously so polite that you were going to let this idiot drag you away even though you'd clearly never met him before?
Absolutely fucking not.
Garrett's feet moved before his brain really registered what he was doing.
He shoved himself between you and Swim Team Whatever-His-Name-Was and forced your hands apart.
He wasn't trying to embarrass the guy.
He shoved his shoulder just hard enough to make him stumble.
"She said no."
"What the fuck?"
Bold and clearly running on liquid courage, the guy took a step toward Garrett.
The standoff lasted all of three seconds.
Then recognition dawned.
Because Garrett Graham was standing in front of him.
"Are you dumb?" Garrett asked. "Can't you tell she doesn't want to talk to you?"
The guy gritted his teeth.
"I was just..." He looked at you. Then back at Garrett. "She's all yours, man."
And just like that, he stumbled away in search of another vulnerable girl.
Your eyes looked just as panicked when Garrett turned back toward you.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene."
Garrett savored the chance to finally look at you up close.
Your makeup was soft. A light dusting of blush colored your cheeks. Your lips were glossy and glittered faintly under the kitchen lights.
Your hair was pulled back with a floral headband.
Worst of all, you smelled like lavender and vanilla.
Garrett stepped closer.
Shielding you from the crowd.
Blocking you in until your back met the kitchen counter.
He wasn't sure how subtle it was when he leaned closer just to breathe you in.
"I know it's your party..." you whispered.
Your voice trailed off.
You stared up at him as if he were a wolf and you were prey.
Honestly?
The comparison wasn't far off.
If Garrett had to compare you to an animal, it would be a baby deer.
Wide-eyed, nervous and completely unaware of how vulnerable you were.
"You're..."
"Garrett," he finished for you. "What's your name?"
"Y/N."
The answer came out almost too quickly.
Too trusting.
Y/N.
It bounced around inside his head while his imagination immediately started building a picture of who you were.
A picture he already suspected he'd be thinking about later tonight.
"You're not really sorry, right?" he asked. "Because that asshole was the one trying to trick you into hooking up with him."
"I don't think he was..."
Garrett stared.
You genuinely seemed to be considering it.
As if you'd only just realized the guy had been hitting on you.
"I think he was just confused."
All Garrett really knew about you was your name.
But he'd already decided you were perfect.
Seriously lacking in street smarts.
But perfect nonetheless.
His jaw ticked.
He regretted not putting the guy through the floor.
"I think he's lucky I'm a nice guy."
You completely missed the meaning behind that statement.
He could tell because you immediately replied:
"Your house is really nice too. Thank you for having me. I mean, you didn't really invite me. Dean invited my roommate, but—"
You stopped yourself.
Realizing you were rambling.
"I mean, it's a good party."
Garrett grinned.
"Thank you. Your roommate is the redhead?"
You nodded.
"She just disappeared with Dean."
"Is she your ride?"
Garrett planted a hand on either side of you.
Close enough to feel your breathing change.
Close enough to know he was overwhelming your senses.
"Yeah. I was just gonna wait for her to... you know. Get done."
"You might be waiting a while."
Your mouth parted.
Then closed.
Had that possibility genuinely not occurred to you?
"Well, that's okay." Your smile was small. "If it gets too late, I can call someone. There's this guy in my Instructional Tech class who said he'd give me a ride if I ever needed one."
Garrett's brows immediately knitted together.
"A random guy in your class?"
"He's not random. We have class together."
"Have you ever hung out with him outside of class?"
"Well, no. But he's nice. And I can't really afford an Uber all the way back to my apartment."
Another guy who wanted to fuck you.
And you had absolutely no idea.
Garrett was beginning to notice a pattern.
He was already starting to hate the idea of letting you leave this house and return to your own devices.
"Your friend kinda sucks for bringing you here and then abandoning you."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Instantly, he regretted it.
Your face fell.
"I-I wanted to come."
"You like parties?"
"I like parties."
You practically struggled to force the words out.
A terrible lie.
Your discomfort was written all over your face.
"And she's a good friend."
"Hmm."
Garrett pushed away from the counter, finally giving you room to breathe.
"There's a good chance they're going to fuck all night, Y/N. If you want to crash here, there's a spare bedroom. If not, I can drive you home. I've only had one beer."
"You don't have to do that, Garrett. It's so out of the way. I'll find a ride."
Say my name again.
Please.
"You're adorable, you know that?"
You smiled immediately.
Embarrassed.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Never," Garrett replied sincerely. "Let me drive you home."
Because an adorable little bunny like you wasn't getting into a car with some random loser from class.
"I..."
You pressed your lips together under the weight of his stare.
Had you ever told anyone no before?
"I should check in with my friend first—"
Garrett's hand found the small of your back.
"Sure."
He guided you toward the hallway.
"If my predictions are correct, they're probably in the laundry room."
Not a single word of protest left your mouth.
The irony of the situation dawned on him. He didn’t want someone else to take advantage of you, and yet he was practically doing the same, but Garrett was nothing like the guys who only wanted to fuck you. He actually had substance that backed up his bravado. Everyone at Briar knew that, and Garrett was watching as you came to the same revelation. Hockey captain. Six-foot-whatever. He was someone not to be fucked with. Maybe that’s why your body relaxed under his touch, and you let him lead you to the end of the downstairs hallway.
Garrett would bet a million dollars that his best friend Dean was fucking your red-headed friend with the door wide open. He pushed you ahead of him, his other hand finding the other side of your hip, holding you as you peeked into the doorway. As if you’d seen a ghost, Garrett watches as your hands slap against your own eyes.
Garrett couldn’t hold back the deep rumbling in his throat as he laughed. He took his own peek and found your red-headed friend bent over the running dryer as Dean pounded into her from behind. You turned around quickly, practically pressing your face into his chest, “Oh my goodness. Why did they leave the door open?”
“As you can see, your friend is occupied. Are you ready to go now, princess?” Garrett grabbed you by your chin, forcing your frightened eyes to look up at his.
You nodded, long eyelashes batting up at him. He takes another mental picture for later. He imagined his cock down your throat, that same look of fear and wonder in your eyes. He clears his throat, pushing the lewd thought out of his mind, “Then let’s get you home.”
Your apartment building might as well have been condemned.
It was a rude thought born from privilege, but Garrett couldn't suppress the uneasy feeling creeping up the back of his neck.
Of course you lived on the worst side of town.
During the twenty-minute drive, he'd learned how you'd ended up at Briar and, subsequently, at the hockey house.
You'd transferred in January and had been forced to find housing at the last minute.
That's how you'd met Paige, the redheaded puck bunny.
Apparently, she was renting out her couch and charging you half the rent.
“It pulls out.”
“What?”
“The couch.” You glanced over at him. “I'm not just sleeping on her couch. It pulls out and turns into a bed.”
Garrett shot you an incredulous look, taking his eyes off the road for a second.
“Where do you keep all your shit?”
“We turned the coat closet into my personal closet.” You smiled proudly. “It's actually more convenient than you'd think. And I don't have that much stuff anyway.”
You paused before adding softly,
“The important thing is that I'm here. You have no idea how long I've wanted to go to school here.”
Your eyes were bright and hopeful, standing in sharp contrast to the darkness outside the Jeep.
“And you're an education major?”
“Yeah.” You answered quickly, pleased that he'd remembered. “Elementary education.”
“That's cool.”
Garrett pulled into a parking space in front of your building and shifted the Jeep into park. The engine died and silence crept inside the vehicle.
He tucked his keys into the pocket of his sweatpants before leaning across the center console and unclipping your seatbelt.
His face ended up a little closer to yours than necessary.
“I'll walk you up.”
“You don't have to, really.” You offered him a small smile. “This is already too much.”
Too much.
The phrase irritated him more than it should have.
Was basic kindness really that foreign to you?
“I'm a gentleman, princess. Of course I have to.”
You laughed softly.
“Paige talks all the time about how hockey players are the exact opposite of gentlemen.”
Your roommate is an idiot, princess.
“Then let me prove her wrong.”
The words came out low and certain.
Garrett realized, as he climbed out of the Jeep and rounded the front of the vehicle to open your door, that he'd never meant anything more.
“Oh, I get it now. This is the same girl from the party.”
Garrett watched as Dean dug into the huge pile of food on his plate. The dining hall was bustling at lunchtime, and the conversation his friends were having was almost loud enough to cloud his thoughts of you.
Almost.
Until Dean brought up Garrett's new favorite subject.
You.
“Maybe you can invite her friend over again tomorrow since Tuck has people coming over?”
“Who’s her friend?” Dean asked, and Garrett stared back at him, forcing his gaze to remain steady to prevent his eyes from rolling.
“The redhead? Kinda moans like a goat?”
Dean’s lips pulled into a mischievous smile.
“Ah, I see. Freaky Paige. She said her roommate was, like, a super religious virgin and then something else about her growing up in a cult. Which kinda tracks. She just stood there alone smiling at everyone the whole night.”
“What the fuck? Y/N did not. And Paige is full of shit.”
Dean chuckled.
“It doesn’t matter. Paige said that was the last time we were hooking up because she’s getting back with her boyfriend.”
Your roommate really sucks, Bunny.
“Here’s your opportunity, G,” Logan spoke up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with Tucker. He jerked his head toward one of the double doors.
You walked through alone, your hair thrown up in a high ponytail and a pink backpack slung over your shoulder. Although you weren’t smiling, you looked happy, and Garrett could only assume you’d just gotten out of class.
You headed toward the salad bar.
Garrett stood immediately.
He patted Logan on the back in gratitude before making his way over to you.
Your eyes widened in surprise before quickly brightening with unmistakable joy.
You were happy to see him.
“Hey,” he said, even though there was so much more on his mind.
You almost forgot you were filling your tray.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good.”
Amazing, actually. More like it, now that you’re here.
“What about you?”
“I’m really good. I love Mondays. No afternoon classes.”
“So you’re free the rest of the day?”
Your lips parted in surprise.
You glanced down nervously as you added more toppings to your salad. Garrett followed alongside you.
“Well, yeah. I was gonna do some homework and then... start a new book.”
Jesus.
He even found the idea of you reading alone in your apartment adorable.
“I, uh, wanted to get your number. Totally forgot to ask when I dropped you off the other night.”
“My number?”
“For chauffeuring reasons, of course. Don’t want you getting stranded and having to call Instructional Tech Guy.”
That made you giggle.
“Really?”
“Really.”
You reached the end of the salad bar and started toward the register.
Garrett grabbed the tray from your hands.
“Let me get this.”
“I-I have dining dollars, Garrett. You don’t have to—”
“Save ’em.”
He’d do any small thing he could to take care of you.
At least until he figured out how to have all of you.
Garrett could practically feel his friends’ stares as he carried your tray away and abandoned them completely.
They knew this was more than him trying to score.
Girls threw themselves at Garrett.
In all his years at Briar, he’d never had to chase one.
“Let me see your phone.”
Garrett was already reaching for it before it was halfway out of your pocket.
Your lock screen was a collage of pink aesthetic photos and an orange cat.
“You have a cat?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s Mouse. I’ve had him since middle school, but it didn’t feel right bringing him here. Taking him away from his home.”
“He’s cute,” Garrett commented as he held the phone in front of your face and unlocked it. “Hey, are you religious?”
You blinked up at him.
Up.
Because Garrett was sitting beside you and was still massive even while seated.
“No. Uhm, not really. Wh-why do you ask?”
Stupid, freaky Paige.
“I was, uh, just wondering where you’re from.”
Garrett quickly learned you were from a small town in upstate New York.
From what he gathered, your home life was far from cultish. Nothing toxic.
You just seemed sheltered.
An only child.
He took the opportunity to enter his number into your phone and send himself a text.
“I’m serious about calling me if you need a ride somewhere.”
“You make it seem like Briar is a scary place. Everyone I’ve met is very nice. Including you.”
“I’m flattered, princess. And I agree that most people are nice. But this place has freaks and weirdos, and I’d prefer it if you weren’t anywhere near them.”
He was entitled.
What did it matter what he wanted for you?
He didn’t own you.
He’d met you two nights ago.
And yet you didn’t argue.
Almost as if you already trusted him.
“I’m working to save up enough money for a car, so hopefully I won’t have to bother you or Paige.”
“Where do you work?”
The question came out a little too quickly.
Garrett reminded himself he might scare you off if he didn’t pace himself.
And you did look a little nervous.
But you were an open book.
“I always work game days at the campus bookstore, so I’ve never gone to a game. And then I nanny during the week.”
“Well, if you’re free tonight, let me take you out.”
“Take me out?”
“To dinner.”
“Oh.”
You stared at him, eyes wide and beautiful.
“Why?”
“Why dinner?”
“A dinner date?”
“Yeah.”
“As friends?”
“The opposite, actually.”
Your lips parted, then closed again.
Garrett watched as you intentionally took a deep breath.
In through your nose.
Out through your mouth.
“I’m really trying to keep up here, Garrett.”
Too much.
Too fast.
He was pretty sure that’s what you wanted to say.
You just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Hey. Relax, okay?”
His tone softened immediately.
The deep quality of his voice remained, but there was something undeniably gentle underneath it.
“It’s not a big deal. Just dinner. If you want, you could come over to my place and we could order something. Watch a movie.”
Another deep breath.
“Uhm... and then what?”
And then he’d probably kiss you. And touch you as much as he could before you became a bundle of nerves. So you weren’t completely innocent. Part of you, deep down, knew what dinner and a movie often lead to.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I like you, Y/N.”
“I like you too. I mean, I think you’re nice and...”
“And...?” Garrett prompted.
“Handsome.”
You winced as soon as the word left your mouth.
Not because you didn’t mean it.
Because you were worried it was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m sorry. If I’m being honest, I haven’t really been on a date since high school. And I’m a little confused that, out of all the boys at Briar, you—”
Garrett immediately shook his head.
“Are you questioning my taste?”
“Of course not!” you whisper-shouted.
“You’re pretty. You’re sweet. And I haven’t met anyone like you.”
His gaze settled on yours.
“I’d like to keep seeing you. So, I’m gonna drop you off at your apartment. You can read your book and do your homework. Then I’ll come back tonight and pick you up for our date.”
“Are you sure?”
Garrett gave you a look that was just stern enough to make you squirm.
“Okay, okay. That sounds... good.”
You waited until his expression softened before taking another breath.
“Now finish your lunch, baby.”
You nodded quickly and picked up your fork, finally beginning to eat.
dividers by @/strangergraphics
pls reblog with your thoughts to be added to my off campus taglist :)
Summary: On a random Tuesday, you wake up tangled together in the late-afternoon light, exhausted and half-asleep, when Jack casually suggests getting married before your shift.
Pairing: Jack Abbot / f!Reader (reader works in night shift, nothing else described I think).
Rating: M.
Tags: Established Relationship. Tooth rotting fluff. Unconventional marriage proposal. Eloping.
Word count: 3904 words.
a/n: So... after publishing part 5 of my Harry Castillo story I word-vomited this in like an hour (don't get used to this 😅)... and I was like... I should wait to publish, but I just can't... so... here it is. Also, I'm aware that there are probably inaccuracies in how the courthouse system works, but, well... this is fiction, so... bear with me okay?
Here's my new obsession, The Pitt 😆, and even though I'm a Robby girl, this idea just wouldn't leave my head. I hope you like it! Also, English is not my first language and the corrector only goes so far, so if you see any weird stuff, I'm so sorry, I hope it doesn't bother your reading too much!
MASTERLIST
The apartment is honey-gold with late afternoon light, that weird hour that doesn’t belong to anyone.
Not morning. Not evening.
Just that quiet, suspended time night shifters live in, when the rest of the world is halfway through their day and yours is just beginning.
The clock on the stove reads 4:42 PM, but your brain still thinks it’s morning. Your body thinks it’s midnight. And Jack is wrapped around you like you’re the only solid thing in the room.
The blackout curtains don’t quite meet in the middle, so a stripe of sunlight cuts across the bed, warm against the sheets.
It lands right across his bare shoulder. Golden, soft. You trace it lazily with your fingers. He doesn’t wake.
He’s half on top of you, one leg hooked between yours, arm tight around your waist, face tucked into your neck. His breath is warm and slow and smells faintly like the toothpaste you both used at eight this morning before collapsing into bed.
Post-shift sleep always feels heavier, like drowning in cotton.
You shift a little. His grip tightens instantly. A low, sleepy hum against your collarbone.
“…don’t go,” he mumbles.
“I’m not,” you whisper.
“You’re warm.”
“So are you.”
“Good.”
He sinks closer, like a cat claiming territory.
You smile into the pillow.
This is your favorite part of night shift life, the world feels small. Private. Like you two exist slightly out of sync with everyone else. No emails, no traffic... No expectations.
Just him.
Your fingers slip under his t-shirt, tracing the familiar line of his spine; he sighs, then blinks one eye open.
“What time is it?” he croaks.
You squint at the clock.
“Four forty-something.”
He groans dramatically and buries his face deeper into your neck.
“Illegal,” he mutters. “The sun shouldn’t exist when I’m conscious.”
“You picked night shift.”
“I was lied to.”
You laugh softly, and his stubble scratches your skin when he kisses your shoulder, slow and lazy.
Neither of you moves to get up, you still have time. Report isn’t until seven. There’s always that dangerous illusion that you have plenty of time.
His hand slides under your shirt, resting warm against your stomach. Not sexual. Just… grounding, like making sure you’re real.
You turn to face him. His hair’s a disaster, pillow lines on his cheek, eyes puffy with sleep. God, you love him like this. Soft. Unarmored. Just Jack.
“Hey,” you murmur.
“Mm.”
“You okay?”
He nods, then shrugs. Then stares at you for a long moment like he’s trying to memorize your face.
“What?” you ask.
He studies you another second. Then, very casually, very quietly:
“What if we got married before shift?”
You blink.
“…what?”
“What if we got married today,” he repeats, like he’s suggesting takeout. “Before work.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow.
“Jack. We just woke up.”
“I know.”
“You still have pillow creases on your face.”
“So marry me anyway.”
You stare at him.
He doesn’t smile. He’s serious.
Soft. Calm. Certain.
“There’s that courthouse by the hospital,” he says. “Closes at seven.”
“…you’ve thought about this.”
“Maybe.”
“Jack.”
He exhales through his nose, thumb rubbing slow circles on your hip.
“I just keep thinking,” he says quietly, “how every shift feels like roulette.”
You know. You’ve both seen it. The calls that change everything. The families. The codes. How fast a normal day becomes the worst day of someone’s life.
“I don’t want to keep waiting for some perfect moment,” he continues. “Because we don’t get those. We get vending machine dinners and trauma bays and five minutes together in supply closets.”
You snort.
“Romantic.”
“Shut up, I’m trying.”
He cups your cheek, his hand is warm, steady.
“I already feel married to you,” he says. “You’re the first person I want after every shift. You’re the one I fall asleep with at eight in the morning. You’re home.”
Your throat tightens.
“So… what if we just make it official?” he murmurs. “Today. Before we clock in.”
“This is the least traditional proposal ever.” You reply, mid-laugh.
“I’m aware.”
“It’s very ‘we have forty minutes before report.’”
“Extremely on brand for us.”
You look at him, at the messy hair. The sleepy eyes. The absolute sincerity. No kneeling, no grand speech.
Just him. Choosing you. Right now. Every day.
You lean down and kiss him. Slow. Soft.
When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.
“Okay,” you whisper.
He freezes.
“…okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Let’s go get married before shift.”
He stares at you like you just rewrote gravity.
Then he laughs, bright and disbelieving, and pulls you into the tightest hug.
“Oh my god,” he says into your hair. “We’re insane.”
“Completely.”
“We’re going to show up to trauma married.”
“Dana is going to lose it. And Robby.”
“Worth it.”
Sunlight creeps further across the bed, reality creeping in. You groan.
“We have, like, an hour to shower and not look like raccoons.”
He kisses you again, quick and sure.
“C’mon,” he says, sliding out of bed and grabbing your hand. “Wife-to-be.”
*************
You stand in front of the closet in your underwear twenty minutes later, staring at your clothes like they personally betrayed you.
Scrubs, hoodies, old band tees, three identical cardigans… Why do you own nothing remotely bridal?
You huff out a breath.
“This is so stupid,” you mumble, rifling through hangers.
Then…
Your hand pauses in the back. The white dress. You’d forgotten about it. Simple. Soft cotton. Knee-length. Something you bought last summer for a friend’s birthday dinner and never wore again. Nothing fancy, no lace. No drama, but clean. Light. Easy.
You pull it out and hold it up. It looks… right. You tug it on. Bare legs. Minimal makeup. Hair still a little messy no matter what you do. You look like yourself.
You study your reflection… A woman about to get married before a 7 p.m. trauma shift.
Completely unhinged behavior.
You smile.
Perfect.
When you step out into the living room, Jack is buttoning up a clean dark shirt. Not scrubs yet, actual clothes. You stop walking.
Because…
Oh.
Oh no.
He looks unfair. Dark jeans. Rolled sleeves. Hair still slightly damp from the shower. That stupidly handsome jawline, the faint shadow of stubble… like he accidentally walked out of a “small-town courthouse wedding” indie movie.
He looks up. Freezes.
“…hi,” he says softly.
The way he says it, like you just knocked the air out of him, makes your stomach flip.
“You look…” he trails off.
“Don’t say bridal,” you warn.
“I was gonna say beautiful.”
You swallow.
“Good. Stick with that.”
He steps closer, hands sliding around your waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of the dress like he can’t believe it’s real.
“You look like you,” he murmurs.
“That good or bad?”
“The best.”
He kisses you. Slow. Warm. Like you’ve got all the time in the world, even though you absolutely don’t.
***********
The courthouse is only ten minutes away. Early evening light spills gold across the sidewalk. People are still out, walking dogs, grabbing coffee, living their normal Tuesday lives. And you’re sitting in the passenger seat thinking: I might have a husband in an hour.
Your hand is laced with his over the center console. He keeps squeezing your fingers like he needs to check you’re still there.
“You nervous?” you ask.
“A little,” he admits.
“Regretting your impulsive life decisions?”
“Never.”
A beat.
“Okay maybe a little but in a hot way.”
You laugh.
God, you love him.
The courthouse steps are quiet, almost empty. You step out of the car, heart suddenly thundering.
This is real.
This is happening.
Jack glances at the building, then at you. Then…
“…shit.”
“What?”
“I forgot something.”
Your stomach drops.
“What did you forget?”
“I’ll be right back. Two minutes. Stay here.”
“Jack…?”
But he’s already jogging down the sidewalk.
You blink.
“Jack!”
He waves without turning around and disappears around the corner. You just stand there. Alone. Outside a courthouse. In a white dress. About to get married. Possibly abandoned.
“…cool,” you mutter. “Love this for me.”
You check your phone. No texts. No calls.
Five minutes pass. Then seven.
Okay.
Now you’re spiraling.
Did he panic? Did this suddenly feel too real? Did you both just speedrun a proposal and now he’s having a crisis behind a vending machine somewhere?
Right when you’re about to march back to the car…
“Hey!”
You turn and there he is. A little out of breath, hair wind-tousled, grinning like an idiot. Relief slams into you so hard you almost cry.
“You absolute jerk,” you snap, marching toward him. “Where did you…”
He holds something up between his fingers. Two small velvet boxes. Your brain short-circuits.
“…what.”
“There’s a jeweler two blocks over,” he says, slightly breathless. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want you to not have rings.”
Your throat closes.
“I know we said courthouse quick and whatever,” he continues, suddenly shy, “but… I wanted something you could look down at during shift and remember we did this. That it’s real.”
He opens the boxes. Two simple bands.
Gold. Clean. Classic.
Nothing flashy, just solid. Forever.
Your eyes fill instantly.
“You ran to buy rings?” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
“You idiot,” you choke out, smiling.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “But I’m your idiot.”
You throw your arms around him.
He laughs into your hair, hugging you tight. He presses his forehead to yours.
“C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s get married before we’re late for work.”
***********
The courthouse doors open with a heavy, reluctant creak, like the building itself is tired.
Inside, the air smells faintly of disinfectant and old paper, the kind of scent every public building seems to share. The lights are too bright after the soft gold of outside, fluorescent and unforgiving, humming quietly overhead. Beige tile floors, plastic chairs lined against the wall, a corkboard cluttered with notices about parking permits and jury summons. It’s deeply, aggressively ordinary.
You look at Jack. He looks at you.
And something about the sheer lack of romance makes you both start laughing under your breath, like kids who snuck into somewhere they shouldn’t be.
“This is it, huh?” you murmur.
He squeezes your hand. “Five-star venue. Very exclusive.”
Your fingers stay threaded together as you check in at the clerk’s desk. There, a tired woman with reading glasses squints at you both.
“Marriage license?” she asks.
Jack nods.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks between you, then down at your dress, then at his shirt.Then back at you with the faintest, knowing smile.
“Night shift?” she asks.
You both freeze.
“…how did you-”
“Honey, I’ve worked this desk twenty years,” she says. “I can spot hospital people a mile away.”
You laugh. She slides the forms under the glass.
“Fill these out. Ceremony room’s at the end of the hall. Judge’ll be free in ten.”
Ten minutes. Your heart flips. Ten minutes until he’s your husband.
While Jack finishes the paperwork, you wander a few steps away, suddenly jittery with energy. There’s a tiny vending machine nook down the corridor.
And next to it…
A sad little stand. Plastic buckets. Half-wilted carnations. Baby’s breath. And one bunch of small white daisies wrapped in cellophane. Probably leftover from someone’s graduation or something.
You stare at them.
They’re imperfect. A little messy. A little crooked. You love them immediately.
Three dollars in coins from your scrubs pocket. That’s all they cost. You peel the plastic off and hold them in your hands.
Simple. Soft. Enough.
When you walk back, Jack looks up. Sees the flowers. His entire face melts.
“Where did you get those?” he asks.
“High-end floral boutique,” you say seriously. “Next to the vending machine.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“They were three dollars.”
“Still beautiful.”
He says it like he means you. Not the flowers. You feel heat climb your cheeks.
Your last names get called and you walk inside. The ceremony room is tiny, smaller than you expected, just a little office with folding chairs and a state flag in the corner. A fake ficus plant. A desk pushed against the wall.
That’s it.
No music. No aisle. Just you. Him. A middle-aged judge with kind eyes and sensible shoes.
She smiles gently.
“Just the two of you today?”
Jack squeezes your hand.
“Yeah,” he says. “Just us.”
Perfect.
Two courthouse employees linger near the wall with clipboards, polite and detached. Witnesses, apparently. One of them gives you a small smile, like she’s seen this a hundred times and still finds it sweet. It makes everything feel oddly real.
Not a dream. Not something private and imaginary. Official. Documented. Witnessed.
The judge says a few simple words. Nothing flowery, nothing long, just talk of partnership and commitment and choosing each other every day. The ordinary miracle of building a life side by side. The language is plain, almost practical, which somehow makes it land harder.
You barely hear half of it, because you’re too busy looking at Jack. At the way he’s looking at you like you hung the stars yourself. Eyes soft. A little glassy. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real, or that this is actually happening.
There are no vows. No speeches. No promises you rehearsed in the mirror. Just the judge glancing between you and asking, gently:
“Do you take this man to be your husband?”
“I do,” you say, voice steadier than you expected.
“And you? Do you take this woman to be your wife?”
“I do,” he answers, just as quick, like there was never any other option.
He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as he pulls out the small velvet box from earlier. For the first time since you got here, he looks nervous.
Not scared. Just… careful. Like this matters more than anything.
He slides the ring out and takes your left hand, his touch warm and familiar. You feel the faint tremor in his fingers as he guides the band over your knuckle. It’s simple gold, nothing fancy, but when it settles into place it feels strangely right, like something that’s always belonged there.
Like it was waiting for you. Your throat tightens.
“Okay,” you murmur softly, blinking fast. “My turn.”
You open the other box and take his hand. His skin is warm, pulse steady under your fingertips. You push the ring down slowly, feeling the shape of his hand, memorizing the moment. He watches you like you’re doing something sacred.
When the band slides into place, he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.
Like relief.
Like home.
The judge smiles at both of you, satisfied, and closes the folder with a soft clap.
“Well,” she says gently, “that’s it.”
A tiny pause. Then:
“You may kiss your wife.”
The word hits you both at the same time. Wife.
His breath catches. His hand slides up your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye, gentle and reverent, like you’re something fragile and holy and he’s afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast.
And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Not rushed. Not messy. Just warm and sure and full of everything you don’t have words for. It tastes like toothpaste and coffee and him. Like early mornings driving home half-asleep. Like shared granola bars at 3 a.m. Like every shift you’ve survived shoulder to shoulder.
Like home.
When you pull back, your foreheads rest together and you’re both smiling like idiots, a little dazed.
Married.
Just like that.
No music. No aisle. No big moment. Just love. And fluorescent lighting.
You huff out a shaky laugh, tears threatening anyway. “We really just did that.”
“Yeah,” he says softly.
He turns your hand slightly, brushing his thumb over your new ring like he needs to check it’s real. “Hey,” he adds, quieter, almost shy. “My wife.”
Your heart does a little jump.
“My husband,” you say back.
You check your phone out of habit and immediately grimace. “It’s 6:18.”
He snorts. “Of course it is.”
There’s no dramatic rush, no sprinting for the door. Just the two of you exchanging a look that says yeah, that tracks.
You grab his hand, bouquet tucked against your hip, and he squeezes your fingers once before leading you back out into the hallway.
“C’mon,” he says, already walking. “If we’re late, you’re explaining it to Dana.”
“That’s not fair, this was your idea.”
“Yeah,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it though.”
And together you head back to the car, rings catching the last light of the evening, two slightly underdressed, newly married idiots on their way to clock in for night shift like nothing monumental just happened at all. Like this is just another day.
Only now, you’re his. And he’s yours.
***********
Inside the ER, the familiar sounds hit immediately; phones ringing, someone laughing too loudly at the desk, the squeak of stretcher wheels, the constant low murmur of controlled chaos. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee wraps around you like muscle memory.
Lockers first.
The white dress gets folded carefully into your bag, softer now, like it belongs to another life entirely. You pull on your scrubs, tie your hair back, wash your face quickly.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at your left hand. The ring catches the fluorescent light when you flex your fingers. Simple gold, nothing flashy. But it feels heavier now. Warmer.
You turn it once around your finger, just to feel it there. Still real. Still yours.
When you step out, Jack’s already finished changing. He bumps your shoulder lightly as you pass each other, an unconscious touch, the same as always, except now it sends a little electric current up your spine.
Your husband.
Jesus.
You’re going to lose your mind if you keep thinking that.
Dana is at the nurses’ station when you walk out, flipping through charts with the kind of focus that suggests someone’s personally offended her with bad handwriting.
“Nice of you two to join us,” she says without looking up. “Thought you called out together or something.”
“Tempting,” you reply, logging into the computer beside her.
“Yeah, yeah. You can rest when you’re dead.”
It’s normal. Completely normal. The same start to every shift you’ve had for months, which feels surreal, considering you got married less than an hour ago.
Report rolls on. Room numbers. Admits. Staffing gripes. Someone already asking about coffee. You jot notes automatically, brain sliding into work mode like muscle memory.
Across the station, Jack leans beside Robby, talking through bed assignments, one hip against the counter, arms loosely crossed. Calm. Focused. He looks exactly like he always does at the start of shift.
No one would ever guess. Your gaze drops to your hand as you type. The ring catches the fluorescent light. Just a small flash of gold. It sends a stupid, giddy warmth straight through your chest.
Your husband.
God.
You look down too long, and Dana notices. She pauses mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly at your keyboard.
“…hold on,” she mutters.
You instinctively still.
“What?” you ask, too quickly.
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at your hand resting on the desk. Then at your face. Then back at the ring. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“You were not wearing that yesterday,” she says slowly.
Your heart leaps into your throat. Across the station, Jack glances over at the shift in her tone. He watches you lean closer to her, shoulder brushing hers, like you’re about to share gossip.
You whisper, “Don’t react.”
Dana immediately reacts. Her hand clamps onto your forearm.
“You didn’t,” she breathes.
“Shh,” you whisper, already smiling. “Just- keep your voice down.”
“You didn’t,” she repeats, louder this time, eyes going wide and shiny. “You two did not-”
“What?” Robby calls from across the desk.
Dana looks between you and Jack like her brain can’t decide who to yell at first. You try to shush her, but it’s too late. She turns fully toward both of them.
“Are you kidding me right now?” she blurts.
Jack straightens. “What did we do?”
Dana points dramatically at your hand.
“Explain. The ring.”
Everything goes very still for half a second. Robby looks at your hand, then automatically at Jack’s… Because of course he does.
And there it is. Same simple gold band. His eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into his hairline.
“…no way,” he says.
Jack exhales through his nose, caught, like a kid who just got busted sneaking candy. You and him lock eyes across the station. There’s that tiny, helpless smile again.
“Well,” you say softly, because there’s no point pretending now, “we had the afternoon free.”
Dana makes the most offended noise you’ve ever heard. “You got married and then just came to work like it’s nothing?!”
“Courthouse,” Jack says, shrugging like you’re talking about grabbing groceries. “Took twenty minutes.”
“TWENTY-” she chokes. “I hate you both.”
Robby lets out a low whistle. “Before shift? That’s… actually kinda badass.”
“It was impulsive,” you say, laughing.
“It was insane,” Dana corrects, but she’s already tearing up. “Oh my god. You idiots. That’s disgustingly romantic.”
She grabs your hand to look closer at the ring, then immediately grabs Jack’s wrist too, comparing like she’s inspecting matching tattoos.
“They match,” she says, voice wobbling. “I can’t deal with this. I’m too tired to be this emotional.”
Jack looks mildly alarmed. “Please don’t cry at the desk.”
“No promises.”
Robby claps Jack on the shoulder. “Congrats, brother.”
Jack just nods, a little bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Then he looks at you. Not big. Not dramatic. Just soft. Private. Like the rest of the room fades out for a second.
“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” he says.
It’s the most Jack thing he could possibly say.
You smile back. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
Dana sniffs loudly. “Okay, great, beautiful, love wins, whatever. Trauma room two is waiting and you’re both still on the schedule, married or not. Move.”
And just like that, the moment folds back into the noise of the ER, monitors beeping, phones ringing, someone calling for transport.
Life continuing.
Only now there’s a small band of gold on your hand when you reach for gloves.
And every time you catch Jack’s eye across the department, there’s that quiet, stunned look between you both.
Like you’re sharing the best secret in the world.
By the time you get home, the sun is fully up and the world is already loud again; traffic, neighbors, someone mowing a lawn down the block. It feels wrong, somehow, after the strange bubble of the night. You barely make it through brushing your teeth before you both collapse into bed, still half damp from the shower, limbs heavy and boneless with exhaustion.
Jack falls into you automatically, like he always does, one arm slung over your waist, his face tucked into your neck. You tangle together without thinking, sheets twisted around your legs, his thumb drawing slow, sleepy circles against your side. Neither of you says anything. There’s nothing left to say.
A few minutes later, just before you drift off, he presses a lazy kiss into your shoulder and murmurs, “Night, wife,” like it’s the most normal word in the world. You smile into the pillow, pull him closer, and finally let sleep take you both.
***********
a/n: So... what I meant is... I know you probably can't just go and get married right away, but for the sake of the story let's pretend you can 😆
Kinda new here, just wondering if you have a list of Jack and Sleepy? Ik a lot of them are just blurbs but I’d love to be able to read them in “order” chronologically idk. My brain gets confused easy LOL. Love the way you write especially with Jack!!
CRASH: A JACK ABBOT X READER AU
Dr. Jack Abbot's attraction to you, the young, bubbly night nurse who's all too flirtatious and full of light, hurtles towards a filthy obsession. He only hurts trying to keep himself moral as he falls in love with you and your cunt and your unknowing soul.
And he might ruin you when there's nothing moral about him left.
❤︎ // THE CRASH!AU // ❤︎
DISCLAIMER AND TAGS
This is a DARKish JACK ABBOT x READER "series". The word series is in quotations because it's more of a chronological collection of content from an AU that only has two official chapters (ONE: "CRASH" // TWO: "AND BURN" linked below). So, keep that in mind if you decide to take a peek. This is my best attempt to put the content specific to the CRASH!AU (sleepy!reader) in order at the request of readers!
And since this is an attempt to collect all of the content of the CRASH!AU to put in order, each "chapter" (grain of salt) doesn't really continue into the next. Assume there are time jumps between each fic, in true Pitt gimmick fashion lol.
To the readers who requested I do this, hope this works! <3
To new readers who would rather read general content, you can always check out my FIC DIRECTORY. It includes all non-CRASH!AU content as well as everything featured here, where you'll be able to read everything featured here as one-shots instead. You can also search up "jack abbot x reader" or "crash!au" on my profile, as I suck at updating masterlists lol.
・。TAGS: Obssessive!Jack, filthy!Jack, twenty-seven year age gap. AFAB!Reader. The reader is a night nurse, Jack calls her Sleepy (and is occasionally called Sunshine by others), very inaccurate depictions of the healthcare system and medical terminology. Smut is laced throughout the collection, but each NSFW piece of writing has different warnings (p in v sex, rough, unprotected, piss!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, degradation, dubcon, etc...you get the point), manipulation, unhealthy power and co-dependency dynamics, mentally unwell!Jack goes to therapy in this AU, but it just doesn't work. Jack is mean to Robby. Very mean. One-sided Dr. Robby x reader, unreliable narrator!Jack, Jack is also mean to reader, he is VERY hot and cold with her. But promise, he loves her in a way neither of them can understand.・。
"CHAPTER" LIST
PART ONE: THE LENGTHS // Jack meets the new nurse Robby's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.
・。Santos attempts to compliment you. Jack misinterprets it. It’s okay, he makes a fucking fool out of himself to make up for it.
・。Jack tries to insinuate Robby's attraction towards you
・。Jack’s conflicted when you’re referenced as his work wife.
・。Jack brings up the work-wife thing... for some reason.
・。You slip up in admitting Jack's biceps are biteable.
PART TWO: NO GENITALS WERE MENTIONED! // Robby's having bladder issues because he’s holding in his pee 24/7, and somehow ends up talking about this with you. Jack doesn’t like this because he has it in his head that you’re basically talking about Robby’s penis with Robby himself. Don’t ask how he got there.
・。Jack stops you from returning to the day shift.
・。PART THREE: TAKING HIM INTO CONSIDERATION // Jack “suggests” you don’t spend a night out. You listen. Struggle ensues.
・。PART FOUR: THE VOICES // Jack gets mad when you take a double shift without telling him, and Dana remembers that power dynamics exist.
・。PART FIVE: WORRY // Jack makes a joke about killing himself, and ironically, only wants to actually kill himself when you react with hurt and concern, like you actually care for him. Or something.
・。Jack develops high blood pressure cause of you
・。You and Jack play baseball!
・。67!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
・。Texts between you and Jack
・ PART SIX: CRUSHABLE // Two times Jack Abbot experiences cuteness aggression at the sight of you, and the one time he defends himself for it.
・。Jack takes off his shirt in front of you during a shift. Needed for his wounds, obviously.
・。Jack's search history.
・。PART SEVEN: FREE SCRUB FRIDAY // ER's admin announces that staff will be allowed to wear whatever scrub color or design they want on Fridays, much to your immense, all-too-bubbly pleasure. Jack takes this as a moment to tease you, but it's too obvious he feels a certain way about your glittery, colorful new fits.
・。Jack, even before he had you, had problems with your personal bubble.
・。...Robby doesn't mean to get hard over your My Melody scrubs
・。PART EIGHT : DON'T TRY THIS WITH JACK // You attempt a TikTok prank with Dr. Shen that you think will humor Jack, given his protective nature. Instead, he nearly ends a friendship.
・。PART NINE: SLIGHT CRISIS || Jack's insecurities bubble with aggression, embarrassment, and slight fantasized slips up when you ask him to send you a selfie.
・。Jack's cute in his selfie struggle.
・。Non-exclusive muffins
・。PART TEN: MOURNING HIS CURLS || Jack gets a haircut, and because his curls are gone, you tease him for it. He reacts the way you think he is.
・。Jack Instagram stalks you.
・。Robby's texts with you.
・。He'll eat you out if you're wrong.
・。PART ELEVEN: NO GIFTS //Jack feels a certain way about you careening towards Robby with absolute joy when he presents you with a birthday gift...even though you specifically told Jack himself not to get you anything.
You ask Jack to help you with your workout
・。PART TWELVE : MIRROR IMAGE // You dress up as Jack for Halloween. It goes as one would expect.
・。Ur accidental (?) nipple selfie
・。Jack accidentally sends your "nude" selfie to Robby.
・。When Jack realizes his dumb ass sent Robby your semi-nude, he suffers. When he confronts Robby about it? They suffer.
・。PART THIRTEEN: RIFFING // You try to cheer Jack up by riffing with him, just a few teases here and there about his age. You didn't realize how bad his mood was.
・。PART FOURTEEN: ONE CALL FROM DISASTER // Jack jerks off to the semi-nude you sent him after a deepening late-night call he hung up on.
・。Jack doesn't like your sonny angels
・。PART FIFTEEN: JACK ABBOT'S HUNT FOR UR ULTRA RARE LABUBU // Jack finds out that you, ever the trinket lover, adore labubus. Putting it lightly…he doesn’t see the appeal. But for the burning sake of wanting to please you desperately, he ends up on a hunt to find the one you want most--but not before hurting your feelings and becoming jealous of a labubu collector, of course.
・。Jack Labubu Delusional Fuel
・。You're leaving the Pitt prank.
PART SIXTEEN: WEIGHTED // After Jack becomes insanely jealous and insecure when you compliment Robby's weight gain, he makes it a point to act abruptly and meanly to you throughout the shift. Does he know how much his behavior's gonna hurt you? Fuck no. If he did, he'd kill himself for ever having the idea to play cruel in the first place.
・。PART SEVENTEEN: RIDICULOUS // Despite Jack's possessive dismay about you checking in on a sickly Robby, you and the day shift attending enjoy each other's company with a tension neither of you clocks. Well. One of you, really. Don’t ask Robby.
・。PART EIGHTEEN: CAREGIVER // Jack makes it his responsibility to take care of you after you're infected with Robby's germs. Feelings, struggles, and massages ensue.
・。PART NINETEEN: FIRECRACKER // During a chaotic Fourth of July double shift in the Pitt, you watch Jack grapple with a flood of trauma patients whose injuries trigger memories that you both can name, but won't dare say out loud. You try to become the one person who steadies him, even as he tries to deny how much he needs you.
・。Robby's seeing a lady named Mara...
・。PART TWENTY: BIRTHDAY BLUES // You can barely handle your excitement to give Jack his birthday cake...until you overhear him complaining about your all too peppy behavior to Robby.
・。Jack rants to Robby about your...personable behavior
・。PART TWENTY-ONE: MAMA Y PAPA // Jack gets jealous when you find a dad with a baby that's cute as hell, but you knowingly make up for your "wrongdoing" by teaching him how to hold her. The baby, you mean.
。PART TWENTY-TWO: SPARK // What did Dana mean when she told Jack the Pitt knows that you two are becoming? Well, there are a few instances of him spiraling for you to explain that. They should've called HR down to the ER a long time ago
・。 Jack and Robby buying you the same thing for XMAS
・。You tell Jack you worked as a barista through nursing school
・。...He doesn't know you read to kid patients.
・。The Pitt does Secret Santa.
・。PART TWENTY-THREE: IN THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT // Jack berates you for your Christmas decorations. He tries making it up to you afterward.
・。Jack steals your files.
・。PART TWENTY-FOUR: CHRISTMAS FANTASY // Even when it's Christmas morning with his dream girl naked against him as she harasses him with her cold feet, Jack can't help but let the holiday surface his possessive, deepening thoughts about her...her being you, and you, and you. 🎄❤️
・。New Year's Eve with Jack!
・。A patient attacks you.
・。Taking care of Jack after the attack.
・。PART TWENTY-FIVE: CARRY MY PAIN // When everyone flakes on a night out at the bar, Jack is left to ache with restraint at the fact that you're too drunk to let him finally have you, but when all it takes is a thoughtless comment about his leg while he's carrying you to ruin the night, you and Jack have to have a heavy heart-to-heart to make up for it.
・。PART TWENTY-SIX: CRASH //・When Jack catches you out walking to work in 30-degree weather alone in the fucking dark, he has no choice but to realize his feelings for you are far past romantics and hurdling towards obsession. It has been for a while. That only becomes more apparent when he catches you on Robby's motorcycle.
・。PART TWENTY-SEVEN: AND BURN //・As you fight for your life after the graphic accident on Robby's bike, the Pitt has to deal with Jack's innate, desperate need to never let you go again.
WHEN HE FINALLY HAS SLEEPY (THE BEGINNING OF THE END)
Jack, when he finally has you, sometimes wakes up in the night.
・。If you end up not dying horrifically
・。He wants you all to himself
・。Jack, she loves you :(
・。A meme lol
・。AFTER JACK FILLS YOU UP...
・。SCRIMSHAW // You find out Jack has a random interest that allows you to tease him and love him even more than you already do, even when a shift goes bad.
・。A moment of peace.
・。Jack controlling you with gifts.
・。You don't accept Jack's apology.
TWO TIMES JACK TRIES TO STOP YOU FROM LEAVING.
・。TEARS GALORE // Jack deals with you crying over Happy Feet.
・。Jack thinks he's out of the woods concerning his obsessive issues towards Sleepy once they're finally together, but little does he know...
・。The first time you cockwarm Jack.
・。JACK DEVELOPS A PISS KINK FOR YOU || description in title
・。Atta Girl
・。Piss Kink!Jack totally ends up licking the seat after you failed to hold it in.
・。Jack’s not exactly sure why he’s almost fucked you in the kitchen as much as he’s fucked you in bed.
・。PROMISES YOU MADE TO ME // Jack reveals too much about his obsessive tendencies for you at an inopportune time.
・。Jack's once again making a habit out of watching his sex tapes of him and you at work.
・。Jack fucks you hard after an argument.
・。WORRY(ING) || Jack thinks it's a good idea to joke about killing himself after a fight
・。 GUNPOINT, HEADLOCK || Jack leaves the party…and you much too early.
CREDITS and TAGLIST
border used is the creation of @enchanthings, synopsis is from the lovely person who made the CRASH!AU playlist I've linked! I don't have their tumblr profile, but the playlist is making me go crazy. Title poster made by me, featuring a screenshot of Jack from The Pitt and a part of Edwin Austin Abbey's "King Lear, Act I, Scene I." @droopycoquette, @honk4emoboyz for the taglist.
Let him say it out loud instead of letting it rot in his head. If you’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s better, because if you indulge, kiddo, he’ll never let you go.
PITT FIC DIRECTORY // AUTHOR MASTERLIST AND RULES // JACK ABBOT x READER tag // CRASH!AU tag // THANK YOU!
🌶️ In which you and Carlos make a decision together. || part one – part two – part three – part four – part five – part six – part seven – part eight – part nine – part ten – part eleven
🌶️ warning: fluff, pregnancy symptoms.
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•
Barcelona felt different the moment the plane touched down. Not in a dramatic way — just… lighter. Familiar. Warm. The kind of place where the air itself felt like it knew your name.
Carlos squeezed your knee as the car approached the paddock.
“Home race,” he murmured, smiling softly.
You leaned your head on the window, already exhausted despite it being barely 10 AM.
First-trimester nausea was winning this week. Hard.
Santi babbled happily in the backseat, tiny hands slapping the straps of his car seat, thrilled to see his abuelo through the window of the car behind you. He had no idea that you were seconds from vomiting again.
Carlos noticed the way your face went pale.
“Mi amor? Do you need—”
“Yes,” you rushed out. “Stop the car. Ahora.”
The driver swerved into the nearest shoulder. Carlos barely finished unbuckling himself before you shoved the door open and leaned out.
He held your hair back immediately.
“Breathe, cariño. Just breathe…”
Santi giggled from the back, like mommy retching by the highway was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
You wiped your mouth, glaring at Carlos.
“I’m so over this pregnancy.”
He laughed quietly, kissing your temple. “Just the beginning, mi vida.”
“Don’t remind me.”
•
The Spain GP paddock was chaos, but this time it wasn’t the chaos of stress — it was the chaos of home.
People speaking Spanish everywhere. People Carlos knew for years stopping to hug him. Family members waving. Mechanics smiling because “their boy” was home. And in the middle of it all: Santi.
Absolutely thriving.
He let Alex hold him without screaming for the first time in his life. He played with the Williams tire blankets like they were his best friends. He wore noise-canceling headphones without trying to rip them off.
He even watched qualifying in his abuelo’s arms, drooling all over Carlos Sr.’s shirt like a tiny, proud mascot.
But you… You were a different story. You were melting.
During FP2, you sat in the hospitality suite wrapped in a blanket, complaining about: the AC being too cold, the paddock being too warm, your feet hurting, your stomach hurting, your ears ringing, the smell of tires making you nauseous, the smell of food making you nauseous, the fact that Santi was having more fun than you
Reyes pet your back softly.
“Ay mi niña… you are suffering, eh?”
“I’m dying,” you muttered dramatically.
“You said the same thing with Santi,” she reminded you with a little laugh.
“And I meant it then too.”
Carlos came running in after finishing media duties, still in fireproofs, eyes widening.
“Are you okay? You look—”
“Don’t say pale,” you warned.
“—radiant?” he tried.
Reyes snorted. You glared. Carlos sat beside you instantly, kissing your forehead.
“Does something hurt? Do you want water? Food? A walk? To leave Spain entirely? Just say the word.”
“I want to unzip my whole body and step out of it,” you mumbled into his chest.
He laughed softly, holding you tighter.
“First trimester is hitting hard, ah?”
“Carlos, I threw up four times this morning and your son laughed.”
“He laughs because he loves you.”
“He laughs because I’m suffering.”
“Well…” He kissed your shoulder. “At least Barcelona is here to help.”
And it was. Your family. His family. You had full teams of grandparents, tías, primos… all ready to take shifts with Santi. You didn’t carry him once that whole weekend. They practically stole him from you.
Which left you with something you hadn’t had in months: Space. Support. Time to breathe.
And time to feel how good it felt to be in your country again.
•
It happened Saturday night. Not planned. Not dramatic. Not with a speech. Just… naturally.
You were sitting on the small balcony of your hotel room, wrapped in Carlos’s hoodie, sipping mint tea that Reyes forced into your hands. Your nausea had finally calmed enough to not want to die.
Carlos walked out after showering, still towel-drying his hair, wearing a soft cotton t-shirt and joggers.
He sat beside you, thigh to thigh.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked.
“Like I might survive,” you said.
He smiled. Then you both listened quietly to the faint sounds of Barcelona nightlife — laughter, music, cars, life.
A warmth bloomed in your chest. The kind that Monaco had never given you. The kind that Madrid always did.
Carlos leaned his head against yours.
“Mi vida…” His voice was quiet. “You look peaceful.”
“I feel… held,” you admitted softly. “Like I’m not doing this alone.”
“You’re not.”
“I know.” You sighed. “But here it feels real. Everyone helping. Everyone loving him. Loving us. In Monaco? It’s just me waiting for you to come home.”
He exhaled. Then he said it — not dramatic, not shaking, just truth: “We should come back.”
You turned to him.
“To Spain?” you whispered.
“To Spain,” he confirmed. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But soon. Before the baby. Maybe even before the season ends. I want you supported. I want Santi with family. I want us surrounded by people who know us. Who love us. You shouldn’t be doing this pregnancy alone in Monaco.”
Your eyes filled instantly.
“Carlos…”
His hands framed your face. “This is our home,” he murmured. “Not the apartment in Monaco. This. Your parents. My parents. Our families. Our language. Our life.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely,” he whispered. “Madrid or Barcelona — wherever you want. But Spain. Home.”
You leaned into him, burying your face in his neck.
And just like that — the decision was made. Not forced. Not pushed. Just… found.
It felt right. So right that your chest unclenched for the first time in months.
Carlos held you tightly, rubbing your back as you cried soft, relieved tears.
“Mi amor… we’re coming home,” he whispered. “All of us.”
Inside, Santi giggled from Reyes’s arms. Outside, Barcelona hummed with life.
And you — tired, nauseous, pregnant, overwhelmed, deeply loved — finally felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.
•
Race day in Barcelona always felt electric, but this year it carried an extra weight — the kind that settled in Carlos’s chest the second he woke up beside you.
You’d slept curled into him all night, exhaustion from nausea and emotions knocking you out cold. He kissed your shoulder before slipping out of bed, savoring the quiet moment like it was something fragile.
By the time you arrived at the circuit with Santi on your hip, the stands were already vibrating with cheers.
Carlos’s home race.
Williams blue everywhere.
A new baby quietly growing.
A family reunited and supporting.
You could feel the shift.
Santi had zero idea what was happening, but he loved the noise, the flags, the movement. He clapped his tiny hands whenever someone screamed. He drooled on anyone who dared lift him. One of Carlos’s cousins let him chew on a Spanish flag. You didn’t even bother stopping him.
“Let him enjoy,” Reyes laughed. “It’s his country too.”
Carlos started mid-grid, but he was on it from the moment the lights went out — aggressive but clean, precise in a way that made even the Sky commentators say: “This is the most comfortable we’ve seen Carlos Sainz in his Williams.”
Every overtake had his family screaming like they were watching a football final. Reyes held her hands to her chest. Carlos Sr. paced like a man about to storm the track himself. Ana and Blanca were filming everything and shouting commentary no one would ever be able to understand.
Santi slapped his little noise-canceling headphones repeatedly, overwhelmed and delighted at the same time.
You?
You stood between Reyes and Bianca, head slightly pounding, stomach twisting, trying to regulate your breathing.
First-trimester nausea + Barcelona heat + adrenaline = evil combination.
When Carlos made an overtake into turn one, the entire Sainz clan jumped up— and something in your vision blurred. Just a tremble. A wobble. You held the railing.
Reyes looked at you instantly.
“Mi niña, ¿estás bien?”
“Yes, yeah— just a little— dizzy.”
But you smiled, shaky, trying not to alarm anyone. Carlos Sr. shouted at the track, missing the exchange completely.
Final laps. Carlos defended like a man possessed. And when he crossed the line in the points — for Williams, at his home race — the Sainz family exploded.
Reyes was crying.
Carlos Sr. hugged the nearest mechanic.
Ana screamed so loudly she scared Santi into a tiny hiccup.
Bianca shook your arm with so much excitement you thought she’d dislocate it.
And Santi? He flapped his arms wildly and babbled, celebrating without knowing a single thing, just feeling the joy around him.
They rushed you all to the front of the garage for the celebrations.
Carlos dived into his mechanics’ arms, laughing with that boyish, relieved grin that always made your chest warm. When he saw you — sweaty, pale, but smiling — he jogged over, kissed your forehead, and kissed Santi’s hand.
“Points!” he laughed, breathless. “In Spain!”
You squeezed his arm weakly.
“I’m so proud of you.”
He didn’t catch the strain in your voice at first — adrenaline had him buzzing — and then media swallowed him. Sky. DAZN. F1 TV. Everyone wanted him. He looked back at you every few seconds, checking on you with his eyes, even while answering questions.
But five minutes in?
Your vision blurred again. Your hearing went… muffled. The ground felt like it tilted slightly under you. You reached for a chair and didn’t find it.
Bianca caught your elbow instantly.
“Eh— sit down. Now.”
Reyes’s tone shifted from celebratory to motherly in a heartbeat. Your face had gone paper-white.
Meanwhile Carlos, mid-interview with Sky, spotted the moment you bent forward slightly.
His smile dropped.
“—yes, the car felt really good today, but— wait, perdón.”
He walked off mid-answer. The reporter blinked at the camera. Carlos was already by your side.
“Mi amor, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” you whispered, hating how unconvincing it sounded.
“You’re not fine.”
He crouched in front of you, hands gently holding your knees, eyes scanning your face, worry sharp and immediate.
“What happened? Tell me.”
“I just… got dizzy. Twice.”
Reyes added quietly, “She almost fainted.”
Carlos inhaled sharply. Then he turned to the Williams press officer hovering nearby.
“I’m done. No more media.”
“Carlos— we just need five more—”
He shook his head firmly.
“No. My wife needs me. I said I’m done.” He said, leaving no room for negotiation. “Are you nauseous?” he whispered. “Did you eat? Is it the heat? Is it the noise? Do you need water?”
You leaned into him, eyes shutting for a second.
“It’s just… everything,” you admitted softly. “I’m okay. Just overwhelmed.”
“Then we leave,” he said immediately. “Right now.”
That protective edge in his voice made your throat tighten.
“I don’t want to ruin your—”
“You’re my wife,” he said gently. “You can’t ruin my day.”
Santi babbled from Reyes’s arms, reaching out for both of you with sticky hands.
Carlos took him with one arm and helped you stand with the other, the perfect mix of support and stubborn determination.
“Come on, mi vida. Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”
The team tried to stop him twice. Media asked for one more interview. PR begged for a photo. But one look at your pale face and Carlos cut everything short.
He carried Santi in one arm, your hand linked with his other, guiding you slowly out of the paddock like the world around didn’t matter.
Only you.
Only Santi.
Only the tiny little life inside you.
When you reached the cool, quiet of the hospitality lounge, Carlos made you sit, brought you water, fanned you with a notebook like a ridiculous, overprotective husband.
You laughed weakly. He cupped your cheek, voice lowering.
“Mi amor… don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m okay,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s just the pregnancy.”
He kissed your temple.
“And you’re not doing it alone,” he murmured.
Months later
The sun was just dipping behind the rooftops of Madrid, painting your living room in a soft orange glow. Baby Santi was sprawled across the couch between you and Carlos, his tiny legs kicking against the cushions, giggling at a rattle he insisted on chewing. You couldn’t help but laugh along, even if exhaustion lingered like a shadow from the last few months.
Carlos had his arm draped over your shoulders, hand lazily resting against your belly. Sofia was still inside you, a little bump beneath your shirt that had grown more noticeable in these past few weeks. Every time Santi kicked or rolled over, you felt a flick from her in response, tiny reminders of the new life coming soon.
“Do you remember our apartment in Monaco?” Carlos asked softly, his voice carrying a trace of nostalgia.
You smiled, leaning into him. “How could I forget? The noise, the stairs, the constant race weekends… and you, obsessed with schedules.”
He chuckled. “Hey, someone had to keep track of everything. But, honestly…” He paused, watching Santi try to balance himself on the couch. “…I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. Not even the chaos.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I know, but… it feels different now. Calm. Real. We’re home, together. All of us.”
Santi squealed, throwing a soft toy at Carlos, and he caught it expertly, tossing it back to him with a grin. “Yeah,” he said, finally giving you a full smile. “This… this is exactly where we should’ve been all along.”
You looked down at your belly, feeling a flutter from Sofia, and then at Carlos. “Two babies under two,” you muttered, half-teasing, half-worried.
He laughed, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “You think that scares me? I’ve got you. I’ve got Santi. And soon… we’ll have her. We’ll manage. We always do.”
For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist — no media, no races, no travel. Just the three of you, plus the little one still to come, in the home you’d fought so hard to reclaim.
Santi wriggled closer, resting his head against your shoulder. Carlos bent down and kissed the top of his son’s head, then yours, then placed a soft hand on your stomach. “I think this… this right here is what we were always racing for.”
You smiled through the warmth in your chest, tears threatening but happy ones. “Our life,” you whispered. “It’s finally ours.”
Carlos nodded, his forehead resting against yours. “Madrid, family, home… no more pretending Monaco is home. This is it. Us. All of us together.”
And for the first time, the three of you — plus the little one kicking inside — felt truly settled. The past still existed, Monaco still had memories, but it was here, in this apartment in Madrid, where life had finally caught up to happiness.
Santi yawned, the evening wrapping around him like a soft blanket. You and Carlos exchanged a glance, quiet and understanding, knowing the next chapter was just beginning. One with more laughter, more chaos, more love — and this time, entirely your own.
