So Soft: you show up at his door in the middle of the night, too tired to pretend you’re fine. You ask for help. He gives it – just not in the way you expected.
Human Behaviour: one night you listen to jazz, the next you save a life. Somewhere in between, Jack Abbot keeps watching you with quiet tenderness.
summary: one night you listen to jazz, the next you save a life. Somewhere in between, Jack Abbot keeps watching you with quiet tenderness.
tags/warnings: female reader, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, slow burn, subtle romance, hurt/comfort, medical trauma, pediatric patient, workplace tension, emotional intimacy, post-shift exhaustion, not proofread, let me know if I missed something.
authors note: based on this request. I may have taken the prompt in a slightly more melancholic direction. English isn’t my first language – hope you enjoy reading ♡
word count: 1.6k
Your best friend’s birthday celebration was starting in less than an hour.
A small jazz club downtown. Wine, dim lights, familiar laughter. Exactly what you needed after a shift like this.
Rushing wasn’t exactly typical of you, but you had to stay late for your shift. That meant doing your makeup and changing in the hospital bathroom. And now you were walking quickly toward the park benches near the hospital to tell your colleagues they would be drinking beer without you.
Light makeup accentuating your eyes, and a long pale blue coat wrapped around your figure.
It wasn’t clear who noticed you first. Only that, in the middle of noise and movement, Jack Abbot’s gaze found you – and stayed there, as if it had always known where to go.
Jack couldn’t even explain it himself. After twelve hours in scrubs, seeing you like this felt almost unreal. As if the night had returned something to you that the day kept taking away. You looked so human, so alive.
“And who is this beauty?” Princess exclaimed as you got closer.
You smiled, shaking your head. Feeling everyone’s eyes on you all at once made heat creep up your neck. Especially because one particular person seemed to be staring at you without blinking.
“Oh, come on, pretty girl," Princess said, pointing at the coat, "reveal your secrets.”
“Princess…” But she interrupted you.
“Come on! I know you've been in the bathroom for at least half an hour. I want to see the result.”
“Alright, alright.”
You hesitated only for a second. Then your fingers found the buttons. For a moment, it felt like everyone was holding their breath as they watched you. And when you finally opened the coat, it slipped slightly from your shoulders.
The mustard-colored fabric glowed warmly under the evening lights, elegant without trying too hard. Gray high boots reached the middle of your calves.
It shouldn’t have looked that good after a shift like yours. And yet it did.
For a moment Jack thought he had forgotten how to breathe.
“And you were hiding all this from us?” Princess said, staring at you in delight while someone nearby let out a whistle.
You laughed softly, a little embarrassed, before putting one foot forward and resting your hands on your hips like a model.
“Only the elite get access.”
Dr. Abbott couldn’t stop himself:
“And how exactly do I get into this elite club?”
You just shrugged, smiling meaningfully.
As you put your coat back on, your face suddenly became serious again. That’s how you always got when it came to important things.
"I'm working the night shift tomorrow. I hope you don't mind, Dr. Abbot?"
“You know I’ve been wanting you to join the Night Crawlers for a long time.” Jack smiled warmly. "Of course, I don't mind."
You gave him the same sincere smile. Then, as if waking from a pleasant dream, you hurried to say goodbye to everyone. Just a little more and you would have started running late.
Time, as it often did in this hospital, refused to behave properly. The night shift came without warning, as if it had been waiting in the hallway.
“Good evening. And what’s this lovely outfit we’re being graced with after your shift?”
Oh, you recognized that voice immediately. You turned around, a small smile already tugging at your lips.
“Good evening, Dr. Abbott. Today it’s just jeans and a hoodie. Nothing interesting.”
He gave you a theatrically disappointed look.
“What a shame,” he sighed softly. “I was hoping to admire you in a beautiful dress again.”
You laughed quietly.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s alright.” His gaze lingered on you for just a second longer before a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose twelve hours with you will make up for it, sweetheart.”
Then he winked.
God, what a flirt.
But before you could answer, a sharp voice cut through the corridor.
“Trauma incoming. Pediatric patient. ETA three minutes.”
The moment felt like it cracked in half. You rushed into the operating room side by side, the earlier warmth of your conversation dissolving instantly beneath fluorescent lights and sterile air. Nurses moved around you with practiced urgency. Someone tied the back of your surgical gown while you pulled gloves over trembling fingers.
Pediatric trauma. Eight years old. Internal bleeding after a car accident.
You tried not to think about the tiny sneakers abandoned near the operating table, about the terrified mother crying somewhere outside the OR.
“Focus,” Jack said quietly beside you. Not harsh. Grounding.
Your eyes darted toward the monitor – heart rate unstable, blood pressure dropping.
“Suction.”
Someone placed the instrument into your waiting hand. Then Jack held the scalpel out toward you. And your breath caught. There was no time to think, but you still allowed yourself a moment of doubt.
“You can handle it,” Jack said firmly.
For a second, your eyes widened behind your mask. Every instinct screamed at you not to hesitate. So, you took the scalpel. A deep breath. Your hands trembled only once before steadying under his guidance. Not because the surgery was simple – but because his voice made it feel survivable.
“Good,” Jack murmured quietly beside you. “That’s it.”
The monitor kept beeping. Nurses moved around you in a blur. Sweat gathered at the back of your neck beneath the surgical cap, but you kept going.
Minute after minute.
Stitch after stitch.
Until finally–
“He’s stable.”
Two words. That was all you needed to hear.
The breath left your lungs shakily, much louder than you intended, as the crushing weight on your shoulders finally loosened.
“My God,” Jack murmured beside you, voice rough with exhaustion and something dangerously close to awe. “Sweetheart… you were incredible.”
Before you could answer, he reached for your hands almost absent mindedly – still gloved, still trembling slightly from adrenaline – and pressed a kiss against each knuckle.
The gesture barely registered at first. Not after everything that had just happened. Not after saving a child’s life.
And yet warmth still rushed into your face beneath your surgical mask.
“Thank you,” you whispered softly, eyes still fixed on the child lying stable beneath bright surgical lights. “But we all did.”
The hospital eventually returned to its normal rhythm – but neither of you did.
You didn’t remember going up to the roof. Only the need for air, for something quieter than fluorescent light. He found you there, leaning against the railing and staring out at the city lights below. You were trying to breathe normally again, but your hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline.
Jack leaned beside you, close enough that your arms almost brushing against the exhaustion you were both still carrying. He reached out without asking and pressed two fingers gently to the spot between your brows – right where tension always seemed to settle.
“You look wrecked,” he said quietly. As if stating a fact that didn’t require fixing.
A tired chuckle slipped from your lips as your eyes fluttered shut at the gesture.
“Not surprising,” you murmured. “I don’t even want to think about tonight yet.”
Silence settled between you for a moment, heavy but not uncomfortable. Somewhere below, ambulances still wailed through the city.
“You did well in there,” Jack said eventually. "Incredible actually."
You shook your head faintly.
“I was terrified.”
“Good,” he replied softly. “The ones who stop being scared are the ones I worry about.”
You stood there in silence for a while, looking out over the city lights. Somewhere below, sirens still echoed through the streets.
Deep down, both of you hoped this would be the worst case of the night. But there were still eleven hours left in the shift. And experience had taught you both not to trust quiet moments too much.
Jack stayed beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours. Then, after a pause:
“How was last night?”
The sudden question caught you off guard. A small smile appeared on your face despite everything.
“Good,” you admitted softly. “Really good.”
Your fingers curled slightly around the cold railing.
“We listened to jazz all evening. I even danced with one of the musicians.”
Jack glanced at you.
“Took his number?”
You let out a quiet laugh and shook your head.
“No. It was just a dance.”
“Hm.”
The sound was low and thoughtful enough that you almost smiled wider. Almost.
It probably wasn’t quite right or professional. And yet you still found yourself thinking about it – about music, about warmth, about evenings that didn’t end in fluorescent lights.
“Do you want to go sometime?” you asked before you could overthink it. “I mean… listen to jazz.”
For a moment Jack looked genuinely surprised.
Then something softer settled in his expression. Not an answer yet – something quieter, like the idea of it had to arrive before the words did.
“Yeah,” he said finally, almost carefully. “I’d like that.”
The wind moved between you across the rooftop, brushing against the edges of exhaustion you were both still carrying.
Jack didn’t move at first. Then, as if it wasn’t a decision but something his body already knew how to do, he rested a hand on your shoulder.
Not firm. Not possessive. Just steady. A quiet weight, grounding you back into the moment.
He drew you a little closer without even noticing it himself – as if the space between you had simply become unnecessary. And you let it happen.
For a moment, with the city glowing below and the long night finally loosening its grip, even time seemed to forget its urgency.
Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear your feedback ♡
Credits of line dividers chrisssiren and omi-resources.
Do not copy this work.
hi! could i ask for a request with jack abbot x fem!reader?
so basically reader is a doctor in the pitt (a very good one ofc) buuut she also likes to party a little bit ;0 and she's known for being a party animal (ofc responsible drinking etc. cause she needs to get to work somehow the next day/night. but how does she manage to work and have some fun nobody knows) and lets say that her bestfriend has a birthday party in some club and it's right after reader's day shift, sooo she quickly get's dressed into THE MOST (sluttiest and the shortest)BEAUTIFUL cocktail dress (maybe some cequins? shineee? colours?). she does it in the hospital bathroom... and some make up etc. (shes very professional). and then she rushes but she needs to tell the squad that she won't be able to sit with them in the park like in the 1st season's ending, so she goes there but Princess demands an outfit reveal and on and on... and ofc jack is STUNNED. maybe some teasing from others? some tension? surprise me queen! love u and thank u in advance xoxo
(and maybe before she gets dressed she talks with jack or anyone just to add more plot, i give you a free hand ;p oooh and just because she goes to this party the next day she will be working in the night shift (maybe she has just exchanged it with sb for one time idk) and jack doesn't want to admitt it but HE IS VERY VERY GLAD)
Thank you so much for your request ♡
I ended up taking it in a slightly softer/more melancholic direction than originally intended.
Hope you enjoy it!
this request has been completed ♡ [Human Behaviour]
Got 1000 likes on So Soft 💔 Thank you all so much! When I published this story, I honestly didn't expect anything, but all these wonderful things happened... and.... awwww :,C
So I think I might try writing something based on your requests! Please feel free to message me here.
I mostly write about Jack Abbot, but... who knows, right? ;)
summary: you show up at his door in the middle of the night, too tired to pretend you're fine. You ask for help. He gives it – just not in the way you expected.
tags/warnings: female reader, no use of y/n, no physical description, sleep deprivation, fainting/loss of consciousness, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, age gap (not specified), not proofread, jack is probably ooc but being caring and gentle, let me know if I missed something.
authors note: first time posting here. English isn’t my first language, but I hope you enjoy it! (I'm a little nervous...)
word count: 2.2k
It was a very strange, very spontaneous and completely irrational decision to show up at a man’s doorstep at midnight without an invitation. But not for you. You stood in front of the door of his house, looking at it as salvation and perdition.
You were already here. It would be pointless to retreat. At least that's what you told yourself.
The screen door creaks open before you can even knock.
And there he was.
Dr. Jack Abbot, leaning in the doorway with that unreadable look he always seems to wear – somewhere between curious and exhausted.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you like he was trying to figure out why the hell you were here. His tired expression was slightly tense, but there was still a hint of concern in his gaze.
Then he spoke, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.
“Didn’t expect company tonight. You alright?”
You bit your lip.
Were you alright? Good question.
Probably. At least right now – standing here with one of the best surgeons in the Pitt right in front of you, and not getting cursed out for showing up unannounced this late.
Yeah. You felt alright.
"I'm fine, uh... You?"
God, you wanted to slap yourself.
Jack studied you for a beat too long – long enough for the silence between you to start humming. His eyes flicked over your face: the nervous lip bite, the slight tension in your shoulders.
He stepped back without breaking eye contact.
“Come in,” he said simply.
The door opened wider, letting you step inside.
Somewhere in the background, jazz was playing softly. A single lamp burned low by an armchair, a book lying on the side table. Everything looked simple, but warm.
He walked ahead toward the stove, where a pot of coffee sat warming, and poured two cups without asking. Because honestly? You looked like you needed one.
"I'm sorry for intruding so abruptly, Dr. Abbot," you said, taking the cup from his hands.
You looked different today – less collected than you usually did at work.
You and Abbot generally got along well. You didn’t work together often, but you respected each other. Still, you were younger, and sometimes it made you feel like you came from slightly different worlds.
Jack took a slow sip from his own mug before answering, leaning back against the counter with the effortless ease of someone who owned every space he stood in – whether it was an operating theater or this quiet kitchen at midnight.
“Call me Jack.”
For a moment, you forgot about everything around you. Such a simple request at first. But there was something personal – something intimate – hidden behind it.
Or maybe you were just being wishful.
"I know I probably should have called you, but I... uh… I was nearby..."
Nervousness and exhaustion seeped into your voice. You didn’t even realize how close to the edge you were.
But Jack did.
He didn’t buy the “I was nearby” excuse – not for a second. He saw it: the way your voice dipped on certain words, like you were holding back something heavier; the faint tremor in your fingers that had nothing to do with the cold; the quiet intensity behind your eyes that usually stayed polite and professional during hospital shifts.
You looked… raw. Not broken – but like someone who’d been keeping everything together by sheer willpower, and finally let one stitch unravel at midnight.
He exhaled through his nose and set his mug down on the counter with deliberate care. Without asking, Jack closed the distance between you in two steps and reached up, cupping one side of your face gently with his hand.
You went quiet, feeling the warmth of his touch. Eyes closed and you were barely breathing.
"I just... I can't do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice soft and tired. "I can't sleep."
It wasn’t a confession. It felt like a plea. And it hit him right in his chest.
"I know you're not my doctor,” you continued, “But I also know that you have experience with things like this. Please… tell me what to do."
Jack’s thumb brushed lightly over your cheekbone, a gesture so quiet and tender it almost didn’t feel real.
Sleep deprivation. He knew that look: the hollows under the eyes even if you’d tried to hide them with makeup, the slight tension in your jaw.
He exhaled again, softer this time. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.
“Right. You’re not my patient, but you are tired.”
A pause.
“When was your last real sleep? Not when you're tossing and turning in bed half the night… I mean actual rest.”
His hands were warm, rough with calluses. You pressed your cheek against his palm, just a little harder. It felt like a lifeline.
“A month ago. Maybe more. It didn’t seem like a big problem at first.”
You felt him gently take the coffee cup from your hands – and you let it go without resistance. You didn’t have the strength to hold onto it anyway.
Without warning, Jack slid his other arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer. Not quite a hug, but close enough that you could feel the solid warmth of him: the broad line of his chest beneath thin cotton, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the faint scent of antiseptic soap mixed with something earthy – wood polish, maybe.
His hold was firm and protective. That was enough. Your hands stopped shaking. Your breathing steadied. You rested your head against his chest, warmth slowly spreading through you. He was strong, and gentle, and for a moment you just wanted to disappear into it – into him.
"So soft," you whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear.
Then your legs gave out. Your body went heavy, your ears ringing. And everything went dark.
Jack felt the exact moment you went limp. He reacted instantly – surgeon reflexes kicking in like muscle memory. His arms tightened around you to keep you from collapsing, one hand bracing your shoulders while the other slid down to support your knees.
Not trauma. Not blood loss. Just exhaustion finally winning. Your body had been running on empty for weeks and now it just shut off.
Without hesitation, Jack scooped you up and carried you through his quiet house toward a door off the hallway.
His bedroom.
When you opened your eyes, the sheets were soft around you, and sunlight filtered through the window. A gray blanket was draped over you as you tried to figure out where you were, panic was rising in your chest. The surroundings were unfamiliar.
Slowly, you lifted the blanket and exhaled. You were still wearing the same clothes as yesterday (your shoes neatly placed beside the bed).
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, and the awareness of what happened began to return.
Last night – you went outside because you couldn’t sleep. You walked and walked, exhaustion never coming… until, somehow, you ended up at Dr. Abbot’s door and–
Oh, no.
A door clicked open down the hall.
Jack appeared in the bedroom doorway, dressed differently than last night: black sweatpants, a faded gray t-shirt pulled taut over his shoulders, hair slightly damp like he’s just showered. Calm. Observant. Old habits die hard – especially after you passed out in his arms.
Your eyes widened as you tried to gather your thoughts.
"Dr. Abbot?"
He stepped forward quietly and leaned against the doorframe instead of coming closer, giving you space without making it obvious.
“Morning,” he said, voice low but warm. “You slept fourteen hours.”
"Fourteen hours?" You ran a hand through your hair. "God, I'm sorry. I've caused you so much trouble."
You already felt more like yourself – still shaken, but more grounded.
Jack exhaled – almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Trouble?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space between you. “I carried you to bed because you passed out from exhaustion after showing up at my house looking half-dead.” A pause. “You weren’t trouble.”
You shook your head, smiling weakly.
"You know, it still sounds like 'caused trouble' to me," you said. "But thank you... for taking care of me."
The thought hit you unexpectedly – what it would be like to wake up in his bed under different circumstances. You lower your head, suddenly embarrassed. Your fingers twitch nervously.
Jack watched you – the way you fidget, the faint flush rising on your cheeks. It’s… endearing, in a quiet way.
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds – just studied the sunlight catching in your hair, how you looked more like yourself now: softer around the edges but present. Then, without overthinking it, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You leaned into the touch before you even realized you were doing it. Breath barely caught. The lips are slightly parted.
It wasn’t flirtation, teasing or seduction, but a pure, instinctive trust. A quiet vulnerability that hit him like a punch to the chest because… Christ, you were sitting here, looking at him with those eyes that held both wisdom and something so achingly tender it made his throat tighten.
Slowly… carefully…
He cupped your face again – both hands now framing either side gently – and pressed a feather-light kiss to your forehead.
You looked up at him, your vision slightly hazy, one hand sliding along his forearm as if anchoring yourself. Your gaze dropped to his lips.
You reached forward, lifting yourself slightly on your free hand, your breathing quickening. He leaned in too – hesitant.
But just before the distance disappeared–
"Shh..."
His thumb brushed softly over your lower lip, stopping you. Not rejection. Not quite restraint either. More like: not now.
But instead of giving up, you closed your eyes and gently bit his thumb. The one that had just stopped you. A small act of revenge, a quiet tease.
If you can’t kiss him, you can still leave a mark.
Jack inhaled sharply through his nose. The playful bite sent a jolt down his spine.
Goddamn.
It wasn’t supposed to be sexy. Not at all. He’d stopped you because this was… complicated. You were exhausted yesterday, you’d shown up in crisis, he didn't want your first kiss (if there ever was one) to be some sleep-deprived blur of confusion and desperation.
But now?
Your breath hitched.
His hand gently rested on your shoulder as he moved a little closer. His breath was on your neck, and you couldn’t seem to move. Jack didn't kiss you. Instead, he responded to your small act of revenge with mutual teasing.
His teeth sank gently into the soft skin of your neck. A sharp thrill that shot straight through your nerves like electricity. And you had to hold onto his forearm tighter to ground yourself, because otherwise you'd pass out again.
Jack didn’t linger there – no bruises or marks left behind – but the brief pressure was enough. He pulled back just enough after that single nip to look at your face – the flush creeping up your cheeks.
You forgot how to breathe. Then a smile spread across your face, and he heard a soft chuckle escaping your lips.
"This is not how I’ve imagined our first intimacy."
Now his gaze became more curious. Jack smirked.
"Oh, so you’ve imagined it?"
You looked at him like a contented cat. The veil of desire was still present between you, but now you both seemed to be a little more sober. As if these two bites could defuse your inner desire.
"Who didn't?" you snuggled back into his hand. "You're saving people's lives in that damn medical uniform, even those whose chances of survival are close to zero. And then, as if nothing had happened, you come up and say some light nonsense bordering on flirting."
You rolled your eyes. The playful grin didn't leave your face.
"Of course, I’ve imagined it.”
A light chuckle came from his chest when he heard your words.
“Light nonsense bordering on flirting,” he repeated, voice low and rough with amusement. “That’s new.”
Still cradling your face, his thumb resumed its gentle stroking along your cheekbone – slow circles that felt more intimate than any kiss yet.
His light flirting was always harmless. These were light jokes, funny jokes, or just sincere compliments. It came naturally to him. But this closeness right now isn’t like his usual manner of communication. It feels like a new territory for both of you.
You nuzzled into his chest, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and musk. You wanted to bury yourself in him, to lose yourself in this sensation, to absorb his scent into yourself, to remember this moment. Jack gently stroked your head.
"So soft." You repeated your words from yesterday. “You are so damn soft."
You made it sound like a personal offense – like the biggest injustice of your life. Something so beautiful that made you physically ill.
Jack actually laughed this time – a quiet, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest where your ear pressed against him. It wasn’t loud or showy; it was rare and low.
“You’re mad I’m soft?” he murmured into your hair, still running his fingers through the strands with that same slow rhythm. “Unbelievable.”
And he just held you closer.
Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear your feedback ♡
Credits of line dividers chrisssiren and omi-resources.
Do not copy this work.
