need to be sitting passenger princess in andrew cody’s big ass truck drinking an overpriced coffee that he paid for while his hand rests on my thigh within the hour or i fear i will be succumbing to the curse
hey if you ever get round to writing for jack abbot could I request a fic where maybe he and reader have been dating secretly for a little while and finally decided to tell everyone? thank you!
A/N: thank you for the request!! This is my first time writing anything for Jack so I can only hope I wrote his character okay!!
WARNINGS: includes mentions of erectile dysfunction and sex.
BLURB REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
“Oh, one more thing, although cleared for discharge, Room 4 might be occupied for a while. 23 year old male just found out he’s got erectile disfunction… he’s pretty upset.” You grimaced at the day shift as you swung your backpack over your shoulder, fingers returning to tap on the nurses desk.
Langdon blew out a breath. “Yeah, that’s pretty devastating news at that age.”
You hummed. “Unfortunately, that’s what happens when you take six tabs of Sildenafil from a random street dealer in the space of thirty minutes.”
Whittaker frowned, his hands involuntarily crossing over his crotch. “What’s uh— what’s the average age for that to start naturally?”
You pursed your lips to conceal your amusement and looked down at your booted feet. Santos waved a hand. “You’re safe for now, Huckleberry. It’s most commonly associated with men over forty.”
Your head didn’t move but your eyes slid up to watch everyone else’s gaze turn to Robby and Jack. You had to bite the inside of your cheek harder, swallow down a laugh that was threatening to bubble up your throat.
Robby nodded once—a bit self-deprecatingly—at his residents and students and lulled his head to look at Jack. “Yeah, we’re not far off.” He muttered.
“Speak for yourself,” Jack replied in a low tone, eyes still on the monitor as he finished up his last report.
The sound did something to your lower belly, much like his low tone usually did. You couldn’t wait to get back home with him, to be able to feel his touch and presence and not have to keep a professional amount of distance between you for at least twelve hours.
You both declared your relationship to HR almost seven months ago, when you knew things were getting serious. And despite their acceptance of the situation, you still hadn’t told the team.
It was by no fault of theirs. But you…enjoyed having it to yourself, having Jack to yourself. And he’d made it very clear that he felt the same. You didn’t want them in your business, in your intimate life.
More than that, you were afraid of what people would think. Scared for special treatment allegations, inappropriate behaviour reports, and the rumours that you were nothing more than a young piece of ass that Jack would eventually get bored of.
And Jack.. he had been nothing but attentive and reassuring when he suggested telling the board and you voiced your concerns. He’d showed you in more ways than one how deeply he felt for you. That this was not temporary, that he wanted a future with you.
So you reported your relationship to HR, admitted you’d been together six months already and no one had any suspicions. You kept it professional, kept it normal.
You knew tonight would be the start of the change. It was only this morning when you awoke to his head between your thighs that you finally relented, agreeing to tell the others in ED about you.
Dana raised a brow, lips curling into a grin as she read the underlying message that he was seeing someone. "Good for you, Abbot," she drawled, nodding her head once in a form of approval.
Langdon crossed his arms over his chest, brows furrowed with a taunting twinkle to his eyes. "Even more reason to stock up, man. Can't be leaving your woman unsatisfied."
Your eyes clocked Jack as he leaned back and shrugged his arms into his jacket, hurling his backpack over a shoulder as he approached you. Casually enough that no one seemed to bat an eye.
Until he slung an arm around your shoulder as you snaked yours around his waist.
“Oh, you don’t have any complaints, do you, sweetheart?” He asked, craning his neck to look down at you, brows slightly raised.
He shared a look with you, every ounce of love and adoration he felt glistening in his eyes.
Your heart hammered against your ribcage, heat creeping up your neck to sit on the tops of your cheeks. There was a crooked grin tugging on the corner of Jack’s mouth, an expression you couldn’t help but mirror.
A year of keeping your relationship a secret, six months of HR knowing, and now day one of your colleagues.
“Oh no, I’m more than satisfied.” You averted your gaze from Jack and to your colleagues, trying to catalogue their wide eyes and shocked expressions to memory.
The apples of your cheeks swelled as you smiled, big and wide and happy. Jack pressed his lips to the top of your head before turning you both toward the exit, his hand waving above his head as he walked you both out.
"Have a good shift, our phones are turned off." He called over his shoulder.
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, mention of death / murder, obsession, talk about having babies, baby trapping, use of daddy / mommy.
when you first started coming around no one thought much of it. except for deran and craig who placed a bet that pope was paying you for your company, and although smurf doesn’t particularly love the idea of you distracting him and doting on him, she did promptly tell them to shut up. everyone’s eyes linger on you both as you lay out by the pool on a lounge chair, skin warmed by the sun whilst pope rests over you in a way anyone else would find suffocating or overbearing.
he allows you to rub your hands over his strong freckled shoulders, not flinching away from your hands even as his eyes lock with smurf’s through the glass door.
it became very apparent that this relationship would be a problem in that exact moment. not because of you, no. everyone thinks you’re a total angel, debatably the sweetest girl he’s ever brought to the house. maybe you’re a little dumb to be hanging around a man that got out of prison only months ago but it is what it is. the problem lies with pope, because they know how this ends. either you’ll smash his heart to bits and pieces, or be tossed off the rear of a boat dead or alive.
“pope, don’t tell me you knocked her up.”
you can hear baz from the other room but you pretend you don’t as you help smurf arrange little finger sandwiches for a party and purse your lips, ignoring the way she side-eyes you. she knows, too. you haven’t been drinking, haven’t been as present in the house to avoid chaos, and unfortunately you woke up one day earlier this week and discovered your bump has decided to make quite the appearance.
it was easy to leave your anxiety behind that day when pope came up to you and placed his hands on your stomach, rubbing your bump through your tank top with such a gentle touch. a touch that parallels the way he caressed your soft skin while he fucked you full— you were too far gone to remind him to pull out but you’re not sure if it would have made a difference. you were wrapped up in the promises that were dripping off of his tongue. that he’s going to provide for you and your baby to the fullest extent, that he’ll be the best daddy, that you’ll be his for the rest of your life if you just give him what he wants.
how were you supposed to fight him off and stay strong when he was begging you to let him make you a mommy?
“it’s none of your business,” andrew replies. his blunt voice bounces off of the walls and snaps you out of your memory induced trance.
you hesitantly look over at smurf who’s already grinning at you, eyes crinkled in what you can only imagine is faux happiness—
“i guess we have a baby shower to plan. don’t we, sweetie?”
thinking about being jack abbot's controversially young girlfriend. a nursing student who frequently does clinical time at PTMC, or maybe an EMT who brings him his favorite patients every shift.
either way, she's practically still a baby, which makes him feel guilty. he doesn't think a girl this young should be hanging out in his part of town, or bearing the weight of anything going on in his mind. she should be going to college parties, having those pivotal life experiences first, then maybe she can think about hanging around men old as/older than her father.
still, she's persistent. getting chummy with him on shift so much that day shift is speculating whether or not they should start a bet on when they start dating. she smiles in his direction, and he listens to her when she talks, unlike her professors or other doctors she's worked with. he trusts her judgment. she scans the room to find him specifically to give report or present a case to him, and she doesn't notice the way he stares directly at her lips when she talks as if taking in every syllable.
i'd imagine that their flirting and bantering gets a little more serious after a few months. jack tells her that maybe they can go for a quick drink after shift, and she replies, "only if you buy the first round."
it spirals slowly from there, hanging out before and after work, meeting each other in the parking lot to walk in together/alternatively meeting her in the ambulance bay to take report on her first patient of the day. having gifts for each other like coffee and snacks, lingering glances and hesitance when getting close to touchy subjects.
no one is sure when they actually started dating, but everyone noticed it one by one. stolen kisses in secluded, quiet areas, soft conversations in empty rooms, and texting with a smile at the nurses station.
robby warns jack, tells him to be careful with it. "she's too young for you, brother," he says after a long, pregnant silence as the two stand on the rooftop.
jack doesn't care, and neither does she. jack has withstood enough judgment in his life, and she's supported by her friends who are excited to hear about dr. daddy.
jack sometimes is still weighed down by his own insecurity with his trauma. she doesn't bat an eye. she tells him, "i've seen things too, jack. i'm not a clean slate either. i'm not going anywhere, no matter how much of a mess you are."
he can't remember the last time he felt so understood, especially by someone who shouldn't.
hit me with pitt requests pookies... my beautiful readers.. my fellow mr. people's princess lovers...
Love seeing women with bare faces, short fingernails, practical shoes, comfortable clothing, a full plate, a toothy grin, a relaxed posture. Love love love seeing women comfortable and happy and unselfconscious.
Reader who lets a “daddy” slip while Jack fucks them and at first he’s a little shocked but then just responds with “Yeah? I’ll be your daddy.” And then fucks them harder… HOLY-
✶ after getting you get berated by robby, jack has some things to say to him about it.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ angst (robby's an asshole). reader has a panic attack. talks of death (patients). heavy conversations in a very unrealistic setting (HR would have a field day).
word count : 3,2k
gif by @timothyolyphant
You had been having a terrible day.
Your shift had started at 6:43 a.m., because getting in early gave you more time to ignore the reality waiting outside the hospital walls: your landlord had raised the rent, and you couldn’t afford it.
Which meant that, by next week, you probably wouldn’t have a place to live.
You’d spent your one day off scrolling through listings, chasing anything that even remotely fit your budget. Nothing did. Or at least, nothing that felt livable.
One place had walls so thin you could hear every car passing by like it was in your living room. Another reeked of damp, with pipes that looked like they might burst if you so much as turned on a faucet. And then there was the eighth-floor walk-up—no elevator, of course—as if hauling yourself up eight flights after a twelve-hour shift was somehow reasonable.
At this point, you told yourself you’d take anything. A bed, a door that locked, a space that was yours. But even that felt like too much to ask.
You also hadn’t told Jack.
You’d only been seeing each other for a month, and it felt too fragile, too new, to drop something like this into the middle of it. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off with the mess your life had suddenly become. Because then you’d be left with nothing—no apartment, no safety net, no him.
And then, because the universe clearly had a sense of humor at your expense, you lost your first patient at 7:29 a.m.
You’d worked her for over ten minutes, refusing to give in even when the odds had already slipped out of your hands. Compressions, meds, another round, your voice steady even as your chest tightened. Until Robby finally called it.
Just like that.
He didn’t soften the aftermath, didn’t give you a second to breathe before tossing out a sharp comment about how you should be better at catching STEMIs.
All in all, things weren’t going well.
It was now 17:28, barely two hours left on your shift before you’d be forced to face everything you’d been trying to outrun.
You had lost two patients so far.
And both times, Robby had made sure you felt it with sharp comments.Each one chipping away at whatever confidence you had left.
People had noticed.
They also noticed that for the past few days something about you had been off, like a storm building just beneath the surface. Today, it was impossible to ignore.
Even Dana had pulled you aside, her voice softer than usual as she asked if you were okay, if you needed a breather. You did. But admitting that felt like handing Robby another reason to hover, another excuse to dissect every mistake you made.
So you shook it off and kept going.
Now, the pressure sat heavy in your chest as you worked a GSW to the chest alongside Whitaker and Robby.
The patient was crashing too fast. Blood everywhere, slipping through your hands no matter how quickly you moved. Garcia had been paged less than a minute ago, but even in that short span of time, you could feel it—you had already lost him.
Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what the paramedics had said when they rushed him in, the police echoing the same hollow explanation. His family had been called, but they were still an hour away.
Your eyes locked on the monitor and didn’t even flinch when it flatlined.
No rush of adrenaline, no frantic movement to fix it but instead just a quiet, hollow stillness as you stepped back, letting Whitaker take over. Robby would guide him. Whitaker would listen.
You were just in the way.
So you left.
Like a ghost, you moved through the room, ignoring your name sharply being called. Ignoring the looks, the movement, the noise of the ER around you. Your feet carried you on autopilot, straight out to the ambulance bay.
You tried to breathe.
In. Out. Slow. Controlled. The way Jack had shown you once, his voice steady, his hands warm where they’d rested over yours.
It didn’t work.
The air wouldn’t come.
Your chest tightened to the point of pain, your airway closing as if something inside you had finally snapped.
The realization hit fast: you couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not nearly enough.
Tears blurred your vision, spilling over before you could stop them, your cheeks drenched as everything you’d been holding in finally broke free.
One of the paramedics in an ambulance rushed to your side, his voice cutting through the noise, though you couldn’t make out a single word. Strong hands steadied you before lifting you up, carrying you back into the ED and drawing the attention of everyone in your path.
Langdon was there in an instant, a wheelchair already in front of you.
“What happened?” he asked, voice sharp but edged with worry.
“Can’t…” you wheezed, fingers clawing weakly at your throat and chest.
“Dana, what’s open?” He called over his shoulder.
Dana’s eyes landed on you, concern flashing across her face before she snapped back into motion. “North 5’s open!”
Langdon didn’t waste a second, guiding the wheelchair once the paramedic helped settle you onto it. The world blurred as he pushed you down the hall and into the room.
Once inside, he moved immediately.
Vitals, pupils, airway—his hands moved steadily, efficiently, practiced as he checked everything, only to find nothing wrong except your heart racing too fast and your breaths coming too shallow.
He didn’t need to call psych to know what this was.
A panic attack.
You had started to settle, focusing on matching his breathing as he reassured you that, physically, you were fine.
Once you could finally string a few words together, you thanked him.
“You have nothing to thank me for,” he said, offering you a soft, easy smile. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Still… thank you.” you whispered.
He exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go let Robby know you’re alright.”
You nodded faintly, already dreading the inevitable.
Would he care that you were barely holding it together? That with each passing day, you felt like you were unraveling a little more? You wanted to believe he would.
But wanting didn’t make it true.
“So, I hear our doctors are just abandoning their patients over a little panic attack?”
Robby’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside. He let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as his eyes landed on you lying on the gurney.
“Robby, that’s not what—”
“I don’t care what happened,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I care that I trusted you to help me with a patient—a critical patient—and you walked out without a word.” His jaw tightened. “What would’ve happened if you’d been alone with that patient, hm? How is it that a first-year resident can handle the pressure better than a fourth-year?”
“Things have just been difficult—”
“Welcome to life,” he shot back. “Things get tough. But you’re a doctor. People depend on you, so you put it aside and you do your job. Who the fuck cares what you’re going through? Do you think that guy who just died cared?”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears slipped free.
“Don’t you dare cry,” he hissed. “I think you should go home—and seriously consider whether you’re actually cut out for this. A breakdown like this from a med student? Fine. Expected, even. But from a fourth-year resident?” He shook his head, eyes cold. “It’s pathetic.”
“I still have an hour left,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.
He let out a sharp breath. “Then stay in triage. Or finish your charting. I don’t even care at this point. And if you’re going to have another panic attack, do it off the clock.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, swallowing everything down, and nodded.
Robby didn’t say anything else before turning and walking out.
For a second, you just sat there, forcing yourself to pull the pieces back together. You wiped at your face, steadying your breathing, willing the last traces of it to disappear.
You couldn’t afford to fall apart again.
When you finally stepped out, the shift in the air was immediate.
People were looking.
Quick glances, not-so-subtle ones—everyone who had been within earshot now pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. You exhaled slowly, pushing past it, past them, making your way to the board.
Focus. Just focus.
You scanned for a patient, anything to keep your hands moving and your mind occupied.
As the clock ticked by, the night shift began to roll in.
The worst of it had passed—at least on the surface. Your eyes were no longer swollen, but a faint redness lingered.
The cases coming through triage were manageable. Surface-level, almost mercifully so. A chronic headache. A deep but clean laceration. Nothing critical. Nothing that could slip through your fingers and haunt you later.
No way to lose anyone now.
At 18:49, you heard Jack Abbot’s voice, and it felt like a lifeline—like something solid cutting through the noise and pulling you back to shore.
You focused on your last patient, careful and thorough, even as something in you itched to go find him. To just see him. But you didn’t rush. You couldn’t. Not after everything.
A few minutes later, you heard his voice again.
But this time, it was different.
He was using the kind of tone you’d only ever heard him use with combative patients.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Your hands stilled.
“Excuse me?” Robby scoffed.
“What makes you think that berating your residents for having emotions is in any way helpful?”
Your chest tightened at the words. Before you could stop yourself, you excused yourself from your patient and followed the sound, your pulse quickening with every step.
You found them just outside the nurses’ station.
Jack stood rigid, his finger pointed at Robby’s chest, his jaw tight, brows drawn together in a way that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.
“I don’t know why that’s any of your business,” Robby shot back, crossing his arms.
“You mistreating residents isn’t my business?” Jack challenged. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what your job is, but you’re not just a doctor—you’re supposed to be teacher, too.” His voice was controlled, but the anger underneath it was unmistakable. “If they’re having a hard time, you help them. You don’t tear them down until they start questioning whether they even belong here.”
“This isn’t therapy, and I sure as hell am not their therapist. This is an ER, and they’re doctors.” Robby fired back.
“And that gives you the right to what? Humiliate them?” Jack stepped closer, his voice dropping, more dangerous now. “Push them until they break?”
Robby let out a dry laugh. “If they break, that’s on them.”
Something in Jack snapped.
“No,” he said, firm, unwavering. “That’s on you.”
The space around them had gone quiet, the usual chaos of the ED dimming as people pretended not to watch.
And then Jack spoke again, his voice cutting clean through the tension.
“You want to be an asshole? Talk to me like that. Try it.” Jack snaps, “But you don’t get to talk to her like that.”
Robby let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “So that’s what this is about?” He shook his head. “And here I thought you’d suddenly become some kind of advocate for residents. Guess it’s just the ones you’re involved with.”
“You need to back off,” Jack said, his voice low, controlled. “Now.”
“No, no—let’s be honest,” Robby pressed, gesturing loosely to the room. “Let’s make sure everyone knows just how noble you are.” His smile was thin, biting. “You don’t care that I went off on a resident. You care that I went off on your resident. It’s almost impressive how quickly you claimed the moral high ground when you’re the one who should be reported to HR.”
“Then report me,” Jack shot back without hesitation. “I’ll return the favour.”
Robby scoffed, shaking his head like the whole thing had suddenly bored him. “You know what? Fine. If you want to deal with that mess, be my guest.”
His gaze swept across the onlookers, lingering just long enough to remind everyone they’d been seen—before it landed on you.
A slow, cutting smile spread across his face.
“You’re officially on night shift, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Hope you don’t have a panic attack about that, too.”
You were left stunned, mouth slightly open as you watched Robby storm off.
“Back to work, people! There are lives to save,” Jack called out, his tone leaving no room for argument. Slowly, the tension broke, and everyone dispersed, slipping back into the rhythm of the ED like nothing had happened.
Then he turned to you.
He crossed the distance quickly, his hands coming up to rest on your arms, grounding you where you stood, still stiff at your sides.
“You okay?” He asked, his gaze softening as he took in your tear-bright eyes.
You shook your head, a hollow laugh slipping out. “This is a nightmare.”
“Hey—no,” he said immediately, his grip tightening just slightly. “This isn’t your fault. What he said was completely out of line, and I’m glad Dana told me. You should never have been put through that.”
“We’re so going to get reported to HR,” you whispered.
“You let me deal with that.”
You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spiraling faster than you could keep up with.
“I’m going to have to find a new job,” you murmured. “And I definitely can’t afford that.” You closed your eyes for a second before looking back up at him. “But… thank you. For defending me.”
“Someone had to,” Jack said, worry written all across his face. “Robby’s been out of line for a while now. But today…” He shook his head slightly. “Something snapped when I heard how he was talking to you. How often it’s been happening.”
“I’ve been off my game,” you admit quietly.
“That’s not an excuse,” he countered gently but firmly. “And even if it were, it still wouldn’t justify any of that.” His expression shifted, concern settling deeper into his features. “I’m more worried about why you had a panic attack. Langdon said you haven’t been yourself for a while.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, I’m always worried about you,” he replied softly. “So help me understand what’s going on.”
The words sat heavy in your chest for a moment before they finally spilled out.
You told him everything.
About the rent. About how you weren’t sure where you’d be living next week. About the apartments that didn’t work, the exhaustion, the patients you’d lost. About how you hadn’t given yourself even a second to process any of it—just kept going, pushing it down, pretending it wasn’t catching up to you. And how now, you would probably have to start looking for a new hospital to work at after Robby’s words.
As you spoke, the frown in his brows deepened, his hands moving slowly up and down your arms, a quiet, steady attempt to soothe you as everything unraveled.
After a moment of quiet, he spoke.
“You’re not going to lose your job. I won’t let that happen.”
“Jack…”
“I’m not finished,” he cut in gently. “I just… I wish you’d let me help you. You know I would do anything for you. I’d throw myself down a flight of stairs if it meant making things easier for you.”
A small, disbelieving breath left you. “I thought it would scare you off,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“The day I ever say you’re a burden, you better slap some sense into me,” he said, completely serious. “I mean it. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me with this kind of stuff—to let me carry some of it with you.”
You reached up, wiping away a tear before it could fall.
“Move in with me,” he said suddenly.
You froze.
“I know it’s fast—too fast, probably—but I can’t just stand by while you’re this stressed when I have a perfectly good place you can stay at,” he continued, his voice softer now, but no less certain. “You can take the guest room if you want. Or I will, if you like my bed more. I don’t care how we do it, just…” He exhaled, searching your face. “Please. Move in with me.”
You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he was offering.
Everything in you wanted to say yes—to fall into the safety he was offering, to let someone finally take some of the weight off your shoulders. But there was still that hesitation, that voice in the back of your mind reminding you how new this was, how quickly everything was moving.
“Jack, it’s only been a month,” you said quietly, searching his face.
“I know,” he admitted, not even trying to argue it. “It is. But this isn’t about how long we’ve been together. It’s about you needing somewhere safe to land. And I can give you that.”
You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to his.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered. “Whatever this is between us… I don’t want to ruin it by rushing into something.”
“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “We’ll take it at your pace. Separate rooms, space, whatever you need. Nothing has to change unless you want it to.”
There was no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was something softer, something that made your throat ache for a completely different reason.
“…Okay,” you breathed.
His expression shifted instantly, relief flickering across his face. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you repeated, a little more certain this time. “I’ll… move in. At least for now.”
A small smile pulled at his lips, something warm and genuine, like you’d just handed him something he wasn’t going to take lightly.
“Good,” he murmured.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then the noise of the ED filtered back in, grounding you both in reality.
Jack exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you, something sharper slipping into his expression again. “I should get back to work.”
You nodded, though your hand instinctively caught his wrist for just a second before letting go.
He hesitated, then leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping.
“I also need to go find Robby and punch him for making you cry,” he muttered.
Despite everything, a weak huff of laughter escaped you.
“But,” he added, straightening, his tone shifting back to something steadier, “we’ll talk later. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”
“Okay,” you said softly.
He then leaned in—and slightly hesitantly—placed a tender kiss to your forehead, before slipping back into doctor mode as he turned and disappeared into the chaos of the ED.
You stood there for a minute taking it all in. Still shaken, still overwhelmed, but no longer feeling completely alone.
NOTE : samira mohan i have stolen your thunder. and by thunder, i mean your whole scene with robby😭 i have wanted to write this since that episode came out but didn’t quite know where to start. also is the ending totally shit? please don’t tell me if it is🫰
summary: after being released from prison, pope stumbles across a sweet baker
warnings: age gap (i dont mention reader's age but i picture her to be younger), lowkey stalkish behaviour from pope, thats it i think
word count: 3.4k
a/n: this is my first time writing for pope so im not sure if i did a good job or not. also english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes
“Sir, do you need any help?”
You asked the man that had been standing by the counter for the last ten minutes. It wasn't unusual for people to take their time deciding what to get between all the pastries and sweet treats you offered at the bakery, and usually you let them figure it out by themselves, unless they asked for recommendations, but the man’s stiff posture and his intense gaze were earning him strange looks from the other customers. He didn't seem to notice, but you figured you'd lend him a hand anyway.
The man looked up, scanning you with his eyes. You were wearing a normal pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that were covered by the pink and white striped apron you used.
“I can give you some recommendations if you'd like.” You added when you didn't get an answer.
Finally, he nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Okay. What are you feeling like today?” You asked, a bright smile on your lips. “Do you like chocolate? Really sweet stuff? Something fresh maybe?”
“Something sweet.”
You bent a little to look through the lower shelf. “Our cinnamon rolls are pretty popular and so are our chocolate chip cookies. People really like our brownies, or the white chocolate and raspberry cookies, there's also-"
“What would you pick?”
You glanced back up at his question, his eyes never seemed to have left you. Had it been any other client you would've felt uncomfortable, but this man–whatever his name was– was cute. Even if his haircut was a little bit funky and he didn't look like the type of man who would frequent places like these.
“The cinnamon roll definitely.”
“I'll take one of those.”
You clasped your hands together before dropping them to your sides again. “Would you like anything to drink? You like ice coffee?”
He shook his head lightly. “I’ve never tried it. I just drink regular coffee.”
“Well, if you're still taking recommendations from me, I love our iced hazelnut latte. It's just a latte with a hazelnut syrup.”
He considered it in his head for a few seconds. It didn't sound bad, but nothing did after three years of eating prison food. “Okay. Add that too.”
“Great!” You said cheerfully. “Do you want everything to go or to eat here?”
He finally tore his eyes off you, even if it was for a brief second, looking toward the table by the window, from where you could see the beach before directing his gaze to you again. “Here.”
“Great. Just go sit and I'll bring everything to you in a second.”
Pope sat stiffly in the chair, his hands folded in front of him at the table.
He had enough self awareness to know that he would probably look like a creep if he kept staring at you, but he couldn't help himself. You were a beautiful woman, if he had met you before he went to prison he was sure he would’ve spent those three years thinking about you, instead of making up a fake life with Cath so he could cope with everything around him.
It didn’t take longer than ten minutes for you to approach his table, balancing a tray in your hand. As you stood next to him he caught a whiff of your scent, some sweet vanilla.
You set the glass in front of him, a plate with the cinnamon roll, the icing melting over the warm dough, and lastly a fork. “Here you go, sir.”
“Andrew. You can call me Andrew.”
You held the tray by your side now, shifting your weight to one leg. “Well, Andrew,” You said sweetly, “You have to tell me what you thought of the food later, okay?”
“I will.”
You lingered just for a second,lips parting like you were about to say something until the bell on top of the door chimed as new customers walked in so you settled for a quick smile before turning to get back behind the counter.
Pope ate slowly, savoring each bite of the warm and gooey cinnamon roll and each sip of the sweet coffee.
He still preferred his black coffee but this was good as a treat, the slightly nutty flavor paired with the cinnamon was comforting.
He hadn't eaten anything this good and that he actually enjoyed in years. The prison food was always bland and straight up disgusting on some days.
Sometimes his family would bring in sweets or a cake for his birthday. But they always brought the stuff they liked, they never bothered to take his preferences into account.
He watched you patiently talk to customer after customer, watched the way you effortlessly moved across the shop, whipping counters and bringing back pastries from the back whenever you ran low.
You were kind, warm. He didn't get that treatment often and when he did there was usually an ulterior motive behind it.
You walked back to his table once things calmed down and you didn't have anyone waiting to be helped.
Your eyes drifted to the empty plate and glass. “So?” you asked, your fingers grabbing the back of the chair in front of him. “How was everything? Did you completely hate it?”
“No.” He answered simply.
You huffed out a laugh, raising your eyebrows. “That's all you got to say? No?”
“It was good.” He added.
You smiled, shaking your head lightly. “Man of few words I see.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” He blurted out after a moment of quiet.
The question caught you off guard at first but ultimately you nodded. “I'm here everyday. I own the place.”
“You own it.” He repeated quietly.
You nodded. “I opened it a year ago. I've loved baking since I was a teenager so this was a dream come true for me.”
“It's a nice place. I like to see the beach.”
You smiled, looking out the window for a second towards the ocean that seemed to stretch infinitely. “I’m glad you enjoyed it then.”
After that day Andrew was there every day the shop opened.
He was always the first to arrive.
When you teased him about it he would always say that he liked to get an early start of things.
What you didn't know was that he had learned at what time exactly you got to the bakery. You were always there as early as 4:30 AM so you could get everything you sold ready.
He hated that, especially because you had to park your car a few blocks away from the bakery since it was the only place you could park without getting a ticket. Anything could happen to you in those four blocks you had to walk. Anyone could step out from the shadows and grab you, hurt you.
What annoyed him the most was how careless you were. You didn't check your surroundings, didn't look over your shoulder and you walked too slow.
Andrew didn't think of it as stalking, he was just making sure you were safe.
He always followed you quietly, hiding behind the trees of the street across from yours. He was far enough that you wouldn't notice, but still close enough that he could easily get to you if someone tried something. Once you got inside he just waited fo a few hours until you flipped the sign from closed to open to walk through the doors.
He had a regular order by now. Every day he had an iced cold brew with a chocolate chip cookie, sometimes switching the cookie for a cinnamon roll.
“Your usual?” You called out to him as soon as he put one foot inside the store.
He shook his head and walked over to the counter. “I'll get my usual coffee and a slice of your triple chocolate cake.”
“Cake, huh? Can't believe you're switching up on me.” You teased, your hands grabbing the edge of the counter. “Is it a special occasion?"
“It's my birthday.” There was a brief silence, his eyes stayed on yours in that intense, heavy way you were starting to get used to. “Thirty nine.”
“Oh,” your face softened, surprise echoing in your voice. “Happy birthday, Andrew.”
“Thank you.”
“You don't seem too excited about it though.” You commented, noticing the frown on his face and the way he was dragging his feet when he walked in.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping slightly. “My twin sister… she passed and no one will talk about her… and my brothers they're gonna spend the whole day dragging me to do the shit they want to do.”
Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I'm really sorry, Andrew.” Slowly you reached your hand over the counter, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn't so you placed your hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze.
Andrew’s eyes flickered to your joined hands before you let go. Your hands were warm, soft. You probably never had to use them to cause anyone harm, not in the way his had.
“Go sit, I'll bring you your stuff in a minute.” You offered him a small smile before straightening up again.
You poured his coffee into a glass the same way you did every morning, you made the slice of cake was generous before putting it into a plate.
You had grown fond of him in these past few weeks. He was a little odd, too quiet and with an obvious staring problem but you started to view it as part of his charm.
Your heart ached for him, no one deserved to spend a birthday where their wishes weren't taken into account, especially if the day was already charged with the loss of someone as important as a sibling.
You disappeared into the back for a few seconds, you were sure you had a birthday candle laying around and after rummaging through some of your drawers you found it.
You placed it on top of the cake and lit it up before carefully walking over to his table. Like you did every day, you placed his coffee down first, then the fork and then finally the cake.
“Make a wish.”
Andrew looked up at you, surprise echoing across his features, the corner of his lips tugged upwards in a small smile that made your heart twist in the best way.
He looked down at the candle, pausing for a second as if he was actually thinking about a wish he wanted to make, then his lips puckered as he blew it out.
A few threads of smoke curled into the air between you.
“Thank you.”
You shrugged lightly. “It's nothing really. Is there anything else I could do?”
“Sit with me.” He said, it wasn't demanding, if anything he sounded uncertain, like he was scared you might say no.
Out of habit you glanced at the counter, making sure there were no customers waiting before nodding. “Just let go get my drink. I had just finished making myself something when you walked in.”
You came back quickly, holding a glass with a vibrant green drink. You sat across from Andrew, making sure you could see the door in case anyone walked in.
“You're drinking a spinach smoothie?” He asked, his nose scrunching slightly in disgust.
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Those are gross. This is a matcha latte. It's just a green tea powder with oat milk.”
“Looks like grass.”
“Some people say it tastes like it too, but I like it.” You swirled your straw around your drink before holding the cup up to him. “Wanna try it?”
Pope hesitated for a second but then nodded. You expected him to take the cup, but instead he just brought the straw to his lips while you held it.
Your eyes dropped to his lips for a brief second until he pulled away with a disgusted expression.
“Yeah, it definitely tastes like grass too.” He quickly grabbed his coffee and sipped it to drown out the other drinks' flavor.
You laughed softly, putting the cup down on the table. “It's an acquired taste.”
Pope's fork dove into the cake, picking up a piece that he brought to his mouth.
“So what do you like to do when your brothers aren't dragging around?”
“I like skating, I always go to the skate park that's close to the beach.”
“That 's cool. I'm super uncoordinated, I'm pretty sure I would bang my head against the concrete if I tried to even put a foot on a skate.”
“Good thing helmets exist then.” He quipped lightly. “I like going to the beach too, sometimes I surf and sometimes I like to just sit and watch the ocean… What about you?”
“I love the beach too.” you chirped, tilting your head to the side. “I always go on my day off now that it's hot. I love swimming, I can pretty much spend hours in the water.”
You hesitated for a second, nervously tapping your fingers against the plastic cup. “Maybe we could go together one day. We can have some sort of picnic, swim a little...”
“I'd like that.” He replied. “We could go to the one that's by the cliffside up North, there's hardly anyone ever there.”
“Already trying to get me alone, Andrew?”
“Yeah.”
You huffed out a laugh, your face warning at his word. “Can't wait then.”
When you got to the beach on Sunday Andrew was already there, sitting on the sand with his legs close to his chest, his arms resting over his knees.
He was right, the beach was quiet here. There were no kids running around kicking balls, or idiots playing shitty music.
You approached him quietly from behind, your footsteps soft against the sand. You placed your hands on his shoulders, making him flinch slightly.
“Hi, Andrew.”
Andrew looked up, his eyes flickering up and down your body. You were wearing a short white dress that flowed with the light breeze, at the bakery you were always wearing pants so it was his first time seeing so much of your skin. He had to force himself to look away and actually look at your face.
“Hi.”
You rummaged through the knitted white beach bag to grab the towel you had brought so you could sit. “Help me put this down.”
Andrew shifted to his knees, grabbing the other side of the towel and spreading it out over the sand. He smoothed it over with his hands before placing the back pack he brought over one of the corners. You did the same with your bag.
You sat next to each other, only leaving a small gap between your bodies.
You looked out at the ocean, breathing in the salt air. “You were right. This spot is great.”
“I told you.”
You leaned back on your hands, turning your head to look at him. “Do you come here often?”
His eyes met yours instantly. “I haven't a while”
“Why not?”
“I spent three years away. I couldn't exactly come here.”
Your head tilted to the side, your curiosity peaking. “Away where?”
His shoulders tensed just a little, “Prison.”
You went still beside him before letting out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You can just tell me it's none of my business I understand.”
Andrew didn't say anything, but a part of him was glad you didn't believe him. He hadn't thought about what he was saying when he answered, it was better if you didn't know the kind of man he could be. He didn't want to risk scaring you.
He wanted–no, needed–to have one good thing in his life.
“We should go for a swim.” He suggested, wanting to steer away from the subject. “It 's hot.”
You nodded, reaching for your bag to pull out sunscreen. “Sure. Just give me a second.”
You squirted some of it on your arms, rubbing it into your skin before standing up to take off your dress, revealing a light pink bikini, the strings were tied low on your hips and the top held your breasts perfectly.
Andrew watched almost in awe as you rubbed sunscreen all over your stomach, legs and chest. He barely registered when you talked to him.
“Can you do my back?” You asked, handing him the bottle.
Andrew's fingers brushed yours as he grabbed it.
“Turn around.” He said quietly, his voice just a notch rougher.
You did, moving your head to the side to leave your back exposed to him. He poured a small amount into his hand before finally making contact with your skin. His hands moved slowly as he spread the sunscreen across your shoulders, your upper and lower back.
He could feel his heart rate picking up as you turned around again.
“You should put some too. I have a friend who's a ginger too and she gets the worst sun burns.”
Andrew took off his shirt, placing it under his bag pack so it wouldn't fly away and now it was your turn to get flustered. Of course you had noticed he was strong but you hadn't expected him to have a body that looked like what you would see on a fitness magazine.
He looked at you, clearly noticing the staring and the way you swallowed hard.
He handed the bottle back to you. “Can you do it?”
You started with his face, caressing his cheek with your thumbs as you rubbed the lotion into his skin. You moved your hands down his neck, shoulders, and when you reached his arms and wrapped your hand around his bicep he flexed.
You scoffed, squeezing the hard muscle. “Show off.” You mumbled under your breath as you continued with the task at hand.
You and Andrew spent a good chunk of the afternoon in the water, splashing water to each other, ducking under the waves and racing each other to see who could swim faster. Andrew always let you win.
It was the most fun you had had in a while. You loved coming to the beach alone, Andrew's presence just made it better. He looked so at ease, like the weight he usually carried on his shoulders had been lifted.
When a wave knocked you over and made you crash against his body you heard it–his laugh slipping through his lips.
He steadied you with gentle hands, your hands reaching to grab his arms instinctively as your side hit his chest.
You scoffed at him, playfully poking his chest. “Don't laugh at me!”
“Your hair is all over your face.” He commented with a boyish grin on his face, he used the hand he didn't have on your waist to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your forehead behind your ear.
You looped your arms behind his neck, pulling him in until your chest was pressed against his. “Is this okay?”
He settled both of his hands on the curve of your back, preventing you from being swept away by the waves. “It 's okay.”
Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck. “I really like you, Andrew.”
“You do?” He asked softly. He felt a warm sensation pooling in his chest, once he hadn't felt since Cath.
Sometimes he wondered if you would prefer one of his brothers if you ever got to meet them, but a part of him knew you wouldn't. You were too smart for that, too good.
You wouldn't put up with Craig who would spend more time snorting coke than being with you. You wouldn't put up with Baz’s and his horrible temper.
Sure, Andrew also had an awful temper sometimes but it would never be directed towards you. He would treat you right, wouldn't yell, wouldn't slam doors or cheat on you the way Baz does to Cath.
When he noticed the way your eyes darted to his lips he moved one of his hands to the back of your head, using it to pull you in and close the short distance between your lips.
Your eyes shot open in surprise, but when he started moving his lips against yours, you smiled into the kiss before finally kissing him back.
Your hands tangled on the short curls of the back of his head, making him smirk against your mouth.
Andrew kissed you slowly, relishing on the salty taste of your mouth from all the times you had ducked underwater.
You were the one to break the kiss, making Andrew chase your lips to give you one last peck before he rested his forehead against yours.
“I gotta take you on a real date.” He spoke, his breathing heavy.
You giggled. “This isn't a real date?”
“I can do better than a picnic at the beach.”
“Well, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” You leaned in slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But I won't say no to you taking me out.”
"Good." He answered, already pulling you to kiss you again.
summary: when jack catches you spiraling after a taxing double shift, his worry for you spikes when he discovers that robby has been less than sympathetic with you, and that the ptmc is your only emergency contact on file. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, dana evans
contents: friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, protective!jack, so much yearning, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, mentions of patient death, abuse and sexual assault, heavy talks of suicidal ideation, brief mentions of jack abbot's ptsd
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
The refrigerator door seals shut with a suctioned click under your trembling hand, far too quiet for all the horror it holds. The worst night of a person’s life, reduced to the evidence in the collection fridge — to labels and barcodes and detailed forms.
Two boxes lie inside when there should only be one: the kit you logged two weeks ago, which should’ve been picked up the day after, is still there. Still waiting to be seen, still waiting for someone to notice it, but still ignored all the same.
It feels like a metaphor for your own life, and it starts to strangle you before you can help it.
Because you’d spent three hours in that room with Ilana — three hours of talking her through every step, every swab, every scan — three hours of telling her how much her being there mattered. And now her kit sits there, just as forgotten as the one before, just as forgotten as you.
Something cracks.
A sob sputters from your chest before you can choke it down. Your hand shoots up to your mouth in a feeble attempt to shove it back inside. And then the door opens.
“Oh, shit—” a familiar voice calls from the doorway.
You flinch so hard your shoulder hits the fridge. You swipe your palms over your wet eyes and cheeks, rapidly scrubbing the evidence of your misery away, before turning in the direction of the masculine voice. You find Jack Abbot lingering in the threshold, eyes wide and attentive, with one weathered hand still wrapped around the silver handle.
Neither of you says a word for several long moments. It could’ve been three seconds or three years; you can’t quite be sure.
“Are you… okay?” the older man presses.
“No. Yeah. I’m—” Your voice breaks, betraying you instantly. You shake your head despite yourself. “I’m fine.”
Jack’s head lowers. His light eyes squint. He doesn’t try to argue; he just looks at you, really looks at you.
“I know I seem crazy,” you laugh through a quiet sniffle. “But I’m fine.”
He steps further inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The chaos of the crowded ER goes muffled in an instant.
“Did something happen?” the attending asks lowly. He’s visibly on edge from the Code Hula Hoop from earlier that day — silver head bowed to keep your gaze, strong arms crossed over the chest of his thin black tee.
“No. Nothing like that,” you assure him quickly. “It’s just… It never gets easier, you know?”
Jack’s expression shifts when you turn away to lock up the small fridge behind you. His alarm ebbs into something more sympathetic. “Yeah. I get it…” he mumbles. “Go take a breather, if you need it.”
You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. “Robby’s been on my ass all week about taking too much time with my patients as it is. If I don’t pick up a few before I go, he’ll—”
“I’ll deal with him,” Jack cuts in, firm but not entirely unkind. “You go take a break.”
You turn back around, looking half-shy as you cross your arms tight over the chest of your wrinkled scrubs. “I… I can’t…” you mumble.
“…You can’t?”
“I’m like a shark— if I stop swimming, I’ll die.”
Jack would’ve laughed at that if you weren’t so solemn about it; if he hadn’t remembered, in that moment, that you’ve been working since seven the evening before. Almost twenty-four hours ago. “You haven’t slept today, have you?”
“I was going to,” you tell him, a little too quickly. “And then we got all those patients from the waterslide collapse, and then the systems went down, and then Ilana came in, and…”
His brows knit together. “So you haven’t slept since you started your double?”
“No,” you shrug. “I’m just… I’m not tired.”
Jack studies you for a long moment — your wet eyes, your worry-bitten lips, your arms crossed like you’re trying to make yourself as small as possible. You wear the long day all over, along with the grief you’ve been trying to hide all day. Jack knows the signs; he’s seen them in his patients, in his staff, in himself.
It usually starts with a double, and then a patient or two that spikes the adrenaline like a triple shot of espresso. That’s when the mania sets in, the belief you don’t need sleep despite the obvious, which inevitably leads to a crash. And that’s exactly where you’re heading.
“Can I ask you something?” Jack wonders lowly, taking a slow step forward and never once taking his eyes off of you. “Something kinda… personal?”
You hesitate, brows lowered, then nod despite yourself. “Yeah?”
“Do you… Do you see someone?”
You blink owlishly at him. “See someone?”
“Yeah. You know, like a… therapist,” he clarifies. “It’s good, you know, to have someone to talk to about… all this.”
He motions vaguely all around him, to the muffled chaos outside.
“No,” you shake your head, almost amused by the thought. “I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist—”
“Everyone needs a therapist,” Jack huffs a faint laugh. “Especially the people who choose to work here. We’re all lunatics.”
“Well, I’m fine,” you shrug and look away. “It’s everything else that’s so… fucked up.”
Jack exhales hard through his nose, nodding sympathetically. “Yeah, I… I heard about Barry. And his mom. I’m sorry…”
That’s what does it. The reminder of the memory — only from earlier that morning, which you had not forgotten but had tried hard to bury anyway — does it. You feel the dam break, crumbling into nothingness under the weight of an unrelenting pressure.
“See, that’s— that’s what I’m talking about,” you start with a wet, maniacal sort of laugh. “I spend two hours coding a pre-school teacher, then another two treating her four-year-old, all while trying to get him to talk about what happened. And then I have to act like none of it fazes me, or else I’ll get that whole spiel from Robby— again. And then I do a sexual assault kit that no one will pick up because nobody gives a shit!”
Your voice rings through the quiet room.
You don’t seem to notice it, though, so Jack pretends he doesn’t either. He knows you need this, knows you’ve spent the past near twenty-four hours keeping all of this trapped inside.
“Barry’s dad won’t see the inside of a jail cell for what he did to them, and Ilana’s abuser won’t either, because the police won’t do their job— because nobody fucking cares—”
Your breath comes out sharp, like the air is being punched out through a tight chest. Your words spill from your mouth faster than you can stop them.
“And I’m supposed to help them, right? But how can I when nobody else gives a shit?”
“Hey— Hey…” Abbot coos, taking another step closer when he catches you starting to spiral. “Take a breath, kid…”
His voice is grounding. Steady, almost. A firm sort of comfort you’ve been searching for all day — a tenderness that feels like proof that you’re broken. Suddenly, you feel like you’ve said too much.
“I’m sorry,” you huff with a shake of your bowed head. “I-I have to go— I’m sorry.”
You storm past him to the door, and don’t stop when he calls your name.
Jack looms over the monitor of the now-functioning workstation.
While the rest of the PTMC scrambles to scan their paper documents into the system, Jack peruses your file. His narrowed eyes flit across the screen, searching for your emergency contact. He holds his phone in his free hand and prepares to dial the number — to tell whoever is on the other line that you need them.
Because someone did it for him once upon a time, and sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason he’s standing here now.
He’s got his thumb hovering over the green button to call when Robby catches his eye — the same way a dark black storm cloud swirling overhead would catch his eye. The older man tilts his head to glance at the overhead monitor and scratches at the grey patch in his beard.
“Who’s supposed to be overseeing the kid in pedes?”
“I’ll do it,” Jack tells him, half-distracted.
“I have a senior resident who’s supposed to be doing it,” Robby scoffs.
“I told her to take a break.”
The older man’s head snaps in his direction in an instant. His brows lower as his lip twitches into a faint smirk, looking half-offended as he crosses his arms over his chest. “And why would you do that?” he squints.
“She’s had a hard day,” Jack shrugs.
“We’ve all had a hard day,” Robby laughs. “And if we all took off because of one bad shift, none of us would be on this floor right now.”
“And if you had a little bit more basic human empathy, maybe your residents wouldn’t be falling apart, brother.”
He flashes the older man an unamused glance. Robby flinches slightly at his words, chin jerking like he feels them physically. Jack would’ve apologized for being so harsh any other time — if he hadn’t almost gotten shot today, and if he weren’t already slightly angry at Robby for mistreating you.
“Excuse me. I gotta take this,” he mumbles and brings his phone up to his ear.
Robby scoffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head as he walks off in the opposite direction.
Jack watches him go with an unblinking stare as his phone starts to ring. Once, twice, and then—
A sharp, grating chirp fills the crowded ER, swelling over the droning chatter and distant beeping. Jack’s eyes snap to the red phone on the other side of the work station, while his own stays pressed to his scruffy jaw.
Dana peers at the man over the top of her glasses. Her eyes flit from his shocked face to the ringing telephone at her side. She picks it up with a lazy hand and holds it to her ear.
“PTMC charge nurse,” she greets without taking her eyes off Jack. “You mean to call this number?”
“Yeah, I was just—” Jack clears his throat and glances at the monitor below. “This was the emergency contact on file.”
“Well, sorry to get your hopes up…”
She flashes the man a sympathetic smile before hanging up the phone.
The dial tone beeps in his ear for several long moments. He tries to guess why you would’ve made the E.D. your emergency contact — because you don’t have anyone outside of work, maybe, or because all of your closest friends work here, or because you’d want the ER to know first if something ever happened to you.
It makes his chest hurt either way.
He exhales a slow, heavy breath and shoves his phone back into his scrub pocket. He turns on his heel and makes a beeline for the stairs, hiking up to the roof despite the distant ache it puts on his prosthetic. Because he knows that’s where you are.
Because it’s where he would’ve gone, too.
“Y’know…” a familiar voice cuts through the quiet of the roof, lit only by distant streetlamps. “You’re in my spot, kid.”
You don’t turn to look at him. You’re too tired to take your eyes off the pitch-black hills rolling in the far-off distance, further away from the PTMC than you’ve been in months. Years. You get lost in your own head, and only vaguely register the sound of Jack’s nearing footsteps scuffing against the concrete rooftop.
“It’s getting pretty late…” the man continues, all casual, like you’re not standing on the very edge of the hospital roof. “If you’re hungry, there’s this DoorDash guy. Name’s Marco. He’ll trek up here for an extra ten—”
“Twenty if you want beer,” you finish for him, voice weighed down by something heavy.
“Ah…” Jack hums, closer now. “You come up here often then, huh?”
You exhale a heavy breath that he thinks is meant to be a laugh, though it comes without a usual smile. “I guess you could say that…”
He reaches the metal railing just a few feet from the ledge, where you stand on the other side, with only a thin glass pane keeping you from the roof’s edge. Even though you aren’t looking at him, you can feel him just beside you. The silken summer breeze carries the scent of his cologne as he bends at the waist to rest his elbows along the barrier between you.
“You wanna talk about it?” he wonders quietly, after a few beats of not-quite silence, filled by the sound of passing cars and chatter from the city below. “It’s good to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shrug with a shake of your head. “I just… I thought I was doing some good, you know? By showing up here every day…”
“You are,” Jack insists, firm and immediate. His stare hardens as it flits across your emotionless profile, silently begging for you to look back at him. You avoid his gaze at all costs. “Those people down there— They need you. They need all of us.”
“But what’s the point?” you scoff. “If I can’t help him, then what’s the point?”
“You do help them.”
You scoff a teary laugh.
Jack burns from the inside out.
“You may not see it, kid, but I do,” he tells you. “That little boy in there— He’s still alive because of you.”
“But his mom’s not,” you argue in a detached tone of voice. The starry sky above you starts to blur as you blink back the warm tears gathering at your waterline. “And when Barry grows up, he won’t remember his mom— what she smelled like, what kinda music she liked to listen to in the car— but he’ll remember how the system failed her… Both of them…”
You trail off. Jack stays silent, letting you say all the words that have been raging in your head all day — untrue or otherwise.
“And it’s the same with Ilana, too, you know? I spent three hours with her in that room, doing something I know was triggering for her, and… for what? For the kit to sit in that fridge for two weeks because no one else gives enough of a shit to actually pick it up?”
The dull amber streetlights turn your unshed tears to gold when you finally turn to look at him. Your features are largely emotionless, fixed into the sort of automatic deadpan you train yourself to do as a doctor. But your eyes are wide and glittering with emotion despite yourself when you turn to the man beside you.
“I tricked myself into thinking I was actually doing some good for these people, but…” Your jaw clenches to stave off a sob as you shake your head at yourself. “Turns out, it’s all just… bullshit.”
The corner of Jack’s lip flickers upward into a sympathetic smile, because he knows exactly how you feel. “It’s not, kid…” he murmurs lowly.
“It is,” you insist, still stern despite the way your features crumble. “What I do in there doesn’t matter— None of this shit matters—”
Jack can sense you spiraling, can sense you about to turn away from him before you’ve even done it. He reaches out for you, catching your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to keep your eyes on his.
Your gaze flickers with surprise at first, stunned momentarily by the warmth of his touch, before it softens around the edges with something tender — as if you’d been craving this kindness all day. Your glitter irises follow Jack when he rises to full height, towering over you from the other side of the thin metal railing.
“Hey,” Jack snaps, firm but still strikingly soft with you. “You saved a life today, kid. That matters.”
Your eyes sting.
“You helped a girl through the hardest day of her life,” he continues, with a stare just as merciless as his words. “That matters, too.”
You shake your head against his calloused hand, trying and failing to repel his words. You need them more than anything, and still, you can hardly stomach them.
“The officers will pick up that kit, I promise you that. And the asshole who hurt her will pay for what he did, I promise you that, too.”
“But you can’t,” you whimper. “You can’t promise me that. You can’t promise anyone that.”
“Well, I am,” Jack says. “Because I’m gonna make sure it happens. Because I believe it— Because I believe in Barry and Ilana, just like I believe in you. And without you… If you weren’t here for them today… Who knows what would’ve happened?”
His gentle grip on your chin softens when he knows you aren’t going to turn away from him again, but he still doesn’t let you go.
“That’s the point,” Jack tells you, so softly you could cry. “That’s why it matters. That’s why we need you here, understand?”
You sniffle quietly and nod despite yourself, if only to free yourself from this suffocating moment — from Jack’s unrelenting tenderness, which you feel hardly deserving of now.
He clicks his lips against his teeth and smiles softly as he murmurs, “Yeah, I’m gonna need to hear you say it…”
Your wet eyes are stern with unsaid protest, with lashes all clumped together from unshed tears. Your voice is small and more fragile than glass as you abide him anyway. “I understand…”
“Oh, c’mon…” Jack lilts drily. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, kid— At least try to make it sound like you believe it.”
You roll your glassy eyes, more in embarrassment than annoyance.
Jack grins wider. “Yeah, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I can get real annoying if I need to…”
A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth despite yourself.
“…I understand,” you repeat, slightly steadier this time.
“Yeah…” Jack praises with a slow nod. “There we go…”
There’s a lingering beat thereafter, where you think he’s about to let go of your chin. Only he doesn’t.
And it isn’t till then that you realize how intently he’s looking at you now, with eyes heavy and glittering beneath the dim starry night. Your heart lurches in your chest when you think he might kiss you — a fleeting, irrational thought that makes your breath shudder and your mouth fall gently agape.
A sudden boom cracks suddenly through the air.
You flinch hard as a blue-pink firework crackles in a navy black sky.
“Shit…” you huff, clutching at your racing heart. “That scared me…”
Jack’s chest aches with a similar fear. He reaches for you on instinct as his own hands start to tremble.
“Here. C’mon,” he mumbles to himself, calloused hands firm on the outsides of your elbows. “Come back on this side before you give me a damn heart attack, kid…”
He assists you over the railing. You swing one leg over, and then the other, in a motion that feels practiced. Familiar. Until your left foot catches slightly on the edge, that is, and sends you stumbling into the older man’s chest.
“Whoa—“
“I got you,” Jack murmurs, steadying you with firm hands.
For a second, you’re closer than you’ve ever been. You can feel his heart racing against your palms. He can feel your breath fanning across his scruffy cheek. You can see his heavy eyes flitting wildly between yours, and again, you think he might kiss you — you want so desperately for him to kiss you.
Then the heavy door to the roof swings open, and the two of you jerk rapidly apart.
Laughter and muddled conversation come spilling out as a handful of the day shift emerges, with Donnie and Princess leading the charge, carrying a square blue cooler between them. The former smiles when he finds the two of you standing there together.
“You guys are early to the party, I see,” the man shouts over another set of booming fireworks.
“You kinda have to be when you’re the life of one,” Jack shoots back. “It’s more polite that way.”
“Here,” Princess says, handing the man a chilled beer. “Figured you could use one after getting shot today.”
“Shot at,” he corrects drily and takes the can from her grasp. “But I’m not drinking— I’m still on the clock… But she’s not.”
He turns to you, holding the beer out expectantly between you.
“I-I still have a few rounds to finish up,” you shake your head.
“I’ll do ‘em,” Jack shrugs. “You take a load off, alright? You deserve it.”
You hesitate for a moment, swallowing hard before reaching for the can with trembling hands. “…I deserve it,” you repeat under your breath, as though you were trying the words on for size.
“Yeah, you do,” Jack squints.
The can cracks faintly when you open it. You bring it to your mouth and take a slow sip, watching as the fireworks continue raining down overhead.
The day shift gathers around you at the railing with their own beers, while sparkling rainbow hues decorate the dark rooftop. You lean against the cool metal, now on the other side of it, and a little bit better than you were before.
Jack lingers just next to you, and forgets to watch the show playing overhead.
He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you turn to look at him, eyes wide with worry.
“You’re okay, right?” you mutter sheepishly, licking the sheen of alcohol from your mouth. “It’s not too loud out here, is it? ‘Cause we can go back inside if you want.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts in a smile at your concern, and at your use of ‘we.’ The warmth you put in his chest far outweighs the lingering panic settled there.
He shakes his head with a glassy-eyed gaze, “I’m right where I wanna be,” he assures in a honeyed voice.
You turn away, face flaring, and hide your smile behind your beer.
jack with a chronically online younger!reader...walk with me
like you can't sleep, so obviously you reach for your phone, careful not to wake jack beside you, and open tiktok.
jack stirs a bit, eyes opening and adjusting to the bright light coming from your phone.
"jesus kid...it's the middle of the night.." he grumbles, arm coming to wrap over your waist, pulling you close to him.
you let out a little yelp, making jack smile, giving him cuteness aggression at what little it took to get a reaction out of you.
he pulls you in even closer, spooning you in a way that prevents you from being able to wriggle out of his grasp, phone discarded to the side.
jack kisses your shoulder, and you can feel his wide grin, clearly pleased with himself that he managed to get you off the damn phone, and he hums with content.
"see, isn't this better, sweetheart?" he says, while squeezing the side of your hip.
author’s note: 2 posts in one day? I’m on fire :p could be any leon tbh. enjoy!!
➜ You met him while working at a small coffee shop to help pay your college tuition. He was a regular who always asked for plain black coffee, but he was always gentle with you so you liked him.
➜ Sometimes he’d disappear for a few days, then return with bruises or cuts on his face but you were always happy to see him. So, you never asked where the bruises came from , and he never explained.
➜ The first real interaction happened when a rude customer started yelling at you. You were about to cry from desperation because you couldn’t defend yourself afraid of losing your job. Leon stepped in calmly, shutting the situation down without raising his voice.
“You okay, sweetheart?” He gave you a tiny reassuring smile before leaving.
➜ From then on, he started lingering a little longer when he came in. Small talk turned into real conversations about classes and life. He always listened carefully. He would share small pieces of his life too. You began to look forward to his visits more than you expected.
➜ Then one day, after a longer than usual conversation, he finally asked if you’d like to go on a date with him.
The shop was quieter than usual that evening, just the low hum of the espresso machine and soft music in the background. You were wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimed.
Your face lit up when you saw it was Leon.
“Rough day?” Leon asked, noticing the tired look on your face as he approached.
You gave a small shrug. “Midterms. And people suddenly forget how to act nice when they want coffee.”
He let out a quiet chuckle. “Sounds about right.”
You made his usual without asking, sliding the cup toward him. He stayed there, fingers loosely wrapped around the cup, like he was thinking.
You glanced up at him with a confused look on your face, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, then paused. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner someday.’
You blinked, caught off guard. “Like a date?”
A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Like a date.”
There was a beat of silence, your heart picking up a little faster than expected.
“I’d love to,” you said softly.
His smirk grew a little but,“Yeah?”
You nodded, a small smile forming. “Yeah.”
➜ After that first date, things didn’t stay casual for long. One date turned into two, then into a routine of late dinners, walks, sitting in his car just talking for hours, and going to his place for something more.
➜ Leon wasn’t overly expressive, but he showed he cared in small, consistent ways. Remembering your schedule, texting just to make sure you got home safe (even if he was a bad texter).
➜ Before you even realized it, you were basically a couple. You spent most of your free time together, unless he was away on a work trip.
➜ The only real issue was your schedule. You always had to leave early, no matter how late the night went. You had the opening shift at the coffee shop which meant waking up before sunrise. There were nights where Leon wanted nothing more than staying curled up against you after sex but you always ended up leaving quietly before the night could turn into morning
➜ Then one day, when he had enough of your routine he told you to quit your job.
You were slipping your shoes back on, barely awake trying to force yourself out the door reluctantly.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, sweetheart” he said with a sultry tone.
You looked at him, confused. “Doing what?”
He stepped closer, a slight crease in his brow
“Going back to that job just to pay for your bills.”
You let out a small breath. “I need it, baby. I can’t just quit, I need this job.”
There was a pause, then he said it, “Quit. I’ll take care of you.”
“Like what? You’re going to pay for my groceries? And my tuition? And my bills?” You looked at him like he was crazy.
“I make more money than I can spend. Trust me I’ll be fine, if I stopped working today I’d still be set for life.”
➜ After that conversation, things shifted. He didn’t bring it up again directly but a few days later you noticed money had been sent to your bank account .
➜ At first, you thought it was a mistake but then it happened again the next week, and the week after that. When you confronted him, he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
“So you don’t have to worry,” he said simply, like it was obvious.
➜ Eventually, you did quit the coffee shop. And he noticed the difference immediately: The way you laughed more easily, how your shoulders weren’t always tense, how you didn’t look like you were running on empty anymore.
➜ He seemed to enjoy that more than anything. Watching you relax, seeing you happy. He still took you on dates, just as often, if not more. He also started giving you expensive gifts, designer bags and jewelry. He would simply say:
“I asked a friend and she told me this is what’s trending, if you don’t like it you can exchange it.”
(Just for you to check the receipt and see the 4k price tag.)
telling your bf (jack abbot) that you can’t pay the mortgage this month.
(content : reader is spoiled, you guys match each other’s weird, jack’s really sassy, fluffy, blah blah blah i’m not a freak for once)
“god, i wish i could sew your skin to me,” jack almost growls.
your legs were laid across his lap with you both sunken into the couch. it had been a long shift for him, but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep yet. he’d rather spend the morning with you.
“so fuckin perfect,” he slaps the bare skin of your thigh, making you giggle and squirm, his hand refusing to let you pull away from him. “‘m gonna eat you one day.”
“you’re so weird,” you whine in faux annoyance as you kick your feet against his hands.
returning to scrolling through your tiktok feed, you remembered a video you had seen the night prior before bed that made you laugh. girl pranking her husband by saying she couldn’t pay the mortgage.
you try not to mess with him too much. he always grumbles how hes too old for your bullshit. when you try and jumpscare him from around the corner he never flinches. only rolls his eyes and keeps walking. this was the perfect kind of prank for you.
you give yourself a second, waiting until he’s more focused on the television screen than you to craft up your fake little disappointed face. it came in a small gasp and a fake groan of embarrassment, to which you covered your face with your hands.
“jack..” you mumble.
he turns his head, one eyebrow up once he sees your state. “what’s your problem?”
dropping your hands, you look at him with your eyebrows upturned.
“i forgot to tell you.. um.. i can’t pay the mortgage this month.”
he stares at you for a moment. face unmoving. you start to believe he didn’t hear you. old man shit n all. you’re so tired of always repeating yourself-
“did you hit your head?” he asks you all of a sudden.
your eyes look back and forth. “what-”
“what the hell are you talking about right now?” he’s lost focus on the tv. the way he’s looking you up and down, he clearly thinks something is wrong in your head for even bringing this up.
“i can’t pay the mortgage this month,” you say again but this time slower, as if mocking him.
jack turns his head to the side, eyes still on you as his brain tries to process this. it takes everything in you not to break in this moment.
“you don’t even pay the mortgage,” he says in the same tone as you did but slower. if you weren’t messing around with him you would have smacked him right across the face for that. and he’d probably like it. besides the point.
you pick at the hem of your pajama shorts to distract yourself from laughing, covering it up as a little to keep you from feeling bad.
“no but like.. i looked at my account and i can’t help pay the mortgage this month.”
“what are you- do you need money or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing. “don’t i give you enough?”
“jack, i’m saying i cannot help with the mortgage,” you repeat, emphasizing each word.
“you have never in your life helped with the mortgage. i pay the mortgage. do you even know how to pay the mortgage?”
you pause. now that you think about it, you really don’t. he always took care of everything. groceries, electric, gas, your car, and even gave you a little allowance for the month. he didn’t like you having to worry about money. thats why he went to medical school! to make the big bucks and spoil you!
a little smile pulls at jack’s lips, his hands resting on your legs.
“how about this,” he proposes. “i’ll give you double the mortgage if you tell me how much i pay every month.”
you continue to sit there in silence, your lips in a tight line.
when you guys chose this house, he made sure to tell the realtor that whenever you guys took a tour of each home, they never talked numbers. he wanted you to pick a place that you liked. that you wanted to grow old in and be happy.
so, to be honest, you can’t even tell him how much your house is worth even in full.
“.. you’re an asshole,” you mumble, rolling over onto your belly so you can watch the tv and ignore him.
a chuckle comes from his throat, hand coming up around your foot to massage it gently.
“mhm,” he nods, taking his free hand and slapping it right on your ass now that he can. “the biggest.”
a/n: jack “i’ll pay for it” abbot im going to live inside your skin
summary: jack is arrested at your show for being too hot
pairing: jack abbot x popstar!reader
warnings: mdni!, no use of y/n, VERY suggestive, cursing, fanboy whitaker, dirty jokes, not proofread
word count: 1.6k
author's note: my babies asked and they shall have pt. 2 !! lmk if u catch why it was that position :)) i wrote this after driving 3 hours just listening to short n sweet on repeat. ty so much for reading !!
part 1
Jack doesn't have a clue what he's doing right now.
The PPG Paints Arena in Pittsburgh is a mirage to him. A glittery, pink mirage. He could bet $1000 that he's the oldest person in the arena that came here alone.
Well, alone if you don't count Santos and Whitaker.
He thought you were joking a couple days ago when you were high on morphine and begging your manager to send him free tickets to your show the following Monday. It wasn't until he got an email from someone on your team, an email reading 'IMPORTANT: THREE (3) VIP TICKETS FOR DR. ABBOT', that he realized you were serious.
You were nice enough to send enough tickets for the 3 night shift attendings who were on scene when you arrived, but unfortunatly that means that not all of them can bail on the hospital to come to your show. Jack did the polite thing and offered to work so Shen and Ellis, who were actual fans, could go.
They shut that idea down quick.
"She didn't call me the hot ass doctor, man," John laughed.
Jack shook his head, "She was looped up on morphine, John."
"All I know is that they emailed you, not us. And she's not high off her ass anymore," Ellis countered. She smacks her iPad down, "You're going."
"Better get to listening," John says as he throws a tangled mess of earbuds over Jack's shoulder.
So now here he was, clad in a crisp black tee and some dark wash jeans, among the sea of teenage girls and disgruntles boyfriends. Watching as girls in cowboy hats and boots take pictures in the arena.
Jack is more surprised at the fact that Trinity wasn't as excited as he thought she was going to be when he invited them. In fact, Dennis was the one who almost hyperventilated. He almost passed out when Jack told them he had tickets to the sold out show, and he then had to take a 15 minute breather in the staff room after being told they were VIP.
A picture of him sipping on an apple juice carton is still haunting the day shift group chat.
Jack pulls out his phone, squinting as he moves it away from his face, "Santos, can you show them the tickets? I don't know how to work it."
"Sure, gramps." She snatches the phone from his grasp, fidgeting with his phone before the barcode appears.
He gives her a pointed glare, one that says be careful I'm still your attending.
Dennis bounces on his feet all the way through the arena, seemingly in awe and anticipation. "Hey, did the tickets mention how close we are? I brought my disposable camera," he smiles cheerfully.
Before he can get out a reply, Trinity motions for the phone in an effort to not waste time watching him try and find it himself. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads the ticket, zooming in and out to make sure she's seeing right. "It just says VIP Guest, it doesn't say a seat or anything."
Jack grabs the phone back, and sure enough, she's right. "Let's just ask someone who works here."
VIP Guest really means VIP huh.
There's a reason the tickets didn't have a seat. The reason being that the three of them are now standing in between the front row and stage, right where security is. They could pull themselves on stage if they tried hard enough.
Dennis had to whip out his mini fan to keep from fainting.
Trinity took a picture of him again. Captioning it "Fuckleberry's about to cream his pants."
Jack is sweating. Like enough sweat that it looks like he just finished coding a patient at the PTMC. He thought he was going to be able to come to the show, send a thank you email, and go on with his life.
The truth is you made him nervous.
You came into the E.R. looking like nothing short of a goddess, and the flirty comments you made didn't help either. He had to keep his thoughts innocent as he adjusted your joint back in place, looking anywhere else besides where your skirt ended near his grip. Aside from your looks, he could tell you were sincere and kind-hearted person. He heard from the hospital rumor-mill that you came back the next day to visit the peds floor and say hi to some fans.
Essentially, he was fucked.
Which is why the thought of you being so close again is sending him into overdrive. He's afraid he might have to picture a dying patient in his mind so he doesn't grow hard watching you perform in that little outfit again. He heard "Bed Chem" once and had to stop halfway to take a cold shower. He's brought out of his thoughts when Dennis screams as the lights begin to dim.
No time to run and hide now.
It's refreshing to be back onstage after the weekend you had. You spent the past two days icing your leg and praying that you don't make a fool of yourself again when Pittsburgh N2 rolls around.
The adrenaline usually does all the work for you, keeping you from second-guessing yourself as you let the energy of the arena consume you. If you make a mistake, you just smile and keep the show going with a laugh. If anything, it'll make for a funny compilation on YouTube.
Your prayers seem to go answered as the show goes off without a hitch. The blood in your veins is pumping a million miles an hour with each song, and it definitely has nothing to do with the silver-fox attending watching from in front of barricade.
It takes the strength of all your ancestors to not stare directly at him for each song, a challenge so hard that you have to mentally remind yourself to not bite your lip when you do make eye contact.
You allow yourself to indulge in his attention outwardly for one song.
"Pittsburgh, I see some really attractive people in the audience," you fan yourself dramatically, "…my heart is racing. Girls come out here I need some help."
From behind, two of your dancers join your side ready to begin the next set. One has a special set of pink fuzzy handcuffs.
"Girls, look at that man," you bite your lip as you finally point out the object of your desires.
Jack Abbot.
Blue and red lights start flashing while police sirens whine from the stage. The tour camera quick to pull up his face on the large screens in front. At first, he thinks he's having a stroke. But then you're leaning down, biting your lips in an attempt to hide your laughter.
Trinity is almost on the ground, keeling over gasping for air as she pulls up her camera to document this moment.
Dennis keeps looking from the screen then back to his attending. His mouth floundering open and closed. He's jealous.
"I think I need a doctor, what's your name?"
Still in a state of disbelief, he manages to get out, "Jack." He feels like he needs a drink. Or two.
"Are you a doctor, Jack?" Oh you're evil.
He nods, "Dr. Abbot," arms coming to cross in front of himself. He's sure the whistles and barking from behind aren't for him. Not until he hears a woman nearby scream "HE'S FINE AS SHIT!"
Turning towards your backup dancer, you take the pair of handcuffs from her, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to arrest you for being too hot Dr. Abbot." You giggle as you toss him the cuffs, watching as he catches them with one hand easily.
A hand at the back of your long skirt signals the next bit,"Doctor, you're so hot that my clothes are just falling off my body!" With that, your long skirt drops to the floor revealing the same type of set you wore in the E.R. Stepping out of the heap on the floor, your legs are now exposed in your shiny tights, making the crowd scream.
Jack is really hoping that the camera is only catching his upper half right now.
Faking a cough, you sigh, "I think I'm coming down with something, do you know mouth-to-mouth?"
"I can teach you," he replies, surprising himself with his own boldness.
While the audience may think you're joking, in reality you actually do need to fan the heat away from your face. The intro to 'Juno' starts, and you realize you can't sit here and flirt with him the whole show.
"Come find me after the show then, Dr. Abbot," you wink. "This one's for you."
With that, the opening verse starts and thunderous squealing shakes the arena. Jack doesn't know what to do with himself, not sure if he should be mortified that his residents are fangirling on the side, or if he should take up your offer and find you later. Throughout the song you keep finding his gaze, and each time you do you exaggerate the lyrics into the mic.
Dennis slaps his shoulder repeatedly, "Look, look this is the best part! At each stop she does a different position!" He's already grabbing both Abbot and Santos towards the edge of the walkway. Fuck it, he's VIP he can do what he wants. They're smack dab in the center when you sing.
"Wanna try out some freaky positions…"
The crowd quiets, everyone on the edge of their seat as they anticipate tonight's position. You lay onto your back, left leg bent down while your right leg is lifted in the air. You catch Jack's stare, winking before continuing, "Have you ever tried this one?"
“how am i supposed to work in these conditions?” you say to dana, hand in your palm as you practically drool over the night shift attending in his black scrubs. “this is why i never work the night shift.”
dana chuckles to herself as she types on her computer, “honey, you have it bad.”
“it isn’t my fault that he looks like that on a normal day,” you tell her. “and the ED air doesn’t impact him.”
she shakes her head as she looks over her monitor at you, “can you hurry things along and fuck him so you can stop pining?”
“dana!” you exclaim. “i am a woman of virtue!”
“you’re so such thing,” she logs off her computer and busies herself with checking the board. “the day you ask out jack abbot, we’ll all know peace.”
you open your mouth to say something, but she’s already gone. you turn back to where abbot is standing talking to robby, and you have to look away before he notices you staring at his arms.
“girl,” santos walks over to you. “you need to be put down.”
“i’m sorry for ovulating!” you hiss. “working in the ED while you’re ovulating should be a form of torture. i don’t even know why he’s here, he’s two hours early for his shift.”
“he did a SWAT shift,” she tells you. “came in with a GSW victim.”
“fuck off,” you look at her in horror. “i missed him in uniform?”
santos snorts, “like i said. you need to be put down.”
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