NEEN

happily reposting my favorite fics

[midnightgardentales]

💞Tags/Warnings💞: fluff, lots of flirting, SMUT ( brief mentions of intercourse/oral and hand humping ), Insecure!Jack Abbot, SoftGirly!Reader, age gap crush, not just friends/not yet lovers, Widow!Jack Abbot

💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot really likes the confidence boost the new night shift nurse gives him with her playful flirting. But… She’s not playing..

💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

💞Title💞: STOP!

💞A/N💞: based off of the song “Stop!” by Bella Kay bc I can NOT get that song out of my head and every time I listen to it, I just think about Jack.. 🤭 nobody asked for this, but I hope you like it!

((Requests are ALWAYS open))

Masterlist

* * * *

“ You’re a lot a bit older, I'm a lot more green..

I'm sure you know that, baby, you just got the

thing about ya

Well, I swear that I can really learn my way

around ya

It's not my fault that you, you turn it on and I

Can't turn it off and I don't really want to.. ”

* * * *

“What’s this?” Y/N chuckles a bit as she sees a yellow envelope waiting for her at her desk.

It’d been an iffy start to her birthday.. With the rain and chilly wind carrying throughout Pittsburgh and the ‘all hands on deck’ text she’d received from Robby, she thought for sure, this birthday would be a let down.

But!

All the text messages from friends, coworkers, and family alike had brightened her day. And.. The little café breakfast and birthday flowers Uber-ed to her place by Jack had also put a smile on her face..

“Just a lil somethin dropped there by a bird..” Dana teases from her post behind the nurse’s station. Y/N doesn’t even have to see the name on the envelope. She knew only one person in this ED was old enough to find cards more sentimental than a text message.

“So that’s why he didn’t message me..” She smirks as she opens the card and reads the cute little note left inside along with a gift card to Ulta. She didn’t even wanna check the balance on it. She knew she’d freak if she saw.

In the five months of her working here, she’d become a real favorite for Jack Abbot. It was very clear for everyone to see, and Dana and Robby had taken to referring to them as the Bonnie and Clyde of the ED. Just always up to no good while working cases together.

Even if Y/N was ‘just an RN’, Jack entrusted her with things that were way out of her job expectations. This wasn’t a mentor/mentee relationship, though. Don’t get that twisted.

No. Y/N wanted that old man. Badly.

“Got the breakfast, B?” She hears from behind her just as she sets the card down neatly on her desk for a keepsake. Turning to face him, a smirk is already playing on her lips.

“Yes. I did. Would’ve been tastier if you were feeding it to me, though.” She says casually.

This is their norm.

Flirtatious banter here, a wink or two there. Y/N had made it clear from the first day they met, she found Jack extremely attractive. And she didn’t hide it for anyone. Jack enjoyed the attention. As a widower, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so openly checked him out.

Sure, he’d have the occasional glances, maybe the common and casual one liner by a woman he’d held the door open for at a local coffee shop, but Y/N looked at him like she wanted to eat him half the time.

And it did something to his ego.

He hadn’t been so openly yearned for in.. So long. It felt nice to have this younger woman humor him. But that’s all it was.

Right?

“I’ll keep a note for next time. But.. Something tells me if I was there, the food wouldn’t have gotten eaten..” Jack jokes back as Y/N takes off her jacket to hang on the back of her chair. She laughs softly and walks to the break room, knowing he’ll follow.

Clyde always follows Bonnie..

“It would’ve gotten eaten. Eventually.” Y/N defends playfully.

“Yeah, I’m sure you would’ve had a plan for it..” Jack snorts, never missing a beat when it comes to her.

“Oh, Jackie boy..” Y/N shakes her head as she stops at the break room doorway to fully turn and look up at him, both hands on the doorway to lean in a bit more. “If you could just see the things we do in my head..” She shakes her head a bit, making Jack’s ears turn pink.

She takes note..

“That a threat?” Jack raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms, leaning in closer to show he’s not afraid.

Y/N giggles at that, playfully pushing at his chest to back him away. “I have to behave while on the clock. Robby’s warned me too many times already...” She smirks before turning to walk into the break room and set her lunch bag in the fridge.

“What about.. Off the clock?” Jack asks, making her movements slow.

“Excuse me?” She asks with an amused raised eyebrow. Jack walks over, hands slipping into his cargo pants.

“You heard me?” He shrugs. “My apartment. 9pm. I took the night partially off.” He explains as Y/N eyes him closer.

Was this finally happening?!

“I’ll be there. Gives me time to get out of these scrubs..” She says. This storm had dampened any dinner plans with friends, so this was honestly more of a blessing.

Thank you, Mother Nature..

Jack smiles warmly, giving a little nod. “Great..” He says softly, walking out of the break room. Y/N soon follows suite, walking back to the nurse’s station as her head spins.

Five months. Five months of constant flirting and blunt sexual tension, would all be leading to tonight. Y/N figured it would only be a matter of time when she noticed at the same time they began getting referred to as the ‘Bonnie and Clyde of the ED’, Jack began wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck instead of on his finger..

“Happy birthday, pretty girl..” She hears beside her and turns to see Emma walking over with a small takeout box from the bakery across the street. She gasps happily.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t have..” She says as the two nurses hug. Given their ages and the fact that they’d started on the same day, the two grew a bond that Y/N had joked came from trauma. But she was a nurse, not a psychologist…

“What do you have planned after shift?” Emma asks curiously as Y/N smiles brightly, remembering.

“Hot date..” She smirks as she nods to Jack who’s now helping staff move the giant bins of medical supplies that would be needed for the definite wave of patients they’d be getting today.

“No… Really?!” Emma asks in shock, making Y/N nod certainly while still checking him out.

“Best. Birthday. Ever.” Y/N confirms. “I mean.. Do you see that man? God..” She continues, as if at a loss for words. Emma giggles at her friend’s obvious longing stare.

“Be careful before you drool..” She teases her with a soft nudge.

“Hey.” She begins simply. “All I’m saying is.. I have a dad, so.. I don’t know what the hell my problem is..” She mutters with a shake of her head.

“You’re insane..” Emma states in amusement before straightening up more at the sight behind Y/N.

“It’s not my fault he walks like it’s big!” Y/N shrugs shamelessly.

“Ms. Y/N…” Robby says in false pleasantries to get her attention. Y/N stiffens fast, quieting a groan before glaring at a sheepish looking Emma.

“You couldn’t warn me?” She hisses quietly to her fellow nurse who’s now covering her mouth as to not laugh out right. She shakes her head slightly and straightens up.

“Dr. Robby.” Y/N turns fully to face him, a bright and innocent smile on her face. Robby falsely returns a polite grin.

“I understand it’s your birthday, but Dr. Abbot is not your cake..” He says simply.

“Sadly.” Y/N clarifies, dropping the innocent act for now.

Robby narrows his eyes at that, muttering for her to get back to work before leaving. Emma bursts out laughing and Y/N swats at her while fussing..

*

*

*

“Thank you! Thank you for coming..” Y/N calls down the hallway of Jack’s apartment building, smiling as she sees a few mutual friends wave goodbye before getting on the elevator.

When Jack had invited her over, he hadn’t told her it’d been for a surprise birthday party that he had organized. Thank god Emma had talked her out of doing the cliché ‘nothing on under the trench coat’ routine..

Instead, she’d shown up in a dress that was fiery red. The material was silky smooth. It had a sweetheart neckline with lace detailing that extended up to a sweetheart-shaped bustier. The sleeves, long and sheer, were made up of lace. The skirt, short and flared out.

Shutting the front door, Y/N glances at the clock on the living room wall. 1am. Jack would be clocking in for his shift in the next hour, and Y/N was already assured she could spend the night here.

Her heels click against the floor as she walks into the kitchen, watching Jack as he cleans up the dishes from the dinner party. “You’re the sweetest man alive.” Y/N notes finally.

“Hey, what kind of person would I be if I let you do dishes on your birthday..?” Jack shrugs it off.

“No. Everything. The breakfast, the flowers, the cheesy card..” She says as she walks closer now.

“Yeah, well.. Birthdays, holidays, special events.. Kind of my time to shine.” He chuckles a bit. Jack loved putting thought into stuff like that. It was the best part about being married. After his wife passed, he kind of lost that whimsy. But.. When Y/N playfully started counting down to her birthday last month, it.. Reminded him how much fun it felt to spoil someone.

From the look she gave him when he surprised her with the party, it was nice to know he hadn’t lost his touch…

“You know. When you first texted me to come over, I thought you were finally gonna give me what I’ve been wanting..” Y/N points out, completely honest as she hops up on to the counter top right next to the sink so she could watch him clean up and appreciate the way his arms flex while he scrubs those dishes..

Jack chuckles at that and shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you were..” He teases back.

This time though, Y/N doesn’t smile or even laugh back.

No. She’s grown tired of the banter. It was getting her nowhere, and she was beginning to feel like some silly school girl that was more of a nuisance than a potential love interest.

So instead, she obviously checks him out before nodding.

“Yeah. I was.” She says simply. Jack stops his chuckling when he hears that. He turn away from the dishes now to look at her. Maybe to check if she was messing with him.

By the look on her face? She clearly wasn’t.

“Oh come on..” Jack finally says, putting the smile back on. But it’s more of a mask now..

“What?” She asks.

“You’re.. Messing around.” He states.

“When have I ever?” She asks now, arms loosely crossing as he shifts a bit on his feet.

“I mean, just like when we’re at work. When you… Make those jokes..” He tries to remind her.

“I’m never joking.” Y/N finally says bluntly, eyeing him closer as if he should know that.

“What?” Jack asks after a moment of silence.

There’s no way he heard that right..

“Is that what you’ve thought this was? Me just messing around?” Y/N asks in amusement as she leans closer, both hands gripping the edge of the counter top on either side of her.

“I…” Jack pauses and blinks as if still trying to get his footing. “Listen.. B..” He finally tries to begin as she only smirks at him.

“You don’t.. You don’t want me..” He continues, sheepishly motioning to himself. Y/N has half a mind to pause this conversation and check around this man’s apartment for mirrors, because he clearly doesn’t have any!

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t?” She challenges.

“No.” Jack says quickly before chuckling at how silly this all is. He shakes his head, trying to focus back on the dishes. “No, you.. You don’t..” He mutters.

Y/N hums before gently grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him closer. His breath is caught in his throat the second she puts his hand on her bare thigh. Fuck, her skin is soft. And fuck, it’s been so long since he’s touched a woman like this.

Y/N doesn’t break eye contact as she slowly slides his hand between her legs. She watches the way his eyes darken the minute his fingers are pressed up against lace and silk. Y/N slowly rolls her hips so she’s basically sitting on his hand, his palm pressed against her covered clit. She gasps softly, free arm going around his neck to keep him close.

“You feel that?” She breathes out, thumb pressing against the pulse point on his wrist. It’s racing..

Jack can barely speak. He’s already hard against his pants. “Still think I don’t want you?” She taunts quietly between shallow breaths as she grinds slowly against his hand.

“Fuck…” Jack grunts, voice rough. “B. You can… You can do so much better..” He tries reasoning, but he’s at the end of his rope and Y/N can definitely feel it..

"Better than you? Impossible..” Y/N breathes out. She doesn't stop the slow, torturous roll of her hips, feeling exactly how his control is snapping. She knows he’s trying to be rational, trying to push her away because of that damn insecurity regarding their age difference. But his hand betrays him.. His fingers press deeper against the lace of her underwear, making her moan out.

“God, Jack…” She breathes out as he feels a wet spot beginning to grow on her underwear.

He groans quietly, head rolling back slightly as he feels the warmth seep through her underwear and against his palm. His free hand grips the counter top as he can’t stop himself from looking down at his hand between her legs. It’s been so long since he’s felt a woman’s arousal, and he’s starved for it.

“Lean back..” He growls a bit, making Y/N shudder. He doesn’t need to tell her twice. She’s intently leaning back against his kitchen counter, hands set behind her to prop her up as Jack yanks up her dress.

Fuck being rational right now.

He stares down at her underwear after yanking her legs wide and up. “Look at what you did to yourself..” He whispers. Y/N can feel herself getting wetter at just his eyes being on her.

“Please..” She breathes out.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday. I would’ve loved to tease you till you cry..” He taunts quietly as he leans down, putting her legs over his shoulders so he can really get his face deep. He pulls her underwear to the side, eyeing her most intimate area like a prize.

“You’ve done five months of teasing..” Y/N whispers in anticipation. No more teasing. No more imagining.

Just finally some relief..

*

*

*

Neither have moved from the bed.

Jack knows Shen is gonna kill him. It’s almost 4am and he could only manage a quick ‘sorry, can’t make it in’ text about an hour ago while Y/N was… Occupied with his manhood.

Both individuals had lost count of how many times they’d ripped open a new condom, but Jack is sure he’ll find the wrappers later to confirm. Right now, his money is on six. Six rounds, six different positions, six different surfaces..

The bed was their final resting place.

“Are you okay? Your leg?” Y/N finally breaks the peaceful silence. She looks exhausted, hair and makeup a mess, but Jack watches in awe as she makes herself sit up so she can start take off his prosthetic for him.

“I can do it, I..” His voice falls flat as she effortlessly removes the leg, putting it off to the side, no reaction on her tired face.

“Let me be sweet to you..” She teases quietly as she moves over him to lay limp on his chest, practically using his toned body for her bed.

Looking down at her, he watches as she gently plays with his chain the holds his wedding ring on it. “I don’t want you to regret this..” She finally whispers. All joking and teasing is off to the side as he realizes she’s terrified of the morning sun coming out. With it will come the end of this fantastic night.

“I used every candle on my cake for this. And I don’t want… I don’t want it to just be a moment..” Y/N admits, not looking up at him. Instead, her face stays turned to stare at the bedroom wall.

Jack’s room is exactly how she’d imagined it to be. Jack’s body pressed against hers is exactly how she’d imagined it to be. She wanted to bask in this for as long as possible, which meant fighting her sleep.

Jack’s mouth goes dry. “You wasted your candles on a one legged, widowed, veteran with PTSD?” He whispers, using humor as his shield. A swift swat to the chest brings him back to the reality of this situation. He was in bed with a woman for the first time in 12 years. And he felt seen… He felt.. Cared for.

“Not a waste if you agree to breakfast in bed tomorrow morning..” Y/N whispers, stretching a bit to nuzzle into his neck.

He turns his face, getting lost in her hair that always smelled so good from his brief brushes with her in the ED. From this close proximity though, he could now smell it as cinnamon vanilla. Interesting to note..

“If you’re still here when I wake up..” He mumbles, voice light, but his heart is heavy. He sure hopes that she is.

“Mm.. Jackie, Jackie..” Y/N playfully shakes her head before looking up at him. “With the way you were tossing me around? This is my bed now..” She declares quietly before sweetly kissing his blushing form…

“That boldness must come from your age..” He jokes quietly against her lips, making her giggle.

“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, old man..” She taunts back as she playfully covers his eyes.

“Old man? Old man?! Do I have to remind you so soon?” Jack jokingly threatens as he flips them so he’s back on top, making Y/N playfully scream.

“Mercy!” She mocks..

!!The End!!

[of-apollo]

₊⊹ FROM DOCTOR TO PATIENT !

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader.

SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, you’ve grown accustomed to that. You don’t expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you don’t expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.

NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.

REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy

NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI

The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.

The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.

"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.

Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.

"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.

Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.

"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. It’s deep."

"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.

"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."

You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.

"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."

You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.

Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.

"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."

For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.

"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.

"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."

Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.

"That’s it. That’s got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."

"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.

You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.

"Whoa—!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.

Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.

A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.

"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jack’s voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."

From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.

"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."

"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.

"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."

It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.

"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"

"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."

"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.

"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "It’s a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"

You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.

Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."

Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.

Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pitt’s intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.

"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"

"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, what’s gone on? You’re supposed to be off until Monday."

"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."

"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, I’ve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. It’s Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."

"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."

"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."

"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, it’s me and my DIY projects."

A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.

"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.

"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, it’s a bit of a disaster."

Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.

Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"

"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.

"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jack’s wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."

While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jack’s a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jack’s dressing and got him a dose of something strong.

Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.

The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.

"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."

The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"

Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jack’s heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"

Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh my… are you okay? Well clearly not but… what happened?”

"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.

Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jack’s bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."

"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."

"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."

Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"

Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jack’s arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.

"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write ‘DIY FAIL’ on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jack’s forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."

"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."

Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."

"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."

"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."

Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."

"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."

As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jack’s arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.

By the time Jack’s arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.

Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.

"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."

"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."

Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

ALL PITT MEN: @malindacath @superlegend216 @sapphire882 @challengers4ev @hazydespair @hallecarey1 @teenwolfbitches28 @imabapical @sleepylunarwolf @lacy1986 @thehockeynerd30 @teardropcup @staygoldsquatchling02 @typicalkhani @ibleednavyandorange @cozyvanillacashmere @amacphet @macbaetwo @hellsxbellsx

JACK ABBOT: @moonlitblossomsofthesun @nebuleuseeeeee @nyxmoretti @nightlight-box @angelryex @merlin-288 @sir-thisisadndserver @thewillowarchive @lazypostfandomer @pear-1206 @voidsagent @r6ven @kinda-nobody @lastwandastan @thegirlwhowaited5everok @angelryex @emma8895eb @marvelsbipolarnerd @bluberrychampagne

[apfelkernchen]

 I just wanted to make your life easier

Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you

Summary: A simple conversation about the honeymoon uncovers a much deeper disagreement neither of you saw coming.

A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3

Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)

Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)

Previous chapter: Part 122: I don't think you understand how healthy independence works

--- --- ---

The honeymoon planning had taken over the dining table. Brochures, handwritten bullet-point lists, a calculator and more than fifteen tabs open on your laptop.

Jack wandered into the room carrying two mugs of coffee. You reached for your mug like a lifeline, clutching it between your hands and staring at the screen in growing desperation. 

Jack kissed the top of your head before sitting down. “How is it going?”

You let out a deep sigh. “Badly. I’m trying to find something that doesn’t require us to sell Lizzie.”

He smiled. “And? I mean - she’s tiny, probably not worth much and I’ve gotten kind of used to her.”

You laughed quickly, then tapped on the touchpad and turned the laptop toward him. “What do you think about the Bahamas?”

He took one look at the pictures then frowned. “I thought we were looking at some nice places on the Turks and Caicos.”

“You were looking at nice places on the Turks and Caicos” you replied. “I was looking at the prices.”

“Of the places I sent you?”

“Yeah.” You looked at one of your handwritten notes, handing it over to him. “The cheapest hotel you picked was thirty thousand dollars for three weeks.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

You stared at him. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Jack” you said slowly. “That’s an insane amount of money.”

He tilted his head. “No, it’s not. Well… yeah it is” he backpaddled. “But it’s our honeymoon.”

“I know.” You smiled patiently. Or at least you tried. “But still.”

“We only do this once.”

Your smile faltered.

“And I really like Turks and Caicos. They look beautiful” he went on.

You kept your smile in place. “Mhm.”

“The beaches are stunning. And they’ve got private villas.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s insanely beautiful.” He smiled. “What’s the problem with that, honey?”

You let out a quiet breath, then closed the laptop carefully before turning toward him. “I don’t want to spend so much money on one vacation.”

“Why not?” His smile faded a little. “You deserve it.”

You sighed again. “Jack…”

“What?”

“You keep saying that.”

“Yeah, because it’s true” he shot back without missing a beat.

You rubbed your eyes. “Yeah, but… it doesn’t make it less expensive.”

He shrugged. “I have the money.”

“I know.”

“And I want to spend it. So… what’s the problem?”

You searched for the right words. “The problem is… um… you know… I don’t want us starting our marriage by… by burning through money just because that one beach is slightly prettier.”

“It’s not only that one beach” Jack protested immediately. “The reefs are better for snorkeling.”

“You don’t even snorkel. You don’t even swim. You don’t own swim shorts” you replied, your frustration growing.

“Maybe I don’t. But you do. And Lizzie.” His smile softened. “Think about how much she’ll love it.”

“Lizzie is one” you answered with all the patience you could muster - which, honestly, wasn’t much at all. “She doesn’t care how beautiful the beach is. She’ll eat five pounds of sand and then probably get eaten by a shark.”

He laughed out loud. “Yeah, probably, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t she eat sand from the prettiest beach in the world.”

You smiled despite yourself, then immediately got serious again. “Jack…”

“Hm?”

“The Bahamas would still be amazing.”

“Mhm.”

“And we’d save a lot of money.”

He looked away for a second. “But we only get one honeymoon. And I don’t know when the next time is I’ll get three weeks off, you know?”

“I know.” You reached over and squeezed his hand. “But I don’t care where we’re going - as long as we don’t have to burn through your savings for it” you added hastily. “I just want to spend time with you and Lizzie.”

He squeezed back slightly, his eyes still fixed on the table. “I just want it to be perfect” he said quietly.

“I know” you replied, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “It’ll be perfect. Because it will be our honeymoon. Mr. and Mrs. Abbot’s honeymoon.”

He looked up by the mention of this. He couldn’t help but smile even when it was a little less wide than usual. “Let’s talk about this later again, okay?” He downed his coffee, then stood. “I think I need to take a nap. A liittle knackered honestly.”

He leaned down and gave you a kiss before retreating to the bedroom.

— — — 

The next day you were standing in line at the grocery store when your phone buzzed.

Payment received From: Jack Abbot $2000 Transfer note: Wedding dress

You tilted your head and stared at the screen. “What the fuck?!”

You couldn’t believe what you saw. And something about the number made your stomach turn slightly. And even when you tried to ignore it, Peter’s voice echoed in your head. Ever since your bachelorette party it seemed to have grown louder and louder.

I bet Hunter didn’t introduce himself as an abusive asshole.

You knew this was different. 

You knew Jack wasn’t like your ex boyfriend. 

But you couldn’t help that this made your blood boil.

— — —

Jack was making dinner when you got home. The smell of fresh bread filled the apartment. Jack looked up. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Lizzie sat on the kitchen floor, trying to feed a piece of banana to her stuffed giraffe. She shrieked when she saw you. “MAMMA!”

You didn’t even hear her. You set the grocery bag down harder than necessary, then held up your phone. “What exactly is this?”

Jack glanced at it. “Oh.” You could see him gulp, then he went back to cutting tomatoes without another word. 

You waited, but nothing else came. “So?”

He stopped for a moment, still not looking at you. “It’s for your dress. You mentioned you’d pick it up tomorrow.”

“I KNOW what the note says” you replied, the anger barely masked. “But I never asked you to pay for it. You just… just…” You threw your hands up in frustration. “... sent me the money.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged as though that explained everything.

“Jack! Why the hell did you do that?”

He looked puzzled. “What?”

“Why the fuck did you do that? Why did you transfer me money?”

“It’s for your wedding dress, honey.”

“YES EXACTLY. It’s MY wedding dress. MINE. Not yours.”

Lizzie looked up from the floor, clearly confused why your voice was suddenly so angry.

“Honey, it’s no big deal. I just wanted to” he said, obviously baffled by your reaction.

Your pulse started climbing. “But WHY?”

He blinked. “I… I don’t think I understand the question, honey.”

For one second you closed your eyes and tried to breathe. 

In. 

Out. 

It didn’t help this time. “You paid for my bachelorette. You’re trying to pay for my dress. You wanted to go to Turks and Caicos.”

“Yeah…?”

“You keep buying things, Jack.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, but I can afford it, honey.”

“I know YOU can afford it” you burst out.

“So…” He put down the knife and held up his hands. “... what exactly is the problem?”

“The problem is… Jack… I…” You searched for words that suddenly refused to come. “Jack, I… I… I have my own money.”

“Sweetheart, I know.”

“So… you don’t need to pay for my stuff.”

“But you’re my fiancee.” He sounded almost frustrated now.

“Yeah, but I still have my own money!”

“I know but I’m going to marry you and you’ll be my wife and I’m supposed to provide for you.” He shrugged, his ears blushing in a faint shade of pink.

The sentence hung between you for a moment.

“You’re… supposed to … to provide for me?” you repeated, a little dumbfounded.

“Yeah.”

“According to whom?” you asked.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn’t have an answer. Eventually he shrugged. “That’s what husbands do.”

Your chest tightened. “You think… being a good husband means paying for everything?”

“No” he replied quickly. “I mean - no, not exactly but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably… yeah, kind of.”

“Jack.” You took another breath. “It’s… it’s… you don’t let me make one single financial decision. And when I try to make one you immediately try to take control. That’s… that’s… not okay. That’s how it starts.” You stopped, your hands in fists, suddenly not sure if you had said too much.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s how what starts?”

You swallowed again, harder. Suddenly your ears were ringing. You could hear Lizzie babbling on the floor but it felt like you were underwater, the sounds muffled, wrong.

“That’s how it started with… with… with Hunter” you ended quietly, barely a whisper. 

Your eyes were burning and you started shaking.

“I’m not your ex boyfriend.” Jack tilted his head slightly, looking at you like he saw you for the first time. “What do you want to say there? You think I’m trying to control you with money?”

You shook your head. “No. No, I don’t… I just… you keep paying for everything.”

Now he genuinely looked hurt. “Yeah, because I want to.”

“But… but… but why?”

“Because I earn enough and I never had a reason to spend it and now I have one and it makes me feel good.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Because I love you” he added barely audible. 

You looked down, suddenly overwhelmed. 

Your heart hurt and your head buzzed and you felt more and more confused. Your voice was quiet when you started talking again. “I love you too, Jack.” You paused, letting it sink in. “But sometimes… I don’t want it to feel like you’re paying me to become your wife.”

His entire face changed in an instant. He simply stared at you and didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he finally spoke his voice sounded smaller than you’d ever heard it. “... you think I’d do that?”

His eyes flickered toward Lizzie for the briefest moment before returning to you.

“No but I don’t even want you to-”

“I would never-”

“I KNOW!”

Lizzie looked up from the floor, her eyes big, her lip wobbling. “Mommy? Dadda?”

This time you noticed and immediately lowered your voice again. “I’m not saying you do” you whispered urgently.

Jack rubbed a hand across his face. “I’ve never…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to make your life easier.”

You swallowed hard.

“I wasn’t trying to buy your or control you” he went on.

You looked at the ground. “I know” you whispered.

“Then why does it sound like you think I’m trying to do that?”

It would have been easier if he’d been shouting. Instead the quiet, almost disappointed tone of his voice nearly killed you. 

Your breath hitched. “I don’t think that” you whispered. “I just… don’t want to end like… like… that again.”

Jack looked at you for another long moment. 

“I’m going to take her for a walk before dinner” he said eventually, already scooping Lizzie up. His voice was calm but distant. A tone you rarely heard from him. And it was breaking your heart.

Lizzie grabbed his shirt immediately like she needed something to hold onto. “Dadda?”

You nodded once. You didn’t say anything because suddenly you didn’t trust your voice anymore.

He waited a second, then walked out of the room with an unusually quiet Lizzie. She looked at you, her eyes already filled with tears. “Mommy?”

You just closed your eyes. You heard him getting them both ready and - then the door closing.

You blinked slowly, then let out a long breath.

For the first time since you’d become engaged you weren’t sure if this was a topic you could compromise on. 

And for the first time since you’d met Jack… you were afraid of the next conversation.

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)

--- --- ---

Tag list: @itjustpunkpizzabae, @theariesview @michasia24 @bye-bye-gremlings @tyghvbuijknmopkl @momdancingtomcr @alexxavicry @rainforestfrogss @starkgaryan @moistointments @rossy1080 @abzidabzy @weepingwhispersengineer @cherryybombsworld @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @romanticpursuit @nicelittletriptotheforest @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @camie18 @thewillowarchive @fortjackson @eugene-emt-roe @nicksolemnlyswears @sarah-fuckyou @beepitybeepboop @amnatreal @goldfishenthusiast67 @karleyyyjaeee @starsmoonn @doesanyonereadthis @introvertedphilomath @noellealexisss @sweetwanderlust05 @eugene-emt-roe @lovehadlovelost @amacphet @asparklysoul @shinyskeletonsky @givemethemaknaes16 @artemis-the-ace @marvelsimps @anyasthoughts @amacphet @mukeovernetflix @doe-jenna @prettyflowerlily

[fangirl-dot-com]

I just read your Andrew with reader who is a student doctor and get this. Reader and Andrew are husband and wife and it's her first day at the Pitt so why is there a man who looks exactly like her husband ( and they are not related ) ..

Seeing double

tags: andrew "pope" cody x ms4!reader, implied age-gap relationship (late 20s reader/early 40s andrew), jack abbot is there and confused, even more confused reader, quiet and awkward andrew, stare-y reader, medical inaccuracies, the pitt chaos, robby robinavitch (always), season 1 the pitt, pittfest, reader's nickname is slugger (explained in fic), 18+ MDNI

notes: thank you @nocturnalrosey for requesting! I hope I did this piece just how you wanted it to go! I love getting to add pieces to my doppleganger collection so keep the requests coming! if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!

word count: 3.5k

To say you were nervous for your first day at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was an understatement. As you waited for your shift to start, you couldn’t stop rocking on your heels with your hands held behind your back, fingers twisting at your wedding ring, as you waited near the nurses’ station promptly at 6:55 am. 

The ED bustled around the small, eager and probably equally nervous group that you were a part of. To your left, a brunette woman and a blond man held similar poses while a raven-haired, dark-skinned girl took the place next to your right, looking almost too young to be there. The urge to introduce yourself to the other three was swiftly put on hold when a rather tall, sad-looking man, probably your new attending, Dr. Robby, approached while talking to what you would call already-veteran doctors. 

“Alright folks, listen up,” Robby announced before stopping. “As you can see, we have some new faces this morning. Starting with second-year resident Doctor Melissa King, fresh from the V.A.” 

The happy-looking blond woman next to him smiled and slightly waved her hands. “Everybody calls me Mel. I’m super happy to be here.” 

He nodded sat her before looking at your group. “And one new intern, three med students.”

You pursed your lips, waiting for him to start the introductions, but apparently it seemed like he had other ideas. He crossed his arms and continued to stare expectantly. 

“This is where you introduce yourselves.” 

Again, none of you spoke until the brunette to your left spoke up. “Trinity Santos. Intern.” 

The raven-haired girl went next. “Victoria Javadi, M.S. Three.” 

Then the blond. “Dennis Whitaker, M.S. Four.” 

And that left you to finish out the group, finger still spinning your ring with nervousness. “Y/n Cody. Also M.S. Four.” 

A redheaded woman with a fringe leaned over to a brunet male. “Would you look at that rock,” she whispered, but her voice carried enough that you were able to hear it. 

You bashfully put your hands behind your back again. It wasn’t like you weren’t proud to be married, but the unwanted attention had you shrinking into yourself. Thankfully though, their eyes shifted away from you when a bleach blond older woman joined the group. Robby gestured toward her. 

“For you new people, this is the most important person you’re going to meet today. Dana is our Charge Nurse; she is the ring linger of this circus. Do what she says, when she says it. Now, as you can see, the house is always packed.” 

Your eyes drifted from the attending to look around. However, because of the motion, you weren’t able to get a good look at the person who spoke next. 

“The ER is the gift that keeps on giving.” 

Robby’s voice filled your ears again. “Most of our department is clogged up with boarders. Those are the admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a precious commodity, so be quick and efficient with your workups. Half of your cases will be discharged from chairs. And while we treat the sicker patients back here, keep an eye on the waiting room to be sure no one’s about to die out there.” He turned to Dana. “Ready to rock and roll?” 

Dana smiled. “To quote Wu-Tang, Bring the mother fuckin’ ruckus.” 

Robby turned to the residents, and you finally turned your eyes back to him. 

“Senior residents got sign outs?” he asked. 

Two of them—the brunet man and a dark-skinned woman—nodded, their hands both holding tablets. 

“Alright, let’s do this,” Robby said before turning away, already moving further into the department. 

He quickly began to integrate your group into their daily routine. First stop was an exhausted-looking mother holding an even louder and exhausted-sounding baby. You kept quiet while they worked, wanting to more take in everything instead of jumping the gun and calling the wrong diagnoses. After Dana walked away to get some Nair for the baby’s hair tourniquet, Robby continued on, each of you following him like a lost duckling. 

After the small moments of calm in the morning, the following hours ascended into madness. The first traumas had been a woman who’d been pushed down onto subway tracks and ended up with a degloved foot. The second adjacent trauma had been the man who’d tried to save her life. 

During the procedure to reset the woman’s foot, you were unfortunate enough to be closest to Victoria, who had been looking sick since the wrapping came off. Not wanting her to hit the ground, you stepped into her freefall and stuck your arms under hers, keeping her semi-upright while she became dead weight. 

Trinity looked over with a smirk. “Med students are playing dominos.” 

“Just didn’t want her to hit her head,” you grunted, easing her down until she was flat on the ground. “That’d be too much paperwork that I absolutely do not want to deal with on the first day.” 

An echo of “preach” followed your statement. 

“You’re certainly a good catch, slugger,” Trinity quipped. “Ever think about playing for the Pirates? I’ve heard their outfield has been struggling this season.” 

You shook your head and flashed her a sarcastic smile. “Sadly, I think my hand eye coordination is better for catching my peers instead of balls flying at 90 miles an hour. And I really don’t think my husband would been too keen on me switching careers this fast after one day.” 

You knew she wanted to say something back, maybe ask a question or throw another snarky remark, but you were quickly called away to help another resident. 

By noon, your brain was quickly getting overwhelmed with the sheer number of patients in the halls and the number still waiting to be seen. Thankfully, charting gave you a small moment to catch your breath, the tying quickly getting your mind off the panic that’d been building for a small while. While you sat there, you wished your phone would buzz even though you knew you wouldn’t. 

Andrew was out for the day, and that normally meant you wouldn’t see him until you got home after shift. But that was fine; you really didn’t need any distractions on your first day, mind too focused on making a good enough impression that they might consider you for residency after you graduated. 

The thought had you sighing, which somehow caught the attention of Dana just behind you. 

“Why the loud sigh, hun?” she asked, coming into your line of sight. “Shift treating you that bad already?” 

You winced, smile slightly slanted as you met her gray eyes. “It is bad I’m already ready for it to be over?” 

She smiled sympathetically. “Welcome to emergency medicine. This is how it’ll probably be for the rest of your time here.” 

“Should have gone into cosmetology then,” you joked. “Maybe the assholes there would be different than the assholes here.” 

“Ha!” Dana barked, hand coming down gently on your shoulder. “I like you, kid.” She turned back towards her board. “So, what’s your story. Why you here?” Her accented twang sounded lovely in your ears, comforting you in a way. 

“My husband, actually. We needed a fresh start; Pittsburg seemed like a good enough place to do so. We just moved from California.” 

She cocked her head. “Beaches not enticing enough for you to stay?” 

“I’m more of a mountains girl,” you responded. “Plus, I didn’t pick here. My first thought would have been Kentucky. But the gloom here was enough to satiate me.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you here. The Pitt can’t be a teaching hospital without people to teach.” 

You folded your hands on the desk. “I’m excited to learn.” 

Apparently, that had her handing you a tablet. “Then Room 4 is all yours, slugger.” 

A groan rumbled your chest as you stood. “Did Santos already blab about that?” 

“News travels fast everywhere, but it travels even faster in a hospital.” She tuned back towards her board. “Better get to your patients. Robby’s available for when you need him or find Samira; she’s probably looking for someone to help.” 

You looked down at the tablet. “Thank you, Dana.” 

“Don’t mention it, hun. It’s my job.” 

Your eyes trailed the tablet as you left the hub in search for your new attending or one of the senior residents. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for you to find Samira, the tablet still clutched to your front. 

“Dr. Mohan?” you asked as you walked up to her. “Dana handed me the chart for Room 4, and I was wondering if I could tag along with you for it?” 

“Samira is just fine.” Her deep brown eyes gleamed, matching her shining smile. “But sure! Mrs. Thompson is one of our regulars,” she began while walking in the direction of the room. “Her husband died a couple of months ago, and she has a history of OCD and hypochondria.” 

You hummed. “So for her, do you normally listen and bring her down?” 

“We at least try to. Sometimes we’ll give her plain saline but say it’s a medication so she believes she’s getting treatment.” 

“Isn’t that lying though?” you asked with pinched brows. 

Samira, in return, gave you an understanding look. “That’s just sometimes the best thing for her when she gets stuck inside her head.” She gave one knock on the door before entering with a large gin. “Hi, Mrs. Thompson. I’m Dr. Mohon, and we have one of our med students here if you’re comfortable with that.” 

Mrs. Thompson was exactly how you imagined her: graying hair, wide and scared eyes that roamed the room, and nervous hands that rested on her skirted lap. You stayed next to the door just in case she asked for you to step out. 

“No, that’s fine,” she answered, looking right at you. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” you answered before pulling the privacy curtain shut. 

You stayed close to Samira as she sat down on the edge of the bed. While she talked to Mrs. Thompson, you let your eyes roam while staying alert to any questions. However, once your eyes landed on the small side table, you noticed how the instruments weren’t that straight. Another thing you noticed was how Mrs. Thompson kept glancing towards them as well, and the twitch of her finger had you guessing that she too wanted to straighten them. Without saying anything, you shuffled quietly over and rearranged them from shortest to largest, also making sure that they were evenly spaced out while staying as straight as possible. When they were to your liking, you stepped back behind Samira in time to see Mrs. Thomspon take a large inhale, her shoulders relaxing just a bit more as she went over why she was in today. 

It wasn’t until you left the room that Samira put a hand on your shoulder. 

“What was with the instruments?” she asked. “

You took another glance back at the room. “You said Mrs. Thompson has a history of OCD, and she kept looking over at them. Her fingers would twitch each time she did. I thought I’d just go ahead and put them in order, thinking she might be able to focus more on what you were saying instead of overthinking about them.” 

Samira cocked her head. “Oh; I didn’t think about that. Great catch then.” 

“What did Slugger catch this time?” Trinity asked as she walked right up to the two of you, hands deep in her pockets, a wide smirk on her face. “Did your patient fall over this time?”  

“Our patient was showing non-verbal signs of an OCD tick,” you replied. “I just wanted to make her more comfortable.” 

“How’d you even know to look for stuff like that? Did you take a specific course in school?” Trinity asked. 

You shook your head. “Not really. Uh, my husband has OCD, and if you live with someone for long enough, you pick up on the little things.” 

Samira handed the tablet back to you. “Like I said, good catch. That was actually the smoothest conversation I’ve had with Mrs. Thompson before.” 

“Glad I could help,” you said. “Should I give this back to Dana since she’ll be discharged soon?” 

“That’d be great. I’ll find you when I get my next patient.” 

“Common, Slugger. Let’s see if there’s any other fun patients to grab,” Trinity said while taking your wrist. “Maybe the next one you can show of your catching skills again.” 

“Ha, ha.” 

_______________________

The one rule you should have paid more attention to was that if everything seemed to go well in the ER, it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. With only one hour left of your shift, Robby announced a Code Triage alter, and your stomach sunk so deep you feared it’d disappear into your feet. 

“Okay, everybody listen up,” Robby yelled over the growing panic. “There is an active shooter at Pittfest. As the nearest trauma center, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don’t know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to Family Medicine. Call you loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee your cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there’s time and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes.” 

With that, you quickly turned away, hand already digging for your phone. Your heart clenched at the screen that indicated you still hadn’t received any notification from Andrew, but that didn’t stop you from pulling up his contact and pushing the call button. When his voicemail answered instead, you closed your eyes and sighed sadly. 

“Hey, Andy. Um, listen, I’ll probably be home late tonight unless you want to come pick me up. There’s a shooter at that festival, and pretty much all hell’s about to break loose. If you try to call back, I probably won’t be able to answer. Just know I love you, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.” 

You ended the call there, hoping and wishing the cell service would hold enough for it to go through. Your hands were already slightly shaking as you put your phone back into your pocket, also sliding off your rings so they wouldn’t get lost. However, the moment you looked up, you froze completely. 

Because, for some odd reason, Andrew was currently talking to your attending like they’d known each other for years. You wanted to go up to him right then and there, but your feet kept you from doing so. Honestly, after a few moments, you were glad as it gave you enough time to figure out that, no, that man wasn’t Andrew at all. While they shared the same hazel eyes and muscular build, this man’s curls were salt-and-peppered where Andrew’s was still holding onto bits and parts of auburn. You also didn’t realize how long you were staring, brain desperately trying to separate Andrew and whoever this man was. 

Across the way, Jack could feel a pair of eyes on him, and one quick look had him finding your wide and confused eyes.

“Brother, you hiring med students with staring problems now?” he asked with furrowed brows. 

Robby turned around and also caught your surprised look. “Cody,” he called out, breaking you from staring at his friend. “Everything okay?” 

You shook your head. “Sorry, Dr. Robby. I'm just trying to figure out if my husband has a twin he never knew about,” you nervously laughed, eyes finding the man's ID tag. “I didn't mean to stare for so long, Dr. Abbot.” 

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "No trouble. You were just looking at me like you'd seen a ghost. And last I checked, I haven't died just yet."

That earned a small snort from your nose. "Thank goodness for that, yeah? However, I think if I see you and my husband in the same room, I might explode."

He smirked widely. "Well, we don't need that happening."

“Okay, party people, our first ambulance in on its way in, so let’s get moving,” Dana announced while walking right between the three of you. “Cody, go help Whitaker with the disaster bins.”

“On it.” You paused. “Again, sorry for staring, Dr. Abbot.” Without waiting for an answer, you turned away and began searching for your fellow M.S. 4, leaving the two attendings by themselves. 

“So, do you think her husband really looks like me?” Jack questioned after a short moment while his eyes followed where you were walking away. 

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve seen, brother.” 

 _______________________

By now, you were sweating more than a sinner in the middle of a Southern Baptist choir special. Blood dripped off your arms, your front, and onto your shoes. Everywhere you stepped squished with the thick liquid, and you knew you’d still smell the iron scent hours after you’d gone home. Thankfully, though, the worst was over, and like Dana announced, the Pitt would be opening back up soon to take in regular patients. 

Trinity shoulder nudged you slightly while you leaned on an empty gurney. “That was fucking exhausting.” 

“I can’t wait to get in my bed,” you replied with a groan. 

“With your husband that looks just like Dr. Abbot, right?” she teased. 

“Fucking fast traveling news.” You pushed yourself up, back protesting at the sudden change. “Hey, I need to go change, and I don't know if he's coming to pick me up or not. In the event that he does, if you happen to see him, can you let him know I'll be back soon?” 

Trinity smiled and nodded. “Oh, I definitely will!”

"Thank you, Santos," you replied, hand coming up to cover a yawn as you walked away in the direction of the locker rooms.

Trinity turned and ripped the smock off and pushed in down into the nearest bin. Around her, the ED gave a large sigh of relief, and everyone slowed down for the first time in hours. As she waited by the nurses’ station, she watched a few regular patients start to trickle in, but one in particular caught her attention.

The man was tall and rocked a head of auburn curls that were just starting to gray near his ears. His hazel eyes were narrowed as he looked out of place in his civilian clothes in a sea of scrubs and gowns. Trinity noted the amount of freckles that spanned across his face, and for one tiny moment, she saw a vision of Jack Abbot in his face. Not even a breath later, it clicked that the man was probably one who put that rock on your finger.

Her lips stretched into a smile, and she itched to walk up to him and ask if he was your husband. However, Samira, still in the adrenaline rush with a wide eyes, hastily walked up to him. Trinity didn't even think she knew that the man she was approaching was not the night shift attending she'd been stealing glances at between blood transfusions and saving lives.

"Dr. Abbot!" Trinity heard her all but yell right in the guy's face, voice a little too stretched. "I was hoping I'd catch you. I have a patient who's about to go up to the OR, but I need an attending's sign off on it first."

As she rattled off, Trinity watched the man looked at her with the most confused expression she’d ever seen someone have. His eyes had widened just a fraction, but that didn't stop him from looking around every so often like he was desperate to find someone who wasn't in the room. His mouth parted in an attempt to say something, but Samira, bless her heart, wasn't even looking at him. Her eyes stayed glued to the tablet in her hands.

“Oh, this is absolute gold,” Trinity muttered before turning to the charge nurse. “Hey, Dana. Look at this.” 

Dana’s attention moved from her board over to where the man was standing awkwardly while Samira continued to talk at him. “Did Abbot dye his hair?” 

“Not that I know of,” Jack responded, suddenly appearing at the nurses' station, brows pinched at Dana's question. “When would I have had time to dye my hair?” 

The sound of his voice must have caught Samira, because in the next moment, she looked up at the man like a dear caught in headlights. Horrified, she turned her head and met Jack's confused gaze that had moved from her and to the man she had been talking to.

For once in his life, Jack didn’t know whether to start laughing or run away. Because staring right back at him was a man that looked like him in pictures from 10 years ago. His brain struggled to comprehend until he remembered what you had said earlier before the chaos of the casualty.

"Oh."

By now, the commotion had drawn eyes from everywhere, and everyone who looked over wondered if they were truly seeing double. 

The man, who did look exactly like a younger Jack Abbot, walked quietly over to the station and stopped right in front of Jack, chest puffing slightly even if both of them were the same height. His hazel eyes scanned behind Jack's shoulder before he met hazel hues that mirrored his own.

“I’m looking for my wife,” Andrew finally gruffed, hands curling into fists by his side, and obviously not liking the number of eyes that were on him. “She works here.” 

Trinity stepped into his line of sight. “You must be Mr. Cody; damn, I was not expecting this. Slugger wanted me to let you know that she's changing, but she should be out soon.” 

His brows somehow furrowed deeper, and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards in a matching frown. “Slugger?” 

“Your wife has an affinity for catching people. Baseball might be her actual calling.” 

“Trinity, I told you that I have no want to switch careers, thank you very little," you announced after you walked out of the hallway. Your eyes gleamed when they landed on a very, uncomfortable-looking Andrew and equally confused coworkers. "Hi, baby."

Andrew looked over and down at you. “Hi.” 

“You didn't have to come pick me up,” you said. "I didn't mind driving home."

“Wanted to,” he muttered while taking your hand into his. "Knew you'd be tired."

You warmly smiled up at him. "Well, I'm glad you're here then." Your face turned as you looked over at the small crowd that had gathered; their jaws wide open. "I guess I should explain. Everyone, this is my husband, Andrew. Andrew, these are my coworkers." You gestured towards Jack. "And I guess this is your secret twin."  

Andrew stayed silent for a second too long. “Hi.” He offered nothing more than a fleeting moment of eye contact with each of them before turning to you with what people could only call puppy-dog eyes. “Ready to go?” 

“Yeah. Let's go home.” But before Andrew could tug you away, you quickly waved at everyone. “See y’all in twelve hours!” 

They all stayed silent as Andrew led you out of the ER with you babbling the entire way while he seemed to not say anything, just looking happy to be the center of your attention after a long day. 

Finally, Jack broke the silence. “I should probably call my mom and see if I had a twin she gave up and never told me.” 

Robby patted him on the shoulder. “You do that, brother.” 

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy @hoffmanfan13 @lostfallenangelsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @isuckcigbuds @kaorisakamotofan @alexaplayldr @mszeitxt @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @yapeez @riseabovethorns-blog @thedivinegirlyp0p @valentine1047 @sl33ping-sir3n @toxicwasteee @chanelwidag @cloudrises

[somethingeh]

Aces

Aces by The Something Specials & Taylor Olin

pairing - jack abbot x reader

word count - 4.8k

summary - you know jack isn't looking for anything serious, so what do you do when you find yourself with a very permanent problem?

cw - pregnancy, unrequited feelings (or are they)

a/n - first jack post! hope y'all like it. guys jack abbot may be a flirt but he's a romantic at heart <333

---

When you were a kid, you dreamed of your soulmate. Your prince charming, your other half.

For about ten years, that is. Ten, blissful years, when you believed that there was a person out there for you, who was perfect for you, and who would love you forever.

Then, in the sixth grade, your parents got divorced. In hindsight, it was well overdue. As a child, a brighteyed, bushy-tailed romantic, it was a shock. They didn’t yell, or slam doors. They took you and your siblings out places together as a family. You didn’t quite realize that not fighting didn’t mean anything good when there was no talking at all.

You didn’t understand why they had decided to part ways. You watched them cry, and struggle, and turn gray and dull in the face of exhaustion. Lawyer fees, mortgage payments, and unemployment moved your father back in with his parents. You hardly saw him after your mom moved you and your siblings halfway across the country to Chicago. 

It was nice there, but an adjustment. After spending the first decade of your life in sunny California, the windy city was a rough transition. Still, ever the optimist, you let the city life make up for the harsh winters.

As a teen, you got crushes. Allconsuming, heart-obliterating ones that took up your whole life. Each time, you convinced yourself that Justin, or Tyler, or Will, was that person you had always hoped was out there. Of course, being adolescent boys, they were often more worried about what was in your shirt than what was in your mind.

You had to learn how to play the game. No matter how much you liked a guy, you couldn’t let him know. You perfected your technique over the years, how much to let on and how much to hide. Boys only wanted you infatuated enough to not get attached. The second you asked for anything real, they were out the door.

It took a toll on you after a while. You hardened, and convinced yourself that that was what love was. If you didn’t want to be alone, there were certain guidelines to follow. Still, that hope was never quite extinguished. Even when your boyfriend of almost a year fucked another girl in your shared bed. You needed to get away, totally away. You had wasted away your twenties falling for guys that didn’t give two shits about you.

You got a nursing job at an ER in Pittsburgh. It was far from your failed relationships, your parents, from everything you knew.

By the time you walked into the Pitt, you were not bright-eyed, or bushy-tailed, but deep down, still a romantic. 

When you met Jack Abbot, you believed that more than ever.

When you found out he was formerly married, you tried to convince yourself you weren’t.

The thing about Jack was, he was kind, and generous, and considerate, and he didn’t act anything like all the boys you’d dated before. He was a man. He never lost his cool and snapped. You never even heard him raise his voice. He went to therapy, and was self aware, mature.

So when you saw the ring on his finger, you were disappointed, but not surprised. It was almost easier keeping your distance then, before you went sticking your nose where it shouldn’t have been and found out that his wife had died several years prior. You didn’t ask how, you didn’t want to know.

The two of you grew close. You never asked about his wife, but you were sure that with his wearing the ring, he wasn’t exactly looking to meet someone. And it wasn’t like you couldn’t both use a friend. You helped each other through difficult shifts, hard losses, and complicated traumas. Working nights meant a lot of drunk driving incidents, overdoses, stomach pumping, bar fights. It could get dark, and you leaned on each other.

Emotional intimacy was a powerful thing. And trauma brought people closer together.

That was what you told yourself the night you woke up in his bed.

You hadn’t worked nights at your old job in Chicago. It felt weird to drink during the day, sleep during the day, so Jack had been helping you acclimate. He helped set up some heavy duty blackout blinds in your room. You’d go over to his place after work. You were friends.

Until that day you came over and had a movie “night” with some wine, and the lines blurred. He hadn’t been with anyone since his wife passed. You were lonely, in a new city with barely any friends.

You hadn’t spent too much time in his bedroom, but you recognized it about five seconds after your eyes opened. You shot up straight, and the sheet fell down into your lap, exposing your bare boobs.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, glancing around.

Jack was a military man, very neat, so the clothes strewn messily about the floor stuck out like a sore thumb. The door to his room was still wide open. The picture frame above his dresser was tilted, and you vaguely remembered knocking your head against it as he hoisted you up. Yes, there — the lamp shade was almost completely upside down.

Steeling yourself, you finally let your gaze fall to the man beside you. He was shirtless as well, laying on his stomach with his head facing away from you. You let yourself admire his back muscles, before he let out a grunt in his sleep that jolted you back into reality.

You felt under the sheet, and you were completely naked. Your panties were tossed down at the foot of the bed. Jack had ripped them off in favor of his warm mouth. You shivered. You needed to focus.

Sliding out of bed as quietly as you could, you kept low to the ground and hurried your underpants up your legs, quickly followed by your scrub bottoms and your bra. Your shirt seemed to have vanished, so you stole a white t from Jack’s neatly folded pile in his dresser. As you were pulling on your socks, he stirred.

You froze, one foot in the air like a flamingo, and watched him. He was waking up. You hesitated by the door, unsure if you wanted to stay, or bolt and never speak to him again.

The idea of the latter option had your chest aching, so you finished putting on your second sock and padded a few steps toward him. He sensed you there and flipped onto his side to get a better look at you.

It couldn’t have been pretty. What little makeup you put on the night before was certainly smudged, and you weren’t sure what the sleep had done to your hair. You hadn’t even cleaned the crust from your eyes, but Jack was looking up at you with something akin to awe.

He must have had more wine than you.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” you said, still hushed for no real reason.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “No, you’re good,” he rasped.

Good lord, his gravelly morning voice went straight to your core. His eyes scanning you up and down didn’t help either. You were about to speak again when he got there first.

“Is that my shirt?”

You looked down, heat tinting your cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you said, clearing your throat. “I couldn’t find mine.”

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and you took an automatic step back. His shoulders cracked as he stretched his arms above his head.

“I think it’s in the living room.”

Ah, yes, now you remembered. You’d gotten some good work done in there before he’d carried you to the bed.

“Right,” you said, chewing your lip. “Yeah, I’ll go change.”

You turned, but he grabbed your wrist in a feather light grip.

“No,” he said. “I mean… you don’t have to. You can keep it. Looks good on you.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Any other day those words would have sent you reeling, but all you could focus on was his hand. His left hand, still holding your wrist, with no wedding ring on it. You thought back. Surely you would have noticed if it wasn’t on when you arrived, almost 12 hours previous. You had worked the night before, and he hadn’t. Maybe he was cleaning it.

He dropped his hold on you, and your eyes snapped back to his. The soft hazel pulled you in.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll just go get it. Our shift starts in two hours by the way.”

You heard him cursing and stumbling out of bed as you retrieved your long sleeve t-shirt from the floor by the TV. You took your scrub top off when you came in, you remembered that. It was probably in your bag.

As you gathered everything into it and started pulling on your shoes, Jack came back out, regretfully dressed, in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt almost exactly matching yours. His brow furrowed.

“Where’re you going?”

You straightened up, one shoe tied.

“I gotta go home and shower, and everything,” you said.

“You can shower here,” he said, gesturing behind him. “And I can drive you into work with me. Let me make you breakfast.”

You glanced at your watch, then at the door, then at Abbot. You couldn’t figure out his angle. Most likely his ring was being cleaned, but maybe he felt guilty wearing it, thinking of his poor dead wife while fucking another woman in what should have been her bed.

It was all far too complicated. With difficulty, you shook your head.

“My car is here, I’d have to drive it back anyways,” you said. “Plus, I need to feed my cat. He’ll be grumpy.”

You prayed you’d never mentioned the timed feeder to him before. His shoulders fell slightly, and he cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit of his. You shared it.

You hated this. You hadn’t been drunk last night, tipsy, but not enough to even give you a real headache. No, you’d been quite clear-minded last night as you tore all his clothes off, and you felt confident he had been as well. But now you were standing there staring at each other, unsure of what to say. You couldn’t have even imagined the turmoil he was going through.

You walked towards him and put your hands on his strong shoulders, sliding them up to link behind his neck. He was too pretty. With his gray curls and kind eyes. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart pounding.

“I had a really good time last night,” you said, letting your mask slip for one second. “And I know, I know you’re not looking for anything serious. That’s okay, really. Neither am I.”

Lies, lies, lies. You were nearing the end of your thirties, you thought about settling down most days. All you wanted was a man like Jack — couldn’t you hold onto him for a little while, and still be on the lookout for Mr. Right?

It was wishful thinking. You knew, as his rough hands landed tenderly on your forearms, that the second you got a taste, he would become Mr. Right. But you weren’t quite ready to let go yet.

So, you gave him a peck goodbye, and told him to call you. He did. And that was how it started.

The first time he called, he’d just worked a double, covering for Robby, and he somehow couldn’t sleep. You’d been at his door within 20 minutes, with open arms, and open legs.  It was usually times like that, when he was tired, worn down, sad, lonely. And it wasn’t just him.

After your less than ideal shift, in which a patient spat on you, ripped out his IV, and tried to make a break for it, you were banging down his door.

It was nice, you told yourself. Really, it was. He was warm and strong, and could take you in his arms and wash away the day's troubles. You didn’t have a shared bank account, but the sex was mindblowing. You didn’t pick out wedding china, but you had a growing collection of each other’s clothes at your apartments. He might not have been your husband, but he still hadn’t put his wedding ring back on.

As the October rain turned into November flurries, and then true December snowfall, you found yourself spending more and more time at Jack’s apartment. That was what made it difficult to keep your head. You weren’t together but you had a toothbrush in the holder next to his. You weren’t together, but he went out of his way to get the scent beads you liked for your laundry. You definitely weren’t together, but you had a side of the bed, and the corresponding nightstand was being overridden by your contacts, vitamins, water cups, and books.

And at bedtime, when you were in a post-sex haze and wrapped up in his arms, that was the hardest. Your cheek would rest against his steady heart, and his hands would run through your hair, and you felt the safest you ever had. But you weren’t together.

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” said Princess, when you confided in her at the biannual nurses night. “Like, two lost souls, finding each other. Comforting each other. Boning.”

“No,” said Dana, “it’s stupid. I mean you’re totally in love with the guy, and you let him use you for sex? Have some pride!”

You scoffed, fiddling with the mini umbrella in your Dirty Shirley. It was the first time you were in fancy clothes, not scrubs, in months, and you were still talking about fucking Abbot.

“He is not using me,” you clarified, and Dana made a face. “He’s not! I mean, if he’s using me, then I’m using him, too.”

Jesse interjected.

“I think just sex is fine,” he said. “But with the way your feelings are involved, sooner or later it’ll blow up in your face.”

Dana hummed in agreement, Princess took another shot, and gripped your shoulder.

“Don’t listen to them,” she said, surprisingly coherent. “You have needs. Get yours!” 

You were certainly getting something, you thought, as you left his house in the dark again.

Romeo, your fat little kitty, was growing resentful at the time you were spending away from home. He stopped sleeping in your bed with you, and you started feeling guilty.

To his credit, Jack did try to treat you nicely. He always offered to make you breakfast in the evenings, always offered rides, even got your preferred brand of shampoo just in case you’d get caught needing a shower at his place. And each time, your heart clenched painfully.

You appreciated it more than he’d know, but you couldn’t ever accept. The more time you spent imitating domesticity with him, the harder it became to keep clear boundaries on what the whole “relationship” even was. You longed for the closeness, but you knew the more you got, the harder it would be when this inevitably ended. It wasn’t fair to either of you to get invested in something that would never be.

So when you missed your period, and started getting nauseous in the morning, and sleepy halfway through the day, you begged the universe it wasn’t what you thought. You begged to not be tied to something so painful.

But your wishes were ignored, as you stared at two little pink lines. On all five of the pregnancy tests you took.

You cried that morning, chest heaving with grief, and overwhelm, and fear most of all. What were you going to do? You weren’t out of the fertile window, but you weren’t a spring chicken either. You always wanted children, although ideally with a husband to go with them. Maybe it was time to accept that that type of relationship wasn’t in the cards for you.

It was a deeply saddening thought. You were absent minded your whole next shift, minds consumed not with labs or charts, like usual, but with birth plans, cribs, and preschool costs.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack finally cornered you to ask.

You had been avoiding him for 12 hours, and you could tell he was getting increasingly worried. You looked into his creased eyes. You knew he had to find out at some point, you weren’t so bitter that you’d keep his own child from him. You just couldn’t bring yourself to upend his life like that quite yet.

“I’m fine,” you said with a quiet smile. “Just tired.”

He nodded like he didn’t believe you. It wasn’t your most convincing performance, but hey, you really were tired.

“Well, do you want to come over?” he said, lowering his voice. “I swear you’ll sleep better at my place than on your rickety ass mattress.”

You chuckled weakly.

“I have to pass,” you said. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He pressed a hand to your forehead.

“You do feel a little warm,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over? I can make you some soup, run you a bath… I promise I’ll be good.”

He was smiling so tenderly, so hopefully, you almost said yes. But you took a step back instead, a polite smile on your face.

“Really, I should get home,” you said. “Romeo gets mad at me when I’m away for too long.”

He smiled stiffly, like he knew you would turn him down in the end.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Well get home safe, alright? Text me when you get there.”

You said you would, and you did. Then you turned your phone off and got into bed. You had to make a decision, you knew, you were running out of time. But maybe, deep down, you had already made one.

You were filled with great sadness at the prospect of not being with Jack. However, you were also filled with excitement and joy at the prospect of a little baby. Even if you didn’t have the perfect man, or the perfect house in the suburbs, did that mean you couldn’t have a happy life just you and the baby? You didn’t think so.

When you woke in the evening, you called your friend Jill to make an intake appointment. Though emergency was your calling, you’d always had a soft spot for maternity. You had become somewhat close after working together on a couple cases. The next few days, you found yourself perusing strollers online, and thinking of names. On your way home from work, you stopped at your local bookstore and picked up some heavy volumes on pregnancy and motherhood.

You did feel guilty when you saw hurt in Jack’s eyes, each time you not so subtly blew him off, or sent other nurses to work his cases. You just weren’t ready to face him yet. Maybe that was immature, but you were trying to be gentle with yourself.

So when your fellow nurse Jamie mentioned wanting a switch to the night shift, you took the opportunity. It would be more practical anyways, you told yourself, once the baby arrived. You’d need to be home at night, for feeding and changing.

It still didn’t feel real until you saw the little baby with your own eyes.

You sat in a gown, an uncomfortable probe stuck up your vagina, and wishing you had someone to share the moment with. But the second you saw the little blob that was the body, everything else fell away.

“There they are,” said Jill with a comforting smile. “I’d say you’re about six weeks along, and measuring well. Now I’ll capture the heart beat —”

You had to take a sharp breath in when the steady, quick wooshing filled the room. Tears filled your eyes at once. Not just at the pure love for the little gray smudge on the screen, but because Jack should have been there with you. You knew he’d want to be, if he was at all interested in being part of the baby’s life.

Jill placed a soothing hand on your shoulder as you cried.

“The father doesn’t know,” you admitted after a while. “We’re not exactly together, I don’t — I just don’t know how he’ll react, or what —”

“That’s okay,” she said kindly, rubbing up and down your arm. “I’m not here to judge. This is your baby, and your pregnancy — you need to do what makes you feel most comfortable. And you will never be alone, okay?”

You nodded, smiling tearfully in gratitude. You had no doubt your friends and coworkers would rally around you even if Jack didn’t.

“Although, if I were you,” said Jill, conspiratorally, “I’d tell him to at least get the child support check.”

You let out a wet laugh, but you knew what you had to do. After your next shift with Jack, you’d go to his apartment and tell him. You got extra copies of the ultrasound in case he wanted any. You knew in your heart that he was a stand up guy, and that he’d support you best he could. What you were really afraid of was what he’d think of you.

You weren’t trying to baby trap him, you wanted him to know that. You didn’t want him desperately enough to think that that was a good idea. You didn’t want to be with him if he didn’t really want to be with you.

You were shaking as you got ready that evening. You had just one more shift on nights, before switching to the day. You’d miss Ellis and Shen, Bridget, but you were happy to be seeing more of Dana and those guys. Jack was another matter entirely.

You rehearsed your monologue as you started morning rounds, so caught up that you didn’t notice Jack’s eyes burning into you. Around 8:00 pm, he seemed to snap, and your carefully laid out plan was thrown in the garbage.

“We need to talk,” he said, appearing suddenly at your shoulder as you returned unused meds to the cart.

You jumped. It was the hardest his voice had ever been with you, and you swallowed nervously. It looked like this was happening, now, whether you were ready or not.

You followed him up to the roof, knees feeling weak, nausea back, and you were unsure if it was pregnancy or Jack that was causing it. He stormed to the safety railing at the edge, then turned around to face you. His features were as hard as his voice, mouth set in a straight line. You stopped in front of him, unsure whether to speak or to let him. 

Eventually, it was he who broke the silence.

“I understand if you want to break this off,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “I know you never wanted anything serious. But you don’t have to give excuses. If you want to end it —” he broke off, pain twisting his features.

You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn't be honest, and tell him that all you wanted was something serious. It wasn’t what he wanted, and you were already about to complicate this so much further. He took a deep breath.

“You didn’t have to switch to the day shift just to get away from me,” he said, a hint of frustration in his tense voice. “I mean, just talk to me! Is it so hard?”

You shook your head, stinging behind your eyes telling you tears were soon to come. You twisted your fingers together.

“Jack, I…” you struggled to speak for a lump in your throat.

He placed his hands on his hips. It seemed you had gotten closer to him these past few months than you realized, because you saw through his angry front to the heartbroken man too easily. Your eyes darted to the ground.

“You what,” he said.

You just kept shaking your head, trying to find the words. His anger was breaking fast.

“What?” he said desperately. “Just say it.”

You took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

That obviously wasn’t what he was expecting you to say. His anguished face fell into one of pure shock instantly. His mouth opened and closed, finally settling on a sort of grimace. His hands dropped from his hips, reached towards you, then hesitated, and fell back to his sides. You crossed your arms protectively over your stomach, braced against the cold wind.

“How — what —” he finally croaked out.

“I’ve known for about a week,” you said. “I was planning on telling you, today, really. I just wanted to figure out what to do first.”

His throat bobbed nervously. You blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay for as long as possible.

“You — you’re gonna…” he said 

“I’m keeping it,” you said, and he let out a breath. “I want kids, I always have. I understand if you don’t want to be part of this. I know you weren’t looking for something long term like this —”

“I never said that,” he said quietly.

You looked into his eyes for the first time. Yours were shining with unshed tears.

“What?”

“I never said I wasn’t looking for something serious,” he said, voice wavering himself. “You did. Just… I had been wanting that, with you, for so long, and then you said you weren’t looking for anything real, and I just — went along with it.” He rubbed his brow tiredly. “I figured it would be better than not having you at all.”

The tears started falling. You clearly were misunderstanding something.

“Your wife —”

“Died ten years ago,” he said. “I loved her, and some part of me will always love her, but… I also know she’d want me to be happy. And you… I’m sorry, but you make me happy.”

You turned your face away from him for a second, wiping your tears futilely. You were having trouble comprehending that this man, this sweet, gorgeous, amazing man before you, who you’d been pining after for the better part of a year, felt the same way you did. 

“I make you happy?” you asked in a whisper.

“So happy,” he said, taking a tentative step forward. “Honey, you're the first thing I think of when I wake up. I can’t sleep when you’re not there, I — I get up just to see your face.”

His hands are itching to touch you, but hesitant. When you opened your arms to him, he fell to his knee, wrapped around your waist. 

“I want nothing more than to have this baby with you,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “If you’ll let me.”

You crouched in front of him, hands in his hair, and kissed him. It was different from all the other kisses, shared in passion and heat. This one was slow and soft, one hand moving from your stomach to cup your cheek oh so gently. Your spit and tears intermingled as you pressed impossibly closer.

When you finally broke apart, you gripped his curls hard and looked into his eyes.

“I think I love you,” you said, too wrapped up in him to really feel the implications of a statement like that.

His smile was ear to ear.

“I know I love you,” he said, kissing your cheeks.

You let him feel you, really feel you, more than he had ever dared to when you were sleeping together. He ran his hands up your back, through your hair, and especially over your belly.

“I can’t believe we’re having a baby,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, I forgot!” you said, pulling back and wiping your face on your sleeve. “Here, I brought this for you.”

Out of your pocket you pulled the strip of ultrasound pictures from your appointment. It seemed to be the only thing that could have had his hands leaving you. He took the pictures in his shaky hands and stared like he’d never seen anything so wonderful.

You rolled back to sit on your butt to save your aching knees, and it was the grunt you let out that drew his eyes away from the sonogram. He placed it safely in his scrub pocket, before winding his arms around you, furrow in his brow.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously. “Oh my god, you don’t have a jacket! It’s fucking February, what’s wrong with me?”

“Stop worrying,” you said. “My hot flashes take care of the cold.”

“You’re having hot flashes,” he noted. “Not uncommon, although less so in the first trimester. What about nausea? Dizzy spells? Pain? Have you been monitoring your blood pressure?”

“This is what it’s gonna be like for the whole pregnancy, isn’t it?” you said.

“Yes,” he said, helping you to your feet. “But Honey, really, blood pressure?”

As you buried your face in the crook of his neck, you knew. You had found your prince.

---

requests open!

aces universe

[in-my-feels-probably]

Strawberry Wine (No Thing Defines a Man Like Love That Makes Him Soft)

Request: hello!! i saw that you wanted the pitt requests and i've been thinking about jack abbot ever since i've seen him ( im lwk feral but its okay ). i was wondering if i could request a fic where you and jack have bene together for a lil while, age gap if you want i'll eat it up regardless, and it's the first time you're sleeping over at his place. just something sweet, fluffy, jack bein a lil loser ( affectionately )

Hi! I was listening to Noah Kahan while writing this if you can’t tell by the title. This is my first time writing for Jack, so bear with me while I get the hang of it. Sorry it took so long to get this out, hopefully you like what I came up with. Thank you again for the request :)

(Warnings: swearing, vague mentions of sex, i think that’s all? let me know if i missed anything)

—

The night shift had kicked your ass. 

You didn’t know how the veteran crew did it. You’d picked up the shift when one of your coworkers needed to trade, figuring that it couldn’t be that bad. The day shift certainly saw its fair share of chaos. How bad could the night shift be? 

Bad — very bad. 

Twelve hours later and a few energy drinks down, you’d finally crawled across the finish line. You’d barely made it through handoffs to the day shift before Ellis was coming up to you, a shit eating grin on her face. She’d found you by the lockers, leaning against them casually while you gathered all your things.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” she asked, trying and failing to stifle a laugh when you rubbed at your eyes like you hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Why didn’t anyone warn me?” you whined, shoving your jacket into your bag. “I can’t believe any of you willingly choose to do this. It’s insane. I’m never doing this again.”

“Not even to see a certain someone?” 

“You’re not funny,” you pouted, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

She laughed, grinning at you. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

You closed your locker, settling against it to take some of the pressure off your feet. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, pulling it out to see a text from Jack.

Still coming?

You bit back a smile, quickly typing out a reply.

In the locker room. I’ll meet you in the parking lot?

His response was just as quick. 

Yes ma’am. 

You slid your phone into your pocket, straightening up to leave. Ellis didn’t miss a thing, grinning like the Cheshire cat. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t directed at you. Aimed at you, it was unnerving. 

“So…tonight’s the night, huh?”

You looked up at her, raising a brow. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re finally shacking up with Abbot.”

“What?” you whisper yelled, shushing her as you leaned in closer. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, please. Spare me the innocent act. I know what you two have been up to. You’re subtle, but you’re not that subtle. You’re staying the night at his place, huh?”

Your relationship with Abbot wasn’t exactly a secret. 

He liked to keep it lowkey while at work, though, which wasn’t really a difficult thing to do. You usually worked day shift while he worked the night shift, so you really only saw each other in passing or if one of you picked up a shift you didn’t usually take. It worked out simpler that way, and you both liked the independence. Because you worked days and he worked nights, you’d never really stayed over at each other’s places. You’d been to his and he’d picked you up from yours, but you’d never actually spent a night together. It just didn’t make sense with your differing schedules. He'd head home as the sun was coming up, the same time you’d just be getting to work to start your shift. Other than having days off that lined up, you really only got to see each other during shift changes. And for a while, that worked. 

But Jack was starting to get a little antsy. 

He didn’t really do dating. After his wife passed, it took him ages to even consider even looking at another woman. The first time he looked at you and felt that flutter in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in years, he felt so guilty that he barely made it to the nearest bathroom before puking up his lunch. It took weeks after that to start acting semi-normal around you again. And, slowly but surely, you weasled your way into his life like a breath of desperately needed fresh air. He finally mustered up the courage to ask you out one night after working a shift with you, and the rest was history. 

The relationship milestones came steadily. First date, first kiss, first time. It was all remarkably normal, something he hadn’t anticipated after not having any of it for so long. You made everything feel so easy. You let the relationship progress at his pace, never pushing him or trying to make him do something he wasn’t ready for. He loved you for it, despite not having actually said the words to you yet. He was still working on that part.

What he didn’t love was having someone to call his own, but not having them an arms length away to reach for in the middle of the night when he rolled over to the vacant side of the bed. He’d put on a brave face for a long time now, but it was starting to eat away at him. This is what people in relationships did, right? He should have asked you to stay over by now. 

He felt like a stuttering teenage boy when he suggested it to you the week prior on your way out of the locker room. “I was…I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you teased, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “That’s never good.”

He rolled his eyes, but the relief he felt having a moment of reprieve was visible on his face. He hooked an arm around your waist, banding you to him and nudging you in the ribs till you giggled and squirmed away. 

“Such a brat sometimes,” he mused, his nerves easing a bit at the sound of your laugh.

You smiled, relaxing in his hold when his fingers stopped prodding at your side. “Sorry. What were you thinking?”

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with you. It was now or never. What’s the worst that could happen?

A lot, probably, but he forced the words out before he could dwell on it. “Would you perchance want to…stay over?”

You stifled your initial shock, trying and failing to hide your smile. “Did you just say perchance?”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what it means,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ellis and Shen have been saying it in every other sentence going on a week now. Guess it rubbed off on me. Anyway…just thought I’d offer.”

God, he was adorable. It should be illegal to make someone feel this way about you. It was criminal behavior, really. 

Your grin widened. “Uh huh. And what if…what if I, perchance, would like to take you up on that offer? Think you can fit me into that ridiculous schedule of yours?”

He smiled like you’d just given him the sun.

“I’m sure I can pencil you in.”

That was a week ago, and the night had finally come. 

You’d arranged your schedules so you’d get off at the same time. Unfortunately, that meant suffering through the night shift, but you put on a brave face and took one for the team. Jack most definitely would owe you one after this. He wasn’t the one with Ellis standing in front of him while she very accurately guessed exactly what was going on. 

You did your best to school your expression. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that he’s been cheesing like a school boy all day. We normally have to drag him out of here and make him go home once the day crew shows up, but he’s been jonesing to leave for hours now.”

She was onto you, so there was no point in hiding it, but you tried once more to feign innocence. “So?”

“Babe, I know you’re hooking up. You don’t look at someone like that if you haven’t seen them naked.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “I don’t look at him like that.”

“Who said anything about you?”

You groaned, glancing between her and the door like you were weighing the benefits of making a run for it. But knowing her, she’d probably yell something crass down the hallway after you, and then everyone would know about your evening plans. So you mustered a smile, relenting.

“Fine. You win. I’m spending the night at his place.”

“I knew it!” She grinned, pulling out her phone. “Shen owes me twenty bucks.”

You snatched her phone from her, lowering your voice to a harsh whisper. “What? You have a betting pool over this?”

“Not a pool,” she laughed, taking her phone back. “Just between me and Shen. He gave it two months before you two caved and took the plunge, I gave it one and a half.”

“That doesn’t make it any better! You told him?”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Hey, it was his idea! He noticed before I did. Decided to put money on it a few weeks ago when your lover boy started showing up to work with some pep in his step and wouldn’t explain why. We were 50/50 on whether he was hooking up with you, or if he finally got a medical marijuana card for that leg pain he pretends he doesn’t have. When we landed on you, we put some money on it. You just bought me dinner.”

“Oh! Well I’m so glad I could be of service,” you mused, rolling your eyes. 

So much for keeping it all lowkey. 

“I’m going home now—”

“Calling his place home?”

You flushed, heading for the door. “You know what I meant. Bye, you menace.”

“I expect details!” she called after you, her laughter echoing across the locker room.

You hurried out the door before she could get another word in. You did your best not to think about it as you made your way out to the parking lot, looking around until you spotted Jack’s car. He was leaning against it, fiddling around on his phone. He looked up when he heard your footsteps. 

“There she is,” he grinned, taking your bag from you to put in his backseat. “Was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

He opened the passenger side door for you, waiting for you to slide in and buckle yourself before shutting the door. He settled in next to you, cranking the car. The radio hummed low in the silence as he pulled out onto the street. 

The ride back to his place was short. You tried to stifle the nerves fluttering in your stomach, wondering if he felt the same. If he did, he wasn’t showing it. 

“Home sweet home,” he murmured, more to himself than you as he pulled onto his street, shutting the car off. 

You climbed out of the car, grabbing your bag and his from the backseat. You followed him up to his door, waiting behind him as he put the key in the lock. He led you inside and motioned towards the couch. 

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

You cracked a grin. “I’ve seen your fridge. There’s a bottle of mustard in there and an expired yogurt cup.”

“Bon appetite,” he smiled, tossing you his wallet. “Here. You can nag me about going grocery shopping later. Order pizza or something, your choice. I’m gonna shower.”

“Without little old me?” you mused, settling on the couch.

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Under normal circumstances, I would. But, uh…my leg is bothering me and I’m gonna use the rail and fold down the bench.”

You’d almost forgotten about his leg. He carried himself so confidently, it was easy to forget that one of his legs was amputated below the knee. Because of the metal components of his prosthetic, it wasn’t advisable to get it wet in the shower. It could cause the metal to rust, or water could get trapped up against his skin and cause irritation. He always removed it to shower. 

He’d installed a hand rail that he could hold onto or lean against if he needed it, and it was usually all he’d use. It was small enough that you both still fit in the shower no problem. But on days when he was really in pain, he had a shower bench that unfolded down from the back wall. It took up a lot of space, and he wasn’t exactly a fan of letting you see him use it anyway. 

The rational side of his brain knew that you didn’t care, but his pride more often than not tended to overpower logic. You’d discovered it was best not to argue or push him about it.

You nodded, starting an order for a pizza. “Don’t use all the hot water, please.”

“Don’t eat all the pizza, please,” he teased, heading down the hall to the bathroom. 

You rolled your eyes, ordering the pizza. 

Twenty minutes later, you heard the bathroom door open and some shuffling from his bedroom. He appeared around the corner freshly showered in new clothes, using his crutches rather than putting his prosthetic back on. 

You smiled, patting the couch cushion next to you. “Pizza’s almost here.”

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured, settling next to you with a sigh. “There’s still hot water. I left clothes on the counter for you. Oh, and I got a bottle of that body wash you like. It's on the bottom shelf.”

Of course he did. God, you thought. Could he be any hotter? 

You nodded, standing up. “You mean I won’t have to smell like Irish Spring all night?”

“It’s Old Spice, I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, playfully swatting at your hip as you passed by him. “Robby uses Irish Spring.”

“I won’t even ask why you know that.”

An hour later, you were showered and four slices deep into the greasiest pizza you’d ever had. You were seconds away from a food coma, your head lulling back to rest on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Pizza at 8am,” you murmured, adjusting to press your cheek into his skin. “What a delicacy.”

He laughed, patting your thigh. “That’s what the night shift does to you. End of the night is still the end of the night, even if it’s actually early morning. It’s all that delivers this early anyway.”

You hummed, not bothering to respond. He turned to look at you, smiling as he took you in. You looked seconds away from passing out.

“Tired, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you blinked, sitting up before you started to drool on his shoulder accidentally. “I don’t know how you do this shit. That shift sucked.”

“Not ready to be a night crawler yet?”

You huffed out a laugh, standing up to pass him his crutches. “Not even close. And quit trying to poach me. Robby’s onto you.”

He took the crutches from you, propping himself up. “I think it’s cruel of him to spend more time with my girl than I do.”

You smiled, padding down the hall towards his room. You held the door open for him, watching as he made his way to his side of the bed. He set his crutches to the side, sliding under the covers with a groan.

“You okay?”

He nodded, straightening his leg out. “Yeah. Just a little sore.”

You crawled into bed next to him, tugging the sheets down until you could hook a hand under his knee to pull his leg up. He tensed at your touch, but he let you keep going. He was silent as you gently poked and prodded at his stump, checking for any swelling or bruising. 

“Your skin is a little chafed where the joints sit,” you murmured, pulling a pillow from your side of the bed down to rest under his knee so you could set his leg down. “Might be time for a new sock.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his gaze locked on you as you looked him over. 

You missed how his eyes softened, the tenseness throughout his body dissipating. He sat silent and still as you gently massaged his leg. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you felt him reaching up to rub at the crease between your brow, his thumb gently prodding. 

“You’re tired,” he murmured, guiding you to lay down. “Lay down, baby. I’m good, I swear. We can worry about it in the morning.”

“I can grab ibuprofen, or the BioFreeze—”

You were cut off, letting out a little yelp as he hooked an arm around your thigh to drag you down and closer to him. He practically smothered you as he rolled you until you were laying halfway across him, cupping the back of your head to guide you to rest your cheek on his chest. He handed his free arm around your waist to keep you glued to him.

“Better,” he murmured into your hair, stifling a chuckle as you looked up at him offended. “What?”

You pushed his shoulder. “I was talking. And I’m not a ragdoll.”

“Gonna pretend like you don’t like it when I toss you around? Okay, pretty girl. I’ll remember that.”

You scowled, burrowing your face into his chest. “Well…I didn’t say that.”

That earned a real laugh. “Didn’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, settling into him. You could feel that familiar fog clouding your head, and the dulling heaviness behind your eyes. 

That shift really had taken a lot out of you. Sleep would come easily tonight — or, today. It was technically morning, after all. You couldn’t wait to switch back to the day shift so you could go to bed at a normal hour. But here in his arms, you weren’t complaining. The slow rise and fall of his chest under your cheek and the warmth of his palm settled at the small of your back was enough to make you forget about it all. If there was anything that could've made it all worth it, it was him. 

“Thank you for saying yes,” he broke the silence.

You raised a brow, glancing up at him. “Huh?”

“To staying over,” he murmured sheepishly, the faintest tint of a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Thank you for saying yes.”

You couldn’t help yourself, smiling like an idiot. “Thank you for asking me.”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You could feel him smile into it, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. He pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. 

“I was nervous about this, you know,” you admitted sheepishly.

He grinned, running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t been here. But I guess staying the night felt like a big deal for some reason. Like it made all of this a little more…permanent? I don’t know. I probably sound silly.”

You leaned into his touch as he drew you closer into him.

“I…I may or may not have spent 20 minutes yesterday on the shampoo aisle at the store debating whether or not it was weird to get you that soap you like,” he confessed.

You glanced up at him. “Really?”

“I put it back twice before I finally decided to get it,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t know why.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle too. “Well, thank you. I prefer lavender to Old Spice.”

“My wife did too. She used to say I was trying to gas her out every time she went to take a shower after me.”

You stilled at the mention of his wife. He’d never really talked about his wife with you before, and you never wanted to ask. You always figured it would be a subject he’d bring up on his own when he was ready and comfortable. It didn’t feel like your place to broach the topic first.

He was so comfortable with you, it just slipped out. He felt you stiffen and realized what he said, immediately sitting upright. You slipped off his chest, catching yourself before your head could hit the mattress. His abrupt action took the sheets with him, they were now pooling around his waist. You sat up too, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Um…”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, still facing away from you. “I don’t know why I said that.” 

“I don’t mind,” you tried to reason.

He shook his head, eyes on his lap. “You don’t want to hear about her. I shouldn’t have—”

“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to rub at his shoulder. “You can talk about her whenever you want. Really, I don’t mind.” 

He slowly turned to look back at you, uncertainty written on his face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, reaching up to rub his cheek. “Yeah, baby. She was your wife. She was a massive part of your life. Just because she’s gone now doesn’t mean you have to pack her away. I don’t expect you to not talk about her ever now that I’m here. I’ll always want to hear about your life, and that means your life with her too. Okay?”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. You nearly started squirming, ready to apologize for overstepping, when he practically launched himself into you, burying his face in your shoulder. He knocked a laugh out of you, your arms moving up to tighten around his shoulders. 

“Careful,” you laughed, holding him close.

His voice was muffled into the skin of your neck, his breath tickling you. “God, how did I manage to get you? You’re…god, I don’t even know. My pretty girl.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Getting all soft on me?”

“Hush,” he whispered, guiding you back into the pillows. “Go to sleep before I smother you to death.”

“We’re going grocery shopping when we wake up.”

He frowned, huffing into your shoulder. “Do we have to?”

“Do you want to eat mustard and expired yogurt for dinner?”

He sighed, drawing you back into his chest. “…No. But we could—”

“We’re not eating pizza twice in one day.”

He buried his face in your neck, groaning. “Fine…have it your way.”

You smiled, reaching back to lace your fingers with his as you finally closed your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

[dearwalker]

The Great War

Pairing: Jack Abbot x ex wife!reader Word Count: 5.1k

Description: Years after your separation, life throws you back into Jack Abbot’s orbit in the worst way possible, carrying a devastating diagnosis that could be the reason your marriage fell apart in the first place: a tumor that may had erased the part of you that fell in love with him all those years back. And he’s not ready to lose you twice.

Tags/Warnings: Ex!wife reader, no specific age but they were together many years, ANGST, hurt/comfort (trust), talks about divorce, reader has big ex wifey energy, resulting in a bitter Jack, mentions of a tumor in the head and seizures but the medical aspect is very superficial, bad prognosis, suggestive comments and couple’s banter.

Note: This is the result of angsty thoughts invading my head at 2 am, so enjoy (it gets better trust) 🤍

Part 2 - Masterlist

My hand was the one you reached for all throughout The Great War.

There was a time where you believed you were tied to Jack Abbot by an invisible string. 

Despite the crazy life he’d chosen, the long hours, the abrupt calls that took him away from you, the terrors of nightmares and traumas you couldn’t take away from him, you’d managed to love him through it all. 

You loved him through the military years, and the consequences he carried home. Through the transition of losing a part of himself, and made sure that what was left wasn’t damaged by it. Loved him through the process of going back to emergency medicine. Through the night shifts and the missed holidays and anniversaries.

You loved him when his haircolor changed like the seasons. You loved the man in uniform and the man in scrubs and the man who sometimes came home too tired to even speak. 

You loved and loved and loved him until…something snapped. 

You…started calling him out more. For the hours and the absence and for the way he could be right there and still feel a thousand miles away. And Jack, who had spent most of his life learning how to stay calm under pressure, tried to be patient. Tried to love you through the sharpness, just like you’d loved him through his, even if he didn’t understand where yours was coming from.

He tried and tried and tried until…the invisible string between you snapped in pieces he couldn’t tie back together. 

Time passed, and none of you survived the war you’d started in your own home. So you left. Sent out divorce papers that you never signed. You didn’t understand why back then, but now…you kind of do. 

You take a deep breath as the ambulance bay doors slide open in front of you. People who take this entrance are usually bleeding, or screaming, or being rolled in on a stretcher, but you walk in with your head high and a pep on your step. Cashmere coat on, boots clicking the floor, a purse perched on your shoulder.  

Seeing the ED after all these years hits you like a deja vu. From bringing Jack something he forgot in the middle of the night, to showing up at the ass crack of dawn still half asleep but smiling, waiting for him to finish charting so you could eat something together. Your memories are a little fuzzy these days, but there was a time where you knew this place almost as well as he did. 

You reach the nurse’s station with a small smile on your face, only for it to widen when the face behind is not the one you expected.

“Well, what do we have here?” You say, coming to stop in front of her. 

Dana looks up from the papers she’s holding, and her eyes go wide for a second. The look of surprise gets quickly replaced by one of her signature smirks, placing one hand on her hip. 

“Well, I could ask the same damn thing, darling,” she says, amused. 

That makes you laugh, and Dana’s face lightens up. Because despite everything, despite the years, despite the absence, you always had a soft spot for each other. 

“I thought Lena was on the night shift,” you tease. Dana sets the papers down and huffs, looking at you through her glasses. 

“Please. It’s not weird to see me covering someone for the right price,” she says, not being subtle about looking up and down at you. “Now what is strange as hell, is seeing you walk in here after all this time.”

“Why? I’m just here to see my hubby,” you say casually. “Is it a quiet night, or do I have to wait like the good old days?” You ask, feigning innocence with a single shoulder shrug. 

“Oh, don’t you start! don’t you jinx my shift like that,” she says, almost offended, making you laugh harder. She narrows her eyes at you playfully, shaking her head. “You evil, evil woman.”

“So I’ve been told,” you snicker, checking something on your nails. “It’s good to see you, Dana,” you add after a moment, and she pretends not to notice the way you pick on the skin of your thumb. 

“You too, hun,” she says fondly, trying to search for your eyes. “Now, are you going to tell me what brings you to my ED or do I have to waterboard it out of you?” 

Before you can think of a way to evade the question, you hear a voice behind you that makes everything inside you stop. 

“Let me know when the labs are back, Mateo.”

You turn to the source, and for a moment you can’t control the look on your face when your eyes land on him. Jack Abbot is walking out of Trauma Two with a nurse, too focused on pulling off his gloves to realize you’re standing frozen by the nurse’s station. You clear your throat and straighten up quickly, putting on that nonchalance mask back on again as Dana just smiles to herself. 

Jack’s head finally snaps up and his mouth opens, probably ready to tell something to Dana, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees you there. He doesn't have a good time controlling his emotions either. He blinks a few times to make sure he’s seeing right, and that you’re not a cruel product of his imagination. It’s too early in the shift for that. 

But you’re there. You are there. Wait–you’re there? 

The confusion quickly gets replaced by anger. It’s been a long time. Three years of nothing, and this is how you show up? Looking polished, composed, infuriatingly beautiful, like you didn’t leave a hole in his chest he was never able to stitch back together. 

“Are you lost?” The words coming out his mouth are sharper than he expected, but the coldness is familiar to you. 

“Jack,” you say, forcing a plastic smile and tilting your head. “Is that the way to greet your wife?” 

“My wife…” Jack mutters with an incredulous laugh.

He looks at Dana all scandalized, offended. She just shrugs unimpressed, not interested in getting involved in whatever messy drama is about to unfold. 

She will totally watch, though.

“If you’re here to tell me you finally signed the papers, then you wasted a whole trip. You could've just mailed them,” he says sharply, too blinded to notice the way your smile faltered at that. 

“I’m not here for that,” you say, holding tighter to the bag on your shoulder. “There’s-”

“You know you’re not supposed to walk in through the ambulance bay unless you’re dying,” he continues, before giving you a head to toe assessing look that ends with a bitter huff. “And by the looks of it, seems like the devil has taken care of his own.” 

You chuckle, because it’s the only thing you can do at this point. Because if anyone in the world has earned the right to call you a devil, it’s Jack.

For the last year of your marriage. For every sharp word, every time you didn’t want to listen, every fight that left him standing there wondering when loving each other had become something exhausting instead of home. For the way you ended things. For how you walked away and never came back.

“Dr.Abbot?” A male voice coming from the trauma room breaks the tense moment between you. 

You look at the doctor, one you remember seeing last as a first year resident, trailing behind your husband with a notepad and an iced coffee in hand. You can’t recall his name, but he looks like he got his attending position after all.

Jack turns to him, “I’ll be there in a second, Shen,” he says gently, then back to you, more impatient, “I’m busy. So if you’re done making your little grand entrance, you can leave the same way you came in. You seem to be pretty good at it.”

The way he talks to you shouldn't hurt this much. You deserve it, for how unkind you were with him in the first place. For how badly you hurt him. For how you ran his endless patience thin. Now, in hindsight, there are many things you wish were different. 

But wishing won’t make the medical records in your purse change. And even though you’ve earned every blow he throws at you, you still square your shoulders. Shrug it off like it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't matter. 

“I’m not leaving until I speak to you…privately,” you say, turning back to Dana with a smile. “Break room’s still the same way, right?”

“Down the hall to the left, sweetheart,” she says, shaking her head with a chuckle.

You blow her a playful kiss as gratitude, one she pretends to dodge, rolling her eyes playfully as she walks away to continue with her duties. You round the nurse’s station, and walk straight past Jack, close enough that the heavy fabric of your coat almost brushes his arm, but it’s your scent that hits him like a punch to the stomach. 

Your perfume. The perfume. The one you wore to all your dates, the one you married him with, and the one he had to scrub off his clothes like a toxic chemical when he talked himself into getting you out of his head after you left. 

Dammit. 

He sees you stroll to the break room with that sway of your hips that used to keep him up at night, trying to gather the courage to invite you out when you first met. Fucking dammit. You ruined his life. You keep doing it. 

“Dr. Abbot!” Shen calls again, a little sharper even for him. 

Jack sighs deeply, turning defeated to the trauma room, as the same question pounds his head over and over again. 

What on earth could you possibly want?

The second you shut the door of the break room and you’re alone again, your shoulders sag and the mask slips right off. The exhaustion in your bones makes you take a seat as soon as you see it, placing your bag on the chair next to you and pulling out the black folder you’ve been carrying around for months. You place it on the table, and look away as if that would change the contents of it. 

Your eyes meet your reflection on the microwave sitting on the counter, and you can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips. You did well making yourself look like the ex wife who’s thriving and has her life together.

What a joke. 

You slump back into your chair, and wait. 

Jack makes you wait a long time. You figure it’s his petty way of getting back at you somehow, or maybe he’s just trying to ease off his anger before he walks in. But hey, at least you were able to reassemble yourself. By the time he walks in, you’re sitting at the table with your legs crossed neatly, coat still on, folder placed in front of you. Composed enough to make him think that this is still some kind of performance.

You hate that your brain keeps telling you to push more. To make him snap. The string has been broken for a while. Why do you still feel the need to pull? 

Jack doesn’t sit, even if his leg would thank him for it, he just stands with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you impatiently. 

“What, you’re not joining me?” You tease, pushing open the chair across from you with your boot. 

“I’m not staying long,” he says flatly, ignoring the seat. “So whatever this is, start talking.”

You hum in feign amusement, leaning back a little. “Why? Seems like a quiet night for me.”

Jack closes his eyes, shaking his head, thinking about every single self regulation method his therapist had taught him. Five things you can see, four things you can–

“Relax,” you say.

Wow. How didn’t he think of that? Could've saved him thousands in therapy.

He realizes the only way to get this over with, is getting it over with. So he opens his eyes, and this time they land straight on the folder in front of you. Whatever restraint he was trying to hold on to, spills out in a humorless laugh.

“What is that?” He nods to it, “A list of what you want to keep?”

“Jack, that’s not–”

“I already told my lawyer you can keep everything,” he says anyways, letting the words spill, because he’s been bleeding over this for years and he’s sure as hell not stopping now. “The house. The cars. Even the goddamn bedsheets. You can keep it all, I don’t want any of it,” he says calmly, like he isn't still losing sleep over it every day. “I moved out a while ago anyway, it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

It gets harder to keep your resolve, especially with the sharp pain throbbing in your head. But of course he doesn’t want it. Why would he want the remnants of a home you poisoned? A marriage you turned sharp and miserable and impossible to hold together?

A lump forms in the back of your throat, but you swallow it down like every bad news you’ve heard over the course of the last months. 

“It’s not about the divorce, I already told you that,” you say quietly. 

Jack just stares at you, exasperated. Every second you’re in front of him burns his insides. Every second you share the same oxygen he can’t breathe. Every second of your presence is just a reminder of the greatest thing he’s fucked up in his life.

You just pick up the folder and hold it out to him. He hesitates at first, but you have no bitchy remarks left on you. The faster you get it over with, the faster it will all be over, so you shake it for him to take it, until he finally does. 

Your gaze stays on him as he flips through the papers inside; lab results, endless consult notes, imaging reports. The annoyance doesn’t disappear right away, but his salt and pepper brows furrow together as his brain catches up with what he’s reading. He digs for the actual CT, and comes across a series of images that back up everything the reports say. 

He instinctively steps closer to the chair, eyes still fixed on the papers, sitting down mindlessly as he spreads everything on the table. The only thing he can focus on is your name printed on every paper. Abbot here, Abbot there. When he finally looks up at you, all the color has drained from his face. 

“What is this?” He asks. Because what the fuck kind of bad joke is this. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest, “you did say I shouldn’t walk in through the ambulance bay if I wasn’t dying.”

“This isn’t funny,” he says, frustrated. God, you forgot how intense his eye contact was. “What is this? How–when did this happen?”

You play with your fingers on your lap, and sigh, “Ten months ago, I…I had a seizure at work,” you say softly, forcing yourself to keep going. “They did the scans, and it–it didn’t take long to find it.”

It. 

Jack stares at it on the CT, then his eyes drift to the reports. Mass. Tumor. Inoperable. Terms that have always been technical to him, medical, now seem like the cruelest words ever written by man. 

“I’ve seen a couple of neurosurgeons,” you continue, “and they all came to the same conclusion–”

“No.” 

“Jack, they said they can’t take it out–”

“No,” he cuts you off sharply, shaking his head. “That’s not–I don’t agree.”

“You don’t have to agree,” you don’t raise your voice, just smile sadly. It’s something you’ve been telling yourself over and over. “Guess the devil doesn’t look after their own in the end.”

“Stop, don’t…” Jack sighs, dropping the papers just to run his hands roughly across his face. “I didn’t mean that–fuck. I didn’t mean any of that–” 

You haven’t even gotten through the worst of it, and you’re already exhausted. God, these timebombs suck your energy right off. You reach for the water bottle on your purse, and drink away the premature grief building in your throat. 

Jack watches you carefully, and for the first time since he saw you again, he allows himself to see past the veil of hate he’d tried to see you through. He sees the crack in your smile, the shadows under your eyes, the real strain and exhaustion you can’t quite dress up with a fancy coat.

He sees he wasn’t there to hold you through it. 

“Why didn't you call me?” He asks, and you fear it’s the most devastated you’ve ever heard him.

You sigh, and set the bottle down. Because how do you even explain that? What even was it? Pride? Shame? Guilt? Love?

Fear.

How do you tell the man you wrecked that you did think of him first? That even after years apart, even after every awful thing, he was the first person you needed when the ground fell out from under your feet? 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admit.

I was scared. 

“Bother me?” 

“After everything that happened, I thought…I thought I should solve it on my own,” you shrug.

I didn’t think I deserved your help.

“You didn’t think that your husband, a doctor, would want to ‘solve it’??” he snaps. Offended, yes. Furious, yes. But underneath all of it…it’s the hurt that speaks. 

“You’re not a neurosurgeon,” you laugh bitterly, more defensive than you want to. “Your opinion is not gonna change–”

“It’s not just my opinion!” He says, standing up because his frustration is going to make him burst if he stays still. “It’s–it’s me being there. You went through all of this alone.”

The only sounds in the room are both your heavy breaths. You keep your rigid posture, even if every part inside of you is breaking. Jack runs his hand through his curls, once, twice, then tugs a little on the third time.

“Jack…” you call out softly, but he doesn’t look at you. His gaze darts to other five things he can see, hands on his hips as he grounds himself. “I’m not here to fight. And I’m not here for you to solve it…there’s just something I wanted to talk about.”

He finishes his little exercise and looks at you again, bracing himself for an impact he’s not sure if he can take. You know he can’t. So you take another deep breath before speaking.

“The doctors said the tumor is in an area that affects behavior. Like my moods and personality. They said it may have been growing for years.”

There’s a tremble in Jack’s lower lip that makes you hesitate, you know he already knows what it means, yet you keep going. 

“They think it might explain why I was so…particular these last few years,” you let out a broken little laugh, shaking your head quickly to try to fight the tears prickling your eyes. “I know it’s not an excuse, maybe it wasn’t that,” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks angrily. “Maybe I was just a bitch.”

“Hey–no, honey, don’t say that,” he says, the endearment falling out of his lips so naturally. 

Jack doesn’t think twice to step closer and drop to one knee in front of you, groaning at this prosthetic but still reaching for your hands on your lap. You try to retreat back so fast your chair screeches against the floor, but he doesn’t let you pull back, instead he interlocks his fingers with yours, almost hissing at how cold you are. 

You shake your head, tears flooding your cheeks now. “Don’t–don’t speak to me like that, you can still be mad at me,” you sob, but he keeps his warm grip firm. “You have every right to be, I was so mean to you, Jack. I snapped at you for everything. I made you feel like you were always doing something wrong. I turned our house into somewhere awful and I knew you were trying, and I kept pushing anyway.” 

He has tears in his eyes now too, but he lets you get it out of your system. Lets the years of regret spill out of you all at once, god knows his therapist has heard him many times. 

“Jack you’d come home exhausted and I’d always find something else to pick apart. Something else to be angry about. And you looked at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore, and I hated it because I thought you were wrong. Even then. I knew I was hurting you and I kept doing it. I made you carry all of it. So maybe now I deserve to carry all of this alone.” 

There it is. Jack breaks completely at your confession. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, catching the tears that won’t stop coming. 

“Sweetheart…you should’ve called me,” he says again, but he’s not angry this time. He’s grieving. “You should’ve called me.”

“I know.” 

“You should not have done this by yourself.”

“I know,” you cry out, he just keeps caressing your cheek with his thumb. “My–my memory is not the best now and I just…I needed to tell you I was sorry while I still could.”

You try to smile through the tears, you really do, but he looks so frightened. So wrecked. Your hands fly to his wrists now, clinging instead of pulling away. 

“I’m scared, Jack,” you confess. 

He remembers you saying that on a holiday when he hauled you up deep into the sea, just so he could hold you in his arms. He remembers you saying that when he put on a horror movie just so you could hide behind his biceps. He remembers you saying that before trying a new dish at your favorite diner instead of the usual you ordered. 

All those times were said with a laugh, or a cheeky smile. But this? This is pure, unadulterated fear. He is scared. He’s terrified. So he does what he always did best: hold you. 

He lifts himself up just enough to wrap his arms around you. You let yourself go instinctively, realizing how much you’ve needed this the past few months. He holds you so tight, so desperate, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing your back. You bury your face in his neck and sob. You feel the way Jack shifts, pressing his lips to your hair while he whispers sweet nothings. 

“I’m here. I’m here, honey. I got you.”

“I don’t–”

“Don’t tell me what you deserve right now.”

That makes you cry harder. He rocks you a few times, just like he used to on the worst nights. Just like he always vowed to. 

“I loved you through all of it,” he confesses. “Even when I was angry. Even when I thought you hated me. I never stopped. I never stopped.”

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffle. 

“I know, honey, I know.”

“I loved you the whole time too, I swear,” you keep going. “That’s why–that’s why I never signed the papers. My heart didn’t want to let you go. It never did.” 

“It’s okay–“

“No it’s not.”

“But it is,” he insists. Firm and honest. “You were sick, and I should’ve known. I should’ve seen something–“

“No. Don’t blame yourself for this too,” pulling yourself apart from him enough to look into those beautiful hazel eyes. “Leave the regretting to me.” 

“Sweetheart–“

“Jack.” You narrow your eyes at him, and it brings him back to all those times you won even the most pointless of arguments with just one look. 

He huffs a teary laugh, dropping his head in defeat. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” he says, lifting his head again. There’s a new spark in his eye trying to make its way past the previous devastation. “Then you leave the rest to me.” 

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he just pushes a strand of hair from your face. 

“I’m getting you admitted here,” he says, you immediately tense, but he speaks before you can refuse. “No, listen to me. We have some of the best neurosurgeons in the country connected to this hospital. I am going to pull every string I have, call in every favor I can, and get every set of eyes possible on this.”

“I can’t do this again,” you shake your head. 

“Yes, you can.”

“I’ve already seen so many people, Jack. I’ve heard it all. I’ve made peace with it.”

“No you haven’t, and that’s okay. You came here because some part of you knew I would never let this go. So don’t ask me to. It’s offensive, honey.”

Well shit. Seems like your husband of years seems to actually know you better than you know yourself. 

“I’ve accepted it, Jack. Memento mori.” 

Liar liar pants on fire. 

He grins. “Then I guess we’re both liars.”

You look at him confused, but he just sighs. 

“I told you I moved out…but I didn’t,” he admits. “I still live in the house I built for you. I still sleep in our bed, on my side of course, cause I know you never liked the way I dipped your side of the mattress,” he laughs at the memory, making you smile. “Your books are still on the nightstand. I never moved them.” 

You imagine all the things he never brought himself to move. The way time stopped running in a house that was once filled with laughter and love. So much love. Jack just does a helpless shrug. 

“You left…but you never really left me.”

Yeah. That’ll do it. You’re crying again before you even realize it. Your hands go to cover your face, but he intercepts them midway. 

“No, no, honey. No more hiding from me,” he says, so softly it doesn’t exactly help your situation. “We’re in this together now.” 

You nod, his thumbs reach out to dry your tears. 

“I know I’m not the type of surgeon you need. I know I can’t fix this with my own hands. But I’m still a doctor,” he explains softly. “And most importantly…I’m still your husband. So I will be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to figure this out. We are going to try. Oh honey we are going to ask questions. We are going to make the smartest people in every room look at this until they are sick of seeing my face.”

That makes you laugh. He delights at the sound. 

“Jack…”

“I know you’re tired, my love,” he continues, his voice turning even softer. “I know you’re scared. I know you’ve been carrying this by yourself for too long and the idea of starting over with new doctors makes you want to crawl out of your skin. But you do not get to give up before I even get a chance to fight for you.”

The weight in your chest that has been dragging you down lately eases, if only a little, letting you breathe. Maybe he’s right. Maybe all of this would’ve been easier if he’d known from the start. Maybe it can be easier now. Even if he can’t solve it…you’ll let him try. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” he nods. “You’re coming home with me tonight, and we’ll deal with this in the morning. We’ll start here, and if it doesn’t work there’s always New York, I can cash a few favors in Washington too–“

“But your job–“

“Can wait,” he states without hesitation. “Sweetheart, I've been here for a long time, and I’m going to use that to my advantage. Maybe it’s time for my sabbatical, yeah? That way I can take you everywhere you need to be. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“…a sabbatical.”

“Robby took one,” he shrugs. “Three months away and it didn’t kill him. I’m willing to take whatever time they allow me.”

“What about SWAT duty?” You push. He lets out a chuckle. 

“I know you might miss the uniform–“

You slap his arm weakly. 

“Alright, alright,” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Just–don’t worry about it, okay? I meant it when I said I got you, honey.”

You sigh, but it’s more out of relief than anything. How you needed to hear those words. How you needed him. 

“And in the meantime, you can tell me your favorite memories of us…so I can keep them safe for you while we figure this out.”

Jesus Christ. How could you have ever walked away from this man? At this point you’re gonna have to sign the papers just to marry him again. 

“Jack…”

“Come on, from the hip, give me one,” he says playfully, and you know he’s not letting this go. 

You tap your chin and glance away, pretending to think. Your eyes light up when a very specific memory pops into your head. 

“I remember our naked yoga sessions very fondly,” you say, completely serious, but it manages to get a genuine surprised laugh from him. 

“Of course you do,” he laughs, throwing his head back at the memory. He still does it, at sunrise when he’s not working, with your mat still next to his. “You always ended up bouncing on me.”

“Jack!!” You say, heat creeping up your face in a way it hasn’t in a long time. 

You both laugh about it for a moment, then fall into a quiet that could never be described as awkward. Not between you. Not anymore. 

“I missed this,” he says quietly, those intense hazel eyes piercing into yours. You loved those eyes. You still do. “I missed you.”

You smile sadly, cupping his face with your hands. “You missed nice me.”

“I missed my wife.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. So many years he’d called you that, until you threw it all away. Or, well, the thing in your head did? Whatever. It is what it is. 

Your eyes travel all over his face. Damp lashes, tension in his jaw even if he tries to hide it with a cheeky grin, all the wrinkles time has carved into him while you were apart. 

“I missed my husband,” you finally say, just as soft. 

He smiles at that. You loved that smile, you still do. 

“Then let me take care of you, honey.” 

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back to that bloodshed

Part 2 - Morning Glory.

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 💋

[goodnightngoread]

arrested !

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 !!

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?"

Jack has to go to the bathroom after.

taglist: @carnisstufff @calytrixsworld

[voidsagent]

Need You Here - jack abbot x attending!reader

Pairings: jack abbot x attending!reader

Summary: after a patient attacks you during your shift, all you want is to be comforted by your favorite night shift attending. <3

Warnings: mentions of past physical/mental abuse, explicit language, age-gap relationship, medical inaccuracies, angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 5k+

Author’s Note: It’s finally here !! Part (1/?) of potential ‘Dr Heart’ series !! :)

The fluorescent lights of the ED shone brightly like any other day, reflecting off the floor and any other metal objects it could reach. You trudged a little slower today—still getting used to the day shift you’d been put on for the week—much preferring nights. A silver-haired attending helped a little with that.

Not that you didn’t adore Robby, no you absolutely did. He was like a big brother or uncle to you, a figure you looked up to, could go to with anything. But there was something about Jack. You looked up to him too, but not in the older role model way you did Robby.

No, Jack gave you butterflies, made you nervous, made you blush and bite your lower lip.

Jack was softer around you—eyes going kind instead of sad or serious—his jaw relaxing. His hands lingering over yours a few seconds too long as he helped you with a procedure. Hands on your shoulders or small of your back as he passed or whispered ‘atta girl’ in your ear. Making every hair on your body stand up.

Jack made sure you ate like Robby did, but he went a step further and would track you down, toss you a sandwich. Sometimes force you to eat with him in the stairwell to the roof if you pointed out he needed a break too.

He let “sweetheart” slip past his lips when talking to or about you more than your real name. So much so everyone now called you “Dr. Heart.” It was easier, flowed way to close to a way that could mean you meant something to Jack. It made those damn goosebumps prick your skin and your heart clench each time you heard him say it. A simple praise, a small check in, a good night at the end of a shift.

He brought you coffee, made sure you had a break. Checked in on how things were outside of work. He worried.

Not that he didn’t have every right too. When you’d first started at the Pitt, you were in a rough place. A shitty apartment on the shitty side of Pittsburgh—with an even shittier boyfriend—that liked to get rough and physical with you when he was upset.

At first, you did well at hiding the bruises or cuts, the way you favored one foot or arm over another. Everyone knew you were clumsy, and for a while, it seemed like that’s all it was. Until you started coming in with bigger bruises. One along your eyebrow, a cut on your lip. Even remnants of a bloody nose once; not having time to fully clean up before your shift.

People noticed, of course they did; Jack noticed.

Dana was on you first—checking your face for any other injuries—when Jack stepped in, demanding to know what happened.

You had lied, of course you had. Scared of the repercussions, what would happen if your then boyfriend—David—found out. You blamed your clumsiness in the dark, tripping over the cat or bumping your head on the nightstand, or a closed door in the dark. Jack never quite believed it, but he didn’t push.

When you finally broke down one day after Jack saw David practically push you out of the car—hot tears brimming at your eyes—Jack was there; quietly seething. He pulled you into a quiet on call room as soon as you were inside, let you shove yourself against his chest and cry. He cradled your head and rubbed your back softly. He didn’t speak, didn’t pry; just let you ride it out. With the way his body was tensing with anger, you don’t know how he stayed composed.

Especially when you started talking.

“What’s going on?”, His voice was low and husky, quiet enough just for you hear.

He put a hand on your knee from where you sat on one of the exam beds, new bruise blooming along your cheekbone around a small laceration. You almost pulled away at the touch, but once you fully realized it was Jack, you relaxed into it. The tears brimming your eyes burned, finally falling over the edge. Jack’s entire body softened.

“Sweetheart…”, His voice came softer than you’d ever heard it.

He hesitated before letting his hand cup your cheek, and again, you leaned into it. He was warm—fingers calloused from years of working—still it felt comforting, safe, a familiar sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in forever.

Jack sighed; “How long?”

You swore his voice shook a little bit.

You shrugged, wiping at the tears on your face, looking anywhere but into his eyes. You couldn’t look at him, not right now. Not without cracking completely open.

“I don’t know…a year? Maybe two?”

Jack stilled.

His jaw went tight again, teeth clamped down together so hard you were afraid he might crack them. A flash of something you couldn’t quite place flickered through his eyes, head dropped as he thought hard. Then he inhaled, a deep guttural gasp for air, wiping the hand that wasn’t on your knee down his face.

“You’re not going home tonight.”

He said it flatly, stern enough you knew he was serious.

“Jack- Where else am I supposed to go? I guess I could stay in one of the empty rooms upstairs but I don’t have any-“

“No”, He said simply; “You’re staying with me.”

“Jack no, I can’t impose on you like that-“

“You’re not. I’m inviting you. I have a guest bedroom, you can use it whenever or however long you need.”

Suddenly you didn’t feel like arguing, chest feeling heavy as you came down from whatever adrenaline had been coursing through you. Jack patted your knee once, pushing himself to his feet with a small groan and crack of his knees. Normally, you’d make fun of him for it, but here in the moment where he was being so sweet, you’d tease him about it later.

“Are you sure?”, Your voice was barely a whisper.

Jack stopped with a hand on the door knob, looking over his shoulder with a half-lipped smile; “Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

You didn’t say anything, only stared at him.

“Rest for a while, I’ll come find you if we need you. Eat and drink something too.”

You nodded softly, watching him hesitate for a moment before he left the room. Something winding tight in your chest that screamed ‘don’t go.’

His presence suddenly became sunshine to you after that, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find yourself orbiting him and being pulled in. He waited for you at the end of your shift that night, drove you back to his place. He let you use his shower, borrow some old clothes of his. He made you dinner—until that point you didn’t know Jack could even cook—figured he survived off of take-out. Most of the time he did. But he told himself you deserved better than that, you deserved to be taken care of.

He checked on your bruised cheek with soft hands, thumbs barely brushing just the edge of the purple spot. The cut in the middle already scabbed over.

“What if he comes after me?”, You asked him in the muted light of his living room.

Jack cocked his head, brows stern and furrowed; “He won’t find you here. You’re safe with me.”

Your breath hitched at that, letting Jack’s hands put a new steri-strip on your cheek.

“Besides”, Jack grumbled, “I ever see him again he’s gonna wish he was already a dead man.”

You let the corners of your lips curl up at that. Your body taking over, leaning forward to be pressed against his firm chest, his arms falling back around you again. If you weren’t so exhausted you might’ve felt the ghost of Jack’s lips at the crown of your hair, using all of his strength not to confess everything to you right then and there. You didn’t need that now. No, he’d tell you later—maybe.

He led you to the guest room that night, making sure you had everything you needed, showed you where things were. Told you he’d be right across the hall if you needed him. He hovered by the door for a moment to flick off the light, stopping when you called out to him.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

Your skin prickled at the nickname.

“Thank you.”

This time his smile was genuine, not forced to provide comfort. But something from deep within him.

He wanted to tell you he’d do it all over again, no matter how many times you needed. That he’d be there no matter what. Hell, he’d get down on his knees for you to pull you close and keep you safe if that’s what you needed. Instead, he just nodded his head once, the light from the hallway casting a shadow over one side of his face.

“Anytime”, was all he said before quietly leaving the room.

He barely slept that night, every noise or creak of the apartment made his body jolt at the thought of you needing something, needing him. He stared at the ceiling, suddenly aware how big and empty his bed felt with just him in it.

You slept better than you had in a long time. No squirming to the edge of the bed as far as you could without falling off, keeping a distance between yourself and David. No walking around on your tiptoes or silently shaking, no crying yourself to sleep.

You felt safe in Jack’s guest room. Warmth and his scent filling your nose. Comfort finally settling in your chest and sleep pulling you under.

Two days later—against every fiber of your being—you ended up moving in with Trinity and Dennis, sneaking back into your ex boyfriend’s house to collect your things. You told yourself it was easier. It was better that way. They had the room—so did Jack—but you told yourself that you staying would be a burden to him, would uproot every comfort of his life he knew. Jack forced himself to let you go, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t shatter a little inside or feel an emptiness in his chest when you left.

You didn’t want to be in his way, or take up his quiet space, make him worry about you or have to drive you every where. Trinity’s apartment was closer to the hospital, more convenient for getting to work on time. Jack had only nodded—driving you and the last of your things to Trinity’s—pausing one last time as you hopped out.

“Hey”, he called, making you look up at him; “My offer still stands…you’re welcome anytime.”

The air was charged between you. Electric. You were sure if you dared to touch him now you’d both get zapped, like when a sweater gets rubbed against another. All you could do was offer him a small smile and a nod, thanking him once again for everything. Then you were gone, the passenger door shut and your perfume lingering in the air. Jack watched you go inside safely before dropping his head against the steering wheel, letting out a deep and frustrated sigh—sitting in the parking lot of your new apartment complex way longer than he needed too—this was going to be harder than he thought.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few hours into your shift you were feeling a little more awake, the chaos of day shift keeping you going. Robby checked in on you, of course he did. Little did you know Jack made him promise to. You chatted with Dana as you charted, fingers tapping away at the keyboard. You rolled the chair back a little bit, stretching your arms above your head as you leaned back, a yawn escaping your mouth.

“None of that now, kid. We’ll all be startin’”, Dana’s voice came from the other side of the hub, smirking at you over her glasses.

“Sorry”, You shake your head, trying to push the tiredness away; “Not used to be awake right now.”

Dana stepped back from her spot at the counter, pulling her glasses off her nose to look at you.

“You miss working nights?”, She asked.

You shrugged; “A little. More in my element there, m’used to being a night owl.”

You wouldn’t tell her you missed being around Jack the most—wouldn’t tell her how you ached at being apart—barely seeing him at hand offs at the beginning and end of each shift. The distance between you was gnawing away in your chest. You wanted his house, his arms around you, you wanted him. Yet somehow—in the midst of it all—you realized Dana probably already knew he was a big factor in your dislike of working day shifts. She always had a way of knowing everything, she didn’t even have to ask.

Before you could say anything else, the ambulance bay doors burst open with a new trauma, sending you straight back into doctor mode. You were quickly by Robby’s side—helping him intubate the patient—checking vitals and making sure they were stable before sending them upstairs.

His hand was on your shoulder as he threw his gloves into a nearby trashcan; “Nice work in there, kid.”

It sent a jolt of pride through your chest, but you couldn’t help the lingering thought of wishing it was Jack that popped into your head. You imagined his hand on your shoulder, warmer, steadier, grounding and so hauntingly safe.

You were managing the shift pretty well, taking each new patient and case as they came. Chatting with Dana when you got a chance. Catching up on charting. Everything easy was completely knocked out from under your feet halfway through your shift.

A new patient came in, a little restless and agitated, quiet; but so far not causing any problems. Whittaker had mentioned in passing it might be a case for psyche. They’d already called upstairs for evaluation. That alone should’ve stopped you from entering the room. Still, nobody knew how long that would take, and the patient would need his blood drawn, some vitals taken, an overall assessment. Someone had to do it.

“Hey Dr. Heart, patient in room 6 needs blood drawn, can you get it started for me?”, Princess calls out to you.

You nod, pushing yourself up and out of your chair at the hub, stretching again.

You took a deep breath, composed yourself, and forced yourself to enter the patient’s room. Calmly, professionally, every way you’d been taught how. You soon found yourself pulling back the curtain, immediately feeling the air shift around you. Something tense lingering with the sterile scent in the air.

But still, you pushed forward, reading off his chart and introducing yourself, settling in on the swivel chair next to the exam bed.

“I heard you’re having some chest pains today, are you having any other symptoms?”

You ask it softly, but still the older man in the bed refused to answer, arms folded over his chest. Almost mumbling under his breath. So you don’t push, instead logging onto the computer and starting on his notes. A few moments later you’re turning back to him.

“We need to take some blood to send for testing and I need to listen to your heart, is that ok?”

This time you get a grunt in return, but he doesn’t push you away when you press the stethoscope to his chest.

“Deep breath in for me”, You keep your voice steady.

As you listen you notice his hands curling into the bedsheets, knuckles white and tense.

“A little fast but we’ll see what your labs say”, You fill him in, typing away at the chart before pulling on a new pair of gloves.

“Shouldn’t a doctor be doing this? Aren’t you kind of…young?”, His tone sent chills down your spine.

You swallowed hard.

“Sir, I assure you I’m more than qualified to do this. Doctor’s actually have less experience with blood drawing than nurses do.”

You offer him a half there smile, hands hovering; when he doesn’t answer, you move forward.

Big mistake.

You wrap the band around his forearm, turning to reach for the needle on the tray when the room shifts again. Suddenly he’s lunging at you, hands on either side of your neck before you can get another word out—squeezing hard as your body falls back from the chair—head bouncing off the floor with a thud.

Pain blooms through your skull, eyes blurry as you stare at the man practically straddling you, his eyes full of anger. Suddenly your patient is no longer there, all you see when you look up is your ex. Pushing down hard on you and stealing all the air from your lungs. Pinning you down and forcing yourself to stay like he had so many times before. You try to choke out any words, try to pull the patients hands off by grabbing at his wrists, but he only grips tighter, choking the air out of your throat.

Surely, the sound of you hitting the floor had made some noise, but in a desperate attempt to call for help—you pull the tray beside you down to the floor—metal instruments and supplies clattering loudly against the floor. You can hear the sudden hush of the ED going quiet around you, followed by fast and loud footsteps before the curtain around you is being pulled back.

“Ahmed! We need help in here!”, It’s Robby, already moving towards the man ontop of you.

More feet enter the room, a fuzziness taking over your brain as the weight of the patient is finally lifted off of you, the hands around your neck removed as you take in a deep gasp; sputtering and coughing as the sterile air returns to your lungs. You realize your ears are ringing, head swimming, no doubt from the impact from your fall. There’s blood on the floor, coming from somewhere you can’t place. You can’t tell if it’s yours or the patient’s. You try to force yourself up, but Robby’s quicker.

Your entire body sways, vision going in and out like a channel trying to find enough service to come fully in.

“Absolutely not, stay down”, Robby’s voice is stern, quiet but not mean, guiding you back down to the floor by your shoulders.

The world tilts around you again, head still swimming—making you squeeze your eyes shut—suddenly feeling very tired and about to give in to the feeling of sleep. All you see is your ex every time you close your eyes. Air felt trapped in your burning lungs, chest heavy and making it hard to breathe.

“Robby-“, You reach out for his arm, “I can’t-I can’t bre-“, Your shaking hands find their way to your throat, grasping at it like it’ll suddenly make air come back.

He’s quick again, pushing your hands away and resting his hand on your shoulder. You’ve never seen Robby look so worried.

“Hey, stay with me, Heart”, Robby’s patting your cheek softly; “We need a gurney in here, now!”

You don’t know how long you’ve been lying on the floor in a ball when you’re gently lifted onto a gurney, an oxygen mask quickly placed over your nose and mouth. An IV is placed in your arm as you enter an open room, nurses and doctor’s filing in around you. Robby’s still there—you can hear his voice—even if your vision still swims, worse now with the bright lights over you.

You feel hands on your head, tilting it forward slightly. You squeeze your eyes shut as all the pressure shifts forward.

“Slight hematoma on back of the head. We’ll send her up to CT to check for concussion or any bleeding”, Robby’s voice comes through again, clinical and straight to the point.

He flashes his pen light over your eyes, making you wince.

“I know, i’m sorry”, He says.

The world suddenly seems like too much as gauze is wrapped around your arm. You long to be held, long for the only person who can calm you, but he’s not here. You can hear the machines around you beeping—the lack of air making your throat constrict and eyes water—Robby and nurses suddenly flying into motion again.

“Her oxygen levels are dropping! We need more hands in here, stat!”

You can hear the worry in his voice as you reach out for him, wrapping your hand around his arm. He freezes, head flicking to you as you try to hold eye contact through the bluriness and the pain.

“Robby…”, You croak out.

“I know, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Tears well up in your eyes; “No I need-“

You choke, gasping a little, Robby places his other hand over yours.

“I need Jack”, You rasp, making him still again, “Please, I want Jack.”

Your voice comes out broken and raspy, sobs wracking through you as you beg for the only person who will keep you from falling over that dangerous edge from your past.

You think you see Robby nod, only hesitating for a second before he’s yelling out behind him; “Dana! Get Abbot on the phone!”

Then everything around you fades to darkness.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Jack stirs at the sound of his phone buzzing on his nightstand, sleep gripping him too tightly to answer. But he reaches for it, barely missing it as it goes silent again. The silence only lasts for a few seconds before the buzzing resumes.

He groans as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he lifts the phone up to his ear; “Hello?”

“Abbot? It’s Dana.”

Suddenly he’s awake; “Dana? What’s going on?-“

“I need you to stay calm. It’s Heart”

Jack’s already pulling his prosthetic on.

“She’s ok, stable. Robby’s with her now. She was asking for you.”

Jack’s already halfway out the front door, slipping his other shoe on, not caring if it’s tied; “What happened?”

His truck pulls into the ED parking lot less than ten minutes later, his leg seething as he hops out and his prosthetic pushes into his skin. But he doesn’t care. He’s practically sprinting into the hospital, past everyone looking his way and straight to the hub.

His eyes are wide and hair frazzled when he reaches the hub, his gaze already locked on Dana.

“Where is she?”

“Trauma 8, still with Robby. But wait-“

She steps in front of Jack as he goes to head for you, a soft hand on his arm making him stop. Her eyes are sad, worry evident on her face.

“You’re not gonna like what you see, Jack. She’s…”, Dana takes a deep breath; “She’s pretty banged up.”

Jack runs a hand down his face, already taking a deep breath in to prepare for what he might see when he enters your room, every time you’d come in with new bruises or injuries swirling through his brain. But he’s moving anyway, footsteps quick and heavy on the floor before he’s outside your door, ripping the curtain open in one quick motion.

Robby’s hovering over you, checking the drip in your arm, head flicking up at the sound of the curtain being drawn back. Jack’s eyes softened at the sight of you, heart growing heavy in his chest.

You’re asleep, thankfully. Pale with dark circles around your eyes. A neck brace around your neck, stopping just under your chin; Jack can already see the bruises forming there through the small opening in the plastic, already purple and red and way too finger shaped for his liking.

Robby’s by him in seconds, ushering him back into the hallway as quietly as he can. Jack lets his feet stall for a moment, not tearing his eyes off of you.

“Jack”, Robby’s voice finally makes him turn around.

“What the fuck happened?”, Jack’s voice is sharp, a slight wobble in it he’s desperately trying to hide.

Robby sighs, pulling off his gloves before tossing them in a nearby bin—hands on his hips as he looks down at the floor—shaking his head.

“Combative patient”, Robby tells him, “Psyche has him now. He’s restrained but…she was alone in there with him. Not sure how long he was on her before I got there…”, He takes a deep breath; “She’s stable now. Thankfully. Just looks rough, no doubt she’ll feel it when she wakes up too.”

Jack’s head is swimming, racing way faster than he can keep up with.

“Did you call the police?”, He asks, voice gruff.

“Yeah, report has been filed. We’ll need to contact them again when she’s awake. See if she wants to press charges.”

“She’s pressing charges.”

Jack says it with finality, no room for argument.

Robby rubs the back of his neck, looking at the floor before dragging his hand over his head too.

“I’m gonna keep her for observation for a while”, He says, looking back up at Jack; “Sit with her. She’ll probably need someone there when she wakes up.”

Robby hesitates—clapping a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder with a small squeeze—before turning to go back into the chaos of the ER.

Jack hovers outside the door to your room, looking through the window at your unconscious frame in the hospital bed. You look so small and fragile. Hooked up to all those wires, oxygen tubes running from your nose.

Finally, he pushes the door over open quietly, silently cursing when it lets out a low squeak, but still you don’t stir. Only the rise and falling of your chest as the heart monitor your attached to beeps. It’s steady, Jack sighs in the tiny bit of relief that gives the knot in his chest.

He crosses the room in a few silent strides, pulling the chair in the corner closer to your bed, elbows on his knees and hands balled together for his chin to rest on. He hates what he sees.

He hates how hollow and purple the bags around your eyes make you look, hates the red and purples finger marks growing darker on your neck. Hates the spot on your arm that’s wrapped where the scalpel nicked you when you pulled the instrument tray down.

For the first time in years, Jack feels helpless.

In the silence of the room, he finally lets himself break—every thing that had happened since Dana called him suddenly washing over him. His shoulders shook silently, knuckles pressed to his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Eventually he reached out for your hand, grasping it gently in both of his. He could feel the difference in temperatures, how yours seemed to be colder than his; smaller, more fragile. He pressed the back of your hand to his lips, whispering into the soft glow of the room;

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

At some point, Jack had fallen asleep, your hand still grasped in his. He woke to the sound of the door opening, blinking up at the figure in the haze of the light from the hallway. He wasn’t surprised to find Dana looking back at him.

“How’s she’s doing?”, Dana asked softly, checking over your vitals.

Jack shrugged; “Still out, stable.”

He didn’t put too much thought into it, afraid it would all suddenly change if he paid it too much attention.

“That’s good.”

Dana walked over to stand beside him, hand on his arm as they both watched you, counting each breath you took.

“How’s are you doing?”, Dana finally asks softly.

Jack scoffs; “Ask me at a better time.”

She squeezes his arm lightly; “Can I get you anything? Do you need a break? I can sit with her for a while.”

Jack shook his head immediately; “No, i’m ok. Thank you though…I don’t want her to wake up without me here.”

Dana nods in understanding, still standing next to Jack when you begin to stir.

A low groan escapes you, your head turning as best it could, hand twitching in Jack’s grasp. Your brow furrows as your eyes flutter open, scanning the room around you.

“…Jack?”, Your voice comes out raw, hoarse and broken.

He stands immediately, heart clenching as it races, brushing hair gently from your face.

“Hey, hey sweetheart”, He coos, “I’m right here…don’t try to talk.”

His eyes flick towards Dana and she’s already moving; “I’ll get Robby.”

When she’s gone, Jack finds himself looking back at you, something uneasy and unshed tears in your eyes. He hates how red your eyes are, both from tears and the strangulation. He hates himself for not being there to protect you.

“You had quite the rough shift, pretty girl”, He says softly, choking a wet laugh out.

He’s still petting your hair when Robby enters, scrubbing hand sanitizer onto his hands as he steps up to your bed.

“There she is, how’re you feeling?”, Robby asks, peering down at you as he flips through your chart and vitals.

You groan; “Shitty.”

You cough, your throat painful and dry.

Jack reaches for a cup of water by your bedside immediately, guiding the straw to your lips.

“Here”, He says, “Just a few sips.”

You do as he says, sighing as the coolness hits your mouth. Relieving some of the scratchiness.

“What happened?”, You finally ask, looking between the two attendings above you.

Robby sighs; “Combative patient. Strangled you pretty bad, you hit your head. CT is clear though, just a minor concussion”, He takes a deep breath, blowing his cheeks out before continuing; “Your neck is gonna be sore for a while, pretty ugly looking too. If he was on you any longer he probably would’ve injured your windpipe.”

Jack grinds his teeth together at that, jaw clamped shut tight. All he can think is how lucky that patient is to already be up in psyche.

“You’ll have to wear that neck brace for a day or two, just to keep you stable…I know it’s not comfortable but I wanna make sure everything has a chance to start healing before we take it off.”

You do your best to nod at Robby’s words, only wincing a little when your neck rubs the brace the wrong way.

“I’ll be back in a little while to check on you, page me if you need anything”, and then Robby’s gone, back out into the chaos of the ED.

Beside you, Jack is still hovering, almost afraid to touch you, but scared if he doesn’t you’ll slip away completely.

You blink at him, memories of earlier suddenly rushing back, tears falling on your cheeks.

“I was so fucking scared Jack”, You sob.

He’s with you in seconds, grabbing your hand again, pulling you gently towards him.

“All I could see was him”, You squeak.

Jack tenses even more at that, the mention of your ex still haunting you breaks something in him even more.

“I know sweetheart, I know.”

“I’m sorry for making them call you and waking you”, You cry.

Jack pulls you closer; “Don’t—don’t ever apologize for needing me. I’m here, always. No matter what it is.”

Only then do you realize he’s crying too.

“Jack…”, You say softly, cupping his cheek.

He looks up at you wearily; “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

His voice comes out choked, words croaking on his tongue as a few tears slip free.

“It’s ok”, You soothe him, “Nobody knew it would happen.”

He shakes his head; “No I should’ve been here, I should’ve been here to protect you. I’ll never forgive myself for that-“

“Don’t”, You say, finger brushing over his cheekbone; “You came when I asked for you. That’s more than enough.”

He goes silent, still blinking at you through wet lashes as he lowers himself back into his chair, not letting go of your hand.

“Come back and stay at my place, please”, He says, voice suddenly a little more stern, still gentle like he’s pleading.

“Jack, I don’t want to uproot your life-“

“You’re not”, He cuts you off; “I need you there, I want you there…god i’ve missed you so much since you left. I tried to tell myself it was nothing but I can’t anymore…you mean too much to me.”

Silence falls between you for a moment before you answer; “I’ve missed you too, Jack.”

Then you nod; “Ok.”

His eyes flicking up to yours; “Ok?”

“Ok.”

A smile takes over his face immediately, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead when you move to tilt up towards him instead; connecting your lips in a long awaited kiss.

He sighs into you, hand cupping your jaw—careful of your brace—thumb rubbing over your skin. It’s soft and sweet, everything you’d longed for. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, ok?”, He says, tucking a hair behind your ear; “You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart.”

He chuckles breathlessly, like he can’t believe this is happening; you’re here, you’re ok, and you’re kissing him back.

“I’ll try my best, Doctor.”

He shakes his head at that, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly in another kiss, and for the first time in a while; you both know everything will turn out ok.

taglist: @ilocuras24 @vastscoutweapon @villainessbarbie @tinystayyyy1221 @willherondale1937 @justheretoreadmydear @itjustpunkpizzabae @blurryboundaries @ohh-to-be-rich-and-pretty @rubywingsracing @verenahx @saibaxoxo @superemobitch @urfunnyvalentin3 @feral-postings

[barnesdreamcatcherspam]

i love that man

[dear-2-readers]

No

Warning: stalkish behaviour, vulnerable reader.

"No" that's what he tells you.

No, he tells you after you ask him if he wanted to have breakfast with you after your shift.

He didn't even let you finish. He tells you that you're too young for him, you deserve someone with less baggage and he's not interested in dating, let alone a coworker.

He didn't even let you finish. Before he started talking, you were about to tell him about your 2x1 breakfast coupon from a nearby restaurant. You have invited Ellis, Shen and Lena, but none of them could make it and your coupon expired that day.

I mean it wasn't a secret that you were harbouring a crush on your attending, but even you knew you were betting on losing dogs. So, you make your peace on being just colleagues.

But, what hurts you the most is that a couple of weeks later you hear from a nurse that he started dating Dr. Mohan. Who wouldn't prefer her over you? She's beautiful, has the patient of a saint and, she's an amazing doctor.

Maybe Jack wasn't interested in dating you. It would have hurt way less if he just told you that. That he wasn't interested in you.

Lena was the one comforting you, telling you that if you want you should take a couple days off for yourself, to take Jack Abbot out of your system.

----------------------------------------------------------

And you did that, you knew it would take time but at least you weren't grieving on something that never happened.

Unfortunately for you, you were thrown to every trauma that arrived alongside Jack. He noticed your behaviour, you weren't orbitating around him anymore and he wasn't sure if he liked that.

Before rejecting you, you used to read his mine and anticipate every of his movements while diagnosing. You two were a great team. Now you wait for his instructions and just anticipate movements when needed, nor more harbouring or orbitating.

After a rare lull when Jack was able to take a break to get off his prosthetic, a trauma arrived.

30 year old male, multiple wounds and blood lost. He coded on the way, and coded while you were working on him. Fortunately, you were able to bring him back and stabilise him before sending him to the OR with Walsh.

Fortunately, he made it out of surgery and they were waiting for him to wake up. Before finishing your shift, recovery paged your. Apparently your patient wanted to know the doctor who saved his life.

Titus knew Mr. Le Bail wouldn't abandon him, after all he and his family have always played by the rules. What he didn't expect is that he would send him an angel. When Titus saw you, he knew you were sent by Mr. Le Bail just for him. He didn't want to scare you, so after thanking you and being discharged he wanted to know you and he hired a PI to follow you.

He would suddenly appear in your favourite coffee shop, or in the farmers market you frequent on your days off. He started inviting you for coffee before your shift, one time you told him that sometimes you barely have time to eat, naturally he started to send you food. You expected a sandwich or a salad, no three-course meals from a 5 star restaurant. He didn't want the future Mrs. Danforth skipping meals if he wants you to bear his children.

Titus was worried about your safety, so he kindly set up a camera system so he could track any strange movements inside your apartment.

When he invited you on a date, you told him that unfortunately you have to work something about being short-staffed. As any provided male, he bought half the assets from the hospital and hired more nurses and brought more doctors to the night shift so you could go on a date with him.

Everyone was worried, especially Jack. He knew you were vulnerable, you don't have a support system that can help you realise that Mr. Danforth is up to no good with you. But they don't know that when Mr. Le Bail provides, you have to accept without complaining. Besides, having a doctor after every hunt is a plus for the family.

As for you, you're happy that you finally found a man that moves mountains to be with you even if it's just a dinner date.

[frazie99]

I really hope to see more of this, could he awesome with two Shawn Hatosy characters 🥵

[rr-after-dark]

Mrs. Danforth - Titus Danforth x Reader

Chapter One: A Well-Trained Companion

 As Titus Danforth's sugar baby, you don't know much of his secretive, wealthy lifestyle. But when he accidentally gets you pregnant with a potential Danforth heir, it's decided that you'll be joining the family. There's no manual as you're plunged into their world of extravagance and violence.

Chapter Summary: After finding out you're pregnant with his child, Titus must secure his family's approval in order to make you a unique proposal: Become the new Mrs. Danforth.

Tags/Notes: marriage before romance, established sugar relationship, also ft. ursula and daddy danforth, meeting the family, possessiveness & protectiveness, obscene wealth, predator/prey dynamic, brat!reader, piv, mating press, creampie, oral (f receiving), messy sex, edging, denial, spitting, mouth covering, titus lowkey whipped already

Content: pregnant reader, canon-typical content, a brief instance of body shaming

A/N: since I already posted most of what was initially chapter one as a teaser during my 3k celebration, i decided to be silly and give you a mega chapter one instead!

Word Count: 14.1k

Ursula Danforth slaps one perfectly manicured hand across her twin brother’s cheek. He doesn’t even flinch; he’d been expecting worse. “You’re so selfish. Stupid and useless like a child. Knocking up a sugar baby, of all things.”

Father paces across the large sitting room with a clenched jaw. Eventually, he stops in front of his son. “How dare you do this to us? Right before the most important hunt of this family’s life, too. I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible.”

Ursula sneers, “I believe it. This is what happens when a spoiled brat grows up. Poor baby Titus always has to have everything exactly how he wants. Probably never bothered with condoms because ‘it just doesn’t feel as good, sweetheart.’”

“Don’t be so crass, Ursula,” Father spits in her direction before returning to his son. “I assume you’ve communicated that abortion isn’t an option.”

“Of course,” Titus replies, keeping it curt to avoid a verbal lashing. Or a physical one, given the tension thick in the opulent room full of blades and guns. Father demanded the conversation be moved to the innermost room of the estate when Titus told them in front of a few members of staff. This sort of thing is best discussed in private, even with the most discreet staff money can buy.

The abortion discussion had gone better than expected, considering you told him you’d be keeping it before he could even get to the ‘my family would sedate you through delivery and then discard you before they let you abort a Danforth’ thing. He’d given you a line about supporting you however you needed in order to stall you while he discussed what to do with his family. Ultimately, your fate wasn’t his decision but a collective decision for the betterment of the Danforth name.

But Titus does, admittedly, dislike the idea of abandoning you. Despite your lack of status, money, or power, he feels an…affection for you. Similar to the affection one might have for an injured bird. He’d been raised to put creatures like that out of their misery, but your only brokenness was being part of the masses. That could be improved upon. So, to advocate for you, Titus swallows hard and offers, “This may not be a bad thing. Our family needs an heir, after all.”

“Not under circumstances like this,” Ursula scoffs. “You should marry advantageously. Within the seven families, at least. How could you even think-”

Father raises his right hand.

Silence falls.

“You may be right, Titus. We’re long overdue for a new generation of Danforths and neither of you seem particularly close to finding anything akin to a real relationship. Your mother would be horrified.” Father drapes himself in his authentic Jacobean austere velvet armchair in the corner, beneath a grand window he’s spent hours and hours ruminating out of through the years, especially since his wife died. Without looking at his son, he asks, “This…girl of yours: Is she good stock?”

Titus considers that. He imagines how very lovely you look obediently presenting yourself for him on the hotel beds where he’s taken you multiple times a week for the last six months, gazing up at him with reverent eyes and an innocent sort of expression that doesn’t necessarily match your occupation of choice. “I’d say so. She’s young. Pretty.”

Ursula rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

Father gives her a lethal gaze. “Don’t interrupt. This is important.” His eyes turn back to his son and he asks, “Her personality?”

“Sweet,” he answers right away. That’s the first word that comes to his mind. It’s the thing he likes most about you; you’re so, so far from everyone he knows. Kind and tentative and eager to find reasons to smile. The kind of girl who brakes for pigeons. After a moment of thinking, he relents, “A bit stupid, at times, but charming. Docile. I’ve never seen her disagree with someone.”

That seems to please Father. He doesn’t like women who fight back, even his own daughter at times. He probes further, “Does she have any family?”

“She’s estranged from her parents. No siblings.”

“Good. How about education?”

“She’s getting a master’s degree.”

“In what?”

“I don’t know,” he replies with a chuckle. “Something with books, maybe. I’m not usually with her for the stimulating conversation, Father.”

“Don’t be vulgar. Does she have a criminal history? Any connections in our world?”

“No. I vetted her thoroughly before selecting her as a…companion.”

“Boring. But that could be useful in its own way.” Father thinks it over as he watches the gardeners outside tending to the hedge maze across the pond. Winter is beginning to melt off the extensive grounds and they’re preparing for the glory of spring blooms. For vibrant fresh blood, too, in the coming months with the vernal equinox and other traditional celebrations fast approaching. He asks the final question, the only one that matters: “Could she be a Danforth? Or will we have to be rid of her once the baby is born?”

Titus thinks of your laugh, your ease, your total lack of darkness. It’ll be difficult to balance the reality of his world with you, but he’s intrigued by the challenge. With a steady voice, he admits perhaps the deepest secret of this whole situation: “I’d like to keep her.”

The tension eases at that. Keeping up appearances will be best. And if there’s one thing the Danforth family does well it’s keeping up appearances.

With the first smile of the day, Father stands, embraces Titus, and announces, “We can make this work, son. We will.”

Titus stiffens at the rare show of affection, trying not to reveal that he’s pleased with the decision. That would only show a chink in his armor. He would’ve handled the other option, keeping you in the dungeon as a toy of sorts until the birth, but it’ll be better for everyone if he has a wife and his child a mother instead of a nanny. “Thank you, Father.”

“She’s going to have to move in,” Ursula tsks as she, too, gives her brother a short but earnest embrace. “We can’t take risks with the baby.”

Father adds, “And there will have to be a wedding, of course. With all the families invited.”

“A wedding?” Titus gripes, “Isn’t it enough to just-”

“No,” Father interrupts. His fingernails dig into his own palms. “Just because you started this improperly doesn’t mean you’ll continue it that way. In two months’ time, before she starts showing, we’ll have a wedding.”

“Everyone will know it’s a shotgun wedding,” Ursula points out. “Even the most asinine of our associates can manage basic addition and subtraction.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Father insists. “It’s the 21st century. The baby will be born with its mother sharing the Danforth name. Nothing else matters.” He levels his gaze at Titus. “Go and tell her. I expect to see her moving in here before the weekend’s up.”

“Yes, Father,” Titus agrees, already taking his phone from his pocket to dial you. Before leaving the room, he takes a deep breath and says once more, “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”

Father gives him a wink. The thought of the first baby born to the Danforth family in four decades lifts everyone’s spirits. It’ll be a good change. “Careful, or you’ll make us think you like the girl.”

He expects you to make a fuss about it. Fully prepares himself to have to drug you, tie you up, kidnap you, and make it clear you don’t actually have a choice in the matter, as distasteful as that would be to him. At the very least, he anticipates resistance. For it to take more than one brunch. Modern women want careers, don’t they? It’s part of why he’s always sworn off girlfriends and dating in the standard sense. Ever since it became relatively acceptable for the elite, he’s strongly preferred paying for the company of simple, complication-free women procured by the family lawyers. He doesn’t want a girlfriend. He wants…a pet. A well-trained companion. Something reliable and reliant. A pretty, obedient creature to recline on the couch who makes no demands and listens with rapt attention to his every order.

So he’s pleased beyond belief at your reaction to his offer, outlined to you at your favorite chichi breakfast place in one of the nicer hotels downtown.

You gaze up at him over your streaming mug and ask bluntly, “What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one,” he lies. Smooth as butter. “I want to take care of you and the baby and I have the means to do so.”

“You’d already be doing that just by paying me at the rate you already do. With my job and your payments, I can afford a comfortable life,” you point out. “But you want me to marry you. Move in with you. So I have to assume there are rules. Catches.” You take a sip of the caffeine-free tea he’d ordered for you, savoring the spicy and citrusy notes. The ginger helps soothe your stomach. “Look, you’re obviously very wealthy. And I know you’re not rich because of something…normal, if you don’t mind the word.”

Titus snickers, “Not at all. Go on.”

“Before you made us exclusive, I’d been with a lot of secretive, rich men,” you explain slowly, “but you don’t seem like most of them.”

The waitress approaches your table. Titus rattles off quickly, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, “We’ll both do the three-course menu. I’ll have the foie gras torchon with prosciutto and figs, the filet mignon as rare as you’ll serve it, and the caviar trio in lieu of dessert.”

The order doesn’t surprise you after countless meals spent together. His food is always expensive and tastes of life cut short.

The waitress gives you a warm smile. “And for you, darling?”

“Don’t call her that,” Titus says, curt and emotionless. “She’ll have the yogurt parfait with the pistachio granola, lobster eggs Benedict, and the baked apple strudel.” Then he gives you a glance that borders on affectionate. “And I’m guessing she’d also like the gelato flight after.”

“You spoil me,” you lilt with batting eyelashes. Then you tell the waitress, “And a ginger ale, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”

As she disappears, Titus’ typically flat expression transforms into one of concern, which you haven’t seen on him often. He observes, “Ginger ale. Ginger tea. Morning sickness?”

You sigh and confirm, “That’s been the theme of week seven.”

“Seven weeks,” he muses, sounding almost wistful. “Does that mean you’ll have your first ultrasound soon?”

“Monday morning,” you tell him with a tentative smile. “You can come, if you want.”

“I will. Definitely.” Titus sits up straighter and adjusts the sleeves of his charcoal-gray button-down, a nervous habit since his custom-tailored clothes always fit perfectly on his chiseled body. “You were asking about rules. Saying I don’t seem like most men.”

“Right, yes.” You touch his hand across the table and he lets you. Titus never asks for affection, but you know he craves it. Deeply. Otherwise he would never have sought you out in the first place. Sex is cheap; companionship is priceless. While rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, you muse aloud, “You don’t brag about your money, which means you’ve always had it. It’s just a part of you; you’ve never been without it. Your schedule has too much freedom to be a doctor, you don’t dress like a lawyer, you’re too private to be a CEO or anything you’d want to peacock about, and you’re not annoying.”

He smirks at your analysis. “What does that rule out?”

“Tech bro. Anyone who works in blockchain or AI.”

“Smart girl,” he praises with a short chuckle. “What’s your theory, then?”

“Something dark and secretive,” you tease, clearly joking with the low, spooky voice like a Halloween recording you put on. He doesn’t react like it’s a joke, though. So, more seriously, you say, “Maybe private security? Something with weapons; I know you try to be subtle, but I’ve always seen your carrying a gun.” That pleases him; you’ve already noticed his danger and didn’t flinch away. “I doubt it’s really illegal, like drugs, because you’re so clean about everything. I mean, my main point of contact the first three months was your lawyer,” you remind him with a laugh. Then you lean forward and continue, “Regardless, I can tell you have the kind of life where you’re not just going to marry and whisk away the first girl you knock up without some rules.”

Sounding amused, he sips his expensive cocktail and teases, “I can’t just want to be an honest man for the mother of my child?”

“You can, sure. But that’s not you.”

“You’re right about that,” he concedes after a moment. With a deep breath, he sits back in his chair and tells you, “I wouldn’t call them ‘rules’ so much as, perhaps, guidelines. Expectations. I won’t force anything on you. And I won’t abandon you if you go against them.”

That’s a patent lie, but he doesn’t think you’ll defy him, so he keeps it to himself.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Let’s get down to it, then, because I can imagine worse fates for this baby and me than having a rich, handsome daddy to take care of us. But I want to know what I’m getting into.”

“Very sensible. I can appreciate that.” The first round of food arrives and he gestures for you to dig in while he begins, “Your first priority would be growing a healthy pregnancy, of course. Go to all of your doctor’s appointments, follow their recommendations to the letter. You’d quit your job. Continue your classes if you’d like, but you’ll need to cut out any unnecessary stress. You’d move into the family estate; you can decorate and rearrange our building however you’d like as the lady of the house. I don’t care about things like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘the family estate’?” You give him a teasing raised eyebrow; you’re the only person he allows to look at him like that. “You live with mommy and daddy?”

“My father lives in the primary mansion on the grounds, yes. Mother is dead. There are a lot of different outbuildings along the property; it goes on forever. I don’t even know how many acres anymore; the lawyers buy up adjacent properties whenever they go for sale. We’d be in my private house, which is further back on the estate.”

“Like a guest house?”

“An eight-bedroom guest house, but yes.” Without giving you much time to process that, Titus goes on, “You’d have some social responsibilities as Mrs. Danforth. My mother’s passed now, so you’d be the official host when our family holds events, which we do often. You’d just have to look pretty, though, which you’re phenomenal at already.” As your cheeks warm, he assures you, “We have a whole team to handle the planning side if you aren’t interested in those sorts of things.”

You give a timid smile. “I like planning and hosting parties. It’d be nice to have some occasions to show off all the fancy dresses you’ve bought me.”

That makes him smile. Really smile. Like he can see you slotting into his life. “Good. Great. Well, you can have as much or as little involvement in our social circles as you’d like as long as you’re willing to put on one of those dresses and sit next to me adoringly when needed.”

“So far, that fits my resume to a tee.”

“And, in that vein, there are certain standards of dress and, let’s say, etiquette, for lack of a better word, that my sister can help you with getting used to.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes. Ursula.” He toys with his fork, hovering it over the decadent spread. “I suppose we still have a lot to learn about each other.”

“I’m an open book,” you retort with a cheeky smile. “You’re the one with the secrets. I don’t even know your last name.”

“Danforth,” he says quietly. Like it’s a secret. Maybe it is. “Titus Victor Danforth.”

“Very stately name.” You wrinkle your nose a bit. “Does our baby have to have a name like that? It’s hard to imagine calling a newborn Titus Victor.”

“We’ll agree on a name like any other couple,” he chuckles. “But, for the record, I have family with much worse names than Titus.”

“Like Ursula,” you joke, earning a conspiratorial snort. You nod and drink some more of your tea as you consider everything thus far. “So I have to learn to sit pretty and do tricks. Got it. What else?”

His voice darkens and so do his hazel eyes. “The most important thing is that you’ll allow me to keep you safe and protect you. Against anyone and anything. By any means necessary.”

Your own voice drops to a whisper. “You say that like I’ll be in danger.”

“Sometimes you will be.”

Not taking it all too seriously, you check. “But you’ll always protect me? And our baby?”

He puffs up his chest and insists seriously, “With my life.”

No matter who or what tries to get in my way.

You narrow your eyes at him. “And you’ll take care of everything financially?”

“Yes.” Zero hesitation. “Always.”

You don’t doubt he can keep that promise, at least. When you take on sugar clients, you make sure to have proof of funds before agreeing to any arrangements. Titus passed that test with flying colors; you’re sure there’s incalculable wealth behind the many, many zeroes you’ve already seen. He’s always driving around in tinted luxury cars, wearing suits by $10,000-a-piece designers, handing over heavy black cards for quadruple digit dinner dates with no dobut on whether they’ll clear.

With a tiny smile, you press, “And you’ll marry me?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Can I have a real wedding?”

“Here I was thinking I’d have to convince you of that,” he laughs. Something unfamiliar is knocking around pleasantly in his ribs. “Our wedding would be very, ah, socially significant. You’ll be impressed by the guest list, I’m sure.”

“Give me a teaser.”

“Let’s just say if a bomb were dropped on it, the world’s economy would collapse.”

“Yeah, alright,” you giggle. He’s looking forward to the day you realize he’s telling the truth on that matter. “So I’d be a wife. Hm, okay.” You jokingly tap your chin and squint like you’re really thinking hard about it. “Does that mean I’ll have to cook for you?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“How about cleaning? Laundry? I hate doing laundry.”

“That’ll all be handled.”

“So we’ll have…servants?”

Titus can’t help but notice the way you’re already saying ‘we.’ He doesn’t mind the sound of it; you’re right where he wants you. Needs you. “We prefer to call them staff, but yes, we do.”

Curiosity piqued, you press, “How many?”

He starts running through the mental rolodex; the estate’s goings-ons don’t interest him much, so they’re at the periphery of his mind. “Full-time, on-site staff? We have three chefs – one in each house’s kitchen, of course – and an estate manager who oversees a handful of groundskeepers, gardeners, and housekeepers. There’s an incredibly effective security team. Part-time? Lawyers on retainer, naturally. And we have connections for anything you’d want. Ursula has her tennis coach and her pet pool boy. Father has his favorite mixologist and, ah, massage therapist. I’ve got my golf caddy as well. Each of us has our own driver, but you’d probably share mine a while. That’s a high-trust position; I’d want to personally hire yours for the safety of the baby. You’d also have your own personal assistant to help with whatever you need day-to-day. And you’ll be in charge of hiring out any childcare support you want, when the time comes. Nannies, tutors, those sorts of things.”

“Wow.” Your fork is stuck mid-air. “So you and your family are…rich rich.”

His lips curl up slightly. It’s nice to be around someone who isn’t used to snapping their fingers and having whatever they want in moments. Charming. “That would be a fair assessment, yes.”

Titus notices a selfish, almost cute little shimmer lighting up your eyes as you ask, “So I can have whatever I want?”

He cocks his head to the side and considers that. What it might mean to someone who didn’t grow up in the world he did. “Within reason.”

Your eyes narrow. “How about a car? Like a really ridiculous one – a neon yellow Lamborghini?”

Almost offended at the idea, he scoffs, “A car? Of course you can have a car. I thought you were going to say something ridiculous like an elephant.”

You pout and cross your arms playfully over your chest. “So you’re saying I couldn’t have an elephant if I really, really wanted one?”

Feeling indulgent beneath your delight, he sighs dramatically, “I suppose I could reopen and repurpose the stables for the mother of my child.”

“The stables?”

“My mother loved horses. We were raised on dressage but never really took to it. When she died, my sister and I-” let those wretched horses free and hunted them with arrows “-decided not to keep up the responsibility.”

“Could I have a horse?”

He almost winces at the memory of countless on-site animals becoming casualties in the family games, intentional or otherwise. Still, because it’s important, he relents, “If you want, sure. I don’t see the appeal, but you’ll have whatever hobbies make you happy and keep you occupied.” 

“Don’t worry; I hate horses. Just curious.” You can tell he’s amused by your version of an interrogation, so you go on, “Will you still take me on dates?”

That puzzles him. Do you like these dates with him? He’s always assumed you just see him as a paycheck, which he doesn’t mind, but the idea of a real relationship does tantalize him to a certain extent. So he says, “If you’d like that. I do enjoy your company, after all.”

“And sex whenever I want?”

A laugh punches out of him. They’re rare from Titus, so it makes you grin, too, for a second. He rolls his eyes and nods. “Of course; that’s one of my favorite parts of your company.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to give that up with you, considering the, ah, quality.”

Blush tinges the apples of his cheeks and you know better than to point it out. Titus has never been shy about his sexual prowess, but he also grew up in a family where it’s not acceptable to talk about those things over brunch. Titus clears his throat and checks, “What else do you want to know to decide?”

“To recap, I’ll be fed and housed and safe and spoiled beyond my wildest dreams?”

He nods, pleased. “Exactly.”

You bite your lower lip and ask, “But what if something happens to you? I’d be giving up all my independence and relying on you. I don’t want the baby’s security depending on whether or not you’re around for us.”

He doesn’t assure you that nothing will happen to him the way you’d anticipated. Instead, he admires your practicality. You can tell his life is dangerous, but you aren’t flinching. “You’ll be written quite handsomely into the family estate. Above my sister, actually, since you’ll be the mother of an heir. That’s permanent, even in the event of death or divorce.”

“An heir?” You almost choke on your food. “You’re not royalty, are you?”

He laughs, “Not in the sense you’re thinking of, certainly.”

Softer and more seriously as you consider the implications of everything said so far, you touch your lower abdomen and ask him, “Will our baby be safe?”

“Safer than you’ve ever been in your life here in the ‘real world,’” he says with actual sarcastic finger quotes. Then he squeezes your hand, meets your eyes with a new kind of warmth in his, and affirms, “I swear that nothing will ever harm our children.”

You smirk and tease, “Didn’t realize we had more than one on the way.”

He shrugs modestly. “I always liked having a sister.”

“And I always wished I had siblings.”

“Sounds like you agree.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the ridiculousness of the conversation hitting you at once. This is the kind of arrangement people agree to in the dark romances you read when you’re ovulating and here you are actually considering it for the rest of your life. After a minute of eating and thinking, you tell him, “I just have one more question.”

“Anything.”

“Will you love me, Titus?”

He takes his time thinking about the answer, which you appreciate. He isn’t just going to tell you what he thinks you want to hear. Honesty is more attractive to you than his silvering curls or glass jawline, though those definitely do it for you. Always have.

You’ve wasted a lot of time on men who lied to you, who strung you along, who took advantage of your lack of security. As strange as it may be, the thought of someone being very clear about their expectations and giving you everything in return has an appeal after all of that. You’d never have to worry about the things that currently absorb 90% of your time again.

You’ve finished your dish by the time Titus collects his response. Slowly and carefully, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses each finger; you can’t stop the fluttering of your heart in response. Titus murmurs, “You may have to teach me how, bunny.” Gradually, he meets your eyes and offers, “If it matters, in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve already grown quite-” he struggles to find the word; you wonder if he’s ever been given ones for this variety of feelings “-fond of you. Which is unusual for me.”

A smile blooms over your lips. Relief punches Titus in the gut and he’s not so sure why. You take your hand from his and press it gingerly to his silver-scruffed cheek. “Fondness will do.”

“Are you sure about this?” Your best friend, Natalie, asks for the fiftieth time as you finish packing your suitcase. Titus had arranged for professional packers, movers, and cleaners for your entire apartment over the weekend, so all you had to do was pack for a long weekend. “It just seems a little fast to me.”

You shrug and try to brush it off, “I’ve known him for six months already.”

She balks, “As a client.”

“Well, unplanned babies tend to rush relationships,” you cut back. “It’s not like he’s a murderer or something; he’s just a rich guy who needs company. Plus, look at these pictures he sent me.”

You unlock your phone and toss it to her where she’s rifling through your closet, taking her turn to pick over it since you’re going to be switching to maternity clothes soon enough and, it seems, designer after that. Natalie scrolls through the grand Danforth estate and her mouth slowly falls open the same way yours did when Titus showed you. Water features both natural and man-made, meticulously maintained flower gardens, a hedge maze, marble sculptures around the grounds. Not to mention the interior. He’d only sent pictures of his residence on the property, which was styled minimalistically compared to the opulence elsewhere, but you could already imagine outfitting it exactly how you want.

Natalie scoffs, “Are you serious? I didn’t even know places like this still exist. Are you sure this isn’t all, like, a catfishing scheme and he’s just going to lure you into the woods and keep you chained up in a cabin or something?”

You roll your eyes and tell her, “After he made the offer, he showed me everything on his iPad. Titles, holdings, all the legal stuff. I guess his great-great-times-a-million grandparents built half the trade infrastructure in America and then used the money for real estate and investments and now they just have mega money. He told me that there are a lot of families like his that have old money managed by lawyers that’s just accruing more and more money by being in banks.”

She raises a curious eyebrow. “So he doesn’t have to work?” 

“Sort of.” You try to explain to the best of your understanding, paraphrasing from the spiel Titus gave that you admittedly kind of zoned out during, “Since his dad retired, he’s got a seat on the board of basically every company in the country, so he has a lot of meetings and travels a lot.”

Natalie changes into one of your dresses and inspects herself approvingly in the mirror. “Does that mean your baby is gonna have to be a boring businessman?”

“Or boring businesswoman,” you laugh. “This one’ll be the oldest, so they’ll have responsibilities, yeah.”

“The oldest?” Her eyebrows go up again. “You and gramps are having more than one?”

“He’s not that old,” you start, a bit more exasperated now, “and he’s going to be my husband. If I want more kids, who else would I have them with?”

“Jesus, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“You’re here pilfering my closet, aren’t you?” The intercom buzzes by the door and you tell her, “Finish up; that’s my ride.”

“Is that him? Mr. Moneybags?”

You peek out the window and see the dark-tinted black Rolls-Royce idling in front of the door. The white-gloved, black-capped chauffeur who’s driven you around a handful of times before stands by the passenger side with his hands linked in front of himself. You mutter, “No, it’s his driver.”

“His driver? Damn.” Natalie takes the things she wants off their hangers and starts to walk you out. “When do I get to meet this guy, anyway?”

The two of you take the stairs together and you suggest, “At the wedding, I guess. Two months or so.”

Natalie scoffs and shakes her head. “Two months to plan a bachelorette party for a pregnant bride.” She squeezes you into a tight, warm hug. “It’s a challenge, but I’m up to it.”

“I know you are,” you giggle. “I can have the driver drop you off somewhere, if you want. I’m sure Titus wouldn’t mind.”

“No, thanks; I’ve got a job interview right up the street.”

Natalie insists on bringing your suitcase down the stairs, setting it on the stoop and scampering away before she has to ‘pretend to be fancy in front of one of your servants.’ As she disappears around the nearest corner, you wave and smile at the driver, hopping off the raised entry to meet him by the road. “Hi, Chip, thanks for coming to get me.”

“Good morning,” he says warmly. He hefts your luggage easily into the trunk and assures, “It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Danforth.” At your curious look, he explains before you can question, “Master Danforth instructed all the household staff to refer to you with your new title so you get used to hearing it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Master Danforth?”

Chip cracks a rare conspiratorial smile. “The usual title for the eldest son while his father is still alive. His father is Sir Danforth, but I’m sure you’ll call him Father like Titus and Ursula do.” He opens up the back door for you and assures, “It’s a lot to get used to, but you can ask any of the staff for help with anything.”

You slide onto the smooth leather, lowering the partition between the driver and the back, which Titus never does. As the car leaves the city and starts the winding path into the countryside, you glance at Chip and pose, “I’ve wanted to ask before, but now that I’m gonna be family I think I’m allowed to know: How much do the Danforths pay you?”

Surprised by your frankness, he just laughs, “More than enough.”

“C’mon, you can tell me,” you lilt like you’re doing a heist together. “I can dig it up anyway; Titus says I get free rein of the whole property.”

“Really?” Chip  chuckles under his breath. “You must be awfully special to him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Not even Miss Danforth has full access to the entire estate. Their father mainly stays in the front house these days, too,” he explains, “so Titus must think highly of you to allow you unsupervised access.”

You joke, “Or he’s lying to make me feel safe and thinks I won’t meddle.”

Chip glances at you in the rear view mirror, no joking in his expression. “That’s also a possibility.”

You chew on that for a second and then press, “That doesn’t mean you get out of answering me, by the way. If I’m marrying into a family where the staff are underpaid, then-”

Chip almost wheezes out a laugh, caught off guard by the assumption. “I suppose I shouldn’t let you think that about your future husband.” He takes a long breath and explains, “Discretion is expensive. Security is expensive. And loyalty is priceless. I’ve worked for this family since Titus started high school and needed his own driver. Most of the staff have been with the Danforths for a decade or more. I’m sure the hiring process for your personal employees will be rigorous – background checks, security clearances. My starting salary was $80,000. By year ten, that had doubled. I’ve never had to ask for a raise; my salary just gets silently adjusted at the start of the year. Especially since Titus took over the family’s management, their generosity has been staggering. If you include all the above and beyond benefits – he pays for my daughter’s private school tuition outright, covered every penny when my wife went through chemo a few years back – and the bonuses, it has to be about a quarter million by now.”

You let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”

“Security all makes twice that,” he goes on as he pulls the car off the main road through a massive automated iron gate. Your skin prickles at the knowledge of getting closer. The view is shrouded by thick trees, making the whole estate feel hidden. “Trust me: You’re surrounded by the most loyal, discreet staff in the world.”

You huff out half a laugh. “Should that make me less nervous?”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies lightly.

As the car finally breaks through the trees, the magnificent grounds come into view and the air leaves your lungs. You press your forehead to the glass to get a better view of the property. At the base of the grand front house with its storied old stone and hand-carved Grecian details being devoured by brilliant green ivy, you see the unmistakable shape of Titus in one of his usual charcoal gray suits, strong and broad in a soldier’s stance. He’s waiting at the bottom of a staircase which opens onto a large half-circle drive that reminds you of something out of The Princess Diaries. A man you recognize as a member of his security detail flanks him; you’ve only spotted him at the periphery before, lingering at the entrances of the restaurants Titus takes you to or waiting in the lobby of hotels. He makes a point of being unnoticeable, but you make a point of rarely letting your guard down.

You hear the gate shutting behind you, a thud instead of a click. Deep. Final.

Stopping the car a few feet from Titus, Chip slides out, opens your door, and smiles earnestly. “Welcome home, Mrs. Danforth.”

The moment you’re out of the car, Titus is lifting his arm for you to slip into, which you do.

“Hello, darling.” Titus loops his hand around your lower back and pulls you close enough to smell his brisk, masculine aftershave. He plants a chaste, claiming kiss to your forehead and then holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Nervous,” you tell him sheepishly. Before he can jump on that, though, you add, “Nausea hasn’t been too bad today.”

He nods slowly, examining your expression carefully. “I’m glad. Let me know if that changes; you can have whatever you want whenever you want now that you’re here.”

“I’m still waiting on my elephant,” you reply lightly, leaning up onto your toes to kiss him.

He hadn’t been planning to let you kiss him in front of any staff, but he’s pathologically unable to resist you when you look so soft and so ready to submit to his plans for you. Your wide eyes are longing for reassurance, for steadiness, for him to produce the scaffolding of your new life together. When you step back down, he cradles your face and teases, “All in due time, princess.”

Then Titus gestures for his bodyguard to step forward. Up close, you can see pockmark scars over all the skin visible around his dark sunglasses and black-on-black suit. There’s also a feathery brown bruise on his jaw and you can’t help but wonder if he got it in the line of fire, so to speak. Titus introduces, “Smith, my personal security detail, will be yours while I hire a new one.”

You cut him a sideways look. “You don’t need your own security detail in the meantime?”

He gives you a cocky, handsome smirk in return. God, he’s devastatingly beautiful when he’s like that. The ruler of his domain. “I can handle myself, bunny.”

You needle, “Then why have one in the first place?”

“I like to be underestimated,” he replies easily. Not wanting to let you dwell on the implications of that, Titus continues, “Smith will check any and every room before you go into it and then remain stationed by the nearest door. He’ll also do some personal training with you on the family security protocols to make sure you’re prepared.”

You swallow hard and nod, extending your hand toward the bodyguard. “Good to meet you.”

Smith glances at Titus, who nods briefly. Only then does the security guard shake your hand – once, firm, quick. More scars over his knuckles. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”

You gesture between them with a suspiciously pointed finger. “What was that?”

A smirk flickers on Titus’ mouth. You’re too observant for your own good and he hates how much he likes it. So he explains honestly, “Nobody is allowed to touch you without my permission.”

You narrow your eyes. “And if I give them my own permission?”

You can’t.

My word is law.

A chill goes down your spine at the possessive darkness in his eyes. You might have your own security guard now, but there’s a level of safety above that, one that only comes from being under the protective wing of Titus’ unyielding power.

Titus chews on his response a moment and then amends, “Male staff are not allowed to touch you unless it’s an emergency.”

You tsk and tease, “Jealous, jealous.”

“You really shouldn’t talk to me like that,” he admonishes, but you know it’s more of a contradictory plea. Titus craves being challenged as much as he hates it. He can’t tolerate it in business or from family in case it’s perceived as weakness, so he yearns for it from you, the one person who has no desire to actually challenge him. With a shake of his head, Titus dismisses Chip and then says, “I’ll give you a tour of the central grounds and our home. Then I have to go out on business for the afternoon before dinner with my sister and Father in the main house. In the meantime you can get settled and play.”

You laugh, “Play?”

“Whatever it is you want to do to entertain yourself,” he replies with a hand wave and a shrug. “Explore the grounds, interrogate the staff, snoop around all the places you shouldn’t.”

You offer a small conspiratorial smile. “Sounds good to me.”

Then Titus does something new and unexpected: He threads his fingers through yours. You get the sense that he’s practicing behaving like a normal, convincing couple. But you still notice that his palm is slightly clammy. Nervous. Titus Danforth gets nervous about holding a pretty girl’s hand for the first time. Cute.

For half an hour, he guides you around the few acres of land that sit between the three main houses, which are in a U formation. There’s a hedge maze that he warns you not to go into unless you have a few hours to kill, a drone to map it out from above, or a helicopter on standby. Then a tennis court (“you can page our trainer from the gate”) and a pool that’s half inside and half outside (“heated, of course, with a hot tub attached”). At the center of it all sits a series of fountains with emotive sculptures captured in such vibrance you’d believe they come alive at night.

“The tableau of Artemis and Actaeon,” Titus explains as he points out the features – a beautiful nude woman in a righteous stance with a bow raised, a muscular stag fleeing, a hoard of gnashing dogs tight on its heels. “Actaeon wandered away from his companions and found the virgin goddess Artemis bathing when she didn’t want to be seen. To punish him for breaking the boundary between the mortal and the divine, she turned him into a deer and sent his own dogs after him.”

You study the series of sculptures, water running down features like blood, and ask softly, “And your family liked that story enough for this whole water tribute thing?”

Titus chuckles and explains, “Artemis is sort of the Danforth version of a patron saint.” His hand drags slowly, pointedly down the center of your back until you shiver. “Goddess of the hunt. She’s a good omen for the family.”

“Goddess of the hunt,” you repeat curiously. “Interesting.”

He raises an eyebrow and starts to lead you toward the second largest house on the left side of the property. “Is it?”

You snicker and match step with him. “Most families go for, y’know, saints of unity, love, that sort of stuff.”

“She’s also the patron and protector of women and children,” Titus adds on the walk through the rose garden that leads to your new home. “And she chooses when to bring wellness or illness. She’s a good woman to have in your corner.”

You give him a coy sideways glance and muse, “I’ll try not to piss off her statue, as then. I want to stay on the good side of anyone who’s going to protect me and TJ.”

“TJ?”

“Oh, yeah, the baby,” you giggle far too adorably to be allowed on the deathly quiet Danforth Estate. “I’ve been calling him Titus Jr. in my head to try to get used to all of this.”

Something you haven’t seen before glitters in his eyes at the comment. “You think it’ll be a boy?”

“It’s too early for me to even think it’s real,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I can’t believe we’re going to actually hear the heartbeat on Monday.”

“I can’t wait.” He gives your hip a little squeeze that feels much more relationship-y than he usually gets. Then he gestures proudly at a large swath of empty land. “Welcome to the final stop of our tour before the house.”

“It’s, um, lovely,” you offer as you gaze at the undeveloped ground, parts of it divided up with unintelligible spray paint marks. “I’ve always wanted a half acre of empty space. My dream.”

“It’s going to be a space for the children,” he explains with something close to softness in his voice. Like he’s scared you’ll reject the sweet idea from a man you know mostly to be harsh, biting. “I thought…Well, I thought it might be nice for them to have a playground, a splash pad, those sorts of things. The property isn’t very child-friendly; there hasn’t been a baby here in more than forty years now. Time to change that.”

Your heart grows about three sizes at the thought. Titus isn’t just inviting you into his life; he’s carving out space for your shared future. “If you didn’t have anything to play with here at home, what did you and Ursula do for fun as kids?”

“We didn’t have fun,” he almost scoffs. You can tell the memories behind the sound are painful but far away, like reaching through a broken chain link fence. If he pulls back, the pain will become real. “My parents were-” Titus searches for the right word a while before deciding on one that’s close enough“-severe. Dour, often. They thought children should be trained and disciplined, not raised. Father thinks the idea of cherishing a child is the same as spoiling them.”

You shrug and give his hand an affirming squeeze. “I guess they got what they wanted; you’re successful, clearly. Driven, strong, powerful.”

“But not fulfilled,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to hear. He wouldn’t want the staff knowing his feelings. He takes his hand and rubs your back almost absently, like a nervous habit. With a sideways glance, he labors out, “I think being a parent should be about giving your children more than you got. But I got everything. Always. So what can I give to my children, who will have more than they’ll ever need?”

“A space to play,” you finish for him. You lean up on your toes and plant a kiss on his scruff, unable to conceal the smile that comes at Titus talking about fatherhood so softly. “You’re going to be a great dad.”

He blinks hard a few times. His organs feel like they’re in the wrong order, but it’s not unpleasant. Winding his fingers with yours once more, he almost smiles. “You really think so?”

“Wouldn’t have agreed to all of this-” you gesture to the ridiculous property all around “-if I didn’t. I’d kind of figured being the softie would be my job, but I’m happy to share the load.”

Titus downright pouts. “I am not a softie.”

You nod toward the grass and lilt, “The evidence to the contrary is pretty compelling, sweet pea.”

“That’s too far,” he sighs, suppressing a laugh, “even for you, my little terror.”

As you approach Titus’ house – your house – Smith steps out in front and opens up the ornate wooden door. There’s a golden, roaring lion’s head knocker that clicks slightly as the door swings open to reveal the marble foyer. No amount of pictures Titus texted you could do the place justice. Every detail is strikingly opulent from the golden chandeliers and Italian marble checkerboard floors to the sheer embroidered curtains and high ceilings.

The only thing you don’t love is, well, Titus’s taste. You wrinkle your nose as he shows you through the sitting room and dining room. “You really like black and gray, don’t you?”

He watches you inspect his living space. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s had a woman here. At home. “They match everything. It’s easy.”

“I guess,” you mutter, running your hand over a black leather couch that’s smooth and cool beneath your fingers. You point out, “It’s a little cold for a family. I can’t really imagine a baby toddling around, can you?”

“No,” he replies honestly, “but that’s why I have you. I’d like you to change it all so it’s…warmer. Hire a designer or pick out everything for yourself, whatever makes you happiest.”

As your eyes rove along the under-decorated hallway toward the living wing, already imagining how you might redesign the space, you ask him, “And how would I do that? Will you give me a check or something?”

Titus rolls his eyes and laughs. “A check would imply a budget and supervision; I don’t want any part in it unless you truly think my input would be valuable.”

“That’s hot,” you laugh. “More men should act like that.”

He hums, amused, and then reaches into his jacket, removes a sleek wallet, and hands you a heavy black card. The Black Card, you realize as you stare down at the centurion engraved on dark steel. “That card is yours for whatever you like. You’re already an authorized user on the account; I had the legal team take care of that. It auto-pays every month and I won’t even look at it, so I better not catch you overthinking your spending habits.”

“Ooh la la,” you say, taking the card from him and turning it over in your hand. You’re more than familiar with money, even his money, but it’s never been yours to spend however and whenever you want. No budget, no restrictions, no instructions. It feels almost like getting your first car; that shitbox meant freedom. Your eyes go to his and you ask, “What’s the limit?”

Opening up one of several bedroom doors, he tells you like it isn’t even interesting, “It’s NPSL.” You swallow hard. No Preset Spending Limit. Before leading you inside, he turns around and gives you a mischievous smile. “In fact, there’s a minimum. To maintain our status with the company, you’ll need to spend $350,000 a year on that card.” He smirks at your open-mouthed shock and muses, all cocky and coy, and touches the tip of your nose affectionately. “Can you do that for me, princess?”

“Are you joking?”

“I don’t joke often.”

You balk, “What would I even spend that kind of money on?”

He laughs out loud. “Ursula could spend that much in an hour; I’m sure you’ll find something. For example, where have you always wanted to buy jewelry from?”

You bite your lower lip and reply, “Tiffany.”

“Right, of course. I got you those earrings for Christmas,” he remembers fondly, especially fond of the mind-numbing orgasm you’d ridden out of him wearing nothing but said diamond earrings. “Any time you want, you can take your cute little ass downtown to the shop and get everything else from that collection. Better yet,” he goes on, taking his phone from his pocket and sending a few texts, “I’ll get an appointment for you at their flagship in New York and you can use your fun new card on some first-class tickets for you and a friend and buy out the damn store just to show off.” Before you can roll your eyes and scoff out a response, he presses his index finger to your lips, kisses your forehead, and coos, “You’re filthy rotten rich now, kitten, you’ll have to discover ways to act like it. Now, may I continue my tour?”

You give him a giggly mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He debates jumping on it but bites his tongue, trying to keep a modicum of self-control with his regular staff lingering nearby. So he takes a breath and leads you through the open door into a vast, relatively blank bedroom, leaving Smith stationed outside. He tells you, “Until we’re married, you’ll stay here in one of the guest rooms. Anything else would be inappropriate.”

You nudge him with your hip, a little too confident. “Inappropriate like all the kinky premarital sex we’ve already had?”

In response, Titus grabs you hard by the waist, flipping you around and pushing you against the nearest wall, hand behind your head. There’s a caution to his touch, though, and it steals your breath away. He’s certain not to be too rough with you. He cups your face in one large hand and studies your features intently. Your eyes widen as you look up into his stoic hazels, finding something dark and unreadable in them.

And then he kisses you. Deep, serious, claiming. Your knees go weak as he presses the curve of your spine, pulling you as close as possible to his body. It feels like a warning more than an act of affection. When he pulls back, he gently touches the tip of your nose with his pointer finger, drawing out a smile, and tuts, “You’re going to have to learn not to talk like that in front of others. It’s bad form.”

“No sex jokes in front of the posh folk,” you tease with a serious nod. “Got it.”

“Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t call me that if you want me to behave.” With embarrassingly warm butterflies taking flight in your stomach, you push out your lower lip and give him your best puppy dog eyes. “I really have to sleep alone?” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, leaning your weight on him. “In an unfamiliar place?” You drag your lips up his rough neck and suck his sensitive skin, smiling to yourself when he draws in a sharp and wanting hiss. “With my big strong fiancé all the way across the house?”

Titus gives a low chuckle, looking at you like a puzzle. He traces his finger up your neck and along your jaw until he reaches your chin, tilting it upward. He turns your face from side to side, examining you, and you shiver from the intensity. His lip twitches at the corner. “Would you really prefer to sleep in bed with me? Why?”

You take his hand in yours and guide it down to your hip. His other hand instinctively follows and they roam around to your ass, which you arch out to be more enticing. He follows by squeezing your flesh and grunting softly under his breath. You ruck your hands up beneath his shirt and rake your fingernails over his abs until you feel him tremble ever so slightly. On your toes, you whisper against his ear, “I get cold at night.”

Titus sucks in a sharp breath when you take his earlobe between your teeth and nibble ever so slightly. He leans his head back and groans, “Mmm. You’re too powerful for your own good.”

“Just powerful enough.” Then you nibble your lower lip, avert your eyes, and add bashfully, “And I might need you.”

His brows furrow in genuine confusion. “Need me? For what?”

You shrug and try not to sound too vulnerable. “I mean, I’m pregnant. What if I wake up and something’s wrong?”

Titus sets his jaw, considering that. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and studies one of the many emotions he doesn’t have much experience with: Worry. Lowering his voice, he assures you, “Nothing’s going to go wrong. Not if I can help it.”

With a sad little smile, you reply, “Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t stop me from being scared of complications. Or worse. I don’t want to have to wonder where you are if I wake up afraid.”

At that, he nods solemnly, takes your hand, and starts leading you to the opposite wing of the house. He may not experience anxieties like that, but he understands that his job is to quell yours. “Come on, then; I’ll show you our bedroom. Don’t tell Father; he wouldn’t understand.”

Your eyes narrow. “Will you get in trouble if he finds out?”

“Yes,” he says with a dark humor in his tone and a glint in his eyes. “He’d put me in time out and take away all my favorite toys.” He’d have one hour to hunt me while I remain unarmed. Titus presses a kiss to the center of your forehead. “Don’t worry, bunny; I can handle myself. Handling you is what I’m worried about.”

As he pushes open a set of opulent double doors, you poke his firm shoulder and protest, “I’m a perfect angel.”

“Precisely my concern.” As you step into the suite, he raises a silent hand to stop Smith from following. Closing the doors, Titus strides to where you’re admiring the space, wide eyes greedy over the California king, the floor-to-ceiling windows with grand velvet curtains, the massive his and hers closets. “I know it’s plain right now; I don’t have much of an eye for taste – except in women, of course.”

You smack him lightly on the arm. “Flatterer.”

His deeply ingrained instincts urge him to flip your arm around, pin it behind your back, twist you into submission. But then you smile at him and it’s so warm and open and trusting and earnest that he almost smiles back. “Only for you.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” You traipse into the adjoining bathroom suite and gawk at the oversized soaking tub, practically its own pool with jets and a head rest, and add, “I get the impression you have to flatter a lot of people in your world.”

“They have to flatter me,” he corrects. You feel his hand on your back and catch sight of him watching you in the large mirror above the double vanity sinks. His first finger trails up your spine and he smiles when you shiver. “And soon they’ll have to flatter you, too.”

“If they have to suck up to you, and you have to suck up to me,” you muse, turning around into his arms, “does that make me the boss of the whole world?”

Titus cradles your face in one hand. His expression is completely and totally confident as he tells you, “I spent the first thirty years of my life watching my mother snap her fingers-” he punctuates it with a click of his own “-and get whatever she wanted from whoever she was speaking to. She commanded attention, power, money. Everyone listened when she spoke. She was the only woman – person – my father ever acquiesced to or listened to. Nobody on earth has more power than Mrs. Danforth,” he finishes, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “and very soon that will be you.”

For a second, you’re breathless, taking in the intensity simmering in his eyes. Then you avert your gaze a second, swallow hard, and look back at him with your usual mischief. “Mommy issues much?”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Titus swats your ass and laughs, “Father is going to hate you.”

With a raised eyebrow, you needle him, “You say that like it might actually be a good thing.”

Titus confirms, “Being hated by my father is always a badge of honor. He can’t stand me.” Then he takes your hand, leads you back to the bedroom, and sits you down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. “Now, I have to leave for some business before I introduce you to the family tonight, but I do have one thing I need to give you in the meantime.”

“A welcome home gift?”

“Something like that,” he replies, walking over to his bedside table and removing a black velvet box. He kneels in front of you, your legs on either side of his shoulders, and your heart starts to pound. As he opens it to reveal the ridiculous ring inside, he begins, “Now, bunny, if you want a proper proposal with a string quartet or a sunset on the beach, I’ll do that, but for-”

“Titus, shut up,” you whisper. “Is this…for me?”

Your eyes are glued to the ring. You’ve never seen anything like it. Clearly it’s an antique piece; the metalwork and stones have been meticulously maintained and show a high level of craftsmanship. The large center diamond is black – an almost surreal color, both drawing light in and flinging it out, seeming at once opaque and transparent from different angles – and surrounded by a halo of small pearls and diamonds set in fine platinum. It’s not eye-catching so much as jaw-dropping.

Your heartbeat thuds and whooshes in your ears as Titus removes the ring from the box and takes your left hand in his. You splay your fingers to give him better access.

“My great grandfather had it made for his wife and my mother held onto it for me to give to mine, not that she believed I’d ever find one. It won’t be the most expensive piece in your collection, but it’s the most precious and rare to our family name.” Titus slides it onto your finger and then kisses the skin just above it, his lips softer than you’ve ever felt. He holds your hand in his and urges.  “I never want to see you without it.”

“I should take it off to shower and sleep,” you point out absently, still staring at the ring. You flick your eyes up to his. “And I assume you’d still like to see me those times.”

“I’m going to have to start punishing you for all this flirting, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”

He shakes his head and lets out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, you’re in for it now.”

In the next breath, Titus smirks and lifts you easily, tossing you up onto the bed. As you shriek out a laugh, the plush fabric and thick mattress catch you like a cartoon cloud. Titus pounces on you like a panther while you’re still getting your bearings, hiking your skirt up around your waist and yanking your panties down hard enough to rip the elastic. You don’t complain; for every pair of your underwear he’s ruined, Titus has always gifted you five more from nicer shops.

His fingers circle your clit hard and fast, working you up frantically, and you know exactly what his game is. It’s one he plays often and well. You’ve got no choice but to enjoy the expert way he touches you, months of knowing how to get you off and bring you down painstakingly memorized.

Then, as you expect, the very moment your walls start to clamp down, Titus stops all touch and slaps your clit hard. The sting rockets up your spine and you gasp. Your thighs shake and he laughs at your mewling.

Before you can even start to think , he pulls his shirt off, casts it aside, and crawls onto the bed next to you. Then his middle two fingers are on your clit again and his lips lock onto yours and you’re moaning and whining and hoping, hoping, hoping he won’t-

He slaps your clit once more and you nearly knee him with the force of your body’s reaction. He stills your leg with a smirk and coos, “Careful, princess, you’ll pull a muscle. Can’t have that.”

You challenge him with narrow eyes. “Then how about you pin me down and fuck me so I don’t squirm?”

“So goddamn greedy,” he huffs. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

You watch, mouth watering, as he takes off his belt and slacks. You even notice the brief hesitation as the leather belt runs over his fingers; you’ve been known to beg for a whipping with it on more than one occasion. But he’s being gentle with you – for Titus, at least. He returns to you on the bed with a wolfish gaze, spreading your legs apart and admiring you for long enough to make your breath hitch. When you feel the tip of his swollen cock nudging at your entrance, it’s with a toe-curling gentility that makes your body sensitive.

Titus always thrusts into you agonizingly slow, no matter how worked up either of you are. He savors the little flutters and twitches that come with filling your pretty cunt millimeter by breathless millimeter. Once he’s seated inside of you, feeling the way your hips instinctively roll back into his and how your cunt is clamping onto him like it needs reassurance, Titus presses his thumb to your lower lip and orders, “Beg.”

And even though you’re having to actively hold back from squirming and moaning, you know he loves the chase, so you grip his curls tight and reply, “Why should I?”

“God, you fucking brat.” He spits on your face and you lick it off your lips, never dropping his eyes that trace your movements. “If you won’t beg for what you want, then I expect you to stay there and take whatever I give you.”

Your eyes widen in a mix of lust and fear, right on the primal line that Titus so loves to play with. One of his hands goes down to cover your mouth. There’s a millisecond where his eyes flick up to yours, asking permission, and it’s gone as soon as you give an imperceptible nod. When you and Titus fuck, your minds run parallel to one another; the same temptations and ideas call both your attention.

Once his salty, heavy palm is clamping your mouth shut, Titus fucks you like he needs. Your pleasure becomes entirely secondary to him; he only touches your clit because it amuses him to watch you squirm and kick and writhe, unable to speak or moan or do much of anything besides take it.

When he hikes your legs higher, working you into a full mating press that lets him fuck you hard and deep, your eyes roll back and your moans turn into squeaks. His thumb continues its strumming on your clit as you start to shake from pleasure. He purrs, “There we go.”

And then he cums.

Unannounced, unplanned, unrepentant. He pulls out and gives your thigh an affectionate pat.

You grab his hand and wail, “No, no, no no no nonono! Titus!”

He lifts your fingers to his lips and kisses each one softly, “Didn’t I say this was a punishment? You have to learn to behave yourself.”

You lean back, raise your arms above your head so that your tits are on beautiful display, and look up at him like an innocent, needy puppy. After a beat of charged silence where his eyes ravish your body, you say the one word you’re always careful to withhold from him until the right moment: “Please.”

Above the bed like a god, Titus gazes down at you, panting and disheveled and leaking his cum. He tsks and sighs, “How am I supposed to punish you when you take me so well?” Then he drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your legs, and tugs you to the end of the bed as if you weigh nothing. “When you’ve done everything I’ve asked without complaint?” He slides two fingers into your sopping cunt, curling them toward himself and grinning when you arch your back and whine out in pleasure. He nips your inner thighs with his teeth and rests his free hand on your lower abdomen, over your womb. Leaning toward your wrecked pussy, he murmurs at last, “When you’re carrying my child? I couldn’t possibly deny you.”

And he descends on your swollen, aching clit. The taste of his own cum mixed with your juices drives him wild. The taste of his ownership. After all the edging, you’re mere moments from tumbling over the precipice.

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

He growls into your cunt as you spasm around his fingers, the orgasm burning up your spine and boiling beneath your cheeks. Your back arches and he refuses to let you stop cumming, keeping his tongue just as firm and fast as you punch into overstimulation. It’s so good it borders on painful and that’s what he loves the most. The moment when you cry out his name and try to push his shoulders back because it’s just too much and only he can finally release you.

Your chest heaves as you collapse back onto the bed. Titus slowly withdraws his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean, drunk on the taste of the two of you becoming one. You can’t talk or think as you rest the back of your hand on your forehead to cool it down. After a few moments of breathing, you smirk up at him and tease, “I knew you’d cave, you big softie.”

He kneels over you again. “I assure you it was completely selfish; making you cum strokes my ego.”

“Mhmm. Whatever you say.”

Titus tuts out a chuckle and checks his watch before swearing under his breath. After a searing kiss that gives you the sense he wants nothing more than to start a second round, Titus sighs, “Three hours as my live-in trophy wife and you’re already making me late.”

You nip his collarbone. “Bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He holds your chin and orders gently, “Ask Chip to take you downtown. Designer district. Buy an outfit that makes you feel perfect and be home in time for dinner at six.”

At 5:58, Titus knocks on the door of his own home with a bouquet of white roses. He can already imagine you rolling your eyes at his display before Smith opens up the door on your behalf. Titus is pleased to see that you let him open it without argument, already beginning to accept having others watch out for you.

You step into the moonlight and Titus hands off the flowers to Smith, who falls back behind you. For a moment, Titus is at a loss for words. You’ve always made a point of dressing up and looking beautiful for him; that’s a part of your arrangement, a part of the business of being a professional sugar baby. He’s even paid for you to get plenty of lovely pieces to add to your wardrobe.

But this?

You’ve spent the handful of hours since he left (and attended several excruciating meetings) pampering yourself into a state more akin to divinity than humanity. He may not have the eye for fashion that his sister does, but he can easily identify the trappings of a woman feeling confident about herself: Freshly French-tipped nails, sleek high heels with a thin strap around your ankle, makeup subtle and feminine. The burgundy halter dress hugs your curves, the silk crepe just structured enough to be formal but swinging enough to be sweet and flirty.

He wants to devour you.

And when he kisses you hello, he makes it obvious, dipping you far backwards and gripping your hip like it owes him money. He can feel the designer quality of the dress, soft as butter, under his fingertips. Then he rakes his hands up your thighs and growls against your ears, “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you in the one situation where I absolutely have to.”

You give him a modest twirl and ask, “You really like it?”

 With his hand on your lower back, Titus guides you toward the main house and purrs, sounding both proud and possessive, “You look perfectly at home in luxury, kitten.”

You try to quell your nerves as you walk up the marble steps to the back entrance of the home, where Smith opens the large glass doors to usher you both inside. Unlike Titus’ – and your, you have to keep reminding yourself – house, the main house is opulently designed, drenched in old-school grandeur. Everything is antique, hundreds of years old, in dark woods and rich silks. It’s more like walking through a museum than a home.

When Titus brings you into the grand dining room, you can see just how well his father and sister match the decor. Thin, severe, expensive. His sister is drop-dead gorgeous in a very ‘90s leading lady way while his father has the sort of face and demeanor usually reserved for stereotypical evil wizards or vampire counts. Titus has to push you into their eyeline when you find yourself shrinking beneath their stares.

Mr. Danforth and Ursula both stand to greet you but don’t move otherwise. Titus takes a deep breath and announces, “Father, Ursula, I’d like to introduce the future Mrs. Danforth.”

Father offers you his hand first, but you’re clearly not supposed to shake it, so you just present your own. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your skin softly. “How lovely to finally make your acquaintance. My son has sung your praises extensively.”

“That’s very sweet.” You bite your tongue despite how easy it would be to tease Titus because you know for a fact he never would’ve mentioned you to them at all if it weren’t for the baby. You stick with a polite albeit slightly stiff, “Mr. Danforth, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Titus’ gentle, affirmative pat to your arm almost makes you laugh – the situation is too weird for words – but you still hold back. It’s a truly herculean effort not to point out how otherworldly this whole thing is. You haven’t exactly met people who just reek of power and status, their presence so effortlessly commanding that you want to laugh so you don’t cry or hide.

Then it’s Ursula’s turn with you. She doesn’t shake hands, doesn’t hug, doesn’t even speak for a solid thirty seconds. You can feel Ursula’s eyes on every inch of you, dissecting and analyizing. It’s like she’s trying to see through your skin or maybe telepathically peel it off your bones. You’re holding your breath until she finally says, “You’re very pretty.”

“Thank you.” Swallowing hard, you force a wobbly smile and tell her, “You look stunning, exactly like I expected from how your brother talks about your fashion sense.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Please; Titus wouldn’t know fashion sense if I smacked him over the head with it. And I’ve tried.” Before you can try to come up with any possible response, she gestures to your dress and asks, “Where is this little number from? It looks appropriately expensive for the occasion. A gift from our Titus, I assume?”

“Um, yes, he sent me shopping today.”

She gives you a pitying sort of smile and squeezes your forearm in a way that feels truly predatory. “He’s always so generous with his playthings.”

Titus clears his throat. “Ursula.”

“I’m just teasing,” she laughs without any humor. Then her narrowed eyes return to you. “Really, though, where did you find a dress like this in our dingy little city?”

You smooth out the fabric and tell her, “It’s, um, it’s Yves Saint Laurent.”

“Looks like something I would wear.”

You try on a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I told Chip to take me somewhere you would shop.”

“Maybe I’ll go and pick one up in my size,” she muses, still scanning your body for every flaw, which you’re suddenly painfully aware of, coming up with brand new insecurities every second her focus moves. “I’d ask to borrow it, but yours would drown me.”

Titus cuts her off sharply, “That’s enough.”

She pouts at her brother. “Don’t be so sensitive, ducky; I’m sure she can-”

“No.” You’ve never heard Titus’ voice as stone cold and commanding as when he tells her, an order and a punishment, “Never speak down to her. Never.”

Ursula rolls her eyes and plops herself dramatically in one of the oversized dining chairs. She pouts and says, “Fatherhood is already making you so boring. Now I’m going to have to weaponize her against you so I have someone to complain with about how boring you are. Sigh.”

And dinner goes just about like that.

Mr. Danforth unabashedly interrogates you about your life, your family, your history. Ursula critiques your answers. Titus snaps at them both when they push too far. You just try to hold onto your fork and sneak bites of decadent food in between the family bickering. You can tell there’s a kind of affection entirely foreign to you in the way they jab and dodge each other’s barbs. The way rich people talk to each other – all subtext and speed – is surreal to listen to. Eyes rolled about memories in St. Barts and arguments over clients in Aspen; it’s like they’re speaking a different language from the one you learned growing up.

By the time you’ve finished pretending to like flan because you’re terrified of being rude, they seem to have hashed out all their regular arguments, everyone beyond ready to leave the rest alone. Titus can tell you’re getting overwhelmed by their equally intense presences fighting for dominance, so he slides his hand protectively onto your knee and announces, “I think we’ve kept my fiancée awake late enough, haven’t we?”

Ursula pouts, leaning across the table and snatching your left hand into hers for examination. “You already gave her mother’s ring and I missed the grand proposal? How tragically unromantic.”

Father sighs, “They’re doing things a touch out of order, darling.”

“I wouldn’t want an extravagant proposal anyway,” you manage to squeak out. “A nice private moment between the two of us was perfect.”

“Ah, so she’s the one making you boring,” Ursula laughs. Then she lowers her gaze and adds, “If you don’t like extravagance, you may be marrying into the wrong family. Your wedding guest list is already 250 people long.”

“I’m definitely looking forward to all of it,” you assure as you desperately try not to sound either meek or ungrateful, “but Titus is being kind enough to ease me into the waters. Trust me: The beautiful estate and stunning, personal ring made as much of a statement as any proposal.”

Father smirks at you with a pleased satisfaction that seems to surprise Titus and his sister. “What a diplomatic response. My daughter will be lucky to learn from your decorum.”

As Titus stifles a laugh, Ursula stands up dramatically from the table and reminds him, “I’m literally a diplomat, Father. Try telling the people of Monaco that I’m anything but diplomatic when I personally broke ground on the country’s latest arts center.”

“That was for optics,” Titus cuts back, adding under this breath, “unlike my work in Geneva.”

Ursula brandishes her knife like she might really use it on him, making you gasp gently under your breath, and that’s when Father officially clears his throat and stands with a curt, “I think that’s enough family time for one night.”

“I completely agree,” Titus replies, rolling his shoulders before he stands up. After pulling your chair out and guiding you to your feet, he says, “We’ll see you both at the Governor’s Ball on Saturday.” 

Titus shakes his father’s hand at the end of dinner and, once again, you have to remind yourself not to tease him. Thankfully, it’s a surgical extraction from there and Titus has you walking back toward your house in no time.

After Titus dismisses Smith for the night and arms the extensive home security system, he meets you in the primary bathroom, where you’re unclasping your jewelry and examining yourself in the mirror. Titus must’ve had someone on staff put away your things because your bedtime skincare routine is laid out on the countertop. Before reaching for any of it, you bite your lip and ask Titus, “Be honest: Did I do okay?”

He comes up behind you, slipping his strong arms around your waist. “You did great. I’m only sorry Ursula was so very-” he struggles to find the right word “-Ursula.”

“I expected worse,” you tell him with half a smile. “I didn’t expect you to stand up for me, though. To your sister.”

“Ursula is the family the universe gave me. She’s my best friend and my closest confidant – and she’s a nightmare. A hellion.” Titus kisses your forehead and gently touches your stomach. “You’re the family I’m choosing. That means you come first, button. I’m not going to have my children watch their father sit idly by while their mother is insulted. I’m practicing setting a good example.”

You stand up on your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Titus runs his hands up your spine and fiddles with the halter tie at the back of your neck. “Now let’s get you out of this very lovely dress so you can sleep. Do you need a back rub? Some ginger tea?”

You raise an eyebrow as you slowly take out your cleanser and reusable cotton rounds. “Are those real offers or are you teasing me?”

“Real offers. From either a masseuse I can have here in fifteen minutes and our chef or from me personally.” He tugs the dress down your body, guides you to step out of it, and discards it in the bathroom hamper like you didn’t pay $3,200 for it a few hours ago. “No funny business, just relaxation and rest, especially well earned after spending a few hours with my family.”

“I could probably tolerate a foot rub before bed,” you giggle as he kisses across the tops of your shoulders.

“Go on, then.” He strips off his own shirt and makes quick work of his belt and slacks, too. Looking deliciously sturdy in just his black boxer briefs, he leans against the bathroom doorframe and says. “Finish getting un-ready and come lie down with me, princess. I’ll make sure to get you nice and relaxed before bed.”

“You want me to do my whole bedtime routine topless?”

“I’ll grab you something from your closet,” he offers, frowning a little because he admittedly does like the idea of watching you traipsing around with your tits out. When he returns with a tank top and silky shorts, he notices you still haven’t started taking off your full face of makeup. Too knowingly, he strolls into the bathroom with the pajamas and asks, all low and teasing, “Are you nervous to take off your makeup in front of me?”

You toy with the damp cloth, studying him in the mirror, and admit, “A little. And not just the makeup.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and laughs, “I’ve seen you naked, kitty.”

You scoff, “Naked and made up with at minimum highlighter and mascara. Or in very manicured outfits.”

He offers, “I’ve also seen you in pajamas before.”

“Lingerie,” you correct. “You don’t really think I sleep in slutty little negligees and teddies, do you?”

“A man can dream.”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, typically you rip those off me, fuck me unconscious, and then leave before my actual bedtime routine,” you reply, poking him in his hard chest. As you tug on the tank top and shorts, you go on, “I usually wake up around midnight, get room service on your tab, and sleep in my ugly sweats since you never spend the night.”

Clearly amused by the whole thing, he presses, “Are you worried I’ll rescind my proposal to the mother of my child because you aren’t a model in your sleep?”

“I don’t know!” You huff and glare at him, knowing full well you’re being hormonally dramatic now. “This is all very new to me, Titus. I have to wear a four-figure dress to dinner and go to the fucking Governor’s Ball, I guess, but I still have to be me at bedtime? All while figuring out how to be your fiancée and not just your sugar baby? It’s weird.”

Titus closes the space between you, each step stern and confident. He takes the makeup removal pad and cleanser from you, gently lathers the cloth, and starts to work it over your face without saying a word. Titus says the most when he's silent. Right away, you melt beneath his touch. His totally sturdy gaze. Quietly, he relents, “It’s a lot. I know that. You don’t have to come to the big social events right away; we can start smaller than the fucking Governor’s Ball.” He smiles when you crack one of your own. “If you aren’t ready to jump right into being my wife, there are plenty of other bedrooms you can stay in and have your own space.”

“I don’t want my own space,” you whisper back. “I’m just scared of taking up too much of yours, I guess. Or not fitting into your life the way you expect. Of being Mrs. Danforth correctly. Not looking expensive enough or beautiful enough or-”

“Quiet now,” he interrupts, words harsh and clear but tone nothing but warm. “Do you know what I want from Mrs. Danforth?” Titus finishes wiping your face of its mask and then examines your products and selects your moisturizer. He massages it into your face and neck with fingers so tender you could cry. When he’s finished, he holds your face in one large hand and murmurs, “I want you to sit by my side and sleep in my arms. You. We have the rest of our lives to work out the details.”

For the first time, you feel the real you slip out in front of Titus. No flirting, no pushing, no hiding. All you can manage to whisper is, “Thank you.”

He gives you a soft kiss and then goes on, quiet but urgent. “As for worrying about your appearance, you have never been lovelier to me than you are right now,” leading you to the bed and sitting you down with your feet in his lap, he finishes, “because you’re mine. And that’s the most perfect thing you can be.”

Support me on ko-fi if you'd like!

[mercvry-glow]

Busy Bee

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

summary. you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband's working.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader is allergic to bees, overprotective!jack, boy-dad!jack, typical hospital setting, no death, hurt/comfort but mainly comfort, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther hopped into the pitt fandom, but this popped into my mind and I haven't been able to let it go. these will probably be a set of drabbles and one-shots if it gets enough traction, but please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated! also I am not a medical professional, but I tried my best to sound realistic.

wc. 2700+

side drabble of the aftermath

part two: where we fit

“We got a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, went into anaphylactic shock at the park due to a suspected bee sting. Vitals stabalized after we gave her Epi, but the swelling in her throat and the hives covering her chest, neck and arms is pretty extensive.” 

Just another normal day in the Pitt. 

“It is starting to be that season,” Dr. McKay said lightly as she did her own assessment while a few interns watched, “Did she have anyone with her? Who called?” 

The EMT gave a small gesture to her partner who was walking in behind them with a small boy, maybe five or six, who looked worried. “Couple of joggers passed them and found him with her failed EpiPen, they called after that.” 

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[zivistardust]

I gave it to her- Jack Abbot⋆.𐙚 ̊

When a girls night out goes to shit and Jacks wife ends up at the Pitt, she thinks she can hide it from him. Silly girl.

As much as he liked the night shift, there were things he didn’t like about it. Namely, leaving his wife all alone on the nights he worked. So as much as he worried when you said you were going out with the girls from your new job tonight, he was glad atleast you weren’t left to your lonesome yet another night.

You were such a good girl when you went out. Truly, you put his old heart at ease. Sending updates on where you were going, what you were wearing, cute little selfies of your drinks. As much as it was for your safety, and his peace of mind, he liked feeling included.

It looked like you were having a good night. All smiles and bright lipstick, and sensible mocktails. He replied as much as he could, but he was a busy man. Thankfully, it was a quiet night- not that he would dare say the Q word out loud.

“Jack?” “Yeah, what’s up Dana?”

“why the hell is Y/N in chairs?”

Jack froze, as his heart dropped.

“What do you mean Y/Ns in chairs? She’s on the list?”

His head whipped towards the waiting room, and sure enough, there you were. “No. She’s with-“ “some of her friends from the new job. Shit. It’s one of them. Thank fucking god. Why the fuck didn’t she call. Whatever. Figure out who the girl is and bring em back. I’m gonna kill that girl.” Jack groaned.

“Relax, Tiger, I’m pretty sure this is exactly why she didn’t tell you. I’ll go get her.”

“No, actually, don’t. Have the new girl get her. I want to let her think she’s getting away with it.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “There’s something wrong with you.”

You sighed with relief when a completely unfamiliar face opened the doors to the emergency room, calling your friends name.

With her arm slung over your shoulder, you thanked the nurse as she guided you to central 2.

You were getting too old for this kind of shit, even if Jack called you a kid half the time.

Carrying drunk girls heels in one hand, them in the other.

The new nurse, whose name you should have mentally recorded and totally didn’t, took her intake information, her vitals.

“Okay, the doctors going to be in shortly. Feel better” she waved sweetly.

“Thanks. Um, Do you know who her doctor is going to be?” You asked. The nurse smiled politely. “I’m not sure, it’ll be the first available. Everyone here is quite capable”. “No, no of corse. Sorry. Thank you.”

“What’s that about? Do you know one of the doctors here?”.

“Something like that” you winced.

The curtain pulled open a second later, and there went all hope.

Grinning like a kid, there he was.

“Hi there, I’m Dr Abbot. What happened here?”

“Abbot? That’s so funny, her last name is Abbot too.”.

That’s when Jack looked at you and beamed. “I know. I’m the one who gave her it. Lovely wife of mine, would you like to tell me why you brought your poor injured friend here to my ER and didn’t think to call first?”

“Heyyyyy Jackie.”

“Don’t hey Jackie me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t find out.”

“Oh, no honey. You didn’t think. That’s the problem. You’re Alyssa, yes?”

Your friend nodded. “Okay kiddo. Let’s see this ankle. How’d this happen?”

Jack looked all too sexy as he snapped on his gloves, scooting in to ever so carefully extend the limb, checking for other damage.

“We were leaving a bar and I slipped on a patch of ice.”

“Did you hit your head? She hit her head?” “No.”

Jack nodded.

“I know Y/N and now I know Alyssa here, who else am I looking at?”

Jack didn’t look up from the leg, listening to the soft “I’m Stephanie” and “I’m Carly” with a hum.

“Nice to meet you girls. Alyssa, did any of that hurt, or just this cut here?”

“Just the cut. Y/N made me walk on it before we came here.”

Jack looked at you shortly. “That’s my girl. Do you know if you have a tetanus shot? They’re good for 5 years?”.

“Oh yeah! I do! I stepped on a nail 2 years ago.”

Jack hissed. “Someone’s a bit injury prone. Glad to hear it though.-“

Jack tsked, looking at you and rolling his eyes. “God forbid you admitted you were cold.”

“I’m fine-“

“You’ve got goosebumps and you’re barely wearing anything. You could have asked.”

“I didn’t want to, I’m fine”.

He sighed, quickly shucking off his fleece and handing it to you.

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’ll live. I’m wearing a hell of a lot more than you. Tell me, Alyssa, anyone hit on my wife in this completely indecent dress of hers tonight?”

“I sent you photos of my outfit before I left!” You defended. “And I stand by what I said, you look very pretty honey. But I’ve used more fabric to dress dog bites.”

Carly laughed from her seat beside you. “You kidding me? You can see that rock from space, no one’s coming near her.”

Jack beamed.

“Damn right you can. I did good didn’t I? I like her. Keep her around.”

“Doctors and their egos.” You teased.

“Okay. Miss Alyssa. You’re going to need some stitches, you knew that. But the good news is, that’s the worst of it. This doesn’t look like a sprain to me, and thankfully nothings broken. Just a little twist and the cut.”

Alyssa nodded. “I’m going to get myself set up, and we’ll have you girls out of here in a jiffy.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

“Alright. You lady’s are out of my custody, but she’s not leaving here until I’m done with her” Jack announced after giving Alyssa her aftercare instruction, and looking at you with a devious grin that encouraged laughs from your friends.

“Jack.”

“Y/N. That’s no way to address your friends doctor.”

“Dr Abbot?”

“That’s more like it, princess.”

“And that’s definitely sexual harassment.”

“Yeah go tell Gloria baby.”

“This is going to reflect really badly in your patient satisfaction score”

“Thank god you’re not the patient.”

There was an edge to that sentence, that made you swallow. That was definitely soemthing you would have to apologize for later. Privately, at home. For worrying him.

The look in both your eyes portrayed just how much you both knew that. You’d worried him, and were careless with hurting him, with worrying him. And so he was upset with you, just a bit.

“Mrs Abbot, how much have you had to drink tonight?”.

“I haven’t.”

He believed you. “Good girl. You drove.”

You nodded.

“In those shoes?”.

You blushed. “In my slippers.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“Okay. Get these girls home then get yourself home. And call me when you get in. Yes?”.

You nodded.

“Of corse. Thank you Jackie.”

“Of corse. Baby.”

He kissed your cheek and forehead in quick successions.

“It was very nice to meet you girls. And please feel better, Alyssa. If anything’s wrong just ask Y/N for my number and I’ll help.” He promised.

When you attempted to shrug off his fleece he laughed. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you your fleece back?”

“Just bring it home.”

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m not going out in the 50° weather. Take it home.”.

Who was he to argue with?

You offered Alyssa your arm to stand up, and his heart throbbed at the memory of why you were the woman he married.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

First off, I just found your account, and I'm obsessed!! I was wondering if you could write a Jack Abbot x fem!reader fic where he's struggling with his PTSD. The vibe is like fluffy angst, if that makes sense.

Scar tissue

Jack Abbot X Fem!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, combat trauma, injury description, amputation mention, phantom limb pain, panic response, dissociation, implied suicidal ideation (non-acted), emotional vulnerability, comfort, hurt/comfort, soft ending, established relationship, Robby makes an appearance, no use of y/n

Word count: 3.7K

a/n: Awww thnks for the love hon i'm glad you liked my little corner of the internet and i'm happy to have you here 🫶🏻 hope you enjoy the fic!

Anyone who looks at him knows he’s a tough guy. Not just because of the muscles that show through every piece of clothing he wears, but because of the way he carries himself. Steady. Courageous. Cool as a cucumber. 

People look at Jack Abbott and they see a soldier — a man who can handle unimaginable pain without so much as a flinch.

But you? You see the cracks in the armor. You see the soft spots beneath all that steel — the proof that Jack, much like everyone else, is still just human.

Maybe you see it because he lets you. Because he feels he doesn’t have to hide as much when he’s around you. Or maybe it’s because you’re always looking for him in a crowd—your eyes scanning every face until they land on his.

You know he has a harder time dealing with his past than he ever admits. The therapist he’s been seeing seems to help, but it’s not like you can erase everything he’s been through. You’re glad he’s getting the help he needs, and you make sure he knows he has a support system he can lean on whenever he needs it.

He has Robby, and he has you.

When things started getting serious between you and Jack, the first person he wanted you to meet was Robby. You could tell immediately, from the way they interacted, that they shared a long and heavy history. And in the short time you spent with Robby, you could see that he too carried scars from the past.

Robby liked you right away—he was genuinely happy that Jack had someone to share his life with. But beneath Robby’s gentle smile, you sensed something else. A kind of relief hidden behind the easy banter and relaxed expression.

And when he cornered you one evening, glancing around as if making sure Jack wasn’t nearby before whispering, “I’m glad he has someone by his side. I can’t always keep an eye on him with our opposite shifts and all. I’m glad you’ve got his back,” you realized Robby knew Jack in ways you had yet to discover.

It had taken you a while to understand what Robby meant, but one night shift made everything painfully clear.

You’d been searching for Jack everywhere, and you were no closer to finding him. It was unlike him to just disappear—he was the attending, after all. Your worry had started creeping in when Robby walked in and caught the look on your face.

He seemed to know exactly what you were looking for. His hand landed gently on your shoulder to get your attention, a soft look settling over his features.

“You’re looking for Abbott, right? He’s probably taking a breather.”

“No, I checked outside. He wasn’t there,” you answered, eyes still darting around the room.

Robby gave your shoulder a small, knowing squeeze.

“Might wanna go check the roof.”

Robby must’ve seen something in your face shift, because he didn’t hesitate—he just said, “Come on,” and started toward the stairwell. You followed him up the flight of stairs until the sunshine hit your face and the rooftop door thunked shut behind you.

Jack was there. Standing on the edge of the roof, on the opposite side of the railing.

Your heart lurched. Your body moved before you even thought, breath punching out of your chest. Your eyes went wide, your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Robby’s hand snapped around your arm, steadying you before you could take another panicked step.

“Hey—hey. It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low, like he’d rehearsed this line a thousand times.

You froze, pulse thundering in your ears, as Robby walked forward with a familiarity that made your stomach twist tighter.

He leaned casually against the railing, like this wasn’t terrifying, like it wasn’t a two-story drop to concrete.

“Hey, man,” he called out. “You bird-watching or something?”

Jack jolted—just slightly—like the sound tugged him out of a fog. He turned his head, and his eyes found yours over Robby’s shoulder.

Something flickered there. Recognition. Then shame. Then something soft.

He ducked back under the railing and stepped onto the safe side. Robby clapped him on the back and stepped aside, letting Jack walk toward you.

You stood there, hands trembling before you could stop them, the image of him on the wrong side of the railing burned into your mind. When he reached you, Jack didn’t say anything—just pulled you into his chest, arms strong and shaky all at once.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, breathing you in. “You don’t gotta worry. I wasn’t—I wasn’t doing anything stupid. Just… needed a look around.”

You didn’t say anything. You just held onto him, trying to let your body relax beneath his arms. When you finally glanced over his shoulder, your eyes met Robby’s. His expression was soft, a little tired, and without either of you saying a word, you understood.

This was what he meant. This was why he wanted someone else watching Jack’s back.

That was the first time you saw Jack’s armor crack.

But it wouldn’t be the last.

Today had been a particularly rough shift. You were exhausted—bone-deep tired—and more than ready to go home. When you saw Robby walk into the ED for his morning shift, you mustered a smile and walked over to pull him into a hug.

“How was your night?” he asked, like he always did.

“Hell, as usual,” you sighed.

Robby gave you that knowing look, the one edged with sympathy and the kind of exhaustion only long-time trauma can carve into someone. His eyes swept the room, scanning faces out of habit.

You knew exactly who he was looking for. Who he always looked for.

“He’s upstairs,” you said, no explanation needed.

Robby’s gaze snapped back to you, understanding immediately.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yep.” Your shoulders sagged under the weight of the night. “Pretty much.”

“You want me to go get him?”

You gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “No, I got it. I was just giving him a little alone time first. You know how he gets.”

Robby nodded, expression softening. “Call me if you need me.”

You offered him a tired smile before turning and heading for the stairs—your feet already knowing the path to the roof.

Jack is in his usual spot.

Same place he always goes when the shift has taken too much out of him. Same spot where the world stretches out before him far enough that he can pretend he’s not drowning in his thoughts. In his feelings.

You ease the rooftop door open, letting it click shut behind you. He has his back to you, but you know he knows you’re here. You take a couple of slow steps toward him, leaning on the railing like Robby had the first time you’d found out about this routine of theirs.

“Anything interesting down there?” you say softly, voice drifting over to him like you’re afraid of startling him.

Jack glances over his shoulder. It’s not really a smile he gives you—more a tired twitch of his mouth that’s trying to be one. The kind he uses when he doesn’t want you to worry, even though the fact that he’s up here already tells you plenty.

“Nah,” he mutters. “Same old streets. Same old mess.”

The wind is cool up here, biting at your cheeks. Jack’s eyes stay fixed on the drop below. Yours stay glued to his profile.

“You want to talk about it?” you ask gently.

He huffs out a breath. “Not really.”

You nod, because you’re not here to force it out of him. You’ve learned that pushing makes him shut down harder. And besides—that tone? You know that one. It’s the I’m-still-in-it tone. The one he gets when some patient or some moment kicks up dust from the part of his past he tries not to look at. The part filled with dirt and gunfire and screams that don’t belong in a hospital.

Jack’s jaw flexes. You see the tension in his body. Not just the usual post–twelve-hour-shift tension, but the kind he carries from years of seeing more shit than anyone should see in their whole lifetimes. It always lingers. Waiting beneath his skin. Waiting for something to pull it out into the open. And tonight, it’s clear something had made it bubble up.

You keep your eyes forward as you ask, “Want me to go get Robby?”

It’s not jealousy. It’s not insecurity. You know how deep their history runs. Sometimes Jack needs his best friend before he needs anyone else.

But he shakes his head immediately.

“No.” His voice is low, rough. “I just… need a little quiet.”

You give another small nod. “Okay.”

And that’s it. No fixing. No prying. You just sit down, letting the silence stretch the way he needs it to. The wind whistles, cars honk far below, and Jack’s breathing slowly evens out—slowly, gradually, grounding itself in the fact that you’re here.

After a while—maybe minutes, maybe longer—you hear him shift. You watch as he ducks under the railing, stepping back toward the safe side before looking down at you from where you’re still sitting. You lift yourself off the ground, moving so you’re standing in front of him. You stay a couple of steps away for a moment before reaching your hand out.

His fingers brush yours, hesitant at first, then more sure when you curl your hand softly around his.

“Wanna go home?” you whisper.

Jack exhales—a shaky, tired sound that breaks your heart a little.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah… I’m ready.”

And with that, he lets you pull him back inside.

He’s quiet the whole walk home, which isn’t unusual on days like this. Still, you miss the easy chatter you usually fall into together. You miss the feeling of his hand in yours as you walk side by side, miss the silly comments he always makes just to get you to laugh.

But you know it isn’t personal. Sometimes the weight of the past is just too heavy to carry, and Jack has to put all his strength into keeping himself together. There isn’t much left over for anything else.

So on days like this, you just match your pace to his, silently following him all the way back to your shared apartment.

You walk into your apartment, keys clattering softly against the door as you push it open. Jack trails in behind you. You slip your shoes off, and he quietly closes the door, locking it before doing the same.

You head straight for the kitchen, washing your hands at the sink before opening the fridge and grabbing the food you’d set aside for the two of you. On normal days, you and Jack share the shower—taking turns helping each other wash the grime and weight of the shift away. But today… you know he won’t be up for that.

So you call out from the kitchen, loud enough for him to hear you from the entryway.

“You go first, Jack. I’ll start heating the food up.”

He passes by the kitchen doorway, giving you a small, tired nod before heading toward the bathroom.

After he gets out—looking just as tired as when he went in, but at least cleaner—you make your way to the bathroom next, focusing on washing the shift off your own skin. You both settle down to eat afterward, the low murmur of the TV drifting across the room while you eat in silence. When you’re done, the dishes washed and teeth brushed, the two of you climb into bed.

You reach over to click the lamp off and start to settle, already preparing yourself to fall asleep without Jack’s arms around you. But just as you’re about to turn your back to him, he says your name—soft, almost hesitant.

You turn, barely able to make out his face in the dark.

“Yeah?” you answer quietly, voice barely above a breath.

“No cuddling today?” he asks, the words gentle, almost sheepish in the dark.

Your eyes soften instantly.

 “Didn’t think you’d be up for it,” you whisper.

Jack reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek before gently tugging you closer until your noses touch.

“Always up to cuddle with you, baby,” he murmurs, the teasing warmth in his voice muted by exhaustion but still sincere.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before shifting until your head rests against his chest—right where you’ve always fit perfectly.

“Goodnight, Jack,” you say softly, your voice melting into his skin.

“Night, baby,” he replies, the words low and sleepy. 

He can feel the sweat against his temple. Can feel it run down his neck and seep into his uniform. He can smell the dirt and blood and gunpowder. Can hear the explosion, the screams, the bullets ricocheting.

His feet pound against the ground as he runs, bag rattling against his back with every step. There’s a rifle in his hand—he can feel the weight of it, the metal pressed beneath his fingers. The sound is muffled, but he can still make out orders being shouted somewhere beside him. He takes another step. 

And that’s when it happens.

He doesn’t even have time to react before his body is launched backward. His back hits the ground and, for a moment, he can’t hear anything. The explosion blows out everything else, dust filling the air and swallowing what little he could see.

And then it hits him.

Pain.

Searing pain, shooting through him so fast he doesn’t even have time to scream.

The world tilts. His vision blurs. When he finally manages to bring it into focus, his eyes trail downward to assess the damage.

He catches it immediately.

Blood. Shredded fabric. Jagged bone.

The panic settles in instantly, and the scream that rips from his throat makes his lungs burn. Hands grab at him—soldiers barking his name, trying to drag him away—but everything blurs, their faces smearing together.

His vision tightens, tunneling. He feels the blood pumping out of him, warm and fast.

And then darkness surrounds him.

Jack jerks awake with a gasp so sharp it almost sounds like a sob.

The room is dark. Quiet. Safe. But his body doesn’t know that—his heart is racing like he’s still on that damn battlefield. His hands fist at the sheets, tugging them off him in a panic. His eyes land on the place where his leg should be and, even though it’s not there—even though it’s been years—he can still feel the pain as if it had happened just now.

He’s so focused on the sight in front of him that he doesn’t feel you stir in bed. Doesn’t even remember you’re there next to him until your hand finds the center of his back.

His head snaps toward you, panicked eyes locking onto your worried gaze. The sight of you seems to pull him back into the present, inch by inch. He lets out a shaky breath just as you say his name again—because he didn’t hear it the first time.

“Jack? Hey — talk to me. What happened?”

He swallows. It’s hard. His throat feels tight, scraped raw.

“I… it was my leg.” His voice trembles in a way he hates. “I was back there. I saw it happen again.”

His breath stutters. He drags a trembling hand over his face, trying to wipe away the nightmare like it’s something he can physically scrape off his skin. You shift closer, slow and gentle, giving him every chance to pull away. He doesn’t. If anything, he leans toward you without realizing it, like his body is reaching for something solid to anchor to. 

“Is it hurting?” you whisper.

He nods, jaw clenched. “Feels like… like it’s still there. Like it’s still being blown off.” A shaky laugh slips out, humorless. “Stupid, right?”

You shake your head, reaching out to take his hand — letting him decide if he wants to hold on.

“That’s not stupid,” you whisper. “Phantom pain isn’t imaginary. And neither is what you lived through.”

His fingers curl around yours. Tight. Desperate.

For a moment, he just breathes. Eyes closed. Shoulders trembling.

Then he lets out a quiet confession, barely audible:

“I hate waking up like this. I hate that you have to see it.”

Your shoulders sag at the words. You know he struggles with being vulnerable, know he hates making you worry. But it doesn’t bother you — in fact, you’re glad to know he isn’t alone. Glad that you can be there for him when he needs someone, even if he tries to avoid it as much as he can.

You press your forehead gently to the side of his, grounding both of you.

“I’d rather be here with you through the bad,” you murmur, “than miss the chance to be here for the good.”

Jack lets out a sound that borders on a sob and a sigh. He shifts his head to the side so that your foreheads touch. Your hand moves up to cradle his cheek, making his eyes close.

“I’m here,” you murmur against his hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He leans into your touch like he’s been holding himself upright for too long, like the simple act of your hand on his cheek is the one thing keeping him anchored.

You stay like that for a moment, his uneven breathing fanning across your face as your thumb continues to caress his skin. His hands move forward, grabbing onto your hips as if he needs to make sure you’re real.

“Sorry,” he whispers, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head gently, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone.

“Jack… you don’t have to apologize for having nightmares.”

His jaw tightens like he wants to argue, but the fight leaves him before it ever really forms. His shoulders slump, exhaustion settling back over him like a heavy blanket.

“It felt so real,” he admits, the words barely catching the air between you. “Every time it happens, it feels like… like I’m right back there. Like I’m losing it all over again.”

Your heart twists. Not out of pity — never pity — but out of that deep ache that comes from loving someone who’s been hurt in ways you can’t erase. You angle his face toward yours, gently guiding him until his eyes meet yours in the dark.

He gives you a look that almost makes your heart shatter in your chest. For a moment, you don’t see the Jack everyone else sees — the chill Jack who makes jokes and walks around like nothing ever gets to him. You see the man beneath the armor. The real Jack. The one who carries the world on his shoulders, the one who keeps going even when the pain gets unbearable.

You see your Jack.

The one you love with every fiber of your being.

You can’t promise him the nightmares won’t come. Can’t take the pain from him. Can’t promise that nothing will ever hurt him again.

So you say the only thing you can — the thing you feel every time you see him like this.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack’s brows pull together at your words — not in frustration, not in dismissal, but in something softer. Sadder. He shakes his head almost immediately, hands tightening on your hips as if anchoring you in place.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, voice barely holding itself together. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You swallow, but the ache in your chest doesn’t ease.

“I know. I just… I hate that you went through that. I hate that you still have to.”

You sigh softly, the sound threading through the quiet of the room.

“I wish I could make it better.”

Jack pulls back just enough to see your face, his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, warm and steady as his thumb brushes your skin.

“You do,” he whispers.

You give him a sad smile and lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. He accepts it immediately, sinking into the tenderness, savoring the love you pour into him—trying to commit the feeling to memory.

When you pull back, he follows you, leaning in until his forehead rests against your collarbone. You wrap your arms around him instinctively, holding him close, cradling him as his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s just the two of you breathing in the dark, his heartbeat slowly finding its rhythm again, your hands moving up and down his back in calm, soothing strokes.

Eventually, Jack exhales — a low, weary sound that seems to release a little of the weight crushing him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your chest.

You run your fingers through his hair, soft and steady.

“For what?” you ask gently.

“For staying,” he breathes. “For… not being scared of me. Or of this.”

You press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Jack,” you whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds onto you tighter after that—the kind of hold that says he believes you, even if it scares him to. He presses a kiss to your neck, lips soft against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Jack.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, and you offer him a tender smile.

“Wanna try and get some sleep?”

He breathes shakily against you, the fear of the nightmares creeping back in making him never want to sleep again. You can sense his apprehension, so your hand moves gently to hold his face.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.”

Jack can’t help but smile at your words—because he can hear in your voice that you genuinely mean them, and that makes him believe them too. He unlatches from your body, moving to lie back down on the bed. You settle beside him, tugging the sheets over your bodies as you inch closer.

You tuck yourself against him, your fingers drawing slow circles along his ribs, a steady rhythm he can follow back into calm.

“Stay… right here,” he murmurs, voice thick and low.

 “I’m not moving,” you promise. “Sleep if you can. I’ve got you.”

Jack exhales, the sound shaky but softer than before. His chin rests lightly atop your head, his heartbeat gradually syncing with yours. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as though he’s trying to merge the last of the fear out of his body and into your warmth. 

And little by little, you feel his body start to relax against yours, the nightmare losing its grip as he lets himself rest in the one place he still feels safe.

With you.

[yawnlovescookies]

Married?

Pairing: Jack Abbot x female!attending!reader

Summary: What happens when someone sees the weeding ring you were trying to hide? Who will win the bet about your mysterious husband?

Content: Jack and reader being married and kept a secret, Dana, Robby, Perlah, Princess, Santos, Lena, Shen, Ellis and Ahmad are in this one too— mentions of others. Reader being called Sunshine, no use of Y/N, betting grid, patient being violent towards reader, attending reader, reader's age not mentioned, Jack being overprotective, idk what else.

A/N: This one is more general, not so much of Jack and reader but I liked it!! I love when betting grids are used in fics!!Also, I made a poll about how I should call reader since I don't want to use Y/N, you picked Sunshine but Petal was the second most voted and I quite liked it!. Feedback and ideas are always appreciated! I'd love requests for fics and I write (try) for the characters that are listed in my masterlist!!!

w/c: 3.9k words

Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language so this may as well be written with my eyes closed and half delusional brain. Hope you enjoy it!

NOT PROOF READ AT ALL!!!

Masterlist

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Tapping away in a computer at the nurses station right when you arrived seemed like a good idea, until Shen noticed your wedding ring, the same one you have forgotten to take off and put on the chain you wear around your neck.

“Woah, is that a wedding ring?" Shen asked you, his eyes open in surprise.

shit

"I- uh,” you stuttered, seemingly being caught. "Yes, it is”

"You're married?”

"No, I just liked the ring and I bought it” you rolled your eyes "I think the ring means I'm married”

“Who’s married?" asked Jack, joining the conversation.

"Apparently, Sunshine is” said Shen, his usual cup of iced coffee— almost empty— in his hands.

Jack turned his gaze to you, assessing you. "You're married?”

You groaned "I think we've already established I am”

Jack raised his hands in innocence “I was just asking"

“How long have you been married, hon?" Lena— night shift's charge nurse— asked you.

You smiled at her “Two years"

"What? Girl, how's that possible? We've known you for almost four years” Ellis, who had just been listening, said from her chair, now very interested.

You shrugged “I'm a very private person"

“No shit" laughed Ellis “I cannot believe you!"

"What's his name?” Lena asked you.

You shook your head, "Not telling. He's nameless” you sealed your lips shut.

As you turned to go check on your patients, you winked at Jack discreetly.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Days later, you were called in early, something about needing extra hands since various people had called in sick.

“Oh, hello, hon." Dana looked relieved to see you.

“Dana, rude of you to call me in early, I need my beauty sleep" you said playfully while leaning against the counter of the nurses station.

“We needed more hands on deck, chairs are hell, too many patients and too little doctors" she sighed heavily

You brushed her off “No worries, I'm kidding. I'll go to the lockers and then I'm your obedient servant"

She laughed, shaking her head “Of course, hon. Good to have you back on the days, even for a few hours"

You winked at her before walking to the lockers, quickly changing into your scrubs.

Walking back to the nurses station, you decided to check your texts and to no surprise Jack was the one texting you.

Jack

Made it okay?

You

Yes.

You should be asleep

Jack

Can't. Miss u.

You

Miss u too, baby.

Now sleep

Jack

okay, bossy.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you made your way to Robby.

"Hey! Sunshine, you are honoring us with your presence?"

“Indeed. Dana called"

He glanced around “Yeah, today's chaos in here"

"Where do you want me, boss?”

"Central 15 is all yours”

You nodded "Aye, aye”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Two hours or so later the work had winded down a little, allowing you a respite. You made your way to Ahmad's post, wanting to see what the new betting grid he was running was about.

"Doctor Sunshine!” he greeted, "coming to place a bet?”

You chuckled, shaking your head "I'm merely curious about the recent bet you have going”

"There's two” he nodded towards the white board in his post.

You glanced at it from outside, reading the bets.

Residents/ interns changing shifts. Who? Why?

$20. Santos. Avoiding someone — Perlah

$30. McKay. Night shift vibes. — Shen

$30. Ogilvie. He thinks he fits in there — Princess

$40. Mohan. Wants to try it. — Dana

$10. Whittaker. By the end of the year. Loses a bet to Santos — Santos

You chuckled softly before turning to Ahmad. “I'll take $50, none of them."

He shook his head, impressed “Bold bet" he said, pulling his sticky notes to write your bet.

You shrugged, handing him the $50 bill “I know them Pittlings, they wouldn't last on night shift" you hummed “Well, maybe Joy would fit perfectly but I'll take my chances with my bet”

"Good”

You tilted your head "What's the other—?”

"Nah, that one is not for you” He moved, blocking your gaze from the other one.

"Ahmad”

"Fine,” he murmured, moving away.

Dr. Sunshine’s marriage. Real? Fake? To whom?

$20. She wears the ring to avoid being asked out — Whittaker

$20. He's a hottie but it's just his boyfriend — Princess

$30. He doesn't work here, very real — Ellis

$20. Fake — Garcia

$40. Real. Someone who doesn't work here —Perlah

$30. Attending here. Very real — Santos

Your mouth was open in surprise. “You're betting about my love life? Ahmad!"

He raised his hands “Don't blame the player, blame the game"

You huffed “You're on my list now"

“Care to tell me who's won, then?"

“No"

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Closer to 4 p.m., you decided to text Jack.

You

You wouldn't guess the new bet Ahmad has running.

His reply took a few minutes.

Jack

The resident to night shift? I put $40 on Joy

You

I put $50 on none of them.

I'm not talking about that one, though.

Jack

Bold.

Idk about any other bet.

You

It's about my marriage and whether it's real or not.

Jack

That's hilarious. I'll place a bet.

You rolled your eyes, of course he would.

You

See u in a few.

Love u

Jack:

Love u too

You shook your head, pocketing your cellphone. You couldn't believe your colleagues were to the extreme of betting about your marriage— or rather you could— but they were unbelievable.

You also wondered how oblivious they could be, you had been married to Jack for two whole years and the only ones who knew were Dana and Robby. Robby was the best man, of course, and Dana, well she's Dana, she knew you liked Jack before you even knew. You were beyond grateful they were discreet— and that you and Jack had managed to pull it off this long— it wasn't you didn't want to shout the world you love Jack, it's just you loved to be only the two of you.

At first, it was just a keep it secret to see if it works out when you started dating. It soon became marry me? but we'll keep it a secret still because you had enjoyed your relationship without people mending in. The years passed and you still managed to keep it a secret— it wasn't that much of a secret, you and Jack were pretty joined to the hip, but they haven't connected the dots. Until you screwed up by not taking your ring off.

You knew your secret would be uncovered sooner or later, it was going to be amusing to see all of them trying to find out.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

You were checking something on a tablet when you felt a presence next to you.

“So…” Santos said casually — or so she thinks.

"So?”

"You're married”

You nodded, not lifting your gaze from the tablet "I am”

"Does he work here?” She asks again trying to sound casual.

"Trinity, I know about the bet”

"Damn it!” she huffed but quickly changed her expression, giving you her best puppy eyes "Help me win! Just tell me if he works here, I need the money, I'm a broken R2”

You chuckled, shaking your head "Nope, not telling”

She gave you a look, she was going to start pestering until you told her.

You were quicker, though “Dana?"

“Yes, hon?"

“Is there a patient for Dr. Santos?"

“Yes, South 12, knee laceration. It's not pretty"

“Thanks, Dana" you smiled at Santos, giving her a pat on the shoulder “You heard Dana, c'mon"

She didn't say anything, just stomped her way to see her new assigned patient.

Dana shook her head, chuckling softly “How much longer do you think you can keep it up?"

You shrugged “We'll find out"

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Hours later you were still checking on patients, working every waking moment. Your real shift was set to begin in an hour, the night shift already arriving, ready to go through the hand-offs.

As you were checking the boards, you felt eyes on you, without turning to them, you hummed.

“Perlah, Princess" your eyes kept scanning the board “is there something in my face?"

Seeing an opportunity to talk to you, they got closer.

“We were wondering…” Princess said.

"If you'd talk to us about your husband?” Perlah finished, a hopeful smile on both their faces.

"He's alive and well. Handsome too” you grinned at them, not giving them what they wanted to hear.

"Who are we talking about?” another voice cut through. Jack.

"Sunshine's husband” Princess quickly informed

Jack turned to look at you, an amused smile on his face “Oh, your husband"

You hummed “Yes, they want to know about him"

“Interesting. I want to know too, after all, I just put $50 dollars on who he might be" Jack crossed his arms in front of him, looking at you with a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes “You all shouldn't be betting on people's lives" you chided all of them.

"Does he work here?” Princess whispered, expectantly looking at you.

"No, I'm not helping you win the bet” you said firmly "I'm taking five before my real shift starts” walking away, you ignored their frustrated groans.

You made your way to the staff lounge, taking a seat and thinking about ordering some food, you were hungry.

"So, this husband of yours…”

You have Jack a grin "I'm not talking about him in my workplace”

"Oh, c'mon. He's a catch” he said teasingly, you were alone, sitting across from one another.

"Says who?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Someone who knows him very well”

You rolled your eyes "Well, you could ask him if he wants some food before his shift, I'm about to order”

He stood up, walking to the fridge and taking a container with your name in it "No need, he sends you this”

You gasped, he had brought your favorite. "Oh, I love that husband of mine"

“He loves you too," he said, glancing at the door, checking if no one was coming in before pressing a soft kiss on your head. “Eat, I'll go to take care of the hand-offs"

You winked at him, standing up to heat your food “Yes, Cap"

He chuckled, shaking his head before leaving the staff lounge.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

“If you ask me again, I'm requesting all holidays off and you'll be stuck working, Shen" you threatened him, tired of his interrogation.

He bit the straw of his ice coffee “Please, Ellis said if I help her win the betting grid she'll give me a cut”

You smiled at him as scary as you could "Keep asking and I will give you a cut”

He raised his hands innocently "Point taken”

"Good”

Hours later, it was a fairly decent shift, the waiting room was swamped as usual but you were working fast and efficiently.

Your next case was a kid with a broken arm, divorced parents and they didn't look happy with each other. You steeled yourself to handle the case as best as you could given the circumstances.

"Hello, what do we have here?” You said, entering the room with a gentle smile, introducing yourself.

The little 7 year old boy looked at you with teary eyes, sniffling softly. The parents were on opposite sides of the room, not even glancing at each other.

"He broke his arm” said the child's mother "because of this drunken excuse of a father!”

"That is not what happened–” they started bickering.

You looked at the nurse who was assisting you, Annie, and shook your head. Those cases were impossible because of the parents.

"Enough!” you said loudly, they both stopped. "My concern right now is treating this little one, if you keep bickering you'll be escorted out” you said firmly.

"Alright” "Fine” they both answered

You took a deep breath, moving to assess the child's arm. "Does it hurt here, Dylan?” you said, making a quick exam.

He winced "Yes, it all hurts”

You hummed "Okay. Did you hit your head or was it just your arm?”

“Just my arm" he answered shyly, his tearful eyes looking at you.

“Alright, we're already giving you something for the pain and now we need to know how it's your arm so we'll send you to an x-ray" you looked up at his parents “One of you can go with him"

“I'll go" said the little one's mother

You nodded “Okay. Annie, would you show Mrs. Michaels where she can wait while little Dylan is on the x-ray?"

She nodded “Of course, follow me"

As they left the room, you were left with the father. “I'll come in and check with you when the x-rays are back, Mr. Michaels. Is there something else you need?"

“No" he said gruffly, he was noticeably drunk.

“Alright, I'll be back"

You made your way out of the room, taking a deep breath, you despised divorced rude parents. Arriving at the nurses station, you addressed Lena “Hey, could you make sure security keeps an eye on the parents in Central 15? They don't get along, quickly escalate on bickering and the father is drunk"

She gave you a smile “Of course, doll. I'll inform them"

“Thanks, Lena" you sighed, looking at the board “I'll go check on other patients, let me know when the x-rays are back, please?"

She nodded “You got it"

You smiled at her before going to check on some other patients. 30 minutes later you were back with the kid, checking his x-rays.

“Alright, it's a clean fracture so it's something we can simply fix with 6 weeks immobilization with a cast"

“Oh, thank God" the mother said, caressing the little one's head.

“Could you hurry up? I want to get the hell out of here?" the father snapped at you.

“Of course, sir" asking for the supplies you needed, Annie quickly went to gather it, while you stayed with the parents.

You were talking with little Dylan, trying to lift his mood while the father— still very much drunk— was growing impatient.

“How hard is it to do your job!" he snapped.

“Sir, it just be a little moment more—”

"Calm down, all of this is your fault!” the woman snapped at him.

"My fault?”

"Yes! If you hadn't been drinking as always, he wouldn't be here!”

“He fell!"

"You were supposed to be watching him!”

"It's not my fault he's as stupid as his mother!”

Things were escalating quickly, and the child was growing restless, afraid.

"Okay, that's enough—” you said, getting closer. They didn't listen, still arguing.

“That's enough!" you said louder, getting closer to them, trying to separate them.

It was the wrong move because at that moment the man intended to hit the woman, —and you moved to separate them, causing you to be hit.

You felt the hit, your ears ringing and your vision blurry. He hit you hard.

"Security!” you slurred as you could, since the pair kept fighting.

Your brain felt sluggish. The rest was just blurry, security separated them, you were ushered to the nurses station. Your head felt underwater, you could hear someone talking to you but you couldn't make any of it.

Lena, Shen and a few others were around you.

"Call Abbot!” someone said, causing you to shake your head, insisting that they didn't need to.

You knew Jack, you knew he'd flip out and he'd uncover your secret. Besides, you didn't want him to worry.

"I'm okay” you tried to reassure them.

"You're not, doll” said Lena, the ringing in your ears was easing up. "Let Shen take a look at you, Abbot is with an emergency that arrived a few minutes ago”

You nodded, glad that Jack was occupied at the moment.

It all passed in a blur, Shen informed you that you had hit your head. When? it was all a mystery, so now you were waiting for the results of a CT in a room, practically hiding from Jack. You knew it was a matter of time before he found out.

Shen entered your room after a few moments, checking something on a tablet.

"CT looks normal. You're good but you do need rest”

You hummed "What about Dylan? The little kid with the broken arm?” you asked, still worried about your patients.

"He is—” Shen was interrupted by a presence storming into the room.

"Why did I just overheard you were attacked?” Jack growled "and you didn't think to call for me?”

shit, shit, shit

"Jack—”

"Do you know,” he cut you off "how I felt when I heard someone say my wife had been attacked by a patient?”

"It was the patient's dad—” he gave you a look that shut you off.

Shen, who was very much in shock, still in the room, cleared his throat. "CT came back normal, she's good”

"Thank you, Dr. Shen” Jack said, he was grateful that at least someone checked you out. "Now, would you let me alone with my wife?”

He nodded "of curse”

Once Shen was out of the room, Jack walked to your side "Why didn't you call for me?”

"I knew you'd overreact,” you murmured.

"Overreact —” he took a deep breath, saying your name in that firm manner he used the few times you managed to drive him out of his cool composure "You were attacked by a patient's parent. A man double your size, you should've call me”

You sighed, knowing he was right "I know”

He shook his head, his anger evaporating, leaving just your worried lovingly husband “I hated that I had to hear it from someone else, baby"

Feeling like a scolded child, you nodded "I imagine”

He took your hand in his, taking a seat in the hospital bed "I am glad you're okay and you are pressing charges. That man assaulted you, plus he's drunk and apparently, an irresponsible man”

Your lips twitched, you were not comfortable with taking a man away from his child.

"Don't do that. He is not a good influence on the child. Besides, his ex-wife is going to testify against him too, apparently, he used to beat her”

You sighed “Alright, alright. I'll press charges"

“Good" he said, caressing your face.

“You know you just told Shen I'm your wife?"

“Yes. Secret is out" he shrugged.

You smiled softly “I'm curious about who won the bet"

He kissed your forehead “I'm just glad you're okay"

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Jack forced you to stop working the rest of the shift, claiming he had you on observation until he could take you home. Of course, Shen and his big mouth made everyone in the Pitt know about who your husband was. It spread like wildfire, even the day shift knew now, some of them texting you— while they should be asleep— to know if it was true or not.

You successfully convinced Jack to let you hang out in the nurses station, leaving the room open for potential patients. So now you were watching it all from the sidelines, sipping on water while staying next to Lena (Jack's orders). He even brought you a sandwich and a water bottle.

Ellis approached you, leaning against the counter in the nurses station, peeking at your sitting form on the other side of it.

“I don't like you," she said.

“You do like me, Parker." you hummed, eating your sandwich.

“I don't. Why didn't you tell me you were married to Abbot?"

“Because I didn't tell anyone" you shrugged softly.

“You made me lose money"

“I didn't tell you to bet on my life" you smiled at her.

“You could at least give me a hint" she recriminate you

“Parker, it's not my fault you're all oblivious"

She huffed, not happy with having lost. “This is not over, I'm still mad at you" she said before walking away. You didn't take it at heart.

“She's mad about having lost, huh?" Jack asked, taking Ellis's place.

“Yep" you said.

“How the head?"

“10/10. All good." you shrugged softly.

“That's good. Just two hours left of shift then we'll go home"

You pouted “No, I want to see who won the bet"

He tilted his head in amusement “I thought you were mad about the gambling about your life?"

You shrugged “I was, that doesn't mean I don't want to know who won"

He hummed, thinking for a moment “Does it count as cheating if I placed a bet and I was right?"

“I think it does, seeing the fact that it was a bet about who my husband was and you are said husband"

He shrugged “I'm still collecting my money"

You rolled your eyes “Of course you are"

He leaned in, taping your forehead between your eyes “Stop that, you're gonna get a loose eye if you keep that up"

You swatted his hand away “Do that again and you're sleeping alone"

“Yes, ma'am"

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

It was 7 a.m., time for hand-offs. You were patiently waiting for Jack while he took care of that while observing Ahmad take in the news and going through his post-its to see who won. Surprisingly, Santos won, along with Jack.

“Yes! I knew it" Santos said, jumping in excitement at the money she was about to receive.

You chuckled from your place, happy she won. Jack joined you shortly after, observing it too.

“Seems I'm splitting my money with Santos" he said, amusement written on his face.

“You cheated," you pointed out.

"I still won,” he shrugged.

Ahmad made his way towards both of us, a handful of dollar bills on his hands. “This belongs to you, though I consider that cheating, Santos agreed to split it"

Jack took the bills, you immediately took them from him.

"I think you still owe me money” Jack said to Ahmad, observing you while you counted his prize.

"I already gave it to you?” Ahmad said, confused.

Jack crossed his arms in front of him, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Joy just put her transfer to night shift”

"Oh, man!”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

When you were finally free, Jack guided you to his truck, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

"You know,” he began "I'm surprised we managed to pull this up for as long as we did”

You hummed "Yeah, me too. It was nice to be just us for a while, though”

He kissed your forehead "It was. But I am glad we can stop hiding and looking over our shoulder constantly”

You smiled "Now I can say freely you're my husband”

"That too”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

[neo-nomatrix]

Walking HR Violations

DILF (Doctor I’d Like to …)

Jack Abbot x reader

The Pitt knows you and Jack Abbot as two of the best emergency medicine doctors they have. They tend to see a different side when the clock hits 7:00 am. A side in which, HR should likely be involved.

Authors notes -> Reader is past residency but not specified to be an attending (bc idk the difference) Jack and Reader are very flirty! Age gap (you decide how many years) Fluff! Residents and MS are a little concerned about Jack and readers relationship but also intrigued.

You and Jack Abbot can’t draw a line between romance and coworkers. You’ve tried, but it’s impossible.

You originally started working on the night shift. Easily, with your charm and enthusiasm, you got close with Dr.Jack Abbot. You always thought he was attractive, salt and pepper curls and stubble, thick arms, and a rough yet gentle juxtaposition. Luckily for you, Jack shared a similar attraction towards you. A young and sweet doctor with a high patient satisfaction rate and the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard.

Neither or you ever tried to hide your attraction. On your first day, both of you approached Lena at different times asking what the others deal was. Whether or not she knew if you were single specifically. Small flirtations constant throughout the shift.

As you were starting some charting Jack approached you, forearms on the table leaning over you.

“I heard that EMT was flirting with you earlier,” He says softly.

God, you think, I bet that’s his “talk you through it” voice

“Oh yeah… a little bit I guess. You know how they are,” You giggle at the memory, and Jacks concern.

“Of course I do. Pretty young doctor on her first shift, gotta jump on that,” He chuckles.

“Pretty young or pretty and young?” You smile, stopping your typing to look up at him.

“For that EMT? Pretty and young. For me? Both,” He shrugs, a smirk pulling at his lips.

You bite your lip in response, shying away at his bold statement.

“You’re gonna be real trouble for me, Sweetheart,” He pushes off the table and walks away.

You look around, almost for confirmation that had really happened. Your gaze meets a smirking Lena and Ellis.

“Gonna be trouble for me too if I have to write you two up to HR,” She pushes up her glasses and scoffs playfully.

Needless to say, it was a nightmare when you got moved to the day shift. Your interactions with Jack shortened to during shift change. You’d be lucky if either of you had taken a shift. Sometimes, you’d see each other outside of work. Exchanging numbers under the guise of work related conversations. It turned into flirting over text, small talk, and the occasional coffee “date.”

You had gotten into a routine. Waking up at dawn to get ready, making it to work early, and the occasional flirt with Jack. Everyone else was well used to your relationship. The nightshift of course, knew all too well about your dynamic. The seasoned staff of the day shift also aware of your sometimes inappropriate conversations. This routine becomes disrupted when new med students and residents come in. You had all been introducing yourselves before the morning rush when the dynamic became clear to the new doctors.

“Melissa King, everyone calls me Mel. I just got done with two months at the VA,” She smiles widely.

You’re leaning over Jacks desk as he finishes work on his computer and you jot down notes on paper.

“Oh the VA huh? I had a boyfriend from med school who was there three months ago.” You trail off, thinking about the fling.

“He was fun,” You add.

The new doctors go silent, uncomfortable from their superiors admission. Looking toward Robby or a senior resident to say something else.

“Hey,” Jack chimes in, saying your name with a warning tone. Essentially telling you that you’re making the new kids uncomfortable.

“Aw, Jackie; are you jealous?” You tease him, playfully putting a hand on his bicep.

“Of course I am,” He smirks slightly, eyes never leaving his computer.

The new doctors shift awkwardly, not knowing whether or not to mention the very large elephant in the room. King counting ceiling tiles, Whitaker looking like a confused puppy, Santos eyeing you two extremely intrigued, and Javadi with her mouth slightly agape and eyes wide.

“Ignore those two,” Robby says, “They’re in heat,” he says the last part much more softly.

Another day, a few weeks into the residents being there, Jack is called in during the day shift. Essentially surprising most currently working, including you. He walks in pushing a gurney. Nothing insanely serious, a house call and the patient was unable to walk on their own.

You’re standing with Langdon, Santos, and Whitaker as he comes in. Immediately you all perk up at the commotion.

“Daddy’s home,” You say to no one in particular, before walking away immediately to go help.

Langdon sighs, accustomed to your comments. Santos scoffs, as if slightly impressed with your bold words, Whitaker stutters slightly.

“Are they?” Santos questions.

“Dating?” Langdon finishes her question.

“I mean… at least fucking right?” She confirms.

“Funny enough, not that we know of” Langdon answers.

“Jesus…” Whitaker trails off.

“They’ve been like that forever though. If The Pitt was a reality show they’d be the “will they won’t they couple”,’ Langdon laughs as he walks to help out with the patient.

“Some people these days, right? Old guys with girls half their age,” Santos says to Whitaker.

“I don’t know, she kind of seems like the one who’s in charge,” Whitaker shrugs.

Closer to 12 the ER gets quieter. Most are taking the time to catch up on charting or grab something to eat before it inevitably gets crazy. You decide to talk Jacks ear off. You’re in a similar position to when you first met, except Jacks the one charting and you’re leaning over the desk to talk.

“Are you working a double today?” You inquire.

“No, today was supposed to be my day off. But when I got the I thought might as well come in,” He shrugs.

“Well aren’t you superman. You wanna get a drink after? I’m thinking if we’re lucky and it doesn’t get too crazy people will want to go to the park,” You mention, resting your head on your hand.

Jack stops typing and looks up at you, “You know, you can just ask me out right? You don’t have to make it seem like a work outing anymore,” He smiles.

“Yeah, Yeah, whatever. I mean, the best ones start out as a work outing and then…” You trail off, smiling at your own implications.

“Oh yeah, kid? What are your intentions with me?” He claps his hand on his desk, chuckling.

“My intentions are very pure, old man,” You respond, “Are yours?”

“Of course they aren’t,” a flirtatious smirk on his face.

From the other side of the central area, Robby and the residents and med students are observing. Mostly the residents and med students- Robby is trying to get work done.

“Should we ask Ahmad to start bets on when they’ll get together?” Santos asks.

“Oh, haha. Maybe they’re just really… really close friends,” King replies.

“Friends with benefits?” Whitaker chimes in. The other doctors looking at him, surprised he even mentioned that.

“We should hope something’s going on. Or else it’s just a walking HR violation,” Javadi says.

“The way they just talk like no one can hear them, I’m kind of impressed,” Santos adds.

“I heard her tell Jack she wants him to put her in a headlock,” Whitaker says.

“I heard Jack say she should wear tighter scrubs,” King says quietly, slightly embarrassed.

“Shit…” Javadi murmurs.

“Will you all stop talking about them?” Robby grumbles, “They’re clearly in love what’s the issue?”

“So… are they dating?” Santos questions.

“If this is what they’re like not dating, I don’t want to see them dating,” Whitaker says.

“All in good time…” Robby mumbles and stands up, walking away.

The doctors look up to see you with your hand in Jacks hair, sensually massaging his scalp.

“50 bucks they’re together by the end of the month.”

[starlord-s]

when you post a mirror selfie on your story in an apartment that definitely isn’t yours, it activates the rumour mill. there’s only one doctor who knows who’s apartment that is, and he isn’t a fan of workplace gossip. but robby can’t help but smile to himself every time he overhears someone question the photo.

“hey,” jack nods at robby when he comes into the ED for his shift. “any progress with my vet in four?”

“your girl’s been all over it.” robby tells him without looking up from his ipad, and jack tries and fails to hide his proud smirk.

“i’ll go to her for handoff then.”

before jack can leave, robby says, “people are talking, jack.”

“about what?” he asks.

“you know what,” robby chuckles. “everyone has her on instagram, they’ve seen the story she posted.”

“yeah, she’s hot. so what?”

robby pinches the bridge of his nose, “please never say that about my resident in front of me again.”

“oh, lighten up, old man,” abbot claps him on the back. “she in four?”

“uh huh.” robby says, placing his ipad back in its holder.

jack finds you laughing with his vet in four. he watches you by the doorway with a fond smile, “i see you’ve met my girl, james.”

“this is your girl?” james asks, looking between the two of you. “wow. aren’t you a picture perfect couple.”

you smile bashfully as jack enters the room.

“i’ll catch dr. abbot up on your progress, mr. hawkins, but hopefully we can discharge you later tonight.”

“thank you for all your help, dr. (y/l/n).” he says before you leave the room with jack on your heels.

“so, that story you posted leaving my apartment this morning…” he says lowly.

“your mirror is good for selfies,” you shrug. “my pyjamas were cute. the people needed to see them.”

“the people are talking.”

“don’t tell me you’re bothered about a bit of workplace gossip.” your lips quirk up into a smile.

“you’ve posted my apartment, might as well post me.”

your gasp makes jack smile, “jack abbot, are you suggesting a hard launch?”

“is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

“oh, honey, sometimes you make yourself sound so old.”

“i’ll get you back for that once my shift is over,” he says nonchalantly. “now, catch me up on my patient.”

with the promise you’ll see jack back at his apartment later, you clock out and commute home. you let yourself in with the spare key he gave you, and you sigh in relief as you sink into his comfortable sofa and reach for the remote to his flat screen.

as you make yourself comfortable, his words from earlier ring through your mind. you pull out your phone and tap on the instagram icon without a second thought.

jack’s finishing up with a patient when his phone vibrates in his pocket. it’s a notification that you posted to your story, and when he taps on it he’s met with a photo of the two of you from last week, when he took you to the thai restaurant you’d been wanting to try for a while. you’re beaming at the camera as he kisses you on the cheek — a hard launch indeed.

he smiles to himself when he hears a squeal from the nurses’ station.