Warnings: Minimal Use of Y/N, Age Gap, Alcohol Usage by Reader, Mild Intoxication, Oral Sex, Mutual Pining, Mutual Masturbation, Unprotected Sex, Shameless Smut
Reader is only described as mid to late 20’s female, hair long enough to grab onto, tattooed
Summary: You’re one of Robby’s new day shift residents, having worked at the Pitt for ten months by now. Those same ten months you’ve been developing a giant crush on the much older night shift attending Robby had introduced you to on your first day, knowing from then on you were in big trouble when the older man shook your hand with a grin. What you had no idea about was that same attending had developed the same hopeless crush on you too, both of you not having made a move until one fateful night where the both of you were invited out to drinks with your co-workers.
Word Count: 6,5k
“Robby! Y/L/N, Some assistance please” Jack called out when his eyes landed on the two of you just coming out of a room, causing you to sprint over next to him, Robby moving to the gurney’s opposite side. “You miss us so much you came back so quickly?” Robby laughed, but the joke didn’t land as Jack gave him a look that said more than words could. “Status?” You asked as you looked down Jack’s arm, sleeve of his camo shirt pushed up as his gloved hand had two fingers extended into a heavily bleeding wound on the man’s stomach, a fellow SWAT member named Hiro.
“Critical and unstable, I’m trying to squeeze shut his artery so he doesn’t bleed to death after several GSW to the torso” Jack replied, groaning in pain when he had to set more pressure to keep the artery shut. “Let’s get him on the table” Robby spoke when the 3 other SWAT officers left, replaced by Santos, Langdon and Whitaker. “I gotta get up in your personal space to lift him properly” You told Jack who took a step back to give you some more room, “Please, be my guest” Jack replied, his fingers still in the bleeding wound as you stepped in to move against him, grabbing the patient’s shirt as the others grabbed his hand and legs. Robby counted down from three as you carefully pulled the man on the table, everyone working so in sync it still went perfectly.
“While I’m in here let me cut off his top so your fingers can stay right there” You spoke as you grabbed the scissors from Whitaker’s outreached hand, carefully but quickly cutting through the patient’s shirt and around the large wound Jack was trying to stop bleeding. “Can you help me get this vest off? I can’t do it one handed” Jack asked you, moving to step behind him, undoing the velcro straps holding the bullet proof vest together, carefully taking it off him to not move his hand. You furrowed your brows when your eyes landed on a blood stain on Jack’s shoulder, clearly his own blood by the way he winced when you pulled the vest off of him. “You ok?” You asked quietly enough so no one around you noticed, placing your hand on his back which made him turn his head toward you, replying with a single nod. “Let’s get this wound shut first and pump a few bags of blood” Langdon spoke, Santos stepping in to do as Langdon ordered. “Here you go” Jesse spoke as he handed her a bag of blood, Whitaker attaching it to the IV he had placed, Santos squeezing the bag of blood so it would enter the man’s body quicker.
Jack took a step back when Robby finally finished suturing the artery he’d been holding shut, letting out another wince as his shoulder started to hurt more by the second. “We got it from here, Dr. Abbot” You spoke as you looked back over your shoulder, placing a hand on Jack’s upper arm before squeezing gently, finally giving him the nudge to leave the room. “What’s up with him?” Robby asked, still digging around in the open wound but raising an eyebrow when he looked up at you still busy suturing another wound. “Bad day” You replied, lifting your hand to wipe a drop of sweat from your forehead with your sleeve.
“He’s stable” Langdon spoke, making you let out a deep breath before pulling off your gloves. “Good job everyone” Robby spoke, feeling the tension disappear from the room. You pushed open the door with your shoulder, scanning the central bay for any sign of Jack but you only locked eyes with Dana. “Looking for something?” Dana asked, glasses down on the tip of her nose as she glanced up at you. “Someone, you seen Abbot?” You replied, Dana unable to hide the smallest smirk that appeared on her face. “South 19, which should be an empty room” Dana told you, not waiting a second before you headed in that direction. “I’m timing you!” Dana yelled at you, not bothering to turn back around but simply responding with a raised middle finger.
You pushed open the door to south 19, turning back around to close the door behind you. “Just wanted to check if you were doing ok-oh..” You spoke, halting your words when you turned back around to face Jack. He froze for a second before seeing it was you, pulling off the last bit of his black t-shirt before sighing softly. “It’s okay” Jack told you, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed and pulling the tray of medical supplies closer to him. You tried to bring out anything, even if it was only a single word but you were busy fighting the redness wanting to appear on your cheeks, your eyes glued to his arms and chest before finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Let me take a look” You brought out, surprising yourself with how steady your voice came out, taking a few big steps to move behind him as quick as you could.
You let out a deep, shaky breath before raising your hands, pulling the blood soaked bandage of his shoulder blade, trying to stay focused on the task at hand instead of the freckles on his back. “Well? Am I dying doc?” Jack asked, grimacing when your fingers moved to spread the wound open to take a better look. “Yes, I’m going to have to intubate you” You replied, making both of you laugh as you reached for the suturing set on the tray. “Two stitches and you should be good, try not to put too much pressure on it, even though I know you will” You spoke, Jack huffing out another short laugh.
“Still in a rivalry with Dr. Santos?” Jack asked as you pushed the suturing needle into his skin, gritting his teeth as his fingers dug into the bed. “Yeah.. I know we don’t have to prove ourselves that much anymore but we can’t help but always want to take on the hardest cases. And otherwise we wouldn’t have come in and it would probably be Robby stitching you up right now” You replied, finishing your second stitch off with a knot. “Well lucky me today then” Jack told you, glad to still be stood behind him as you felt your cheeks heat up again. You took off your gloves before grabbing a new bandage, looking up to see Robby walk by who almost stopped in his tracks when he met your gaze.
You shook your head to yourself before placing the bandage on Jack’s shoulder, fingers lingering on his skin just a second longer than necessary. “There, all done” You told him, walking around the bed so you were stood in front of him again. “Thanks, also for not making a scene out of it” Jack told you, standing up to grab his shirt, making you swallow thickly at your proximity when he stood, automatically taking a step back as you pushed up the sleeves of your undershirt. “No problem, Robby would’ve put you on a gurney if he noticed” You chuckled, gaining you another warm laugh from him as he put his shirt back on.
“No noticeable blood stains, right?” He asked, you twirling your finger for him to do a spin. “Nope, you’re good” You replied, wanting to leave the room but Jack stopped you. “Now that we’re in an up close and personal mood, can I ask you something?” He asked, causing you to let go of the door handle and turn back to face him again, Jack taking a few steps closer to you before gently grabbing your wrists, his eyes focused on your lower arms. “Why do you always wear those long sleeved undershirts? To hide these?” He asked you, thumb sliding over one of the tattoos on your skin. “Yeah.. I don’t want to offend anyone” You replied, feeling goosebumps raising on your skin at his touch, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“You’re saving people’s lives here, they won’t care about the ink on your skin” Jack spoke as he let go of your arms before sighing softly as he shook his head, pushing open the door behind you so the two of you could walk out. “Show them. And if you even only slightly care about this old man’s opinion, I think they’re cool” He told you with a grin before turning around to talk to Robby who was headed into his direction. “Ooh lucky you, only a minute left before I would’ve come to check what you two were getting up to” Dana teased from behind her desk, you reaching into your pocket to launch one of your discarded latex gloves at Dana.
~
After your shift had finished for the day Samira invited you to join the day and night shift teams at the bar later that night, adding that Jack would be there too with a wink, making you roll your eyes at her before being unable to hide the grin that formed on your face, Samira pushing her elbow into your side when she noticed. She told you she’d pick you up in a few hours to give everyone enough time to get ready, quickly making your way home to change out of your scrubs and do a full shower. You got dressed in your favorite jeans and your go-to black top, just revealing enough but not indecent to wear around your co-workers, and the attending you had a bad crush on since the day Robby introduced you to him. You spritzed your favorite perfume below your jawline, in your hair and on your wrists, patting them together before pulling on a brown leather jacket, your phone going off with a text from Samira that informed you her, Santos and Whitaker were waiting outside in her car.
Laughter filled the car as Samira drove towards your usual bar for wind down drinks after work, the four of you walking in to see almost everyone else had made it there before you, your eyes immediately drifting off towards the bar where the day and night shift attendings were sat together. Jack’s eyes were already on you as soon as you stepped in, his breath catching at the sight of you which he was thankful you couldn’t hear before your eyes found his, raising his hand at you, you returning the gesture with a sweet smile that made his heart twist in his chest, only pulled out of his trance when Robby slammed his fist into Jack’s bicep. “Ouch! What was that for?” Jack groaned as he rubbed a hand over his arm, Robby letting out a laugh before shaking his head at his best friend. “You’re fuckin’ hopeless man” Robby chuckled before ordering another beer, Jack clenching his jaw as he looked away from Robby again to see you walk towards the dancefloor with your same aged co-workers.
“Can I get you another beer? And you Santos?” You asked Samira and her after dancing for a while, gaining you two loud “Yes please!” ’s in response. You ran a nervous hand through your hair before walking over to the bar, placing your hands on Jack’s good shoulder before moving to stand next to him, folding your arms over the counter. “Sorry for the eye sores on the dancefloor you’ve had to endure” You joked, making him laugh as he looked up at you from his bar stool, the one next to him missing Robby who was busy with a bathroom break. “Oh please, you rocked that shit” Jack replied with a grin, his eyes glancing down to your lips before quickly raising them back to your eyes, making you huff at him before shaking your head. “Can I get you something?” You asked as you noticed the barman walking over, “I don’t drink” Jack quickly replied, raising an eyebrow at him before turning to face the barman.
“Three beers, and a glass of water please” You spoke, glancing over at Jack. “Here you go pretty lady” The barman spoke when he returned with your order, paying for it before the barman walked to his next customer. “What’s the story with that?” You questioned, sitting down on the still empty barstool. “Ah I’ve had some bad experiences with drinking too much to forget about some things, so I haven’t touched the stuff in over a decade by now” Jack replied, pressing your lips together before nodding in approval. “Good for you” You honestly spoke, making Jack chuckle. “Makes me less fun though so don’t let me hold you, plus my date’s back” Jack spoke, you quickly moving to stand up to offer Robby his barstool back, grabbing the three beers from the bar.
“I’m going out for a breath of fresh air, be back soon” You told Samira and Santos a bit later when your feet started to hurt after being on them for too long, the hot and sticky air in the bar not helping your tipsy mind, exhaling deeply before heading out the front door, seeing an empty bench across the street. You plopped yourself down on it, pressing your hands to your eyes as you felt your head spin slightly, flinching when someone suddenly sat down next to you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” Jack softly laughed, you doing the same as you sat back upright. “Gets stuffy in there, hm?” You asked as you turned your head to look at him, Jack doing the same to meet your eyes. “Are the drinks after work always this rowdy?” He asked, making you laugh before quickly shaking your head. “No Dr. Abbot, this is an exception, but it was also an exceptionally messy day” You replied, folding your arms as you looked at the bar across the street, feeling your face heating up when you looked at him too long. “Yeesh, you can say that again.. And, please call me Jack when we’re not in the hospital” He told you, “Alright, Jack. Only if you call me by my first name too when we’re not in the hospital” You replied, another short laugh escaping him.
“Deal. How many of them do you think will end up going home together?” Jack jested, making you snort in response. “The better question would be who isn’t going home together” You laughed, before your gaze shifted to Jack’s hand still on his right knee, fingers roughly digging into his cargo pants. “You ok? Did you hurt your leg as well?” You asked, the smile having disappeared from your face, making place for concern written clear on your features. Jack met your eyes for a split second before sighing, his shoulders dropping as he leaned forward, folding his hands on his knees. “No, well not exactly, I-..” He stopped himself to let out a deep breath, lifting his hand to rub his eyebrows. “Do you promise not to judge me?” He asked, voice quieter than what you were used to. “You can’t ask me that before I know what you’re going to say” You replied, making him laugh in response. “Fair enough” He chuckled before another puff of air escaped him, you leaning forward to follow his hands that moved down the grab the edge of his pant leg, pulling it up to reveal a prosthetic leg underneath the fabric.
“You really thought that I was gonna judge you for that?” You questioned, a confused look on your face as you tried to hold down a laugh. “Well I don’t know” Jack bashfully spoke, pulling his pant leg up further to undo the strap of his prosthetic, letting out a moan of relief when he pulled it off. “How do you work such long shifts standing on that? Has to hurt like a bitch” You asked, Jack massaging his fingers into his flesh. “It does, I just power through it” He replied, sitting back up and leaning his back against the back of the bench, you moving to do the same, tilting your head back as you let out a deep breath. “You’re unbelievably badass” You spoke, making Jack laugh at you as he pushed his elbow into your side. “So are you” He honestly replied, a smile forming on your face before you groaned.
“Oh the alcohol is finally catching up to me” You spoke, scooting a bit closer before letting your head rest on his shoulder, Jack moving a hand on top of your thigh. “And that’s why we always tell our patients not to mix painkillers and alcohol” Jack teased, referring back to when you downed a few Tylenols at the start of your shift because of your aching feet, making you sigh at him. “Yeah yeah, lesson learned” You huffed, Jack moving to put his prosthetic back on. “Let’s get you back inside before you get hypothermia as well” He spoke, you standing up first and holding out your hands to help him up, Jack grabbing onto them as he breathed out a thank you.
“Was already wondering where you two wandered off to” Robby spoke as soon as you walked back in, Jack letting out a laugh in response. “Didn’t know we had to check in with you first Robby” Jack told him before you sank down in the empty chair next to theirs, a concerned look on Jack’s face when he looked at you. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea to call it a night after I order you a glass of water? Did you drive here or did someone bring you?” Jack asked, making you let out a deep breath before nodding in agreement. “Yeah.. Mohan brought me, but I don’t want her to have to go home early because of me, I’ll just call an Uber” You sighed in response, already reaching for your phone but Jack’s hand came up to your arm to stop you, a glass of water placed in front of you. “Nonsense, if you want to I can bring you home? I was planning to leave soon anyhow” Jack spoke, thankful you couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating after asking you. “Oh-.. Are you sure?” You replied after downing the water in a few big gulps, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as Jack was already moving to stand. “I insist” Jack spoke after putting his washed out grey Carhartt jacket on, thanking him as you stood up too.
“Jack” Robby warned, glaring at his friend but Jack gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before helping you into your jacket. “Goodnight Dr. Robby” You spoke after giving him a wave, Robby’s brows relaxing after having them furrowed for the entire interaction between you and his fellow attending, giving you a wave before wishing you a goodnight too. Jack’s hand moved to rest on your lower back as he led you outside, a short walk to the parking lot where his black truck resided, helping you get in before sitting down in the driver’s seat. “Put in your address” Jack spoke as he nodded his head towards the screen on the center console, your fingers trembling when you did as he asked, Jack starting his car and pulling out of the parking spot when you finished, his arm over the back of your seat when he looked back out of the rear window.
You caught yourself staring at his hands on the steering wheel before one suddenly moved towards you, grabbing onto the hand you had resting on your knee, intertwining his fingers with yours. You looked up at him at the sudden gesture, your eyes locking for a second before you both got the same bashful smiles on your faces, Jack quickly turning his attention back to the rain covered road in front of him with a sigh. “Your uber has arrived at its destination ma’am” Jack spoke when you reached your apartment building after a few minutes spent in a comfortable silence, you squeezing his hand before he let go of yours. You pressed your lips together before turning to face him, bringing up the courage to ask him something.
“You wanna come in for a cup of tea to warm up?” You asked him, Jack raising his eyebrows at you before letting a deep breath escape his nostrils. “Thank you for the offer but I don’t want to impose” He replied, knowing he was just being courteous. “Oh please, I insist” You spoke, using his words back against him. “Well if you insist” Jack laughed, parking his truck before following you inside to the elevator. You let your back rest against the cold metal wall as Jack clenched his jaw, hands balling into fists at his sides as his eyes were glued to the floor before finally turning to look at you, taking in the red flush on your cheeks. He was about to step closer to you before the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, Jack wordlessly following you towards your front door. You took off your leather jacket as he closed the front door of your apartment behind him, holding out your hand to grab onto Jack’s jacket when he took it off, hanging both up on your coat rack before flicking on a table lamp in your living room.
“I’ll get the water ready” You spoke as you sighed for him to sit down on the couch, but instead of doing as you asked he grabbed onto your wrist to stop you from walking away, a deep breath leaving him as you turned back to face him. “I shouldn’t be here sweetheart, I think it’s better if you head to bed, I’ll see you at work tomorrow” Jack spoke, trying with all his might to reason with himself but your glassy eyes staring up at him made his resolve start to falter more and more by the second. “Oh.. Yeah- Y-you’re right” You muttered, Jack raising one of his hands to press against your cheek, before moving in to pull you into a hug. His arms wrapped around your waist as yours circled his neck, pressing your hot cheek against his, feeling Jack’s face had gotten warmer from something that wasn’t alcohol too. “You should really head to bed, before I do something I can’t come back from” Jack sighed, moving his hands back towards your waist, your hands moving down to rest on his shoulders, seeing his chest start to move faster. “Yeah.. You’re right” You mumbled, looking away from him for a second before meeting his eyes again, seeing something change in his expression as you felt him grip your waist harder.
Jack lowered his head towards you, stopping when his nose brushed against yours, waiting to see if you would move away or tell him to stop. But you only closed your eyes, a gasp escaping you as your lips already parted for him, Jack closing his eyes too. “Jack, we really shouldn’t..” You breathed, hearing Jack’s breathing grow heavy before throwing all caution out the window, his lips forcefully crashing against yours, making you whimper into his mouth. A desperate moan left Jack as he led you back towards the wall, his tongue slipping into your mouth as your fingers tugged on his curls, his hands moving under your shirt. “Fuck.. I’ve been wanting to do this since the day I met you” Jack groaned, grabbing onto the hem of your top to pull it off your body, having to stop himself from moaning again just at the sight of your upper half only clad in a black bra. “Sweetheart, tell me-.. Tell me what you want” Jack breathed against your lips, pressing one of his thighs between yours, feeling you grind your hips down against him. “Want me to fuck you, hm?” He moaned into your mouth, hands splayed on your lower back as yours grabbed onto the front of his t-shirt, your hands balling into fists to pull on the fabric to stop him from moving away. You nodded your head as you let your head thump back against the wall, Jack dipping his head down to graze his teeth over your collarbone before returning to his full height to look down at you, pressing his thigh harder against your core. “Use your words, honey, wanna hear you say it” Jack muttered against your lips, the alcohol seemingly having cleared from your head for a few seconds, a shy flush spreading over your face as you let go of his shirt to press your palms flat against his chest.
“Please, Jack, I really want you to fuck me” You managed to bring out, Jack having to bite back a moan at your words before moving his thigh back out from between yours. “Good girl” He softly spoke before pushing his tongue back between your still parted lips, a surprised gasp escaping you before melting back into the kiss, feeling his fastened heartbeat under your fingertips. Your brain had started to become too clouded to form a comprehensive word, let alone a sentence, your hands moving down to unbuckle Jack’s leather belt. Your fingers worked to undo his fly next before pushing his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, Jack hissing against your cheek when your hand wrapped around him, having to brace a hand against the wall beside you at the relief of finally having your hands on him. “Jesus christ” Jack moaned, lowering his head down to your neck to suck a few bruises into your skin, your hand starting to move faster which made his breath start to hitch in his throat.
Jack moved the hand that he hadn’t propped against the wall to undo the zipper of your jeans, not bothering to move them down and instead stuffing his hand down the front, almost coming at just the feel of how wet you were when his fingers pressed against you. You moved your free hand up to the damp curls at the base of Jack’s neck, causing him to press your foreheads together, sweat mixing on your hot skin as gasps and moans filled the air between you. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, been driving me insane at work every time you looked at me” Jack rasped, you only able to reply with a whimper, his fingers curling into exactly the right spot every time he sank them deeper into you, your heart beating so loud you could hear it against your eardrums. When Jack shifted his thumb to rub against your clit it only took a few more seconds for you to come undone, back arching from the wall, Jack kissing you again to muffle the whines and moans that escaped you, his hand shifting from the wall to grab onto your waist to keep you standing on your trembling legs.
When you finally caught your breath again and regained some of your conscience you shifted your head to press your lips against Jack’s neck, smelling the faint traces of his cologne mixed with sweat on his skin, making you even weaker in the knees. You moved your free hand to his back to pull him closer against you, your fingers dipping into the edge of his jeans as your other hand was still busy stroking him, his moans growing louder beside your ear, causing you to lower yourself down to the floor. You pressed your lips to his soft stomach against his dark grey t-shirt, tongue grazing over his skin through the fabric which made another groan escape him, leaving behind a wet spot on his shirt. Jack moved a hand back against the wall to brace himself as he buried the other in your hair, fingers dragging through the strands as you glanced up at him before kneeling down. You used the hand still wrapped around his length to guide him into your mouth, a string of incoherent curse words leaving Jack as his hand gripped your hair tighter, feeling his hips stutter when you almost had to unhinge your jaw to take him deeper.
“Fuck.. ‘Feel so fucking good” Jack growled, something that sounded close to a whimper leaving him when he looked down to see your eyes stare back up at him, his knees almost buckling at the sight, closing his eyes momentarily again when he pushed his hips forward to stuff more of himself down your throat. “Tap my thigh if you need me to stop” Jack murmured, you letting go of him to move both hands to his hips, a hum of acknowledgement leaving you as you let him take over, Jack digging his fingers into the wall as he inhaled sharply. He could feel your grip on his hips tighten as a knot started to form in his stomach, your hands shifting up under the bottom of his shirt, letting your nails drag down his lower back, causing him to moan out your name again as he tugged on your hair that was now damp with sweat. Jack’s lips parted as he panted for air before almost letting himself tip over the edge, using his grip on your hair to pull your lips off him just in time to hold back, making you gasp as you sat back on your knees. Both your heavy breaths sounded loud in the otherwise empty living room when you both attempted to catch your breath, Jack leaning down to lift you up from the floor, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. “Almost got me to fucking cum in your throat, but I wanna fuck you before I do” Jack moaned, a gasp escaping you at how vulgar his words had gotten as Jack lowered you on your bed, sitting back to pull off your shoes and socks, next pulling your jeans and underwear down your legs. After taking off his own shoes and socks Jack wanted to climb on top of you, but your hands moved up to grab his shoulders, guiding him to lie down on his back.
“Hold on for a second” Jack spoke as he sat back up, making you give him some space as you sat back on your thighs, Jack pulling up his right pant leg to undo his prosthetic, glancing up at you after undoing the straps. You could see the hint of insecurity flash across his features when he leaned over to place it on the floor next to your bed, making you grab onto his shoulders to press a soft kiss on his lips, your fingers running through his curls which made a satisfied hum leave him as he leaned his head into your touch. “It’s uncomfortable to keep on during, sorry” Jack told you, allowing your hands that lowered to his shoulders to guide him back to lie down fully, swinging your leg over his hips to sit on top of him, making a desperate moan leave him as the wet heat between your legs pressed down on his cock that was painfully hard beneath you. “Don’t apologize, I don’t mind” You told him with a sweet smile, Jack letting out another sound in pure disbelief that he was feeling like the luckiest man alive with your naked body, that was absolutely perfect to him, sat on top of him.
Your hands moved quick to pull his boxers and jeans off as Jack pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor before unclasping your bra, letting it join his discarded shirt on the ground. You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you sat back on his thighs, your own having to spread almost painfully far to be on either side of his as you let your fingers drag down his broad chest before settling on his soft stomach, Jack’s hands moving to grasp your hips again. You felt your cheeks heat up as you took the opportunity to properly take him in, his body beneath your fingers all soft muscles and rough edges from years of hard work, Jack taking the time do to the same with your fully exposed body sat on top of him. “Spit” Jack ordered as he raised one of his hands towards your lips, You doing as he asked before lowering his hand down again, covering himself in your saliva and using his other hand to guide you on top of him. “Easy, sweetheart, no rush” Jack breathed as you grabbed onto his shoulders, lowering your hips down until they were almost flush with his before leaning forward so your faces were leveled, tears threatening to spill out the corners of your eyes at how overwhelming the sensation was as your body tried to accommodate him. A whimper finally escaped Jack before puffing out a shaky breath, arms wrapping around your back to pull your body down against his, moving his head up to press a soft kiss on your lips.
“Want me to take over? I’ll be gentle” Jack breathed against your lips, you only able to reply with a nod as you gasped when he moved his hips to push fully inside of you, your thighs trembling against him as your nails buried into his skin. When Jack finally settled into a slow rhythm you moved your hands back up in his hair, letting your forehead rest against his as his grip on your hips tightened. “You feel so fucking good, jesus, Jack..” You managed to bring out, a groan leaving Jack as he picked up his pace, squeezing you tighter against him as you tugged on his grey curls with every deep thrust, one of his arms around your waist as the other hand wrapped around the back of your neck. “So do you, ‘m already fucking close again” Jack growled, moving his hand up in your hair to pull your face back up above his, his eyes taking in the glimmer of sweat on your skin as your lips were parted to pant for air. “Me too” You whined, feeling you start to clench down on him as your thighs squeezed his, Jack moving a hand down between your bodies to rub his index and middle finger against you, a moan that came out more as a sob leaving you at the overstimulation.
“Let go honey, wanna feel you cum on me” Jack moaned against your lips, you doing so not a split second later, feeling you clench around him which almost made him follow right after. “Oh fuck.. Good fuckin’ girl, can I come inside you?” Jack growled through gritted teeth, barely able to hold back until you managed to bring out something that faintly sounded like a ‘yes’ through your orgasm, making him slam his hips up against yours to bury himself fully inside of you. His arms tightened into a death grip around your back as he finally let himself go, moaning against your temple as his silver stubble scraped over your soft skin. You let your head drop into his neck, rolling your hips down on him to help him ride out his high, his chest rising and falling quick beneath your hands still pressed against him. “You ok?” Jack breathed, raising your head above his again to meet his searching eyes, flicking over your face before lifting his head from the sheets below to press another kiss on your lips. “Y-yeah, I think so” You replied, shifting your weight to your hands still splayed on his chest to lift your hips off him, feeling hot liquid spill down your thighs as you swung your leg over his to sit down next to him.
You groaned as you climbed out of your bed, footsteps unsteady, grateful for the cold breeze that came in from the window that was slightly ajar, opening the bathroom door and searching around for the light switch before flicking it on when your finger grazed over it. You exhaled deeply as you let your hands rest on the marble counter, turning on the tap and lowering your head to take a few big gulps of cold water, your mouth dry from panting and the alcohol. You quickly sat down on the toilet to pee before grabbing a towel to clean his and your own spend from your thighs, dropping it in the sink before grabbing a fresh towel, walking back into your bedroom, letting out a breathy laugh at Jack still starfishing on top of your sheets, his chest still rising quick. “Here” You spoke, sitting back down next to him as you held the towel above him, Jack thanking you before hoisting himself up against the headrest of your bed to clean himself. He dropped the towel on the floor next to your bed before giving you a questioning look, reaching over to take your hand into his. “Do you want me to leave?” Jack asked, brows already lowered in anticipation of your probably disappointing answer. “Do you want to leave?” You questioned in response, Jack sighing before shaking his head, his fingers tightening around yours.
“Then I’d like you to stay” You told him, a grin tugging on the edge of his lips which made you lean in to press another kiss on them, lifting the covers to move both of you under. You turned around so your back was facing him, feeling Jack move closer to pull you back against his chest, shifting one of his thighs between yours as his arms settled around your waist to hold you close. You felt his lips press a kiss on your exposed shoulder before pulling the sheets further up to cover you properly, nuzzling his nose into your neck after moving your hair aside to give him space. You moved a hand down to place it on top of one of Jack’s, causing him to turn his hand towards yours to intertwine your fingers together, exhaling deeply against your neck which made goosebumps rise on your skin. “Jack, I-I’m-..” You started, wanting to spill everything you had held back from him because of the alcohol breaking down any critical thinking skill you had left, but stopping when he gently shushed you. “Don’t, we’ll talk tomorrow, try to catch some sleep to clear your head first” Jack muttered against your neck, turning your head to look back at him, barely able to make out his features in the now dark bedroom. “Ok” You breathed, Jack leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips before settling back against you when you turned your head away from him again. “Goodnight honey” “‘Night Jack”
hey!! i hope you still take requests…i’m thinking of reader freshly out of a relationship and jack who has had a crunch on her for ages trying to subtly act on it and she likes him baaaack!!!! (the whole break up is a bit self reflection lmao)
Jack leans on the nurses station counter looking at the same chart over and over again. He didn’t even read it halfway through the first time before looking up and scanning the E.R.
He doesn’t see you yet. That’s okay, you should be there soon.
He shows up 30 minutes early to every night shift because you show up 20 minutes early.
He doesn’t want to miss a moment of you before the shift starts.
—-
One could assume Jack liked you. They would be partially right.
It’s safe to say he was infatuated with you.
Ever since he met you on your first day over a year ago, he was smitten with your beauty and infectious smile.
You were ethereal.
And he wanted to know more.
Unfortunately, only one thing stood in his way.
Your boyfriend.
He had heard Santos and Javadi talking about it at the end of your first month. Word was that he wasn’t the greatest guy but your heart was big and you were trying to make it work.
Jack felt a bit defeated at the news but he wasn’t deterred.
He could be patient.
You would be worth every waiting minute.
—-
Glancing at his watch he sees there’s 10 minutes until handoff and you’re still not here.
Are you okay?
Did you oversleep?
Did your car break down?
Did you call in si–
His spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the squeaking of wet sneakers. Looking up he sees you walking fast, a rain jacket pulled tight around you.
“Almost didn’t make it there earlybird” he jokes
You quickly look over at him and give a small half smile “The day I'm late is the day you should worry.”
Then he sees it. Your eyes are red rimmed and slightly swollen, like you had just finished crying your eyes out. Your face screams ‘sad and tired’.
He immediately straightens at his observation.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
You nod a bit too quickly and force a bigger smile on your face.
“All good Abbot, promise.”
The next moment you're walking to the lockers to put your stuff up for the night.
Jack watches you go, not convinced in the slightest.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Throughout the night Jack searches for you to make sure you’re okay.
Every time he finds you, you always have a smile on your face or you’re laughing with someone. But he can see something’s off.
Later in the early hours, the Pitt is at a lull so he takes the time to reset all the rooms before the next rush.
He’s not paying attention when he pushes the curtains aside to one room and he sees you standing there. You hands partially cover your face but he can see that you’re crying.
“Shit—sorry Jack. Just needed a minute” you sniffle as you face away from him, quickly wiping your face.
You called him Jack.
Not Abbot.
Now he knew something was really wrong.
You loved to tease him by using his last name.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
You shake your head silently, too choked up with tears to respond.
Jack approaches you and turns you slowly by the shoulder.
He soothes you as best he can for about ten minutes before you slightly pull back.
“Want to talk about it?”
You look at him for a minute before nodding and going to sit on the bed behind you. Jack joins you and sits as close to you as he can.
“I uh, me and my now ex broke up a few weeks ago.”
Jack tries to keep a poker face but inside his heart is racing at the revelation.
“I had not been feeling too good about him for a while and unfortunately my gut knew because he had been cheating on me for a while. While that hurt it didn’t kill me. I think I was slowly losing feelings and that had solidified that we weren’t right for each other.”
Jack sees a stray tear fall and quickly wipes it away. Your face warms at the gesture.
“Then what happened today?” he asks quietly.
You take a deep breath.
“I went to grab my stuff from his place. I guess he was mad about me ending things and he-“ you take a shaky breath and try to hold tears back.
“He said he cheated because I was a bore. I wasn’t pretty enough, the sex was awful, I was a shitty girlfriend. Then he said I’d never b-be good enough for anyone. That no one would l-love me.”
Jack's heart breaks as he watches your lip tremble and sees the sadness in your eyes.
He’s also angry that anyone would have the audacity to say those things to you.
You were good enough.
Too good.
For anyone.
For him.
Your ex was wrong about that for sure. And he was wrong about someone never loving you.
Because he loved you.
He was in love with you.
Had been since he met you.
Jack grabs your hands in his.
“I hope you don’t believe a word of that honey. You’re amazing. You’re too good for him and he never deserved you. And I know there’s someone out there who loves everything about you. Who won’t ask you to change a thing and knows you’re more than good enough.”
You sniffle and stare at your joined hands.
“Someone that good doesn’t sound real.”
The silence causes you to look up at Jack and you find he’s already looking at you.
“Jack?”
He leans in a bit.
“Maybe this is the absolute wrong time and maybe you don’t feel the same way.”
Your heart races at his words.
“You can tell me to fuck off but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t tell you how I feel.”
Your eyes widen slightly.
There’s no fucking way.
You had always had a crush on Jack Abbot. His cute grey curls, his handsomeness and charismatic personality. He was the whole package.
He was out of your league.
So, you gave the guy at the bar, your ex, a chance in hopes you’d get over Jack.
Now? Now you were glad things hadn’t worked out. Maybe this was your chance if he truly felt the same.
He squeezes your hand a bit.
“Sweetheart, will you go out with me? Can I take you out for dinner this weekend?”
Your heart stops.
Yes god please!
“I-I, yes. Yes, I’d love that, Abbot.”
Jack can’t help but smile at your flustered response and that you were back to calling him Abbot.
i'm a firm believer that jack abbot is obsessed with giving you pussy inspections.
in the morning, in the evening, after making sweet love to you or after he’s fucked your brains out. he would spread your legs apart, massaging the soft skin of your thighs, his eyes would examine your pretty pussy. but soon, those same hands that had been resting on your legs would slowly open you up.
his thumb would stroke your clit, while at the same time his calloused fingers would slowly thrust into your entrance, gently stretching it open.
you’d be a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds, trying to pull jack closer and push him away at the same time, but he’d just hush you like a child “it’s okay, baby. daddy’s just got to make sure your little pussy’s all right.”
and when he would see traces of crimson blood on his fingertips? a spark would flash in his eyes, one you wouldn't notice , not when you were feeling his breath on your pussy because he was so close, but his hands would clench tighter around your body, and suddenly it wouldn't be his fingers pressing into your gummy walls, but his tongue, entering deep inside you, making you moan breathlessly “daddy's going to make sure you feel nice and numb now, okay? i don't want my pretty girl to be in pain when she's on her period. see, that's why it's so important to let daddy have a look at your sweet pussy.”
♡ synopsis: after catching you on tinder at work, jack puts himself on a mission to get you off of the obnoxious app & into a meaningful relationship with him instead before it's too late. learning you've never so much as been on a date before & are doubtful about ever finding someone worthwhile, he expends every effort to win you over.
♡ content: jealous!jack, jack treats you to dinner on the roof, buys you flowers, spoils you with attention etc, fingering, dacryphilia (kinda), pet names, teasing, flirting
♡ a/n: based off this request, ty!
With forearms planted atop the back of the office chair you occupy, Santos peers over your shoulder as you swipe left.
And left.
And left.
And—
"Oh, he's cute," she remarks.
Looking up from the rolling computer cart Jack stands at, he eyes the two of you from over the rim of his glasses.
Pushing the phone back in her direction for a closer look, you half turn toward her with a raised brow.
"I was talking about the dog," Trinity explains.
You roll your eyes, then swipe again.
"Honestly, you'd have a better time picking up a guy from Chairs than Tinder. Least that way you can test him for drugs and STDs before taking him home like a stray." After drumming her hands against the back of your seat, she steps away.
"Hey!" Jack calls from a few feet away.
Your head jerks up.
Stalking over to the nurse's station, he plants his hands on his hips. "Get off the phone. No more...Tindering," he spits.
You blink twice, then lock the device before storing it away in your pocket. "Sorry," you mumble, now humiliated.
"Look at me," he commands.
You do as instructed and shrink beneath his authoritative gaze.
Jack leans forward. "I catch you on it again, and I'm taking it away. Understood?"
You nod before dropping your chin in shame.
"Only man you should be giving your attention to is me: your attending," he grumbles.
You shift uncomfortably, praying he'll soon walk away in search of someone else to berate instead.
"C'mon, follow me. Time for you to put your hands to uses other than clicking through your Tinder."
Your shoulders slump, but you nevertheless rise and follow his lead.
Once you've finished wrapping the forehead of a ten-year-old girl in soft white gauze who was nothing short of a trooper while you administered seven stitches, due to a nasty skateboarding accident, you grant her a smile. "You were so brave today. But don't hesitate to tell your parents if your head starts hurting, alright? I'm going to give them some medicine to take home just incase."
A concussion was the first thing Diaz ruled out when she was brought back, thankfully.
The girl nods and sends slick black curls bouncing from the motion. "Okay."
You grin, then turn to look at Abbot.
Bumping the back of your head against his abdomen because he's standing that close to you, you mutter a quiet apology.
"Somethin' you need?" Jack asks while uncrossing his arms.
"Yeah. Can you, uh... Get me the jar of suckers from the shelf behind you? And a roll of stickers, too?"
He nods before turning around to retrieve the requested items. "Sure."
Handing you the jar first, his fingers linger against the warmth of your palm. When you glance up to him with an inquisitive brow, he merely takes a small step back while nodding toward your adorable patient. "I'll give you the stickers next."
You blink, then return your attentions to her. "Alright, sweetie, which flavor?"
"You were good with her," Jack says while cupping his hand around the crown of your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Ignoring the vibrating phone in your pocket, you smile softly. "Kids are easier, I think. Adults are the ones who think they know everything. Or just know better than us because they have a degree from Google University."
He snorts. "It's why cellphones are such a bad idea," he says matter-of-factly while shrugging casually.
You roll your eyes. "I promise to save my 'Tindering' only for breaks and after-hours," you reply while rounding a corner and heading in the direction of your computer so that you can get back to charting.
Sliding his hand from your shoulder to the small of your back, Jack's lips tug into a frown. "I mean, I don't exactly know a lot about it, but isn't that some kind of a hookup app?" He leans in close to your ear. "Where people go to get laid?" He whispers lowly.
It sends a shiver up your spine.
Breaking from his side, you make a beeline for your desktop. "It's...It's the most popular dating app there is, which is the only reason I'm on it. Not everyone uses it for...that, though." You flush. "Most men seem to," you complain with a frown. "But I have what I want outlined in my bio. Then again, that would require them to bother reading it."
You shake your head, then plop down in your seat and toss your phone face-down beside you.
Jack slides his forearms atop the counter in front of you. "Let me take a peek," he says with beckoning fingers.
You think you may fall out of your chair. "I—What? You wanna see my Tinder profile?" You ask incredulously.
He lays his palms face-up and shrugs before clasping them together. "I mean, I could give you a male opinion. Help you figure out why all you're catching are minnows instead of trout."
Your brows knit together. "Who... Who is the trout in this scenario?"
Leaning over the counter, he snatches away your phone. You make to grab for it in a panic, but promptly seat yourself again with the reassurance that he doesn't know your pin. Thus, no entry will be gained.
Wiggling from satisfaction from atop your chair, you roll forward.
A sobering expression crosses his face at the sight. Clearing his throat, Abbot pulls out his glasses and settles them atop the bridge of his nose.
You watch with amusement as he holds the phone at a distance to see properly before pulling up the lockscreen.
"Pin?" He questions while studying you.
You busy yourself with charting. "Never."
He considers for a moment, then turns the phone around to face you. He whistles to gain your attention. "Look here, sweetheart."
The moment you glance up, the home screen reveals itself. "Hey! That's cheating!" You shout while trying to swipe the device from his hands yet again.
"Never said I had any intention of playing fair," he drawls before thumbing through... You worry as to what he's looking at, actually. Like cutesy Pinterest boards dedicated to a dream wedding you'll probably never have.
"Not gonna find any dirty photos on here, am I?" He asks while pressing the screen with his index finger. Who uses digits other than their thumbs on touchscreens, anyway? Besides geriatrics.
Your face grows warm. "No!" You hiss. "Course not!"
He purses his lips. "Here's to hopin'."
Your jaw falls slightly open, and he chuckles.
"Just kidding." He continues searching for the app in question. "Or am I?" He mumbles. "I meant to ask, you ever considered going into peds?"
You pull up your recent patient's chart. "I have. It's just that... The day will inevitably come when a child in my care..." You swallow thickly. "Dies in my care," you finish. "I don't know if I can survive that."
Jack reaches forward and slides his index finger under your chin and tilts your head back until your eyes to meet his own. "That's going to happen if you stay in emergency care anyway, baby. You have to go where the heart calls."
He returns his hand to holding the side of your phone, leaving your skin tingling from the abandoned contact.
"Ah!" He exclaims. "Here we go. Tinder," he purrs.
You focus strictly on the computer screen ahead of you while sliding a hand over the back of your tensed-up neck.
Jack remains quiet for a moment and you peer at him covertly. You will never have your personal phone out while at work ever again from this day forward. Even for emergencies. The landlines provided will do just fine.
You watch as a corner of Jack's mouth twitches before verging into full-on smirking territory.
He's going to make fun of you, you can feel it.
And then he begins to swipe.
"W-what're you doing?"
"Trying to get rid of all these assholes," he mutters. "God, how long does it go on for?"
"I have my radius set pretty wide, so—"
He lowers his head and stares at you with wide eyes. "Your what?"
"R-Radius? Like, miles around me. If men are within the search radius—"
He rolls his eyes. "Got it."
Swipe, swipe, swipe.
You glower. "One of those could be my future husband, you know?"
He jeers. "What? These douchebags? Unlikely."
You've never seen him so irritable. Who peed in his Cheerios this afternoon?
With a sigh, he tosses it down beside you onto a stack of paperwork. "You're never going to find what you're looking for on there. I know you know this."
You swiftly shove the device in your pocket. "It's my only option. It's not like it was in the olden days when people met at the market, y'know?" You commentate a tad snidely. But if he's going to shame you for trying to find someone to love, then he deserves a bit of attitude in return.
It's none of his concern, anyway.
He chuckles. "How old do you think I am, honey?"
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Ancient."
Rounding the counter he occupies, Jack grips the back of your chair with one hand and the desk you sit at with the other. Leaning down, he brings himself level with your ear. "I read your little bio," he rumbles. "Looking for someone to settle down with," he quotes. "To start a life with, yada yada. Those are things a man provides." He slides his hand to the back of your neck. "All I saw were boys."
His fingers tugs gently at the base of your scalp. "You wanna meet someone the old-fashioned way? Take a long, hard look at what's in your immediate vicinity."
Jack steps back then and you loose a ragged breath in an attempt to calm your thready heart.
"Just remember what I said," he states while heading into Trauma 2. "I catch you on it again..." He sucks his teeth. "Probably be better if you just removed the temptation and delete the account altogether, you ask me."
He's practically fuming while slyly spying on you from across the parking lot—watching as you smile down at your phone with an index finger gently bit between your teeth.
It's like you're trying to set him off.
Happy-go-lucky guy that Abbot normally is, after today's whole Tinder fiasco, he found himself snapping at residents in the style of Robinavitch at every turn. He's meant to be the fun dad, and yet...
He tosses his bag in the backseat of his truck and cringes when the metal zipper clips the window. Not seeing a chip in the glass, however, he slams the door shut while shaking his head.
He keeps taking his piss-poor attitude out on his vehicle and he'll really have something to be ticked off about when it starts falling apart on the damn interstate.
He plants his palms atop the passenger seat and hangs his head between his shoulders. "Let it go, old man. You're too old for this shit," he mutters. "She's not interested. She's not interested. She's not—"
With a huff, he shuts the door before heading in your direction. "Hey, you hungry?"
Jack watches with a satiated look on his face as you munch on a basket of hot wings.
"It's really pretty up here," you say between hearty bites. "With all the lights. Quiet, too." Turning to face him, you begin wiping your hands with cheap napkins.
It's nothing fancy—the two of you are seated upon bare asphalt after all. But facing each other while making idle conversation is admittedly a lot nicer alternative to being stuck inside a noisy ED.
He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.
"What?" You ask, sucking on a saucy finger.
A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You, uh, you've got some—"
Your hand flutters toward your face. When Jack scoots closer, you promptly drop it into your lap when he runs the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth.
"T-Thanks," you squeak before taking a pull from your water.
Leaning back against the railing behind him, Jack studies you for a moment. "You can do better than online dating."
Your eyes flit to his.
Holding his hands up, he continues. "I get it. It's just the way it is nowadays. But, sweetheart, the guys I saw on there?"
You interrupt him. Occupying yourself with a packet of wet-wipes, you start scrubbing at your hands. Otherwise you might just nibble them down to the bone the sauce was so yummy.
"I...I'm lonely," you whisper. "And I feel like I've fallen behind somehow." You worry your lower lip between your teeth. "I've never so much as been on a date before. There was just...never time. First, it was graduate from high school, then college, then an internship, now residency. After that, fellowship and—" You shake your head. "I told myself that once I was settled in my career and happy with my living arrangements is when I would put myself out there."
You sniffle while toying with your plastic water bottle, listening idly as the water sloshes around as you turn it one way, then the other. "I don't think I can wait that long. I don't want to. I want someone of my own to love. To call after I've had a bad day. Arms to fall asleep in, a chest to lay against when I feel scared. A body to come home to."
You shrug and wipe at yours eyes. "Then again, how many people do we work with—patients do we meet—who tell us the horror stories that are their relationships and marriages?" You frown. "Hardly makes commitment sound all that tempting."
Jack leans his head to the side, then cups your cheek in his palm. "That's why you don't settle for any less than someone who worships you. Who constantly thinks about you. Who'd kill to keep you safe."
A quiet click sounds at the back of your throat when you swallow.
He brushes his thumb along the apple of your cheek. "You've never been on a date?"
You shake your head.
He smiles softly, leans forward, then murmurs "What're we doing right now, then?" before pressing his lips to yours.
Jack never explicitly asked to enter into a relationship with you. Instead, it seems to be a decision he simply makes without warning.
On the one hand, it's so incredibly flattering to be desired by the Jack Abbot of all people. Of all men. Doctors, even. On the other, he's your attending. As well as someone who seems beyond comfortable in his own skin and abilities as a healer while you otherwise feel like you're stumbling through life.
You truly have no understanding of his decision.
There's nothing particularly special about you. You're not a young prodigy like Javadi, fast as a whip like Santos (not that he exactly seems like her type), as lovely as Mohan, or as intelligent as Mel.
The list goes on.
Maybe he's like all the rest, then? Just having fun while the iron is hot?
You dislike the thought.
It makes you feel cheap; pathetic; used.
It's why when at work...you sort of continue keeping your distance. At least initially.
Intent on hovering and crowding and smothering and touching you, however, Abbot is there nearly every time you turn around.
"I get that you're busy," he tells you one day—his hand sliding from your shoulder blade to your lower back; dangerously close to another body part. "But if you wanna keep playing hard to get even though you're already mine, then I'm happy to keep chasing."
And then he'd leaned close, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. "Tell you the truth, the whole thing is giving my Viagra a run for its money."
Instead of it turning you on, as was clearly his intention, it'd only made you feel sick. Because you were right after all: he only saw you as a collection of parts to...objectify.
You had scurried away after, leaving him a bit perplexed.
It's only been a few days since the rooftop, so granted not much has happened thus far, but forcing yourself to have an awkward conversation with Jack where you innocently inquire What are we? feels out of the question. Not to mention humiliating. You're here to work, not star in a rom-com.
Whatever he's after, he clearly needs to start looking elsewhere.
But instead of being a damn adult about the entire ordeal and pulling him aside to talk like grown-ups...you sort of latch onto Robby instead. Not in a flirtatious sort of way. Just as a mentor and mentee one. By otherwise being occupied with learning from him, maybe Jack will move on? Grow bored? As much is inevitable, you figure.
When Jack stumbles across you all but pressed against Robby's side in Trauma 4 one day, however, it's like the pin in a grenade is pulled. All that's left is to release the lever.
He never took you for a tease, but he'll be damned if he's not going to mark his territory as a last resort before throwing in the towel.
Entering the Pitt Friday evening, you're greeted by a vision. A lovely floral arrangement sits atop the nurse's station in a crystal vase; its blooms sprouting in every direction.
You smile at Dana while walking past. "Looks like Benji is quite the romantic."
"Not for me, doll. Had to sign for 'em, but they're for you."
Halting in your tracks—causing your tennis shoes to squeak against the polished tile floor beneath you—you turn and pad over to it. Plucking the enclosure card from the plastic cardette, you read it over.
Meet me where I made you mine. — J
You glance up to Dana who throws a hand up while dialing the phone in front of her with the other. "Didn't read it. Hand to God, kid."
"Could you...keep this here for me until the end of my shift?"
Sliding it back toward herself, she nods. "You got it."
"We couldn't have done this downstairs?"
Standing just behind the railing positioned at the edge of the rooftop, Jack turns back to you with folded arms. "Felt like this should be a private conversation," he replies while stepping unsteadily toward you.
Perhaps his leg is giving him fits tonight.
Matching his strides, you meet him halfway.
He remains silent, with a thoughtful look etched upon his face. "Am I just not what you're looking for, then?"
Your brows furrow as you bat your lashes. "What?"
He huffs. "You've barely spoken to me in the last week, sweetheart. I'm getting mixed signals. You put on your Tinder," he says with an upwards wave of his hand, "that you want essentially the same things that I do. But I try to get close—give you my attention—and you glue your ass to Robby's side instead."
You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it a moment later as he continues.
"Look, I get it. I've been out of the game for awhile, so maybe I don't really know what goes nowadays. I tried giving you attention and that backfired. I flirted and I got the same result. So now I'm going old-fashioned with flowers and clandestine meetings on rooftops. I just—" he steps forward. "I need you to tell me whether to stay or go. Because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I'd thought we were together, but if you've changed your mind about commitment and settling down—"
"I haven't," you blurt out.
He quiets.
"You... You never asked me."
He raises a silver brow.
"To be...yours. I wasn't sure what we were. And I felt stupid at the idea of even asking. And then with the Viagra comment," you say with a flush. "It seemed like I was back to online dating, but in real life this time."
He hangs his head and sighs. "That's on me." He raises it. "I can have a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. Guess it gets even worse when I'm making a come-on."
Sliding his hand along the back of your neck, he holds you close. "I didn't think it needed saying after the night we were together up here. I just assumed we were on the same page. So I am truly sorry that I never bothered to ask if you wanted to be—" His mouth quirks to the side as he thinks. "Boyfriend and girlfriend are way too juvenile for me," he mumbles. "Partners, then."
He slides his hand to your shoulder. "Everything you listed is what I have to offer; what I want to give you."
You nervously rub at your arm. "I just didn't want to make assumptions."
He grins. "Too late."
Your eyes flit to his.
"I already did for the both of us, sweetheart. Listen, I'm not some kid on the internet throwing darts at a board until something sticks and I get a consolation prize out of it. I want you, and only you. I have since the day you were first assigned to me."
"Oh," you say, leaving your lips slightly parted.
"So," he begins while running a calloused palm down your arm before gripping your fingertips. Lifting them to his lips, he brushes a kiss along the back of your hand. "We're clear on what we're doing this time, then? That you belong to me and me alone, and I to you?"
You glance away while heat rushes to your cheeks.
You nod. "Yes, I think so."
He chuckles. "Good."
Jack wraps you in his arms and holds you firm against his chest. "Because if I see you with Robby again, I'm throwing my leg at him in the parking lot."
You cackle while burying your face in his chest and inhaling the calming, woodsy scent of his cologne.
It takes some adjusting to: being Jack's girl. From him assigning himself to being your designated driver to and from work, to cooking for you in the comfort of his well-stocked kitchen, to asking rather sheepishly if you'll rub his leg at night—what begins with butterflies and nervous laughter, ends in routine and comfortability.
The only excitement is at the ED. Because outside of it, you each share quiet nights in. Ones where you lie atop his chest on the couch while he watches TV... Or the one where he finally coaxes you out of your shirt and bra so that he can run his palms along the soft skin of your back.
He says it feels nice, since they can ache at times from arthritis.
The scratchy sensation makes your skin sing in the best of ways.
He seems rather pleased, after having moved you in before long, when you finally take liberty in using what's his, but for yourself. Like his t-shirts for sleeping in, his razor for shaving (men's are superior, you tell him), his truck for picking up groceries and his credit card to pay for them, and... Well... His stethoscope on the nights the two of you play doctor in the bedroom.
So, yes, physical intimacy is a facet of your relationship which does develop naturally in due time. And to his credit, Jack is endlessly patient with you as he teaches you all about it.
Insecurity about inexperience in every arena—sexual or otherwise—had certainly been of much concern to you. Perhaps he'd prefer someone who had familiarity with partnership, you'd worried. But he made clear that being able to claim you in every way there is stroked his masculine ego like nothing else.
And being the first to put hands on you...?
It doesn't take long for you to learn that you really enjoy extra attention being paid to your breasts, for example, when he laps at them with his tongue while his fingers explore the sopping folds between your legs. Gruffly, he says things which get you dripping with little effort applied: "That feel good, sweetheart?", "Spread your legs for me, baby.", "C'mere and lie back on the bed so that I can take your clothes off, angel."
You'd once asked shyly from atop your shared bed if he could please wear his dog tags during. With a grin, he muttered quietly "Yeah, honey, I can do that," before obliging your request.
As if he's Pavloved you, he sometimes teases even while at work just to get a rise out of you. Like when he seats himself next to you as you chart—sliding a palm along your inner thigh until it's right against your heat. Jack merely leaves it there, and smirks every time you make a typo.
Or when you do a job well done with a patient and he'll mutter "Good girl." before stepping away.
By the time the two of you get home, you're feral with want, and care little to none about waiting for his Viagra to kick in.
So, he typically makes use of his tongue instead until he's able to achieve manhood. He usually challenges himself in getting you to come twice on it before finally sinking his cock between your fluttering walls and kissing away your tears, you're that overstimulated from him rutting away between your thighs.
You'd been so afraid before—paranoid, even—of winding up in an unhealthy, and deeply unhappy relationship, but with all the love and tenderness he gives you, you can scarcely imagine ever wanting another.
Besides, Jack tells you that just the thought of you with someone else is likely to make his head explode. So, for better or worse, you're stuck with him.
You find that you're just fine with that fact. Especially at night when he holds your naked body close to his—his arms wrapped tightly around you—and as you drift off to sleep, he whispers how he's never letting you go now that he's found you.
Perlah and Princess finding younger nurse reader’s old modeling photos. Jack Abbot and Dana ask them what’s going on and they show them the photos. Jack’s already existing crush on her grows more and he starts acting weird with her at work and she wonders why. He finds the photos for himself and eventually asks her out and maybe things get spicy ;))))
— ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ ༘˚. ᵎᵎ
→ warnings: jack abbot x fem!reader, 2.2k wc, smut, pervy!jack, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, honey], unprotected or protected sex you can choose lowkey, I just forgot to write about the condom…
→ a/n: i didnt know what type of modelling pics you meant exactly so my brain went the underwear modeling izzie stevens to pay your way through school modeling pics way. which lead to well you’ll see. yall send me jack abbot thoughts PLEASE
If Jack thought you looked pretty in scrubs at work and the occasional casual civies after shift is over, he is now convinced you look like an actual angel in the photo he is currently staring at on Princess’s phone.
They were supposed to be doing hand-offs, you know that thing he’s normally very diligent about, he had just barely walked through the doors of the hospital before he sees Perlah and Princess huddled together by the nurse’s station. Now this wasn't an odd sight by any means but the absolute shock on their faces was what slightly alarmed him to begin with. It apparently alarms Dana just as much because she is waking up to them alongside Jack, — “Whatever has you twos jaws damn near on the floor better be good” she scoffs softly. “Supposed to be trading off patients with night shift or better yet clearin’ beds” The mother hen Dana is as always keeping her pittlings in line.
Without another word, Princess spins her phone in her shock and there sits the photo that now almost has Jack’s jaw being the one nearly on the floor but he has to stay professional, even if he is looking at the most beautiful thing on earth right before his eyes. It looks to be an old professionally taken photo of you, all dolled up, hair done and you're wearing what looks almost like a nightie, it’s sheer and black and Jack thinks if he stares any longer he’s gonna have to change both his scrub pants and his underwear. Better yet or his heart is gonna give out from how damn hard it’s thumping against his chest.
Now Jack is by no means a prude but god does he really hope the whole PTMC and their mothers haven't seen you like this, he knows how fast the rumor mill runs with Princess and Perlah at the front lines.
“How- How um” he attempts to get out but his brain apparently can’t currently form any words, if he thought his little pathetic crush he had on you was bad before. It's worse, so much worse now. He thinks his heart is about to thump right out of his chest at the sight of you, the sight of you rounding the corner headed their way now in fact. Dana ever his savior chimes in. “Should the two of you have this picture? How did you get it anyway?” she questions a bit harshly.
“Princess” you hiss out at her as she spins her phone back hiding it in her chest. “You weren’t exactly supposed to show people” you explain and Jack swears he hears you mumble “Especially” as you nod your head his way. Perlah fades out of her own shock and begins arguing or scolding Princess in Tagalog, not that Jack understands any of it as they walk away. You let out a sigh and start explaining, “Uh yeah i sent it to her, I was complaining to Princess about rent and she mentioned her student loans and i told her that i sort of un conventionally paid my way through nursing school so i didnt have any and well” you gesture towards the two still arguing nurses going about their duties now.
Jack's mind is still on the photo as he stares at you, his eyes scanning your body. He can’t help his thoughts drifting to think of what kind of bra or panties you had under your scrubs, if they were lacey or just basic black, he prays lace. His cock doesn't seem to mind either option however as it twitches at the thought. He thinks he hears you and Dana talking back and forth but his brain is still not exactly working. “Gotta find Robby, hand-offs and all” he grumbles out a bit rough as he walks away in some direction, any direction that's away from you before he starts leaking in his boxers.
Which is about how it goes the whole rest of the shift. Him walking away from wherever you are, he works alongside you when you’re the assigned nurse but during down time if he can see you walking his way he’s spinning and walking whatever direction beside yours he can. You’re not stupid you notice he’s acting weird and avoiding you, you know it’s because of the picture, you think however it’s cause he’s judging you. What you don't know is, Jack goes home and by some miracle through internet snooping and stalking your following, he finds the photographer and furthermore his end goal — the picture, more than just one in fact.
If Jack fists his cock with the modeling pictures pulled up on his phone that morning he got home and subsequently that night before his next shift, well that's between him and the four walls of his apartment.
You were already ready to end Jack avoiding you by the next shift, pulling him aside in the ambulance bay before he could even walk inside, you had practically jumped out at him like a bunny he didn't have time to turn away.
“I didn’t take you of all people as the judgemental type Jack, I did what I had to pay my way through school” you start immediately ranting at him, his chest starts to ache as he registers the genuine hurt in your eyes as you are snapping at him. “Sweetheart-” he starts as if to explain himself but is cut off as you continue. “I don't appreciate you avoiding me and judging me because of it, I'm not proud of it but it happened and it helped, I would however appreciate you not telling anyone else” “Never” he responds quickly and gruffly, more jealously lacing his voice than intended. You nod and mumble “Thank you” as your tense shoulders drop, the fire leaves your body.
“I was never judging you honey i just-” he starts and stops shaking his head. “You what jack?” you prompt with a manicured hand on his forearm, heat flooding his face at the contact and what he has decided in the last few seconds he’s about to do. “It’s just I-” clearing his throat and looking up he starts again.
“I like you, a lot actually and seeing well you know only made it worse, never meant to make you feel judged” before you can let his confession sink in he’s speaking again in quick succession, because he’s scared to hear what he is expecting to be a rejection. “And I might as well ask ya’ now but will you let me take you out on a date sweetheart?” he braces himself for a polite no to leave your lips but instead they crash against his and so does your chest against his when you throw your arms around his neck.
He hums into the kiss in surprise but also in content as he kisses back, his eyes fluttering shut, slipping a hand around your waist and pushing at the small of your back to press your whole body against his. “This is a yes if you couldn’t tell-” “yeah yeah i got it baby” he cuts you off and deepens the kiss not ready to pull away just yet, his hands sliding from your waist down to grab a handful of your ass.
“Oh finally!” Dana exclaims as the sliding doors open, her words startling the two of you apart. “Knew i’d have to win one of these damn bet pools yet” She smirks and pats abbot on the shoulder and shoots a wink your way before heading off to the other end of the ambulance bay pulling out her lighter and cigarettes as she walks. Safe to say moment ruined but you and Jack turn back to look at each other and both erupt into laughs.
Jack's not as nervous on the date as he expects and he’s a perfect gentleman. Picking you up at the exact time he said, bringing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he definitely didn't learn when overhearing a conversation between you and Perlah. He opens the car door for you, even buckling you in with a kiss to your forehead before getting in his side, opening the door to the restaurant, one he picked because he knows they serve your favorite food. A fact he learned one night you were working a double and were starving, so you know a less weird way of learning something about you. But since meeting you, Jack had succumbed to stealing all the little facts he could get about you in anyway he could.
The date goes perfect, even more than expected when Jack ends up spread out laid back on your albeit a little small for a man his size bed. All he was expecting tonight to get was a goodnight kiss, but this, you naked as the day you were born on top of him, is much, much better.
Jack’s just about if not more bare than you, His nice dress shirt, pants and boxers are discarded on your bedroom floor next to your pretty black dress and your lacy bra and panties (he did in fact sort of guess right, you wear black lace). His prosthetic is also off, not discarded but leaned up against your nightstand, when he sat down on your plush bed he groaned and rubbed at where it met his thigh and ever the observant girl you are you asked if it was bothering him. Jack, ever the man to avoid being a burden told you not much, you then offered to take it off for him. Who’s he to say no to a pretty girl pretty much asking to take off his pants?
Turns out he underestimated just how intimate it would feel to have you strip him of not just his clothes. He will admittedly deny tearing up slightly or excuse it as relief when you took it off.
“Jack~ you feel s’ good, fuck! S’ big” you moan out as your hips buck forward, your back arching when his lift up to meet you, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. “Fuck honey! You feel amazing holy fuck, youre already killing me here baby” he grunts out as his grip on your hips tightens, his eyes can’t chose between watching the way your face contorts in pleasure when his tip hits that spongey spot deep inside you just right or watching where your bodies are connected and gazing in awe at how your pussy is practically swallowing his cock. “She’s such a greedy thing baby, she's engulfin’ my cock and still aching for more huh?” he coos, bringing his thumb to rub circles on your clit. You clench down around him at the action and bounce even harder up and down his cock. “Wanted this- wanted you so long fuck!” he groans out as his head falls against your silk pillow below him. You hum out in a high pitch nodding your head as if to agree with him. “Ridin’ me so good honey” he coos. “Fuck- Jack im- m’ gonna cum” you whine out, your eyes screwing shut in pleasure as your hands reach down behind you, grabbing at his thighs, your hips speeding up. He speeds up his toying with your bundle of nerves and a smirk blooms on his face as a sneaky thought enters his head.
You're so blissed out on top of him that you miss one of Jack’s hands leaving your body and him leaning over to grab his phone off the nightstand. “Yeah honey? Gonna cum f’ me?’ he mocks softly using your whiney tone of voice, it has your hips faltering lightly as you get closer and your cunt clenching down on him harder. “Fuck- she’s milking me sweetheart, wan’ me to cum with you?’ he asks though he thinks he’s about ready to cum that second with how enthusiastically you nod your head before throwing it back, a mantra of yes’s spilling from your parted lips.
Lifting his phone just in time he takes a picture capturing your body and face screwed tight in euphoria as your high crashes into you.
“Cumming- m’ cumming- shit” you squeal out. “There we go honey, cum for me sweetheart, ive got you” he mumbled out in a soft tone as your legs started shaking lightly where they rested either side of Jack who isn't far behind you, his hips buck up against yours as your pussy squeezes his release out of him. Your hips rock against his softly as the two of you come down, his thumb slowly stopping the circles on your clit and coming to rest on the side of your thigh. You finally open your eyes to find Jack’s phone aimed at you, your eyes go a little wide with surprise. “Come on, model for me baby huh?” he coaxes, thrusting up into you as his cock is softening inside you, but gives a small twitch at the movement.
You squeal a little and giggle before doing a silly dramatic sexy pose on top of him by pushing out your bare chest and making a fake orgasm face. He takes the photo and another when you're mid giggle before striking another fake mid orgasm pose. “Oh sweetheart, I know that one’s fake, got the real one right here” he chuckles and flips his phone to show you the picture of you he took mid real orgasm. “Jack” you squeal and swat at his chest.
→ a/n: half assed proof-read, i meant for this to be short but apparently i cant do under 1k and yet i feel like i don’t like this and i rushed the smut…anyway it’s 2 am maybe i should sleep.
This might be too far but…. thinking abt Jack purposely fucking her (younger reader) where those divorced army buddies could see/hear but it’s “by mistake” 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏
In reference to this fic — which lowkey I was tempted to write that happening but my brain wasn’t working half through that fic and I was struggling to make the transitions to where I wanted it to go make sense anyway it’d go something like this.
Jack was beyond over his friends flirting with you every chance they could when they would visit him, he’s also not certain but he swears they ask to hang out at his far more than before. They are in fact on their way over now, you are not at all aware of this. If you were he wouldn’t be able to have gotten you into your current position.
Jack currently has you on top of him as he lays back in the large armchair, hands gripping your hips, his thumbs ribbing at your waist while you greedily bounce on his cock. “Can’t do it, Jackie” you cry and start grinding your pussy down on him in lazy motions. He can’t help but like the sound of that nickname from your lips in this context. “Always needing me to do all the work” He tsks and you let out a sharp gasp when he bucks his hips up, “Feels that good huh sweetheart? ” he coos and uses his hold on your hips to rock you back and forth, your clit bumping up at the patch of coarse hair at the base of Jack’s cock. Now your back may or may not be facing his front door which has a frosted fair size window, and you are far too lost in the bliss that is the tip of Jack’s cock hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle when you grind down in time with him thrusting his hips up. That you miss a small knock his buddies give the door informing him they are here, Jack takes this as his cue to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around your center he brutally thrusts up into your leaking pussy.
“Jack!!! Mhm- you feel so good oh, fuck!” you moan out in a loud gasp that he knows travels outside because he watches their silhouettes freeze through the window. ‘Yeah doll, you can take it know ya’ can” He growls out, as your nails scratch at his biceps. “No no- can’t s’ too much” you whine out and lightly shake your head, Jack grabbing a hold of your face so your eyes lock with his. “Cum f’ me sweetheart you can do it, come on coat this cock” he gives his words emphasis by somehow speeding up the strength of his thrusts til your eyes roll back in your head and your cunt clenches down on him, trying her hardest to milk him for all he’s worth.
“There we go baby” he coos as you let your orgasm wash over you in waves, his hips slowing down to let you ride out your high. As your panting against his chest trying to catch your breath
“Oh and doll when you can walk again, we will probably wanna let the guys in” he shrugs. “Forgot they were on the way, think they’re outside” you are embarrassed but none the wiser he is lying his ass off in the ladder half of that sentence, you’ll never know he did this on purpose. When the guys are eventually let in they avoid flirting and direct eye contact with you, having gotten the intended message.
Jack brings younger reader (in my head she’s a nurse that Jack works with and that’s how they met) around his army friends for a pool party/BBQ. They’re all giving him shit for being with someone younger (like mid-late 20s) but they’re all secretly jealous of him having a pretty young thing dote on him and care for him. They flirt with her and then when they see her in a bikini they all tease Jack saying things like “you sure you know how to handle that??” and he gets possessive and maybe a little spicy !!!! 😌
— ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ☀︎ º⋆˙
→ warnings: jack abbot x younger!fem!reader, 1.5k wc, fluff, sexual language + but only small smut, nicknames [sweetheart, doll], hickeys and bite marks, protective + possessive!jack, accidentally wrote jack’s friends [who I was too lazy to name] as being a little rude/creepy when flirting. I couldn't think of a diff way to do it.
→ a/n: didnt proofread as always.
“Sweetheart you have nothing to worry about, the guys are gonna love ya’ i know it” Jack coos at you as his large hands cup your face, his thumbs rubbing at your soft cheeks. You were nervous to meet Jack’s old army buddies, the guys he served alongside, it was easier ‘meeting’ his other friends as his girlfriend. They were just your co-workers, technically whom you’ve briefly interacted with before getting with Jack. Working alongside Jack as a night-shift nurse helped the two of you grow closer, it helped that Jack thought you were the prettiest thing to grace this earth as well.
“If you say so” you mumble out, as Jack is practically smushing your cheeks together now with a slight cocky smirk on his face. You were still just a little nervous, your co-workers didn't care much about yours and Jack's age gap, I mean Robby and Dennis flirt in front of the whole hospital for gods sake and Whittaker’s about half his age. You didn't know or have any clue to how his older friends would react to seeing how young you were.
Jack had been prepping the grill in the backyard for the little get-together BBQ he was throwing to introduce you to his buddies. He was a little excited, he knows they’ll rib him about how young you are but he just loves showing off his girl.
“Atta girl, now go change doll and cover up huh?” He plants his hands on your waist and spins you around towards the door back inside, patting you on the ass to get you moving. You had padded outside in nothing but your little tank top, no bra, and flowy sleep shorts. You had woken up without Jack in the bed and immediately went out to look for him, with a sad lost puppy look on your face.
You squeal lightly at the pat on the ass but head inside to change.
Slipping on a light weight sundress, deciding if you are gonna tan or swim later you’ll run inside to change. You do your hair in the way you like so it’s out of your face and put on light makeup. You’re tempted to go ask Jack to rub your sunscreen on for you but you can hear the door bell ringing meaning his army buddies have arrived. Quickly dosing yourself in sun protection you take a deep breath and hurry outside towards the sounds of men talking to meet everyone.
“Ahh there’s my girl, c’mere sweetheart” he beckons you over with a slight wave of his hand and a small smile on his face, you're quick to bounce over to his side.
Jack’s arm wraps his arm around your back, his hand landing on your hip to nestle you even closer to him.
You can watch as each of his army friends' eyes widen slightly, looking you up and down briefly before attempting to school their expression, one after the other introducing himself to you. You shift a little uncomfortably on your feet causing Jack to run soothing circles on your hip as you hold conversation with the three men in front of you. Everything from that moment on runs pretty smoothly, you don’t really know what you were so nervous for, his friends are very pleasant albeit a little forward with their borderline flirty comments and ribbing on Jack. You merely smile and giggle a little at some comments.
Jack however is a tad irritated with all the flirting, he doesn't care that they make stupid comments on how Jack is probably old enough to be your dad, or how does an old man like him keep up with you, he expected those. He didn’t so much anticipate the comments like how you're so pretty, why are with him, that if Jack isn’t treatin’ you right one of them can, they’d be able to keep up with you. He is slowly losing his patience.
Luckily the teasing dies down a little as the guys lounge by the pool and chat about more mundane things like work and upcoming holidays. That is until you decide it’s really sunny and while starting on the BBQ that you want to tan a little, you stand up from where you were sitting poolside and bounce over to Jack. He looks at you a little questioningly before you peck him on the nose, a big smile on your face. “Gonna head inside to change real quick baby, wanna tan a bit” you tell him, you know you don’t have to but you also know how protective Jack is, he sort of likes keeping tabs on you. He nods but before you can spin and pop inside, he is wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you to him. The small surprised squeal that leaves your lips is muffled against his as he kisses you fervently. Your fingers tangle in his curls at the back of his head and pressing yourself closer, easily forgetting about your company and apparent audience.
“Let the girl breathe a little bit Jack, jeez” “Yeah man she isn’t going anywhere” “Don’t let the food burn now” yells all coming one after the other from the peanut gallery causing you to break away, an embarrassed smile crossing your face but a cocky smirk on Jack’s. Reluctantly pulling away from Jack you head inside to change into a bathing suit.
As you are stripping out of your clothes, you caught sight of your body in the large full length mirror in his bedroom. There were a few hickies that littered your chest as well your inner thighs, you even had a bite mark or two, one being dead square on your ass cheek courtesy of a Mr Jack Abbot who loved marking your body. You debate for a second whether to wear a one piece that would possibly cover them up as best as it could or you can wear the bikini you intended to wear today and flaunt them.
With a sneaky smile on your face as you decide on the ladder.
As you head back outside a barrage of wolf whistles greets you, it causes Jack’s irritation to build once again however it fades a bit when his eyes catch sight of you and the little reminders of last night that decorate your body on display. “Hey Jackie boy, are you sure you know how to handle all that?” being yelled across the way nearly sends Jack's eye twitching, he’s beginning to regret bringing his divorced army friends around you. He’s about to speak up and end their behavior when you beat him to it.
“You guys have watched Jackie boy” you nod at the man who is still stood frozen staring at you and deliberating on the risk of killing his friends currently, you however say the nickname with an affection lacing it that does nothing to help the ache growing under his shorts. “Do surgery in the field right? He has veryyy capable hands” you drag your words in a faux teasing voice. Your comment is met with some “clearly” yells in reference to the marks and more whistles and whoops before they die down into a laughter. You make your way over to Jack, finally his hands finding your waist immediately as if he is magnetized to you. Everything that isn’t the woman in front of him is muted for Jack as he stares into your eyes, a fire light behind them. “Was startin’ to think i should just bend ya’ over the patio table and fuck you in front of em’ maybe then they’d stop flirting with my girl” he whispers as he pulls you closer, his eyes tracing the purple and red splotches on your chest. Jack’s words spend a spark down your spine and an ache that sits in the pit of your stomach, you lightly squeeze your thighs together. His eagle eyes for sure don’t miss it, a bigger smirk growing on his face as his fingers play with the strings of your bikini bottoms.
Now Jack is definitely not a teenager anymore obviously so giving his girlfriend hickies would probably be considered childish but it seemed to be quite effective. “Think my handiwork speaks for itself, was that your plan doll?” he questions with a certainty in his voice as if he already knows the answer. Growing shy under his gaze you murmur out under your breath — "Maybeee, had to let them know you take very good care of me”
Ohh does Jack plan to take extra good special care of his girl that night.
A small twisted part of his brain wishes his friends got to hear just how good so they’d never question it again. Your moans and cries fill the bedroom, your back to Jack’s chest as the two of you lay on your sides. His cock repeatedly hitting that spot deep inside you that leaves you a twitching mewling mess arching away from him, “Too much baby- too full! fuck!” you moan and try to reach behind you and push at Jack but he is quick to grab your arm. pinning it down behind your back by pressing his chest even closer to your back, his hips smacking harder against your ass as he speeds up. One hand coming around your body to rub at your throbbing clit and the other sneaking under your body up to grab lightly at your neck. Not choking you hard but putting enough pressure to make your head go cloudy.
“Not done with you yet sweetheart”
— if jack followed through on his ‘threat’
→ a/n: i had an idea how i wanted this to go than i paused writing it, lost the idea and my flow so i dont know how i feel about this.
hii i loved your new work "no tenderness" w/ robby and i was wondering if you have any thoughts on brat tamer jack after readers bitching all day at work :P maybe a spanking session? idk i'll just love anything u write lol thanksss
— sᴍᴀʀᴛ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜᴇᴅ ٠࣪⭑
→ warnings: jack abbot x r2 fem!reader, 1k wc, smut, dubcon, spanking, reader is called a bitch once, nicknames [sweetheart]
→ a/n: aww thank you so much! hope you enjoy, sorry this isn’t nearly as long as the robby fic you mentioned.
Not that he would ever admit it out loud but you are Jack’s favorite resident to work with, always so attentive when he’s teaching, getting giddy when he picks you to aid him with patients. You’ve worked alongside him since your R1 year and he knows he shouldn’t be playing favorites but he can’t help it.
Today however you’ve been running your mouth off all shift. Smart ass comments, bitching and graoning to Jack all night, he was getting more and more irritated. You are normally so well behaved, for him at work that this is a shock and he’s got no idea what’s got you so out of sorts. He would ask but with your mood currently, he knows you’d only give him a bratty response in place of a genuine answer.
The evidence being that ever since you clocked in at 7pm he’s been met with little comments like "I'm not a child Jack, i know what to do” after he offers his help on a case. When he reminds you to not get behind on charting he is given an eye roll and a sarcastic “Sir yes, Sir” rolling off your tongue followed by a flimsy salute. He tries his best while walking away to ignore the ache the honorific sent down his spine through his cock. The last straw is him checking in with you on a tougher patient and you bite out at him, “I can handle myself ya’ know, just take over why don’t you if you think otherwise Dr. Abbot” — he’s just about had it by now. He planned to grit his teeth and bare it, he’s not the type of mentor to yell and berate like Robby when faced with insolcene. He also knows it wouldn’t get him anywhere with you especially now when all you’d do is talk back, he has a different possibly stupid idea instead.
Grabbing your forearm he pulls you away from the ED towards the staircase. “Hey-” — “Shut up” he growls in a hushed curt tone, cutting off your sound of protest. Heat spreads through your body and face, speeding up your steps as you unwillingly follow behind him. Borderline stomping your feet as he drags you off into one of the private rooms they use for families. “Jack-” you get ready to complain again as he yanks you inside and slams the door shut. “Bend over the chair” he points with his eyes at one of the plush armchairs in the corner, a scowl firmly in place on his lips.
“Wha- What?” you sputter out through an awkward laugh. He steps closer now, invading your space in a way that shouldn’t make you squeeze your thighs together. “I said,” he starts, grabbing your hip to spin you around facing away from him “Bend” he pushes you at the chair, forcing you to hunch over the arm of it. “Over the chair” he scoffs. “You normally listen so well to me, ya’ ears stuffed with gauze or something tonight sweetheart?”
Your lips part as if to brat back and tell him no, but he doesn’t wanna hear it. Cupping his large hand over your mouth he shuts you up, the action making slick drip down and soak your panties further. Ignoring the throbbing between your legs you groan out in protest, stomping your foot lightly like a bunny. His other hand is rubbing at your waist now, squeezing the flesh there before running up and down your back as it arches under his touch.
“Bit tired of hearing that smart mouth this evening, missin’ my sweet little favorite student” “The one with no snark” his hand on your back drifts down, “The one so eager to learn from me” it reaches your ass now, rubbing softly over the flesh of your left check. Your breath hitches under his hand, a whine threatening to slip out. “The one that hung over my every word and wasn’t such a bitch” he growls as his palm leaves your body just to come crashing back down on your ass. Even through the fabric of your scrub pants you can feel the sting. Your body jolts forward and you gasp out, trying to turn your head and glare at your attending. Using his grip on your face he turns it back away from him, before tugging your pants down over your ass, leaving them to bunch at your thighs. You can feel your pussy clench around nothing and you wished you wore something cuter than plain old cotton panties, but it’s not like you knew the older man you had a pathetic crush on was gonna see them today.
“Gotta punish ya’ the olé fashioned way to get her back sweetheart, huh baby?” winding his hand back again. You are shaking your head no, trying to mumble out how you’ll be good, the sound coming out too muffled by his thick fingers for him to understand. When his palm meets the plush of your ass this time, the sound of the impact ringing through the cramped room. You cry out and slump forward more, your body squirming away from him. “Nuh-uh, get back here brat” he tsks, seizing your body in his grasp to pull you back. Little whimpers fall from your lips as he repositions your body to be splayed over the chair, panty clad ass on full display. The action of yanking you closer however presses his growing bulge up to the small wet patch on your panties from your leaking cunt. “Jack Mhmm…” you moan out against his hand, he can’t help but thrust his hips lightly pushing further against you, you press back in response.
“Just a few more, don’t start bitchin’ on me again” he states, a bit more breathless now matching your own state. He debated giving you one for every small remark you’ve made today, but there’s been one too many and he had lost count by now. With his twitching cock pressed to your ass now, his hand comes down once again, his eyes glued to the way your skin rippled under the smack. The burn of multiple hits to the same spot spreads over your skin and all you can do is cry out through his hand. Time passes in a blur as he switches to the other cheek for a couple more spanks, your panties now ruined and soaked through, red rimmed eyes and pussy left achingly empty.
When he’s finally done with you, pulling you up from your hunched position. He leaves you with one final swat on your now recovered behind and a kiss to the temple, “Be good now, only a few more hours left”
You walk out of the room a bit disheveled but satiated, quiet and still wet.
→ a/n: idk how to write spanking for more than a few 200 words and i was losing where i wanted this to go so uhh. anyway hope you enjoyed and it was decent enough.
Head canons of Jack having a low key feisty and sassy younger girlfriend that he loves to try and keep up with :)
— ʏᴏᴜɴɢᴇʀ sᴀssʏ!ɢғ ﾒ૦
→ warnings: jack abbot x younger!fem reader, fluff, smut, nicknames [brat, princess], reader calls jack old man, not proofread
→ a/n: wrote reader more feisty than sassy cause idk how to write sassy well and it is more likely what jack would call you lol
Jack’s sassy gf! who has such a quick comeback to anything thrown her way it leaves him a little dizzy sometimes. You have such a mouth on you that it will on rare occasions get you in trouble. Both in public with strangers and in the bedroom with Jack.
Jack’s sassy gf! who is the only one allowed to call Jack old (she means it affectionately), that's her old man okay! If you hear someone make a comment about him when the two of you are out on a date. You spin on your heel so fast, hair flipping as you spin, more than ready to fight a bitch. “What was that?”
Jack’s sassy gf! that walks with a natural sway to her hips that hypnotizes Jack when you speed walk ahead of him whining out — “You’re going too slow baby” He catches up soon after and swats you lightly on the ass for the comment before grabbing your hand.
Jack’s sassy gf! that knows how to get her way when she’s pissed Jack off with her attitude one too many times. “Come on old man, please” you plead, looking up at him through your batting eyelashes, running your hand down the bulge in his pants. He hisses through his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut knowing you’ll get what you want.
Jack’s sassy gf! who is a brat about 24/7 so much so it is a little exhausting for Jack to keep up with her and correct her. It’s his fault for spoiling you so much.
Jack’s sassy gf! who is rather blunt and it surprises him sometimes, never holding back from telling him how something makes you feel.
Jack’s sassy gf! who loses all her fight and sass when he has her spread out under him, fucking into her leaking pussy. “S’ too much Jack!” you whine and all he can do is tsk and shake his head — “Where’d all ya’ sass go princess? Huh brat? Got no comeback’s for your old man when he’s fucking you dumb?” you can only babble and shake your head, clawing at his forearms that pin your body down.
Jack’s sassy gf! who after losing a fight with jack about something will continue to mumble her argument under her breath. You just know you’re right and it’s very hard to listen to Jack, you don’t accept being wrong.
Jack’s sassy gf! that has been stopped short of making snarky comments in public multiple times by Jack. He will butt in to stop you by derailing the conversation, or he will squeeze your hand a little tighter than normal so you get the message. You do normally make Jack let out a little chuckle at some of your comments but sometimes it’s not the right time.
Jack’s sassy gf! who is baffled when he dishes it right back to her. “Where’s all this sassy coming from old man?” you scoff and roll your eyes as you continue what you were doing. “You must be rubbing off on me Princess” he shakes his head. If he is a little more sassy than usual after a while of dating you while at work, no one seems to make a comment about it. Probably because they’d like you to not bite their head off.
→ a/n: i don’t like this lowkey…didnt know what to write (NOT AT ALL ANONS FALUT, ITS MINE), ya’ll should check out my other jack’s gf headcannon (i like that one more)
everything marked with ツ contains smut, my blog is 18+ only regardless of if something contains smut or not. please read all warnings before reading any of my fics.
summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again.
notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)
warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.
word count: 18889
Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.
Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.
He had never really had anything to be jealous of.
Until now.
Now there are far too many things.
Like the pen between your lips—and the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Dana’s notes.
Or Dana herself, and the way you’re looking at her—soft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jack’s chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.
Or your scrubs—God, your scrubs—and the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.
So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man—until you came along.
“Dr. Abbot,” Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. “You’re early.”
Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.
“Dr. Abbot,” you say, like you can’t quite help yourself.
Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nurses’ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why he’s at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.
“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I didn’t get to wrap up this morning,” he lies.
Princess pops up from behind the desk. “I thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?”
Jack’s gaze cuts to her. “Yes. But I forgot something.”
Dana narrows her eyes. “Mhm. What’d you forget?”
“A few notes from the three a.m. GSW,” he replies quickly—too quickly.
It’s weak and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.
Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. “Right. Two hours early for a few notes.”
Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks past—and he doesn’t look back until he’s safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.
God. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s a grown man.
More than that—he's an old man.
Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?
He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reach—then spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.
And it’s only been two weeks.
But the absolute worst part?
He doesn’t even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.
At first he wondered if it was his fault—if maybe you’d simply decided you didn’t like working with him.
But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and he’s still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bay—which apparently happens much more often during the day shift.
And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridge—because he knows how much you love feeding that cat.
“What’re you doing here?”
Jack’s head whips around at the sound of his friend’s voice.
“I—uh—came in early to fix up a few notes,” he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.
Robby’s brows lift. “Two hours for notes?”
Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. “Are you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?”
Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. “I wasn’t judging.”
“Good,” Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. “Anything I need to know?”
Robby falls into step beside him. “North Three’s waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Dana’s still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.”
They both stop at the nurses’ station, glancing up at the board.
“Otherwise it’s been unusually calm,” Robby adds. “Which probably means you’re about to get slammed.”
Jack gives him a flat look. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Robby claps him on the shoulder. “Oh—and that R2 you gave me?”
“What about her?”
Robby shrugs. “She’s great.”
“I know,” Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.
Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone else’s.
“We’re alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,” he says after a moment, already turning away. “Or go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.”
Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. “I hate you.”
Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. “Then why are you here two hours early?”
Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.
“Notes,” he says, a little louder than necessary.
Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.
For a moment, Jack doesn’t move. He lingers at the nurses’ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princess—both of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someone’s about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.
Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break room—trying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.
And trying not to be disappointed when he doesn’t.
The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the table—next to someone’s half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine container—and grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.
Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morning—before Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.
He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.
“Shit, sorry,” you say quickly, stepping toward the table.
Jack’s pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious.
You’ve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.
“I only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,” you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. “This is gross. I’m so sorry.”
Jack shifts in his chair. “I’ve seen worse in here, I promise.”
You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldn’t be going down the drain anyway.
Jack clears his throat. “But—uh—Lean Cuisine? Really?”
You look back at him again, brows drawn. “What’s wrong with Lean Cuisine?”
“Nothing,” he says lightly. “If you’re trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.”
You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. “I actually managed to eat lunch today. That’s already a win.”
“It’s mostly sodium and sadness,” he adds, almost absently. “Not much protein.”
You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. “Alright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, I’ll let you know.”
Jack opens his mouth—then closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.
But it comes out anyway.
“…I cook.”
You blink.
“You cook?”
Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.
“Yeah. Well.” He shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m reasonably good at it.”
You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.
“Well,” you say with a quick smile, “I guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.”
Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.
“Sorry again for the mess.”
Then you’re gone—leaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.
-
“Is that Dr. Abbot in the break room?” Santos asks, falling into step beside you.
You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.
“Yep.”
She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.
“But night shift doesn’t start for like two more hours.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, why is he here?”
You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. “I don’t know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.”
She snorts. “Or maybe because he likes you.”
You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” she insists. “I seriously think that old man has a thing for you.”
“Don’t call him that,” you mutter.
“Okay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,” she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. “And we all know how you feel about him, so—”
“No,” you snap. “We don’t all know how I feel about Ja—Dr. Abbot.”
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
“Besides,” you go on, dropping into a chair. “I swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctor—so could you please stop distracting me?”
She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. “And don’t you think that’s a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shift—what, two weeks ago?”
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “And?”
“And,” she says dramatically, “for the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.”
Your gaze slides back to the computer. “So?”
She sighs, exasperated. “It’s not a coincidence.”
“Actually, I think it is,” you argue.
She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. “Whatever. You’re still coming out tomorrow night, right?”
Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Uh—I’m not sure yet.”
“Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift that’ll be there,” she says.
You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll come.”
“Good.” She grins, already turning away. “Come to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.”
“Why can’t I get ready at home?” you ask.
“Because,” she calls over her shoulder, “I get to pick what you wear.”
And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.
“Great,” you mumble, turning back to the computer. “Can’t wait.”
It’s not like you’re not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that you’re no longer on the night shift.
You are. You’re just... nervous.
Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMC—even though you’ve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.
Which is exactly why she’s pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending who’s had you completely undone since the day you first met.
God.
Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.
Not only is he stupidly hot, but he’s also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.
He’s also the very reason you’re terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally can’t function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.
His damn jacket.
That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shifts—because Dr. Shen couldn’t look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.
Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeing—which means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things you’ve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.
The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if… it might not be working yet.
Because now you can’t just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You can’t have him step up beside you when you’re unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. He’s not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isn’t a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three o’clock lull.
Now you just… think about him instead.
But it’s only temporary. You’re sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.
Which… you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.
You’re pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe that’s exactly what you need to do—get under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man who’s nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.
You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.
When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give her—and only her—the rundown on your patients.
By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nurses’ station.
“Did you drive today?” Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Need a ride?”
He nods sheepishly. “That’d be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.”
Whitaker winces. “I just hope they’re at Garcia’s tonight.”
You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. “You ready?”
He nods.
You both turn and start back toward central—but just as you reach the nurses’ station, his steps slow.
“Do you need to…?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
You frown. “Need to what?”
He hesitates. “Don’t you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?”
Your eyes widen slowly. “Uh—no. Why would you say that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought you two were close.”
“We’re not close,” you say, a little too quick.
“Sorry,” he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. “I just—I don’t know. I thought because you were his resident you two were… close.”
“I’m not his resident,” you snap. “I’m just… a resident. I don’t belong to him.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, brows drawing together. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“You thought wrong,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.
Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.
“Let’s just go.”
You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you pass—completely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.
The car ride to Santos and Whitaker’s isn’t long. Whitaker fills most of it anyway—rambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.
You wave him off each time.
“It’s fine, Whitaker.”
“Seriously though,” he says as you pull up outside their building. “I really appreciate it.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.
The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediately—inevitably—your brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.
Jack Abbot. Of course.
You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.
The rest of the night passes the way most nights do—with a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.
When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself you’re too tired to think about him. It’s been a long day—long week—and all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.
But that doesn’t stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nurses’ station or leaning over a chart.
He’s in a kitchen. Cooking.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospital—like he knows exactly what he’s doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.
And in the dream, you do.
You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself you’re just observing. Just curious. Just learning.
He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staring—and says something you can’t quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But he’s smiling.
Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend to—logic slipping sideways until suddenly you’re standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever he’s cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.
His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.
Your back meets the edge of the counter.
And when his mouth brushes your neck—
You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.
“Fuck,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.
So much for getting him out of your head.
For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.
At some point you realise you’re still replaying the dream in your head.
The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.
You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.
“Get a fucking grip.”
Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.
Your small apartment is always quiet—but this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.
Jack Abbot.
After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.
It doesn’t.
But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that you’re excited about tonight. That you’re going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.
The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.
Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means it’s probably time to start getting ready if you’re actually going to make it to Santos’ place before she decides you’re bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.
So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the door—trying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift who’s going to be at the bar tonight.
It really is for the best.
You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
You, Javadi, and Whitaker—who have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beer—look up.
“Aw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,” Javadi says. “It just doesn’t suit my eye shape.”
“Don’t look too close,” Santos mutters. “It’s super uneven, but I don’t have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.”
She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.
Whitaker’s eyes go wide. “Me?”
Santos scoffs. “Not you, Huckleberry. God, I don’t have enough time in the world to fix whatever’s going on there.”
Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Everything,” Santos says, already turning away.
Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. “Is it really that bad?”
Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.”
You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, really. She’s just—”
The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.
Javadi tilts her head. “What’s that?”
Santos grins. “A dress.”
Whitaker chokes on his beer. “That’s… not a dress. That’s a glittery napkin.”
“Oh my God.” Javadi snorts. “My mom would kill me just for buying that.”
“I didn’t buy it,” Santos says lightly. “A friend in college gave it to me, but it’s never fit quite right.”
She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.
“But I know you’ll be able to pull it off,” she adds, her grin sharpening.
You stare at it—glinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.
“Santos… this is a work thing,” you mutter.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a work thing. It’s just an outing with people from work.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Whitaker asks.
Santos sighs. “No, it’s not. And are you forgetting our main objective?”
You blink at her.
“To get you laid.”
Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.
“Come on,” Santos says. “Just put it on and if it doesn’t work, we try something else.”
You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.
“Fine,” you say at last, pushing off the couch. “I’ll try it on, but that does not mean I’m wearing it.”
Santos’ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe it’s just the dress.
“That’s my girl.”
You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go on—but once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric you’ve ever worn.
And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dress—short, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where it’s supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.
“So?”
For a moment, no one says anything.
Whitaker’s mouth falls open.
Javadi’s eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.
“I knew it,” she says smugly.
Whitaker blinks. “That is not a dress.”
Javadi elbows him. “Stop talking.”
You tug awkwardly at the hem—which doesn’t actually move much because there isn’t very much hem to tug.
“Santos,” you say carefully, “I’m not sure—”
“Relax,” she says. “You look incredible.”
She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.
“And you’re definitely going to get laid.”
“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.
Santos rolls her eyes. “You’re only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridge—we’re going to need some liquid courage before we head out.”
After two shots of tequila and Santos’ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santos’ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.
You don’t really plan on taking it off for the rest of the night—even if it isn’t that cold.
The ride to the bar isn’t nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that she’s twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.
You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldn’t have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldn’t be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where you’d rather be tonight—the bar or the ER with Dr. Abbot—your honest answer would be incredibly depressing.
Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?
“We’re here,” Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.
You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.
“Relax,” she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t need this.”
She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until it’s bunched at your elbows.
“I feel naked,” you mutter. “Like this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.”
Whitaker snorts. “Not far from it.”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re not at work. You’re at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.”
Right. Fun.
That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isn’t Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.
Completely achievable.
Right?
“Fine.”
You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.
“See?” she says. “Much better.”
“Let’s just go inside before I change my mind,” you mutter, already starting toward the door.
Javadi loops her arm through yours. “You look amazing. Seriously.”
You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.
It’s just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. You’ll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.
You glance through the front window as you approach—more out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.
People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.
And—
Your brain stalls.
Because there’s a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.
A familiar someone.
Dr. Ellis.
And the man—
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Your stomach plummets.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.
Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.
Because he looks—
He looks so good.
Relaxed in a way you’ve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.
And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.
“Hey,” Javadi says beside you. “What’s—”
“Santos.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Santos,” you say again, your voice almost breaking.
She glances over her shoulder. “Hm?”
“You knew.”
She stops, her hand hovering near the door.
Whitaker glances between the two of you. “What’s happening?”
“Technically,” Santos says slowly, “I didn’t know. I just... suspected.”
“You said Ellis was the only one from night shift who’d be here.”
She winces. “I did, but what I meant is… Ellis is the only one who actually told me she’d be here.”
You stare at her. “So you did know?”
“I knew it was his night off.”
“Santos, I—” You glance back at him through the bar window. “I can’t go in there like this.”
“Like what?” she asks. “Smoking hot?”
“Half naked.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“I will actually die.”
“No, you won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.”
She pulls the door open.
“Now stop panicking and get in the bar.”
-
“He swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks he’d had that night,” Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, “which was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.”
Jack snorts softly. “And did you believe him?”
Ellis’ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms they’re currently experiencing.
Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and then—but mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because he’s not stupid enough to ask anyone if you’re going to be here tonight, but he is naïve enough to hope you will be.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight—his first night off in two weeks.
He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasure—involving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.
But he’s not.
He’s here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just… waiting.
For you.
He’d wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonight—before he agreed to join—but he’d barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didn’t even say goodbye. Which isn’t unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then he’d overheard your conversation with Whitaker—and something about it made his chest feel too tight.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you don’t belong to him. Even if Robby calls you ‘his R2’ and Whitaker thinks you’re close because you’re his resident—none of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.
Which is ridiculous. He knows it.
He shouldn’t feel territorial. He shouldn’t want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tight—a slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he can’t make it not matter.
“Oh.” Ellis glances over her shoulder. “Looks like Santos and the others are here.”
Jack’s gaze flicks back to the door.
He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if he’s bracing for something—but he can already feel his composure slipping.
Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then it’s Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks at—
You.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Jack stops breathing.
His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.
It’s you. Of course it’s you. You’re perfect.
But then—
That dress.
God.
That dress—short, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.
It’s all too much.
He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldn’t be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.
He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.
And that’s when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.
He hates them all.
He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he sees—and feel a fraction of what he feels.
And he hates, more than anything right now, that you’re not his.
“Dr. Abbot,” Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. “What’s your poison tonight?”
Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. “Scotch.”
Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You might not want to have too many of those.”
Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.
“Alright,” Ellis says, pushing off the bar. “I’m going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.”
Jack nods, but he doesn’t follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. They’re muttering to each other, leaning in, voices low—but nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.
One of them—the dumbest looking one, Jack’s already decided—slowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.
Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket you’d been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.
And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jack’s pulse starts racing.
“Dr. Abbot,” Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. “Fancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.”
“I do have a life outside of work, you know,” he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.
“Like playing bingo at the senior centre?” Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.
You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like they’re the most interesting thing in the room.
“Bingo’s on Wednesdays,” he says mildly. “Try to keep up.”
Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dip—just slightly—and you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.
Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.
Because you’re listening.
And apparently… you think he’s funny.
“Alright,” Santos says, lifting a hand. “I think we need some tequila over here.”
The bartender steps away from where he’d been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesn’t really need wiping.
“So,” he says to you, not Santos. “What are you drinking tonight?”
Santos blinks.
“I just told you,” she says flatly. “Tequila.”
The bartender barely glances at her.
Jack’s jaw tightens.
You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.
“Uh—whatever she orders is fine.”
“Yeah. Tequila,” Santos repeats, slower this time.
The bartender laughs like she’s joking—and Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.
His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way he’s watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.
And by the way you shift a little closer to Santos—pulling your jacket tighter around yourself—he knows you’re uncomfortable.
His hand clenches at his side.
Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.
“Easy, tiger,” he mutters. “She can handle herself.”
“I know,” Jack says, voice low. “Doesn’t mean she has to.”
Robby gives him a look—a brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. “Careful.”
Jack doesn’t respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he can’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.
“Okay,” Santos says. “I need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.”
The bartender nods, already reaching for another glass—and before he can even ask if you’d like another drink, someone else steals your attention.
“Hey,” the guy says, stepping up beside you. “Can I get you another one?”
He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noise—but it’s still too close.
You shift slightly, angling toward him. “Oh. Uh—sure.”
Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.
She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.
Her brows lift. “You really gonna let that happen?”
Jack frowns. “What—”
But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.
Where Jack should be headed too—because there’s no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure you’re okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like that’s going to change anything.
It’s not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, he’d take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldn’t need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. He’d take that shot with you even when you’re tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. He’d take it any time. Any place.
But Jack doesn’t get that shot.
Because you’re young. You don’t have baggage. And you’re a resident—maybe not his resident, but still a resident.
It’s just too inappropriate.
Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessary—and the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if he’d like another, but Jack just shakes his head.
His eyes flick back to you. To the way you’re smiling now—soft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.
Then you laugh—light, easy—and something in Jack’s chest tightens again.
He looks away. He can’t keep standing here. He’s not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.
Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.
Half an hour later, most of PTMC’s day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every round—but Jack doesn’t order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until it’s too warm to enjoy.
Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the table—pretending to follow the conversation, pretending he’s paying attention—when really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a man’s bicep when he says something that makes you blush.
Not the same man as before, either. No—this one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.
Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s none of his business. But he can’t stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.
Not that he’s any better.
“Abbot.” Robby nudges his side. “Hungry?”
Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.
“Hm?”
“Are you hungry?” Ellis asks. “I’m going to order some wings.”
Jack frowns. “Uh—no. I’m good. Thanks.”
Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.
Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. “You might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. “Funny.”
“I’m serious,” Robby says mildly. “You’ve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?”
“I heard her,” Jack mutters. “I was just... thinking.”
Robby hums like he doesn’t believe that for a second.
Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. “I’m gonna hit the head.”
Robby’s brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.
“Mm,” he says. “Sure you are.”
Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms first—mostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.
He locks himself in the accessible bathroom—not that he needs it, but it’s more private than the men’s—and stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.
This is ridiculous, and he knows it.
He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be acting like this.
This is trivial shit, for God’s sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.
So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?
Why are you undoing him like this?
He lifts his head and stares at his reflection—jaw tight, shoulders rigid—trying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who can’t keep his shit together.
His gaze drifts across his face—the day-old stubble, peppered hair—then to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.
Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.
HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WON’T.
Jack tilts his head.
That’s not exactly... subtle.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
He doesn’t hesitate.
Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someone’s life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.
So what the hell is this?
This… standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.
Like he doesn’t know what he wants. Like he hasn’t already made up his mind.
He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head once—sharp, annoyed.
“Jesus Christ.”
It’s not caution. It’s avoidance.
With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them together—quick and thorough—then turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the bar—finding you immediately.
You’re still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. There’s a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jack’s eyes narrow.
The man’s hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think you’re okay with it—but Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.
Good thing Jack doesn’t mind being rude.
He’s already moving before he’s fully decided to. Just a few long strides and he’s there—close enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He looks at you. Just you.
“Hey.”
Your head turns immediately—and the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.
“Oh—hey,” you say, a little breathless.
And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anything—but enough to make Jack’s pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.
“Hey, man,” the guy says, holding out a hand. “I’m Trent.”
Jack ignores him.
“You alright?” he asks you.
You nod slowly. “I am now.”
Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a second—like you didn’t even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.
Jack goes still.
Trent clears his throat. “Sorry—uh—who are you?”
You glance at him with a tight smile. “This is my attending.”
Jack likes being called your attending.
Trent frowns. “What?”
“Remember how I said I was a doctor?”
Trent just stares at you.
“Well, Dr. Abbot is my attending,” you go on anyway. “He’s like my supervisor. I’m his resident.”
His resident.
“Right,” Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. “Cool. So—you’re a doctor?”
Jack doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Ellis is ordering wings—we can grab a menu.”
“Starving,” you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.
“Great.” His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. “Let’s get back to the others.”
“Wait,” Trent says. “Are you—”
“It was nice meeting you,” you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.
He keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.
“Thanks for that,” you murmur. “He just wouldn’t take a hint.”
Jack nods. “I noticed.”
He doesn’t look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robby—because if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.
And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay he’s felt all night.
Because you’re here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKay—and not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.
But only for twenty minutes—because once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.
Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.
Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he can’t focus—not when your hand settles lightly on this new guy’s shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.
He tells himself he’s not going to. That he shouldn’t.
But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.
He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.
“Hey,” he says, voice raised over the music.
Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant way—like you’re waiting for him to say whatever it is that’s so important he had to stop you right here.
Jack clears his throat. “Have you been drinking water?”
You frown. “Um. Not really.”
“You should really drink some water,” he says, tipping his head toward the bar.
You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.
Then you look back at Jack.
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Water.”
He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-driven—but he can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.
The music is too loud for conversation—and even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure what he’d say. Not when you’re looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.
God. This has the be the finest form of torture.
Because here you are—so young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that he’s just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that you’re not his. That they think you’re fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.
And the fact that he’s not going to let them anywhere near you.
-
The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as you’re about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the bar—just for some air—but then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.
You don’t mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.
So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.
The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, you’re just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump into—but before you can even take the man’s hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.
Which, fine. Whatever.
But by the fifth interruption, you’re starting to notice a pattern.
And you’re getting a little annoyed.
“Oh my God,” Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBA’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. “We have to dance. Come on!”
You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before she’s dragging you onto the dancefloor—into the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.
The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateo’s round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappeared—and now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.
The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospects—plenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.
If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like he’s doing you a favour.
At some point during the second—or maybe third—chorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. You’re not even entirely sure how. One second you’re dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next he’s there—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like he’s trying to decide where to put them.
You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?
This is the plan.
He leans in and says something you don’t quite catch over the music, but you laugh anyway—more out of obligation than anything else.
Then his attention shifts.
His eyes flick past you. And just like that—he falters.
It’s subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.
“Uh—actually,” he mutters, already stepping away. “I—yeah. Sorry.”
Then he’s gone.
You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder and—
Of course.
Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.
Not angry. Not exactly.
But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels… deliberate.
You stare at him for a second—frustration flickering across your face—then turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.
You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. “Your plan isn’t working!”
She turns to face you, frowning. “What do you mean it’s not working?”
You stare at her. “The plan to get me laid? It’s not working.”
“Why not?”
You huff out a laugh, incredulous.
“Because of him,” you say, nodding toward Jack. “Because I let him save me from one bad interaction and now he’s just—hovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.”
Santos’ mouth twitches.
“I think he thinks he’s being helpful,” you add, shaking your head. “Like he’s doing me a favour or something, but—God, I’m never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.”
Santos just looks at you for a second—then smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“And what part of my plan isn’t working?”
You frown. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I said I was going to get you laid,” she says, lifting her drink to her lips. “I never said anything about going home with a stranger.”
It doesn’t land straight away.
You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logic—because that doesn’t make sense, that’s not the plan. If you’re not going home with a stranger, then who—
And then it clicks.
Your stomach drops.
“Wait—Santos,” you start, eyes widening. “You don’t mean—”
Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night.
You glance toward the side of the dancefloor again—to the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesn’t even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.
“Actually,” Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. “I think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come on—” she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, “let’s play a game.”
A game?
Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.
The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like she’d been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.
“Alright,” Santos announces, picking up someone’s abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, “we’re playing a game.”
Whitaker leans forward. “A game?”
“Yes, Huckleberry. A game.” Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. “It’s called Never Have I Ever.”
Mateo snorts. “That’s a middle school sleepover game.”
“Great,” Santos replies. “Then it should be easy for you.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.
“Can I start?” Mohan pipes up beside Santos. “I’ve got a good one.”
Santos nods. “Be my guest.”
You’re not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since he’d been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now you’re suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behind—and now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.
“Okay,” Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. “Never have I ever… called in sick when I wasn’t actually sick.”
McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.
“Really?” Santos says. “That was your good one?”
Mohan shrugs. “I thought—”
“Never mind,” Santos cuts her off. “My turn.”
Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.
“Never have I ever,” she starts slowly, “fantasised about someone else sitting at this table.”
Your pulse jumps.
McKay snorts.
Mateo leans forward. “Like, intentionally. Or…?”
Whitaker frowns. “You’ve accidentally fantasised about someone here?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.”
Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hers—and you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.
Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.
“Alright, I’ve got one,” she says, grinning. “Never have I ever… faked it.”
Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Never?” Ellis asks, eyes wide. “So you always—”
“Oh, God, no,” McKay laughs. “Definitely not. I just refuse to fake it.”
Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.
You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.
“Okay, my turn,” Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at work.”
The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance up—because Jack is already looking at you.
Not surprised. Not amused.
Just… watching.
He doesn’t laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.
And something sharp twists in your chest.
“What’ve you got, Langdon?” McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.
Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment—then sighs.
“Alright, I already know I’m going to get shit for this, but—” He clears his throat. “Never have I ever… had sex in public.”
McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.
Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like it’s nothing.
And that sharp twist in your chest doesn’t ease.
Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.
And you—
You catch Santos’ gaze from the other end of the table—sharp, knowing, daring.
Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.
And before you can talk yourself out of it—
“Okay, my turn,” you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.
Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.
“Never have I ever,” you say slowly, “…finished during sex.”
For a second—nothing.
Then the table erupts.
“What—no—” Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks you’re joking. “You’re kidding.”
Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. “Wait, seriously?”
“Oh my God,” McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.
Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Well… that’s unfortunate.”
Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.
Santos doesn’t say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.
And across from you—
Jack just goes still.
Completely still.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does—sharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesn’t stop just because it feels like your heart did.
Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebellious—and blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.
And so it goes on.
You know it does.
You can hear it—voices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing they’re being misrepresented—but it all feels… distant.
Like it’s happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way he’s hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.
At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughs—but you don’t catch the words. You’re too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jack’s jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.
Another round starts. Then another.
Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactions—but it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.
Time stretches. Blurs.
Your drink empties, refills, empties again.
People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.
Then suddenly—
“You ready?”
You blink.
Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.
“Ready?” you echo.
She nods toward the door. “Time to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.”
You glance around at the empty table. “Oh.”
Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. You’re still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skin—which, in this dress, is a lot of skin.
“The Uber’s just around the corner,” Whitaker says.
“Great,” Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. “I’m freezing.”
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but you’re not nearly as cold as you should be.
“You sure you don’t mind if I stay over tonight?” Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.
Santos shrugs. “As long as you don’t mind the couch—and Dr. Shamsi isn’t going to have us arrested for kidnapping.”
Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh—no. It’s totally fine. I told my dad.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” Whitaker asks.
Javadi shakes her head. “Day off. You?”
Whitaker sighs. “Yeah.”
“So am I,” Santos adds. “And if I don’t get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other people’s lives.”
“That’s reassuring,” Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.
He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. There’s a faint hitch in his step—something you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when he’s been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.
“This is us,” Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.
Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seat—and Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forward—then hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.
“Wait.” Your pulse jumps. “There’s too many—”
“You’re with Dr. Abbot,” Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.
Your stomach drops.
“I—I’m what?”
Santos shrugs. “Javadi’s staying over and Mohan’s place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.”
Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.
“See you tomorrow!”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curb—and the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
For a second, you don’t turn around. You can’t. Not now that you’re alone with him.
Then—
“I’m this way,” he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.
You nod, but don’t dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.
The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the bar—and it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.
Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that you’re aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so you’re walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.
Neither of you says anything.
It’s not awkward. It’s just… quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.
Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and you’re suddenly, painfully aware of everything—the way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasn’t quite settled.
You feel too sober. Too aware.
When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightly—just enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.
God. He’s so annoyingly considerate.
You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way that’s subtle but unmistakable—clean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you can’t quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like you’re not entirely sure where to put them.
It’s his.
All of it.
The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like he’d discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.
The sound of the driver’s side door opening almost startles you.
You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.
The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way that’s almost stifling.
You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.
Waiting.
For the engine to start. For the car to move.
But nothing happens.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.
And then—
“You can’t say shit like that around me.”
You blink, finally turning toward him—and regretting it immediately. He’s so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.
“Say what?” you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.
He looks at you—not fully, just turning his head slightly.
“You know what,” he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.
And you do.
You know exactly what he means.
But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silence—and he doesn’t move to turn it off, doesn’t even turn it down. He just drives.
The radio reporter’s voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something you’re not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.
You can still hear his voice.
You can’t say shit like that around me.
The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.
Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop it—pulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.
Because what does that even mean?
You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missed—but he’s focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just change everything with eight little words.
You look away again.
No. He didn’t mean it like that.
He’s just—he’s your attending. He’s responsible. Of course he’d say something. Of course he’d—
Except he didn’t say it like that.
Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.
The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way he’d been watching you. The way he didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, didn’t let it go.
The way he said it.
Around me.
Not here. Not in front of people.
Around me.
Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between you—of how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in and—
No.
No, that’s not—
You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
You’re just reading into it. You have to be.
Because the alternative—
Your pulse jumps.
God. The alternative is too much to even consider.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavier—pulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this time—until—
The car stops—and you blink.
For a moment, you don’t move. You can’t.
Then Jack clears his throat.
“Oh—uh—thanks,” you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.
He nods once. “Anytime.”
You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight words—eight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.
You hesitate—one hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.
God.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This is—
“Do you—” You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. “Do you want to come up?”
He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like he’s not quite sure he heard you right.
“You can’t be serious.”
Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it back—rewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.
What the hell were you thinking?
“Yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. “No, that was—that was stupid.”
You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You don’t look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.
It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.
This door has never been your friend. It’s old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been janky—but now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think that’s funny, because it won’t budge.
You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.
Then—
“Here.”
His voice is low. Close.
Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back—the solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.
His fingers brush yours as he takes the key—and the lock turns easily this time.
Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.
His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs to—then he pushes the door open.
You don’t even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shut—but he’s still holding it, barely a step behind you.
He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. “Go.”
It’s quiet. Controlled.
Not a suggestion.
Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitate—long enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between you—
Then you turn and keep walking.
And he follows.
He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock it—almost like he doesn’t think you know how doors work now—but the key turns smoothly this time.
You push the door open and step inside.
The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and it’s a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like he’s a man on the edge—
And you’re daring him to jump.
“Drink?” you offer, keeping your voice light—innocent.
He clears his throat. “Water, please.”
You can’t help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.
“So polite,” you murmur.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—but you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.
You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way that’s totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, he’s turned away completely.
You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.
“Here,” you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.
He turns hesitantly, taking it. “Thank you.”
Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.
You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.
Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
You glance up, still leaned forward, and it’s hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.
“Isn’t that something you should already know?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he can’t quite help himself.
“You’re impossible. You know that?”
Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says it—short, sharp, loaded—and you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.
“Am I?” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. “Only one way to find out.”
He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottle—and it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.
“I should go,” he mutters, voice low and clipped.
He takes a step toward the door—and you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.
“Wait—uh—before you go,” you say, stepping toward him, “could you help me with something?”
He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.
You move until you’re almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Could you help me out of my dress?”
The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.
Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way you’re offering him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
He nods once—careful, controlled—but the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.
Your stomach flips.
Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.
You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through you—hot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skin—warm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.
“How do you do it?” you whisper, voice catching slightly. “How are you always so… unaffected by everything?”
“Unaffected?” he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.
His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper ends—but he doesn’t stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, “how much you affect me.”
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.
You turn before you can stop yourself—and he’s closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.
For a second, neither of you move.
And then his hand finds your neck—
Not rough, not rushed—just firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that you’re real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.
He hesitates, just for a breath. Like he’s giving himself one last chance to walk away.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not tentative. There’s nothing careful about it. It lands like something he’s been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.
His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quickly—his stomach, his chest—anything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of it—God, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraint—makes something in your stomach flip hard.
His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but there’s tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like he’s still trying—still—to hold the line even as he pulls you closer.
It doesn’t work.
Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.
He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like you’ve just undone him, and for a second the kiss falters—not because he’s pulling away, but because he’s trying to.
You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.
Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.
“Don’t,” you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.
And something in him gives.
You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.
When he kisses you again, it’s deeper.
Less restrained.
Like he’s finally stopped pretending this isn’t exactly what he wants.
It’s different now—harder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.
Your back meets the door with a soft thud.
He doesn’t stop.
If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let him—God, you let him—tilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.
His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.
And you can feel it—how close he is.
It’s in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he can’t quite stop himself from taking more.
Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like he’s trying—one last time—to get a handle on this.
He doesn’t.
His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first place—and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.
His breath catches, and his gaze drops—just for a second, but it’s enough.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough—nothing steady about it now.
You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.
“Bedroom,” you murmur.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Something in his expression shifts—tightens—like that word landed exactly where it shouldn’t. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.
But he doesn’t find any.
He nods once—and you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before you’ve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like he’s not about to let you get too far ahead of him.
It’s barely a walk.
More like being guided—pulled—across the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what you’ve just set in motion.
The door barely makes it closed before he’s on you again.
Not rushed—never rushed—but certain, like the decision has already been made and there’s no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.
Your breath catches as you look up at him. There’s something in his expression you’ve never seen before. It’s not soft, not gentle—just stripped of whatever distance he’d been holding onto all night.
Gone.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time there’s nothing in the way of it—nothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer it—and the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.
“Still want this?” he asks, voice rough, quieter now—but it lands heavier here.
You don’t answer. You just step into him.
And it’s all the permission he needs.
His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentional—like he’s choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like he’s letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.
His grip shifts—firmer now—guiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way he’s kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like he’s not about to let this get away from him.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.
Not hesitation. Control.
Or what little he has left of it.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, quieter now.
You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.
“I’m not the one holding back.”
You barely have time to move up the mattress before he’s there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instant—replaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.
His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from you—but it’s different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.
Like he’s learning you.
The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomach—but they don’t stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.
His fingers close around it—not tight, not forceful—just certain, guiding.
He lifts your hand above your head.
“Jack,” you whisper. “I—”
He shushes you.
“Let me do this, okay?” His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath it—something that makes your stomach knot. “I’ve got you.”
And you believe him.
His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hip—each touch deliberate, like he’s taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
The words go straight through you.
You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says it—the way his voice drops—makes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you can’t quite reach.
Chasing him.
And he notices. Of course he does.
You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where he’s touching you—where he isn’t touching you.
His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.
He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like he’s feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to move—slow, circling, testing—while his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.
With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.
Soft. Unsteady. Needy.
And he loves it.
You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rock—slow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim that’s more suggestion than friction.
“Jack—” your voice catches, breaking on his name. “Please. I want—”
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.
“More,” you manage, breath shaking. “Need more.”
He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he can’t stand.
Then his hand shifts.
Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Your whole body jolts. “Fuck—Jack—”
The reaction pulls something from him—a sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.
You’ve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.
And you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.
“God,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.”
All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the words—and he gives it to you. Of course he does.
His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel it—the stretch, the heat—before he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.
And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.
Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.
Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediate—devastating.
You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.
You can’t answer—not when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he can’t decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.
“Please,” you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. “Please, I—need you.”
He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.
“You sure?”
You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.
“Never have I ever finished during sex, remember?” you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. “You gonna fix that, or what?”
Something feral flickers across his face.
And then it’s gone—replaced by something heavier. Something decided.
He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint he’s been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but it’s replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, like he can’t quite believe it.
He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. There’s a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.
He’s already hard—fully, heavily—flushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.
“Fuck—” he chokes, the word breaking out of him. “I haven’t been this hard in—” His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. “—ever.”
It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he tries—tries—to hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.
You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before it’s gone. “Promise.”
And then the fabric gives.
The sound of it tearing—sharp, sudden—goes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
But it is.
Jack Abbot—controlled, composed, always holding the line—losing it enough to rip your panties off you?
Fuck.
He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretch—the sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is him—here, now, inside you.
For a moment, you just breathe—pant, really—eyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like you’re trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.
“You—fuck—you’re so tight, sweetheart,” he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. “I’m not gonna last—”
“Then don’t,” you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. “Just fuck me. Please, Jack.”
A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on him—and before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.
“Fuck—” you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. “Jack—”
He doesn’t stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like he’s checking, like he needs to see it.
The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.
“Mhm,” you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isn’t enough.
For a second—just a second—you’re distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of him—
And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.
Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loud—too loud—echoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.
But not now.
Right now, you don’t care who hears. Not when it feels like this.
His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. He’s barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.
His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shift—small as it is—hits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds you’re both making.
And then his hand moves between you.
You feel it immediately—the change, the focus—as his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way he’s losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until it’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.
“Jack—” you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. “Fuck, I—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Come on my cock, yeah?”
Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm he’s set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way he’s working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesn’t falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.
It’s never felt like this before. You’ve never felt like this before.
Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you can’t hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.
You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.
The release hits all at once—sharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you can’t stop, like you don’t want to.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside you—slower now, but deeper, like he’s chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completely—a broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.
You feel it—every part of it—the way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where you’re pressed together.
It takes a moment to come back down—a long one.
But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breathe—but you don’t mind.
Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.
-
For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isn’t stupidly early for his shift. He couldn’t be, really. Because he’d woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spin—and that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.
If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have left at all—but he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbour’s cat to feed, and sleep he should’ve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesn’t need to be early to see you, because you’re going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.
With him.
And he really shouldn’t be looking forward to that as much as he is.
“Afternoon, Dr. Abbot,” Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you today. Aren’t you usually here by now?”
“I’m on time,” Jack mutters. “I’m a busy man.”
Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.
Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nurses’ station. He shouldn’t be this anxious to see you again—not in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs won’t quite fill until you’re near him again.
“She’s not here,” Dana says without looking up from her chart. “Wasn’t feeling well, so Ellis came in early.”
Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say something—defend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking for—but he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldn’t incriminate him further.
So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
He’d seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he left—but you hadn’t said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.
Jack doesn’t stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadn’t texted you today because he knew he’d see you tonight and didn’t want to seem… overbearing. Even now, he’s not sure if he should—but he feels off in a way he hasn’t in years, like he’s waiting on something he can’t control and it’s making him feel sick.
What if last night hadn’t meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was just—
“Hey, kid,” Dana calls from the nurses’ station. “Big night?”
Jack’s head snaps up—and there you are.
The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadn’t realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.
“You don’t know the half of it,” you mutter.
Dana huffs a short laugh. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”
Jack can’t help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. There’s a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside him—not too close, but enough to make his breath catch.
You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.
“Miss me?”
Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.
“Thought you were sick.”
You lift one shoulder. “A little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.”
For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at you—and you look right back, like you both know exactly what’s changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.
“And I missed the night shift attending,” you say finally.
Then—before he can respond, before he’s even fully processed what you said—you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.
But it feels like everything.
And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isn’t yours.
Come by the fire, lay down your head
My love, I see you're growing tired
So set the bad day by the bed
And rest a while, your eyes can close
You don’t have to do a thing but listen to me sing
I know you miss the world, the one you knew
The one where everything made sense
Because you didn't know the truth, that's how it works
’Til the bottom drops out and we learn
We're all just hunters seeking solid ground
I’ll show you good, restore your faith
I’ll try and somehow make a meaning of the poison in this place
Convince you, love, don’t breathe it in
You were written in the stars that we are swimming in
And it has no name, no guarantee
It's just the promise of a day I know that some may never see
But that’s enough, if the bottom drops out
I hope my love was someone else's solid ground
Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos
Though I know it's blinding there's a way out
Say out loud, we will not give up on love now
No fear, don't you turn like Orpheus, just stay here
Hold me in the dark and when the day appears
We'll say we did not give up on love today
Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!Surgeon!Reader; established relationship
The story, in a nutshell: A springtime tragedy rocked Jack and the reader's world. As they navigated their way out amidst the chaos and blinding darkness, they did not give up, proving that they indeed are each other’s solid ground.
Disclaimer: This is a reader-insert set before Season 1. This is related to Safe Place to Land but could be read as a stand-alone. This fic contains themes that may be triggering, so please exercise caution. This work mentions shooting incidents, violence, blood, injury, trauma, and similar critical medical conditions. There are a few medical scenes so there might be medical inaccuracy though I did try my best to conduct my research. Angst with a happy ending. Tooth-rotting fluff, always. Suggestive themes. Just Jack Abbot being a devoted husband. I write, as a part of my therapy. HAHA. Not proofread.
Word Count: 7,401
Tagging @esmemia16. 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoy reading this.
Related Story: Safe Place to Land
Cross-posted on Ao3.
Pittsburgh in May is always more alive than the last. It is the season when the last frost melts, giving way for the flora to be in full bloom. You love this city and everything it offers, and springtime in Pittsburgh has usually brought about different surprises into your life.
It was spring when you first met Jack.
It was spring when you passed your board certification and got the surgical attending coat.
It was that same spring, after your dinner celebration, when you and Jack finally got the awkward “What are we?” conversation out of the way. Sitting by the rooftop bar overlooking the Pittsburgh skyline, you officially became a couple.
It was spring when you moved into your new cozy place you both call home.
And, it was one spring morning when you both made the vow of a lifetime.
Spring has always been your blooming season, your reminder that the freezing cold always sees its ending and that life always finds its way.
Jack deserved a Medal of Honour, truly.
Not only for his service to the country and to the community, but most importantly as your doting partner.
Being the great competitive husband that he is, Jack booked a trip to Hawaii because you said you missed the fresh Poke Bowls you had during your honeymoon. You appreciated how intentional and thorough he was with everything, from planning your itinerary, booking your flight and accommodation, and even securing reservations to the many activities and restaurants the two of you tried while you were there. The only thing he sought help from you, however, was all the packing that the trip required. You learned early on that it was his bugbear. You did not mind it, though. You made the most of the freedom he always gave when deciding on his outfit and might have slipped in some of his old luau shirts into the mix. This was afterall, a perfect chance to flaunt your own silverfox.
That wedding anniversary trip was a much needed retreat for the two of you from the long hospital days you and Jack rendered the past couple of months.
You loved every moment of it.
You visited some of the places you’ve been to during your honeymoon, Jack surprised you with a helicopter tour around the Big Island, followed by a simple dinner and stargazing in the Maunakea Observatory, which was the highlight of your trip.
You hadn’t seen that many stars before. They were like glitters dusting a black canvas, tiny specks flickering in different angles. You could not take your eyes away from it.
The night sky, illuminated by the moon suspended above you and the shimmering lights from millions of years away, reminded you of just how ineffable the universe is and just how tiny of a cell you are.
An epiphany, it was, that in the boundlessness of the universe, you still met Jack.
Or, in the way you’ve always seen it, Jack found you.
So as he looped an arm around your waist, you encircled your arms around his shoulder and drew him for a kiss which he reciprocated with the same gentle passion.
You thanked the universe for that moment, and for every other moment you get to spend with your husband.
You thank the heavens for the life of Jack Abbot and the life you have because of him.
After a week in paradise, reality hit.
You were back home in Pittsburgh, digging your chilly body against your husband’s warmth as you relished the last day of vacation before coming back to work that night. His fingers splayed on your back, pulling you flushed against his skin and eliminating any sliver of space between you. You groaned in delight but continued to nuzzle against his neck, only for him to pepper you with kisses until your eyes finally cracked open. The sun was already hanging low, painting the skies and casting an amber glow inside your room, as if signalling the nightcrawlers to rise and get some.
And so, you both did. As always.
—
It was not long after the handovers when trauma started coming in, requiring both you and Jack to stabilize a victim of a vehicular accident.
Crus Henderson conducted FAST and used his experience of musculoskeletal ultrasound to diagnose the level of fracture, which was confirmed with x-ray shortly after. “We have an open book fracture. His pelvis is basically crushed so he’s hemorrhaging."
“Start the MTP and we’ll need to control this bleeder or else he'll continue to crash.” Jack hushed, laser focused on the BP and sats of the patient. “Mateo, call ortho and get extra units of whole blood.”
“He’s still tachy. We can try a REBOA, I’ll check for a possible entry point.” You instructed, using the ultrasound to check for the right pathway to the femoral artery and then used your fingers to check for the strongest pulse. “Somebody get me the kit and page IR.”
“Viable?” Jack asked you, helping you prepare the kit.
“Yes, 18-gauge, please.” Jack handed it over to you and watched your every move, ready to assist. You pierced the patient’s groin with the thick access needle, then Jack threaded in the guidewire as you made an incision in the entry point for the introducer and the REBOA catheter. There was a moment of silence apart from the beeping of the telemetry machines, with you and Jack communicating just by looking at each other’s eyes.
Working as one unit, you inserted the REBOA catheter and stopped at the right depth while Jack readied the syringe for the saline infusion.
“We are in. Inflating now!” You confirmed and steadied the catheter. With urgency, Jack pushed the saline through the occlusion balloon tube.
“Balloon up. Start the clock. Cycle the BP.” Jack called out, eyes moving into the monitor as you held the REBOA catheter securely against the patient’s thigh.
“Running at 7:28.” Mateo confirmed, recording it into the system.
“BP’s getting better.” Jack stated as he checked for the pulse manually and through the cardiac monitor. There was a faint gasp of air from the patient, confirming that the REBOA was working as intended.
You let out a sigh of relief. ”This buys him half an hour. Only half an hour.”
“We are on the clock,” Jack mumbled in a sing-song tone.
“Give 2-0 silk to Dr. Henderson.” The senior resident quickly approached you with the suture kit from the nurse, and you instructed him on where he needed to clamp and stitch the clamp in place.
“Any movement would risk the placement, make sure it’s secured.”
Crus nodded and started with the suture as you continued to hold it in place.
“Dr. L/N, we have Dr. Park on speaker,” The nurse put the handset down and the beeping of the speaker phone made you grumble under your breath. Jack gave you a teasing grin, knowing how annoyed you usually were with the surgeon.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The abrasive orthopaedic surgeon spoke through the line.
The nickname made Jack’s head tilt in disbelief, raising a brown and crossing his arms against his chest.
“Open book, left pelvis. Profuse internal bleeding so we started MTP and deployed Zone 3 REBOA. BP’s stable. IR’s aware.”
“Fine, I’ll be there in 30.”
You shook your head in frustration.
“The patient only has…” You paused to check your watch. “...24minutes before he starts crashing again. We are taking him up to IR, you argue with them there.”
“He’s holding up. Crus, babysit him as you take him to IR. Eyes on that REBOA or you’ll feel the wrath of the Witch here.” Jack stated in an as-a-matter-of-fact matter, pointing at you.
“Yeah, I’ll start with your attending, Dr. Henderson."
“Oh, I’m soooo scared, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes and gagged.
Crus and the nurses laughed, already used to your banters having been living witnesses of it every shift. They enjoyed it, in fact. It made the work feel lighter despite how crazy the cases could be.
“Ready for transport.” Crus confirmed and Jack gave the go signal.
As the team departed leaving you and Jack alone, he assisted you in removing your sterile gown and you did the same for him.
“Have you imagined undressing me before, Dr. L/N? It’s like you’re used to it.” He teased.
“Oh, please. You know I am an expert.” You whispered, an intentional seduction lacing your voice. “I can do it even in the dark.”
“Shall we test it in the on-call room, then?”
A sly smirk tugged the corners of his lips, already leaning in.
Before he could do so however, Lena barged into the room alerting him that another trauma had arrived.
He cursed under his breath and you chuckled.
“Not bad for a first save tonight, Dr. Abbot.”
“Well, what can I say? We’re a dream duo, you and I.” He stole a quick peck on your cheek as he walked past you, already making his way onto the next trauma.
—
It was an hour past midnight when you received the confirmation from the IR that the patient was stable and that ortho was just finishing the surgery. It was a close save, they told you, but you did the REBOA quick enough to give the patient enough time.
As it was your first day back after your vacation, you did not have any planned surgery and OR time, allowing you to stay in The Pitt to action on any emergent surgical interventions needed, as you often do being the primary ED surgical attending.
Jack was in the middle of the body cavity of a stabbing victim who arrived via the EMS, guts out and bleeding. inserted lap pads to control the bleeding. You ordered Ellis to page Dr. Walsh, needing another set of hands when nurse Vivi alerted you that another critical trauma was 2 minutes out.
“Assault victim. EMS said this one might need the OR ASAP. Dr. Shen’s in trauma, too.” The nurse added.
You and Jack exchanged glances, silently agreeing that the smartest move would be for you to go.
“You got this?”
“Even in the dark.” He smirked, followed by a strong push of another lap pad. You only shook your head at his deliberate response.
“Dr. Ellis, hands here please.” You gestured towards the retractor in your hand, which Parker immediately took from you. “I’ll get the incoming.”
“I’ll be right there.” Jack called out and Emery arrived just as you left, finally wheeling the patient up into the OR once he stabilized.
—
The wait in the ambulance bay was longer than you anticipated. It was eerily quiet and the breeze was colder for a spring night. The chill seeped through your bones, causing an unsettling feeling into your stomach. It was never that quiet in the area no matter the time, something was amiss.
Despite being a rational person, your intuition has never been wrong.
Shaking the feeling off with a stretch, you looked around for any signs of the EMS until the sirens shook you awake. You ran towards it and opened its door, with Bosco pulling out the gurney and explaining their initial diagnosis.
“What do we have here?”
“John Doe. Multiple trauma, skull and rib fractures, absent lung sliding on the left. Assault victim, we alerted the police, we found him in an abandoned lot, dispatch said it was an anonymous caller.” As the medics wheeled the patient out of the ambulance you immediately conducted your checks. The patient was battered and bruised, his whole face was swollen and purple with contusions.
“H-help m-me… They want me…” The man garbled in between bloody coughs.
“Woah, is that blood coming from his—”
A loud revving of a motorcycle zooming in broke through mid-conversation, and then…
BANG!
BANG!
And then another.
Your ears rang from the deafening noise and in a split second, you collapsed on the ground with a loud thud as if a puppet suddenly released from your strings.
Everything went cold.
Only when you felt the excruciating pain searing through your left shoulder and chest did you realise what happened.
You were shot.
—
Muffled sounds filled your ears keeping you conscious—police sirens, medics calling out for help, hurried footsteps approaching.
Everything was in slow-motion with your vision slowly blurring, like you were viewing whatever was unfolding through a fogged-up looking glass.
But you recognized the figure towering over you, tapping your face to keep you awake, and then yelling at someone.
You had the faintest idea of what was happening around you.
The only thing keeping you from slipping completely was your husband.
“Stay with me, Y/N.” You heard your husband’s voice clearly, cutting through the noise and the screeching of the wheels against the floor.
“I l..lo—” You slurred, looking up at him and willing every cell of your body to stay awake. You gasped heavily in an attempt to catch your breathing but it felt like drowning. Classic signs that your oxygen was tanking. And you knew it.
What followed, however, was fits of coughing and wheezing. The taste of iron coated your tongue as crimson blood oozed from your lips. It eased your breathing for a few moments before you started panting once again.
You were quivering, cold, clammy hand grabbing Jack’s forearm for dear life.
He held it.
Tight.
Reminding you that he would never let go.
The last thing you remember were the blinding lights, the doctors crowding you, and Jack.
Your Jack.
Then, everything went pitch-black.
The moment Jack heard the noise he recognised what it was.
Gunshots.
Ahmad called for everyone to stay down, but being an army veteran and a SWAT medic, Jack immediately followed where the sound came from.
The ambulance bay.
And you were there.
In a fit of adrenaline, his feet moved with an impossible speed that nobody was able to stop him. His goal was clear—ensure you were safe.
“Dr. Abbot!” Lena exclaimed, trying to prevent him.
“Y/N’s there!”
Mateo and Shen ran after him, bumping into Bosco who was already running past the door to call for an assist, just in time for them to reach the bay.
Jack’s heart pounded the second he did not see you right away. Everything stilled until John’s voice ripped through his consciousness.
“Oh god, Y/N!”
Jack’s world stopped.
There you were, lying in your own pool of blood. Conscious, but only just.
Jack scrambled towards you, kneeling and completely ignoring the discomfort on his right limb as he shook you awake while the other medic pressed tightly on your chest wound.
“Hey, hey… I’m here.” He hushed as he rested his hand on your head, blood completely drained from his face.
“Keep your eyes open for me. Please.”
“Get the fucking gurney, what the hell are you waiting for?!” He yelled, shaking Shen and Mateo. They transferred you into the gurney and wheeled you into the trauma room, with Bosco following with the assault victim.
Jack was coaxing you awake throughout, and John who was still shaking started hooking you up with monitors.
Parker burst into the room upon hearing from Mateo, getting trauma shears and cutting your scrubs open. Her hands trembled as she did so, quietly whispering, “You’re okay, you’re okay…”
“Page OR! Tell them it’s Y/N! And hang three units of blood.” Jack yelled as he looked at you, checking your pupils for any signs of head trauma as the deafening sounds of the monitor filled his head.
“Don’t close your eyes, honey. Please. Just stay with us.”
Jack’s head was loud, silently praying for all the gods to hear him. Begging them to spare you.
Not my wife, please. Not my wife.
Robby, who was napping in one of the ED rooms, woke up from the commotion.
“It’s Y/N.” Lena told him and the chief sprinted towards the room seeing Jack and the other surgeons who just arrived already working on you.
“Sats are dropping! We need to intubate now. Ketamine and sux! ”
Jack was clearly in no right condition, his usual composed demeanor nowhere to be seen as he worked on you, shouting endless orders.
Robby squeezed himself in, a gentle hand on Jack’s arm as he pulled him away, “Jack, let us do this brother.”
“FUCK NO!”
“You can’t save her like this, Jack. You need to let us save her.” Robby’s voice was still controlled, but firmer, exercising authority over Jack considering the situation.
Jack paused.
He looked at you once more and choked a sob, removing his gloves to caress the top of your head, feeling your warmth. He knew what he had to do. The best thing he could do for you was to step back and allow them to do their work.
“We got her, Jack.” Emery reassured your visibly shaken husband as the head of cardiothoracics started taking charge of the next steps.
“I am staying in the room. Got it?” Your husband pressed on, chin raised in a fight for authority. “I am in the room.”
Robby patted his shoulder and nodded, leading him towards the wall, “Okay, brother. You can stay.”
—
A few minutes later, Jack spoke.
“Shen. Ellis. Take charge. We need assistance on the other traumas.” Jack ordered his team, albeit flatly. Both residents were hesitant, not wanting to leave, but also knowing that they needed to support Jack and the department this time. You were in the hands of great surgeons and people who care for you as well, after all.
Jack could not bear just standing there while you were fighting for your life. And while he also did not have the strength to leave, he knew he must do something.
Stepping just outside the room where he could still monitor you, he called for and demanded updates from Lena, Ahmad, and the police officers who responded on scene. Ahmad shared all footage with the police and the officers mentioned that a team was already looking for potential leads.
“The other victim?”
“Dr. Miller is working on him.“ Lena stated, “He was taken straight to the OR.”
“We have officers manning so we can get statements as soon as the patient’s stable.”
Jack nodded, jaw tensed, eyes sharp. “How many officers are assigned to the case?”
“We can check it for you, doctor.” A young officer said.
“Tell your superiors that Jack Abbot from the SWAT team needs reinforcements. Get them to deploy the whole Allegheny County police for all I care, just find the fucking suspect.” He said sharply, anger simmering even further.
“Lena, Shen and Parker will take charge for now.”
The charge nurse placed a hand on his forearm, “We got this, Dr. Abbot.”
From his periphery, he saw the surgeons preparing you for transport. He dismissed Ahmad, Lena, and the officers, reminding them to update him every hour. He accompanied you, pushing the gurney himself. His hand found yours in the elevator ride, adjusting his index and middle finger just so he could feel your pulse, an attempt to calm himself. He sucked his breath and whipped his head at you when he suddenly felt your fingers curling around his, no matter how weak your grip was.
“She’s in and out. It’s a good sign.“ Emery told him. “She’s fighting hard, Jack.”
He held your hands tighter.
—
Jack stayed by your side throughout your surgery. He stood inside the OR quietly as the surgeons worked on you, took it upon himself to dress you in a new gown post the surgery, and even volunteered to monitor you in the recovery room while they were processing the ICU transfer for your post-operative care.
He was there for you as he promised, silent but with such commanding presence the whole time.
By the break of dawn, you got transferred into your private room in the ICU, allowing Jack to have that much-needed respite after the chaotic night.
The silence in your room opened the floodgates. Jack succumbed to the heaviness in his chest that he was suppressing the whole time. He clasped your hand against his face as broken whimpers spilled from his trembling lips. Muffled cries filled the room as the overflow of emotions consumed him—anger, frustration, pain, and fear. He was terrified.
Jack did not think something would be even more painful and unimaginably worse than what he experienced on the battlefield.
He survived a lot of battles, but that night as he watched you fighting for your life, he became certain that there was one thing he could never survive: losing you.
—
Jack was speaking to the Chief of Cardiothoracics and Emery when Robby entered the room just before the start of the day shift.
The surgeons gave Jack updates on the treatment plan, current prognosis, and a copy of the operative records per Jack’s request. Jack shook the hands of the surgeons and thanked them. The chief of cardiothoracics patted Robby’s back and Emery gave the man a nod as they made their way out.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s stable. The bullet got into her lung but did not do much damage.” Jack explained, unable to take his eyes off you. “They’ll dial down her sedation in the afternoon and then, we wait for her to find her way back to us.”
“Well she’s a hell of a fighter, Jack.” Robby placed a hand on his friend’s back to console him..
“That, she is.” Jack heaved a sigh. “Hey, would you mind looking after her for a few minutes? I got a bunch of additional forms they need me to sign and I need to make a call to get updates on the case.”
“Of course. Do what you need to do.”
Jack pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, whispering as if you could hear him, “I’ll be back, honey. I love you.”
You were no longer used to waking up cold and alone.
And despite coming from a long, deep, dreamless sleep, you had never felt more depleted.
Things did not make sense as your eyes adjusted to the light and surveyed the room. Your cozy chandelier fan was missing, your wooden bookshelf was gone, there was no sun peeking through your window, and the warmth of your husband was nowhere to be felt. What remained were plain walls, high ceiling, and relentless buzzing and beeping noise just above your head.
Slowly, your limbs started waking up as well. You were in pain, but not the familiar kind of soreness following your shenanigans with Jack, no. This type of pain was a deep-seated, throbbing ache that made itself comfortable under your skin.
The fog in your brain started dissipating and it finally dawned on you that you were in a hospital. There were IV lines and monitors attached to your body, a nasal cannula resting in your nostrils, and a splint supporting your left side.
Turning your head, your eyes landed on Jack who was by your side. He was fast asleep, head resting on a pillow with a hand on your forearm. He was facing you, as if he had been watching you the whole time until his body betrayed him.
You reached out to him, brushing your fingers through his greying auburn locks and admiring how peaceful he looked. He was breathing steadily, but having memorised every feature of his face, you easily noticed that his eyes were darker, puffier and his nose were redder than usual. Before you could even continue deducing, he stirred from his sleep.
“Aloha,” You croaked, grinning lopsidedly.
Like a splash of cold water on a hot day, relief flooded his whole being once he saw you awake. Hearing your voice after nearly three days was music to his ears, never minding how hoarse you sounded from the intubation.
“Took you long enough.”
You rolled your still heavy eyes at him.
“Aloha, honey.”
Jack snickered through tears, cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“You okay?” You asked, laying your palm over his chest, a gesture learned throughout the years.
Jack snorted, wiping his tears away. “Am I okay? I am not the one on the bed, am I?”
“Asshole.” You attempted to give him a playful shove only to wince as shooting pains radiated from your left side, making you groan. “Aw!”
“Easy, honey.”
Jack steadied you by the bed and then adjusted it into 30 degrees for a more comfortable angle. He then added another pillow behind your back for a gentler cushioning. Holding a bottle of cold water with a plastic straw, he sat closer to you and lifted it towards your lips. Your first sip made you moan in delight, the cold water immediately quenching your parched mouth and throat. Halfway through, Jack slowly pulled it away to your dismay, but you understood you must also take it easy.
“Good girl.”
He carefully dabbed your lips with a napkin. Noticing some slight bleeding on your chapped lips and being attuned to what you need, he applied some ointment to hydrate and soothe it.
“Thank you, dear husband.” You playfully pinched his nipple making him shake his head.
Smiling, he shifted closer and delicately draped his right arm around you, resting his hand on your left side so you could feel his warmth without putting any pressure on your surgical wounds. This was the closest thing to a cuddle for now, but he took what he could get.
“Are you in any pain? I can ask for another bolus, if needed.”
You shook your head and leaned back on the pillow. “Not much, just tired.”
You reached for his hand, yearning to feel its warmth. You fiddled with his wedding ring and laced your fingers together.
“Do you remember what happened?”
You did. At least fragments of it.
The gunshots.
The excruciating pain.
The blinding lights.
And the one thing that kept you tethered to life throughout.
Him.
“I remember…” Your voice shuddered, swallowing the lump of tears in your throat. “...you being stubborn and not giving up on me.”
Jack released a shaky exhale, pressing your hand against his face and kissing your palm, crying and smiling at the same time. “I love you, honey. So, so much. Thank you for staying.”
You instinctively snaked your hands towards his nape, pulling him closer until his forehead touched yours, and whispered against his lips. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Jack Abbot.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
—
Parker and John quickly stole your attention away from Jack as soon as they learned you were awake, not without Jack nagging them to take it easy considering what you had been through. They offered to look after you so your husband could get some rest, but Jack was adamant to be the one looking after you.
It was the first occasion that painted a clearer picture of your relationship to the other people in the hospital. Seeing his reaction and considering how he never left your side, was listed as your emergency contact, and consented for your treatment and medications, they reckoned that your relationship was truly more than what they initially believed to be.
When you got transferred into the private suite, Jack finally got a comfortable bed where he could properly rest. Stubborn as ever, he never used it. He opted to use the reclining chair by your bedside so he can either hold your hand or easily reach you should you need anything.
Your room became a permanent hang-out spot of the nightcrawlers during your time in the hospital. They brought you and Jack breakfast after their shift, and then dinner before clocking in. Dana and Robby frequented to ensure you both got everything you needed. Robby, having spare keys to your house, also brought extra clothes for Jack and checked in on your house while you were admitted until your surgeon cleared you for discharge.
The once empty shelves and table soon became filled with flowers, assortment of fruits and snacks, and even some homemade food from Lena to help you recover faster knowing how bland hospital food can be sometimes.
Despite how traumatic the situation was, you were ever grateful for the love and care of the people around you, not just towards you, but towards your husband as well.
Finally coming home meant you regained your Jack.
Not Dr. Jack Abbot, but your husband.
The hospital bed was too big, too cold. And while Jack was always by your side throughout, both your guards were still up and you both still had to be professional.
At home, you could finally put down the weight off your shoulders.
At home you could just be Jack and Y/N, husband and wife.
Just the two of you doing life things, free from prying eyes and expectations.
He padded around your room in his black boxers and freed from his prosthesis, while you sat by the bed in your silk sleeping robe. His curls were an unruly mop on his head after your shared shower while yours was all over the place after his attempt of blowdrying it given the limited movement of your left arm. His left leg rested on top of a pillow while you rubbed yours against his meaty thighs. His voice was more animated as he argued about what the writers had done to his favourite character in the series you had been catching up on while you listened intently and indulged in everything he was saying.
And then as the night deepened and the comfortable silence enveloped the atmosphere, his arms curled around you while you snuggled against him.
“I missed your warm cuddles.” You whispered, brushing your nose against his.
“I am glad we are home, honey.” He pulled you in closer, pecking the tip of your nose and your lips. “So fucking relieved.”
“Well, I hope you don’t get bored staying at home and taking care of me for another 2 weeks.”
He chuckled, “Baby, we stayed cooped up at home for more than a month when we both got COVID. I learned how to bake. Two weeks is pretty easy.”
“I am already thinking of how our house would look during my sabbatical.” You twirled your fingers on his curl, eliciting a soft hum from him.
“I’ll ask Ahmad to put up a betting board on what your hyperfixation might be, I already have some ideas.”
You giggled as Jack as he tucked you both under the duvet, sleep already lulling the two of you.
It was quiet.
Quiet enough to hear and feel how Jack’s heart was still racing against his chest.
“Hey, Jack…”
You tilted your head just enough to look into his lidded eyes.
“Ease your storm.”
“Hm?” He scrunched his brow and drew you closer.
“I am okay now, my love. We’re okay. I am safe in your arms.”
Jack nodded, anchoring himself with a deep, steadying breath, feeling your hand against his chest. Slowly his heartbeat started quieting. And so as he relaxed and leaned in to capture your lips in a loving kiss, you met him halfway.
“I love you, Jack.”
“I love you more."
With you nestled safely against his chest, you both let the tension and worries of the day go, closed your eyes, and drifted into slumber.
A month flew by in a blink of an eye.
Your recovery was smooth, all thanks to your husband who strictly monitored your medicines, follow-up checkups, and even your physical therapy sessions to ensure your shoulder injury did not have an impact on your arm’s mobility.
While he was hesitant, he came back to work two weeks after your discharge, with a promise that you would update him regularly. His first two weeks back were filled with a series of video calls whenever he could find time, checking how you were and reminding you to take it easy. There were days wherein he also asked Robby to stay in your place while he was on shift, which his friend willingly obliged.
Jack installed new CCTV cameras around the house and the porch, the latest model with mic and speakers features, so he could monitor you real-time even while at work.
“I feel like I am on baby monitors,” You told him while you were facetiming one time, while you munch on some frozen strawberries.
“Exactly the point. You’re my baby. Hence the monitors.” He wiggled his brows, pleased with himself.
You feigned a vomiting reaction followed by a giggle.
“I hate you.”
“I love you more. See you at home.”
No matter how smooth he thought he was, Jack Abbot will always be a huge dork.
And you love him even more for it.
—
Turns out, Jack was right.
Apparently, suturing chicken or Jack’s steak was insufficient in keeping your brain functioning despite it being helpful for your motor skills.
It took no time before you started exploring something new to stimulate you while on a break.
The delivery you were waiting for arrived at a perfect timing during Jack’s day off.
The only problem was, it was bigger than you were expecting.
You took giddy steps going towards the small library at home where he was busy scrolling through his laptop, looking so handsome it should be illegal.
Leaning by the door frame, you gawked at him, admiring how his “screen-safe” readers sat on his nose bridge, how he pursed his lips, and how he tilted his head while browsing through some documents.
“You need something, honey?”
Jack and spidey senses when it comes to you. He did not even need to turn his eyes away from the screen.
“Yuuuup,” When his voice broke your trance, you strode towards him.
“Yuuuup?”
He mimicked, making you smirk as you sat by the side of the table and flipping through the documents.
His VA documents. More specifically, his VA benefit records.
“What are you doing with these, hun?” You squinted your eyes in confusion, turning your body to see him going through his online bank records. “Is something wrong?”
“No, actually. I am just admiring the figure.” He pecked your hand, closing the laptop and looking up at you.
“Oooh, I am so lucky to be married to a rich, handsome doctor.”
You leaned in to press kisses on both his cheeks, and he huffed.
“Okay, what does my wife need?”
“I have a delivery…”
He pressed his lips in a tight line, holding back a smirk.
“Let me guess, it is quite heavy.”
“Yes,” you nodded sheepishly.
“A new appliance? For beverages?”
“Mhm?”
“Am I getting warmer?”
“You’ll see.” You dragged him by his arm towards the porch but Jack blocked the door before you could open it.
“Honey, I put my bet on this. Is it a professional espresso machine?”
You went slack-jawed and Jack released a hearty laugh. He opened the door, effortlessly carrying the parcel inside the house and towards the kitchen. Thankfully he was still in his prosthesis after your short walk that afternoon.
“How did you know?!”
“We watch too many coffee videos before bed, honey…” He placed the machine on the counter and you started to remove the protective wrappings of the box. “Plus, I saw you browsing and checking this out.”
“And you actually placed a bet? That’s cheating!”
“Nope, that is called deduction, honey.” Jack just shrugged, handing you the scissors. “Now enough chit-chat doc, time to play with your new toy.”
“Let’s!”
Your great meltdown happened nearly three months into your break.
You were fine. Healed. Cleared for work, even.
Or so you thought.
There was a part of you that was left out in the process of recuperation.
Jack found you in the living room when he came home from work, gorging on a tub of ice cream, bawling your eyes out to a documentary about dinosaurs.
You did not know why you were crying and why you could not stop.
But your husband did.
The psychological and emotional toll you had been numbing for a while had already caught up. Hard.
You set it aside, in your attempt to not worry Jack and assure him you were okay. You were masking the whole time, thinking that maybe when you act okay, everything will follow suit. But in reality, the darkness just crept in later.
“It’s okay, honey. Cry it out. It feels good, yeah?” He cradled you in a tight embrace, stroking your hair and waiting out the storm with you.
You both fell asleep tangled on the sofa, lulled by a documentary about the Velociraptors playing in the background.
—
Jack never brought up your breakdown in any of your conversations. He knew it was vital you let it out and being with you for many years, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the topic came up. The best thing he could do, as always, was to navigate it with you, as you always do for him.
He was right.
It was your date night, spent at home. Jack unleashed his absolutely sexy chef alter-ego with his perfectly medium steak, paired with your pecorino and truffle gnocchi. For dessert, he helped you prepare a classic tiramisu, making full use of your espresso machine that you already mastered.
You then capped off the night in your outdoor jacuzzi, one of your favourite places at home.
You turned your unassuming backyard into a small oasis—tall cedar walls, canopy decorated with small lanterns and warm lights, wooden decking covering the tub itself, and various plants and greenery planted around.
Jazz music swelled from the living area and you emerged with two glasses of wine, joining your husband in the tub, holding on to his outstretched arm.
Soft groans escaped your lips as you rested on the wall of the tub while the high-pressure jets of water melted the tension in your body. You closed your eyes and basked in the relaxing ambience and your absolutely gorgeous company.
Jack laid his eyes on you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed steadily. A ghost of a small smile painted his lips and he took the moment to press his lips against the scars on your shoulder and chest.
You felt your soul awaken when he did so. Tilting his head by his chin, you kissed him softly, knowing he could taste your tears as the petals of your lips slotted in between his.
“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked, wrapping his arm around you so you could feel his warm skin against yours.
“Nothing… just… last week…”
“It’s okay to cry, my love. You know that.”
“Everything just felt so real, you know. My scars, the charges and the hearings, my rehab…” You hiccuped, “I was convincing myself I was okay… I did not want you to worry and I thought I was over it… then it came crashing on me.”
Jack listened intently as you let go of the fears and emotions.
“Honey, I worry everyday, even before that. I am your husband, that’s what we do. That’s an extension of love.”
Looking up at him, you met his mesmerizing eyes, one of the many things you love about him, those kind amber eyes. His eyes spoke volume more than anything, irises of honey glimmered even in the dark of the night, warm hues melting your insides reminding you of the hot chocolates you used to share on the rooftop when you were still in the beginning of your relationship, and his ethereal beauty leaving you breathless every time.
As his arms encircled your body and pressed you fervently against his, a shudder rocked through you. You had your arm wrapped around him ever tightly, letting him nuzzle against the crook of your neck and burying yourself in his is. You shivered from his hot, shaky breath fanning your skin and his lips grazing ever gently by your neck.
“I was thinking of stopping overall,” He admitted, tangling his fingers through your hair. “That was why I was checking my VA documents and our bank accounts. I was thinking we’d have enough with my lifetime benefits, plus our investments.”
Your heart sank.
The thought of you and Jack giving up on what you love, your purpose, did not sit well with you.
Perhaps, that was your answer. That was your driving force to keep going.
“I was thinking we can just open a private practice… or cafe… less risks…”
“A cafe?”
Jack smiled at the thought.
“But seeing you butcher and suture those chicken in our kitchen…” You both chuckled, realizing just how many recipes you perfected just to not waste the meat.
“I could not take you away from what you love. I will be denying a lot of people the privilege of being under your care.”
You remained silent, letting Jack hold you closer as his vulnerability surfaced. “I was fucking terrified of losing you.”
“We’ve been so lucky, living the promise of a day that some may never see.”
“We are, but we’re also a damn great team and have already saved countless lives.”
You hummed, “ And we could save so many more.”
“Yes we could.” He rested his chin on top of your head. “This is not the time we give up, honey. Remember what they told us in Hawaii?”
You curled your brows and craned your neck so you could look at him.
“We can never erase what already transpired, but we can overwrite it with beautiful ones. It feels dark now, I know, but we have each other to help each other dance through it. That’s what matters.”
You held each other as if drawing strength and healing from that embrace, as if breathing each other in for dear life, and as if the ground would collapse if either of you let go.
You never thought you could love Jack even more, but he had proven you wrong again.
Jack is the only one who could put your pieces back together. He is your anchor in the stormy seas, your solid-ground, and the one who holds you in the dark until the day appears.
“I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve your love, but I always thank the heavens that I have you, Jack Abbot.”
Your husband smiled at you, tucking your hair behind your ear and stroking your cheek with his thumb gently.
“So…” He mumbled under his breath, searching your eyes. “Join me in therapy?”
You threw your head back laughing, before yanking him in for a loud, playful smooch on his lips.
“Yes, therapy.” You nodded, already pulling away, only for him to reel you back in for a deeper, more ardent exchange.
⚠️ Warnings: Cursing. Mushy Jack Abbot. Pure jealousy and fluff otherwise.
♯ Notes: Unedited and raw (mostly). English is my second language, so the story comes first, grammar and punctuation second (we truly don't care about verb tenses in this household). Feedback is welcomed! Enjoy - and read responsibly!
Jack Abbot had a problem. And he wasn't a man to have many of those. Jack has always been a man of action— a great flirt, gifted with guns, a talented doctor in the ER and very fast to build muscle once he settles his mind in it. None of these things have been bugging him for a couple of weeks now.
He likes to think of himself as a great leader, even though he doesn’t try to impose. And an empathic friend, which led him to worry about his personal friend, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, more times than he cared to admit.
Not even Robby’s sabbatical has soothed his friend’s soul completely— so imagine Jack’s surprised to watch the day shift senior attending smiling at his phone during shift handover.
“Oh, just tell me it isn’t Noelle again. I thought we agreed that that was fucked.” Jack wonders, trying to peek over his (slightly) taller friend’s shoulder.
Robby shook his head, chuckling. Yes, chuckling.
“You truly are as nosy as they say.”
“Who says?”
“Mm, everyone? Even Princess.”
“Ouch. Really. Ouch.” Jack holds his hand to his heart.
Robby chuckles, once more. Odd for his usual humor. “You always had a flair for the dramatics, Jack.”
They put their attention to work one more time, dealing with the cases that would go for each doctor under them and the matters they usually discuss over the shift exchange. Once they are settled, Jack turns one more time to Robby, before his friend can leave. “So. This mysterious woman…”
“Jack. There’s no woman?”
“Oh, Michael. I know you love me but this thing between us will never work.” Jack jokes, and both of them snort “Come on. I’ve been the one suffering your burdens by your side since forever. You should share the joy too, you know?”
Robby seems to think for a moment. “Fine. I am seeing someone. But I’m trying to keep things under wraps. She’s younger and you know that Dana would love to give me her speech about caring about myself first and already having much to deal with to have a young little thing by my side.”
“Oh, so you know exactly what Dana would say, huh?” Jack questions “Mm. You gave thought to that, it seems.”
“Yes, Abbot. Now stop bugging me and go to work, bay 6 has been having a nasty diarrhea and I don’t think you’d want to miss that.”
Jack snorts, flipping him off as Robby stalks to the lockers.
______________________________
Nights were always like that. The weirdest, the grotesque. The patience-testing.
But he was used to that. It was part of why he preferred to work at the time of the day.
Because Jack was also a restless mind. Even when he was younger, he would prefer to hit the bed while the others were stirring awake.
It was part of what had drawn him to the military— yes, there was routine. And yes, he also did that to pay for what he didn’t have money for, like med school and specializations. And later, a new leg. Oh, well—that was actually because of the military.
But on that matter he valued his absolute comfort, such as a flexfoot so he could move nicely when running and a nice carbon-fiber mech—”Jack,” a sweet voice calls cutting him out of night shift’s bullshit and his thoughts about of his leg “Black, cream no sugar for Jack.”
He gets a quick glance at himself when his eyes go up, in the glass from the front window of the coffee shop—the one cozy place that opened a couple of months back, same block as the hospital. Better coffee than the one that was reheated over and over again at PTMC’s cafeteria. He has dark circles in his eyes—a professional hazard—, and slightly disheveled hair from being on shift for the best part of eight hours straight.
“Oh, that would be me, sweetheart. Sorry.”
And then there’s you, with your bright eyes despite working nights at the coffee shop and a big smile to every single customer. Every single one. “Oh, hello Jack. Black, cream and no sugar. Anything else that I can help you with?”
Yeah, your phone number. He doesn’t ask thought. He won’t. He’s always been great at flirting, but terrible at what comes after. He wouldn’t be able to handle a pretty little thing like you, not after years of being off his dating game.
Lizzie would probably make fun of him, if she was alive. Yeah, shit. His fear of relationships always comes back to her, the dearest woman he loved more than life.
He realizes that he’s been holding the line, that includes nurses and some patients’ visitors, behind him. “No, thanks.”
“No problem, thank you for having your coffee with us!” you always say, as if the shop wasn’t the best coffee around the hospital. As if he hadn’t got a fidelity card when you offered quite nicely the last time he was around with coffee addict Dr. John Shen.
He gathers his wallet and phone, watching you drink your own coffee (Mhm, she’s a latte woman—he stores the information) and gives you a small nod while leaving. Your pretty smile is still on your face when he crosses the door to get back to The Pitt’s cacophony and linoleum floors.
______________________________
Walsh had been testing his patience, again, on that shift when Michael Robinavitch entered The Pitt—at 6.58 AM—carrying one black coffee, two spoons of sugar, and one almost empty cup of latte—red lipstick smudged, that he quickly threw on the trash as soon as he saw Jack.
“Thank fuck you’re here.”
“That bad, huh?”
“With Walsh? The worst part is that she’s been bugging me all shift, with her usual bullshit—as if I don’t run circles around her when it comes to years in medicine. Good luck with that, she’s pulling a double. Your problem now.”
A long pause. Robby didn’t answer as he logged in, mind elsewhere.
“So. Nice lipstick. You're doing drag now?”
“Fuck off, Abbot.” to Jack’s amused face.
“Come on, brother. Who 's the girl?”
“A woman, Jack.”
Jack shook his head “Who’s the woman, then?”
Robby just walked off toward the bays, not paying Jack any mind.
Abbot’s eyes fell to the empty cup of latte, with the logo from your coffee shop;
“Shit. Robby is dating her.”
__
You are cute. The way you scrunch up your nose when you don’t like the gossip your coworker has been telling, or when you misspell his last name (Abbot with one T, sweetheart.) once—to keep apologizing and never doing it again. Even when you kept teasing him (Oh, hello Abbot with one T.) every time he appeared for a new coffee.
Well, except for that afternoon, when he was pulling a double—day and night shifts, covering the second attending to Al-Hashimi taking her son to his school play—, and he went to have coffee with Robby. You didn’t tease him, but seemed to beam at Robby when he entered the shop—and his friend did the same, which made his lunch suddenly feel off in his stomach.
"Robibivitch," you joked, and Robby greeted you with a smile and a nod, amusement seeping through his features.
Jack felt a bit betrayed. He wasn’t the only one you misspelled the name, it seems.
“You two know each other.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” you answered.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” he couldn’t catch himself before saying, waiting for you two to finally tell him you’ve been dating.
“I took care of her father a few years back.”
“Palliative care, but it ended soon. He liked Dr. Robby so much that he promised to open one of his coffee shops near the hospital, so the doctors could finally have good coffee.” you chuckled while saying, eyes a bit watery from the memory “Of course, he couldn’t do it. So I kept the promise.”
A cute story, just like you. Sad, but cute. Until he understood.
“Wait.”
“What?” His friend asked.
“Aren’t you dating?”
“What? No, ew.” then, turning to Robby, "No offense."
“None taken.”
Then: "Wait, why did you think we were dating?
“Mm. The coffee? She’s cute, and you kept smiling at your phone.”
"I am not texting Robby," you laughed. "Wait, I'm cute?"
Robby let out an “Oh. Oh.” just for Jack to look at him, murder in his eyes.
You seemed to understand Jack’s interest too—and for the first time since he laid eyes on you, you seemed to blush. Fucking cute, he couldn’t help but think.
Robby was already ordering his coffee with your coworker, having left him to fend for himself. He had two drinks in hand, only then Jack caught the name on the other cup “Estella”—the proctology resident.
Your coworker set his order on the counter so you could deliver it yourself. "Black, cream, no sugar, for Jack Abbot," you said, writing his name on the cup before sliding it over — your number now his, in the cup with a heart, a wink tucked into the corner of your eye.
❥ sweet serotonin (7k) ☼
— jack abbot x resident!reader
you're called into the ED on a rare friday night off, saving you from a disastrous first date. throughout your shift, jack can't keep his eyes off you and lends a helping hand when he notices you're in pain.
❥ sweet serotonin - part 2 (16.7k) ☼♡
— jack abbot x resident!reader
the pitt notices the growing tension between you and jack, even after you're moved to the day shift temporarily - spurring forth a secret bet you're both unaware of. jack is there when you get injured at work, and he shows you just how helpful his hands can be.
── ⋆˙⟡ one shots
❥ jack has a staring problem (1.4k) ☼
— jack abbot x resident!reader
his dream of having kids died with his wife—that is until he saw your adoration for them. now, he's developed a staring problem and baby fever.
❥ i've got expectations! (2k) ☼
— jack abbot x sunshine nurse!reader
on a rare friday night off jack begrudgingly joins his coworkers on a night out. he hates every second of it, until he sees you dancing and singing your heart out.
── ⋆˙⟡ being crafted
❥ linger (tbd) ☼☾♡
— jack abbot x single mom resident!reader
one night with a handsome stranger in a hotel room changes your life forever. five years later, you start a new job at ptmc as a third year resident and discover the night shift attending is that handsome stranger. he wants nothing to do with you, and you struggle to keep a secret from everyone in the pitt.
❥ matilda (tbd) ☼☾ - on hold
— jack abbot x sunshine resident!reader
your sister comes into the er with an attempted overdose. the pitt gets a glimpse at the cracks in your sunshine exterior, at what your home life is really like. jack is there for you when you finally break.
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