Today I attended a pride parade in my city. I walked with my union. 🌈
It’s mandatory for kindergartens and schools in Norway to promote equality, equal worth and diversity.
I am a kindergarten teacher. We have a Framework Plan for Kindergartens.
“Kindergartens shall promote equity and equality irrespective of gender, functional ability, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, ethnicity, culture, social status, language, religion and world view. Kindergartens shall combat all forms of discrimination and promote compassion.”
A little about my foster fic! I’ve been writing a fic where Shane and Ilya foster a 3 year old girl who has been abused by her parents and with the help of her new foster parents and her new emotional support animal, Anya, starts to heal from her trauma.
‘cause i feel safe in your arms by CastielPizzaMan (me)
Hollanov foster a Russian-Canadian toddler who is a victim of abuse
The above is a video shared by smrchildsadness on Twitter, showing a person participating in a pride parade exchanging a pride flag with a person standing on his (am using his pronoun based on the TikToks/Tweets of what happened) doorway who had a Portuguese flag. There are sounds of cheers and crying and the two people hug each other as they exchange the flags. The man at the doorway then waved kisses to the crowd within the pride parade.
The Tweet says: "NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HE WAS WAVING THE PORTUGUESE FLAG BECAUSE HE DIDN'T HAVE A PRIDE FLAG AND THEY TRADED FLAGS AND HE'S SO EMOTIONAL TO GET HIS OWN PRIDE FLAG I'M EMOTIONALLY RUINED"
For context, apparently they were worried that maybe he's a nationalist because he was waving the Portuguese flag and some nationalists opposing the pride march were waving that flag. But upon interacting with him, it turns out he didn't have have a pride flag and he wanted to wave *a* flag in support of the pride march. So they had an exchange and now he has his own pride flag 😭🥹.
The image above is a Tweet by kunwara_ladkaa that says "I'm crying so much right now (Image taken by Manuel Fernando Araújo/Lusa)". The image shows the same man from the pride parade crying as he hugs his new pride flag.
The above image is a Tweet by dudz_zZzz that says "ainda não parei de pensar nele," which according to Google translate from Portuguese to English is "I still haven't stopped thinking about him." The image is a drawing of the person from the pride parade, crying as he hugs his new pride flag.
Shen whistles at Jack as he comes in for his shift. "Looking great, old man!" It makes everyone put their attention on Jack, who just smirks.
He's wearing black button-up t-shirt and black pants. It's an unsual sight, so different from the black scrubs he wears.
But the real whistles and cheers happen when you come sauntering after him. You wear skin-tight black dress that flows down to your feet, covering the high heels.
Your cheeks are flushed as your colleagues cheer at the sight of you. But it's not the only thing making you blush.
It's the fact, that it's obvious to everybody that you and Jack just came from a date.
Everyone has been speculating about you two for quiet a while, there's even a betting pool going around, but this....This confirms it.
You didn't have time to go home and change and get here in separate cars, not when there's been a massive pile up on the highway and everyone got called to work.
It was supposed to be yours and Jack's night off, you had a dinner reservation in the nicest restaurant in the city and it was so, so lovely.
That was until your phones started going off and you scrambled out of there in hurry and with groans. Don't get me wrong, you both love doing your job as doctors. But dates nights are sacred to you two since they don't happen as often as you would like.
"Yes! I fucking knew it." Santos says very loudly, already halfway through on the way for her winnings.
"Alright, alright, alright. The show is over, everybody get back to work." Finally, Dana yells loudly, making everyone avert their hungry gazes away from you.
"And you lovebirds, hurry up and get changed. ETA is 10 mins for the first patients."
You nod and hurry after Jack. It's not as easy to walk quickly in these high heels. Jack notices, of course he does, and waits up for you, hand extended your way.
You take it sheepishly and let him stabilise you so it's easier to walk. "You okay, angel? That was a lot, huh?"
"Yeah, but I'm okay. At least, now they know." You give him a little smile, squeezing his hand for the reassurance.
"Yes. At least, now I can kiss you whenever I want." He grins at you and you just look mortified. There's no way you'll survive heavy pda in front of your colleagues and you both know it.
"As long as it's moderate." You mumble out as you let Jack lead you towards the lockers.
"Don't worry, angel. I'll be on my best behaviour I promise." He seals that promise with a quick peck to your lips. But you are out of anyone's view so you relax into it. And you almost whine when he pulls away, almost. Gosh, you were so excited to have him all to yourself for the night.
"Okay, let's go, sweetheart. You heard Dana, no time to waste." He says when you try to steal another kiss from him.
"You kissed me first!" You laugh because he's clearly being ridiculous.
"I'd never." He fakes innocence, but the smirk on his face is far from that.
"Pff, we'll see where this gets you when we get home." You giggle but his eyes only darken.
"Doll, we both know I won't be the one begging then." He whispers the words into your ear and your stomach practically does somersaults at that.
"You're not playing fair." You pout at him as his hands help you unzip the dress.
"I'm only-" he stops in the middle of the sentences as you turn around and let the dress pool at your feet. The purple lingerie you have on clearly broke his brain. His eyes devour the sight in front of him.
You chuckle as you quickly change into your scrubs, and by the time Jack realises you are no longer half-naked, you are running away, leaving him there all stunned.
Yeah, this shift fucking better be over quickly. Or he'll lose his mind thinking about you.
Shane is learning Russian and he has a textbook full of different exercises. He needs a partner to practice the speaking exercises, so of course he asks Ilya to be his speaking partner when he does them. And while the exercises are just basic back and forths, learning to ask and answer questions, this has the potential to go off the rails quickly.
Shane gets to the unit about relationships (family, professional, romantic) and Shane and Ilya ask each other whether they have friends, siblings, roommates, etc. And the way Shane says "Да, у меня есть муж" (yes, I have a husband) makes Ilya lose it a little bit. It just turns into foreplay because Shane's accent is so bad, but he's actually very good at memorizing the correct grammatical structures and vocabulary that it's so fucking hot cute.
God help Ilya when they're no longer practicing speaking exercises and are speaking for real in public, and he has to suppress the urge to pin Shane down right then and there.
No Jack would totally help your daddy issues so bad and like when you start letting him in and telling him he doesn’t wanna show it but it makes him so mad to think your own dad could treat you like that
Like oooooo ive got it baddddd 😭
Im thinking about just how sweet but perverted he'd be about it too.
It starts off sooo innocent. He really is trying to be a good, responsible, and respectful father figure towards you. He wants you to feel like you've got someone in your corner and he's seen enough women your age come through med school and collapse under the pressure of it all a year or two in cos of a lack of support anywhere for that matter.
You're special to him. A mentee that he's taken under his wing, looks after, makes sure you're okay. He doesn't wanna see you burn out the way the rest of those girls have.
And he's had his suspicions that you had a little bit of a crush on him. Maybe admiration and a hopefulness to make him proud but he doesn't push it. Doesn't lead you to believe he feels any sort of way until one early morning at the end of your shifts when he just says fuck it and drives you back to his place for the night cos he couldn't stand the thought of you getting on the bus, hardly cognizant and running on a small granola bar he'd seen you nibbling away at about three hours in.
But then everything just kinda... unravels and unveils itself.
Somehow, some way, you find yourself on his couch, eating dinner he made you as you tell him about your home life. About how your dad's never really been there for you, how hes been emotionally absent, neglectful almost to the very idea of you. Your presence a hindrance rather than something to raise and watch blossom. How you feel like a burden, like nothing you ever do is ever enough for him to be proud of you, let alone want you or want to be in your life.
And it shatters Jack's heart to hear you talk to so lowly of yourself. To hear you believe all of that bullshit like it actually means something and defines you.
He can see the weight that holds itself over you. The toll its taken on you and the immediate weight that lifts from your shoulders when you admit all of it.
And so with a tender and cautious sweetness, he tells you "c'mere," and pulls you near him.
He hates the way you grip onto him just a bit tighter when he pulls you into his lap. Shaky and tense as he runs his warm hand up and down your spine, urging to you breathe, to relax.
Jack whispers, "settle fr'me."
And you find it to be the easiest thing you've ever done. To trust him. To find solace and warmth in the way he gently unclenches your wrought fingers from the hem of his t-shirt and weaves them with his own, pulling your hand up to press a kiss against your knuckles.
And eventually the relationship transforms into something far more unchecked. Boundaries cross and things topple into one another until occasional sleepovers at Jack's house turn into every other day endeavors.
He urges you to be more vulnerable with him. Wants you to have a space that you didnt have when you were growing up. He want you to know you make him proud.
So of course he tells you its okay when you let a little word slip one day, while you're crying in his arms, shoulders shaking heavily with the weight of a daughters grief, your hands trembling and tears staining Jack's shirt.
You just call out for your dad. Sobbing the word like a plea as Jack strokes a big hand up and down your back, cooing and shushing you, pressing his nose into the top of your hair.
Apologies come like a stampede on your tongue as you bury yourself further into his hold. Not even sure what you need anymore. Humiliated and desperate all the same.
He pulls you back, big hands cradling your cheeks as he presses a kiss to your forehead, the tip of your nose, and then your lips before telling you "S'okay," he nods at you until you follow, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, "s'okay, daddy's here."
You end up straddling his lap on his couch, hiccuping small sobs and nuzzling yourself into his chest. Ever so often he pulls you away to press a kiss to your lips or cheek or the palm of your hand, telling you what a good girl you are, how smart you are, how proud he is of you and how he wants to take care of you if you'll let him <33
Jack Abbot x fem!reader (little bit of Robby x reader)—in which, Robby doesn't want anything to do with you and his child, but Jack is always here for you, for your kid. He steps up for you.
TW: Robby's an asshole, pregnancy, slow-burn . Jack is a great partner. ANGST
A/N: Credit for the idea belongs to @lunarayletters, my mutual, actually!!!!!
The results of the test stare up at you, the 35 mIU/mL swimming before your eyes, the meaning making your head spin with the implications. You had suspected that you were pregnant, but it’s one thing to suspect it and another to see the results staring you in the face, unmistakable in black and white fresh from the lab.
“Fuck,” you whisper, the paper crumpling just slightly in your hand as the tears well up. You’re both happy and distraught because yes, you want to be a mother, but there are so many conflicting variables and things to consider and things to plan.
And it doesn’t help that this has been the actual shift from Hell, crash carts being called left and right, two Code Hulu-Hoops, three peds traumas and a computer crash that set everything back for two hours.
You know that you’re overwhelmed and tired and that it’s not helping the reveal of this news, of this fact, but your stomach still dropped when you saw the results, when you saw that what you’d been afraid of for the past two days was true.
You’d started to wonder when you began to get sick in the mornings, when the smell of baking cookies made you sick to your stomach when normally it made you relaxed and when the taste of strawberries made you nauseous too.
You’d just hoped you were wrong.
“Hey, hey,” calls out Robby, the main reason you feel sick looking at the results. “Been missing my favourite nurse out here.” His words are light, but his tone is pointed, angry. You know he wants you back out on the floor, smiling and treating patients, being that beaming ray of moonlight, soft and steady and not blinding like Jack called you back when you started here.
“Yeah, sorry,” you whisper, swallowing once, the movement difficult, throat thick, a spiked ball resting in your lungs, pricking you with every breath you draw in. “Just got side-tracked, I’ll be right out.” You lick your lips once, teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip as you crumple the test results in your hand, pulling your locker open and setting it inside, hoping to delay the inevitable.
Telling Robby.
“You okay?” he asks and you can hear the subtle change in his tone, the change from anger to irritated concern. Sometimes, you wonder why you’re with him at all when he’s like this, when everything is wrong with the world, but nothing with him. Where the failings are everyone else and never him. But then you see him on good days, you see him with the peds cases and the babies that get delivered and you see the good. You see the man who asked you out, a bashful, boyish smile on his face.
“Fine,” you say, turning from your locker to him, taking in the deeply etched lines of stress on his brow, the new grey hairs in his beard, the exhaustion in his mahogany eyes. “Just got…just got a little distracted. All good now.” You force a smile, one that feels fake and tired and a little like a plastic, Barbie doll smile, one that isn’t you at all.
And you walk towards him, slipping by him, your shoulder brushing against his belly in the door, your body positioning itself closer to him automatically, without your conscious awareness and you can feel his hand close around your wrist, his hand broad and warm, calloused fingers just gently scraping against your skin.
“We on for tonight?” he whispers, his breath skating along your neck, gentle and heated, awareness of his closeness heating you even as the number 35 spins behind your eyes.
“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing over at him, unable to suppress the feeling of happiness you have over the results. Yes, it’s a lot. It’s stressful and it’s a big change and this has been a shit shift, but you’re happy knowing that you’ll get to be a mother. That you’ll get to hold a child of your own, protect them and give them everything you never had—that unconditional love and acceptance and guidance and support. “We have to talk.”
And then you push past him, heading over to the station where Dana stands, iPad resting on her lower stomach, eyebrows arched and lips downturned just slightly in her worried frown.
“You okay, hon?” she asks you when you’re close enough that she doesn’t have to yell and you nod once, a fast, jerky motion because you feel like a walking paradox. You’re happy and you’re sad, you’re calm and you’re anxious, you’re crying and yet you’re fucking smiling.
“Just surprised,” you tell her, looking around at the centre of the Pitt, at the way everyone moves around like worker bees, centred around the hive of the station. “Didn’t expect it. Kinda scared me…but…I’m happy. I’m excited.”
“That’s how it should be, sweetie,” Dana says, her hand coming to rest on your bicep, moving in a circular motion, her touch soothing. “You tell Robby, yet?” You sigh and shake your head, looking down at your hands, the two of them interlaced, white-knuckling the other.
“I’m gonna talk to him tonight…be bad to talk about it now, today of all days,” you tell her, that small sardonic smile curling on your lips as you catch a glimpse of him, black scrubs and green sweater sleeves, heading into a trauma room, face drawn tight and pinched.
“He’ll be happy, I’m sure,” Dana says, but as you get pulled away, back into the hustle, into the chaos of the ED, all you can think about, the thought lingering in the back of your mind is that Dana didn’t sound sure of it.
She sounded like she was trying to convince you.
Convince herself.
“God,” Robby groans as he settles his body onto your sofa, his eyes closing as his hands come up to his face, scrubbing down as he leans his head back against the headrest, feet propping up on the footstool. “That shift was hell.”
“Yeah, it really was,” you reply, sliding on your socked feet across the linoleum floor of your house to the kitchen, the fridge where you know you still have pizza left over from the takeout you had with Trinity and Dennis last night. You’re too tired to cook, to do anything other than eat cold pizza, your mind not on proper nutrition, not yet.
Not today.
Not when you have to tell Robby that you’re pregnant with his kid and suffer through the coin flip of his emotions—50% chance that he’ll be happy and a 50% that he’ll be angry and react in a way you don’t want to see.
Maybe more 70% on that one.
“You know what would make us feel better?” you hear Robby say, his voice not that far from you, meaning he’s gotten up from the couch, come closer to you. Meaning if you turn around now, you’ll see him. You’ll see those eyes of his, the ones that are a tempest, that can be beautiful and happy and full of warmth, full of love in one moment and then full of irritation and anger and hate in the next.
You realized throughout your shift, that it’s never been your child that’s scared you but rather the fear of seeing the way Robby looks at you change. And not in the good way.
“Robby—” you start, but he cuts you off as you turn around, his eyebrows rising, lips curling up into a smile, one suggestive and yet sweet.
“A nice long shower, together,” he says and you can feel the thickness once again in your throat when you look up at him and see the way he’s looking at you, with such warmth and desire.
“Michael,” you say and already you can see the change in him, the stiffening of his body, the questioning look in his eyes. “We have to talk.”
“About what?” he asks you, taking a step closer, his eyes narrowing in worry, not anger or irritation or suspicion. Not yet at least. Not ever, you hope.
“About this,” you tell him, drawing the test results, the crumpled ball of printer paper from your pocket, smoothing it out as you hand it to him, the paper riddled with creases and wrinkles but the result of 35 still clear. Still bright and black, stark against the white grain of the paper, the meaning obvious.
“You’re…” he pauses, his hand stilling, forearm muscles tensing as he takes the paper from your grip, his fingers curling around it exactly as yours had, the paper changing from his grip. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, his voice high-pitched, slightly strangled and breathy on the last word as if the entire idea has robbed him of the ability to breathe.
“Yeah,” you whisper, tears beginning to line your eyes, hopeful tears. Happy tears. “I’m pregnant.”
He looks up at you then, his expression having dropped, closed off, become unreadable, stoic in a way, his warm eyes now gone cold. “Is it mine?”
“Is it…is it…” you pause, drawing in a breath, chest constricting, body tensing, your veins on fire as if you’ve been shot with epi, which in a way you have. “Is it yours?! What the fuck are you saying, Michael?! Are you accusing me of cheating on you?! I fucking love you and I would never fucking cheat! You know this, you asshole! You fucking asshole!” You can feel the tears falling down your cheeks now, the salt water born of your body searing your skin, sucking moisture out and drying it.
But he is unmoved, simply sighing and running a hand through his hair as he looks down at the paper in his hand. Your hands are curling into fists, the urge to hit something, hit him welling in you because you can’t understand how he can stand there and accuse you of cheating. Something he knows you would never do, something he knows tore apart your family.
“You’re obviously early on…” he muses, one hand rubbing at his beard incessantly as he sets the paper down on your kitchen island, gaze flicking up to you once before looking away. “The medication would be safe in this case. We can get Abbot to sign off on the or—”
“You expect me to get rid of it?” you whisper, your voice cracking, heart slamming against your chest in a way that hurts so much, in a way that tells you it isn’t your physical heart at all. It’s just you.
You hurt this bad.
“You want it?” he asks you, looking up again, his face twisting and shifting and changing into the expression he has in the ED when people annoy him, when the world is wrong and he’s the only thing right.
“Yes, Robby, I want to have my baby. Our baby. I love you and…yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I toldyou that,” you cry, hands uncurling, slamming down on the island, the noise echoing through the room, skin against granite, the sting reverberating through you.
“Did you stop taking your pill? Did you do this on purpose?” he asks you and it hurts more because of the carefully neutral tone he has, the clinical voice. The doctor voice.
“What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Michael?!” you yell, the sound of pulsing and pounding echoing through your head, your blood the sound as it rushes to your head, body feeling weak, but anger too high to ignore. “You think I’m fucking baby-trapping you?!”
“I don’t fucking know!” he yells, his face twisting in anger, in hate, something you never wanted to see on his face. “All I know is that we practice safe sex. So, how the hell did you get knocked-up?!”
“Safe sex, my ass! You’re the one who said ‘oh you’re on the pill. It’s fine if I don’t pull out. It’s 99 percent effective’ Guess we found the other one percent, Michael!” You watch as his hands fly up to his head, fingers digging into the short strands of his dark and greying hair, pulling just a little.
“Fuuck!” he cries, ripping his hands through his hair, letting the hover behind his head, biceps flexing as he closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t fucking do this! I want nothing to do with this! You…”
“Me what?! You have words, Michael. Fucking use them!”
“YOU DO THIS ON YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN!” he yells, his words echoing around the room with the force of a gunshot, like a bomb, the shrapnel from the explosion targeted at you, at your heart. You can feel his words in every inch of your body, each part seemingly erupting with pain, but you don’t even think of yourself.
You think of your baby.
Of how the stress isn’t good for them. For you, for their growth.
“Fine,” you whisper, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, tears continuing to fall down your cheeks, but they feel like nothing, like you’ve just always existed in this state of silent crying, of wet necklines on your scrubs. “Then get the fuck out.”
“What?” He looks at you now, properly but he still doesn’t change, doesn’t move, instead his face locking back down into the neutral, into the carefully bland Dr. Robby everyone knows.
“I do this and I’m on my own, right?” you ask and he nods and you look up at the ceiling, at the white plaster, hand done in the sixties and look back down at him. “Then get the fuck out of my house, Michael. You want nothing to do with this? Then you’ll have nothing to do with this Micheal. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
And even though it’s what you wanted, when he leaves, closing the door behind him, it still hurts. It hurts even when you wish it didn’t. It hurts because you wish he had stayed and asked to talk about it, that he would change his mind when faced with the prospect of losing you.
It hurts because you wanted to be wanted. You wanted to be something he couldn’t actually lose. You wanted to be someone he would fight for.
You wanted to be someone he thought was worth fighting for.
And you sink to your knees, the cold pizza still in the fridge now forgotten, your back against the cool metal of your fridge door. You sink to the ground, shifting until your ass is on the ground, your head in between your knees and you let out every swear word, every curse word, everything you have inside. You let it all out, your breath hitching and voice cracking and giving and heart breaking, mind tearing.
You let it all out because you have to figure out how to move on. How to shove past being alone, being without him.
You let it all out for you. Because you can’t carry this pain with you when you move on.
But most of all, you let it out for your child. Because they need you, all of you, not a shell still holding onto the pain of losing and being lost.
They need you and you have to give them that.
But for right now, it’s okay to just cry.
And you do.
Hi Dana,
Sorry for letting you know this way, but I’ve been promoted up to Charge Nurse in Orthopedics. I sent in for a transfer and they promoted me instead.
I start on Monday and as such, my shifts in the Pitt for the rest of this week will be covered by Matteo. He agreed, you’ll find it on the schedule. It’s best if I focus on getting ready for the changeover.
I’m sorry, Dana. I can’t continue to work in the environment of the Pitt, especially not when I’m expecting. I wish things could have been different. I wish he could have been different.
Thanks for everything.
Your chest feels hollow, scraped clean and made concave, as if your heart has been carved from your chest, only a little seed left behind. Only a little bit still there still beating, held together by hope.
That small little bit of hope that you carry inside of you. The hope that this will get better, that you’ll stop hurting after a while, that eventually it will be okay.
Because you have to hurt to heal.
Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you cry into your pillow, missing the feeling of his body beside yours, his arms around you.
That’s what you tell yourself, you have to hurt to heal. If it hurts that means it was real. That’s what you tell yourself because otherwise what’s the point of the hurting? What’s the point in this hollow existence if it won’t get better.
You know it will. You know it will get better because it has to. You have too. But not for you, you have a child to worry about, one to raise and care for and love in a way that is unconditional. You have to be ready.
And you will.
You have to hurt to heal and you are hurting so you’re healing.
The world seems brighter again, like the colour is back and the sounds are sounds and light is light. You no longer feel like you’re living in a vacuum, the one thing nature abhors.
You no longer feel hollow, you just feel incomplete. Just a little cracked.
Work helps. The showing up day after day, organizing everyone else, shifting things and fixing problems, there for patients and doctors.
New people help. The new drama and issues and stories help distract you, pull you into a new world, new universe.
One where it’s like Robby never existed at all except for the child growing within you.
So, what can you say about today? The world seems brighter and you don’t feel hollow.
It’s a start.
Jack loved you first, by all accounts in the ED, you should have been with Jack—except that it was Robby who asked you out, who took that step. You said yes because he asked and Jack never did.
Jack loved you first and loves you still. He loves the way you laugh, just a tad too loud, just a tad too long, just a tad too hard. He loves the way you smile at everyone as if smiles take no effort to give out, as if it isn’t giving away a piece of yourself to others.
He loves the way you don’t put up with other people’s bullshit, the way you put them in their place in the most respectful way until respectful doesn’t work.
He loves the way you talk, the way you sigh and the way you roll your eyes. He loves the way you get excited about the things you love, lighting up and going on long tangents, only returning to the world when you realize that you’ve gotten carried away.
He loves you. Everything about you, everything you think is good about yourself and everything you think is bad because to him, everything about you is good and perfect.
He loves you and he loved you first, but he had to watch as Robby swooped in, winning you over and now he’s watching his friend, the man who a little part of him hates for winning your heart, fuck it all up.
“What the fuck is up with you, brother?” he asks Robby now, leaning on the nurse’s station with one elbow, his body facing Robby who’s looking down at the iPad in his hand, glasses sitting low on his nose.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Robby replies, tone distracted as he taps on the screen, doing something and pretending that he doesn’t know. Pretending that he doesn’t realize that everyone in the entire ED knows something happened between you and him. Because you, the ED’s Moonlight, aren’t here anymore.
“Where’s Moonlight?” Jack doesn’t leave any room in his tone for interpretation, there is nothing leading or suggesting, it’s straight and clear and to the point—where the fuck is the woman who loves you? What the fuck did you do to her? Because Jack is under no illusions that you did anything; he knows Robby.
He knows he runs when things get real.
“She, uh…she got promoted. Charge nurse up on Ortho last I heard,” Robby says, looking up, peering at Jack over the top of his black-frame glasses, the glasses you picked out for him, saying they would bring his youth back.
“That’s not what I meant, Robby,” he replies, lifting himself off of the nurse’s station, arms crossing, biceps flexing but not in a display of his toughness, rather because his leg hurts, the time on his feet, on the prosthetic wears at his skin, never enough time for it to really heal in-between shifts. “What happened?”
“None of your business, Jack,” Robby says, but Jack isn’t giving up that easily. He can’t. Not when this about you, about your heart.
“It is my fucking business, Robby, cause I love her too,” Jack hisses, reaching for Robby’s sleeve and pulling him into an empty patient room, closing the door behind them and standing in front of it, preventing Robby from leaving. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Me?! I didn’t do anything,” Robby says but all Jack does is raise his eyebrows, waiting. And it works. “She’s pregnant and I told her I couldn’t deal with it, suggested we could take care of it, she said no. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it and she told me to get the fuck out.”
“She’s pregnant and you left her?!” Jack cries, the feeling inside of him so foreign and so strange that he doesn’t entirely understand it, only that he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the man before him, wants to put him through a fucking wall actually.
“I cannot deal with a kid right now, Jack,” Robby yells, his hand flying out to hit the wall, the bang in the room echoing and strong but Jack doesn’t fucking care, simply walks up to Robby and jabs his finger into his chest.
“Listen here, Robby,” he whispers, finger frozen dug into Robby’s chest, “you’re a piece of shit. You grew up without a mother and now you want your child to grow up without a father. That’s not gonna happen. I’m not gonna make you do anything, but I will be there and you and me,” he pulls his finger back, using it to gesture between them, “are done.” And he turns to go, to walk away and leave Robby behind, leave him to deal with his shit alone and simply find you.
Find you and hold you and let you cry, scream and hit him. Anything to make you feel better.
Anything to make you okay.
“Our friendship is over because of her?” Robby cries and Jack can hear the incredulity in his tone, can hear the disbelief and in response, all he does is hold up the middle finger, saying, “all of this is because you’re incapable of being a man worthy of someone else.”
And he leaves, but not to work, not to care for his patients. No, he leaves for you.
He leaves so that you know you don’t have to go it alone.
He’s here. He’s always here for you.
“Camille,” you call out, spinning around, looking for the new nurse, the one just finished her undergrad, eager and peppy and getting totally slaughtered by Park.
“Yeah?” she calls out and you can hear the worry in her tone, the worry that she’s doing yet another thing wrong—although you did tear into Park for disciplining one of your staff, not his.
“Can you check on the patient in Room 5, please?” you ask her, watching as her face brightens, the girl young and kind, good with the patients simply nervous around the doctor who isn’t nicknamed the Shark for nothing.
“Nice to see you running things,” calls a voice that makes you stop, the world freezing for a moment as you turn around, the sight of Jack strange to you, but not unwelcome.
“Hey, Jack,” you say, stepping out from behind the desk to lean your hip against it, crossing your arms over your chest, a layer of defence, of separation between you and him. “What’s up?”
“I know,” he says and you want to ask him what he knows but you can see in his face that he knows about your child, about your baby, about Robby’s baby. And the break-up. Robby’s side of the story.
“Well, what do you want to say? You here to defend him? Or are you here to encourage me to get rid of them?” You clench your teeth together, grinding them as you raise your eyebrows at him, waiting. Challenging.
And he does what you don’t expect. He steps towards you, his hands coming to rest on your biceps, a steady grip, a soothing grip.
“I’m here to say that he’s an asshole and as the shared friend, in the break-up someone has to get me and I chose you,” he says and the simplicity, the matter-of-factness of his tone takes you by surprise while also not because this is Jack. Jack Abbot, the doctor who on your first shift nicknamed you Moonlight and has refused to call you anything else since then.
Jack Abbot who chose you.
“You just want your cool uncle title, right?” you ask him, unable to prevent the fond smile that curls across your lips as he smirks at you, shrugging before growing serious.
“I chose you because I don’t want you doing this alone. I’m always here for you, Moonlight. You just gotta tell me and I’ll be there. Day or night, hell or high water, okay?” And all you can do is nod, your throat thick.
But he knows, he understands and then he salutes you, disappearing back to the Pitt, to his job and his patients, leaving you sitting with the knowledge that you don’t have to be alone.
You don’t have to do everything yourself.
It’s a few weeks later when you call Jack for the first time, a part of you still hesitant to believe him and his words, sweet as they may be. A part of you that still fears he really chose Robby; he just didn’t want you grieving them both. A part of you that thinks it was a symbolic offer only.
“Jack,” you say when he picks up, “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong, Moonlight? What is it? What do you need? Where are you?” You can feel the smile rising and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “And I can hear that eye roll, Moonie.”
“I need your help with the nursery. It’s kind of hard to paint when you have a baby bump.”
“Two minutes, Moonie,” he says, his words sending a strange feeling coursing through your veins. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Jack didn’t lie. He was there in two minutes, arriving as fast as he could, bursting into your apartment, using his spare key that you gave him from your vacation when you needed him to take care for your orchid, carrying a bag of painting supplies.
“Just tell me what to do,” he said and so you did. And he listened to what you wanted, helping you paint, the day filled with laughter and joking and flicking paint at one another, the creation exactly as you always thought it would be one day.
Happy.
You just didn’t imagine it would be Jack.
“I should head out,” he had said at the end of the day, the sky dark and the room painted, a mural of the moon on one wall that he insisted you add because you’re Moonlight, after all.
“You know,” you had replied, “the guest room’s yours if you want it.” He had frozen in his movements for a moment before turning to you, a question in those blue eyes of his.
“You sure?” You had nodded, shrugging, your hands settling on your bump, the baby finally old enough to start showing, your favourite thing to do being rubbing it as if you’re holding and soothing them already.
“Yeah. I still have stuff for you in there from when you took care of my orchid and I did buy more of that cream for your prosthetic. Just in case…so, uh, yeah…it’s yours if you want to stay.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Would I have offered if I didn’t? After all, I’m eating for two and I’m a horrible cook and I mean, guess who isn’t?” you had said, the words so normal and so you that Jack had started to laugh and then he’d nodded.
“Guess I’ll stay then,” he’d said. “Anything you and the little star want in the morning?” You had scrunched your face, thinking hard about it, glancing down at your bump, rubbing it as you thought.
“Nothing specific,” you had said, a grin stretching across your face, “but nothing with chocolate. The little star, here, isn’t craving it, surprisingly.”
“Alright then,” he’d said. “Nothing with chocolate.”
And that’s how it began. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t flashy or showy—it was just there. Steady and calm.
Present in a way that Robby never was.
“Jack,” you whisper, the words carrying across the living room to where he’s dozing in the recliner, The Proposalplaying on your TV. “Jack!” you hiss a little louder, watching as he jolts fast, hands white-knuckling the armrests of his chair, looking over at you and relaxing when he sees that you’re fine.
“What’s wrong, Moonlight?” he asks you and you push past that feeling that spreads through at the nickname, at the tender way he says it, the care.
The love.
“You know you can take your leg off, right?” you ask him and you watch as he freezes again, seeming to do that a lot around you. “I’m under no illusion that you have two full legs, nor do I think less of you.”
“It’s okay,” he says and you shrug, nodding beside his chair where a set of crutches and a knee scooter sit beside it.
“Okay,” you say, voice soft. “But I have supports for you if you want to take it off.” And you say nothing else, simply standing as carefully as you can, the five-month bump no small thing now, heavy and awkward but precious all the same. Your baby has fun pressing on your bladder and you make your way to the bathroom to relieve the pressure and when you come back, you find Jack sitting in the recliner, the leg rest up, his prosthetic leaning against the side of the couch.
And that gives you a better feeling than any of the nicknames in the world.
Morning sickness was only supposed to last for the first trimester, but here you are, second trimester with the bump to prove it, still hurtling out of your bed, the taste and burn of bile welling in your throat, running for your bathroom.
You reach the sink, the only place that’s easy for you to reach, now unable to bend down and throw up into the toilet, just in time, your hands straying to your hair as you gag, eyes watering, bile rising.
“Hey,” you hear Jack whisper, his approach something you hadn’t even heard, his hands replacing yours as he holds your hair back, yours instead gripping the counter as you throw up bile, the awful taste and burn in the back of your throat, in your sinuses, your body rebelling against you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers as you hurl, the force so much that it comes out of your nose, your eyes streaming, the baby kicking against you as if they know you’re sick, in pain and they don’t like it.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he assures you as you gasp, the gagging rising again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here for you.”
Jack is the one who is there for every appointment, holding your hand, who answers yes when the doctors ask if he’s the father. He’s the one you find hunched over a crib one day, assembling it on the floor, squinting at instructions and cursing the tiny writing, his leg not far from him, a chair just across from him for you.
Jack is the one who is there for everything. He’s there when you’re sick in the middle of the night, in the morning. He’s there when you have cravings, when you worry, when you want to pick names.
He’s the one whose there, always.
And gradually, you begin to think of him as the father, as the one because he may not be the sperm donor, but he’s the one whose here.
He’s the one who stayed.
Jack is the one who chose your baby.
Who chose you.
And that means something to you.
“Jack,” you whisper across the living room, your voice carrying to him and he looks over at you, eyes sleepy but filled with love.
“Yeah, Moonie?” he asks you, screwing his prosthetic back on, still finding it the easiest to move around with, to help you with.
“I love you,” you whisper and swallow hard, still unsure why you said it, but really it’s been eight months of him. Of him stepping up to be the father for your child, being the partner for you.
“Thank god,” he breathes out, standing and walking to you, his hands looping under your armpits, helping guide you to your feet, your eight-month bump heavy and exhausting, but perfect all the same. “I’ve loved you since I met you.”
“Really?” you ask him, watching as he smiles in the dark, teeth glinting just lightly with the glow of the streetlamps outside your window.
“Really,” he answers and then he kisses you, one soft and sweet and gentle. One that tastes of hope and love and second chances and family chosen.
One that speaks of the love that lives between you. One that is quiet and steady and present in a way that nothing has been before.
For either of you.
When you went into labour, it scared Jack like nothing ever had before. It terrified him like nothing ever had. The call he got as you drove yourself to the hospital, having timed your contractions, assuring him that you were fine. That it was all fine.
That didn’t stop him from being scared, being terrified. He had just gotten you, only had a month of being someone you loved out loud rather than in silence and he couldn’t lose you.
He had run out of the ED so fast, up to the maternity ward, watching as you walked up, breathing hard, checking in. He had been there as you went into labour, your hand squeezing his so hard, one knuckle dislocated but he never even felt it because he was so in awe in you.
He stayed for the whole thing, cut the cord on the beautiful baby boy, the two of you had agreed to name Andrew Flynn Abbot, a ring on your finger from the night before when he asked you if you would not only be his wife, but make him a father.
He was there for everything, for the birth and the signing of the birth certificate and the travelling home, his stuff moved in a month ago, his clothes hanging in your closet, his things in your house—now his too.
He was there for everything. Every little bit because he loved you first.
And he loves you always.
“You know,” Jack says now, his fingers interlaced with yours as you lie with your head on his chest, curled up in bed, “I have to thank Robby.”
“For what?” you ask him, not judging, just happy, at peace, curled in bed beside your husband, five year old son asleep in bed.
“For giving me my son, my wife,” he whispers and in response you press a kiss to his cheek.
“He didn’t,” you whisper, “that was all you. You stepped up, Jackie and you didn’t have too.”
“Yeah, I did. You’re everything sweetheart. I’m always here for you.” And it’s true. He always is, always was.
18+ MDNI! | cw: fauxcest, dumbification, jack is condescending
you have no family in pittsburgh— your residency mercilessly whisked you over to this unfamiliar city. to make matters worse, you've been assigned to the night shift, which threw off your sleep pattern. you haven't had time to make friends yet, most of your time is spent either at the hospital or passed out on your bed.
lucky for you, your attending dr jack abbot loves you like a daughter. he can't get enough of how sweet and smart you are! he's your work dad, and he's taken you under his wing.
he listens while you rant about your evil landlord, he comes over to your place to kill spiders for you, and he even rocks you in his lap in the break room when you get a little sleepy. you try not to notice how the old man is hardening beneath you, and he doesn't acknowledge how your breath hitches when his hands tighten on your hips.
it's a slow night in the ER, and you're settled down to nap in an empty room when jack walks in, it's like he was following your scent. he looks around, a sly grin growing on his face. he's making sure the room's good and empty before he gets his hands on you.
"how's my sweetest little nightcrawler doin' tonight, hmm?" he asks as his strong arms wrap around you. he presses his chest against your back, nose buried in the nape of your neck where your scent is strongest.
and you're squirming and wriggling in his arms because you're sooo turned on... he kisses your forehead and murmurs how you're his "favourite little daughter" and "dad's best girl". craning his neck to nibble at your jaw, his grey stubble brushing against your smooth skin. his thick hands work their way up your scrub top, massaging slowly at your sides.
it's only when he's certain that he's teased you enough to make your brain go all fuzzy that he pulls away. "yeah, dad's got you all stupid now, huh? you're no use to your patients in this state..." he tuts, heading for the door.
"baby needs her naptime," he rasps as he flicks off the light, "dad won't tell anyone. just make sure you finish your charting when you wake up, okay, princess?"
꒰ ⟡ 𝟣𝟪+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ⸝ 𝒄𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝒘𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾 , 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗍 . . heavy fauxcest . omorashi . bladder control . established relationship . ddlg . cgl . sensitive ᵎᵎ female ᵎᵎ reader . daddy ᵎᵎ jack abbot . use of dad , dada , daddy . infantilization . use of sippy cups . babytalk . babying . use of baby , little girl , kid . multiple orgasms . watersports . jack’s piss kink . fingering . all characters are 𝟤𝟣 years or older ﹠ consenting adults . .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒔𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : dadbf jack adores bladder control with his baby ᵎᵎ 𝟦.𝟥k words .
꒰ ⟡ 𝒏𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 : pls heed warnings ᵎ
Jack was insufferable, a man made up of vexation and sadistic satisfaction, and he had seeped himself straight into every sliver of your life. He is your every second, and you are his; his lover, his “daughter” – the object of his adoration, as well as the thirsts of his perversions. And tonight? He was a dry mouth, and parched for this; for his behesting to eventually break you. The only thing that could quell his craving was to see your sweet, soft little pussy quiver with hardly a touch. For you to be pleading with the pleasure that would soon soak and stick to your thighs. And Jack, ever the cunning Dad, kindled the flames that swept up your spine, prompting you to spill substance after substance down your throat. He already recognized how you would react – or rather, how your sensitive, seeping cunt would slicken up with each bloat inside your bladder.
Bathroom control was simply unremarkable in your dynamic; it was just a formality in your dependence on Jack. Demanded by him, but nothing ever discordant or enough to damage your body, of course – he is never able to halt his evaluations of your health, the audit is always involuntary. which is why he is always able to discern the desperation on your face when he mends your dehydration. When you drink enough to swell up your bladder, until the sensitivity spears through the nerves of your eager pussy, engorging your clit and soaking your cunt. Jack is intuitive, all-knowing in the functionality of your form, and thus, he is able to assess when the heat inside you splinters and refuses to sunder. When the pleasure unfolds within your pillowy walls, ribboning in violent twists before your hips begin to roll your pussy in a clenching seize. Jack knows you grow inexplicably sensitive – his pup – just hungry to rut, hopeful to cum.
He had coined it as “your crossed wires,” stating solely that it was your biology, and that you couldn’t blame “your silly little body” for confusing bladder strain with incessant arousal.
“Just how you're made, kid,” He had spoken once with callous gleam in past circumstances. “Your nerves are just wired like that – presses down right where it feels good."
And oh, does it ever. The pleasure grows, unfurling with each gulp of water, before coiling into a searing meld deep inside your belly, and slopping up where your pussy is pulsating. Your thighs are tensed together with the thrummed beat between them, your breaths labored as you drain yet another cup of water. He had been ineluctable, almost brazen in the inclination of your hydration since dinnertime had ceased.
You two had settled cozily close on the couch for a film, and Jack pulled out prepared bottle after bottle in what you presumed to be the typical evening repose. He’d held you on his meaty thighs, his lap warm and welcoming, before guiding the sippy spout to your lips, watching your sleep-laden eyes when you latched on. You were lulled with submission and softness, smiling from the simplicity and safety of it all.
At first, it was juice, trickling icy and sweet into the cavern of your mouth. Jack’s gaze would periodically flicker to your lolling head, eyes following the tendons in your throat as you swallowed down the saccharine beverage. Then, it was water, cold, and sipped obediently while the glow of the television swathed over your curled embrace. But Jack knows you. He knows how your belly begins to gurgle and slosh with fluid – how the ache in your bladder churns into that blooming, brightening arousal.
You’re no novice to such routine now, to what response he’s revving up inside your body — you’re just heedless to whether his apex is an accident or an orgasm. Even so, you comply, draining the sixth cup that he’s provided in the last hour, before he gently pries you off to pour more into the plastic. Your brows knit in both confusion and abhorrence when he places you on the cushion beside him, petulantly glaring at your Dad. His prosthesis has remained adhered to his leg for the convenience of much too frequent fridge trips, and he applies his weight to a freckled bicep in order to propel himself off the couch.
The device almost inaudibly clicks when he plucks the cup off the table and saunters away, consistently eager to fill your belly and bladder.
You’re unable to mute the whine that pours from your lips, desperate and nearly deluded for him. You already know that he’s smirking, that sly upturn of his lips at your current state, and you can no longer halt it. You’re squirming already – your little folds are fully drenched, soaked, and sticky. Your squeezing cunt is already clenching around nothing but the cotton that clings to you.
You stretch over the couch, slipping your upper body over the side, half off, and hanging on the armrest to stare at your Dad. He gazes back at you — filling your sippy cup once again — and, as the dirty old fucker he is, he laughs. He is just too enchanted by you, his chest warming with those wisps of love and lust. His little one is just in complete disarray, and it’s all his doing.
You’re pouting at him, florid-faced, all sticky and sweet with a wet chin from either water or drool – he’s not sure which. Your hips are already undulating your puffy pussy against nothing but air. And based on your pleading face, you’ve yet to notice your body’s irrepressible notion, your cunt guided by the instinctive, raw impulse to rub it on anything.
“Oh, you poor baby.” He chuckles, his crooked gait guiding him back to you.
“d– dada. nooo..” You whimper as he prompts the bottle to your lips once again.
“Nope. One more. Doctor’s orders.” His tone is dry in the duress, unlike what’s puddling between your thighs. He’s insistent, tapping the spout against your bottom lip until your hands grasp the sides, gulping down another thick sluice of water into your mouth – but incidentally, you swill too much, and the amount you’re not able to swallow slips past your lips and trickles down your chin, drenching the hem of your shirt.
And Jack almost groans, you're just his sweet, obedient baby – he’s half inclined to berate you about wearing a bib with the way your dripping mouth seems to be dousing your clothes.
“There we go. Drink up, pumpkin.” He grins, his tired eyes pooling with amusement, lowering himself to sit beside where your legs are pressing tight and subtly squeezing your pussy for any reprieve you can receive.
“mmh..” You wince with a whine, reluctant, yet still attempting to sip despite your oversensitive skin. And then he’s touching you. Wrapping a big arm around your shoulders, pulling his kid flush to his side, his other palm encroaching on your thigh, roughly squeezing the plushness with a murmur of praise.
“Mm. That’s my good girl. You’ll be okay. I know exactly how much you can handle.” His fond, rasped admission should be soothing. But it’s not. Not when he accompanies the laud with a firm press against the bloat of your tummy, your bladder pulsating with pangs of covetous need down to your little cunt. And it splices the bind in your belly, the cup spilling from your shuddering hand. Your eyes shut tight, the pressure of his palm punching a deep, unbidden moan from your gut.
The side of Jack’s mouth twitches into a gluttonous grin, kneading your belly with his thick fingers as you begin to weakly thrash. Your tummy is so tense, and his touch just torments you further.
“Someone’s a bit full, huh, little girl? Been holdin’ it all night?”
You can’t take it, whimpering incessantly as you begin kicking where he’s curled around you, your whole body quivering and attempting to choke back cries. The last thing you want is an accident – not because of hot trickles that slicken your thighs, or the way they stain tacky with salt, but because of the feigned disappointment and faked disgust he’ll hold over you. Jack adores you in such distress, stripped of competence and control over your bladder. He loves you beholden for his care, as he’ll always graciously bestow it — for you, his baby.
“Shh. You’re alright. Feels good?” He murmurs, rubbing softer as your back arches with another little moan. You nod quickly, resuming the ground of slippery pussy against the fabric of your undies, the pressure on your belly enough to pulse out another wave of wetness.
“That’s it. Just Dad takin’ care of you.” He smiles, kissing your temple, the scruff of his silver stubble grazing your hot skin, and his hand on your tummy finally traverses lower.
Jack’s fingers are gentle, unlike your grinding hips or excessively greedy whimpers. His fat digits nudge beneath the waistband of both your underwear and pajamas, and his grin deepens, creasing his smile lines with further delight. You’re sodden with the arousal that’s sluicing out, while your folds are inexplicably inflamed, clit both soaked and irritated with the siege of disoriented signals. And Jack feels it, how tumescent and puffy your neglected little pussy is, streaming out beneath the veil of your clothed core. Two fingertips graze your entrance before gliding up and sticking to your glistening clit.
“Oh, a messy baby, hm? You’re all sticky.” He satirizes softly, teasing you with a tilt of his head and a pat of your arm. His eyes sweep over your pleading face while soothing the throb of your button with infuriatingly slow oscillations.
“d-dad!” You cry out now, whines dripping from your mouth while the harsh quiver in your empty pussy threatens to hasten your orgasm. The heat simmers worse, and your hips stutter against Jack’s scarce touch, before he’s pulling his hand up and away from where you pulse.
“n-no!” You plead, your wide eyes teary and addled with arousal. Jack snickers as if you’re truly a pouty toddler, squeezing your shoulder before tapping you twice.
“Shh.. Easy, baby. No whining.” He dissuades, his voice delicate, sugared and subdued, even in the light degrade. “Should know by now that it won’t get you anywhere.”
But you squirm, starved away from your orgasm as your sensitive pussy weeps out more slick. And Jack hums, licking up where you had just been leaking on his hand, before nodding for you to rise from the cushions.
“C’mon, up,” he breathes, laced with guidance and tinged with restraint. “Dad’s gotta clean you, kid.”
But oh, you’re much too peevish with the repudiation of your pleasure, and you feebly attempt to push him as you shout.
“nuh! no!!–” It’s impulsive and purely pathetic, but you’ve slipped, and your aptitude has slithered itself into the slimy, spalling jaws of submission. And Jack immediately raises his brows, slightly shocked, before he slips out a sledged retort.
“No? You wanna stay like this? Hm? Soaking through like a little baby?”
“Want Daddy to let you piss yourself?”
You violently shake your head, shivering beside him as your sticky cunt constricts at his tone. Truly, you would oblige if he had asked. If your Dad warranted, and wanted a spill, you would release the salted strain inside you, and splash all over the floor – but Jack doesn’t want that; he simply wants you oppressively sensitive.
“Okay.” He nods bluntly, his voice so passively parental and patronizing. He leans closer, his hold on your shoulder drifting to your hip. He kisses your temple once more, coaxing your further compliance.
“Then up, kid, let's get you in the shower — Gotta clean my leaky girl.” He lifts you up to stand on shudder-striken thighs while his own legs rise with a groan. You grimace with each step, the plush of your thighs pressing up against your tender and tremulous pussy. Your pelvis is pounding, limping alongside him even as he guides you.
You press against him, puppy-like and pinned to his hip, whimpering and pawing with a pout, needy to pee and be pleasured.
“So full — I know.” Jack agrees, and the palm on the small of your back departs to turn on the light. You’re clinging and nearly crying – face crumpled, tugging on his clothes – and your cuteness just carves him up completely. He chuckles, his hands curling under your shirt to strip your sweaty form.
“Arms up,” Jack speaks warmly, and you abide while your Dad bares your skin, undressing you like a child before bathtime. He’s admired the curves of you now hundreds, if not thousands, of times over, and his adulation is endless, even as fingers impinge upon your now naked abdomen and lower. His nose caresses yours in butterfly kisses, his breath hot and hushed, counterpoised to where you pant and pull at him.
“Sweet baby.” He whispers, his voice swaddling and soft-hearted. “Gonna be good for Dad?”
“y- ya! – ya, dad.” You adjure with wide eyes and a suckled lip, and he parses away your pajamas and panties – the sticky threads of your slick connecting your pussy to them, before they're smearing down your thighs. Jack huffs in your heady scent, his hands rounding over your hips, before his grip releases to turn on the shower.
“Good, kid,” he gleams, the brandishment beckoning you to the stream as you step in and sit in the sluice of water. Drenched and dripping with fervent want, you frown like a wet dog, staring up at him in both desperation and devotion in his undressing. His t-shirt is halfway up his tummy when torments you once more.
“Ah-ah,” he admonishes with a twist of his finger. “Spread them, sweetie.” You whine, mouth parted in a long mewl, drawing your thighs apart to reveal your reddened, pearly little pussy to him while he completely denudes.
The groan that grinds out of his throat is gravelled, his eyes glued to where you’re lust-flushed, lurching your hips beneath water and leaking out more against your perineum. Jack just wants to drink you in, gulp and swallow, engulf you within him, where you’ll be safe and sheltered forever.
He strips fast with shaky fingers, popping and pulling off his prosthesis with enough proficiency as not to tear his gaze away. He props the device beside his transfer chair, listening to his daughter’s distressed desire. Pleaded breaths rise in your throat where his cock stands tall and tumid against his tummy – already hard due to his perversion for your pussy’s frailties. For how florid and edematous and eager you are, rutting on the shower floor, all starved and sticky.
“My swollen girl. Look at that puffy little pussy – all red and upset, isn’t she?” It’s hypocritical to his own arousal, he knows that, but your Dad still lets out a small fit of laughter at the scene while hopping onto the shower bench behind you. The curtain ricochets when he closes it, and a cry ramifies up your throat.
“Oh, I know – I know, pumpkin. But you hold it so well. Don’t go potty yet.” He praises, weaved with that usual priggish intonation as his palms find your shoulders. And you’re trembling, tipping your cunt away from the shower’s assail on where you’re already slippery. Your face glowers back where Jack sits, and god, he can’t contain his smile. You’re a sight, a vision – his sensory-ladened baby. Your head cranes back between his knees, your chin raised to peer up at him as you suck on your lip, entirely supplicant with sick want.
Jack grunts, his arms growing taut when he lowers himself to the shower floor behind you. His large hands encircle your waist, hauling you to lean on him. Thick thighs slide against your hips, his single foot wrapping around an ankle to sever you open. You can feel him pressed to your spine, his fat tip prodding against the tender skin of your spine, his pubic hair coarse and sticking against your ass.
For a moment, Jack nuzzles himself against you under the stream of hot water, and he sighs, smoothing kisses over your throat in sacred regard. You shudder and squirm, even as your Dad slips a hand onto one of your breasts, thumbing the swell of a pebbled nipple. His other palm prises your thighs apart, the rain of the shower pressure pattering down on your whole pussy. You keen, attempting to wrest with jerks of your hips, but Jack is besieging, bearing you immobile and pinned to his front.
“Shhh.. Stay still, silly girl. Just breathe. Breathe in for me…”
“‘s too much.. s-stop!” You slur out, too hypersensitive, although you are apprised that the word holds no power – no safeword just equates your stammers to blissed-out babbles.
Jack clicks his tongue, clinging to you tighter, “Now I know you don't want that, sweetie. I just want that baby pussy to feel good. Let her take what she needs – we both know it doesn’t take much.”
He’s right. And you know it too, even as your body twists and turns. The heat suffuses harshly in your lower spine when his hand begins pulling at the folds of your pussy. He peels petals up and apart for the water’s brunt assault to beat against your bulging bud. Your brows knit, and you shove your face against his speckled shoulder while he keeps your little cunt and clit under the spikes of the stream. And it’s like honeyed heaven and white hot hell – both, because it’s not him. He’s not giving you his cock, not tonight, and you're heartbroken over the hindrance. The pressure of your distended bladder burns and pulsates on the soft spot, deep inside, as if his fingers are bullying up into you, but they're not. It’s only your pumping pussy, your inflamed pelvic floor, and the pelts of the hot shower that pound against you.
“Mmm.” Jack hums, “Baby’s that sensitive? Does the shower feel like a hand on your little baby parts?”
You sob out, nodding, eyes shut, your hips surging forward in meager thrusts – it’s inherent and helpless, your poor body expecting Dad cock, and not the utter emptiness your cunt infolds on instead. He squeezes firmly at your inner thigh before his palm ascends and begins prodding the taut fullness in your tummy, making your entire body buckle forward in a loud, pinched moan as the pressure on your sweet spot is exacerbated.
His sedulous care in your hydration, the shower’s stream, alongside his squeezing touch, they're all just conduits to make the coil inside your belly split open; for you to cum, contactless, without a touch on your tiny, swollen cunt – and it’s all pursued according to plan as your toes curl and the quivers commence in your thighs.
“Gonna give me what you’re good at? Hm, honey? Let that tiny pussy cream up for me?”
You cry out as you crest over, and Jack watches from above, cradling your back to his front as your clit visibly twitches, the inflamed nerves clenching inwardly. Your tummy trembles, trying to escape, even as the rapture tears through you. And then you’re cumming, your mouth parting with the brutal, whole body convulses. Your poor, immensely pleasured hole is clasped on nothing but your own arousal, babycunt bursting the sluiced juice down your thighs – the slick coagulated with the stream from above. His fingers keep the flesh of you open, extending your bliss as you continue to buck into the air, toppling into overstimulation until you whine out with discontent.
“Shh.. shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, sweet baby.” Jack soothes, but you're flailing now – attempting to flee from the showerhead, until his hand moves to cup your soft, swollen little cunt and shelter it from the water’s assault.
Your orgasm divests the ache in your bladder for the moments to follow, currently sated by pleasure as your pelvic floor settles. For now, you don’t have to pee.
“Did so good. My little girl. All sensitive now, huh? Did that feel nice? Cumming just from some water on that puffy clit?”
You mewl out a response, attempting to curl in on him, to be crutched and cuddled in the steam of the water, but Jack doesn't abate. Not when he has his kid so desperate, still drooling out juice. Not as his lips latch on your neck, suckling and licking, before taking two fingers from where he holds your inflamed, reddened pussy, and plunges them inside the glossy heat rather than protecting it.
Your lips part in pants, face pinching as your tender little cunt is now squeezing and stretched on his fat digits. The stimulation of your swollen bladder has you shuddering, trying to shove him away, but all that seems to do is stimulate him. Jack grunts, grounding his hips against your back in response to your erratic thrash. Truth is, he’d love to thrust himself inside you, his baby, his daughter. To fill you and fuck you onto the shower floor. But Jack sours it all with restraint. He knows he wouldn’t be able to resist himself from rutting – he’d be too rough, and just to soak your hole with his seed, less than a minute after slipping inside? It’s just not worth it. Not when he’s bereft of composure, not when he’d possibly hurt you. Even if you want it, your Dad is responsible, and the resolution for your wanton shared sex is him, shoving his fingers in your sloppy cunt.
“dad… dada s’– s’not fair.. wa- wan’...” You splutter out, unsure if you desire to piss, cum, or coax him into giving you his cock. But you’re adrift, sunken to his babbling baby, and with how he starts prodding, deep inside, right where you pulse, your ability to speak has slipped away once again.
“S’alright. I know. Jus’ be my good baby. Take what I give you.” He murmurs into your neck, fucking his fingers faster into your cunt as you squeeze and squelch out on his hand – and it’s all too sensual for him.
His cock pokes and twitches at your backside, erect and enraged with the absence of touch. He hurts, after a whole hour of seeing his daughter squirm and pulse with the need to pee. It’s pure debauchery, and he’s prurient in how much he gets off on you literally pissing. But to transmute the physiological process of peeing into something tender and titillating for you both? That was what being his meant – to transfigure the minute into something sweet, tender, and together.
You start kicking again, your face cradled in the crux of his arm, mouth parted on his wet, freckled skin, and moaning out as he pushes up into plush walls. The sound of your pussy emanates louder than the shower stream, squishing and sodden before you begin seizing. You gush out onto his fingers, cumming white hot and hard from all the stimulation. Jack continues to stroke your soft spot inside. He would be crooning at you if he could talk, but his other hand is crushed around the base of his thickened dick, using the curve of your back to coax his release.
His cock throbs at the scene in its entirety – at your sobs of pleasure, at the suppression of your self-sufficiency, the repression of your need to pee, and how he’s the one who bridles the biological ache of your bladder.
He gently departs his digits from your heat, even as you whine for the fullness to remain inside. You clench and claw at his thigh, but it’s to no avail when his cream-coated fingers slip out, sauntering up, and pressing hard into your belly once again. Your pelvis can only take so much, cramping in pain and pulsing with pleasure.
“You can go potty now, baby. Go pee, right on Daddy.”
The reprieve is spoken in a strained sigh, and its deliverance, its divinity, and your body dispenses instantaneously. You gasp out, hips trembling up as your pussy spasms out piss in a golden, slick deluge. It drenches his thighs, slipping between them, and swirls into the stream before it’s sucked down the drain. It’s utterly orgasmic, the pressure in your body finally absolving in the torrent of your urine.
Jack’s arousal burgeons further, and his balls tighten against your tailbone, his fist quivering where it’s wrapped on his cock. The sight and scent of your piss tears up the hot knot in his belly, and in a desperate, besotted groan, Jack cums, coating your back in his hot, sticky semen. He spurts against your flesh and up into the tips of your hair, burying his face into your throat, practically suffocating your gut as he holds you through his surrender. You both pant in the moments to succeed, and Jack supplies kisses on your shoulder, rubbing your belly as you both slump under hot steam.
“Such a good little baby…” His susurrations grace over you like silk, and you nod, sighing. You can feel him smiling over your shoulder, and you finally sweep your face over to his, turning halfway in his grip. You're sugared and callow, beaming back at your old man. His silvered curls are wet against his forehead, his stubble shining against the creases of his smile. He’s spent, softening and sluiced, his belly splattered with cum with zero shame for how you make him feel. You giggle, and Jack laughs, grappling your lips in a kiss. It’s syrupy and simple, and he pulls away, fully adoring after the press.
“My silly little girl. What’s a man gonna do with you, huh?” Jack already knows – he’ll wash your hair, serenade you with suds and soothing praise; he’ll dress you all cozy, and cuddle you soft until you’re asleep – safe and sweet with your Dad.
For the just fluff june requests
Inspired by last nights spontaneous torrential downpour: Jack and Reader get absolutely drenched while they are on a picnic date.
They quickly go home to warm up. :)
ahh !! this is so so cute !! i did end up changing a little bit/taking more liberty with it, but i hope you still like it !! <3
Caught In The Rain - jack abbot x reader
Pairings: jack abbot x nurse!reader
Summary: jack takes a big leap after you both get stuck in a surprise rain storm.
Warnings: none really; TONS of fluff, age-gap, pre-relationship, mentions of the ED, soft jack, mutual pinning, & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 1k+
Author’s Note: the first fic of just fluff june is here !! i’m loving all the requests i’m getting, & i can’t wait to share more of them with you !! i hope you all love these as much i do !! <3
“Jesus christ, Jack!”, You yelp, feet splashing aggressively in the puddles below you as you follow his lead, moving as quickly as you could.
Jack was speed walking ahead of you—careful not to slip from his prosthesis, hand firmly on your elbow as he pulled you along with him.
The rain had come out of nowhere; one second the park was calm and breezy, the next you were drenched. You’d been sitting under a tree across the street to get as far away from the ED as possible during your break, allowing yourself to clear your head.
Jack was just coming in for his shift, camo backpack slung over his shoulder—one hand grasping the strap. His scrubs were mismatched; dark navy blue pants, a black top and dark brown undershirt—he looked like the epitome of an attending running on pure fumes.
But still, he had that crooked half smile at the corner of his lips when he saw you—stopping in his tracks when he was close enough.
“You planning to escape?”, He asked, voice teasing.
You looked at him; “You gonna tell on me if I am?”
He looked around before raising his hands in fake surrender; “I didn’t see a thing.”
His eyes flicked towards the ground once before trailing back up to you; “Although I think we’d be pretty lost without you, just saying.”
There it was; one of Jack’s little flirty comments slipping out so easily.
“That so?”, You huff; “Big strong attending can’t handle the ED if i’m not there?”
“God no.”
He laughs softly, smirk still lingering. He steps closer, close enough you can feel his warmth but not enough that you’re touching. You look up behind your sunglasses at Jack looking down at you.
“Need your favorite nurse fix, cowboy?”, You tease.
The lilt in your voice makes his ears and neck burn red.
“Who said you were my favorite?”, His squeezes his fists at his side; “But yeah…maybe I do.”
A silence settles between you as a cool breeze floats around you.
“Your shift start yet?”, You ask him.
Jack checks his watch; “Fifteen minutes, yet.”
You nod, patting the ground next to you; smoothing the top of the blanket you’re sitting on. You can see Jack hesitate—eyes drifting towards the bright red sign above the entrance to your shared work; his feet always pulling him to the ED.
“Jack”, You say.
He turns back towards you.
“Sit. They’ll live for a few minutes without you.”
He grunts as he lowers himself to the ground, palms flat against the ground behind him—letting his hands support him as he situates himself. You can see him shift a little, tugging at the leg of his scrub pants.
“Your leg ok?”, You ask.
He grunts; “Been better, been worse. I’ll live.”
“Jack—“
“I’ll be ok, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me”, Jack says, offering you a small crooked smile.
Silence surrounds you, his shoulder brushes yours. His body stays awkwardly straight; like he’s holding himself back from leaning in more.
A few minutes of comfortable silence pass before he reaches out to thumb the fabric at the bottom of your scrub top; a new soft yellow that was way too bright for the emergency department—much like Jack thought you were.
Jack always saw you as sunshine, especially now; here with your bright smile and hair clipped back in a claw clip that matched your scrubs. The way sun rays seemed to emanate from your face as the sky slowly started to darken around you.
“This new?”, Jack asked softly.
“Mhm”, You answer with a soft hum.
Jack’s quiet for a moment, pointer finger and thumb rubbing at the buttery material between his fingers; “I like them…’Looks good on you.”
The butterflies in your stomach stir.
“Everything looks good on you”, He adds; “…Hard not to when you’re so pretty.”
You feel your face heat up immediately, shyly hiding your smile in the crook of your arm.
Jack reaches over and gently pulls your face towards him by your chin, the same calloused fingers he’d just been holding the fabric of your scrubs with—now soothing against your soft skin.
“Hey”, Jack says softly when you finally look at him; “None of that. Don’t go hiding on me now, sweetheart.”
The nickname flowed through your ears and went straight to your heart; beating loud and hard against your ribcage. The sky around you grows darker.
Jack’s eyes are roaming your face now, tension buzzing between you like electricity.
A breath leaves your mouth, getting stuck in your throat halfway before fully escaping. Your eyes tracing Jack’s face; rugged and handsome with years of experience behind him. Permanently exhausted but still so beautiful.
Just when you think he’s going to close the gap between you, that’s when the sky opened up; rain pouring down on you.
Now here you were, running after him—his hand had found your elbow, skin burning with the touch. His quick steps still balanced so he doesn’t slip as he leads you both across the road and closer to the ambulance bay.
Despite the sudden cool air that came with the rain; your skin is on fire when Jack finally pulls you under the safety of the concrete canopy at the hospital entrance. Your wide eyes flick around, watching the rain plummeting from the sky around you. But Jack’s eyes only find you.
His hands are still on your elbow, one sliding down to rest steadily on your waist. Somehow, his hands are still warm despite being wet.
You flick your gaze back to Jack; really looking at him now. He’s drenched, probably soaked to the bone. His hair’s darker now, the familiar light grey curls taking on an almost black hue. Water drips down his flushed face and the curls at his nape. His tongue pokes out to lick his lips once, eyes never leaving your face. His pupils so blown there’s almost no hazel of his iris’ left; just black.
“You ok?”, He asks, breathless and chest heaving.
You don’t have words to answer him, every answer or quick wit remark you’d normally have had flown out of your brain the second he touched you—the second he looked at you with those blissed out eyes. He ducks his head to meet your gaze when you don’t answer, tucking a strand of wet hair that had fallen loose back behind your ear.
“Hey…”, He says softly.
You shiver at his touch.
“You cold?”, His brows are furrowed now.
“No”, you say, looking up at him—lip between your bottom teeth; head shaking softly.
“You sure?”
He pulls you closer, his eyes flicking from your face down to where his hand is still resting on your waist; then back.
You nod. Still nothing coherent to say coming to your head.
“You’re shaking”, His voice comes soft and laced with concern he can’t quite hide.
“I— I’m ok, I just-“
“Just what, sweetheart?”
Your heart thuds louder, mouth dry and breathing shallow.
“It’s just…you”, You rasp out.
Jack doesn’t falter, but you don’t miss the small twitch at the corner of his mouth; “Me?”
You nod again.
“What about me, honey?”
“You’re here.”
The words mean more than just his presence, than just this very moment. Months of tension and charged moments lingering in the damp air between you.
“Yeah”, he says, holding your chin between his fingers again; “I am….that ok?”
You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and comforting. His face is inches from yours now, foreheads almost touching. You can only nod; words gone again at being so close to him.
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth; “Can I kiss you?”
The words hit you like a freight train, goosebumps erupting over your skin. You nod before you can stop yourself.
Jack brushes his nose against yours; “I’m gonna need words this time, sweetheart.”
“Yes”, you say; “Yes, please.”
Jack moves closer, pulling you flush against him; open mouth hovering mere centimeters from your own. Warmth fans your face.
Then he finally lets his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, tentative and slow—like he’s learning you. Then it speeds up, his mouth opening a bit more now to slip his tongue through his lips; swiping against your mouth—asking to be let it.
You gladly accept, parting your lips to grant him access. Your tongues dance together, not quite fighting for dominance—but more pulling you closer. Your fingers find the back of Jack’s head, running them through the short curls there. Jack lets out a low groan, rumbling up through his chest.
You swallow the noise, pushing your lips harder against his—sighing when he pulls you even closer.
When you finally pull apart—lungs burning; Jack rests his forehead against yours. Nothing but the sound of your mixed breaths surrounds you, a soft laugh leaving his lips.
“You have no idea”, He smiles; “How long i’ve been wanting to do that.”
Still dazed, you shake your head; “Oh believe me, I do.”
Jack finds your eyes again, tucking strands that still stick to your face behind your ears again—pulling you close as he cups your face.
You lean up to kiss him again, but his lips find your forehead instead—soft and lingering against your dewy skin.
“Let me take you out after work, a real date”, He says softly; “I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice; let me treat you like you deserve.”
You feel your heart melt into a puddle in your chest, leaking down and mixing with the rain puddles around you. You’ve both finally started to dry, clothes barely damp now.
“Ok”, you breathe; “But only if you wear that dress shirt I like, the one from the conference we went to?”
Jack laughs softly against your skin, pressing another kiss to your temple; “Done, sweetheart.”
He lets himself linger there for a moment, swaying you both gently before he pulls away—hesitant like he’s using up all his restraint.
“We better get inside…”, He says.
You groan; “Yeah. My break is definitely over, and you’re late Doctor Abbot.”
His cheeks flush a little at his name leaving your lips, but he just tucks you under his arm—hand hovering at your back; “Cmon, trouble. The Pitt needs our best nurse.”
Inside, you go your separate ways. Jack’s touch lingering on your arm as you jump back into the chaos. He passes the hub, heading to drop off the bag still slung over his shoulder—smile etched on his face.
“You’re tracking water into my ED, Abbot”, Dana says; “And you’re gonna scare the med students with that smile.”
Jack shakes his head; “Sue me, i’m in a good mood.”
Dana takes the glasses off of her face, giving Jack a full once over; “You know something we don’t?”
Jack laughs softly, mouth twitching as he turns to the staff room door; hovering against it. His eyes find yours for a small second across the floor, heat climbing up both of your necks.
summary: once dating life is off the table, you still desperately want a child with someone. you decide to turn to your friend for help.
content: friends to lovers, probably medical inaccuracies, pet names, fluff, praise, comfort, no use of y/n, night shift and a little of day shift
word count: 5k
author’s note: just got out of a relationship with a very insecure/emotionally unstable man so i’m posting this draft as a come back post! i know it’s shitty, don’t hate me!!
offer
“and why not you?” you proposed to jack, making him almost spill his beer out of his mouth.
“me?” he repeated to make sure he didn’t hallucinate what he just heard.
you were looking through profiles of sperm donors the hospital gave you, so you invited your friend to help you choose the father of your future child. it felt like it was too important to do it alone.
“i really thought i’d be okay with a stranger, but i can’t do it. what if he’s a horrible person and gives the genes to my kid?”
he chuckled at the crazy scenario before thinking about what you just said. “i’m not sure that i’m up for it, honestly.”
“okay, but can you think about it? we get along really well, and you’d have some sort of legacy.”
“i’ll think about it, but if we do that, i have a condition.”
you furrowed your brows, intrigued to learn what it was.
“i want to be a dad, not a sperm bank.”
“so we would coparent?”
“yes, we could share custody,” he suggested, being a little too obvious about the fact that he’d like it.
you paused for a moment before continuing. “i have an oil change to do on my car monday. you’ll give me a ride to work, and we’ll talk about it.”
he nodded in agreement to your plan. he’d think about if he really wanted a child with someone who wasn’t his deceased wife, and you’d think about if you wanted to coparent.
──୨୧──
jack and you met when you transferred to ptmc after moving to pittsburgh. it was closer to your family, and you needed their support after a long relationship that disgusted you from the dating life forever.
there was a spot for a nighttime attending in pediatrics that waited for you. you felt honored to be chosen, and you took your job very seriously.
one night, you got called to the emergency department. you hated going there in person. it was lacking the colors of your floor, and it looked way too crowded.
however, you had to put your feelings aside and focus on the child who needed urgent help. he thankfully got stabilized after intense minutes of work on him.
you were always feeling down when you had to perform those big surgeries on tiny humans who didn’t ask for any of that. it was probably noticeable because dr abbot came your way to praise your skills. he was wondering who you were.
“are you new?”
“yes, i just moved back here after a long time away. everything changed so much.”
“i know some nice bars if you need a friend to visit the new spots with,” he proposed with a smile. one of his fingers had a wedding band that encouraged you to believe he didn’t mean more than what he said.
“i’d love that,” you accepted, returning the grin he gave you.
since then, jack and you have become good friends. you invited him over when you had a bad shift, and he did the same.
──୨୧──
it was 6 p.m., and instead of finishing your day of work like most people, you were just starting it.
you received a text from your friend, informing you that he’ll arrive soon. you decided to go breath the air of spring and come outside directly. you needed to find a way to distract yourself and calm your stress. you haven't really talked to him since this last conversation about having his kids.
he parked his car in front of you, and you got in. instead of an awkward moment, he directly started talking like he had rehearsed this moment.
“i thought about it a lot, and i want you to carry our child. i always wanted to have kids, and my life feels pretty empty right now; i could use the space with a little one. if you’re still up for it, of course.”
“yes, i looked into it. we would need a lawyer and a lot of conversations about how we organize our coparenting, but i could work. you’re a great friend, and you’d make an even better father.”
“you’ll be a good mother too. i’ll talk to the hospital’s attorney to get a recommendation for a good lawyer.”
“okay, we’ll have to put in the contract that i want the nursery at my place during the first months.”
“your place is it,” he happily agreed.
reveal
you really wanted it to work on the first try, especially knowing that jack insisted on paying for the whole thing.
you tracked your menstrual cycle very closely and got inseminated with his sperm. he was there for every single appointment with professionals. no matter how tired he was, he’d come to support you.
you officially finished the whole process, and you had to take a test. you went to jack’s place to do it after work.
“okay, it says i need to wait two minutes before looking at it,” you said, reading the instructions to make sure you weren’t missing any step.
“so we wait.”
“i’m really scared it won’t work,” you admitted to him in a small voice.
“worst case scenario, we just do it another time. don’t sweat about it. everything will be okay.”
you flinched when the alarm on your phone announced the end of the wait. you turned the test to reveal two lines.
jack immediately hugged you tightly.
you cried tears of joy. you weren’t in a relationship, but you felt like you were supported enough to go through it all.
first trimester
jack didn’t tell anyone about your plan. the only person who knew was robby. he found the plan admirable. maybe that he would’ve loved to have children in another life.
your breast were so sore all the time that you had a hard time wearing a bra. that’s when dana became the second person in the emergency department to know.
“first trimester?” she asked while looking at the paperwork she needed to complete.
“how did you know?”
“enlarged breasts and practically no bump. i had the same with my first, but the second gave me a bump as soon as i got pregnant," she began, remembering the cherished moment. “who’s the lucky guy?”
“it’s jack. we did this thing called iui. we want to coparent together.”
she looked quite surprised at the news but quickly transformed her open mouth into a grin. “well, i’m glad if it works out!”
“what do you mean by that?”
“pregnancy is a long and intimate process. i’m just saying that feelings could get tangled in there.”
“they won't; dating is out of the window for both of us. i’m not putting myself through that ever again.”
“do what your heart feels like, sweetheart,” she smiled, quietly returning to her paperwork.
you nodded and tried to find jack. he called you to know if you could take someone in pediatrics, but something came up, and he hung up before having the chance to present the case.
he was always coming with you to the doctor appointments you planned every week and checked on you over texts once in a while. other than that, he let you space. it’s not like you were dating or anything.
“hey, you came down? i could’ve called you back.”
“well, you weren’t, so i came,” you dryly replied. “sorry, i’ve been told i’m on edge.”
“it’s common; don’t worry about it,” he immediately reassured before logging on to a computer.
it was a 9-year-old girl, with severe asthma exacerbation. they gave her oxygen, albuterol, and prednisone to stabilize her enough, but she’d need to stay in peds one to three days for monitoring, treatments, and iv meds.
while you read, a nurse opened a tupperware with her lunch, and you got nauseous with the strong smell.
“yeah, we’ll take her,” you mumbled while urgently going to the nearest bathroom.
second trimester
the second trimester came with some perks. you could finally discover the gender of the baby, and your nausea stopped.
every single ultrasound was filled with excitement at the possibility of knowing if it was a girl or a boy.
“i hope it’ll show for this one. some can tell at 18 weeks, and i’m at 20. it’s not fair!” you complained while you rested a hand on your bump that started showing.
“the baby wasn’t positioned well,” he reminded you with one arm on the steering wheel as he drove to the hospital.
the ob-gyn greeted you with a smile. you were a little nervous, so jack couldn’t stop touching you. he had his hands on your nearest shoulder while you lay on the chair with your shirt up. they went to your forearm and your hands too when the doctor took a little too much time talking about how normal it is to not know the gender yet.
“today is the day!” the ob-gyn announced with a smile on her face.
jack looked at the screen with furrowed brows. your face lit up when you saw it. “it’s a girl!” you exclaimed with joy.
he hugged you tightly while peppering kisses on the top of your head.
“we’re having a girl,” he whispered to you with the biggest grin he could physically make.
you left the department together and went to the peds to see your coworkers and friends to tell them the good news. the father of your baby girl stayed behind with a smile plastered on his face. for the biggest flirt of the hospital, jack wasn’t looking at your coworkers much. he mostly looked at you while the girls of your department jumped in excitement.
“oh my god, she will be so cute!” one said while two others were touching your belly.
“i know!” you responded and reached out for jack’s hand to get him closer. “i’m really hungry, so we will go, but thank you for being here.”
they all agreed to let you go and you went to the pitt in the elevator.
“i need a cheeseburger,” you thought out loud with a hand rubbing your belly.
“i’ll get it for you. do you want to go to a restaurant?”
“yes, but i want to go see dana and robby first.”
“don’t overwork yourself, mama. do you feel like seeing them?”
“yes, i want to. we’re having a little girl!”
as the doors of the elevator opened, you both noticed that the er was almost empty.
“what happened?” you asked in surprise at the rare sight.
“i have no idea; it’s either a good or a bad sign.”
dana saw the two of you and yelled at robby to come. the two men dapped up while the nurse leaned on the wall.
“so… do you have good news?”
“we’re having a baby girl!” you happily cheered.
“that’s amazing!” robby said before looking at his friend, who only had you and the baby in his vision.
jack concluded the conversation quickly to get you the cheeseburger you were craving.
he stopped at a fast food place you liked, and you let out a yawn. “can you go in the drive-through? i’m tired.”
“no problemo!” he answered like it was the last of his worries.
he ordered what you wanted and parked in the parking lot for the two of you to eat comfortably.
“so, how is the second trimester treating you?” he wondered after swallowing a bite of burger.
“i’m living my best life. the bump is cute, i don’t get nauseous anymore, and i get horny all of the time.”
he froze at the last part but gathered himself in no time. “well, it’s a common symptom…”
“makes you understand why it’s a thing you do as a couple. i literally cried myself to sleep last night because of how lonely i felt.”
“you feel lonely?”
“yeah, my feelings are all over the place. that’s an annoying part.”
“they’re heightened, not different,” he said before taking fries from his meal. “call me if you need someone. i’m always there, you know?”
third trimester
the final weeks before giving birth were the worst. you were feeling enormous, you were exhausted all the time, and everything was hurting.
jack tried to be more present by texting more, but he was afraid of being overbearing. he never imagined having his first child with someone he wasn’t dating. there was no textbook on how to behave with a friend who was also carrying the daughter he had dearly wanted.
from time to time, he’d come to your place after a shift to help you out with anything you needed.
tonight, he could feel you weren’t feeling well at the hospital, so he invited himself to your place by pretending that he had more decorations to do in the nursery.
you accepted, too exhausted to refuse free labor from him. you could take a nice shower while he prepares a good meal like he usually does.
you got out of the steamy bathroom in your pastel pajama set to eat, but jack’s gaze lowered on your breast. you immediately knew what it meant, and you whined.
“i’ll get you another shirt.”
he headed off right away while you whined. he continued talking from your bedroom as he looked through your drawer to find something new for you. “the hot shower might have stimulated the fluid to leak. is there blood?” he asked with a new pajama shirt in hand.
you stretched out your top’s collar to check the milk leaking out. “nothing bloody, doctor,” you announced before taking the shirt he held. “you know you’ll have to bring some clothes over so you can stay with me when she’s a newborn.”
he nodded, and you simply turned around to change. it’s been a long day; he probably saw many naked women in his life, and you were very close to crashing out over all the discomfort your body was experiencing. once you were completely topless, you felt his gaze piercing through you. even if you focused on the task at hand, it made you feel good in a way to be looked at like this when you felt like a whale.
you looked behind to confirm what you thought. his eyes were on your back.
“why are you staring?” you asked with your new pajama shirt on.
“i can’t look at the woman carrying my baby? harsh, mama,” he teased while fidgeting with his ring.
“you weren’t looking; you were staring. it’s different.”
“you have a nice back,” he finally admitted before placing his hands behind him and straightening his back slightly.
you probably shouldn’t have noticed that, but you saw him assume the same position he just made when he was ordering risky procedures in the er. it was a pose that gave him a certain confidence, maybe.
“shut up, i feel like i’m a whale,” you corrected, showing your swollen hands.
“you’re not; you're beautiful, okay?”
you paused at the compliment. it was known that jack was a flirt. you should’ve joked it off with a quick remark, but you were too stunned to think of one. that’s when you realized that you didn’t need one. he wasn’t trying to make you laugh or even flirt. he just told you because he felt like it.
“can you stay the night?” you blurted out like a teenage girl with a crush.
he answered in a heartbeat. “yes, of course.”
you nodded and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. whatever could help you escape this awful tension building between the two of you was worth it. however, he placed himself beside you with a towel to help you dry.
you gave him a wet glass, and your fingers almost touched. it’s not like you never touched him; you always did. this time just felt different. maybe it had been different for a while, actually, but you truly felt it at this instant.
his touch got you distracted, or perhaps he was the one who was because a plate fell and broke on the floor as you gave it to him.
he didn’t flinch, too used to the constant, sudden movements and noises of the emergency department. he was calm and unfazed.
“we’re down to three plates,” he stated with a small smirk before picking you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you outside of the kitchen. “i’ll pick it up- fuck, are you okay?”
you suddenly started to cry like a baby. he was so perfect and fatherly. it was so dumb to sob over that when so many women had to deal with the opposite.
you mumbled something he couldn’t really understand, so he just hugged you and rocked you gently to calm you down. “okay, shhh… take deep breaths for me.”
you did so, and he accompanied you by breathing slowly. after the third time, the only traces of your outburst were the tears on your cheeks and your clogged nose.
“i’m too emotional,” you joked off, wiping your tears with your hands at the same time.
“be kind to yourself. you’re going through so much. do you know how tough you are? you’re growing a human inside of you,” he noticed you looking down while he praised you, so it fueled him to continue. “you’re doing all of this alone, and i’m pretending to be useful by doing stupid chores and attending appointments. you’re the real superwoman here. i’m so proud of everything you’re doing.”
“don’t make me cry more!”
he chuckled and kissed your forehead. you leaned into his touch with your heavy eyelids closing for a moment too long.
it was no surprise that you went to bed while he cleaned up. he usually slept on the couch when he was at your house, but tonight he wanted to be with you.
he knocked on your door, unsure if you were sleeping. after all, insomnia was a common symptom during pregnancy.
“come in,” you mumbled with your eyes wide open in the dark.
“hey… i just wanted to know if you were fine. how’s your sleep?”
“bad. i can’t sleep at all.”
“do you know santos in the ed? she forced me to listen to sleepmaxxing content when she learned i was a swat physician in my free time.”
“she’s on the night shift?”
he shook his head. “no, you probably haven’t worked with her, but the point is that i know some tricks to make you fall asleep.”
he put on some white noise on your phone, closed the blackout curtains to let no light in, and adjusted the thermostat to a colder setting.
“is there something about not being alone in bed in sleepmaxxing?”
“could be; i didn’t watch all of the videos she sent,” he replied while approaching your bed. “would you like it if i joined?”
“yes.”
he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthetic before getting in and enveloping you in his arms.
you whined and mumbled something about him needing to be closer to you.
“don’t know if you noticed, but there's a baby between us.”
you rolled your eyes, which made him smile, and turned around so he could be closer to your whole backside in a spooning position.
he couldn’t notice the blush rising on your face, and you couldn’t notice his.
labor
you insisted on continuing to work through your third trimester. you felt useless at home anyway.
you got called in the emergency department again. once you came in, jack rushed to you.
“why are you here?” he asked, positioning himself in front of you to block your way.
“i got called in.”
“i called your department, not you. it’s too dangerous for you to come down here when we’re too busy.”
“don’t tell me what to do!”
“i will because one of my nurses got physically assaulted ttoday, and i’m not letting that happen again. especially not to you.”
“i’m already here; can you just give me the case?” you sighed with a hand rubbing your belly.
“it’s john’s case. he’s in trauma 2.”
you walked there, but you felt followed, so you turned around. “jack, i’m a big girl.”
“john probably needs my help; i should assist.”
you walked in and smiled at the other attending. “hi, mama,” shen greeted you when he saw you. “…and dada… you guys joined us when we stabilized him!”
“great, i’ll have to walk the stairs again. call me when he can be admitted in peds.”
jack took your shoulders from behind you to keep you in place. “take the elevator,” he ordered, leaving no room for discussion.
shen put his hands up. “okay! i’m going to leave the couple’s fight.”
“we’re not a couple!” you both yelled at him, projecting your anger onto the poor guy.
some nurses looked in your direction, but you ignored them.
“we’re like siblings,” you corrected, which earned you a disappointed look from jack.
what was he disappointed about?
john looked at your belly before raising his eyes back at you. “totally not incestuous. maybe consider some other labels,” he recommended before heading out of the room.
“oh, we didn’t do it-” you tried to say before he could leave butt got cut off by some contractions.
the two attendings locked eyes with each other as they noticed it.
“fuck, are you in labor?” jack asked while touching your belly.
“no, it’s braxton-hicks contractions. i had that for my whole third trimester.”
“really sounds like something you should’ve told me.”
“oh, did you want to know in detail my constipation issues too, while we’re at it?” you asked in a passive-aggressive tone before that john gave you an office chair for you to sit on.
“yeah, i could’ve helped, actually,” he replied, a little on edge at the attitude you’ve been giving him for days since you shared a bed.
“ok, well, it’s done now. i need to go pee.”
you made your way between the two men and went to the bathroom.
as you sat on the toilet, you had another light contraction before feeling liquid leak out of you.
it wasn’t the moment. you weren’t ready. it was too early for that. you wiped and washed your hands before going to see jack.
he was still in trauma 2, but the patient who was stabilized some minutes ago had doctors all around him.
“what’s happening?” you asked as you walked in.
“8-year-old male, bike vs car, was stable, now hypotensive, tachycardic, worsening abdominal distention, dropping gcs. we started fluids, and blood is coming,” shen explained to you quickly. “he’s in decompensated shock. keep transfusing and call the or. he’ll be clear to go.”
jack looked at nazely, who nodded and called the other department.
you weren’t focused at all because another contraction just hit you. you sat down on the chair john previously gave you. nobody cared; they were all up on the little boy.
“how much is in?” shen asked a nurse.
“first unit just started.”
“good, activate massive transfusion. get plasma and platelets ready,” you ordered, breathing slowly to avoid looking too pained.
no one looked back, way too concentrated on the patient. you looked at the clock on the wall to calculate your contractions. they were becoming way too close, but it wasn’t the moment at all.
lena opened the glass door and announced that the or was open. at this brief loss of focus, jack’s eyes drifted to you.
“fuck…”
john’s eyes widened at the sight. he quickly assigned an intern to stay with the kid upstairs before going in your direction.
“my water broke in the bathroom. my contractions are less than four minutes apart,” you blurted out, stressing the two men even more.
your contraction ended for a small moment, giving you enough attention span to listen to what jack had to say.
“okay, we need to deliver the baby now," dr abbot announced while shen came back with a wheelchair.
“i can’t have the baby now. it’s too early,” you complained as jack pushed your wheelchair to a room.
“active labor, where is she going, lena?” shen yelled to the charge nurse.
“north 5, i’m calling the ob.”
you lay in the bed, and nurses and doctors filled the room while john took charge. “emergency delivery. get me a delivery kit, a warm blanket, and someone to call for neonatal support.”
a nurse quickly undressed you and checked your vagina’s opening. “she’s crowning.”
john gently pushed jack to go to your side and support you. “okay, mama, i’ll deliver your baby.”
“no, not you,” you cried out, too exhausted to care about his feelings. “i want a woman doctor.”
“ellis, you’re up. i’ll be supervising.”
“jack, i need you,” you whined, taking his hand and holding it hard, earning a small groan from him even if he didn’t want to complain.
“okay, mama, the head is showing. when you feel a contraction, you push,” parker instructed, placing your legs in a better position.
john took a look. “control the head and check for cord.”
when you felt the contraction, you gently pushed to avoid any tears from your vagina.
“okay, don’t push too much,” jack cooed, keeping a hand on the top of your hair.
“i know, fucking dumbass!” you screamed while the whole team tried to keep a straight face at their boss getting harshly humbled.
“head’s out, no cord. we’re pushing on to the next contraction.”
you were sobbing between the contractions. “i didn’t want it to happen like that!”
“i know, but you’re doing great,” jack reassured, standing close.
“you’re so useless! you’re just standing there!”
“you’re right…”
“fuck you, i hate you!” you screamed out when another contraction came in.
“and i love you. can you push for me?”
“no, you can’t say that now. you can’t!”
“i’m here for you; squeeze my hand as hard as you can and give me another push.”
you pushed once more, and the baby came out. they dried her and did a quick check. jack gently removed your bra and lifted your shirt for them to place the baby on your skin. nurses covered her in blankets as she started sucking for milk.
“time of birth is 6:12 a.m.," shen stated after looking at his watch.
“you did amazing; i’m so proud of you,” jack whispered while smiling.
postpartum
abbot had never cared for you as much as in this stage. he insisted that you stay in bed while he did all the annoying things you didn’t want to do.
“jack, i can go,” you mumbled when the baby started to cry in the middle of the night.
“i got it; just continue sleeping,” he reassured from the hallway.
you felt so bad. he was sleeping on the couch, changing diapers, and barely getting any sleep.
“okay, but come here after.”
he accepted, and once he was in the nursery, he almost immediately stopped the noises the newborn made. you worked with kids all the time, yet you couldn’t make your own child stop crying like he could.
it sometimes made you jealous to see how quickly he could calm her, as if you knew her less than he did.
jack stopped at the door of your bedroom. he didn’t want to intrude on your space, especially when your relationship was so unclear.
“do you mind sleeping with me? i feel bad that you sleep on the couch.”
“your couch is fine. don’t worry about me; i’m a grown-up. how are you feeling, mama?”
“if i wasn’t feeling well, i would’ve told you before. please, take care of yourself instead and sleep in a proper bed.”
he offered you a lazy and tired smile before sitting on the edge of the bed. he removed his prosthetic and lay down so you could cover him with your warm blanket.
“you should probably use crutches during the night. you’d avoid putting on and removing your fake leg.”
“nah, i’m a new dad, not a grandpa,” he joked, letting go a small chuckle from you.
he turned to you, and that’s when you saw the full exhaustion on him. “sleep tight, okay?”
“yeah, you too…”
──୨୧──
the early morning was visible through the window when you opened your eyes. the baby was crying again. you tried to get up, but you felt two large arms around you. he was spooning you in a tight embrace, as if he were scared to let you go.
“jack…” you muttered to wake him as gently as possible.
“go back to sleep. i want to stay with you,” he whispered with his eyes still closed.
“the baby’s crying…”
“she always is… give it five minutes. i want to sleep more with you,” he admitted, wrapping his arms tighter around your chest.
if you weren’t fully awake before, you were now.
“jack what did you say?” you asked, already getting tired of the sounds your baby makes and sitting up on the bed.
he finally opened his eyelids and rubbed them in a fast motion to talk to you in a decided tone.
“go feed her, but i don’t want us to sleep in this bed as exhausted parents anymore.”
“what?” you asked with your mouth open in shock.
you mentally slapped yourself. did he have to spell it out for you to understand? he couldn’t be more straightforward, yet you had no idea how to answer or even take that.
“i want to go on a date with you or anything that will make us more than friends in your eyes. i know you don’t want it, but just give me a chance. i want to give it a try.”
his eyes were begging you to accept. he really wanted you to agree to this. anything you’d want to take from him to finally upgrade the friend status he’s been stuck with for years. it was all he ever desired before, but now he wanted something more.
he needed his daughter to believe in soulmates and in love. he wanted her to smile when she saw both of her parents at her recitals or be embarrassed when they kissed too long.
you must’ve thought the same because you nodded. “okay, let’s give it a shot… let’s go on a date.”
