val

the pitt side blog 18+ she/her

[skzyeri]

john shen fic recs

F - fluff S - smut A - angst ♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - imagines and drabbles

last updated - 07/06/2026 ⤷ fic count - 7

@antisirkbitch ——————————

☆ rolled ankles, wounded pride | F. ⤷ a forensic pathology grad student twists her ankle walking home from the library and end up in the er, where an annoyingly charming night-shift doctor with an iced coffee, too much confidence, and a talent for flirting turns a miserable 2 a.m. visit into the start of something dangerously fun.

@domesticblisss ——————————

☆ sugar kisses | F. ⤷ that john shen has a major sweet tooth, everybody knows. but not everyone knows that that’s his love language.

@iwasalamb ——————————

◇ john shen x fem!reader | F. ⤷ doctors & caring for ur period oh you know he is on it!

@justalittlepitt ——————————

◇ john shen x pregnant!reader | F.

@noonquiver ——————————

☆ a little love, a little sympathy | F. A. ⤷ john shen's first day as an attending goes a little something like this. or, 5 times you believe in him and the 1 time he believes in you.

@whittakermultiverse ——————————

☆ medium iced, two sugars | F. ⤷ nobody in the ER knew that john shen was married. mostly because john shen never talked about himself. so when a woman walks into the department carrying a dunkin’ tray and casually kisses him on the cheek like it’s the most normal thing in the world… the entire staff short-circuits.

@youvebeenlivingfictional ——————————

☆ in retrospect | A. F. ⤷ john’s hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall. “so,” he offers, “fancy seeing you here.” and you so don’t want to let him make you smile, but you can’t help yourself. “this is a bit much,” He adds as you’re wheeled onto the elevator, “i mean, itold you you could call and you show up at my job instead?i appreciate the effort, but you're coming off a little desperate.”

[peterpparkrr]

So Easy (To Fall In Love)

Pairing: John Shen x Nurse Practitioner!Reader

Summary: The new Night Shift Attending and the Night Shift’s Nurse Practitioner are both idiots.

Warnings: flirting in the workplace, nurse/doctor dynamic (which isn’t really an issue but idk), patient violence against healthcare workers (no one is injured), a kiss!

A/N: Dr. John Shen my unproblematic king! I fear I need everyone who works the night shift expeditiously.

“Want some?” Shen asked as he sidled up to you in the central hallway, matching your stride as you poked your head in on each patient, checking in to see if anyone needs anything or if any of the patients’ conditions have altered significantly.

“No, I’d rather die than drink your pond water,” You scoffed in response with a dismissive wave of your hand over his offensively large iced coffee-latte-thing from Dunkin. “Thank you.” “You’re the one drinking carcinogens in a can,” He replied as he pointed at the can in the front pocket of your scrub top.

“You and I both know that that study was debunked,” You replied as you glanced down at the can you just grabbed from the vending machine. It was still slightly cool; the press against your abdomen through your scrub top and undershirt was a silent reminder that if everything was fine, you could actually sit down for a moment any minute now. “Whatever you say, princess,” Shen replied with a shrug. “I’ve got a gnarly degloved finger in Central 8 if you want to stop by, watch me work my magic,” He offers casually as he splits off from you, doing a turn to give you that stupid half-smile he always offers everyone before righting himself and getting back to his job. “Shut up,” You called out after him. Absolutely no bite to your words at all.

As if you would give up the unspoken quiet and use this rare and beautiful downtime to watch him perform a procedure you’ve watched be performed countless times in your career. 

You sat at the station closest to C8 and crack open your Diet Coke, not turning around even once as you quietly sipped your soda and listened to the slightly muffled walkthrough that Dr. Shen is giving one of the med students as he walks her through the case and the thought process behind each step.

-

“You two are… unbelievable,” Mateo told you with a shake of his head when you came over to bug him at his station after finishing up with Shen on a tricky foreign object removal from the eye socket. 

Staple gun - 1. Your patient - 0.

Once you’d managed to calm the patient down and reassured him that if he stayed still long enough for you to actually help him, you would be able to remove the staple and ensure that he did not lose his eye or do any further damage to it. 

It had been nasty, and you wanted to tell Mateo all the details and see if you could get him to vomit. “Huh?” You asked instead. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you stared back at Mateo blankly.

“You and Shen,” Mateo replied. “It’s like disgusting.”

“Shut up,” You scoffed. “Donnie said he saw you two making eyes over that dude while he kept asking if he was going to be able to play pick up basketball ever again.”

“He was fine, just anxious, and I was running through proper removal technique with Dr. Shen,” You replied, shaking your head.

“Yeah, right,” Mateo replied. “You never get that close to me when you’re wanting my help,” He replied, his tone strangely clipped.

“I think you’re just jealous that I have work friends other than you,” You argued. “Especially since Javadi has been noticeably less giggly in your presence recently.”

“Yeah, right,” Mateo scoffed. But you saw his jaw tick slightly. Got’em.

“It’s okay, you can just admit you’re jealous,” You called out over your shoulder as you head off to check on a head lac. “And I have other work friends, too!” Mateo shouted  after you, sounding incredibly desperate. Which delighted you to no end. “And we’re not just work friends, we’re best friends!”

“Whatever you want to keep telling yourself!” You shouted back, laughing all the way back to triage.

-

“Fractured shoulder in South 13 for you,” Lena told you. 

“Lovely,” You replied with a sigh as you grabbed the tablet from her outstretched hand.

“I do my best for you, darling,” Lena replied. “Shen is the assigned physician.”

“Oh,” You replied a bit stupidly as you glanced down at the chart. “Oh,” Lena repeated back with a lilting tease. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, sweetheart.” “Aww, I knew you loved me best, Lena, baby!” You replied as you headed off, blowing her a kiss on your way. Only to be intercepted on your path by the very same doctor you were needing to find. 

“How come you never call me baby?” He asked with a pout.

“Do you want me to call you baby, Dr. Shen?” You asked after a moment.

“Maybe,” he replied. “Okay, baby,” You replied. “Let’s get this shoulder fracture worked up, then.” You stepped into the room and were already greeting the patient, which meant that you completely missed the way that John Shen buffered in the doorway like an ancient MacBook.

-

“Wanna teach a new intern how to do horizontal mattress sutures?” Shen asked as she strolled past your station, half-drunk Dunkin’ in hand. “Do I?” You asked as you glanced up at him over the top of your monitor. 

You did not.

But Shen was making sad puppy dog eyes at you when you looked up at him. “Please just say yes,” He replied with an added little pout. “Fine,” You muttered with a sigh. Jesus Christ, you were pathetic. Nazely smiled at you apologetically from where she was attached to Shen’s hip. “You’re an angel,” Shen replied with a grin as you forced yourself up and out of your chair. Falling into matched step beside him as he led you through the ED. “A princess, a goddess amongst men.”

“I know,” You replied dryly. “Have you ever done a horizontal mattress suture?” You asked as you turned to the Night Shift’s new intern. If only to get Shen to stop talking to you like that in front of a new coworker.

“No, but I’ve seen videos online,” Nazely replied. Blessedly refraining from asking any questions about the strange dynamic you knew you and Shen had.

You liked her already.

“It’s way more fun in person,” You told her with a grin as Shen pushed through into the C4 and the two of you followed.

“Hey there, Mr. Stein, I’ve got two of our best with me to get you stitched up and on your way,” Shen announced as you both smiled and greeted the patient. 

Mr. Stein held up a limp hand in greeting, and you could see the bandage wrapped over the space between the thumb and pointer finger of his left hand. Yep. Definitely gonna need a horizontal mattress.

“Let’s get you stitched up, Mr. Stein,” You told him with a smile as you pulled the suture materials out and started laying the tray. 

“Dr. Nazely Toomarian,” You prompted as you placed them on the table you’ve pulled up to the bedside as you helped Mr. Stein lay his hand down comfortably and flat, along with pulling up a rolling seat for each of you to sit on.

“Where do we start?” You asked her gently, prompting her with the questions you usually hear one of the Attendings or Senior Residents ask the students.

“Clean and numb the area,” Nazely replied.

You grinned.

“Exactly, we’ve got antiseptic and a syringe with 30 ccs of lidocaine with epinephrine and inject into the edges of the wound on both sides,” You explained aloud as you unwrapped, cleaned, and then numbed the wound.

“The suture gets its name from the way the needle passes through the tissue in a horizontal direction, like a mattress being stitched. I don’t really get it. Don’t ask. It involves taking bites on both sides of the wound, with a horizontal “under the skin” pass in between,” You continued. “Why do we use this type of suture on this particular wound?”

“The skin is under tension, it’s pulling apart. And this is a stress area, lots of movement,” Nazely replied. “Correct,” You replied with a nod. “So, I’m going to lift up the skiing edge and insert the needle perpendicular to the skin surface. With this one we’re going about four millimeters away from the edge. If it’s higher-tension you increase the bite size.”

“Then we cross the wound. Rotate the wrist, to go through the dermis.”

“Secure the needle, enter the second side,” You continue to explain out loud as you work. “Insert the needle perpendicularly through the dermis from the inside out, using the needle’s curve and wrist supination for smooth passage. Ensure both bites on either side have similar depth and distance from the wound edge for even closure.”

“Comple the first throw, and then we bury the next bite, make sense?” You asked. “Yeah,” she replied with a nod.

You glanced over your shoulder at Shen and he just smiled and threw up a low thumbs up.

“Reload the needle with the point facing away from you. Aim to create another horizontal throw about ten millimeters down from the first one. This is the buried bite and it will travel under the skin and back to the original entry point for knotting.”

“And then we do the same thing going back the other way. Come back to where we started, and tie the knot. Boom.”

“Woah,” Nazely replied.

“Now we follow those steps down the length of the wound to close completely,” You told her. “Any questions?” You ask as you glanced back up at her. “No, no, that makes sense,” She replied. “Good, now it’s your turn,” You told her as you flipped the forceps around to her.

She looked up at you with wide eyes but took the tools from you. After a few minutes she got into the flow and managed all the steps without asking you constantly if she was doing it right. Which was awesome.

“You’re a good teacher,” Shen told you as you two stepped out of the room, leaving Nazely to finish her notes. “Thank you,” You replied. Suddenly feeling strangely shy. “I’ve learned from some of the best.” “Aww,” He cooed as a hand came up to his heart. “Lena and Dana,” You replied.

“Oh,” he muttered.

“And watching some very impressive Attendings,” You added. “Dr. Abbot is just so good at his job.” 

“Shut up,” Shen scoffed as he knocked his shoulder against yours. 

“And this other kind of lame doctor I know,” You told him with a sidelong glance.

-

“I need hands for an incoming trauma,” Dr. Abbot announced as he tapped on the counter in front of you, pulling you and Shen out of your very intense debate over whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. The kind of stupid stuff that only people awake and working at three in the morning and sad people on the internet are still arguing about.

“Whatdya say?” Shen asked as he turned back to you with a grin, grasping your hands in his. “Will you do me the honor of scrubbing in with me?” He faux-proposed dramatically.

“Please stop flirting with nurses in front of the residents,” Abbot told Shen with a frown. Deeply unamused. “Just one nurse,” Shen protested. Very mildly protested. With a grin on his face.

“Ohkaaaay,” You muttered as you inched your chair away from Shen slightly.

“Well, I need both of you, so no talking,” Abbot said as he jerked his head toward the ambulance bay doors.

“But then how will we know what to do?” You asked innocently as you moved to stand. “No talking about anything other than the patient,” Abbot grumbled.

“Yes, sir,” You replied as Shen mock saluted him beside you.

He walked away muttering something under his breath. You can’t help but count your lucky stars that your union makes it borderline impossible for you to be fired due to your teasing of Senior Attendings. 

-

“Sir, I understand that you’re frustrated,” You stated firmly as you took a big step back toward the open door, your body turned slightly as you moved your hands slightly in front of your body, fingers outstretched.

“No!” “Please, Sir, I understand that you are angry, but I can only help you if you sit back down and then stay still,” You repeated. Keeping your voice low and soft. As soothing as you can manage.

“I won’t do anything without explaining it first, but I can’t do any of that if you’re not willing to 

“Hey!” Shen shouted from the doorway.

The sudden loud noise shocked your patient like an electrocution. Without pause he lunged forward toward the door. You stepped in between them on pure instinct. All of your training kicked in, self-defense classes you’d signed up for with Vivi and Princess, de-escalation training from the hospital, and your innate need to keep your coworkers safe. 

To keep John safe.

Your forearm whipped up and pushed outward, rotating your patient’s punch up and away as you pressed back against John, using your back to push him back into the doorway as your arms flew back up, elbows outstretched to push back and give you some space before your patient could react.

“We need help over here!” You called out as you continued to edge backward. Ahmad, one of the other security guards, and several nurses rushed over and you helped them restrain your patient long enough for Lena to bring you the sedative.

Once your patient is out and you’ve got him back on the bed, and the whole ordeal is somewhat calmed down - relaying what happened to Abbot, and then again to Lena - several times as she asks you soft question after gentle prodding (seriously, if Lena asks you one more time if you’re okay, maybe you will start crying) you head to the break room for your fifteen minute Lena-mandated break.

When you whip open the door Shen is already there. Sipping on his iced coffee and staring at the doorway like he was just waiting for you to come in.

“Oh, hey,” You stammered out as you stepped in, letting the door close behind you.

“Hey, I got you this,” He said as he held out a can of Diet Coke for you to grab. 

“Thanks,” You replied as you grabbed it. You tap it against your palm gently. Unsure of what to say. Or do.

“That was crazy,” John finally said as he looked up at you, his face calm, bordering on unemotional. “Yeah,” You replied with a nod as you finally slump down in the chair next to him.

“Crazy that you’re totally obsessed with me,” John continued.

“Shut up,” You hissed. “What you did was so stupid! Don’t you pay attention in the de-escalation training?” “Of course not, they’re way too early,” John replied with a shrug. “John,” You replied with a frown. Did he seriously not get how serious this was? “Why would I need to? Now that I know that you’re going to be my knight in shining armor whenever I get into a scrape,” He continued.

You want to say something. To point out again that what he did was stupid. That he could have been hurt. That you could have ended up hurt, caught in the crossfire. It wouldn’t be the first time a patient got the drop on you.

“Hey,” John finally said when he glanced over and saw the look on your face. “Hey, look at me.”

“Sorry, I want to do bits, I just think that kinda freaked me out more than I realized,” You admitted to him with a sigh.

“Of course, I’m sorry, Normally I’m pretty good at reading the room,” He replied.

“That – you protecting me– was hot,” He stated firmly. “And also was a situation that I don’t ever want to see you in again.” “John, half of that was your fault!” “I know, I know!” He replied, his hands held up in front of him in surrender. “But seriously, I learned my lesson, and I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” You told him with another sigh. “Could be better, but ultimately okay.”

“What would make you feel even better?” He asked as he looked at you. “Other than that junk,” He gestured toward your still unopened Diet Coke.

“I dunno,” You replied with a shrug. “A kiss?”

“From anyone in particular? Because I think Abbot with a patient, but I could interrupt-”

“You know who,” You replied, cutting him off.

“Can you please say it? Just for my own ego?” He asked as he looked at you with his head slightly cocked to the side and a shit-eatting grin that would be pissing you off right about now if you didn’t find everything this guy did so oddly endearing. “I want you to kiss me, John Shen,” You tell him as you cock your own head to the side. “So what are you going to do about it?” “This,” He said as he reached for one of the chair legs beneath you before pulling your chair toward him until your face were a few inches apart. And then he kissed you.

“Now, was that so hard?” You murmured against his lips. And you felt his smile as he kissed you again.

[longingforlangdon]

obsessed with this one

[pellucid-constellations]

Staying Overtime

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Psych Resident!Reader

Summary: You and Jack had been dancing around each other for months, playing a game that neither of you would label. But then you took that leap, pushed the boundaries, and Jack had to confront just how much he cared about you. He just wished it hadn't been like this.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Injury, blood, workplace violence in a psych setting, angst!, yearning tho and hurt/comfort hehe <3

a/n: My first fic for the pitt!! Branching out to new fandoms can be scary so hiii :) idk what I'm doing but I hope you enjoy! More to come probably :) Maybe a part two but also idk love you

~~

It wasn’t unusual for you to stay overtime, even in the absence of work. You enjoyed the view out the window of the sun setting over Pittsburgh, the way the sidewalks filled and then depleted as everyone made their way home, and you stayed put. There was a gentle hum in your office that could only be heard at this time, a placeholder for the constant conversations and voices and requests that typically filled the space. It was tranquil, a time to ground when your day was filled with emotional weight. 

And, perhaps you also enjoyed the tiny bleep of your pager sounding off just around 7 pm. Your coworkers hated that sound. It meant you had to head down to the ED to take a history on a patient you had just met and make decisions under duress. It meant probably being screamed at, glared at, maybe even hissed at, on a few occasions, but such was the job description. You all knew what you were getting into when you took this psych residency, ED consults and all. 

To be fair, you didn’t really enjoy the pager yourself, especially when you had a mountain of notes to complete and not enough time in the day. But when it went off around 7, around shift change downstairs, the sound elicited something strange within you. Something exciting. 

You fixed your hair in a passing window as you made your way to the elevators, praying that the silent halls meant every office was empty. The last thing you needed was your coworkers becoming more suspicious; they had begun to question your eagerness to take afternoon psych consults and asked one too many times about your obsessive use of lip gloss. 

The ride down to the pitt had you bouncing on your toes, the uncomfortable shoes the hospital required you to wear making your heels throb. Damn the Joint Commission and its penchant for business casual. But, at the same time, the pretty blouse you had chosen this morning was perfect for your not-so-impromptu consult. 

Pros and cons, then. 

The ED was buzzing with handover reports, hallway beds, and nurses zipping across rooms, as it always was. You took in a deep breath and entered the madness, not yet seeing the target of your visit, but comfortable enough to linger by the nurse’s hub. You were down there often. People knew your face. 

That fact was evident in the subtle brow raise Princess sent you when you leaned against the counter, her face in a humorous grimace as she typed away on a charting computer. “I wasn’t aware we had a psych case.” 

“Hi, Princess,” you drawled out, tapping your fingers on a near-empty tissue box. “Nice to see you, too.” 

She threw you a look. “I see you almost every day. You don’t get pleasantries anymore.” 

“What do I get then?” you teased. 

She pretended to think, tapping quickly to lock her computer and whisking a discharge summary from the printer. You looked at her expectantly, but a smirk had taken over her face, and she spun on her heel after a glance over your shoulder. 

“I swear you’re getting faster.” 

You felt the breath punch from your lungs at the sound of Jack Abbot’s voice, quickly reigning in your smile as you turned and leaned your back against the nurse’s station. He was there in all his glory, arms stretching long beneath his scrubs and crossed over his chest, hair just a touch out of place. His mouth was already quirked into a half-smile, but when you met his eye, you were almost sure it grew just a little bit wider. 

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a smile. Not yet. “Well, I have to be fast. I was supposed to go home an hour ago, but I keep getting paged right when I’m finally about to leave. It’s the strangest thing.” 

“That right?” he posed, his eyes drifting down your body and back up. It really was a pretty blouse. 

“You should know,” you accused. “You’re the one who always seems to have a psych consult as soon as you walk in the door. Have you even finished your handoff from Robby?” 

“I don’t think they pay you to ask all these questions, sweetheart.” 

“I get paid to ask questions all day. That’s, like, the whole job.” 

Jack huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in place of a response. He stepped forward until you could smell the soap lingering on his skin and reached over your shoulder, his nose edging just a little bit closer to your temple. You tried to ignore it, but he was chipping away at making you smile. Proximity was always an easy one. He was going for the low blows, then. 

“Dropped this,” he said as he pulled back, waving your badge between you. “Still haven’t fixed the reel?” 

You stared at the shining plastic between his fingers, over-correcting and grasping his full hand in yours as you took it back. “I don’t want to fix it. The entire thing is broken, and I don’t want to get a new one. I like this one.” 

Jack tugged it loose from your grip and examined the badge holder. He let the rhinestones shimmer against the hospital lighting and hadn’t dropped his smile as he threw you a disbelieving look. “Mental health is your jam?” 

You snatched it back. “Yes! It’s cute. I’ve had it since med school.” 

“There’s a little jam jar on it. And glitter.” 

“Exactly. It completes all of my outfits.” 

Jack was shaking his head again, still close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. He did that often—got close enough to leave you flustered and flirted relentlessly until he decided it was enough. You never wanted it to be enough, but you were still at work. Technically. 

“Are you going to tell me what you called me down here for, or was the page just to make fun of me?” you asked, chin turned up to look at the attending. 

“Never making fun of you,” Jack rumbled from deep in his chest. He took a step back, watching the way your gaze finally lowered with the distance. “Got an early 20s male with new onset psychosis. Family history of bipolar disorder. Mom’s on meds for it. He’s been pretty disoriented and doesn’t trust any of the doctors.” 

You eyed him skeptically. “Your shift doesn’t start for another 30 minutes, Dr. Abbot. How do you already know all of that?” 

“He asks about the psych cases first,” a voice spoke up from behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to find Robby setting up a home on the charting computer, glasses low on his nose. He gave you a fleeting smile. “Real interested in psych cases, that guy.” 

You let your head fall back in a laugh, missing the way Jack tracked the sound. “What a coincidence, then, that I keep having to stay late.” You patted Jack’s chest on the way to the observation room. “I think I win this one, Dr. Abbot.” 

He craned his neck to the side and quickly trailed after you. Sometimes, your meetings in the ED were shorter, more fleeting. He would page you down, and you would catch a glimpse of him just long enough for him to report to you, stare at every inch of your face, and then get whisked away by a resident or a patient or a trauma. The consults were never urgent enough for you to really be needed—you had an on-call attending for a reason—but you figured the 10 seconds he took to stare at you and smile meant something, so you didn’t mind the extra work. 

Other times, like today, you had more leeway to enjoy each other. To play the game. Sometimes he won, and sometimes you won. It boiled down to a game of flirting and never quite saying the words out loud, but he liked it that way, and you weren’t going to push. You were just going to win. 

“Win?” Jack parroted. “What are you winning?” 

“Oh, you know,” you hummed, logging into the computer outside the observation room and skimming the patient’s chart. “The knowledge that I’ve bested you today.” 

Jack crossed his arms again. You were sure there were several things he needed to be doing at the start of his shift that did not involve talking to you, but there he was, anyway. “You haven’t bested me.” 

“Haven’t I?” 

“No,” he scoffed. “You were blushy and giggly over there. I saw it.” 

You raised your brows over the computer. “So you admit that’s your goal? That this psych case could have waited?” 

A smirk accompanied Jack’s next scoff. He looked at you for another long moment, the same way he did when he didn’t have the time, when he was busy and overworked and still called you down in the hopes you hadn’t left yet. You looked back at the chart. Jack spoke. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing, sweetheart.” 

Another flash of your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Means I’m old. Got a lot that comes with me. You don’t want all of that.” 

“I think I’m quite aware of the things I want—” 

“I’m serious.” 

His low tone had you locking the computer, finally taking him in the way he did to you. His brows were low over his eyes, and while he was still staring at you intently, something had shifted. Your arms fell to your sides. 

“Jack—”

“I don’t—” he began, hands on his hips as he stared up at the ceiling for a beat. “—I don’t think this is like that for me anymore, the winning and losing. But I don’t think that’s fair to you either, really. Maybe—I don’t know, maybe I’m not making sense.” 

Months of build-up had led to this. Months of dancing around each other. Both your departments knew something was going on, but neither of you had had it in you to label it. To speak it out loud. The current conversation was the closest you’d gotten. 

Stepping around the rolling table, you stared back up at Jack, resolute. “After this consult, I’m going to walk to my car. Outside of the hospital. I think you should ask me on a date.” 

“What—” 

“Don’t ask me in here. We’re always in here. Do you know which car is mine?” 

Jack furrowed his brows. “Yeah.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “So, I’ll wait there then.” 

A long pause. Jack didn’t look away. Not until you were walking into the observation room and leaving him alone in the hall. 

~~

You were distracted. You shouldn’t be, but you were. You asked all the questions, assessed what needed to be assessed, and reassured the patient several times that you were not part of the group out to get him. Working with psychosis took a lot of patience, a lot of carefully placed words when interventions were new. You knew this, and still, you were distracted. 

You were not supposed to be distracted. 

Things with Jack were never difficult. He called you, he flirted, he watched you until you sent a wave over your shoulder and went home for the night. You liked the way he made you feel. You liked how he looked at you. 

Today, he made things… difficult. Or maybe you made them difficult by framing this as a game. It had never been a game to you, but the undertones of playfulness acted as a shield, and both of you had decided to throw the shields to the ground. 

I’m old. Got a lot that comes with me.

You knew he was older. You knew he had hang-ups. God, you were working in the mental health field; did he forget that? You tapped your fingers against the keyboard and considered that you had just made a fool of yourself. Asking him to ask you on a date—who does that? Idiots. Idiots do that. 

With your years of training and several more years of spouting knowledge, you recognised the spiral immediately. You were spiralling. You were not in the setting to have a spiral. You shook your head at yourself and cataloged every CBT skill in the book to set your thoughts straight. 

This was fine. 

What was the worst thing that could happen, and then how much would that actually suck? How could you recoup? 

“Mr. Nelson, I’m going to step out now, okay? Remember, there are going to be a few nurses in and out of this room just to check on your physical health, but in the morning, I’m going to come by and move you to another room upstairs,” you calmly explained, tucking your hands behind your back. 

Mr. Nelson’s eyes were blown wide as he nodded back. “Who’s upstairs?” 

“A few people like me who can help. I know this is all very stressful and confusing, but this is the right place for you. You are safe here, and you’ll be safe there.”

“Safe from them?” 

You nodded softly. “A safe place for us to help you.” 

Mr. Nelson nodded back, jerkily, and you offered him a gentle smile before heading out. The walls outside the observation room were much brighter, busier, and distracting. You let out a long breath and steeled your shoulders back, still determined despite every thought making you second-guess. 

If he didn’t show up—if he didn’t ask—that would be okay. You worked upstairs, anyway. He would probably stop paging you so much, and the distance would be good. It would set boundaries, and even though you didn’t want those boundaries, they would make sense. 

You were good at this. Reframe, set boundaries, redirect. Box breaths, progressive-muscle relaxation, mindfulness. Right. You were good at this. 

Your fingers curled into your palms as you paused outside of the room, unwilling to face the entirety of the pitt just yet. He could catch you before you walked out, convince you that this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you’d never know if you didn’t try. 

Tension began to seep from your shoulders as you replayed that last thought. You wouldn’t know unless you tried. You wouldn’t know anything past Jack’s lingering touches, or his playful quips, or the way his smile looked, but only under hospital lighting. You liked the way things were now, but there were so many other possibilities, so much more that could be waiting just past the window of tolerance. 

That window would be passed as soon as you got to your car and waited. 

Only, you weren’t moving towards your car anymore. You had told your body to move, to take a step, but suddenly, pain erupted along your scalp, striking and hot, and you were yanked back instead of moving forward. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, blurring your view of the man who shoved you against the wall. 

“You are a liar,” he seethed, face close to yours. “You’re with them. It says it on here.” 

Your badge was shoved into your face then, the sparkles flashing against the light and making you blink. It was how he got out of the observation room. It must have fallen off in the doorway. 

“Mr. Nelson,” you choked out, your arms in an abrasive hold, your mind going into overdrive because you were pretty sure you were trained for this. You could remember a training on non-violent crisis intervention. “Let me speak to you about this. Please, just take your hands off of me, and we can talk.” 

Your head was throbbing, the feeling becoming duller as his fingers created divots in your biceps instead. No one was looking yet. Too many people were in patient rooms receiving reports for shift change. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he spat out. “You didn’t mean what you said. You don’t want to help me. You want to get inside, like they do.” 

Low and slow. Don’t be combative. Don’t try to explain yourself. “I know you’re very upset about feeling watched, and I don’t want to make that worse, Mr. Nelson. From what you’ve told me, it sounds—” 

“No!” he screamed. You could hear shoes squeaking against the sanitized floor then. But it was too late. He was already upset, and you were alone. “You don’t know anything!” 

“Hey!” It was Robby who called out first, a rushed sort of sound that startled your patient. Mr. Nelson’s eyes flashed, and he slammed your head against the wall once, and then twice, before he was ripped away from you. The room was buzzing, and something tasted bitter in the back of your mouth. 

“Don’t—don’t hurt him,” you stumbled out, fingers coming up to rest against your temple. The air felt heavy. “A-ativan. Push Ativan and soft restraints.” 

You weren’t sure if your orders were actually coming out of your mouth in clear sentences or if they jumbled together to match the state of your brain. Adrenaline mixed with sharp, intruding pain, and you heard a commotion that you couldn’t quite focus on. Your eyes were still blurred with tears, and your head felt both light and too heavy at the same time. That probably wasn’t good. You had the fleeting thought that you should go to your car before you left Jack waiting too long. 

“What the hell?” a familiar voice echoed. Jack’s voice. Jack was here. “Hey. Hey, what happened?” 

Your face was taken into sturdy hands, and you blinked to orient yourself to the new feeling. Jack had touched your face before—moved a stray hair away, tapped your chin, brushed an eyelash from your cheek that wasn’t actually there. But he was holding you, then, scanning your face with a precision he didn’t usually harbor when he looked at you. 

“Jack?” you mumbled out. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. What—what happened? You alright?” 

“Patient was confused. Scared. He didn’t mean to. He needs restraints, or he might—maybe hurt himself.” 

Jack’s face screwed up into displeasure, and he tilted your head back slightly to take you in. “You. Are you alright? Patient’s got a team of doctors in there right now, but you don’t. You were the one attacked.” 

“‘Wasn’t attacked,” you slurred back. “He was—” 

“Scared. Got that part. Think you can walk to a bed for me? Let me check you out?”

You tried to shake your head, but Jack had you firm in his grip. “‘M just shaken up. I’m alright.” 

“You’re slurring your words. I’d like to be sure, okay? Can you do that for me?”  

The sigh you let out was half-hearted and tired and still a bit wobbly from the adrenaline, but you couldn’t say no to Jack. Not when he was looking at you with so much concern and holding you the way he was. When you finally gave him some semblance of a nod, Jack pulled his hands away to guide you by your elbow. He stopped halfway. You both stopped, staring down at the shining red coating on his fingers. 

“Is that mine?” you shakily asked. It seemed like a lot of blood. The dripping sensation on your neck made you think it was a lot. 

Something flashed across Jack’s face, but he quickly stashed that reaction away and replaced it with calm. With measured responses. He was a doctor, and you were bleeding. You were sure that was normal for him. A common occurrence. 

“It is, but, hey—” he moved again at the sound you let out, hands on your waist as your knees began to shake. “—I’m gonna fix it, alright? Easy fix. Just need to take a look and—someone get me a chair! I need a stat CT!” 

 “I think I’m going to throw up.” The words tumbled from your lips before you had even thought them. “I’m—Jack, I’m going to throw up.” 

You clutched at his arms as you felt the overwhelming wave of nausea push past the pain and confusion. There was a bag shoved in front of you, several hands entering your line of sight and alerting you to the fact that it actually hadn’t just been Jack assessing you. Someone pressed you into a seat, and you felt deft fingers bringing your hair back as the nausea won out. 

“That’s okay. Breathe through your nose,” Jack hushed, his thumb rubbing against your temple. “I’ll fix it.” 

You groaned when the lurch of your stomach finally subsided, grimacing as someone—you thought maybe Jesse—whisked the bag away and replaced it with a new one. You scrunched your eyes open to the abrasive lights of the ED and found Jack still kneeling before you, his expression pinched, assessing. His jaw twitched in small bursts. 

“I’m sorry,” you groaned out, feeling equal parts mortified and disoriented. “That was gross.” 

“Hey,” Jack hushed again, tilting his head up to show his seriousness. “No apologizing. We’re gonna move you now. Probably gonna get dizzy.” 

He gave you one last squeeze of your shoulder that caused you to hiss in pain, eliciting another flinch from the attending’s face. He shook his head slightly and rose with a grunt, but he didn’t pause. His leg was probably bothering him after the position he held, but he didn’t pause. 

You did get dizzy when you moved, and you got more confused when light was shone into your eyes, and then you got overly sleepy when something was pushed into an IV, and Jack was urging someone, again, about CT. The buzz around the room had started to quiet after his last press, and you blinked against the spinning in your head. Your legs hung off the side of the bed, unwilling to lie down and look ridiculous even with several nurses encouraging you to do so, and Jack was soon between them, kneeling again. 

“Can you tell me where you are?” he quietly asked. 

You felt yourself smile weakly despite the situation. “That’s the third time you’ve asked me that.” 

Jack placed a hand on your knee. “Just answer.” 

“Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.” 

“And the year?” 

“Jack—” 

“Just one more time. You're next up for CT.” 

You sighed and relayed the year, and then your full name, and then the president. Jack’s fingers were creating unintentional patterns against your knee, and you wanted to find a way to make him look a little less serious. To make him get off his knee, because even though he tried to hide it, you could tell it hurt. 

“So, is my brain going to explode?” 

That gave you a smile. But his brows were still furrowed, and he didn’t get up. “Probably not. As long as your CT comes back clean, we’re not looking at anything life-threatening. You’ll have a pretty nasty concussion, though. Head wounds bleed a lot. It looked scarier than it was. We’ll stitch it up.” 

“So I’m fine,” you concluded, blinking quickly as the room swayed. 

Jack was up on his feet before you could settle. He met your eyes, serious again, and steadied you by your shoulder. “Nasty concussion. Not fine.” 

“But not life-threatening.” 

“I don’t know if I can separate the two. Not with you.” 

The admission gave you pause. You glanced down at your hands on the bed and clutched the starched blanket until your knuckles changed colors. You could hear Jack’s breathing, and it grounded you amidst the painkillers and the airy feeling in your head. 

“Can I look at your arms?” Jack asked, low enough to blend in with the hum of the central heating. 

“What?” 

“You flinched when I grabbed you earlier. Can I look at them?” 

“I think they’re just bruised.” 

“C’mon,” Jack whispered, playfulness seeping back into his tone. “Give an old guy a break. You scared the shit out of me.” His fingers flexed on your shoulders. You saw red still staining the crevices. “Let me just make sure.” 

You relented. You always relented when it came to Jack. With permission, he brushed your shaky hands to the side and began to unbutton your blouse, careful in his movements, slow and purposeful and trying not to scare you. But he never scared you. You weren’t scared. 

“I really liked that top,” you sighed, staring longingly at it as Jack placed the stained satin to the side. 

“It was pretty,” Jack hummed. He leaned down and narrowed his eyes at the already-formed bruises on your arms. His eyes skimmed over the blood that had seeped to the chest of your undershirt and pressed his lips together. 

“I knew you worked today. Maybe I chose to wear it because I knew that.” 

“Maybe if I hadn’t been working, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” 

That made you scoff out a laugh, pressure shooting through your head. You winced and went to tap your fingers to your forehead, but Jack’s hands were already there. He was always there. 

“Take it easy, okay? Especially before we can get a good look inside.” 

“Well, maybe if you didn’t say such ridiculous things, I wouldn’t have to risk my brain and laugh.” 

“Wasn’t ridiculous,” Jack murmured, lifting your eyelid again to look at your pupils. He’d done that several times. Nothing had changed. 

“It was. You had nothing to do with what happened. It’s an occupational hazard.” 

“You were supposed to be home already. You stayed.” 

“Jack, enough,” you finalized, pushing his hand away. He compensated by resting against the bed, his hands on either side of your thighs, his weight over you. “I wanted to stay. I’m a big girl who can make her own decisions, and just like I chose this specialty, I chose to stay. So enough with this crap about me not knowing what I’m doing and you not being right. I’m glad I stayed. I’m glad you were here.” 

The air became static, and Jack hung his head between you. You weren’t sure if it was the pain medication lowering your inhibition or the seemingly near-death experience that made you so brazen, but you figured the crack had already been there. It had always been there. There was no going back after today, and you were good at this. You were good at boundaries and reframing and— 

“You scared the shit out of me.” 

Your shoulders fell. “Jack, I know. But—” 

“No. You scared me. Badly. You were out for a couple of minutes. Do you remember that?” When you didn’t respond, he looked up. “Went limp before we got you into a chair. And I know concussions. I’ve treated hundreds. But your blood was on my hands and you were unconscious and I kept thinking about how much of a damn idiot I’ve been.” 

You tilted your head to take him in, and he looked down at the bruises on your arms. 

“Robby’s been on my ass about asking you out. I kept telling him it wasn’t the right time. That it wouldn’t be right for you. And then you show up today and call me out, and I panicked. I was in the breakroom drinking a damn lavender tea to calm down because it’s supposed to be a coping skill or whatever it is my therapist was trying to push.” 

“Lavender can be very soothing—” 

“Not done,” Jack chastised, standing fully. He took your face back into his hands. Your lashes fluttered, but not from the pain or the dizziness or the meds. “This shouldn’t have happened because I should’ve gotten over myself a long time ago and asked you. Shouldn’t have taken this for me to get my act together.” 

“This wasn’t your fault, Jack,” you reminded him. 

He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t taking the message to heart. “I know.” Another upturn at the side of his mouth. A sweep of his thumb along your cheek. He looked at you, and it felt like it always did. “But I’ll fix it.” 

[blackwidownat2814]

Fellow members of the Pitt crew, please welcome on amazing writer. She's written some of my favorite things. Show Kathie some love!

As for this story...loved LOVED it. I am a sucker for Jack being worried about us like this!!!!

[dearwalker]

Gorgeous

Pairing: Jack Abbot x reader Word Count: 4.8k

Description: You’ve been secretly losing your mind over Dr. Abbot for months. One slip on ice later, and your giant crush on the night attending becomes everyone’s business thanks to a concussion and a mouth that won’t stop calling him gorgeous.

or, Cristina Yang slips and gets saved by Owen Hunt in uniform, but make it The Pitt ✨

Tags/Warnings: Nurse!reader, you're so down bad for him, descriptions of a concussion and a mild icicle injury to the stomach, suggestive comments, banter and flirty Abbot.

Note: Once again a Grey's anatomy inspired fic lol. I had a lot of fun writing this one, enjoy!

Masterlist

You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad, You make me so happy, it turns back to sad

Jack Abbot is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know. 

He goes to work every day completely unaware that somewhere across the hospital, you, a licensed, very mature and very competent nurse, is being driven insane by the simple fact that he exists. And quite frankly, you hate him for that. 

Because he’s kind and smart. Annoyingly smart. Calm in a crisis, quick on his feet, always three steps ahead, always knowing exactly what to do. Patients love him. Nurses love him. Residents love him. Dr. Robby loves him. You lo–no, no you don’t. 

And to make matters worse, he just had to be gorgeous too.  

That salt and pepper thing he has going on? Unfair. The way he shows up wearing those black shirts out of nowhere? Mega unfair. The way he holds eye contact while expecting you to focus on doing your job? Sick and twisted, actually. And don’t even get started on his hands. Or his voice. Or his bedside manner. Or his…everything.

It’s infuriating.

He’s the kind of gorgeous that has you staring at a particular spot on the floor for too long, in the loneliness of your apartment, when you remember the way he said ‘Good night, you did a good job today,’ during shift handover. Because the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that you barely get to see him. Your lives only overlap in scraps that mean nothing and everything to you. 

You’re a day nurse, he’s a night attending. That’s your 13th reason. 

No, actually, you know what it is? I know you do. We’re all thinking the same thing here. 

That uniform.

That stupid, cursed, virtue ruining SWAT uniform that makes you forget you’re a professional. A professional who has, on more than one occasion, had to physically remove herself from the nurse station and hide by the stairwell to look at the lava lamp video Dr. King so kindly shared with you, because Dr. Jack Abbot walked in wearing camo, and the devil on your shoulder told you to jump him and bite those biceps. 

So yes, without being dramatic or anything, he is ruining your life.

By being hot. By being kind. By being good at everything he does. By flashing you those little smiles when your shifts overlap, when he has no idea what they do to you…or maybe he does. Because he always requests your help when he comes in during the day, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send you straight into the land delusion for the rest of your shift. 

You tell yourself it’s because you’re a good nurse, despite it all. Princess says it’s because he likes you. 

But Princess is insane. Maybe as deluded as you are, to be honest. 

And having a silly work crush was fun at first, but it’s not fun anymore when all you do is wait for those tiny moments. When 7 p.m. has become your favorite and least favorite time of day. When you catch yourself smoothing down your scrub top before shift change, just in case. When you know the sound of his voice from three trauma bays over. When you start wondering whether switching to nights only for him would be that crazy after all.

All while Jack remains oblivious to the fact that he is the reason you’re stepping outside the ambulance bay at 6:30pm on a freezing Friday evening, completely exhausted, yet still hopeful enough to be the first one he says hello to on your last break. 

You sigh as you lean on the brick wall near the entrance, tucking your hands deeper into your jacket’s pockets looking at nothing in particular. The snow has been shoveled away from the ambulances path, but there’s still a few patches of ice glistening on the asphalt. 

“There you are,” a voice behind you makes you startle. You turn around slightly, finding Princess walking to you with a knowing smile. “You’re gonna freeze yourself out here.” 

“I’m just excited it’s Friday,” you say, but there’s no actual enthusiasm in your voice. “Can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Ohhh, you got big exciting plans for the weekend?” She wiggles her brows, nudging you with her elbow. “Someone to warm you up?” That makes you snort, shaking your head and nudging her back. 

“I wish. It’s just me and my couch…and my dog.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

“That bad,” she teases, but you know there’s no malice in it. “Tragic,” she sighs, before perking up just as quickly. “Me however…”

“Oh the firefighter?” You chuckle, watching a stupid little grin spread over her face. “You’re seeing him tonight?”

“Third date,” she sing songs. “You know what that means.”

“Hmm. Bunch of cardio.”  

“It keeps me healthy,” she shrugs, beaming. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, assume I died happy.”

You both start giggling, and you feel genuinely happy that at least your best friend is getting wrecked by a man in uniform. Not that you have imagined something like that. Actually, you’ve imagined a lot of things. Some more HR friendly than others. You let out a sigh without noticing, and Princess bumps your shoulder this time. 

“See, that little pathetic sigh is why you need to do something about your little situation,” she starts. 

“What little situation?” You don’t even turn to her, but you know she’s glaring at you. “What?” you say again.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe the one with the silver fox attending you’re into.”

“Princess!”

“What? Honey you’re already halfway through a shift switch petition.”

“So what? It has nothing to do with Dr. Abbot,” you snap, but realize your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth. 

“I never said Dr. Abbot,” she drawls. 

You groan and look away as heat crawls up your face. At least it brings comfort against the unforgiving winter air.  

“It’s not like that. I just think the change of pace could be interesting,” you excuse yourself, very poorly. 

“Uh-huh. You just wanna stare at him more often,” she says, less teasing than you expected. “Have you ever thought he might like seeing you more often too?”

The sole idea of it makes you snort. “Yeah, sure.” 

“I am serious, girl. I really think he likes you,” she reassures. 

“No, he doesn’t,” you shake your head. 

“He always asks for you.”

“Because I’m good at my job.”

“I’m good too, but he smiles at you differently.”

“Princess,” you warn, because living in delulu land has done nothing for you these past months. “Stop.” 

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs with a little smile. “One day you’re gonna have to admit that man is ruining your life.”

Oh he is. And you know it very well. 

“Yeah yeah, call it whatever you want. Now let’s go back inside before we freeze to death and Dana kills us for dying,” you chuckle despite yourself, making her laugh in agreement. 

You turn toward the doors, a little disappointed to not have spotted the subject of your discussion yet, but you don’t have much time to mourn when your shoe skids on a thin layer of ice you didn't see, sending you flying back in a matter of seconds. Princess almost slipped too trying to catch you, but your head hit the pavement before she could. 

For a second you only see the blurry lights of the ambulance bay, and a few glistening icicles lined above you. And because life loves you, when your vision manages to focus more, you catch the horrifying moment when one of the icicles breaks from the roof and falls straight into the side of your stomach. The impact makes you groan, Princess gasps and covers her mouth with both hands. 

“Ouch…” you wince, trying to lift yourself up to see the damage but your head feels too heavy.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” she panics, kneeling next to you and slapping your hand away when you reach for it. “No, no. Don’t touch it! Hey–are you…are you okay?” 

You barely lift your head, only to stare blankly at her, not exactly sure why you’re on the floor. She expects you to curse, cry or scream at her. Anything. But all you do is giggle in response, completely out of it. She looks like she has two faces, and stars around her. 

Red flag. 

“Alright, alright, don’t move Cristina Yang. I’m getting you help, just wait for me babe,” she says, already getting up and running inside. 

“Nooo, don’t gooo,” you say softly, but it sounds more like you’re amused than an actual cry for help. “Help…” you whisper, chuckling at how funny you sound. 

You lie there, on your back in the ambulance bay, wondering if this is what rock bottom looks like. Attacked by an icicle after daydreaming of the hospital’s McSteamy, like you’re part of some medical drama. 

You giggle again. 

Yup. That can't be good. 

You hear loud footsteps approaching you, but they’re not coming from the direction Princess took. You yelp when a face hovers over you, upside down from your perspective, and that face is none other than the one you’ve had at least a thousand inappropriate fantasies about. 

“Well, what do we have here?” He drawls, tilting his head when he sees the icicle and the little patch of blood around it staining your grey scrubs. The amusement goes away in an instant. 

He drops to one knee beside you, lifting your head a little to check for any blood under, but your hair is only wet from the leftover snow on the asphalt, making him exhale in relief. His hands hover near the icicle without touching it. It’s only when he’s closer that you notice he’s not in scrubs, but in his god forsaken SWAT uniform, no vest. 

You can’t really find yourself to complain in your hazed state. 

“Oh no…” you gasp softly, in a failed attempt to hide your sudden giddiness. He already looks like he has little pink hearts floating around his head. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he coos, oblivious. “Can you tell me what your name is?” 

“Of course I know my name, silly,” you snort, proudly reciting your full government name. He bites back a smile at the jab, nodding. 

“That’s good. Do you know what day?” 

“...Wednesday?” You narrow your eyes, he just shakes his head softly. 

“Already went through that one this week. Come here.”

He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other carefully under your knees, making sure he doesn’t bend your abdomen too much as he hauls you up with a groan. Your brain blocks the pain and decides this is the funniest thing in the world, giggling into his long sleeve camo shirt as he stands. Once he’s got you in his arms, with his face close enough to hurt more than the piece of ice inside you, he grins at you. 

“What about my name?” He asks playfully. You huff in offense. 

“Oh Dr. Abbot. You’re a hard one to forget,” you sigh dreamily, drawing circles on his chest. “With that face…and those eyes…and that uniform clinging to that bod–“

“Okay, honey. That’s a concussion speaking for you,” he cuts you off with a chuckle, telling himself the blush on his cheeks is due to the cold. “I’m gonna get you inside, alright? We’re gonna keep your new friend exactly where it is until it's safe to take it out.”

If your head wasn’t in wonderland right now, you would’ve probably coded over the fact that he just called you honey. 

“Mmm. Whatever you say, doc,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. He can’t fight the smile this time. 

“You day shift girls really know how to make an exit…” He mumbles fondly with a shake of his head, making his way back inside. The glass doors slide open, and Princess nearly collides with him, her sneakers coming to a stop in front of him. 

“Dr. Abbot! There you are,” she yelps. “We were just talking and she slipped, and then BAM, an icicle! So I went to get you, of course. Or any doctor–actually, no, preferably you. She definitely prefers you–”

“I got her, Princess,” Jack snickers without breaking stride, carrying you in his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You barely lift your head to grin at her, and manage to point at the man carrying you while mouthing an ‘oh my god’ to Princess. She nods just as giddy, turning away so Jack doesn’t see her expression. 

The chilly air gets replaced by the warmth and noise of the ED, all heads turning in your direction when he strides in, suddenly turning into the most interesting thing happening on that floor. That’s on you for giving them the material anyways. Jack Abbot, in full camo, carrying a giggling, icicle stabbed day nurse? It’s free real estate!

“Oh shit, is that an icicle??” Dr. Santos calls from the charting station, propping herself up over the desk to get a better look. “Can I go in there, Dr. Abbot? Please tell me I can go in there.”

“You’re off the clock, Santos. Go home,” he says, ignoring the way she mutters something under her breath as she turns back to the computer. “Lena, what’s free?” 

“Trauma two,” Lena replies, eyes widening when she sees the thing sticking out of your stomach. She stands up from her swivel chair to trail after you into the room. “What the hell happened?" 

“Winter hates me…” you say with a little laugh, before falling back into Jack’s chest. “Or maybe it did me a favor…” you mutter under your breath, making Princess and Lena exchange a knowing look. 

Jack sets you down so, so gently on the bed that you fight the urge to kick your feet at the contrast of his rough hands adjusting your body delicately. Princess is already hooking you up to monitors you can’t really manage to read right now. 

“Winter assault indeed,” Jack chuckles, popping on a pair of gloves as he analyzes your injury from multiple angles.  “Penetrating trauma, left lateral abdomen. Looks superficial, but I want imaging before I yank this thing. Can you page Dr. Shen for me? This has his name written all over it.”

“Are you sure you want Shen here?” Lena raises an eyebrow, cutting your scrubs open with some scissors, as Jack briefly checks your pupils with a penlight. 

“Oh, he’ll be offended if I don’t call him for an icicle,” he says, pocketing the penlight. “Mild concussion, no need for a CT.”

“Alright,” Lena says, putting down the scissors and patting your leg in reassurance before she leaves. “How are you doing, kid?” 

“Booored,” you sing, trying to lift your body up but your head swims and your abdomen screams in pain before you can. “Ow ow–”

“Hey, hey. Easy,” Jack says, pushing you gently back onto the bed. “Stay still for me, alright?”

“Just get it out already!”

Jack catches your wrist just before you can grab the icicle. “Uh-uh, what did I say?” he scolds. “We’re not doing an extraction yet.” 

You groan in frustration, unaware of the way Princess and Jack exchange looks. 

“What do we have?” Dr. Shen asks from the entrance, iced coffee in one hand as he walks to his rightful place beside Abbot. He tilts his head at you and your stupid icicle, and whistles. “Wow. I don’t wanna see the other guy.” 

“Don’t worry, John. Dr. Abbot saved me,” you huff out a weak laugh. 

“Of course he did,” Shen glances between the two of you, amused. “Our noble SWAT doc.” 

Jack keeps his gaze on you with that maddening smirk, only breaking eye contact when Princess lets him know the XR tech is there. People start moving around you, and by this point you start to feel everything catching up to you because things don’t seem so funny anymore. You feel so tired all you want is to go to sleep. You try to fight it by blinking at the ceiling, trying to count the lights but failing very quickly. 

Jack is suddenly by your head, one hand braced on the bed near your shoulder, closely monitoring the process. 

“Hold your breath,” he whispers, way too close to your ear. “Just for a few seconds. You’ve seen a hundred patients do this, right?” 

“Have I?” You try to joke, but you sound more drowsy than amused to him. 

That makes him frown and straighten up to check your pupils again. “Maybe you do need that CT...”

You squint at the intrusive light, trying to push his hand away but the tech mumbles not to move. “Stop with that–I’m okay, just let me take a nap here…” you say, already closing your eyes. 

“No, no. Eyes open,” Jack orders, snapping his fingers in your face to keep you awake. “Stay with me, trouble.”

Your lashes feel heavy but you manage to drag your gaze up to his. It’s easier than trying to focus on anything else anyways. You feel the XR ray tech pulling away and leaving the room. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jack tells you, so serious that you’d debate if he’d just picked you up from a dumb  fall or if he'd saved you from a building engulfed in fire. “We’re gonna patch you up, and maybe get you a few days off. Milk this for all the sick time you can get. Okay?” 

You nod, managing a small tired smile. He’s leaning over you now, allowing you to admire his face from up close. His beautiful hazel eyes, his jaw dusted with stubble, the salt in his hair shining under the harsh lights. You can even see the little lines at the corners of his eyes.

That’s when the single neuron left in your brain produces a thought. And you should definitely not say the thought. 

You absolutely say the thought.

“Dr. Abbot, you’re so gorgeous,” you announce, loud and clear. 

The entire room freezes. Jack feels heat go up to his cheeks. Shen’s eyebrows go up as he sips loudly from his straw, and Princess, who was in the corner pretending to look busy with the vitals machine, bites her lip to stifle a laugh.

“I–“ Jack starts, then stops. Why’s he getting so flustered? “Once again, concussion talking,” he clears his throat, looking around him. 

“But I mean it,” you insist, fighting the urge to close your eyes out of pure spite. “Look at your face.”

Jack’s mouth twitches, trying very hard not to smile. Princess is just fighting the urge to pull her phone out and film the whole thing. 

“And your stupid SWAT uniform,” you continue, groaning dramatically. “Out of all days you had to wear it today. Ugh. You’re so–you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad.” 

Jack decides this is the perfect moment to turn to the computer in the room, for “charting purposes” but completely forgets the part where he has to tap his ID on it and just stares at the hospital’s logo on the screen.  

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he mumbles under his breath.

Shen and Princess exchange the most dramatic side eye in the history of side eyes and then both simultaneously pretend they heard nothing.

“Abdomen films are back,” a nurse entering the room says, offering an iPad to Jack. 

He takes the tablet, shoulders dropping as he scans the images. “Good news! Our icicle is more dramatic than dangerous. No organ involvement. Superficial muscle at most.”

“Boring,” Shen mumbles, chuckling when Princess glares at him. 

“We’ll do it here,” Jack decides, handing the iPad back. “Local and a quick pull. Shen, wanna do the honors?” 

“I’ll just watch,” Shen shrugs, placing his iced coffee on a table nearby in case he’s needed. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Okay, little pinch,” Princess warns you. You take a breath as the needle goes in, your hand flies up instinctively, but Jack catches it and redirects it to grip his forearm instead.

His muscles feel solid under your fingers, and this feels like information you should not have in this condition. You squeeze your eyes shut, because if he keeps looking at you like that–

“You’re doing great,” he reassures. His voice is so close, so warm and so low and SO UNFAIR.

You crack one eye open, and immediately regret it. It’s the light brown eyes with little green flecks for you. 

“God, that hurts,” you whisper. Not a single sane thought behind your eyes anymore. 

“The icicle?” he asks, ready to order more anesthesia. 

“No,” you say, a little breathless. “Your face.”

Princess makes a weird strangled noise next to you. Jack actually laughs this time. 

“That’s a new one,” Shen says.

“Alright,” Jack smiles at you. “Before you say anything else that’s gonna end up in the groupchat, let’s get this thing out.”

He positions himself above you, one hand pressing your hip to stabilize you, the other wrapping around the base of the icicle, careful not to push it in further. 

“Deep breath in. I’m gonna count to three, okay?” he says. You do as you’re told, trying to avoid his gaze. “One–keep looking at me. Two–“

And then, still keeping that steady eye contact, he pulls. The icicle slides out in one slick motion, leaving behind a sharp sting that makes you squeak.

“You took my icicle out before three!” you gasp, scandalized. “That’s not nice!”

“We’ll get you another one next Christmas,” Jack chuckles, tossing the thing into a tray as Shen presses gauze firmly to your side. 

“You did amazing,” Princess tells you earnestly, running her hand through your arm. “That was so cool. I mean–not cool that you got stabbed, cool that you–uh never mind. You’re very brave, babe.” 

“Best story at the nurse’s station,” you smile at her, throwing up a peace sign. 

“Easy there, Winter Soldier. Best story in the group chat, at best.” Shen says, managing a little snort from you.

“Oh the group chat will hear about this,” Princess adds.

Jack shakes his head, but there’s fondness in his features as he strips off his gloves. “Okay, here’s the plan. Observation overnight for the concussion, pain meds for the side, no lifting, no heavy shifts for a few days. And no more confessions, alright?” He smiles down at you, winking playfully. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You stare at him again, taking in his stupid perfect face, his stupid perfect hands, his stupid heroic camo long sleeve. 

No, you’re so not going to be okay. 

You open your eyes and immediately regret it. Your head pounds, there’s harsh white lights shining down on you, and the familiar ED noise coming from outside the room doesn’t help. 

What on earth happened? 

You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but the moment your head lifts from the pillow, your body says Not today. 

“Shit,” you groan, dropping back down with a wince, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Easy there.”

That voice alone is enough to almost make you forget about the headache and the strange sting in your abdomen. You open your eyes and squint at the doorway, where none other than Dr.Jack Abbot is standing, wearing a black shirt and scrubs pants. 

There he is. The bane of your existence and the object of all your desires.

He looks maddeningly calm for someone who exists just to personally ruin your peace. He pushes off the doorframe and walks in with a smug little grin. You stare at him, mind completely blank as he stops beside a little table and offers you a cup of water with a straw. 

“Here. Small sips,” he says, gently helping you sit up. And when he uses that voice? All you can do is mindlessly do what he says. 

“Thanks, Dr. Abbot,” you rasp, clearing your throat after drinking some water. “So…what happened?”  

Jack stares at you for a moment, debating if there’s a chance you’re messing with him, but you seem genuinely confused. It’s normal after a hit like that, so he just huffs a little laugh and explains. 

“You were outside the ambulance bay with Princess and slipped on ice. You hit your head, and then got stabbed in the side by an icicle.”

…???

“An…icicle?” You ask in complete disbelief, he nods amused. “Like in Grey’s??” 

“Ehh–you’re gonna have to ask that to Princess,” he chuckles. “I wish I was joking, but there’s nothing to worry about, it was superficial. Imaging was normal, Princess numbed you up and I pulled it out. You’re a little bruised and concussed, but otherwise intact. Robby’s gonna have to give you a few days off, though.” 

“Oh my God,” you sigh, leaning back into the pillow dragging your hands over your face. “Out of all the ways I could’ve gone down in hospital lore…”

“Tell me about it,” he mumbles, biting back a smile. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says, a little too quickly for your liking, then steps closer. “I just want to check you again before I let you keep hating yourself in peace.”

Before you can ask what that means, he moves to the side of the bed and leans over you, making your entire nervous system short circuit as he removes your hands from your face. 

“Wow–” you breathe, shrinking back into the pillow on instinct. Being this close should be illegal for this man. “What are you doing, Dr. Abbot?”

“Shhh,” he mutters, “just checking on you. You hit your head pretty hard.”

His hand comes up, careful fingers tilting your chin slightly. His thumb brushes near your cheekbone as he angles your face toward the penlight and scans your pupils. Your heart starts beating in places it absolutely should not be beating. 

Guess the butterflies are flying very low today. 

He finishes the exam, but he doesn’t move back. Instead, he shifts just enough to brace one hand on the wall above your head, still leaning over you, caging you into the mattress in a way that feels anything but accidental. This is not helping your concussion, if anything, it’s making it substantially worse.

Your breath hitches, and because your mouth clearly exists to betray you in his presence, you blurt out, “God, that hurts.”

“What hurts?” He asks, tilting his head.

The words are right there. Your face. Your stupid gorgeous face. 

“My head,” you say instead. Good girl…or not? Because something you can’t quite point out flashes in his eyes. 

“Mmm, well, for what it’s worth…” he says–did his eyes just flicker to your lips??? “I think you’re gorgeous too.”

5@$%)#&

Everything inside you stops. Your face goes hot so fast it feels like your head is about to combust. For one unhinged second you wonder if you’ve blacked out again and this is some kind of fever dream created by your useless brain. 

“Did…I said that out loud?” You ask weakly and cover your face again with your hands, creating a barrier between you and the predator above you. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Oh no…” You whine. This is it, this is how you leave this earth. 

“Oh no?” He laughs.

“Oh no,” you repeat miserably, peeking at him through your fingers. “What did I say, Dr. Abbot?”

“...Enough,” he says, maddeningly vague. He straightens at last, mercifully putting a little distance between you and your impending death by humiliation. “More than enough, actually.”

“Dr. Abbot,” you insist, more serious now. “What did I say?”

“Mmm, not a chance,” he crosses his arms over his chest. Okay now he's just being unfair.

“Please.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Jack.” That slips out before you can stop it.

His eyebrows rise in amusement, but he clears his throat before turning to check your chart on the computer, like the conversation that just derailed your life didn’t even happen. 

“You slept almost through the whole night shift, it looks like you’ll be discharged in a few hours. All the scans were clean but you’ll need someone to stay with you today, though. Hospital policy after a concussion.”

You let out a sigh, looking at your hands over your lap. He turns back to you, a worried look on his face. 

“What?”

“I uh–don’t have anyone to call,” you say, trying to sound casual and failing a little. “Princess is probably with the firefighter, so I guess it's just me and…my dog.”

He hums, tucking both hands into his pants pockets, and rocks back a little on his heels as if contemplating something. 

“Good thing I’ll be out in a few hours too, then,” he says, casual, too casual. 

“…What?” You let out a weak laugh. 

“I’m taking you home,” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Pets are great emotionally, less useful for neuro observation, so I’m making sure you don’t pass out unsupervised.”

“Dr. Abbot–”

“Jack,” he corrects.

“Jack,” you try again, weaker now. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know…trust me, I want to.” He says it so…certain, with a softer voice that makes you melt onto the mattress. “Try to rest for a bit, drink your water and don’t try to escape. I’ll come get you when your paperwork’s done,” he points a finger at you, half turning to the door. “Just wait for me, gorgeous, okay?”

Jack waits for you to say something, but all you can do is nod slowly, because speech has abandoned you entirely. He gives you one more devastating smile, before stepping out, leaving you wishing you could turn over so you could scream into your pillow. You finally let out the breath you were holding, and very carefully reached for your phone on the little rolling table beside the bed.

There are at least a dozen messages from Princess with a few voice notes. You stare at the screen in horror, and from what you can briefly read without actually opening her chat, you really fucked up last night.

That explains the look on his face. That explains everything.

And still, *wiggles eyebrows*, he is taking you home. Apparently. So, because there is truly no helping you, you can’t help but smile. 

Girl whatever.

If Jack Abbot wants to ruin your life, he can go right ahead.

Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated 🤍✨

[lovebugism]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS FOR ME ─── jack abbot

summary: your relationship with jack has always been 50/50: he buys you everything, and you let him. this arrangement, as he calls it, works perfectly - until you start to worry that you may not be the only one who's doing it with. (4k)

characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, mentor!michael robinavitch, baran al-hashimi, samira mohan

contents: friends with benefits, sugar daddy!jack, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, so much sexual tension cw for mentions of injuries, medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, heavy mentions of smut 18+ (MDNI)

( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )

Jack Abbot rushes into the ER with a high-velocity GSW, a close call of his own, and a terribly smart mouth. 

Splotches of dark crimson stain the camo of heavy-duty tactical gear as he bursts through the double doors of the ambulance bay, squeezing rhythmically at the intubation bag he holds in a bloodied hand. You rush instantly from the work station to meet him halfway without a second thought.

“I thought you were off today,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting, as you escort him to the nearest open trauma room from the opposite side of the gurney.

“Well, my therapist said I needed a hobby, so…” he quips, with sweat dripping from his greying curls. He manages to flash you a playful look in the midst of all the chaos as you situate the unconscious policeman in the center of the room. “What about you, huh? You’re supposed to be off, too— What’s your excuse?”

“Well, I had a strange feeling that I might see a pretty man in uniform today,” you shrug, slipping on a pair of gloves. “So I decided to work a double— See if my wish would come true.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts into a crooked, tight-lipped smile. “Well, if you like this, you should see me as a flight attendant—”

Robby rushes in with Dr. Al-Hashimi just behind him a second later, shattering the playful tension between the two of you with a thousand different questions. You’re left as the only resident in a sea of attendings and nurses; Dr. Al passes you the reins accordingly. “This is a learning hospital, right? Time for you to learn how to be the boss, R4.”

“Hear that, Abbot?” you joke as the older man migrates inevitably to your side, smelling of blood and sweat and the cologne he always leaves on your pillow. “I’m the boss here.”

“Well, you could try to be a little more humble about it, sweetheart,” he squints and tugs on a disposable PPE gown, which Perlah helps him tie in the back. “Let’s do some skin hooks— 4 Shiley. Sound good?”

You hiss through your teeth and drag the clear blue sleeves of your own gown over your shoulders, while Robby stands behind you to knot the garment in place. “I don’t really like the curve of a Shiley… Especially not if we’re about to rush him up to the O.R.”

“I didn’t know you were so picky.”

“Well, you should know better than anyone, Dr. Abbot,” you grin. “Cut me an ET tube, will you? 6-0?”

“Yes, ma’am…” the older man nods and holds back his giddy grin until he turns away from you.

Robby grumbles a noise of disgust in the back of his throat in the meanwhile — quickly realizing that the two of you were much easier to stomach when you were working night shifts together, and he only had to see you for half an hour in passing, at most. 

“Jesus Christ— Get a room, you two.”

“Well, technically, this is a room,” Jack quips distantly as he returns to your side with the endotracheal tube in tow. You make room for him at the head of the gurney on instinct, and drape a thin blue cloth over the patient’s neck, centering the aperture over the gushing wound. 

Robby moves to the opposite side of the bed and pulls the haphazardly placed intubation bag from the man’s mouth with careful hands. “One without me in it, preferably,” he argues.

“Ooh…” you lilt. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Dr. Robby.”

“Just focus,” he scolds in a gritty tone of voice.

“You need to find the second and third tracheal rings,” Dr. Al instructs, sliding between the crowd and motioning to his neck with her gloved pinky. “You’ll be able to feel them with your fingers— just make the incision through the cricoid cartilage and be careful to avoid hitting the vocal cords, yeah?”

She flashes you a dark, doe-eyed, and distantly unamused look, seemingly immune to the playful banter surrounding her. 

You nod once, scalpel in hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

You make the incision while Jack preps the tube. You work together with deft hands and a relative silence, aside from a few procedural directions. For the most part, the two of you communicate without words — you locate the man’s ruptured trachea in a sea of bright red blood while Jack slides the thin tubing to make an airway.

“I’m in,” he blurts after a few tense minutes. “Balloon up.”

The rapid beeping of his dropping SATs begins to even out almost instantly. 

“I’ll sew the tracheal to the skin,” you announce within a sigh of relief. “2-0 silk, please.”

Jack passes you the round of sutures with a proud nod and a quiet smile. “Not too shabby, Doc… We make a pretty good team.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at telling you what to do, Abbot,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “That, too.”

Robby and Dr. Al take their leave when the chaos dissipates, and Garcia comes down from the O.R. for a consultation. They trade the crowded trauma room for an equally crowded emergency department — slowly filling to the brim, like a pot bound to boil over. But, even still, it’s not nearly as tense as whatever you and Abbot have going on.

“Are they always like that?” the woman wonders aloud, nodding her tied-back curls towards the room behind them.

“Yep…” Robby nods with a heavy sigh, rubbing hand sanitizer between his calloused palms. “But they’re not usually dayshift, so… My philosophy is— let the night crew deal with it.”

You and Jack decide to follow Robby’s advice and find a room of your own — on the half-abandoned wing of the eighth floor, where everything smells like dust and time gone by, and the dying overhead lights only work a quarter of the time. It’s a good enough place to be alone with him, though; it gives you ample time to patch up the wound on his shoulder, and saves Jack the trouble of getting caught with the injury and being forced to fill out a mountain of paperwork accordingly.

He sits on the edge of the hospital bed with his shirt off and his broad arms crossed over his chest. The tendons in his freckled back twitch despite himself when you smooth a fresh bandage over his freshly cleaned scrape.

“Does it feel okay?” you ask him.

“Yep…” he nods once, trying and failing to get a peek of the gauze from over his shoulder. “Fine.”

Your concern doesn’t waver. Your brows lower with it, in a palpable look of worry that etches across your face. “You’d tell me if you were, like, in pain, though, right?”

Jack ponders for a moment, lips jutting faintly. “No, probably not,” he answers, too blunt for his own good.

“Well. At least you’re honest…”

You sigh and turn on the heel of your sneaker to chuck the dirtied napkins and crumpled wrappers into the bin across the room. Jack watches you go with something mischievous glimmering in his gaze.

“But I am fine, though— If you’re really all that worried about me,” he assures you with a quiet smile. “I’m a little banged up, but… I’ll survive.”

“So I can still come over tonight?” you wonder, half-shy.

Jack nods slowly and tilts his scruffy chin to keep your gaze when you walk the short distance back over to him. “Yes, sweetheart— I still plan on buying you dinner tonight,” he answers in a dry, sarcastic lilt.

Because that’s usually how it goes nowadays. You keep him company for a night, and he gets you food, pays off your grocery bill, or covers your rent — and then you go to work the next day like none of it ever happened. 

It didn’t always used to be that way, though, this quid pro quo thing that the two of you had struck up over time. Jack bought things for you because he cared about you, because he didn’t want you to go hungry or homeless when he knew he had the money to help. It was all a part of his job, he figured, to help his residents out whenever he could. But, somewhere down the line, he became more than just your attending, and a whole lot less than your boyfriend. It was more like a secret, third thing that the two of you never bothered to put a label on.

You frown. “That’s not why I was asking, smartass.”

“Well, that’s the arrangement, though, right?”

“Calling it an arrangement makes it sound like I’m your— mail-order bride or something,” you scoff and cross your arms over his chest, following his form with a squinted gaze as he reaches for his discarded shirt. “You don’t have to make it sound so formal, Jack. I know this is fun for you, too.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…” he quips with a faint wince as he slides the thin black t-shirt over his head, grimacing at the burn that blooms beneath the bandage as he does so.

“And no pressure or anything, obviously, but, uh…” You trail off and swallow hard, struggling to find the courage to continue as your eyes flit everywhere but at the man before you. “My student loans are about to hit for this month, and I—”

“I know,” Jack interjects with a polite nod. “I already took care of it.”

You lose your breath almost instantly, for a reason you can’t quite name.

“…Seriously?”

He scoffs like it’s obvious and rises from the bed, towering several inches over you. “Well, yeah. I told you, sweetheart— You don’t have to worry about that stuff anymore. As per the arrangement...” he croons lowly, with a playful half-smile, before bending softly at the waist to press a fleeting kiss to your lips.

You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe to respond.

You struggle to finish the rest of your charting through the thoughts of Jack still plaguing your mind. You don’t think you’ve been so taken care of before; so seen, so held. You’re not entirely sure what to do with all of it now — these feelings that you’re harboring for your boss, of which you’re almost certain there is no room for in such an arrangement, as he so lovingly calls it. 

Because he doesn’t take care of you because he loves you. He takes care of you so you’ll come over at the end of every night, and remind him what it feels like to be a little less lonely. And even still, you run hopelessly to his side anyway — half-ashamed because you don’t even care that he’s using you; half-ashamed because you like it.

“Have you seen Dr. Abbot?” Samira wonders through panted breaths, disrupting your distracted train of thought. She enters your tunnel vision from the opposite side of the desk, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the E.R. The distant droning of constant noise fills your ears when you’re shoved back to reality again. “I’ve been trying to find him for, like, ten minutes at this point.”

“Uh… No— Not recently, no,” you stammer.

Her chest deflates with an exhaled breath. “Shit…”

Your eyes narrow as they scan over her form, frazzled and sweaty, with dark curls falling out of her claw clip to frame either side of her face. “You okay? What happened?”

She sighs and leans her elbows on the desk in front of her.

“Nothing, I just… I should’ve planned this better,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She talks with her hands as she rambles, “My patient doesn’t have any insurance. And he’s already in a mountain of medical debt as it is, so I was gonna send him home with some supplies, right? But then I lost him, and I was gonna Uber the stuff to his house, but then Dr. Abbot said he’d pay for it, and… Now I can’t find either of them, so…”

She trails off with a deep huff.

You forget that it’s your turn to respond, too hung up on the fact that Jack had offered to help her pay. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but it hits you like a punch to the stomach all the same. Because you weren’t special, Jack was just kind; and you’re only realizing now that this arrangement of yours was never exactly exclusive.

“Sorry,” Samira shakes her head. “I know I’m rambling. It’s just… been a long day.”

You blink rapidly, clearing the haze of hurt from your eyes. “No, I— I totally get it. You should check upstairs. He might be with Hiro in the O.R.”

“Thanks,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that disappears the second she heads back for the elevator across the room.

You return to your charting when she’s gone, but forget to do any of it. You lose yourself in the void of the stark white computer screen, instead, while your hurt and distant jealousy scratches at your chest from the inside out.

Robby watches from afar, giving you a few minutes alone, before dismissing himself from the interns and shattering your cynical stream of consciousness. “How’s the charting coming along?” he asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks to stand at your side.

“Great,” you deadpan, muffled into the hands holding up your heavy head.

He scoffs out a quiet laugh. “Not to say I told you so, but… I did kinda tell you so…”

You turn slowly, peeking at him with one glaring eye as he leans against the desk beside you with his arm crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you question in a gritty monotone.

“I told you not to get involved with Abbot,” Robby shrugs. “Not until you were done with your residency— ‘cause you already repeated one year, and if you want that neuro fellowship, you can’t have Jack screwing with your head.”

“Oh, yeah?” you squint, feigning interest as you slouch back in your chair. “The same way you screwed with Heather’s? When you got her pregnant when she was your resident?”

You say it to hurt him, and you can tell that it does, though it doesn’t feel as rewarding as you thought it would.

“Yeah, actually…” Robby nods and scratches at the greying patch in his beard. There’s a hurt look swimming in his dark eyes that almost makes you cower when he peers down at you. “Look, kid. I don’t care what you and Abbot get up to in your free time. That’s not what this is. But I’ve known you since you were an MS3— and I know you’re gonna go off to do great things, because I’m the one that taught you, right?”

Your frown deepens.

He smiles wider. “I just don’t want some relationship getting in your head, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not, so…” you trail off with a less than convincing waver in your voice. 

“Really?” he hums, eyes narrowing in a challenging squint. “Have you checked in with that fellowship you wanted?”

You smack your lips against your teeth. “Not yet…”

“And why’s that?”

“When did you become my mom, exactly, Dr. Robby?” you joke and spin in your chair to face him. “‘Cause it feels a little like you’re reprimanding me here—”

“I am reprimanding you,” he tells you, only partially joking, before turning at the distant call of his name. He stands to full height again and flashes you a playfully stern look as he walks away. “Take care of it, alright? Or else I’m grounding you.”

“For how long?” you call after him.

“However long it takes to get your head out of your ass—”

You’re left reeling for the rest of the day, trapped in a merciless cycle of want and unwavering doubt. 

Jack is not yet close enough, even when he’s all but smothering you in the center of his bed, pressing you into the mussed sheets below with his broad body propped on top of yours. He smells distinctly of sweat, stale cologne, and the steak dinner he took you to after your shift ended. 

You wrap your arms around his freckled shoulders in a feeble attempt to pull him impossibly closer, careful to avoid the bandage still stuck on his left shoulder blade. You bury your nose in his greying curls while he sprinkles warm, wet kisses along the tendons of your neck, relishing in the salty tang of sweat staining your skin.

But even as he slots himself between your spread thighs, even as he marks his territory in the lovebites he litters on your collarbone, you can’t shake the feeling that he’d rather be somewhere else — that there’s someone else he’s thinking of, someone else he’ll call after you’ve left for home, someone else he’ll take care of when you’re gone.

The train of thought leads you inevitably back to the root of your cynicism, which you struggle to shake out of your mind once the visual has entered it.

“Did you ever find Samira?” you hear yourself ask, shattering the honeyed quiet of his lamplit bedroom. 

Jack’s head is far too cloudy to hear you properly the first time. 

He pulls away from you with a quiet smack and sits back on his haunches. Your hands fall to your stomach, clad only in a thin white tank top, while his rest over your bare thighs, propped on either side of his waist. Your cotton panties are the only thing keeping you hidden from him now, and his form-fitting boxers cradle a hardening length that threatens to make your mouth water.

He wears a swirled look of confusion across his scruffy face, along with his spit on his swollen, kissbitten mouth, as he asks, “Did I ever find what?”

“Samira,” you echo, brows raised to your hairline. “She was looking for you a little bit before we left— Said she needed your help paying for something.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Jack hums, pale shoulders bouncing in a lazy shrug. “Her patient needed some supplies Ubered to his house, so… I took care of it. No big deal.”

He bends down to kiss you again, but freezes with his nose pressed against the bridge of yours when he feels you tense below him. His heavy sigh fans warm across your jaw before he sits back again, features screwed in a faint grimace.

“And I’m realizing now that that’s probably not the best phrase to use, but… I was just helping out a friend— a patient, actually,” he rambles. “That’s it.”

Your eyes narrow in a playful squint. 

“That’s it?” you echo.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Jack scoffs and shifts between your thighs, lifting your hips with his wide hands cradling your ass and bending at the waist to press his mouth over the bow in the center of your underwear. “The only girl getting her student loans paid off by me, is you.”

He leaves another chaste kiss on the cotton of your panties, right over the place where you throb like a heartbeat for him. Your stomach blooms with warmth.

“Because I’m special or because you don’t have the money to afford anyone else?” you ask.

Jack squints, light eyes glimmering with mischief in the low light. “Because you’re special and because I don’t have the money to afford anyone else. How about that?”

You roll your eyes despite the soft smile hinting at the corners of your mouth. “Just get to work, Dr. Abbot,” you scold in a distant monotone.

“With pleasure,” he mumbles, right before sliding his fingers through the hem of your underwear, pulling them to the side, and kissing your glittering pussy the way he would your mouth.

The lamplit bedroom swells with panted breaths and the heavy scent of sex. 

Jack slouches against the headboard, heavy-eyed and wearing a mixture of your cum and spit down to his scruffy chin. His toned chest is coated in a thin layer of hair and glittering sweat. You watch a rogue bead trail down his sternum from where you’re perched on top of him — with the sheets bunched around your hips, and your thighs straddling his waist. Your pussy still clenches with the aftershocks of your orgasm while his spent cock softens slowly inside of you. 

His calloused hands trail slowly up and down the length of your torso — from your shoulder blades, down to your ribs, over the bend of your waist, and up again. His touch is softer than summer rain, warmer than the cum leaking slowly out of you now.

“Do you think you could write me a letter of recommendation?” you ask, tracing the freckles on his chest with your pointer finger. “You know, for the neuro fellowship we talked about?”

“Wow…” Jack croons drily, brows raised to his hairline. His words slur slightly together as he comes down from the remnants of his high. “No aftercare, huh? Not even a little pillow talk? Just… straight to the point?”

You flash him a playfully stern look from beneath your lashes, lips quirking in a shy smile. “‘M just asking a question…”

“Yeah, while I’m still inside you,” he scoffs a tired laugh. “You know you don’t have to sex with me to get what you want—”

You frown. “That’s not what I was—”

“—You can just ask.”

“I’m having sex with you because I like it, Jack,” you blurt, very foreignly stern with him, as your eyes harden in a glare. “And I’m asking you for a letter of rec because I respect your opinion—”

“And because you don’t trust Robby to give you a good one, I’m assuming?” he quips with an arched brow.

“Exactly,” you nod.

Jack laughs. You can feel it rumbling in his chest beneath your palms. “I’ll e-mail it to you later. How about that?”

“There’s no rush,” you assure him. “Seriously. I haven’t even applied for it yet—”

“Don’t worry about it. I already wrote it.”

He steals the breath from your lungs for the second, third, or hundredth time that day.

“You already wrote it?” you echo, brows furrowed. “When?”

“When you told me about it the first time,” he confesses, bouncing a bare shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I knew you’d need a letter of rec eventually, so... I wrote while I had some free time and just… waited for you to ask, I guess.”

Your face screws with skepticism. It burns somewhere in your chest, too. 

Even with him softening inside of you, leaking out of you, you can’t help but feel slightly suspicious of his sincerity. You still can’t quite believe that he cares about you this much.

“…Really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs and squeezes gently at your sides. “Why do you look so shocked? I do care about you outside of… all this. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t…” you confess, painfully shy, and lacking the courage to meet his gaze for several long moments. You focus instead on your hands, and the shapes you trace along his chest. “Not until now…”

“Well, what do I gotta do to prove it to you, huh?” Jack asks within a huff as he rises from his slouched position against the headboard. 

The mattress creaks softly as his weight shifts. His warm chest presses firmly to yours, smothering your breasts against his heartbeat, as he cradles you to his chest. His glittering eyes dart back and forth between the two of yours as he says, “I’ve already given you everything, sweetheart…”

“I don’t want everything,” you murmur with a shake of your head, unable to tear your gaze from his attentive one. “I just want you.” 

[mariasont]

doing my breathing exercises right now just so everyone is aware!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wow wow wow wow i love flirty banter so much and dr jack abbot is such a master at it 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼 this was simply a phenomenal read 🤭🤭

[geminiwritten]

hold still ; michael ‘robby’ robinavitch

summary: you have a sex dream about your attending that leaves you hot, flustered, late for work, and completely off your game. then things go from bad to worse when gossip spreads and the entire emergency department finds out—including dr. robby.

notes: i honestly haven't been this excited or motivated to write in forever, and i just really hope it doesn't suck. this one feels a little different, kind of like... it just flowed? my writing feels less mechanical, i think? i don't know, i feel like i've been stuck in a rut and even though this isn't perfect, it feels like i finally enjoy writing again. i put so much love into this and tried so hard to get the characters right, i just really hope you guys enjoy! please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: more sitcom than drama (just let them have a good day, i beg you), swearing, italics, reader can drive, medical descriptions, blood, medical procedure descriptions (it's not super graphic though), most definitely incorrect medical information (my friend is a doctor, i am not), implied age gap but never specified, very likely incorrect tagalog (i'm sorry in advance), reader doesn't know tagalog, implied smut but nothing explicit, reader gets injured (and stitches), and making out (on shift, lol, nothing graphic but still, mdni please).

word count: 12763

You wake all at once.

Not slowly, not gently, but with one sharp inhale like you’ve surfaced from deep water.

For a second you don’t know where you are. Your room is too warm, the air too heavy, every inch of your skin flushed and slick with sweat. Heat clings to you, your heart pounding wildly in your ears, sheets twisted tight around your legs, and for one disorienting moment you swear you can still feel him—warm hands, breath close, the dizzying pull of something forbidden and overwhelming.

The echo of his voice follows you up from sleep, low and wrecked and impossibly real.

Dr. Robby.

Your stomach flips.

“Fuck,” you mumble into your pillow, already mortified, already knowing your brain has crossed a line it absolutely shouldn’t have this time.

Because it didn’t feel like a dream. It still doesn’t. Fragments flash behind your eyelids—the way he touched you, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, the teasing burn of stubble where he shouldn’t have been close enough to touch.

You roll onto your back and drag both hands over your face, groaning quietly as awareness settles in piece by piece. Your pulse refuses to slow, every nerve still humming like your body missed the memo that none of it actually happened.

You stare at the ceiling.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

This wasn’t random. Not by a long shot.

It was him. Your attending. The stubborn, overworked, infuriatingly competent man who makes unresolved emotional baggage look hot. The man you have to see in barely two hours.

A small, helpless sound escapes you as you roll onto your side again, squeezing your eyes shut.

This is a problem.

A very real, very immediate, absolutely unprofessional problem.

And yet, you still don’t move. You lie there too long, cheeks burning despite the fact that no one else can see what you’re replaying in your mind. Warmth lingers beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly as you let yourself remember every phantom touch. Every whispered word. The look in his eyes as he’d settled between your legs and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You bolt upright, your hand flying out to find your phone.

You’re still hot, still flushed and sticky. Still half-dreaming about Robby and his goddamn hands—but now? Now you’re late. Horribly late. Because that alarm isn’t your wake-up alarm—it’s your backup alarm. The one that goes off when it’s time for you to leave for work.

“Fuck!”

You throw the covers back and rush into the bathroom. You strip quickly out of your damp sleep shirt, tossing everything on the floor before stepping into the shower without even waiting for the water to warm. Which is exactly what you need, you remind yourself as you hiss beneath the cold spray.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of the mirror in your black scrubs, trying to fix your hair and will the colour to drain from your cheeks. But it’s stubborn. Bright. Hot to the touch and utterly telling.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second too long.

A second you don’t have.

With a deep breath, you turn, grab your bag, and sling it over your shoulder, wondering whether running to the hospital might actually be quicker than your usual commute at this time. Traffic is never great—you never truly know which route will get you there fastest—but now you’re about to hit peak hour.

You spend the entire drive trying to think about literally anything other than the dream—patient charts, upcoming shifts, whether your stethoscope is in your bag or your locker—but your thoughts keep slipping sideways, traitorous and vivid.

So vivid.

Stop thinking about his hands.

Stop thinking about his voice.

Stop—

You groan softly and turn the radio up louder.

It doesn’t help.

By the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, you’re almost twenty minutes late. You slam your car door shut, hike your bag higher on your shoulder, and practically run toward the ER doors.

“Woah,” Donnie says, quickly stepping out of your way. “Someone’s in a hurry.”

You don’t reply. You just keep going until you hit central, then slow to a hurried walk—head down, eyes fixed on your feet, praying everyone is already too busy to notice you.

“You’re late,” Dana says.

You stop mid-step, more out of habit than intention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I—”

“Shit, hon, you okay?” She steps around the desk, peering over her glasses. “You look like you’re burnin’ up.”

You step back before she can press a hand to your forehead.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You keep backing up. “Just my—my car’s A/C isn’t working and I’m a little warm. That’s all.”

You know she doesn’t believe you. This is Dana you’re talking to, not some brand-new, bright-eyed RN. Dana can see through any and all bullshit, and by the look on her face, she isn’t buying this at all.

“I’m fine,” you say again, forcing a smile before turning sharply on your heel.

Only to turn right into something solid.

Warm. Tall. Unmoving.

“Shit, I—”

You look up.

And your entire nervous system shuts down.

Dr. Robby.

“Sorry,” you blurt instantly, stepping back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. “I didn’t see—I mean, I was looking, just not—”

His hand is still wrapped around your elbow, grounding you in place, and for one terrible second all you can think about is how close he is. How close he’d felt last night. How real it feels right now.

His eyebrows lift slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “You alright?”

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Fine. Totally fine.”

You are not fine.

Your face feels nuclear, and you’re suddenly aware of everything at once—his height, his proximity, the way his sleeves are pushed up, the fact that he’s looking directly at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

His head tilts slightly.

“You’re late,” he says, not unkindly.

“I know.”

Neither of you move for a moment.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. Your chest. Lower.

“I—I’m gonna—”

You don’t even finish before you turn away, hurrying down the hall toward the lockers. Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire—and every thought in your head is so wildly inappropriate for where you are right now you feel like you might throw up.

“Damn.” Santos appears beside you, her eyes flicking between your face and the tablet in her hands. “Either you’re febrile or you just did something really embarrassing.” She tucks the tablet under her arm. “What gives?”

You shoot her a flat look as you key in the code to your locker. “Nothing gives. I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Sure. That tone is really selling it.”

You take a deep breath and turn toward your locker, shoving your bag inside before unzipping your jacket and shrugging off. You stuff that in too—then sling your stethoscope around your neck, shut the door, and turn back to your fellow R2.

She looks concerned now, brows drawn as her eyes track over your face and neck.

“You’re seriously flushed,” she says. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” You turn and start walking back toward central. “Just running late, okay? Now can I start my shift before—” You stop yourself, his name catching somewhere in your chest. “Before I have an attending down my throat for slacking off?”

God. You could have chosen better words.

“Okay, whatever,” Santos mutters, holding her tablet out again. “Sorry for caring.”

She gives you a sarcastic little eye roll before veering off around the other side of the nurse’s station and ducking into one of the active patient rooms. You watch after her for a second before a voice across the room steals your attention.

He’s on the other side of central, nodding along while Mohan and Whitaker brief him on a patient—and looking entirely too hot for seven-thirty on a Monday morning beneath harsh fluorescent lights.

“Stop it,” you whisper to yourself, pausing at the nurse’s station to collect a tablet.

“Stop what?”

You startle, head snapping toward the man suddenly beside you.

“Jesus Christ, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh. “Are you trying to get me admitted for a heart attack?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You already look halfway there.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, I get it. I’m red and I’m sweaty—can everyone please stop commenting on it now?”

He chuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t realise you’d already been bullied about it.”

You sigh again and turn your attention to the board, tipping your head back to read it.

“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask.

“Wanted to see my favourite resident,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to come back to nights?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “I love you, Abbot, but nights aren’t for me.” You glance across the nurse’s station, where Dana and Robby are now discussing the latest incoming trauma. “I just miss Dana too much.”

Abbot snorts. “Dana?”

You look back at him. “Yes. Dana.”

Amusement flickers across his face. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you say, too quickly. “I mean, who—what else would—”

“Doctors,” Javadi interrupts, stepping in front of you both. “Sorry to interrupt, but could I get a second opinion on a patient in South Twenty-One, please?”

Abbot nods, glancing at you. “I’ll go. You settle in.” The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Maybe check in with your attending.”

Then he turns and walks away with Javadi at his side.

You stare after him—eyes wide, pulse racing, wondering what the fuck he meant by all that.

You’ve always suspected Abbot might be a mind reader, but that? That was something else. Too knowing. Too dangerous. And now you need to figure out what the hell he thinks he knows.

“Doctor,” Perlah calls from behind the desk. “Could you check on Central Twelve? She’s still complaining of pain after morphine and Zofran.”

You turn to her, shaking your head as if that might knock your thoughts back into place. “Uh—yeah. Of course. Central Twelve, heading there now.”

She gives you a curious look, brows drawn, but you turn away before she can ask any more questions.

On your way to C12, you pull up the patient’s chart—seen by Whitaker about half an hour ago—and double-check the morphine and Zofran doses she received. You pause just outside the room, drawing a deep breath and reminding yourself that you are at work. You don’t have time to be flustered. You don’t have time to worry about what Jack Abbot may or may not know. And you definitely don’t have time to obsess over the imaginary rasp of Robby’s beard against your thigh that you can somehow still feel.

When you push the door open and step inside, you’re the picture of professionalism. You offer the patient a polite smile, introduce yourself, and start the routine checks that feel more like second nature than work.

After the exam and a brief conversation, you order two more milligrams of morphine, review the labs Whitaker sent, and make a note to check back in fifteen minutes. Then, still intent on avoiding your attending, you bury your nose in your tablet and move on to the next patient waiting in South Sixteen.

Pressure-like chest pain. Diaphoretic, no shortness of breath. Initial ECG normal. Labs pending.

“Alright, Mr. Mullens,” you say, squirting a pump of sanitizer into your palm. “We’re going to get some scans done so we can get a better idea of what’s going on. If the pain gets worse before then, let us know.”

The man nods. “Thank you, Doc.”

You smile, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll be back soon to check in.”

As soon as you turn around, you look for Robby, making sure you’re not about to run into him again. Literally.

You spot him all the way across central, walking with Santos toward the North hallway. Good. You’re safe. And if all goes well, maybe you’ll manage to avoid him for the entire day. Maybe you won’t have to come face to face with the face you can still see buried between your legs.

Fuck.

Your pulse kicks, heart beating too fast as you remember the way his eyes had watched you in your dream. It’s almost too much. Even the phantom memory of it is making you breathless.

God. If it ever actually happened, you might pass out.

“Why would you even think of that?” you mutter to yourself, stopping at the nurse’s station.

When you finally look up, Perlah and Princess are watching you closely, speculation sparkling in their eyes.

“Sobrang pula ng mukha niya,” Perlah murmurs.

Princess nods. “Hindi lagnat ’yan.”

Perlah lowers her voice even more. “Sa tingin mo ba may kinalaman ito sa crush niya?”

They both laugh quietly, turning away from you as if it isn’t you they’re gossiping about.

“Malinaw,” Princess says.

You give them both a tight smile before glancing up at the board, searching for something suitably distracting and far away from nosy nurses and unfairly attractive attendings.

You’re just about to head back toward the South hallway when a gurney crashes through the ambulance bay doors.

“Trauma Two!” Dana calls. “Robby!”

Abbot is already moving, meeting the paramedics halfway and guiding the gurney toward T2.

He points at you as he walks. “With me.”

“Shit,” you mutter, dropping your tablet on the desk and jogging over.

“Thirty-two-year-old male, MVC, restrained driver,” the paramedic says. “Front-end collision, airbags deployed. No LOC. Increasing shortness of breath during transport. Breath sounds decreased left side.”

“Let’s get him on monitor,” Abbot says, moving to stand opposite you at the head of the bed. “On my count.”

Robby steps in at your side, like he always does—close enough that you feel him before you see him.

His arm brushes yours.

Your stomach flips.

Focus.

“One. Two. Three,” Abbot counts.

You transfer the patient from gurney to trauma bed, and Santos starts cutting away clothes.

“Two large-bore IVs,” Abbot tells Jesse. “Trauma labs. Portable chest X-ray.” Then he looks at you, brows raised. “Breath sounds?”

“Oh—uh—” You fumble with your stethoscope, pressing it to each side of the patient’s chest. “Diminished on the left.”

You reach for the patient’s neck, fingers steady despite the noise around you.

“Trachea midline.”

Abbot nods, then turns to Santos. “Let’s get ultrasound.”

“BP holding?” Robby asks.

The sound of his voice sends goosebumps racing along your arms—and you shiver before you can stop yourself.

“Pressure’s 118 over 76,” Jesse replies. “Stable.”

Robby glances at you, brows drawn. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, without looking up. “Never better.”

“Absent lung sliding on the left,” Santos announces.

“Likely pneumothorax,” Abbot says, looking at Robby.

“Sats dropping,” Jesse calls. “Eighty-nine.”

Robby nods once. “Okay. We’re putting in a chest tube.”

“Chest tube tray. Twenty-eight French. Left side,” Abbot orders.

You try to move out of the way, but Robby’s hand catches your elbow—and you can’t help but look up. His dark eyes meet yours with an intensity you’ve never noticed before, and suddenly your lungs forget how to work.

“You’re up,” he says. “I’ll walk you through it.”

You know there’s no time to argue. You know you can’t. Shouldn’t. This is your job. And it’s not like you could say no to this man even if you wanted to.

You swallow. “Okay.”

Robby nods, then looks at Jesse. “Alright, let’s get some lido. Sutures ready. Hook up suction.”

You turn back to the patient, watching Abbot position the left arm above his head while Jesse preps the area—chlorhexidine swab, sterile drape. The rustle of sterile gowns and the snap of gloves fill the room as you pull on your own and push a pair of protective glasses up your nose. Then you grab the lidocaine from the tray and lean over the patient’s left side, steadying your hand as you guide the needle in.

The room is quieter now—save for the steady beeping of the monitors—chaos narrowing into focus as everyone watches you sink the needle into the patient’s skin.

“A little deeper,” Robby murmurs.

Your breath catches, but your hands stay steady.

You can feel him just behind you, leaning close, his warmth bleeding through your scrubs and setting your whole body on fire.

“Now find the rib,” he instructs. “Stay above it.”

You discard the needle onto the tray and start feeling ribs, counting down until you find the space.

“Scalpel,” you say, refusing to take your eyes off the spot your fingers found.

Jesse places the scalpel in your hand, and without hesitation, you cut a three-centimetre incision.

“Good,” Robby murmurs.

Your pulse thrums beneath your skin.

“Clamp,” you say, your voice almost breaking.

Jesse takes the scalpel from your hand, replacing it with a curved clamp.

You insert the clamp, pushing past muscle layers, and begin to spread. It feels forceful. Too much. Invasive, even though you know this is exactly what you’re supposed to do.

Robby steps closer. “Commit to it.”

His hand covers yours to adjust the angle, add pressure—until you feel the pop. And it takes every ounce of your self-control not to react. Not to whimper at the very normal, very professional way your attending is guiding you right now.

“Now sweep,” he says, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

You insert your finger into the space, confirming entry into the pleural cavity and checking for adhesions—then nod. You don’t dare turn your head as you hold your hand out for the tube. He’s too close, too warm. You can smell the faint scent of soap on his skin even over the antiseptic and metallic tang in the air.

“Inserting tube,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else.

You start guiding the tube in—slow and controlled—feeling every millimetre of movement.

Until it stops.

Too much resistance.

“Up,” Robby says, his hand covering yours again. “Aim higher.”

He adjusts your wrist slightly, guiding the pressure.

You swallow hard and nod, hoping no one else can hear your uneven breathing—but knowing Robby definitely can.

He helps you apply more pressure, firmer now, angle corrected, and the tube starts moving again.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Keep going.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Heat floods your face. Your chest. Lower.

His voice echoes from your dream. Breathless. Panting. Words whispered against your skin.

Fuck. Now is not the time.

You tighten your grip on the tube and push.

Then—

A rush of air.

“Air return,” Abbot says, a hint of pride in his tone. “Now secure it.”

Robby steps back, and you hear the snap of his gloves coming off.

“O2 sats climbing,” he announces.

“Cool,” Santos says, grinning at Abbot’s side. “I’m doing the next one.”

You barely look up. You can’t. Your whole face feels like it’s on fire. You've never blushed this hard before. You’ve never been this hot in your life. And you’ve definitely never been this horny in the goddamn trauma bay.

“You good to finish up?” Robby asks Abbot.

Abbot nods.

From the corner of your eye, you see Robby step toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with a small, impressed smile.

“Nice work, Doctor.”

You don’t reply. You just nod, lips twitching with a soft smile as you keep your eyes on the patient.

As soon as you finish suturing and securing the tube, you step back, tearing off your gown and gloves as if that’ll somehow give you a reprieve from the heat beneath your skin. Jesse takes your place beside the patient, nodding along to Abbot’s orders while he and Kim start cleaning up.

You shove your gown, gloves, and glasses into the biohazard bin and head for the door without looking back—which is exactly why you don’t notice Santos trailing you.

“That was so cool,” she says, startling you.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

She frowns. “Sneak? I was right behind you. It’s not my fault you’re all weird and jumpy today.”

“I’m not—” You glance across central to make sure Robby isn’t somewhere in your path to the ambulance bay. “I’m not weird and jumpy.”

Santos scoffs. “Right. And I’m not behind on my charting.”

You don’t bother arguing with her. You just keep walking—and she follows. All the way through the ER and out to the ambulance bay, where you stop just before the curb and draw a deep breath. It isn’t nearly as refreshing as you’d hoped, but a break from the fluorescents is always welcome.

“Okay,” she says, folding her arms. “What is with you today? You’re never this off. I’ve seen you perform procedures you’d only read about without a single assist from the attending. And I know you’ve done a chest tube before.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look at her. You just tip your head back and stare at the roof of the ambulance bay, wondering whether it might collapse and save you from this conversation.

“And on that note,” she goes on, “Dr. Robby knows you’ve done a chest tube before, so why the hell was he being so patient? I swear he’s got a soft spot for you. Javadi pointed it out a few weeks ago and I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I mean—has he ever yelled at you?”

You finally look at her, brows drawn. “I—uh—no, I don’t think so.”

“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. “And please tell me I heard wrong, but did he say good girl to you back there?”

As soon as she says it, your cheeks burn with renewed intensity. You can feel your heart in your throat, beating out of rhythm and way too fast for someone who is definitely not in a life-or-death situation.

And Santos notices—because of course she does.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. This totally has something to do with Dr. Robby.”

“Shut up,” you mutter. “It’s not—”

You stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Santos isn’t going to let this go. You know her. She’s too inquisitive, too nosy, and there’s not nearly enough chaos today to distract her.

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, looking up, face burning. “I had a sex dream about him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She stares at you for a second.

“A sex dream?”

You nod miserably.

Her mouth twitches—then she snorts.

Not a polite laugh. A full, startled snort she tries—and fails—to muffle behind her hand.

“Oh my God,” she says. “I knew you had a thing for him, but a sex dream?”

“Would you stop saying it?” you hiss, glancing nervously around the empty ambulance bay.

She laughs a little harder. “Was he good?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”

“Hey,” she says, still laughing as she drops a hand on your shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.”

Your head snaps up. “If I asked?”

She shrugs. “Why not shoot your shot?”

“Because he’s my boss!”

“He’s your attending,” she says. “Technically, Dr. Underwood is your boss. Dr. Robby just supervises you.”

You shut your eyes again and draw a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse.

“Okay,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m going back to work, and you’re not telling anyone what I just told you. Okay?”

She mimes zipping her lips. “I’m a vault, I swear.”

You nod. “Good.”

Then you turn and start walking back inside, trying not to conspicuously check for Robby on your way to the nurse’s station. Santos is still at your heels, still wearing an amused grin as if your humiliation is her exact brand of humour.

“One more question,” she says, stopping beside you as you grab another tablet from the rack.

You sigh. “What?”

She leans in. “Did he say ‘good girl’ in the dream too?”

Your pulse jumps.

“Goodbye, Dr. Santos,” you say, turning quickly on your heel.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” she calls after you.

You ignore her, turning toward S16 to check on your chest pain patient.

“Hey, Mr. Mullens,” you say as you push back the curtain. “How are you feeling?”

The older man sits up a little. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” You pull up his chart on your tablet. “The pain hasn’t gotten any worse?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say, quickly flicking through his lab results. “Your first labs look reassuring, but we’ll repeat them in a couple of hours just to be safe.”

You glance up, and he nods.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

You smile softly. “If the pain gets worse, or if you start having trouble breathing, press the call button.”

“Will do.”

You offer him one last nod before tucking your tablet under your arm and squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you exit the room.

The second you step into the hall, you take a deep breath, finally feeling like your lungs remember how to work. Like your pulse might finally be settling into something resembling a normal rhythm. Like maybe—just maybe—you can survive the day if you stay distracted with work long enough not to think about last night.

About his voice—low and rough in your ear, whispering something you can’t quite remember.

Except the way it made your spine arch.

Or the moment he’d braced his hands on either side of you, his head dipping just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath before he—

“Doctor.”

You jerk slightly, heat rushing straight back into your face as the memory evaporates.

“Sorry—what?”

Whitaker, now standing in front of you, clears his throat. “Nothing. I just—you looked a little out of it.”

You shake your head and turn toward central. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little off today.”

He nods, falling into step beside you. “Santos mentioned.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Santos mentioned what?”

“Just that you were out of it today,” he says quietly, staring at the floor.

You stare at him. “And?”

He shrugs, but it’s stiff. “And nothing.”

You stop at the nurse’s station and drop your tablet on the desk.

“I swear to God, Whitaker, if she told you—”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” he says, clearly panicked now. “I—I’ve got to go check on a patient.”

Then he’s gone, hurrying off toward the South hallway.

Fuck.

You told Santos barely ten minutes ago and she’s already told Whitaker?

So much for being a vault.

“What’d I tell you about swearin’ on God, little lady?” Dana asks, peering over her glasses from the other side of the desk.

You sigh, resting both forearms on the counter. “Sorry. Rough morning.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, glancing down at her tablet. “Sprained ankle in North Four wants an MRI and a wheelchair escort to the parking lot. Psych hold in B2 tried to climb out the bathroom window. Ogilvie ordered the wrong labs and blamed the computer. And someone—” she pauses, squinting toward where McKay is assessing a patient, “—keeps leaving half-empty coffee cups everywhere like we’re running a café instead of an emergency department.”

You huff a quiet laugh.

“And we’re only on hour two,” she adds, looking back up at you.

“Lucky us,” you mutter.

She sets her tablet down and slides her glasses off, folding them into the breast pocket of her scrubs.

“What’s with you, hm?” She leans in. “First you’re late, then you run out of trauma like you’re about to pass out. That’s not like you, kid.”

You shrug. “Just a little off today.”

She watches you for a second, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. She’s not stupid. She knows there’s more to it than that—but Dana isn’t the type to push.

She hums quietly.

“Alright,” she says. “I’ll pretend I believe that.”

You give her a small, appreciative smile as you push off the counter. “Love you, Dana.”

She just shakes her head, the corner of her mouth lifting as she glances back down at her tablet. “Yeah? Then check on North Four for me and see if you can get ‘em discharged.”

You nod. “North Four, on it.”

You start to turn away, then stop yourself and swivel back toward her.

“Hey—uh—is Abbot still here?” you ask.

“No, he left right after the MVC trauma,” she replies without looking up.

“Oh.”

“Why? You need him?” she asks. “I’m sure whatever you need, Dr. Robby can—”

“No,” you say quickly. “Nope. I’m good. Totally fine. Don’t need anything at all.”

You hug your tablet to your chest and start turning away again.

“Everything’s fine!”

You don’t dare look back. You just keep walking toward the North hall, completely missing the sceptical look Dana sends after you—and the confused look on Robby’s face as he glances between the two of you.

On your way to N4, you pull your phone out of your pocket and tap on Dr. Abbot’s contact, typing quickly.

So much for saying goodbye to your favourite resident.

Then you hit send and tuck your phone back into your pocket.

You’re not actually offended. Not really. This is the ER. People barely have time to finish a sentence, let alone say goodbye.

You’re just… nervous.

Nervous because Abbot thinks he knows something—and you need to figure out what that is before he decides to say something to Robby and make this whole situation infinitely worse.

You stop outside N4 and take a deep breath—your hundredth deep breath of the morning. You can do this. This is the easy part. The patients. The work. The familiarity of what you do every day. You just need to focus on this for the next twelve hours and definitely not the way you can still feel the weight of his hand on your hip, steady and certain, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he—

“Nope,” you tell yourself out loud. “Absolutely not. Focus.”

You shake your head as you step into the room and slide the curtain back, greeting the patient with your practiced mask of cool, calm, and collected. You manage to convince them they don’t need an MRI, since their ankle is only sprained, but you do get Ahmad to escort them out in a wheelchair—and now you owe him ten bucks and a bagel tomorrow morning.

Then you move on to the next patient. And the next.

The next few hours pass by in a blur of minor catastrophes. A migraine that melts away with the standard cocktail of Toradol, Reglan, and Benadryl. A Lego piece extracted from a three-year-old’s nose while Whitaker distracts the squirming patient. Three stitches in the eyebrow of a man who swears he doesn’t drink before 10AM—even though you can smell the alcohol on his breath. An overworked woman with chest pain that turns out to be a panic attack. A teenager with a swollen knee and a devastated look on his face when you suggest he might be benched for the rest of the season.

And at half past noon, you step into C9. Mid-thirties, right lower quadrant abdominal pain, nausea, mild fever—what you can already guess is appendicitis.

“Hi, Ms. Park, how are you feeling?” you ask, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm.

She winces. “Not so good.”

“It says here you’re having abdominal pain, nausea, and a bit of a fever,” you say. “When did that start?”

She nods. “Early this morning. Four, maybe.”

You set your tablet on the cart, grab a pair of gloves, and drag a stool beside the bed. “Mind if I take a look at your abdomen so I can get a better idea of what’s going on?”

She nods and tips her head back against the pillow, hands falling either side as you start palpating her lower abdomen. It doesn’t take more than a few presses for her to hiss and lift a hand, trying to push you away.

“Sorry,” she says, voice strained. “It hurts a lot.”

“That’s okay.” You scoot back and rise from the stool, peeling off your gloves. “I’m going to order a CT scan to take a better look, and we’ll give you something for the pain and something for the nausea in the meantime.”

You step around the bed and grab your tablet off the cart.

“A nurse will come in shortly to start fluids too,” you add. “You’re probably a little dehydrated if you haven’t been able to eat or drink much this morning.”

She looks at you with wide eyes. “I don’t know if I want a CT. Isn’t that a lot of radiation?”

“It’s a relatively small amount,” you reply evenly, “and it’s the best way for us to see what’s going on inside your abdomen. I can assure you, it’s very safe.”

“I try to avoid unnecessary radiation,” Ms. Park argues, shifting uncomfortably. “Is there another option?”

“Ultrasound can sometimes help, but it’s not always reliable in adults,” you say. “A CT scan will give us the clearest answer.”

She hesitates, eyes dropping to her lap. “Well—could I please speak to the doctor in charge?”

You open your mouth to reply when someone steps in beside you. Tall. Solid. Close enough to make your pulse skip and your stomach take a nosedive.

“You are,” Robby says, arms folded. “She’s the physician managing your care right now, so we’ll follow her recommendation.”

You step to the side, nearly tripping over nothing, clutching your tablet to your chest.

“Uh—Dr. Robby, this is Ms. Park,” you say quickly. “Thirty-five, right lower quadrant pain since early this morning. Nausea, no vomiting, low-grade fever at triage. Tenderness at McBurney’s point. I’ve ordered labs and a CT abdomen to rule out appendicitis.”

Robby nods once. “That sounds appropriate.”

Ms. Park sighs.

“Alright,” she says, a little more pleasantly now. “If that’s what you recommend.”

She doesn’t even look at you as she says it—her eyes stay fixed on Robby, softening in a way that makes you briefly consider poking her appendix again.

Not that you can blame her.

Your gaze flicks to Robby, wondering if he’s noticed the sudden change in demeanour—or the way she’s practically making heart eyes at him.

But he isn’t looking at Ms. Park.

He’s looking at you.

You clear your throat, quickly glancing back down at your tablet. “Uh—that’s good. Great. I’ll finish the orders now, and a nurse will be by shortly with some pain relief.”

Ms. Park gives you a brief nod before turning back to Robby with a smile that makes you want to roll your eyes. Robby just nods, squirts a pump of sanitiser into his hand, then steps out of the room—and you try not to follow too closely.

You slide the curtain shut before turning into the hall, half expecting Robby to be gone—but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, holding his tablet in one hand while the other scrubs at his jaw in that mildly anxious way it always does.

“Nice work in there,” he says without looking up.

Heat floods your face.

“Thanks,” you say with a tight smile. “And thanks for backing me up.”

He glances at you over the top of his glasses.

“You had it handled.”

You clutch your tablet to your chest. “Well—uh—thanks anyway.”

Then, before you completely lose the ability to function, you turn on your heel and start down the hall—but not fast enough to miss Dana’s voice.

“Careful, Robinavitch,” she says dryly. “You’re hovering.”

“I supervise,” Robby mutters.

Dana hums.

“Uh-huh. I’ll pretend I believe that.”

Hovering?

You tighten your grip on your tablet as you hurry down the South hall, pretending you know where you’re headed.

Robby wasn’t hovering. He was just doing his job. Right?

He hovers around every resident and med student.

It’s not like he was—

You shake your head.

No—Dana’s just teasing. It’s her thing. It’s practically her love language.

You stop short when you reach the end of the hall. Elevator ahead. Restrooms to your right.

Nowhere else to go.

“You okay, Doctor?” McKay asks, stepping out of the ladies’ room.

You blink. “Uh—yeah, I just—”

You’re not sure what excuse to use now—standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the elevator, white-knuckling your tablet like you’re one bad patient away from a psychotic break.

“You look like you’re buffering,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Why don’t you take a break?”

You shake your head. “I don’t need a break.”

Her brows lift as she gently places a hand on each of your shoulders, turning you back the other way. “Alright. Well, why don’t you go sit down and catch up on your charting?”

She starts guiding you slowly back up the hall.

“Charting,” you echo, a faint frown forming between your brows. “Yeah. That’s a good idea, actually. I haven’t done much all day.”

She nods. “See? I’m full of good ideas. And you are seriously concerning me today.”

You give her a look. “I’m fine. Everyone is just being—”

“Caring?” she offers.

You roll your eyes. “Overbearing.”

She shakes her head, laughing quietly as she steers you toward the nurse’s station.

“Here,” she says, pulling out a chair in front of a vacant computer. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, dropping down at the desk.

She steps behind you, pushes the chair in, then leans over your shoulder.

“Good girl,” she murmurs.

Your entire spine locks.

“What was that?”

McKay straightens, already grinning.

“Charting,” she says lightly, tapping the monitor. “Try it.”

“But—you just—”

She laughs under her breath, already backing away.

“Finish your notes, doctor. You don’t want to have to stay late.”

Then she’s gone, shaking her head again as she disappears back toward triage.

You sit there for a few seconds longer than you should, staring after her while your brain desperately tries to reboot.

“Fucking Santos,” you mutter, finally turning back to the computer.

“You called,” Santos says, appearing on the other side of the desk.

Your eyes snap up. “You.”

Her brows lift. “Me?”

“Yes,” you snap. “You’ve been telling people.”

She tries—and fails—to suppress a smile.

“Not technically.” She leans forward, resting both forearms on the counter. “I only told Huckleberry, but McKay overheard. Can you blame me, though? It’s the most interesting thing to happen around here today.”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I can blame you. And I will blame you if—”

You stop, your eyes flicking past her to where Robby has just stepped out of C8, chart in hand and head bowed. Santos frowns for a second before following your gaze over her shoulder.

She snorts. “Oh my God. You can’t even function.”

“Who can’t function?” Whitaker asks, stepping up beside Santos.

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. “Great. They’re multiplying.”

Santos leans closer. “Hey, what’s the song that plays in your head whenever he walks past? Is it, like, SexyBack, or more… Like a Prayer?”

Whitaker snorts softly, his cheeks turning pink.

You glare at Santos. “Neither.”

“You’re right.” She nods thoughtfully. “I can practically hear the Careless Whisper sax playing in your mind right now.”

Your eyes go wide as you snatch a pen off the desk and lob it straight at her—but she dodges it easily.

“Wow,” she says, still laughing. “I’m on fire today.”

“Is that so, Dr. Santos?”

You recognise the voice before you even see him—because of course you do. You dream about that voice.

“That would mean you’ve caught up on all your charting and discharged your patient in North One?” Robby asks as he steps up beside Santos.

Her grin drops. “Uh—yeah. Actually, I was just on my way to North One.”

Her eyes slide back to you as she pushes away from the desk, lips pressed tight to keep herself from laughing.

“Dr. Whitaker,” Robby says. “Are you hovering?”

Hovering?

Whitaker glances up. “Oh—uh—no. I was just finishing some orders.”

“Good. You can finish them on your way to discharging South Twenty.”

Whitaker nods, barely even glancing at you as he grabs his tablet off the desk and turns toward the South hall.

Then Robby looks at you, holding up the pen you threw at Santos.

Your pulse stutters.

“Think you lost this,” he says, leaning forward to drop it on the desk.

“I threw it,” you blurt.

He hesitates, the corner of his mouth twitching before he turns away.

“I know.”

You watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears—then you look down at the pen.

“Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I need today to end.”

You slide the pen aside and force your attention back to the computer—to the cursor blinking patiently beside the single word you’d managed to write since sitting down.

Right.

Charting.

You manage exactly four more words before you’re interrupted again—something about your abdominal pain patient in Central Nine.

With a sigh, you push away from the desk, grab your tablet, and head for C9.

After confirming Ms. Park does indeed need an appendectomy and contacting Garcia for a surgical consult, Dana stops you in the hall to ask if Mr. Mullens can be discharged from South Sixteen. Then Javadi grabs you to present a calf laceration that you end up supervising while she sutures it, and after that Whitaker calls you in for a second opinion on a dizziness patient in North Five.

The hours start to blur together. You bounce from one room to another, just barely finishing your notes in between patients and med students and reviewing labs. By the time you finally make it back to the desk again, you’ve almost—almost—forgotten about why your heart is still beating a little too fast.

“Back to charting?” Princess asks.

You nod. “The never-ending task.”

She gives you the same quiet, speculative smile she gave you this morning.

“You seem off today,” she says.

“I’m fine,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

“And red,” she adds before turning away.

You frown, pressing a hand to your ridiculously hot cheek as you turn back toward the computer. If this keeps up, you’re more likely to end the shift as a patient than a doctor.

With a small sigh, you scoot your chair closer to the desk and pull the chart back up. Your eyes flick to the corner of the screen, to the little clock telling you that you only have a few hours left. A few hours to finish your charting, discharge a couple more patients, and keep avoiding Dr. Robby. Then you’re free. Then you’ve got at least eight solid hours to sort yourself out before you’re back here tomorrow.

Just as you position your fingers over the keyboard to start typing, your phone vibrates in your pocket—and your pulse jumps.

Abbot.

You quickly pull it out, swipe up, and open the notification.

Sorry. Too busy mourning the loss of my status as your favourite attending.

Your stomach drops.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

You stare at the text for an unreasonable length of time—heart pounding, face burning, thoughts racing. Abbot definitely thinks he knows something. Something he shouldn’t know. Something he’s probably very wrong about. Something you need to figure out and shut down immediately.

Before he decides to say something to Robby about whatever it is he thinks he knows.

“Hey,” Dana says, stopping on the other side of the desk. “Thought you were working?”

You clear your throat. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”

Her brows lift. “Distracted, huh? That’s exactly what we want in emergency medicine.”

Then she shakes her head and walks away.

You tuck your phone into your pocket and turn your attention back to the chart in front of you. The chart of exactly five words—the first of many unfinished charts standing in your way of going home on time.

And today is not a day you want to stay back.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, eyes flicking over the few words already written. It takes a minute—probably longer than it should—but eventually you remember how to do your job and start typing.

The ER fades into background noise—monitors beeping, nurses chatting, the rumble of beds rolling past—and for the first time all day, you feel focused. Steady. Until—

“Robby,” Dana calls, “can you come over here for a sec?”

Your fingers slow over the keys—and against your better judgment, you glance up.

“Mrs. Alvarez,” Robby says fondly. “What brings you here?”

Your brows draw together as you study the older woman sitting on the bed. She looks familiar, and Alvarez rings a bell, but you can’t quite place it.

“Perlah,” you say, without fully looking away from the woman. “Who’s Mrs. Alvarez?”

“She used to work here,” Perlah replies. “She was the night shift charge nurse before Lena. Partially retired a couple years ago, but she’s covered a shift or two since then.”

You tilt your head. “Oh.”

“She probably asked for Robby,” Princess chimes in. “She always had a soft spot for him.”

Perlah tries to muffle her laughter. “Katulad ng ibang kakilala natin.”

Princess laughs behind you, but the sound barely registers. You’re too captivated by the scene unfolding in front of you. The very normal, very professional interaction that is hardly out of place in an ER—yet for some reason, it feels like you’re watching an adult film made specifically for you.

Mrs. Alvarez’s bed is parked up against the wall—a sight that would normally remind you to look for patients to discharge, but right now that’s the furthest thing from your mind.

Robby has pulled a stool up beside her, leaning in while she talks, forearms resting loosely on the bed rail. He nods along as she explains what’s wrong, his expression soft, his posture relaxed. There’s absolutely nothing obscene about it—but your pulse is still racing.

There’s just something about the way he listens—really listens—that makes it difficult to look anywhere else. That makes it difficult not to envy Mrs. Alvarez right now.

“Let’s take a listen,” he says after a moment, voice low and steady.

Your stomach does a strange little flip.

It’s such a normal sentence. Completely harmless. Totally professional. You’ve probably said the same thing yourself at least three times today. But hearing it in that voice—calm, warm, just rough enough at the edges to carry across the department—does something deeply unhelpful to your concentration.

He slips the stethoscope from around his neck, the tubing sliding through his fingers with the kind of easy familiarity that only comes from years of doing the same motion over and over again. The movement is quick, practiced, almost absentminded.

Still, your eyes follow it.

They follow the way he leans forward, one hand bracing lightly against the mattress while the other presses the diaphragm of the stethoscope gently against Mrs. Alvarez’s chest.

“Deep breath for me.”

Your pulse stutters.

Because suddenly—unhelpfully, vividly—you remember exactly how those hands felt in the dream.

The same steady fingers. The same calm voice, dropped just a little lower when he leaned close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear.

His hand had been wrapped around your wrist—firm but careful—guiding your hand above your head and pinning it against the pillow.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

The memory is sharp enough that for a second you can almost feel it again. The weight of his body pressing into the space between your knees, the quiet authority in his voice when he spoke, the way his fingers tightened against your skin just enough to keep you right where he wanted you.

Your hands had curled into the bed sheets as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his voice dropping again—softer now, almost thoughtful.

“Look at me.”

Your breath had caught in your throat when you did.

Because he was watching you the same way he watches patients—calm, focused, completely absorbed—except the attention felt different in the dream. Slower. Heavier. Like he was studying every reaction you gave him and deciding exactly how much more you could handle.

Your pulse had started racing the second his gaze dropped to your mouth.

It wasn’t subtle.

Just a brief shift of his eyes—thoughtful, almost curious—but the heat that followed it made your stomach tighten.

His thumb found its way back to your jaw, tracing slowly along the curve of it as if he were considering something. Following the line of your chin as he tipped your head back just slightly beneath his hand.

You hadn’t realised you’d stopped breathing until his fingers stilled.

“Breathe,” he said quietly.

The word brushed over your lips.

You remember the way your chest rose when you obeyed him—slow, unsteady—and the way his gaze followed the movement before drifting back to your mouth again.

God.

The corner of his mouth had lifted slightly then, like he’d noticed exactly what he was doing to you.

Like he wasn’t in any hurry to stop.

His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your throat, fingers warm against your skin, thumb resting just beneath your chin as if he were holding you there—not tightly, just enough that you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

And the entire time he watched you with that same quiet concentration.

Like this was just another thing he was very, very good at.

“Hey,” Santos says, appearing beside the desk. “Your abdominal pain in C9 just went upstairs.”

You blink at her. “Already?”

She shrugs. “Garcia signed off.”

You nod once, shifting awkwardly in your chair as you turn back toward the computer, trying very hard to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly.

“You good?” Santos asks, as if you haven’t been asked that enough today.

You clear your throat, eyes flicking briefly back to Robby and Mrs. Alvarez. “Yeah. Fine.”

She follows your gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“Wow,” she says. “You’re down bad.”

You glare at her. “I’m charting.”

“You’re drooling.”

You quickly lift a hand to your mouth, swiping at the corner.

Santos smirks. “Metaphorically.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter.

“Fuck who?” Whitaker asks, appearing beside Santos.

Santos grins. “Well, it depends who you’re asking, because if you ask—”

“Santos,” you warn.

She laughs. “Come on. It’s just a joke.”

“Isang biro?” Princess says, smiling. “Walang nakakatawa sa paraan ng pagtitig niya kay Robby.”

Your stomach drops.

You might not understand Tagalog, but you sure as hell know what that last word was.

“Santos,” you say, slowly rising from your chair. “How many people have you told?”

She presses her lips together sheepishly. “Again, technically? Just Huckleberry.”

“And—and I haven’t told anyone,” Whitaker adds quickly.

“Ano ang pinag-uusapan nila?” Perlah says behind you.

Princess shrugs. “May alam lang na sikreto si Santos.”

Your eyes widen. “Santos, I swear—”

“Relax,” she says. “They’re not talking about the dream. They were talking about your staring.”

Princess steps forward. “A dream? What dream?”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

“Wait,” Perlah says. “Did she have a dream about—”

Santos smirks. “Yep.”

“Oh,” Princess gasps. “That’s why she’s been so weird today.”

Perlah snorts.

Princess mutters something else in Tagalog that makes them all laugh again.

“Oh my God, Santos!” you say again, louder this time. “I’m just trying to get through the day without my attending finding out I had a sex dream about him and you’re telling the entire emergency department?”

Silence.

Perlah is staring at you.

Princess is staring at you.

Whitaker looks like someone has just pulled the fire alarm inside his head.

And Santos—

Santos is very carefully not looking at you anymore.

“What?” you snap. “No more jokes?”

No one answers.

Instead, Princess’s eyes flick slowly past your shoulder.

Whitaker clears his throat.

Santos presses her lips together, the corners twitching like she’s fighting for her life not to laugh.

“What?” you repeat, glancing over your shoulder.

And there he is.

Your attending—standing just a few feet from the nurse’s station, tablet still in one hand, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he looks at you over the top of them.

Your stomach drops so violently it feels like all your organs have fallen out of your body.

He clears his throat.

Once.

“Alright,” he says evenly. “Back to work.”

That’s all it takes.

Perlah and Princess busy themselves on the other side of the nurse’s station.

Whitaker rushes off toward triage.

Santos lingers just long enough to give you a look that promises she will never let this go before she slips away too.

And then it’s just you.

And him.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just adjusts the tablet in his hand, pulls his glasses off, folds them into the pocket of his scrubs, and turns away.

And as he steps away, you could almost swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Almost as if he’s fighting a smile.

But that would be ridiculous, right?

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to remember how to move.

How to function.

You can feel Perlah and Princess watching you. Waiting for you to do something other than stare at the spot your attending had been standing when you announced your sex dream about him to the entire department.

God.

This has to be some kind of HR violation.

Robby is probably on his way to find Dana right now so she can tell you to go upstairs and talk to someone about misconduct. If you’re not fired, you’ll be transferred.

Or worse—night shift.

You gasp and fumble for your phone, pulling it out of your pocket.

Abbot's message thread is already open when you swipe up and start typing.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Then you hit send and tuck your phone away again.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but maybe if you can talk to Abbot and explain that this was all just one giant misunderstanding, maybe he can convince Robby not to hate you for it. Maybe he can convince Robby to let you finish your residency at PTMC without it being painfully awkward for both of you.

Because as funny as this is to Santos and the nurses, you’re not so sure Robby will see it that way.

Not when you’ve let it affect your work.

Not when you just embarrassed him—and yourself—in front of the entire emergency department.

You draw in a slow breath and grab your tablet off the desk.

All you can do now is your job.

All you can do for the next hour is avoid Robby and pray Abbot will hear you out when he comes back on shift.

You turn deliberately toward the North hallway and pull up the lab results for Whitaker’s dizziness patient, keeping your eyes fixed on your tablet as you walk.

The department hums around you like it always does—monitors beeping, beds rolling past, nurses calling out vitals—but you can still feel eyes on you. Whether it’s the nurses or the med students, or even a patient who overheard your outburst, you know you’re being watched.

Whispered about, probably.

But if you don’t look up, it doesn’t count. Right?

By the time you circle back to central, Mrs. Alvarez has already been discharged, which you take as a small mercy. Then you duck into South Fifteen to check on a teenager with a sprained ankle who is mostly interested in whether he can still play soccer this weekend. After that it’s a quick review of labs for a chest pain patient in Central Ten—normal troponins, thank God—and a brief stop at the nurse’s station to sign off on discharge instructions Dana has already printed.

None of it requires you to look up very much.

Which is ideal.

You spend the next half hour moving steadily from room to room—listening to a set of lungs for a persistent cough in North Three, answering a worried daughter’s questions about her father’s blood pressure in South Twenty-Two, and checking a set of repeat vitals on a dehydration case Princess flagged earlier. Every task is perfectly ordinary. Completely routine.

And through all of it, you make a very conscious effort not to look for your attending.

Not that you’re avoiding him.

Obviously.

You’re just… busy.

You still see him, though—across the hall, talking to patients, nodding along while med students present. He doesn’t look up. Never looks at you. Just keeps walking, keeps working, keeps nodding.

Like nothing happened.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re on your way back from dropping discharge paperwork at the front desk—walking a little slower than you should as you wonder how long until the end of your shift—when McKay calls out from triage.

“Hey, you busy?”

You stop mid-step. “Always. What’s up?”

“Can you grab me a suture kit?” she asks. “I’m out in here.”

“Of course. What size?”

“Four-oh nylon. Whatever's closest.”

You nod. “On it.”

“And maybe send a med student to grab more from supply,” she calls as you walk away.

You don’t reply. You just duck into Trauma One—thankfully empty—grab a kit, then call out to Ogilvie on your way back, telling him to go get more suture kits for triage as soon as he’s free. You don’t even wait for him to answer, but you do hear him turn to a nurse and ask where supply is.

You wedge your tablet under one arm as you head back toward the triage bay. With the kit held against your chest, you start peeling back the sterile packaging—since you know McKay’s already halfway through cleaning whatever it is she needs to suture up.

You’re just being helpful.

But the plastic seam is stubborn, and just as you turn into the bay the wrapper gives with a jerked tear—and the scalpel slides free.

You shift to catch it, but the blade grazes the inside of your upper arm before you can pull away.

“Oh—shit.”

It’s not dramatic. Just a sharp sting at first, and for a second you assume it’s nothing more than a scratch.

Until the warmth starts to trickle down your arm and drip from your elbow.

“Damn,” you sigh, watching a small droplet of blood hit the floor.

McKay glances up, eyes going wide. “What the hell happened?”

She quickly takes everything out of your hands, and you lift your arm to inspect the damage.

“Scalpel slipped.”

McKay winces. “That’s going to need stitches.”

Ignoring the confused patient still sitting in the triage chair, she grabs a wad of gauze off the cart and presses it against your arm.

“Hold this,” she says. “I’ll go get someone to take over here, then we can—”

“It’s alright,” a familiar voice says from somewhere behind you. “I’ll deal with this.”

Your stomach drops.

“Oh.” McKay glances over your shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Thanks, Dr. Robby.”

Fuck.

You turn slowly, one hand still clamped over the gauze on your arm.

He’s already so close—barely half a step away—and you have to tip your head back to look up at him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hold your arm out obediently.

His fingers brush yours as he peels back the gauze, and your pulse jumps.

“Alright.” He nods once, something indistinguishable flickering across his face. “That needs stitches.”

Before you can respond, his hand closes lightly around your wrist, guiding your arm back toward your side as he turns you with him.

“Come with me.”

The touch is brief, professional—but when his hand shifts to the small of your back to steer you out of triage, the warmth of it makes your heart stutter out of rhythm.

“Dana,” he calls, walking quickly through central. “What’s open?”

Dana looks up from the desk just as the two of you pass. Her gaze flicks from the gauze on your arm to Robby’s hand still resting lightly at your back, and something sharp and knowing slides into her expression immediately.

“Central Eleven just got cleaned,” she says.

Robby nods once. “Thanks.”

Dana’s brows lift just a fraction as she watches the two of you step into the room, like she’s just connected several very interesting dots.

You move automatically toward the bed, trying not to feel disappointed when Robby’s hand leaves your back. He shuts the doors on both sides of the room, then slides the curtain closed—and every move makes your heart rate climb higher.

“Lay back,” he says.

Your whole body flushes with heat as you adjust yourself on the exam bed, trying desperately not to think about the other circumstances in which he might give you that instruction.

He rolls the stool beside the bed and reaches for your arm, turning it out gently.

His fingers are warm as he removes the gauze.

You try not to think too hard about his fingers.

“It’s a clean cut, at least,” he says after a second.

You nod. “Sharp blade.”

Like he didn’t already know that.

He releases your arm long enough to pull on a pair of gloves and gather what he needs from the tray beside the bed. You watch him move around the room with that same quiet efficiency that has been ruining your concentration all day—steady hands, calm voice, not a hint of hurry even though the department outside the door is probably chaos.

“Come a little closer,” he says, almost absentmindedly—as if he doesn’t know what saying something like that is going to do to you.

You shift against the mattress while he lifts your arm again, angling it under the exam light.

He’s so close now you can hardly breathe. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your scrubs, every touch careful as he starts cleaning the cut.

The antiseptic stings enough to make you tense.

“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying your arm. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’m aware,” you say quickly. “I do actually work here.”

“Yes,” he says mildly. “I’m aware of that too.”

You risk a glance at him then—and immediately regret it.

He’s standing now, leaning close enough that you could count every fleck of grey in his beard. Close enough to notice the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose while he concentrates on the wound. His fingers move with careful precision as he prepares the needle driver, completely focused.

Completely calm.

Completely unaware that your brain is still stuck somewhere between the nurse’s station and a very inappropriate dream.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flips—and when you squeeze your eyes shut, that exact moment from your dream flashes through your mind again.

The lidocaine burns for a second when he injects it, and you suck in a breath before you can stop yourself.

“Breathe,” he says automatically.

God.

If he could stop with the direct quotes from your dream, maybe you would actually be able to breathe.

You clear your throat, staring stubbornly at the wall now while he begins the first stitch.

“Try to relax,” he adds quietly.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I’m trying.”

His hands pause for the briefest moment.

Then he glances up at you over the rim of his glasses.

“You of all people should know better than to open a suture kit while walking.”

You let out a small, embarrassed breath and shift slightly on the bed while he works, trying not to react every time the needle passes neatly through the edge of the cut.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Mhm.”

The sound is absentminded, the same one he makes when a patient is explaining symptoms he already understands. His attention stays on your arm while he ties the knot and reaches for the next stitch, movements calm and precise, like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

“You seemed a little distracted earlier,” he adds after a moment.

Your stomach tightens.

“Busy department.”

He hums again as he adjusts your arm slightly.

“Not exactly what I meant.”

You stare at the ceiling again, your pulse racing dangerously fast.

“It’s not unusual, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and thoughtful as he works. “There’s actually quite a lot of research on it. In high-stress environments people’s subconscious tends to latch onto someone they admire rather than… straightforward attraction. It’s a way of organizing all that pressure—long hours, constant adrenaline, the need to trust the people around you.”

He pauses briefly to adjust the stitch.

You feel like you’re about to throw up.

“Hospitals are particularly good at creating that kind of dynamic,” he goes on. “Everyone’s exhausted, everyone’s relying on each other, and if there happens to be someone who seems steady in the middle of all that—someone people look to when things go wrong—it’s very easy for admiration to blur into something else.”

Another small pause, the thread tightening neatly under his fingers.

“It’s rarely intentional,” he adds, quieter now. “Most of the time the person experiencing it doesn’t even realise what their brain is doing.”

You finally look at him. His face is barely inches from yours, close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows while he concentrates on the last stitch, all of his attention focused on closing the cut.

“Wait,” you say slowly. “So… I—I’m not fired?”

His hands still for the briefest moment before he glances at you, genuine confusion flickering across his face.

“Fired?”

You swallow. “For… you know. The thing I said. Out there. To the entire department.”

He huffs a small laugh—barely a breath.

“Why would you be fired?” he says mildly. “Embarrassing yourself in front of the nurses isn’t exactly grounds for termination.”

Your face burns.

He sets the needle driver down and reaches for the scissors, his tone settling back into that same calm, matter-of-fact rhythm.

“You shouldn’t have let it distract you from your work, though,” he continues. “That’s the only part I was concerned about. But one off day doesn’t suddenly erase an otherwise solid record.”

You stare at him.

“Concerned?”

“Mhm.”

He snips the suture, then reaches to adjust your arm slightly under the light, examining his work.

“First you were late,” he says, almost absently. “You were flustered during the chest tube. You’ve been avoiding traumas all day—” His eyes meet yours briefly. “And your attending. You’ve barely caught up on your charting, and you’ve unintentionally encouraged the nurses’ gossiping.”

Your stomach drops.

“Not to mention,” he adds, just a little drier now, “the pen you threw at Dr. Santos for—what? Teasing you, I presume.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because suddenly, Dana’s voice echoes through your mind.

Careful, Robinavitch. You’re hovering.

Hovering?

Like the way he’d stood so close while you placed that chest tube. The way his hand had settled at your back when he guided you out of triage.

Why was he even there to begin with?

Santos’ voice cuts through your mind next.

I swear he’s got a soft spot for you.

I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.

And suddenly the entire day looks… different.

Not like an attending keeping an eye on his resident.

Like a man trying very hard not to make it obvious he was paying attention to you.

Robby smooths the edge of the dressing over the sutured cut, pressing it down carefully as he glances back up at you.

“Keep that dry for the next—”

And that’s the moment your brain finally catches up.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your hand shoots out and grabs the front of his scrubs, fingers bunching the fabric at his chest as you pull him the few inches closer.

Then you kiss him.

It’s not graceful.

It’s barely even planned.

Just a quick, impulsive press of your mouth against his—warm and startled and over almost as soon as it begins.

For half a second, he doesn’t move at all.

“Oh—fuck. I—”

You drop his shirt like it’s suddenly on fire and lean back on the bed, horrified.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt. “I don’t know why I just—”

The apology dies halfway through, because Robby hasn’t stepped away.

He hasn’t leapt back, shocked or offended. He’s just… there.

Where he was when you grabbed him—close enough that you can still feel his warmth, with one hand resting lightly near your arm where he’d been finishing the dressing. For a second he simply watches you, studying your face with the same quiet concentration he uses when he’s working through a diagnosis, like he’s trying to decide whether the last thirty seconds actually happened.

Your pulse is hammering.

“I shouldn’t have—” you try again.

His hand lifts.

The movement is slow, deliberate, and before you can finish your sentence his thumb and forefinger settle lightly around your chin, tilting your face upward just enough that you have to look at him.

Your breath catches.

He hesitates for the briefest moment, his gaze moving across your face as if he’s still weighing the decision.

Then he leans in.

The first contact is firmer than you expect—his mouth warm and solid against yours, the faint scrape of his beard against your skin as he adjusts the angle. His glasses are still on, the frame nudging the bridge of your nose when he shifts closer. His nose bumps yours before he tilts his head, finding a better position.

For a second it’s almost restrained.

Then it isn’t.

His grip on your chin tightens a fraction as he deepens the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillow while he leans over you. The change is sudden enough that your hands catch the front of his scrubs again without thinking. The fabric bunches in your fingers as he moves closer, the pressure of his mouth shifting—slower now but more certain, like he’s stopped pretending he’s about to pull away.

The beard you’d been trying not to notice all day brushes your cheek again when he moves, softer than you expected, and when his teeth graze your lower lip for half a second the sound that escapes you is embarrassingly honest.

He exhales quietly through his nose against your skin.

Not stopping.

If anything, the opposite.

His free hand comes down beside your shoulder on the mattress to brace himself as he leans over you, the movement tilting your head back further while his mouth finds yours again—deeper this time, the rhythm of it suddenly practiced enough to make your stomach flip.

Like this is something he hasn’t done in a while.

But definitely knows how to do.

And the entire time his thumb stays lightly under your chin, holding you exactly where he wants you while he kisses you like he’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake—and losing that argument by the second.

You barely notice when he shifts closer again, the movement subtle but unmistakable, his hand tightening slightly against the mattress beside you as if he’s about to lean in further, about to let himself forget the door, the department, the fact that this is an exam room in the middle of a shift—

The curtain whips open.

“Been looking for you, Robinavitch—”

Abbot stops dead.

For half a second no one moves.

You’re still on the bed, Robby bent over you, your hands fisted in the front of his scrubs while his hand is still braced beside your shoulder.

Abbot’s gaze flicks from your grip on Robby’s shirt, to Robby’s face, to the dressing he’d just placed on your arm.

His eyebrows climb slowly toward his hairline.

“Well,” he says after a beat. “I wish I could say I'm surprised, but…”

Robby straightens immediately.

Not panicked. Not flustered.

Just very, very still for a second before he adjusts his glasses and steps back from the bed like he’d simply been finishing a routine procedure.

“Jack,” he says evenly.

Abbot folds his arms, the corner of his mouth already curling upward.

“Michael.”

The silence stretches just long enough for the humiliation to fully settle in.

Abbot glances at you again, then back at Robby.

“Should I come back later,” he asks mildly, “or are you two… just about done here?”

The heat that floods your face is instantaneous, and you slide off the bed so fast you nearly fall.

“Don’t get it wet for twenty-four hours, stitches out in a week unless there’s redness, swelling, drainage, fever—I know the drill,” you ramble, slowly backing toward the door.

Robby has already turned back to the tray, calmly disposing of the suture needle like none of this is remotely unusual. Only the faint redness creeping up the back of his neck gives him away.

Abbot doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms folded, with a look of deep theatrical satisfaction on his face.

“This,” he says pleasantly, “is exactly what I meant, by the way.”

Your stomach drops.

“What?”

His brows lift.

“Your text.”

Your eyes widen.

Abbot tilts his head, studying you for a moment before glancing toward Robby again.

“I mean, honestly,” he adds. “I leave you two alone for what—ten hours?”

“What day shift does is none of your business, Dr. Abbot,” you mutter, trying to slip past him.

Abbot’s mouth twitches.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “It seems very much like my business now.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“Don’t be jealous,” you say, glancing over your shoulder as you step out the door. “He’s still your boyfriend.”

Behind him, Robby drops the gauze into the bin and gives a quiet shake of his head, laughing softly despite himself.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

Abbot’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Your girl, huh?”

Robby scrubs a hand over his beard and turns away.

“Shut up.”

You’re not sure you were supposed to hear that last bit—but it makes your heart race anyway.

The second you step into the hallway, the emergency department crashes back in around you—monitors beeping, nurses calling for labs, a stretcher rattling past that you have to dodge. Almost like the last fifteen minutes never happened at all.

“Hey, Doc,” Princess calls from the nurse’s station. “North Five, dizziness patient’s daughter is looking for a doctor, but Whitaker’s stuck in chairs.”

“And Javadi needs you in South Seventeen,” Perlah adds. “Something about a rash.”

“Oh—and imaging’s back on your sprained ankle kid,” Santos says. “He’s asking when he can get out of here.”

You nod. “Uh—right. Okay, yeah. I’ll just—”

“Hey,” Dana cuts in, appearing beside you. “You okay? How’s the arm?”

You blink down at the fresh dressing like you’d almost forgotten about it.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”

She studies it for a second before her gaze drifts up to your face—and her brow lifts.

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly.

You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says lightly, starting to walk away. “Just thought that looked like beard burn.”

She gives a small shrug, then glances back over the top of her glasses.

“But I know my doctors are far too professional for that.”

Your entire face goes hot.

You open your mouth—then close it again, because there is absolutely nothing you can say to that without making it worse.

Santos leans across the desk at the nurse’s station, squinting at your face.

“…Oh my God.”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh my God.”

Your stomach sinks.

Will this day ever end?

© 2025 geminiwritten.

[laceyvt3]

i’m feral for him

[amandamariee]

frank langdon x reader (i can fix him)

family affair by @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

this fic by @se7entyrell

↳ this fic by @/se7entyrell

this fic by @starlord-s

open secret by @asxgard

non-displaced by @escapi3m

↳ off-limits by @/escapi3m

dr. protective by @goldsainz

jealousy jealousy by @chrys-lism

best of wives by @mercvry-glow

date by @gf2bellamy

tasting you by @bounty-jes

frank x robinavitch!reader by @jacksabbotts

this fic by @cryonme

out of the woods by @xreader1989

[pinkandblueblurbs]

langdon is such a service top and i know he loves being called daddy 💔

y’know what anon… i think you cooked here

i was a bit unsure at first bc i honestly havent considered a frank x reader dynamic outside of a threesome w robby… like brat!frank is so real to me… but i think you’re absolutely right about this

because he loves to know that he’s doing a good job. he needs to excel, and in the bedroom that means making you feel as good as possible. it’s his top priority. and he’s always urging you to voice it, “you like that, beautiful?” “yeah? right there?”

he eats your pussy almost methodically, bright blue eyes laser focused on your face as he takes mental note of every gasp you let out and all the spots that make your thighs clamp around his head. the low groan he lets out vibrates against your clit when your hands come down to grip his hair, he fucking loves when you tug and guide his head where you want him and grind your pussy against his tongue.

he fucks into you so deep and his brows furrow, he looks almost hurt, when you bite your lip or cover your mouth, “no baby, let me hear you.”

and the first time you call him daddy…. he’s rolling his hips just right, hitting the perfect angle so the head of his cock drags against your g-spot in long strokes… and the word slips past your lips in such a small whisper that he almost doesn’t catch it. his hips stutter just a bit.

“what was that, pretty girl?” he sounds awed, lips parted and eyes wild. you swallow and shake your head. “don’t get all shy, say it again.” he drives his cock into your g-spot again as encouragement

“fuck, daddy”

“baby,” he groans lowly in response. “Am I your daddy? Yeah? Cause I take such good care of this little pussy?” He’s gonna cum any second if he doesn’t get a grip. “shit, princess. Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.”

[midniqhtt]

frank langdon ── .✦ recs

꒰ masterlist • the pitt • 03/15/26 I gif - @/eloiscbridgerton ꒱

ᝰ.ᐟ key: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I ~S- implied smut I H/C -comfort

☆ dr.worrywart ── @miley1442111 I F

frank is not an openly affection man. what happens when that changes? the entire ER falls into the role of detective. robby and dana figure it out, of course.

☆ can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you ── @se7entyrell I A + F

You're not sure emergency medicine is for you. Frank Langdon is out to change that, one shift at a time.

☆ blurb ── @/se7entyrell I F

high school sweethearts

☆ blurb ── @/se7entyrell I F

divorced dad!frank x singlemom!reader

☆ a family affair ── @inlovewithquestionablecharacters I F

You’re married to Frank, and Robby is your uncle, but people in the ER don’t know this and it ends up causing some problems

☆ what almost was ── @/inlovewithquestionablecharacters I H/C

☆ teacher!reader ── @starlord-s I F

☆ drabble ── @/starlord-s I F

☆ blurb ── @/starlord-s I F

☆ secret admirer ── @/starlord-s I F

☆ drabble ── @/starlord-s I F

☆ blurb ── @/starlord-s I F

☆ drabble ── @/starlord-s I A

☆ white lie ── @lemonpeppermintstickshift I A + F + S

you and frank have always been on opposing sides, but one day when a patient becomes too handsy with you, frank lets out a little white lie to save you.

☆ favorites ── @/lemonpeppermintstickshift I A + F + S

frank knows he's not supposed to have favorites in the workplace, but there's just something about you that he can't seem to resist, for better or for worse.

☆ living together ── @/lemonpeppermintstickshift I F + S

after his divorce, frank becomes your new roommate, and it becomes increasingly more difficult for you to not give into temptation.

☆ open secret ── @asxgard I A + C

A patient just won’t take no for an answer — making your relationship with Frank all the more obvious.

☆ my utah ── @marvelslut16 I A + C

Reader hears Javadi failing at asking out Mateo, and it takes her back to when she tried asking out Frank when she was a first year resident.

☆ wife!reader ── @maidragoste I F

☆ drabble ── @flowersforbucky I F

langdon is back after 10 months and you fully expect the two of you to go back to your old ways of bickering like children and insulting each other every chance you get. then you notice he isn’t wearing his fucking wedding ring.

☆ special treatment ── @gf2bellamy I C + F

☆ dimple ── @/gf2bellamy I F

☆ date ── @/gf2bellamy I A + F

☆ clap of thunder ── @ratonnhhaketon I A + C

The reader experiences a thunderclap headache. One call to 911 and a short ambulance ride later, Frank sees his whole world lying on a gurney before him. There's nothing he can do about it.

☆ jealousy, jealousy ── @snoopysupe I F

☆ pelvic exam ── @deansdeer I S

☆ messy eater ── @wynnevee I S

frank is a messy eater and you’re feeling a little shy about it.

☆ tasting you ── @bounty-jes I F

five times Frank kisses you under the guise of a silly game

☆ landslide ── @mvltisstuff I A + C

robby catches onto y/n and the worst possible person he could imagine with his niece.

☆ threesome? — @barnesonfilm I F

[snoopysupe]

ON ME — Jack Abbot

pairing: jack abbot / pitt!f!reader

word count: 4.8k

content: MDNI. 5 times jack pays for you +1 time you pay for him. jack’s love language is gift giving (he’s a giver) and assertive with it too lmao. mishmash of both seasons to fit the fic so s1 & s2 spoilers! pittfest briefly mentioned. alcohol, mentions of car sex (f. receiving). rooftop scene — allusions to suicide but nothing is directly mentioned. inaccuracies everywhere.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

1.

The first time Jack Abbot had dug in his pocket for you was not some act of kindness on a great scale of magnitude. Often during the night rotation at the PTMC—after being knuckle deep in a patient’s chest cavity—there was an unmistakable grumble in, not only your stomach, but Dr. John Shen’s too. With only mere seconds to bite into a protein bar before you’re called to another case, if at any point there was an eery lull in the Emergency Department; Grubhub was on speed dial.

Against protocol, because nobody was opposed to convenience, you and Shen would add a note to your order: DROP-OFF @ AMBULANCE BAY PLS. And, then proceed to Rock, Paper, Scissors your way into deciding who would run the risk of being caught red-handed, during a speedy collection by Dr. Abbot, who would undoubtedly have a few words if he caught wind of your misuse of the Ambulance Bay.

“Yo.” Shen caught your attention as you came out of Central 11. An empty cup of Dunkin in one hand, his phone in the other, he matched your lazy speed. “ETA on the food is 3 minutes.”

You held your open palm under the sanitiser dispenser, “Alright. Ready?”

Shen chuckled and tucked his phone under his armpit, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He held out a closed fist the same time you did, “On three?”

You nodded and counted to three, throwing out a classic rock, confident it would land you another win compared to Shen’s four recent losses.

“Shit.” You hissed at the sight of Shen’s paper that he promptly wrapped around your fist to emphasise his winning round.

Shen shrugged, “Ooh. That was satisfying.” He backed away to check the board, “Godspeed, dude.”

Hands placed under the sanitizer dispenser out of habit, you scowled at Shen as he walked to the oval desk with a pep in his step, rubbing your hands together with vigour as you headed in the opposite direction to the Ambulance Bay.

Luck was on your side that evening, for one, there was no sight of an ambulance sliding into the bay and two, your Grubhub driver was already situated on the sidewalk with a motorcycle helmet still worn and a beige paper bag stapled with the receipt, in his hand.

You gave him a friendly wave, head turned to check the doors as you stepped into his space to retrieve the bag of hot food. You exchanged basic pleasantries, and then the delivery man hesitated to step away, his eyes visible through the visor as he stared, waiting for something additional in return.

A tip?

“Oh! Yeah, sorry—” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a button and a sturdy hair tie from Ellis, “Um…”

“Here you go, man.” A third voice.

The gravelled tone that both you and Shen tried to discreetly avoid amongst the several rendezvous‘ with your Grubhub driver. The one that belonged to the attending physician, that in line with technically being your boss, was also the one man at the centre of your little workplace crush.

You had met Dr. Abbot amidst the mass-casualty during PittFest. Assigned to the Red Zone, you worked amongst the seasoned professionals with a hindrance of confidence in the capability of your own hands. Not the time, nor the place to reach a movie-like flow of a meet-cute whilst performing CPR on an asystole patient with blood up to your elbows.

But you saw him. And, Jack Abbot definitely saw you.

That being said, under alternative circumstances, you’d have welcomed Dr. Jack Abbot’s presence in the Ambulance Bay.

Your body stiffened, the guilt riddled all over your face. No question as to who the Grubhub bag was for.

The driver gave a two-finger salute to the generous $20 tip and backed away to his motorcycle parked to the side. Jack would be sure to mention an abiding PennDot Motorcycle Safety Course user, to Robby at some point during hand-offs.

He slowly looked to you with mirth.

“I told him to take the pedestrian entrance?” Not convincing even yourself with the higher octave in which you spoke, pocketing the receipt in your scrubs to avoid Jack checking the order note at the bottom.

“Uh-huh.” Jack dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out three fries, “Jack Tax.”

With a hand held out to gesture you back inside, you gave a strained smile and obeyed his silent order to get back to work.

Shen was on the other side as you entered. “Better luck next time, Rock.”

2.

“What the hell are those?”

You looked down at your new scrubs. OK, you had pushed the boat out and bought a different shade of black, more complimentary to your seasonal colours with the undershirt to match. Maybe you hesitated in your car, singing lyrics as words of affirmation to beat the hesitancy that robbed yourself the joy of a new purchase.

(Being perceived was a sore spot for you.)

And then, the universe placed you in the PTMC with a specific co-worker that made it his full-time job to perceive his surroundings and outwardly share his candid thoughts without much effort for filtration. Aside from that being engrained in the speciality of being a physician, you still entered the PTMC with gritted teeth and a nervous disposition that Dr. Jack Abbot would pin the attention onto you.

Despite this, you looked up from your body and toward Jack, “My scrubs?” You reiterated verbally.

“No.” Jack reached for the earphones dangling around your neck like a stethoscope and tugged once, “These beat up things. They still sell them with the wires attached?”

Thank goodness it wasn’t the scrubs. You didn’t fancy using your credits already.

You jumped to their defence, “I like them having wires. Means I can keep track of both earphones.” You then added in deflation, “It’s not exactly in my budget.”

“If they’re on a leash?” Jack looked to Dr. Ellis with an expression that read: Are you hearing this shit? She shrugged. “You have got to get a new pair from this century, sweetheart.”

This century? You bit the insult harboured for the salt and pepper haired veteran turned senior attending. Sometimes things were best left un-personalised to save any feelings hurt.

In replacement, you deadpanned where Abbot smirked, slowly pulling the headphones from your neck to bunch them up and pinch them with a butterfly clip.

Dr. Ellis chuckled beside you, body leant against the desk, “Tell a girl how you really feel, Dr. Abbot.”

“I mean it.” Jack gestured to the knotted wires in your grasp, “Is the sound even high definition?”

“Out of one ear.” You mumbled quietly.

“Out of one ear.” Jack repeated with a curt nod and a playful laugh that translated to the idea that he proved his point in one conversation. “Alright, go drop those historical artefacts in your locker, I’ve got a patient in 10 for you.”

It took two days after that altercation for you to arrive at your locker at work, your trusted wire headphones miraculously MIA, meaning you had to persevere with the ambient noises of Pittsburgh on your walk to work. (All eyes pointing to Abbot and his security accomplice, Ahmad.)

Code punched in, you barely had time to blink the sleep from your eyes—your Circadian rhythm still adjusting with the new shift rotation—when you spotted a small white case haphazardly wrapped in…twine?

It look as if it were meant to be a bow. That alone was distracting, and very telling.

“What the—?” You plucked the case from the middle of your locker, the realisation making your ears ring before you slammed your locker shut and sauntered into the belly of the Pitt to find your culprit.

Jack was at the work station, refusing to sit as he bent at an awkward angle to read the words on the computer, when you found him with a little more aggravation than he had anticipated.

“Fucking AirPods?” You struck the atmosphere with a loud call. Lena—the charge nurse—peered over her glasses at your sudden outburst. Out of respect, you were quick to change the level of your tone, “Jack, these are like $250.”

His eyes darted up to you, nothing short of a serious expression on his face. “OK?”

You hesitated, “Are you—Are you playing a joke on me? I can’t accept these.”

“Well, that would be a little rude.” He sounded monotonous, uninterested as he scrolled down the page with the mouse in his hand.

You took a different route of reluctance to accept such a gift.

“How can you afford these?”

“Blood money.”

“Jack.”

Jack stood at full height, “Re-lax.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, “Consider it a welcome gift to the Night Shift.”

(Nobody put money in the make-believe pot but him.)

”I changed shift patterns, two weeks ago.” You retorted.

He corrected, “A belated welcome gift, then.” When you didn’t seem convinced, Jack went in for—what they called in bowling—a strike. “Accept the earphones from this century…you’re too pretty to be walking around with those battered old things.”

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Jaw slack.

Did you just hear that correctly?

Jack didn’t bring forth any further compliments apart from a shit-eating grin that had you stuck in the mud, clutching earphones way beyond your price range. You heard Lena chuckle at her iPad, and you snapped back into reality, fingers curled around the gifted AirPods; because performing a surgery to be able to clutch your own heart beating triple the amount of beats it should be, per minute, was downright unrealistic.

“Thank you.” You said quietly before turning back on your heel to put the earphones in your locker for safe-keeping.

Jack and Lena watched you scurry away like a field mouse, Abbot failing to miss the knowing gaze from Lena peering over her glasses at him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Dr. Abbot.” She spoke in a tone of amusement.

Jack gave a nod, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

3.

The third time was on the lesser side of grand gestures such as brand new Generation 3 AirPods wrapped in a twine bow, but the outcome was more gratifying to both parties.

The shift had been considered one of your worst. From the moment you stepped into the PTMC—even before this, but you attempted to leave your personal life at the door—you were greeted with hurdles that you continued to get your foot stuck under, metaphorically grazing your chin as you landed face first into disaster.

In addition to this, you were notified of Louie’s passing in an insensitive, pass-off comment by one of the new residents, James Ogilvie. It was told to try maintain a professional barrier between you and the patient, don’t get intertwined in their life and make a best friend out of them. But, you adored Louie. Despite the reasons behind his visits, his face was a welcomed one with the abundance of kindness he brought for someone who was losing against his own demons.

You placed your head against the coolness of your locker, burning eyes shut after Dr. Ellis told you to take five after you delivered some harsh truths to a difficult woman who was labelled Dr. Google and had little belief in the medical care provided to her son.

The idea came to visit Louie in the Viewing Room, maybe have one last conversation with him, but the notion was thrown off when you came to terms with the knowledge that a one-sided conversation with your favourite patient would only make matters worse for you. You’d be sure to visit him once your emotions were wrangled.

You let out a shuddered breath that you had been withholding.

“Hey.”

Almost giving yourself whiplash at the speed that you turned your head, your heavy heart dropped at the sight of Jack Abbot standing a couple of steps away from you with an iced coffee in his hand. He looked empathetic, concerned after it was relayed to him about your outburst toward a patient’s family member.

You were never one for sudden outbursts. Especially toward visitors.

You crossed your arms in an attempt to close yourself off, “Hey, Dr. Abbot.”

“I heard about Dr. Google.” He took a step closer and you winced, prepped for a slap on the wrist moment. He would remind you at a later time. “You OK?”

“I’m fine. Just—” You rubbed at your eyes, “Having a bad day.”

“Preach.” Jack mused and extended the plastic coffee cup to you. He encouraged you to take it with a nod of his head, “I think I got your order right. Don’t get mad if it isn’t. I heard that’s your thing now.”

You took the cup by the lid and threw Jack a stern look, unable to conceal the growing smile. “Thanks.” You took a sip and revelled in the immediate caffeine hit, and subsequently, Jack getting your order right.

(He asked Shen to go through his order history that he knew you had shared.)

Jack bit back a smile.

“Jack Tax?” You offered the cup up to Jack.

He hesitated to take it—cross-contamination and all factors a doctor usually worries about—but then threw caution to the wind. Might be the closest he gets to kissing you. Or something along those lines.

Jack took the cup wet from condensation back, tilting the cup upward until the coffee hit his lips. His eyes pinned you to the spot and suddenly, the ceiling tiles needed your immediate attention.

You started to count them. Length by width to equate the amount in total. Twenty-six by fourteen would equal—

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Oh.

Your equation forgone, your solemn expression wiped and replaced with surprise. Your attention dropped to the male in front of you, almost missing the way his free hand shook at his thigh. The burning question left hanging in the air as you digested each syllable he had spoken as if it were sacred text to memorise by word of mouth.

Suddenly feeling sheepish, Jack realised that he had picked a sensitive time in your day to boldly ask the question he had been biding his time to get correct. His throat bobbed, fingers curled around your coffee cup as it dawned on him that he may be translating as a real jackass with little emotional maturity to understand that you may just want to be left alone.

There was no escaping it, he thought. That would just look ridiculous now.

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry.” He scrunched one eye shut and waved his own question off, “I shouldn’t have asked you when you’re having a bad day.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” You let out a nervous chuckle, palms pressed into your back as you arched your back to stretch awkwardly, “Free as in…?”

“A date.”

The wind almost knocked out of you. Lips formed into an ‘O’ you began to laugh from feeling shy, “Yeah. Shit, Abbot. I am off tomorrow.”

He knew. He checked the schedule.

Jack finally took a breath. His hand outstretched again to hand you back the coffee he had bought you.

“Alright.” He nodded, backing away with his thumbs up, “You can explain to me the reference: There’s people dying, Kim, that you told to Dr. Google over some drinks.”

You grimaced with the coffee back in your hands. Nose scrunched, you spoke, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

4.

Chivalry wasn’t dead.

According to the dive bar on Babcock Blvd with Jack Abbot punching his four-digit code into the card machine with every round of drinks he—and eventually you—had purchased on your night in Pittsburgh together.

You had both agreed on ‘casual’. Casual place, for a casual—no pressure—date, wearing casual clothes that differed from the usual scrub-wearing outfits you never seemed to be able to peel off of your frame.

Jack arrived early after you politely declined his text in the morning after you left work, asking if he could pick you up. The bar wasn’t far from your apartment, and it would save Abbot the fuel money that he so flippantly spent on brand new AirPods on you.

(The pieces of the puzzles were all slowly coming together.)

Nervous wasn’t part of Jack’s vocabulary. Built on adrenaline rushes and catastrophic tragedies, there wasn’t a bone in his body that shook at the definition of nervous.

He sat at the bar with the sticky countertop, his curls dampened from the rain and his prosthetic leg causing irrefutable irritation from the way it caused him to ache uncomfortably. No, he wasn’t nervous—he couldn’t be—Jack just felt…overwhelmed.

At least that’s what he so stubbornly called it.

And then you walked in.

Shit. OK, call it what it was. Nerves.

With a sunny disposition, your head shielded by a sodden newspaper you undoubtedly ducked into a corner shop to purchase on your walk. Suddenly, Jack felt inadequate in all aspects as a man, who wanted a date with the most beautiful woman he had set eyes on in a long time. His clothes suddenly falling short along the themes of ‘casual’, he regretted choosing a basic black tee—because it showed off his muscular biceps—and dark blue jeans. You looked breathtaking, and you weren’t even trying.

Jack threw back the dregs of his alcoholic beverage, hand slammed on the countertop as he gave a nod and a gesture to the bartender to give him the same again. Just stronger.

He stood when you approached, a grimace on his lips that told everything a doctor who knew him on a more personal level would know.

(His leg was killing him.)

You shrugged your jacket off, “Bothering you?”

“Not anymore.” Jack mumbled, eyes set on you with some well-placed adoration. When he sat, he spoke again, “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” You tilted your chin into your shoulder.

After that, Jack paid you six more compliments—seven after his fifth drink slammed to ail his nerves—and aside from his attentiveness and eyes boring into your skull, the date turned out better than either of you had anticipated. There was no shadow of a doubt that it wouldn’t have crashed and burned but as two doctors at the PTMC, it was in your nature to expect the worst but hope for the best.

The kiss came in between your last drink and Jack passing off his card to the bartender. Mid-conversation, you had spotted Jack becoming fidgety in the stool he was perched on and you had put it down to the buzz of the alcohol mixed with relief that you two were two kindred flames outside of the workplace.

And then, his mouth was on yours. His hand placed against your jaw, fingers curled at the back of your head, he pulled you in for a painstakingly languid kiss. Noses bumped, smiles mushed together, you eventually pulled away when the kiss became borderline inappropriate for a public display of affection.

It sent your head reeling, judgement clouded to where the casualness of the date at the dive bar followed you into the car park, where Jack Abbot was casually knee-deep in the passenger seat of his truck with your bare thighs constricting around his head.

When he had finished, the windows fogged with droplets of condensation drooling down the tempered glass, Jack sat on the floor of the passenger side with the door open as he refitted his leg with a triumphant grin on his face. You had managed to wrangle your outfit back onto your body, face hot from a concoction of euphoria and the remainder of the alcoholic buzz.

“I’ve ordered you an Uber.” Jack mentioned as he cracked his spine, “ETA is about 5 minutes.”

He wasn’t going to be presumptuous of the night. Satisfied that you had reached your climax, Jack kept a respectful distance to the idea of going home with you after a successful first date.

(Not that he didn’t want to. He respected boundaries. Plus, with work the next day, his scrubs were at his house across town.)

You stretched like a cat in the seat, “How much do I owe you?”

Jack chuckled as he stepped onto the tarmac, his body angled toward you as he brought you in for another sweet kiss. “This one’s on me.” He mumbled against your lips.

5.

“I’m sorry to miss this.” Jack gripped onto the steering wheel of his truck, face apologetic.

You applied your lipstick in the passenger mirror, brows pinched at his apology. The lid to your lipstick made a soft click as you spoke, “Girl’s night?”

Jack nodded once.

That’s cute.

You leant over the console and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. The relationship still fresh—and more important, under wraps—you would take any opportunity outside of work to spend together. In which, Jack Abbot had coincidentally discovered his newfound love for ‘Girl’s Night.’

With a handful of your friends having met the elusive senior attending doctor turned…a person that you shared a bed with from time to time—labels had yet to be discussed—Jack had been privy to the inner workings of a get together where the women in your life sat on your sofa and just talked.

A lot.

He ended up making himself useful, serving drinks and food with a stolen kiss that had all your friends beaming from ear to ear. It turned out that Jack enjoyed it. And, when he wasn’t needed, he’d retreat to the bedroom to watch some news reports on his phone; with one earphone flicked out incase you called for his assistance again.

You rubbed your hand to the nape of his neck, “With all due respect. You’re not invited. And, not just because you picked up a SWAT shift on the Fourth of July.”

“Yeah.” Jack drawled, “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.”

Jack gestured in a circular motion around his own lips. “I like the…lipstick.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, lapping up his compliments like a parched dog.

“Yeah.” Jack confirmed lowly. He took a moment to rake your frame with his hungry eyes, a fleeting thought passed in his mind as he began to fish into his back pocket for his wallet—he started to carry cash whenever you were around—and pulled out a thick wad of dollars, his thumb making handiwork to count out the bills. “Here. Before I forget.”

“I don’t want your money, Jack.” You argued when he began to hand the money over to you.

Jack insisted, “Come on. A couple of rounds on me. Please?”

You hesitated, but ultimately knew it was a dead end debate in which Jack’s generosity and stubbornness would prevail. Fingers pinched the cash, you—respectfully—counted how much he gave you.

You frowned at the amount. “Jack. You’ve given me $200.”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you think we’re drinking?” You let out a breathless laugh and went to hand back $150, only to be met with reluctance. You shook your head, “Drinks do not cost that much.”

”$100 for drinks.” Jack leaned back into the driver’s seat, “And $50 for new lipstick.”

“What?” You stared at his weathered features in surprise, “You just said you liked my lipstick. Now you want me to buy a new one?”

As if it were the most glaringly obvious statement in this side of Pittsburgh, Jack tilted his head with his brows furrowed, feigning innocence like you wouldn’t believe.

It made your stomach knot.

“To buy more of the same lipstick.” He shifted in his seat to lean toward you, his lips a hot breath away from yours. “Because, I’ll keep kissing that shit off of you.”

You visibly reeled.

+1

You found Jack on the rooftop, where you had been informed he would be. His frame outlined by the bleeding pink and orange hue of the sunrise that peeked above the horizon. Hands in his pockets, he stood at the precipice of the ceiling, his eyes scanned across the Pittsburgh skyline.

You allowed some grace. Hand clutched a familiar brown paper bag, watching as Jack took deep breaths to remind himself he was still human. Still apart of the Earth that kept spinning after another person was added to the death toll.

Another person he couldn’t save.

When you saw his feet shift, you called out. “Grubhub delivery for one handsome veteran?”

Jack tilted his head to your voice, chin meeting his shoulder, “I didn’t order anything.”

“Shit.” You took a step forward, “Must be the wrong roof. You’re still handsome though.” Your lightheartedness was met with a chuckle, you could see it in the way Abbot’s shoulders lightly bounced whilst he shook his head.

“What are you doing up here?” He asked. Not that he wasn’t inclined to savour more moments up with you. The rooftop just wasn’t your thing.

You approached the railing that separated you from Jack, “Your friend with the loose tongue told on you.”

In reference to the Chief Attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who had every incline to believe that you and Jack Abbot were in the early stages of a blossoming relationship. The man was incredibly intuitive, and when Jack began to smell like aftershave masking the scent of a lavender laundry detergent that was awfully similar to the one that he happened to smell off of you whenever you were in close proximity doing hand-offs…well, everything seemed to make sense in his mind.

So, as any good friend would do, he had pulled you aside with the ruse of discussing patient care, when in fact—whilst sparing you the gory details—Dr. Robby had some wonderful insight about Dr. Abbot’s whereabouts coming to his shift ending.

“Snitch.” Jack muttered.

“Out of love.” You reminded him, “Coming through.” Your body already dipped to bend below the metal railing, only for Jack’s hand to prevent you from reaching full height on the other side.

He thumbed behind him, “Behind.”

You stepped back reluctantly, “Oh, so there’s a hierarchy up here?”

Jack grunted as he bent down, popping back up behind the railing, his exhaustion worn on his face didn’t prevent a smile seeping through the cracks as he looked at you.

(God, he was so fucking attractive.)

“With a girlfriend that is afraid of heights? I’ll take my chances with her behind the railing.” Jack kissed you, his knuckle brushing your chin as you both avoided the fact that he had just pinned the tail on the donkey and called you his girlfriend. He sniffed, “You’re much cuter when you’re not chicken soup on a gurney.”

He kissed you again to distract you from the confusing comparison.

In translation: Jack didn’t want you fainting off the side of the building.

Slightly amused, you pulled back from the kiss and waggled the bag of hot food in front of Jack’s face. He read the side of the bag with narrowed eyes, a low hum elicited from the back of his throat.

“Robby?”

You threw him a look of complete disdain. “Jack Abbot. I’m starting to believe you don’t think I have any money.”

“I know you do. I just don’t expect you to spend it on me.” Jack said with honest conviction. He took the bag anyway, hand already diving into to find a couple of loose fries at the bottom of the bag.

He offered you one and you bit it between your teeth with gratitude. Not wanting to overstep, you allowed the silence to blanket over the two of you—the distant wails of sirens the only ambient sound so close to the PTMC—knowing that when Jack wanted to confide in you about his troubling thoughts, he’d do it when he was ready.

For now, Dr. Robby would be the one privy to that information.

You watched the sunrise further up into the sky whilst Jack tucked into his food, occasionally offering you a bite which you’d take out of politeness as you hadn’t eaten since the start of your shift. As the colours of the sky bled into a watered down pink, you let out a sigh of relief.

What a fucking pain of a shift to have overcome. You knew Jack felt the same.

Jack watched you rather than the scenic view ahead. That familiar ache in his chest returning; the one that he had felt similar to when he first met his late wife.

Not a comparison. Just a feeling.

When you caught him in the act of admiration, you lifted a brow for him to fess up.

I think I’m falling in love with you. No. He’d tell you that in different circumstances. In your apartment, with a pizza box between you and a movie thrown on that you swore you let Jack choose.

So, Jack Abbot settled for the next best thing. Your secret love language. “How much do I owe you?”

You beamed, “This one is on me, Abbot.”

[rizbert]

beyond infatuation | j.a.

professional yearner!jack abbot x nurse!reader

synopsis: jack abbot is obsessed with you and he's going to make it everybody else's problem - or - 5 moments the night shift (and co) observes between you and jack + the 1 they don't

contains: bsf night shift crew!! dana & the pittlings cameo, he fell first AND he fell harder, age gap (reader is in her 20's), suggestive at times, everyone calls reader sweets, no use of y/n, jack is probably ooc but i refuse to believe that man does not yearn deeply and he is written so, and most importantly: NIGHT SHIFT SUPREMACY

note: first fic for the pitt because i think i might have actually read my way through every fic on here and i crave more pls be nice to me :') this started off as a completely different fic and then it became this instead so there's a half written part 2 (and a part 3 …) if anyone really wants it. yes i did write this instead of the giant piles of actual work i have to do i hope you enjoy <3

dividers by @uzmacchiato <3

1. The Crush

It’s been exactly one week since you joined the night shift. Six days, twenty three hours, and thirty one minutes technically speaking but who was counting. 

In that time you’d made yourself indispensable. You were one of the most competent nurses to ever walk through the doors of the PTMC. You were practically hard wired to thrive in the absolute chaos of the night. And, best of all, you’d become Shen’s caffeine addicted partner in crime. Five out of your last seven days you’d dragged him into a pre-shift coffee run and he always complied with your demands. 

The night shift wasn’t easy for just anyone to take to. It was hard and yet here you were, doing it all flawlessly. And Jack couldn’t look away. Not that he’d ever want to. 

It’d taken no time at all, about five hours into your first shift, for him to become borderline obsessed. All it took was one conversation in the ambulance bay just after midnight. A joke cracked under the light of the full moon, one that broke through the stern expression he’d had on with no hesitation at all, for Jack to want to know every single little detail that made up who you were. 

In a normal way of course. 

Now here he was. Watching. Eyes following you as you walked into the ED beside Shen, both of you carrying trays piled high with various hot and iced drinks. He can’t imagine how much even one of those things cost. 

Within moments most of the drinks are gone, taken by Ellis and Lena and whoever else had placed their order with the two of you the night before. Jack, for just a moment, regrets not having done so. Not that he even likes the sugary sweet monstrosities you always chug your way through before midnight, always somehow armed with another one to get you through your second half of the night. 

He’d pretend though. Especially if it meant you’d stop and smile at him and maybe even talk to him for just a couple seconds about something not medicine related before diving into the mayhem. 

“Hey!” Your voice isn’t a hallucination, Jack determines when he sees you walking up to him with a smile. 

He tries not to look too surprised. Or flustered. Or excited. “Hi.”

Nailed it.

“I brought you something.”

Jack thinks he might melt into the floor. 

You hold out a drink, one clearly meant for him. It’s green on top and pink on bottom with strawberry slices floating above the ice. 

“You didn’t have to.” He takes it from you and relishes in the brief moment that his hand touches yours. You need to calm down, he thinks to himself. 

“I know, I wanted to. It’s on me.” You say it so easily and Jack thinks now might be a good time to excuse himself and go jump off the roof because he can feel his whole body warming in a way it shouldn’t be at the sentiment. 

You’d thought of him. Part of him wonders how long you’d been doing that for and if it was for as long as he’d been thinking of you. Day and night. Hour after hour. In ways he definitely shouldn’t be.

“I just figured you could use a little caffeine that wasn’t the stale black coffee in the break room for once,” You shrug like it’s nothing but it means everything to him. “As a certified drink specialist I thought you might like this one. Shen said I was crazy for picking it but I spent every minute I was awake looking through the cafe's menu debating and I think I finally narrowed down something to live up to your incredibly high standards.”

Jack had stopped listening as soon as you looked up at him. Wide eyed and a little nervous but with that sweet smile he was maybe just a little bit obsessed with already. “What is it?” 

Frankly, he didn’t really care. He’d love it no matter what because you’d been the one to hand it to him. You’d put effort into finding something you thought he’d like and that was more than enough for him.

“An iced strawberry oat milk matcha. It’s not too sweet but definitely a step up from a black coffee. I,” You stop yourself for a second, hesitating a little. One look from him though, one that practically begged you to continue, and you kept going. “I see the face you make when you drink it even when it’s fresh so I thought we’d switch it up a little.”

You’d noticed him. He was one more observation away from imploding. He swirled the drink around to distract himself from the fact and then took a huge gulp. 

“Holy shit,” His eyes went wide as he took a second to savor the drink. It was good. Really good. He had no clue how you’d figured him out so perfectly. Part of him was hopeful enough to think that you just knew him. Saw him. He took another sip. 

“You like it?” You were beaming at him now, satisfied and proud of yourself. 

He couldn’t be more obsessed with you if he tried. He was tempted to propose marriage right then and there. Instead all he said was, “This is phenomenal.” 

Jack couldn’t help himself. He looked directly at you and hoped that maybe these abilities of yours to read him perfectly well extended past the drinks and you’d be able to look into his head to see what he really wanted to say. You’re phenomenal. I like you. Probably more than is healthy. Never leave me, actually.

“Oh you’re kidding,” Jack had almost forgotten where he was until Shen walked over, handing you a half drunk iced coffee along with a fresh one for later, just like usual. “He liked it?” 

“Just like I said,” You held up your hand for a high five, which Shen gave you despite dropping his head and groaning. “Which means you’re buying for me tomorrow.”

Jack rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of you. His smile pushed through the serious facade he was trying to put on. Nothing could ruin his mood right now he was positive of it.

“Is it that surprising?” Jack held his drink a little tighter and held back the urge to take another sip of it. He was seriously already starting to understand your guys' shared obsession with always having some kind of drink on you.

“No, it’s just,” Shen paused for a moment and it hit him all at once. Abbot was in a good mood. And all it’d taken was a personal delivery straight from you. He was wearing a smile, a genuine one. Best of all, his eyes kept straying back to you. Like you were some kind of magnet pulling him in against his will. Oh yeah, he’s obsessed. “I’m glad you found something you like.”

Jack heard it. The tone. His eyes snapped back to Shen and narrowed the slightest bit. All he did in response was wink at him and take a sip of his first coffee of the night. 

He could see right through him.

2. The Confession

It had been three days of this and every time Jack saw you he felt the question at the tip of his tongue. And every time something else came out instead. So here he was. Two weeks into your time here and he was obsessed with you. That much he could admit. 

If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be lingering by the nurses desk, pretending to look at a stack of papers he was pretty sure were blank. Every few seconds he glances up to where you were deep in a conversation with Ellis and Walsh. The three of you had gotten yourself partnered on the same case and were taking advantage of the fact that your patient was doing perfectly after surgery to actually talk about something normal while you could since you found yourselves with a little downtime.

“You don’t have to hover, you know.”

Jack freezes. 

He thinks he might’ve actually stopped breathing. He knows exactly what Lena’s talking about though and he’s determined to lie his way through it.

“What?”

Okay, maybe not the best start. He doesn’t look up from where he’s pretending to flip through whatever papers were in front of him. Definitely not eavesdropping. 

“Oh, please,” Lena rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. “She’s not gonna disappear into thin air. You can get work done and I promise she’ll be there after.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jack betrays himself when he glances back over in your direction. He smiles to himself when he sees you laugh, a beaming grin on your face. When he looks back towards Lena she’s already staring at him with her arms crossed.

“I think you just might be the world's worst liar,” Lena leans forward conspiratorially. Her voice drops when she asks, “So when are you gonna ask her on a date instead of moping around?”

Jack freezes again, “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh at his bad attempt at faking innocence. “You’re worse than a kid with their first crush, it’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed yet.”

Okay so maybe she had a point, Jack could admit that much. He remembers the first time he’d seen you here clearly. He’d felt some kind of pull towards you the moment you entered the PTMC just over a year ago. It’d been easy to ignore then, though. You’d just graduated and had been doing an emergency medicine residency program under Dana during the day shift and it was only every now and then he’d be there at the same time too. Yet every time he did happen to work with you, even for a fleeting moment, it was like the entire place shifted a little bit.

Dana had even stopped him one time, so casually that he hadn’t even questioned why she was calling him. “You better watch yourself, Abbot. That’s my girl, best one to come through here in ages. Last thing she needs is you distracting her.”

He’d scoffed at the statement at the time, claiming that it wasn’t like that. It had been exactly like that, though. He knew that now. You’d been easy to avoid when you were on day shift but now you were here all the time and he couldn’t imagine not finding every reason he could to stick to your side. 

“She’s not one of yours, you know. She’s one of mine,” Lena’s voice brings him out of it. There’s an I told you so look on her face that he rolls his eyes at. “I’m just saying, the paperwork will be a lot easier to fill out.”

“Aren’t you a romantic,” He knows he can trust Lena, though. If it was really a bad idea she’d tell him so with zero hesitation. So finally, hesitantly, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

***

Jack barely needed time to think about it. He had made his choice quickly and it was eating him up inside. It was just past 7 AM and he could hear the day shift and night shift looking for you both. His time with you was running out and fast. It was just the two of you alone in the room, your patient had just miraculously gotten a bed upstairs and you’d been there to ensure a smooth transition. Maybe that was his sign that you’d say yes. 

He stops you before you can pull the curtain open to let them know the room was now open. He reaches for your hand, grabs your waist, and spins you around to look at him in a single swift move. “When can I see you again?” 

The question doesn’t phase you.

“In about twelve hours.” You answer him with a teasing smile, choosing to stay just a little bit too close to him instead of stepping back. 

“You know what I mean, honey.”

And then you look at him in a way that’s new. Your smile turns less teasing and falls a bit. It makes you look a little more vulnerable. He watches your eyes flicker across his face and he knows you’re trying to see what he’s really made of. If he really means it. He wants to shout the truth to you in that moment. That he can’t get enough of you.

“Say it,” Your voice comes out soft and he wonders briefly if you can read his mind. You step a little bit closer to him. “Tell me what you really want from me.”

Jack is painfully aware of the voices and footsteps coming closer. They’ll walk in any moment now, he knows it. He glances towards the door and when he looks back he can see you about to step away, thinking he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. He blurts it out before you can. 

“Everything.” He says it so easily that it makes your breath hitch a little bit, he can see it happen. “I want to take you on a real date again and then take you home with me because you will not believe how hard it is to sleep without you next to me. When I wake up I want to just lay there looking at you for a little bit wondering how the hell you agreed to all of that. And then I want to do that over and over again until you get sick of me.”

You don’t say anything after his confession. A few seconds pass where you just let the words sink in and then, “Only if your plan includes taking me to that cute little cafe down the street too.” 

“Whenever you want.” Jack’s never agreed to anything so fast in his life.

“Right answer,” You finally will yourself to step away and swing the curtain open. Before you walk away you look at him again and the teasing smile is back. “I’ll meet you outside in a bit?” 

He walks towards you again and he’s really pushing it when he stands so close you can feel the heat of him. “Odds we can sneak out of here before they can stop us?” 

“Abbot!” Dana's voice.

You laugh at the way he groans as his head falls onto your shoulder briefly. “Not likely.”

3. The Kiss

It’d only taken a month for everything the night shift knew about Jack to change. It had also been a month since you’d joined them. The two things had to be related. They just couldn’t prove it yet. 

“Hey,” Ellis whispered as she practically ran to where Shen and Lena were deep in a conversation. There was an uneasy look in her eyes as she looked around, as if she was expecting someone to overhear what she was about to say. “Is he being weird?” 

They look towards where she had subtly nodded and found Jack. He was in an exam room laughing with a patient as he finished stitching him up. Laughing. 

Night shift chief attending Dr. Jack Abbot was in a good mood. For the first time maybe ever, as far as they knew. At least publicly in a good mood. He was never like this at work, always opting for serious and stoic with his patients because he needed to be at a job like this. 

But this was his third patient in a row now that he made easy conversation with. It was a lot more than pleasantries and small talk, it was real conversations. Questions about themselves and their lives and jokes traded back and forth. It was unsettling, frankly. 

“Thank you! I told you something was up with him,” Shen slams a hand down on the counter before looking at Lena and leaning forward the same way Ellis was, mocking concern. “ Have we tested him for any substance use lately?” 

“Alright drama queens,” Lena rolls her eyes at them and leans back in her chair. “Why can’t he just be having a good night?” 

Ellis shakes her head at that, nose scrunching as she disagrees, “No, I think he might actually be physically incapable of that.” 

“Well what do you think it is then?” 

“I think he got laid,” She says it confidently and with zero hesitation at all. Shen chokes on his drink and Lena’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What? He’s all glowy and shit, there is literally no other explanation?”

“Explanation for what?” Your voice comes out of nowhere and Ellis and Shen nearly jump out of their skin. 

“For,” Ellis recovers faster and quickly glances at Lena and Shen, neither of which provide any help. “For why Shen’s guy in south 18 is really concussed.”

“Oh he’s having an affair with his neighbor for sure,” You set your tablet down and swipe your badge along the card reader at one of the computers. “This guy shows up with his pants backwards, shirt inside out, and his left shoe missing and he expects us to believe he just tripped while on a late night walk?”

It’s at that moment that Shen notices it. There’s no iced coffee in your usual place. It’s always right there, tucked in the corner of the desk Lena sits behind. You always reach for it every time you’re nearby, it’s how you make your way through it faster than almost anyone else. He watches carefully as you reach in that exact direction subconsciously before pulling your hand back. Empty.

“Where’s your drink?” He blurts the question out suddenly and you glance up at him.

“What?”

“Your drink,” He glances at Ellis and Lena and they can see the real question in his eyes. “You always leave it right there. It’s barely nine, there’s no way you’ve had enough downtime to finish it already.”

“Oh,” You go back to the computer screen and shrug. “I just woke up late, didn’t have time to stop.”

“Right,” Shen’s eyes narrow at you but he doesn’t say anything else. That’s when he notices Jack leave his patient's room and walk in the direction of the break room. “Hey, my second one is in the fridge if you want it?”

You sit up instantly and immediately a little bit of life fills you again. So maybe you both had a little bit of an addiction. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” And that’s all he has to say before you’re making a beeline to the break room, steps faltering just the slightest bit when you see Jack disappear through the door. Then you glance back at them, smile, and disappear in the same direction.

“Hang on,” Ellis immediately leans forward again. “You don’t think -”

“No,” Shen shakes his head immediately. “It's a coincidence. There’s no way.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Lena, admittedly, is invested now. 

“Uh, because Sweets is my best friend in the whole wide world and would have told me obviously,” He rolls his eyes like it's obvious. “Plus there’s no way Abbot would admit how deep he is in his feelings already. He’s due for at least another couple weeks of yearning from afar.”

“I don’t know, he might’ve,” Lena shrugs as she recalls all the little things she’s witnessed the last few weeks. “This is intense, even for him.”

“Besides, look who we’re talking about,” Ellis points out the fact that they all know is right. You were sunshine personified. The piece they didn’t even realise the night shift was missing. And it was just like Jack Abbot to want you all to himself. “He’d be crazy if he didn’t.”

“Wait,” Lena pieces it together first. The missing coffee. The good moods. The hesitation before your smile, the one that was just a little bit different than usual. Softer. “Didn’t they walk in together today?”

There’s a moment of silence as they all realize the same thing at the same time.

“First one to find out pays for the others drinks for the next two weeks?”

“Deal.”

“You’re on.”

***

“You’re insane.” 

Jack only grins at you as he locks the door of the supply closet behind him. He wastes no time at all and immediately wraps you up in his arms, skipping all formalities and letting his mouth fall to your neck. “I thought that’s why you liked me” 

He knows now how easy you are to distract. One glance at you and how your eyes have fluttered shut already confirms that. You let out a content little sigh as you pull him closer to you, “Among other reasons.”

The noise that fills the pitt disappears and suddenly all you know is Jack. His hands wandering underneath your shirt. His mouth on every bit of skin he can reach. The way he cages you in between his body and the shelf behind you and holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Jack seriously,” It takes every bit of your self control to pull yourself back and attempt to look at him for real. “We can’t do this here.”

“We're alone, honey. No one has to know,” He doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on your lips instead. He slips your scrub top over your head leaving you in just the thin, see-through, white undershirt. You're both quickly losing all sense of rationality. 

“Someone’s gonna come looking for us”

“I'm their boss, I'll make them go away,” One of his hands tangles in your hair this time and he pulls your head back so he can look into your eyes. Blown out pupils, breaths falling heavy, lips swollen from how you’d been biting them in an effort to keep quiet. He groans a little bit at the sight. “Just this once, baby, I swear,” He kisses you. Really kisses you. Long and slow and deep. Enough to make your thoughts go blurry and your knees weak. He pulls away the slightest bit and smirks when you chase the feeling of him. “Promise.”

“You know, somehow I don’t believe you.” He laughs then, pretending he doesn’t notice you start to push his own shirt up little by little. Your hands are cold on the warm, bare skin of his chest and he shivers a little bit, smiling even wider. He's addicted to you, he thinks.

“Can you blame me?” Another kiss, this time picking up where he left off before. “You’re perfect.”

Someone pulls on the door seconds later, just as his hands start wandering lower. 

“Why is this door locked!” 

You slip your scrub shirt back on in record time and Jack pushes you behind him when he goes to open the door as Ellis starts pounding on it. “I swear to god I -”

She doesn’t see you when he opens it. Not at first. 

“Can I help you?” Jack asks the question like nothing is wrong in the slightest. 

Ellis looks around for a second, trying to determine if anyone else was seeing this or if she had finally entered a state of hallucination. “I just need -”

That’s when she sees you. Tucked behind Jack, clothes a little crooked on your body and a little more disheveled than before. You’re smiling at her, only the slightest bit shy but mostly looking a little pleased. “I - hi?” 

She doesn’t know what else to say to you. 

“Hi,” You smile at her and step around Jack. “What did you need to grab?”

“I just - I just need a suture kit.”

You grab one off the shelf next to you and step around Jack, stopping for just a second to shoot him a smile. She watches him return the smile, absolutely noticing the way he reaches for you. His fingers barely skim against you when you step just a little too close to him, like even that feather light touch will get him through the rest of the night. You turn back towards her like nothing happened. “Do you want any help?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ellis tries not to stare when Jack grabs your hand for real, pulling you back and kissing you again, modestly this time. On your forehead as he whispers something to you that she can’t hear. 

It’s not until you’ve walked further away from the storage closet that she leans a little closer to you. “Hey, are you two…you know?” 

You laugh a little bit at the question. “Dating? I thought it was kinda obvious after that.” 

“I didn’t want to assume.” Ellis laughs along with you and shakes her head, leading you in the direction of one of the rooms. Then she notices Shen and Lena out of the corner of her eye again and stops. “Hey, can you get started? I need to check with Lena about some lab results real quick.” 

“Yeah, go for it! Take your time.”

Ellis watches you pull the curtain of the room closed. Then she waits until Jack has disappeared into another room on the other side of the ED, the most smug looking grin on his face, before she practically runs to the nurses desk. “They’re dating, I told you so.” 

“What?” 

“And we’re just supposed to believe you? How do you know?” 

“I asked,” She pauses for a moment before leaning closer. “And I found them both in the supply closet with the door locked, you connect the dots.” 

Shen’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew.” 

Lena on the other hand only lets out a sigh. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on them aren't we?” 

“Probably.” Ellis looks incredibly pleased as she starts walking back to the room you’d gone into. “I’ll send you guys my drink order before next shift.”

4. The Reveal

The day shift doesn’t usually notice when the night shift starts to trickle in. You remember it clearly, the way it feels like every single person with every single ailment known to mankind seems to congregate in the pitt all at once right before it’s time for shift change. That’s something you don’t miss. By the time you guys come in it feels settled. Or maybe you all just like to think so. 

Either way, they definitely don’t notice when you and Jack walk in together, your bag slung over his shoulder. They’re too distracted by the drinks Shen and Lena walked in with, relegated to delivery service after losing some bet to Ellis. 

All the noise is forgotten quickly. This, the rare quiet moment in the staff locker room where it feels like the whole world comes to a stand still, is Jack’s time to breathe. He watches you throw all your things into his locker, somehow getting to the point of sharing custody of one now in the last couple of weeks. 

He knows you’re saying something. He can hear the sound of your voice but you’re also tying your hair up so it’s out of your way for the night and he loses all ability to think straight. Some kind of pavlovian response overtakes him and this feeling fills him up inside and suddenly he can’t help himself. 

He stands up and it's like his hands move on their own without him meaning for them to. They set themselves firmly on your hips and pull them back, completely flush against him. He bunches the scrub top up and settles his hands underneath the long sleeve shirt you’re wearing under it. Your skin is warm under them and the little noise he lets out is perfectly content. 

“Can I help you?” He can hear the smile you’re wearing when you ask the question and he can picture it perfectly. 

“No,” Jack shakes his head a little and kisses your cheek. It lingers for a second before he starts moving down the expanse of your neck. “I’m fine. What were you saying?” 

“You're so needy, you know that?” 

“Are you complaining?” He doesn’t get a response from you. Instead your arms settle over his and you relax into his hold. He smirks. “That’s what I thought.” 

You don’t get very long to escape into the moment. 

“There you are. Robby’s looking for - woah,” The exhausted look on Santos' face turns into a shit-eating grin in a fraction of a second. “What’s going on here?”

Jack frowns when you wiggle out of his hold to turn to look at her. 

“Hey,” You smile at her like she hadn’t just seen what she clearly just did. She shares a look with both Javadi and Whitaker who’d walked in with her. “How was your shift?”

“Uh, I'm sorry,” Javadi laughs in disbelief a little as she looks between the two of you. You, smiling brightly at her in the way she misses seeing so much on the day shift, and Jack, who looks like he’s never hated three people more. She’s pretty sure he’s committing their murders in his head. “What is this? When did this happen?”

Jack all of a sudden feels protective in that moment. Over your relationship that very much fuels his will to live and over you. Part of him is surprised you hadn’t told them yet. The first friends you’d made here, probably some of your closest, clearly had no idea about you and him. Then he remembers your opposite schedules and the constant cycle of work and being completely enveloped by the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship he thinks might actually never end.

“Wait, did I not tell you guys?” You’re trying your hardest to trace back every moment of the last few weeks. Jack takes it upon himself to hand you your drink and grab his before shutting his locker, taking a second to just listen. One of his arms wraps around your waist again.

“You did not, sweets,” Santos shakes her head and speaks slowly, trying to push through her absolute shock at this revelation. And trying very hard not to stare at the casual display of affection from Jack Abbot of all people.

Whitaker is the one who recalls the last real interaction you’d had with them fastest. Somehow he’s the least surprised. “You spent all of breakfast the other day telling us about that kid you patched up with Ellis. The one who slipped off the fire escape trying to sneak into his girlfriend's room."

“You told Mel, Samira, and Langdon," Jack says it in between sips of his matcha like it’s nothing. “When you had them over for dinner at yours your last night off. You sent me a picture of their reactions.”

“Right!” You try your hardest to hold in a laugh at the recollection. Samira had shouted into a pillow. Mel had asked a lot of questions, incredibly excitedly. Frank had decided he needed to take a walk to process and stood on your balcony for ten minutes. “I guess I forgot, everything kinda blurs together. They didn’t tell you?” 

“Sweets, I think you told the three least nosy people in the ED,” Santos makes a mental note to yell at all of them for keeping this from everyone else. “Of course they didn’t.”

Then your attention slips from Jack completely when Javadi prompts Whitaker to tell you about something that happened earlier. He stops listening completely, now perfectly distracted by the excited look in your eyes and the way you smile at them. And okay so maybe he’s a little bit clingy. 

Jack wraps himself around you from behind again, arms now fully circling your waist. He does not hesitate in the slightest to pull you flush against him again either. He does exercise a little bit of self control though. There’s no kiss this time. Instead he let out a soft sigh and let his head fall onto your shoulder, chin resting against it silently as you talk.

He doesn’t notice the way Javadi covers her mouth with one hand to hold back the comment she wants to make out loud. Instead she points at the sight as subtly as she can and mouths “oh my god!” you only grin at her. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at Jack’s display, but you settle back into him anyway.

He also doesn’t notice the way Whitaker stares at him, eyes narrowed in his direction and head tipped to the side curiously, debating to himself whether or not Jack was actually in the room with them. Physically or mentally.

Santos, ever curious, is the one who finally cracks and breaks him out of his self induced trance. “Okay, I have to know. How did this even -”

“Hey!” Ellis cuts in before she can even ask the question all the way. She pops her head in the door, eyes skipping past everyone until they land on you and Jack. She doesn’t look phased by the sight in the slightest. She nods at you with a smile in greeting before looking at Jack. “If you don’t get out there in the next five seconds for hand-offs, Robby might just track down a guillotine and use it on you.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack rolls his eyes and takes his time standing up straight again. He lingers for as long as humanly possible. Another kiss, to your forehead this time, before he very begrudgingly lets you go one arm at a time. “I’ll see you out there.”

Jack keeps holding your hand as he walks out of the room, not letting a single second go to waste. He holds on until he takes a step too far and lets it fall out of his own. An absolutely devastating moment in his eyes. 

“Later, kids.” He just barely glances at Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, saluting them with two fingers before taking another sip of his drink and walking out of the locker room with Ellis, who hands him a tablet.

The silence sinks in around you. In those few moments your friends realize that Abbot’s whole little display is evidently very much normal for the night shift. And then -  

“Since when does Abbot drink matcha?”

5. The Declaration

It was bordering on 2 AM when the trauma came in. A young girl, who’d just wanted some pancakes and coffee while pulling an all nighter studying for her upcoming SAT exam. She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the diner and was in rough shape.

The room was already tense. She’d coded in the ambulance and they’d only just managed to get her stable. Every single one of you held your breath as you all did everything in your power to try to save her. 

It was really with no hesitation that everyone else took a backseat to you and Jack moving easily around each other. The two of you were the girls best bet at surviving, a well oiled machine at this point. In every sense of the phrase. You could anticipate what he was about to do before he even said it. All he’d have to do is give you a look and you just knew, you’d hand him whatever he needed, or ask someone else if your hands were full, and you were right every single time. 

“Honestly I think the rest of us can go home,” Walsh, who’d been paged to consult and make sure the girl was stable enough for surgery, said from where she stood on the other side of the hospital bed from you and Jack. She was watching closely and honestly, was more than a little impressed. Especially when you pointed something out to Jack that he’d missed right before she could. “Our sweet little angel face over there has this whole place locked down.”

“Including Abbot,” Shen watches from beside Walsh, looking on curiously at the silent understanding between the two of you. “It’s like they have some freaky mind meld thing going on.”

“You think its contagious?” Walsh puts up her side of the bed railing, seeing that Jack was just about done. 

“Hopefully not,” Shen makes a face at the thought. “I'm more than happy letting her be the one to keep him too busy to yell at the rest of us.” 

Neither one of you notice their conversation in the slightest, too involved in each other even in a trauma room. It’s almost unsettling. The small little smiles and the bedroom eyes and whispered comments passed between the two of you. The way Jack pauses for just the briefest moment mid procedure to turn and send you a wink that makes you roll your eyes and grin back at him. 

Walsh watches the whole interaction, positive the two of you have forgotten everyone else is the room. “This can't possibly be normal. Are they like this their whole shifts?” 

Shen thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “It’s usually worse. Boarding on an HR violation is their normal.” 

A moment passes where Walsh realizes that yeah, that kinda tracks considering the moments she’s been witness to up until this point. Then, to Shen’s horror, she smiles. “Hey, do you wanna see something funny?” 

His eyes narrow at her but ultimately his curiosity gets the better of him. “I’m not taking responsibility for your funeral expenses if this goes badly.” 

That only makes her smile wider.

Walsh maneuvers her way to your other side, taking the place of one of the other nurses that was there. Shen’s eyes go wide when she looks at him again. She speaks before he can shake his head to stop her, breaking you and Jack out of the little bubble you’d put yourselves in.

“You know you’re really good at this, Sweets,” Walsh grins when you look over at her instead and Jack hesitates for just a second. “When can I steal you to help me in the OR? You’d be amazing in there.”

“Anytime,” You meet her smile easily. “I’m always down for a change in scenery.” 

“Perfect,” She smirks a little at your answer. “Name a day and time and I'll steal you all for myself.”

“Done,” The other side of the railing snaps up, maybe a little more harsh than it needs to be. Jack looks up, not a hint of the smile he’d been using with you left when he looks at Walsh. “You can go now.”

Walsh looks more than pleased by his reaction. She looks at Shen who’s trying his absolute hardest not to laugh giddily at what he just witnessed. 

“Down, boy,” She unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed and smirks even wider when Jack removes his gloves and loops his fingers into the hem of your scrub top, pulling you back into his side. It’s completely subconscious, she realizes, when neither one of you seems to even notice it happens. “Even when I steal her from you for my OR you’ll still get to take her home at the end of the night.”

“Wait, hang on, that’s where I draw the line,” Shen unlocks the wheels on the other side and starts wheeling the bed out with her. “You are not taking our best nurse all for yourself. Especially not when she’s the one who also brings us our caffeine every shift.” 

“You know, you’re only giving me more reasons to steal her.” 

Neither one of them notices that you don’t follow. Instead, the room empties out and then it’s just you and Jack. The silence settles between you as Jack unties the back of your surgical gown. When you turn to face him again he speaks softly.

“You could go, you know. To the OR. If you wanted to.” Jack says it before you can say anything about it. “Walsh is right, you’d be a natural up there.” 

“Jack -” 

“You don’t have to stay here forever. I mean, Shen is also right. We’d miss you down here. It hasn’t even been a couple months yet and it feels like you were made to be here with m- with everyone -” 

“Jack -” 

“Even if you just wanted to try it out. I think you should. I mean it’s-”

You kiss him. Not in the storage closet or the locker room or in an on call room or behind a curtain like usual. Right there in the middle of a trauma room, windows wide open and the ED buzzing all around you. 

Jack melts into you immediately. Hands moving to your hips to pull you closer before one moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. A small groan leaves him when you pull away, the sweetest, most innocent smile on your lips.

“You talk too much,” A moment passes where you just stare at him, making sure he’s really listening to what you’re saying. “I’m not leaving the ED,” and then you add a little quieter, a little more shy, “You’re here.”

“I love you.”

Jack doesn’t know what possesses him to say it out loud here and now of all places for the very first time. But he feels it and he acknowledges it and there’s no way he can hold it in after that. There’s a need that settles deep in his bones and he knows he’s never going to want anything less than you right there with him always. Forever. He doesn’t know how he’d survive otherwise. 

It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. You can see the intensity in his eyes, how much he feels it and means it. You really wish you were anywhere but the ED right now. Maybe if you wished really really hard you could somehow will everyone and everything to slow down long enough for you to sneak away with Jack for just a little bit. 

Jack Abbot who loves you. The knowledge of that fact makes you feel warm all over. 

“I love you too.” 

+1. The Move

Jack is obsessed. He knows that for sure now. 

With the way you kiss him and how you look at him after. With the way you let him be as attached to you as he needs to be at any given moment and you don’t mind at all. With the way you hold his hand and pretend not to notice when he moves his fingers to rest on your pulse point out of instinct. And especially with moments like these. 

It’s pushing ten am and the two of you have only just left the hospital. A morning rush hour pileup meant that not only was there an influx of trauma’s coming in right before 7 but also that a good chunk of the staff were stuck behind the backed up traffic. 

Despite the fifteen hour shift, you’re still happily nodding your head along to the soft music that fills Jack’s car. He watches you out of the corner of his eye. You’re mumbling the words to the song playing and taking sips out of the drink he’d just bought you, your third one of the day. His drink is sitting the cup holder. His second one, your habits had rubbed off on him.

The song switches once and then twice. By the time it switches a third time he’s watching you frown as you reach the bottom of your drink. 

“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way,” He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the road. “But I think you might have a problem.” 

“I do not!” You feign offense and turn towards him in your seat. “God forbid I treat myself to something nice after a long day.” 

“What were the other two for then?” 

“A treat for going to work and a pick me up for halfway, clearly.”

“Clearly.” Jack shakes his head as stops at a light. Silently, he drops one hand from the wheel and sets it palm side up on the center console. Almost immediately you’re placing your hand in his, the exact way he was craving. 

The light turns green and he makes the split second decision then. He turns right, the direction that’ll let him turn around to head towards his place, instead of continuing straight, the direction that would take him to yours. 

You watch as he does so, driving further and further away from your apartment. “Jack, what are you doing?” 

He kisses the back of your hand. “Taking you back to mine since you’re clearly not planning on sleeping after all that caffeine.” 

“Okay, one,” You turn to face him again, even while he’s driving. “I’ve built up a tolerance. This is nothing. And two, I've been out of clean clothes for like a week. I can only wash the ones I have there so many times.”

“So steal some of mine.” Jack shrugs and maybe the thought of you in his clothes is a little bit for him too.

“Bad idea, cause then neither of us will ever have clean clothes again.”

“I’ll buy you new ones then.”

“Not if I don’t let you.”

“Good luck stopping me.” 

He’s winning and you both know it. So instead you say, “I have to stay at my place sometimes, what’s the point of even having it if I give in and always let you win these fun little arguments.”

The stop is sudden. Jack pulls over into the first empty spot he sees on the side of the road and turns to face you fully before you can ask him what he’s doing.

“You know what, honey? You’re right,” He leans towards you, fully leaning on the center console until he’s close enough to kiss you if he really wanted to. “There’s really no point in you paying for an apartment you’re barely ever in so I think it’s the perfect time for you to let me move you in with me.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. Maybe he was right and the cocktail of caffeine and sleep deprivation was finally making you imagine things. “What?” 

“Move in with me.” 

So you definitely heard him right. 

“You’re not serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“It’s barely been three months,” You shake your head as if that should explain everything. “And we haven’t even technically been dating for that entire time.”

“What can I say, I know what I want,” You’re still looking at him in disbelief so Jack takes your hand again and he sounds more serious when he says it plainly. “What I want is you. Every morning, every night, every shift, every minute you’ll let me. If you’ll have me.”

“It’s too fast.” You’re only trying to convince yourself at this point.

Jack smiles at you, softer than before. “You’re forgetting I’ve been pining over you for more than a year now.” 

You catch the implication immediately. It went way further back than just three months. All the way back to the day you walked through the doors of the PTMC halfway through him going through shift change. He’d lingered a lot longer than necessary and you had thought it was just normal for him. 

“You’re crazy.” 

“That’s why you love me.”

And he’s right. It’s the reason why you finally give in. “Will you at least let me split the rent with you?”

“I own the place.” Jack shrugs and you know for a fact that he’s not sorry in the slightest. 

“Mortgage then.”

“Already paid off.”

“Bills?”

“Paid in advance for the next three months.”

“Groceries?”

“Not a chance.”

“50 50?”

“90 10.”

You huff a little and pout at him. He doesn’t fall for it, only pausing for a second to kiss the look off your face. “Are you ever going to let me win one of these arguments?”

“Not unless it’s in your best interest.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for that too.” 

Jack finally thinks for a moment and that’s when his eyes land on the drinks in the cupholder between the two of you, his half full one and your empty one. “How about I let you pay for my drink every time we stop for one?”

You light up at his proposition. “Will you let me pay for mine?”

“Only after the first one. First one I’m paying for,” He leans in a little bit closer, knowing he’s got you on his side now. “Consider it a compromise.”

“Works for me.”

“You can pay for Shen’s too,” He adds quickly before you can agree. “I refuse to fund his addiction, he’s worse than you.”

“Deal.” That makes you laugh and you finally lean in and kiss him, sealing everything in place. 

He can taste the sugary vanilla drink that still lingers on your tongue and it makes him smile against your lips. “Will you let me take you to our home now?”

“Okay,” You kiss him again. You really can’t help it. “Take me to our place.”

[rosierecs13]

⭒ Dr Jack Abbot Recs 7

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 03/12/2026

⭒ The Pitt

⭒ Jack Abbot ⭒ Part 02  ⭒ Part 03 ⭒ Part 04 ⭒ Part 05 ⭒ Part 06

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | @springtyme

After a long, brutal shift, a sudden accident leaves you reeling. Good thing dr. Abbot is there to make sure you’re okay, hovering somewhere between doctor and guardian angel.

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, part 02 | @/springtyme

When your daughter ends up in the ER, Jack helps you navigate the chaos with quiet understanding and gentle hands.

Glasses | @marismellow

just be healthy | @/marismellow

jack isn’t a fan of fevers.

i didn’t mean it. | @/marismellow

jack gets frustrated when he comes home to see your twins aren’t in bed. you had a long day at work and you aren’t in the mood to argue, but you do.

Imagine | @lifeofanogirl

His wife | @kenziexoxoxo

Dating Jack Abbot Headcanons | @the-bat-writes-imagines

night shift. | @lilyswritings

you and jack break up over hurt feelings and misunderstandings, and when samira joins the night shift, your relief turns into jealousy as you start to believe he’s moving on — unaware that all he wants is to get you back.

What he brings home | @carolina-thiell

living on (a latte and) a prayer | @weinthepitt

nothing to forgive | @/weinthepitt

the space between | @wonderlalicend

sometimes doctors need a second opinion - someone to tell them to slow down. for you, that person is jack abbot. it’s just a massive bonus that he’s also your boyfriend.

jack abbot x f!reader | @babyonboard

Honey | @speaking-to-thevoid

cared for | @sebsbarnes

maybe it was time for jack abbot to stop hiding behind independency and admit he wants to be cared for

Seems to be Her Type | @brxtnxy

They speculate. They assume. They get it wrong. Jack just watches, fed and unbothered, knowing exactly who she chose.

Ask For Help | @girlboss-things

Jack and reader are next-door neighbours, it's hot out, mechanic!reader, reader hurts her hand, and Jack's there to save the day (again), dog!dad Jack

Knowing Me, Knowing You | @traumaone

You and Jack are in an unlabled relationship of unknown seriousness, so unknown you didn't even know he had a second job.

I’m Sorry. | @ofthepitt

house tour, pt 02 | @domesticblisss

after eight months of having the 12th floor to himself, jack finally has a new neighbour. he has no idea how to react when she’s the opposite of what he expected.

new year, softly | @pittsick

you knew how exhausted Jack had been for past few days; working at the PTMC's ER during the Christmas holidays wasn't so easy. he was tired, feeling guilty over those he couldn't save and just needed a break. so when he get New Year's Eve as a day off, you decide to throw him a little surprise: fire burning in the chimney, a good dinner with everything he likes, warm blankets on the couch and obviously, all he kisses he needs.

older, better, stronger | @/pittsick

after a long and grueling night shift, you and jack, end up going out for drinks together. what starts as playful banter and mutual venting over work quickly turns into something more—jack’s subtle flirting and your unspoken attraction spilling into undeniable chemistry. the night ends with both of you finally giving in to what you’ve been holding back, leaving open the possibility of something more between you.

Stressing the f*ck out | @dreamland-library

You try to keep your distance from the rumour mill and Abbot, and you fail spectacularly…

workplace rumors | @stars-from-pluto

ATTRITION | @soulluvrrr

coming off a shift from hell, jack feels guilty for neglecting his pretty wife. don’t worry, he knows just how to apologize.

the night shift. | @betonlosingdogs

the night shift always has a bet going on. this time, santos is the unsuspecting victim.

Slow Mornings & Cuddles | @lifeofapittgirl

jack abbot who’s basically a soft dom. | @santosprincess

i’m on fire | @ivoirerose

jack overhears you talking about going on a date and he’s jealous. then he hears who you’re going on a date with, and he nearly implodes.

get it up | @/ivoirerose

you make a joke about jack’s abilities in the bedroom and he isn’t too happy about it

passing ships | @/ivoirerose

short little something about having a work crush on jack, not realising that he kind of has one on you too

TOO LATE ! | @lovebugism

when you and langdon get stuck on the roof of the trauma center together, he decides to stir up the ghost of your relationship to pass the time. but you’ve long moved on, and frank’s left haunting the wrong house.

jack abbot taking care of you after a night out with your friends… | @ebodebo

police scanner, part two  | @suprbrat

Snowstorm | @writeroutoftime

during a once in a decade snowstorm, jack finds you trying to shovel out your car

Impact | @imaginesofwonder

Emergency Contact | @/imaginesofwonder

A Man in Uniform | @callienotcally

you come home to jack trying on his uniform

Missing Parts | @/callienotcally

you and jack have been dating for a few months now, but every time you try to initiate intimacy he becomes distant; and you can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something from you

Opposites Attract |  @/callienotcally

a look into your relationship with a man that couldn’t be more different from you, but acts as if you were made for each other

Honesty is the best policy | @moondustfairies

The five times Jack hid you from his PTMC family, and the one time he realized he couldn’t be without you.

Chivalry Isn’t Dead | @confettighosts

Secret relationship | @secretlovezz

Thinking about being in a secret relationship with Jack Abbot and accidentally giving yourselves away because you’re too tired to try and put up a professional front after a long shift.

Trauma Bonding | @writingismycardio

In this one you’re about to face your biggest fear attending the memorial for the fallen soldiers. There’s a certain man who notices your uneasiness and he helps you get through it.

Parking Pass | @atlaslapis

Please Forgive me | @/atlaslapis

transatlanticism. Prologue. | @se7entyrell

Jack Abbot has had a terrible eighteen months.  Truly one for the books.  Losing his mother, and then you, sometimes he wonders what the point is.  If things will ever look up.  Until you turn up at the Pitt, with a little girl who looks exactly like him.

Sweet Little Lamb | @oldermenfucker

after years of being away from this place, Jack comes to spend his sabbatical with the woman he left behind, thinking all remains the same, only to find out about things he never thought was possible.

Champagne Problems | @/oldermenfucker

being your parents' only daughter comes with a package, and you only hope Jack can handle it as best as he possibly can. To your surprise, he manages to convince them just fine even though you are left to pick up the pieces. Aka Jack being your fake boyfriend for two days and things turn out to be not too fake.

𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 | @matchamorphosis

Tuesday | @notyourlovemonkey

On a random Tuesday, you wake up tangled together in the late-afternoon light, exhausted and half-asleep, when Jack casually suggests getting married before your shift.

Distance | @s-writing-s

Jack’s a good attending. He’s nice to you. Polite. But he doesn’t treat you like he does the others. He doesn’t send you smiles. He never laughs with you, and he never seeks out your company. It hurts enough that you’ve decided to leave and take an attending position elsewhere.

𝐃𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 | @croigealai

After dealing with an abuse case that leads to a bite, you go to The Pitt to get it checked out. Thankfully you have a handsome doctor whos very good at distracting you

frequent flyer | @dolloebaby

you’ve worked night shift with jack for years now, so how come the one day he covers day shift for robby, you’re sitting in the waiting room with a nasty bruise on your midsection and a laceration across your cheek

Different Kind Of Treatment | @megalony

(Y/n) and Jack haven’t told anyone that she’s pregnant. But when a patient gets rough with (Y/n), a situation escalates and Jack gets worried.

Sudden Drop | @/megalony

Working in the Pitt isn’t easy, especially when (Y/n) has diabetes and there isn’t always time for lunch breaks. It’s a good thing Jack is always looking out for her and checking her sugar levels.

My Soul Knows Who It Belongs With | @multifandomlover01

Jack’s dealing with a pesky resident on night shift who apparently doesn’t understand or respect boundaries

You Don’t Gamble With Human Lives…Or With The Human Heart | multifandomlover01

Jack and his fiancée have to have a serious conversation about his “hobby” and where they stand on themselves and family matters.

Just Behave! | @shoniebalognie

You needed to practice and submit assesments for your nursing program, thinking your doctor boyfriend would be the best. You thought wrong.

Be less obvious | @slthspd

Sadly, Robby knows Jack's wardrobe way too well, and recognizes a certain shirt on you.

The girl next door  |  @/slthspd

Jack is dying to get to know his neighbor better, even though he knows she should be off-limits. But then she ends up at the ER one night…

Stay, part 02 | @/slthspd

When he realizes your ex is harassing you, Jack offers to let you stay at his place until it's over. He didn't consider the possibility of getting a little too used to having you around.

In the Way: | @mehchuis

You cannot read social cues to save your life. Unfortunately, Jack Abbot can, and it’s driving him insane.

Nocturnal Sunshine, Part two, part three, | @/mehchuis

Night shift has a heartbeat, and you’re part of it.

STYLISTIC HELP | @b3ttybattz

Where your teenage daughter dresses you up for date night with Jack

When Shifts Collide, Part 2. Part 3. | @voidsagent

When you started your internship at PTMC, that’s when you first laid eyes on Jack Abbot. Grey curls and all soft crinkles when he smiled. Trying so hard to keep up the tough veteran exterior. Falling for him was the easy part, sneaking around to keep it from your older brother, Robby? That’s the hard part.

[pencil-n-pen]

—you’ve ruined my life

──────────────────────

jack abbot x overachiever! intern! reader

summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.

wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)

tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you don’t have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and You’re Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes reader’s family :)

a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger i’m sorry i’ve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If you’d like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]

NOT-SO-FRIENDLY-PSA: Any comments asking me to write more, post another chapter, or anything of the sort will be deleted. Please do not send an ask into my inbox either. Screaming in my inbox (not about wanting more, general screaming) is totally fine though!

ao3

──────────────────────

۫ ꣑ৎ

You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.

Five months of being the untouchable, “perfect” intern. Robby’s newest addition to his growing list of “work-wards.”

Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.

Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that you’re not fit to be a doctor.

Tonight isn’t the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isn’t even the first time you’ve been removed from a case. It’s not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve made a mistake.

You’re an intern. It’s your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. That’s what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. They’d ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasn’t meant for you, but hell if you don’t say it to yourself every night like a prayer.

But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. You’re stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.

The patient isn’t dead. Despite your mistakes, they didn’t die. There’s really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.

And yet, here you are.

Your first mistake wasn’t terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern who’s drilled sterile protocol into her head until it’s muscle memory.

For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.

And, well. There’s no time to re-scrub, so there wasn’t a need for you in the triage room anymore.

Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if you’d focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.

It was a test. Not your first.

And you ripped the fucking purse strings.

Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until “you get your head back in the game.”

And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who can’t handle some criticism and correction. You’re a hard worker. You’re good at this. You have to be.

So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.

You’ve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)

You’re just so upset with yourself. You’re better than this. You know you are. You’ve proven that you are. You don’t drop scalpels. You don’t break the sterile field. You don’t rip purse strings.

But you did tonight. And maybe one day you’ll laugh, but today is not that day.

You just don’t get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. You’re on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robby’s respect.

But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.

You can’t be burning out, right? That’s not how burn out works. There’s like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but that’s because you work in medicine. And you’re an intern. You’re supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe you’re not? You do enjoy your work, and it’s exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this can’t be burn out. You don’t burn out. That’s not you. Right? No. Of course not.

You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.

Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you don’t quite hear the door open.

You do, however, hear the quiet “Oh.” that’s mumbled a few moments later.

Of-fucking-course.

You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you weren’t just crying on the ground.

“Dr. Abbot! I’m so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise I’m still working on it—“

He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.

“Just needed some four by fours, kid.”

Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.

“…Those are three by threes.”

Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.

“Right,” You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. “I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry.”

You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.

“Look,” Dr. Abbot starts. “You’re one of Robby’s adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?”

“That is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.”

His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)

You don’t know what to do. He’s looking at you. Your boss doesn’t fluster you. You’re chill. You’re normal. You’re cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.

“Robby doesn’t adopt interns lightly. Don’t let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.”

You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.

The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.

Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.

“What, it doesn’t happen to you?”

A jolt of panic stabs your chest. “No! Of course it happens to me, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at all—“

Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. You’re a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.

Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. He’s got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldn’t be hot, but he’s got his hand on your shoulder and you’re having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?

“Usually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you don’t get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesn’t mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.”

He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost don’t notice because he said you do good work.

Abbot gives you another grin. “And I didn’t stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.”

“But I ripped the purse strings,” You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, “Like an idiot.”

“You ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.”

“I practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didn’t happen!”

He tilts his head, almost cat-like. “Did you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?”

“…No?”

He snorts. “Exactly. Dr. Garcia probably won’t hold it against you. She’ll give you shit for it, but it’s not like she’s never going to give you another chance.”

You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbot’s reassurances echoing in your head.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I don’t usually do that.”

Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. “Wouldn’t judge you if you did, kid.”

—

Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.

He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because he’s always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.

Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now he’s an attending. Night shift lead.

He started to get restless again.

He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didn’t sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.

And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.

And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.

That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasn’t him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jack’s stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.

Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasn’t tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didn’t actually know cats could snore like that.

Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.

Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shift’s conclusions. He’s picked up a very special language of gauging what he’s getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest intern— a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. He’d heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.

Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.

He’d watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because it’d fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks ‘Oh.’

And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks ‘Well, there’s something to do.’

Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how you’d looked at him when he’d assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.

He tells himself that he’s just going to keep an eye on you. For Robby’s sake. He’d do the same for Whitaker.

The next time you have a night shift, you’re clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.

When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where you’re diligently filling out a chart.

“That one yours, then?”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s not like that. You make me sound like a creep.”

Another raised eyebrow. “Sure it isn’t.”

“She’s Robby’s intern.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s way too young.”

Parker shrugs. “She’s good.”

“She is.”

The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. “Think she’ll burn out?”

“Maybe.”

Parker crosses his arms. “Are you gonna let it happen?”

“She’s not my intern.”

Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.

“It’s an HR nightmare.”

Parker shrugs. “You just said she’s not your intern.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Do I? It’s been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.”

“Parker.”

“Jack.”

He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. “You’re the worst.”

Parker just laughs. “Sure I am.”

To your credit, he doesn’t find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesn’t last.

You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isn’t far enough to account how you’re shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.

Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what he’s not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.

Jack blinks, and in the next second he’s in the room, standing in between you and the patient.

“Excuse me, what the fuck is going on here?”

Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.

“I said I want a real doctor, not this fucking—“

“Get the fuck out of my hospital.”

Shen peaks his head in. “Security’s on their way.”

Jack reaches behind him to where you’re still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jack’s never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled “I’m fine, really, he just surprised me.”

Thankfully, security doesn’t take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, he’s out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before he’s beelining for it.

When he opens the door, you’re sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like you’ve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

“Dr. Abbot!”

Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics don’t lend to much mobility and he’s too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, there’s a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.

He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.

“Can I…?” Jack’s voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble that’s seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.

You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.

“He had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didn’t really notice until I got here.”

“Parker and Shen didn’t notice?”

You look at your lap. “I told them I was fine… And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. It’s just a little cut.”

Jack’s fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.

But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.

Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.

His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesn’t look that bad either.

But there’s still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.

“If I leave you here so I can get supplies,” He starts, voice a little rough, “Can I trust that you’ll stay here and not do anything stupid?”

“Uh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?”

Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. “That’d be preferable.”

Later, when he’s at home in his bed, he’ll assure himself that the night shift wasn’t truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while he’s busy.

No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.

What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack who’s got a thing for fixing.

He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. It’s something he’s generally very good at —which is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at all— but you’re looking up at him and there’s something really dangerous in the air and it must’ve gotten into your blood stream or something cause it’s swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.

He decides he could at least tone it down. You’re an intern. Robby’s intern. So what if you’re bleeding all over the break room? Jack’s just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. That’s all.

“Tilt your head up.”

He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so there’s no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he can’t get the sound of the slap out of his head and it’s all just kind of a lot.

He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like you’re burning up.

Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.

He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.

“Did you walk to work today?”

You wince. “My car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didn’t just leave my car in the middle of the road.”

He blinks.

“Your car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didn’t tell anybody?”

You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.

“Yeah? I carry a knife and I’ve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.”

There’s… a lot to unpack in your answer.

“Kid,” He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, “What was your plan to get home?”

“Walk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so I’m probably going to text her.”

Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didn’t think to let your boss know that your car broke down and you’d be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.

God.

“It’s really fine though,” You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. “My place isn’t that far, and it’s not the first time my car’s died. The battery’s kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and it’s like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. I’ve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.”

He wishes you’d stop talking so he’d stop hearing things that make him want to do things he can’t and shouldn’t do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.

Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.

“I’ll drive you home. If you’re fine with that.”

Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.

“Oh no, you really don’t have to. I promise I’m—“

“Please stop saying you're fine,” He begs, “You don’t have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think you’re coming down with something.”

The smile that’s seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.

“Well,” You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, “Things certainly aren’t… great, but I’ll survive. I’m not like, incapable, or anything.”

Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.

He hums. “Is that what you think? That I or someone else here will think you’re not competent or that you’re weak if you take a break or ask for help?”

Your face falters again. “No, no, of course not I just… I don’t know. I’m an intern. It’s my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just don’t want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I need— internships are competitive. They’re competitions, really. And I want to win.”

Jack Abbot knows what it’s like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that you’re capable and strong and unfailing.

So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.

“You’re a smart kid,” He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, “And you’re going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.”

He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. “This industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you don’t take care of yourself. I get it. We’re doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. It’s okay to… not be okay for a minute.”

You huff a watery laugh. “Isn’t that what energy drinks are for?”

He shakes his head. “What, trying to die faster?”

“Anything to shake those student loans. Can’t be in debt if you’re dead.”

“Don’t they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?”

“I don’t think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think it’ll hold up in court.”

Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isn’t sure.

He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.

“I gotta get back out there,” He jams his thumb towards the door, “But feel free to take five. No one’s judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, I’m telling you to take a break.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For the…”

You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. “…And for the advice.”

He shrugs, like taking care of you hasn’t become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesn’t matter, like he’s just doing his job.

“Offer for the ride’s still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

It’s the end of shift, and you’re staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.

You’re not exactly rushing out the door.

You’re clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that it’s been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?

The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.

“Still raining out there?”

“Yep. Looks worse now.”

“Not great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.”

“Mhm.”

“Did you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?”

“No. I didn’t want to wake her up.”

Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.

“Come on, kid.”

The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesn’t think it’s awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.

He’d been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and it’s only thanks to Sabrina Carpenter’s voice that you don’t feel like completely freaking out.

You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.

“—I get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy—“

“—Treating me like you’re supposed to do, tears run down my thighs—“

By the time you’ve realized that perhaps this isn’t the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and who’s car you’re currently riding in, the words “I get wet” have already left your mouth so there’s no real point in stopping.

On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.

Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. You’re considering changing the radio station because god.

“So,” You start, just to say anything that drowns out “knee-deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?”, “Did you… have a good shift?”

That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?

Dr. Abbot snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

Ah. Right. The Incident.

“I told you I’m—“

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying that?”

Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?

He continues. “Fine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didn’t leave a mark, that’s still shitty.”

“Have you been hit by a patient before?”

He huffs. “Hell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. It’ll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.”

“Sorry you had to step in. I’ve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. “It was during my Pedes rotation, actually. I’ve always known working with kids probably wasn’t going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.”

“What, did she slap you too?”

“Nope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.”

“Fucking hell, kid. What’d you do?”

You shrug. “Kept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.”

Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. “Always the patients you least expect.”

“The importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.”

The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.

Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.

Your last thought before falling asleep is that you don’t remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.

Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.

“What?” You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: “Whamfgh?”

Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. You’re absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.

Oh right, your apartment.

“Oh,” You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.

Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.

You rub at your eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Little over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.”

“It doesn’t take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.”

Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.

“Did you just… park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?”

He just shrugs. “Like I said. You looked like you needed it.”

Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.

“Sorry. You didn’t have to wait.”

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have.”

Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isn’t nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.

Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet “hey” you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.

It’s a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbot’s. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. It’s nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an intern’s budget.

“For the next time your car dies,” He clarifies, as if the jacket’s purpose is the thing that’s stupefied you, not the fact that he’s the one giving it to you, “In case of rain.”

“You really don’t have to,” your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, “I mean, I can just buy my own—“

“First of all,” He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, “Do I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I don’t want to? And second of all…”

He tilts his head, gaze sharp. “Are you really going to buy one for yourself?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“I was planning on looking online—“

Dr. Abbot interrupts you. “Now you don’t have to.”

Like it’s that easy. Does he want it to be?

“Dr. Abbot, I—“

“Jack.”

His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.

“Jack,” you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to give me your jacket. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

“Kid—“

The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.

“Don’t call me kid like I’m stupid.”

Dr. Abb— Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.

He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.

“I don’t call you kid because I think you’re stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. You’d know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. ‘Kid’ is a…” He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, “…Nickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but it’s not derogatory.”

Jack holds up a second finger.

“You have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldn’t have a low grade fever, and you would’ve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. You’ve been surviving. There’s a difference.”

Shame burns white hot through you— all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.

Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’d be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents don’t do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?”

“That depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Exactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesn’t actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.”

He nudges the jacket on your lap. “So just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.”

Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.

“You worry about me?”

Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.

“I worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.”

Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. It’s not like Jack actually likes you or anything.

You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jack’s car.

“Well. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.”

“No problem, kid.”

And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, that’s no one’s business but yours.

—

From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.

Whether it’s something he’s doing on purpose or you’ve just developed a heightened sense to his whereabouts— it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didn’t choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, he’s there.

You’re being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.

Working a double isn’t horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jack’s solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, you’re quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.

Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.

Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe it’s the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) It’s probably both of those things.

But there isn’t really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.

You’re distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.

Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.

“Hey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have… bled through.”

If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.

“Fuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,” You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.

“To tie around your waist,” He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.

You don’t actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you don’t particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldn’t be working here. Robby wouldn’t let that kind of thing slide.

So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.

What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.

The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this time— a tiny bag of pretzels.

She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.

“Bad shift?”

“Bad life,” You grumble. “Dr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesn’t know what pad sizes are for.”

Dr. King nods thoughtfully. “He asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and he’s a doctor.”

“Here here,” You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. “How did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?”

“We’ve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,”

She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. “But to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasn’t an option. Which. Probably isn’t helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something that’s nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so it’s just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?”

You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasn’t Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.

Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various… situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldn’t be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.

Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like you’re going to explode and die if you don’t have someone to confide in right this very second. You haven’t heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.

“Mel,” You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, “Can I tell you a secret?”

She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. “Um. Sure?”

“Have you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?”

Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. “Is this about Dr.—“

“I have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think it’s ruining my life.”

The words burst out of you all at once, and Mel’s expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.

“Ah,” She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. “Um. Well I personally don’t have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.”

You bury your face into your hands and groan. “It’s awful. It’s so cliche. It’s so fucking Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I’ve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.”

Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.

“Have you… acted on it?”

“No!” You snap your head up. “I mean. No, I haven’t. I’m not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. He’s an attending and I’m an intern.”

She leans in. “But…?”

“But sometimes… I wonder? I don’t know. I’m probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, that’s normal, right?”

Mel nods. “Fr— Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we don’t. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?”

“Right. Yeah.”

She takes the pretzel bag back. “Is there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?”

Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.

“He gave me his rain jacket. To keep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.

“I’m honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. I’ve been told I can be… dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.”

You shrug. “You’re a great listener, and you haven’t steered me wrong in the past.”

She brightens. “That’s good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your… particular situation.”

Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. “I’ll let Robby know you’re taking ten, so don’t worry about someone looking for you while you’re changing.”

“You’re the best. I love you.”

The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.

—

Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? “Hey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?”

Additionally, she’s kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohan’s work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.

After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.

“Hey!” She jogs up to you as you’re walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.

“Sorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Right!” You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think you’re capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like she’s the only expert around. “Yes. That. It’s a really normal question, you know.”

Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. “Uh, sure?”

There’s a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.

“This is about Abbot, isn’t it?”

You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. “Am I that obvious?”

She laughs goodnaturedly. “No. Probably not. You’re just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.”

“He’s so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like I’m dying.”

She makes a noise of sympathy. “He is. It’s fucking annoying, at a certain point.”

“Thank you!” You shout, “Like it’s just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead I’m just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.”

“Have you ever seen Grey’s—“

“Yes. I know. I can’t be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?”

Mohan purses her lips. “Well. You did just say you felt like you were dying.”

“I know,” You sigh. “It makes me feel… shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“On my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.”

She winces. “Oh. That’s not… great.”

Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. “He found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.”

Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think it’s a right of passage. And as for that second part…”

She shrugs. “Abbot gives credit where credit is due, but he won’t coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.”

“That’s what he said. It just didn’t really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.”

Mohan actually looks taken back.

“Okay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?”

“Whenever I have a spare twenty dollars.”

She grins. “I happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?”

“Yes please.”

Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samira’s is much more enjoyable than you expected— considering the fact that you’re an intern and she’s a resident. She confides that she doesn’t have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have “real girl-time”.

She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.

You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.

Maybe everything will be okay.

—

Everything is not okay.

You’re now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, you’ve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.

Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.

“Careful. You’re gonna replace Huckleberry pretty soon.”

You shoot her a look. “Supportive as ever, Dr. Santos.”

“I try.”

You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.

It doesn’t help much.

There’s a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because you’re still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.

Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and it’s one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.

The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.

You’re just… having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. It’s the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while you’re awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.

A vacation. A week off. You’re describing taking a week off work. It’s comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.

You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, you’re the only liability he has to really worry about.

Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while you’re charting.

“You’re flagging.”

Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. “I’m fine. I just need a Redbull or something.”

He slides the tablet out of your hands. “Part of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Can’t be a good doctor if you’re falling asleep during the exam, right?”

“I would never fall asleep during an exam.”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Jack jerks his head towards the break room. “Take five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.”

“Yes sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Get going.”

Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patient’s doctor fantasy.

Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.

Your shift ends with little fanfare. It’s honestly a miracle you survived. You’re exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.

Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, it’s fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, it’s dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that he’s already texted.

Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.

And that’s just the last straw, really.

You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samira’s contact through blurry eyes. When you think you’ve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.

The phone rings for a bit, and you’re about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.

“Hello?”

It’s not Samira who answers. It’s Jack.

You sniffle. “Why are you answering Samira’s phone?”

“I didn’t. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” You decide to ignore his question, “I meant to call Samira. Sorry.”

“Wait,” Jack’s voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, “Answer the question. Are you okay?”

Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.

“The power’s out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power won’t be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but it’s cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever won’t go away.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Always a man of action, Jack is.

You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he can’t see it. “I was supposed to call Samira and see if she’d let me sleep on her couch.”

“I have a guest bedroom.”

The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jack’s encouraging advice, Jack’s steady presence, Jack’s warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your address?”

The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. It’s just that kind of day.

You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jack’s apartment as directed.

It’s… fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.

The actual building itself isn’t very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so it’s not exactly surprising that Jack’s apartment is the penthouse. It’s just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt you’ve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.

Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.

If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesn’t hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldn’t have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.

His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.

He makes a low noise in his throat.

“Oh, you poor thing. Come here,”

Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying ‘come inside’ but the dam breaks the moment he says “poor thing” and you don’t have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than “Jack=Comfort and Safety".

Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then you’re crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.

Jack doesn’t react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe you’ve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, “They been running you ragged?”

You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut open— like you’ve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you can’t stop it.

“I’m so tired.” You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything that’s happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you don’t talk about that happened before.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. “How about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?”

At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.

“Sorry,” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I got snot on your shirt.”

“Trust me kid, it’s seen worse.”

He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.

It’s nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesn’t, actually, look the inside of a dentist’s office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctor’s office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when you’re a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.

Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.

There’s a feeling under your skin you can’t place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light you’re watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if he’s got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.

But that’s a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.

Jack is— inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.

“By the way,” Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? “I have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably won’t come near you, but be warned, he’s an asshole when he wants to be.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.”

“That explains a lot of things.”

His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you don’t care to parse through at the moment.

“Um,” You start, feeling a bit unsteady, “Is— Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel… grimy. Your apartment seems clean and I’d hate to get my hospital grime on anything.”

Jack just chuckles. “One, I wouldn’t care if you got ‘hospital grime’ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?”

“I might’ve forgotten to grab those.”

Another huffy laugh. “That’s fine. You can borrow some of mine. I’ll leave them on the bed.”

That’s like. Wow. Yeah. You’re just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. You’re going to shower in Jack’s shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.

“I already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?”

Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.

“Yeah,” You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, “Yeah that’s fine. Thank you.”

Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. You’re not sure if there’s an intention behind the word choice.

Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. There’s a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and it’s not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.

Maybe that’s your problem. You haven’t felt like anything is in the right place in years.

You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jack’s water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.

They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.

Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholic’s is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you don’t feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.

(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)

The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. You’d read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But he’s dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.

Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon he’s stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.

He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.

“Feeling better after your shower?”

You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?”

He shrugs. “It’s dinner for us. Or, well, me. I’m not sure your body knows what meal it is.”

He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. “Any word from your landlord?”

“No. Sorry for… all of this. I know you’re tired.”

“I wish you’d stop apologizing for things I don’t mind doing for you.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.

You clear your throat. “I can call Samira whenever. She’d probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Don’t feel like— I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?”

You wish he’d stop asking questions you don’t want to answer.

You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robby’s kid, through and through.

“Well, I can’t have you getting sick of me. You’re the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesn’t pan out.”

Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. “Who said I’d get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.”

“Do you?”

You ask the question before you’re aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But you’ve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.

Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesn’t look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like he’s disappointed that you had to ask.

“Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know,” You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, “I don’t want to assume anything.”

“You’ve already assumed quite a bit.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s different. Those are safe assumptions.”

“Are they?”

“Obviously, it’s safer to assume that you don’t want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do I’ll bother you and I want you to—“

You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. It’s not hard to figure out what you were going to say.

I want you to like me.

Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then he’s rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him —never turn you back, never let your guard down— and then he’s standing in front of you, over you, and you’re not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing. It’s impossible to ignore.

(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)

He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you don’t, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.

It’s cleaning the cut from the slap, it’s a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.

Unlike that day in the break room, there’s no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.

It’s just you and Jack, in Jack’s apartment, wearing Jack’s clothes, and pretty soon you’re going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.

And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and you’d make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.

He doesn’t. He starts talking.

“I like knowing that you’re safe. That you’re taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because I’m the one making sure of it.”

Your breath hitches in your chest.

“That’s kind of a lot of work, though.”

He hums. “It is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.”

Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so it’s not surprising that you start crying again.

Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything he’s been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.

“You don’t have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?

Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.

Jack said you don’t have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you don’t do something you’re going to be sick with everything that’s swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jack’s perfectly decorated walls.

That would be something, wouldn’t it.

You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jack’s back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesn’t talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so there’s no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.

There’s a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.

You start crying again, in earnest.

“I’m sorry,” You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m— I don’t know. I don’t know.”

You’re hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.

Your life hasn’t been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Hey, hey hey hey, shhh,” Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isn’t Jack. “You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re okay, I got you.”

He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesn’t tell you to stop, or to calm down, or you’re being too much too fast.

“You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.

You wake up in Jack’s bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. There’s the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.

Holy shit. What the fuck.

Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of what’s around you.

In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jack’s handwriting on it.

Kid-

I’ll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.

Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably won’t leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.

The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. It’s not ideal, but you’re wrung out and don’t have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what you’ve heard, Langdon isn’t really in a place to say anything.

On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isn’t too terribly awful.

Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.

Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdon’s general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.

You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.

“There are more of you here then there’s supposed to be,” You grumble, scrubbing at your face. “Why are you all here?”

Mel is the first to speak.

“It was Frank actually!” Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, “He figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didn’t tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!”

Wow, okay, that’s. A Lot.

You squint. “That doesn’t explain why you’re all here. I mean it does, but only like, why you’re here physically.”

Robby frowns. “We heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.”

Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Robby shoots her a look, but continues. “We care about you. We— I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.”

Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. “Jee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.”

Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.

"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."

Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.

–

At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.

It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:

Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.

Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.

–

When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.

He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.

And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.

You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.

"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'

You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."

You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."

Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.

Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.

Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.

The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.

Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.

"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"

He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.

"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."

He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.

"Why did you put it on?"

You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.

"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."

The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.

"How come?"

"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."

You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."

"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."

You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."

Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.

"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."

Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.

He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.

He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.

"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.

"Hmm?"

"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are you— I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortable—"

"I want to kiss you."

Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.

He continues when you don't speak.

"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."

"Oh."

"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."

You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.

"I thought I was just reading into things!"

"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"

Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.

"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"

He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.

"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"

For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.

"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."

۫ ꣑ৎ

[i9chicago]

kissing langdon in the break room with the door locked ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

thinking about frank langdon locking the room for a reasonable seven minutes so he could kiss you without being interrupted. it's eleven o'clock, and he can't stand it. he's tired, both of you are. the day had been busier than usual and you hadn't had much time to be alone together, so he left you a note in front of the desktop with a short message. this is driving me insane. see you in 5 minutes in the east room. no, you know what? better come in 2, with a smiley face next to it.

you don't remember the last time you were alone in the hospital.

he has you pinned down on the tiny brown couch in the living room, with throw pillows scattered across the floor to prevent any discomfort. the stethoscopes are thrown on a table in the corner and, if it were up to langdon, he would probably have taken off your uniform shirt as well. you're underneath his warm body as his hands slip back and forth across your torso, caressing you with his rough fingers and squeezing the skin on your waist. you try to remain as silent as your throat allows, but the kisses on your neck feel delightfully intense and you have to breathe through your nose to prevent yourself from making any sound, beyond those small, intimate groans that you reserve for him and just for him.

“we should go,” you say, arching your back, making him reach further inside your shirt and his fingers brush against your bra strap. “frank, don’t even fucking think about it.”

you hear his quiet, deep laugh against your neck.

“c'mon, robby has kept you everywhere today,” he says, kissing your jaw, lowering his palms around your thighs, and caressing you over your pants. “i’m not gonna apologize for wanting a minute alone with you. let's just say that i'm allowed to be greedy in these situations.”

you take him by the chin and force him to look at you, and frank melts. he looks you straight in the eyes, moving his gaze around yours. your touch is the only thing keeping him present. “we are working, and he asked me to stay by his side with his patients, and he would help me check on my own.”

"i don't really care,” he whispers. “well, not when i can't see you, you know, at least for a second.”

he lowers his head and attacks your lips again, smoothly sliding his tongue against yours. he just does enough to make you let out those little moans into his mouth, touching you where he should, where he knows he has you there. and even though you try to stay composed, you enjoy the feeling of his hands around your body and his warmth.

"you're so needy" you say between kisses, smiling.

frank smirks. he sighs when your fingers run through his hair and he rests his head against your neck. “and you're so beautiful.” he kisses your right cheek, then your left. “and so kissable.”

you smile, right before he bites a little piece of skin on your pulse, and you give him a slap on the back of the neck.

frank can only laugh. apparently, that's all he does when he's around you.

[kill3ill]

free use with him ⦂ 18+

"we should try something fun."

your husband lifts his gaze slowly from the newspaper he was reading.

"fun?" he indulges you, tilting his head slightly to search your face. you suggested something without a description intentionally to make him ask for an elaboration, meaning what you're about to tell him will either be very intriguing, or the complete opposite. he searches your features in an attempt to determine which it'll be. "what kind of fun?"

you pause to make him squirm in anticipation. "i was thinking," you murmur, tracing your finger along the couch's lines with your fingertip, a sign of nervousness. "we could try… being available to each other. like whenever one of us wants-" your face goes warm, "sex."

the newspaper lowers down to his lap so your husband can stare at you intently, but he doesn't move otherwise. he's seated with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his legs apart in a lazy manspread, looking way too composed for what you just suggested. your body is so tense right now that you feel the urge to take a cold shower before the conversation continues. why isn't he saying anything?

"available," he echoes your choice of words. "as in free use."

you nod, trying not to squirm in your seat. "mhm."

he hums, tongue running over the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drag over your body as if he's already imagining all the different ways he can catch you off guard and ruin you. just as you suggested.

"sweetheart," he murmurs quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside, "do you even know what you're agreeing to?"

you shrug, a guileless glint in your wide eyes. you couldn't seriously be asking him this. you, who cries within the first ten minutes of him fucking you and tries to crawl away from him when he's pounding into you, wants to be free use for him, constantly? "i trust you. there... shouldn't be any issues."

he leans back in his chair and lets a silence pass once more. he seems to be considering it. the longer he goes without talking the more you squirm. he lays a cheek in his palm, and continues. "and why do you want to be free use for me?"

your eyes widen and your lips press together. you're nervous but trying not to show it. "it's not just me, you know. both of us are available for each other. i just wanted to suggest it because it's been on my mind a while."

"mm. no other reason?"

you hesitate a second too long, and he notices immediately. his eyes narrow ever so slightly. "well," you fidget, toying with a thread on your shirt to break eye contact just long enough so you don't explode. "i just thought it might be exciting."

"exciting... how?"

you puff out a soft breath and try to play it off. "i dunno… like, getting dragged into a public washroom while we're out grocery shopping. or, like… in the car. pulling it over so we can go to the backseat. or while i'm doing laundry."

"so you mean you want me to be so desperate i can't wait and have to have you. right then, right there."

you fidget again, but nod. "mhm."

he laughs once under his breath. "that's cute. so if you're half asleep," he says, "and i want to wake you up with my cock inside you, you won't mind? or if we're on a hike and you're in one of those pairs of leggings i really like, i can put you up against a tree?"

you nod, but look away bashfully. "i said whenever."

he hums and looks away for a moment in an attempt to stay calm while he processes. then he looks back at you, tutting with a pitying look on his face. like you're a lamb up for the slaughter.

"you don't know what you just agreed to," he says affectionately, like he's sorry for you.

you frown, feeling like he's underestimating you. "yes, i do."

he smiles. "you really don't."

-

the first time he tries out your new agreement is when you're brushing your teeth with him the next morning. you're standing at the sink in just one of his old t-shirts, groggy, hair messy, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth as you blink blearily at your own reflection. he's behind you, pretending to brush his teeth too, but he's just looking at you.

your thighs are bare. the shirt rides up when you lean forward to spit into the sink, and he can see the crease where the back of your thighs meet your plush ass. he's entranced by the quiet way you operate when you're still half asleep and unaware of how good you look.

he swishes some water in his mouth and spits, setting his toothbrush back in the holder while watching you. you didn't notice he was ogling until you look up to meet his gaze in the mirror reflection to see him reaching around to pull you flush against his chest, lifting his hands under your shirt from behind to cup your tits. you don't wear a bra around the house, much to his convenience.

"just trying something fun," he murmurs into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there. you tip your head a little, a pleasant feeling washing over your body as his thumbs roll over your perked nipples. he then wraps his hand around your throat to tip your head back. "aren't you so pretty?" he coos, one hand toying with your breast while the other gives your throat a light squeeze. it does nothing for your sanity. your brain might as well be slipping out of your ears.

you try to respond, but all that slips out is a helpless little whimper, the toothbrush still dangling from your lips.

"you're already shaking," he says softly, letting go of your throat only to glide his hand down the front of your shirt, past your navel, and into the waistband of your thin cotton panties. "and it's not even been a minute since i started. why're you acting like some helpless little virgin?"

you slip the toothbrush out of your mouth and drop it in the holder, using both hands to hold his wrist to keep yourself steady. "you're being mean," you breathe, embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveled you.

he hums, slipping his fingers inside your tight pussy to find you warm and wet. your hips jolt, but you don't move away. "i'm doing what you asked of me," he corrects you, his tone patient. "you said 'whenever,' remember?" he begins to lift up your shirt and tosses it onto the counter beside you, and your panties come off right after. then he pushes you forward so you're bent over onto the smooth marble in front of you.

he leans over your back, palm pressing down gently between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. "you know what your problem is," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, "you get way too ahead of yourself. then you ask for things you're not ready for."

"baby please," you whine, grinding your hips back, only for him to pull away. he's teasing you. you look back at him with frustration, wanting friction against your sopping core, but he's not allowing it.

you feel him hook a hand under your knee to prop your leg up on the edge of the sink for a better angle, and he tuts at how messy your little pussy is so soon. he spreads you as much as you can go, then nudges his clothed bulge against your core, listening to your breath hitch and breathy pants to leave your mouth. "hmmh... that spot... do that again,"

he hushes you patronizingly, tugging his pj pants just low enough for his cock to be free. you're completely bare in contrast. with a hand pinning you down and the blunt press of his cock between your thighs, he slowly, maddeningly starts to slip it inside with a purposeful roll of his hips, and the stretch immediately hits you. you feel so full with just the first few inches of his fat cock in you.

your mouth opens around a silent moan, eyes rolling back. your grip on the counter tightens while he rocks into you steadily, holding you firmly while his gaze flits from your hole sucking him in and the lewd look on your face in the mirror.

"you wanted this. look at yourself. look how pretty you are when you're being used."

you try. you really do. your eyes flutter open just long enough to catch sight of your own flushed, wrecked reflection, your hair a mess, mouth parted, as he slowly fills you up to the brink, tip kissing your womb. his hand gathers a fistful of your hair to tip your head up.

your head spins as he thrusts into you roughly, flesh slapping against flesh making nasty sounds that echo off the bathroom walls. "y-you're... haaa gonna be late f'work," you moan as he fucks into you deep and rough, his thick cock curving just right inside you to keep bumping against your sweet spots.

"shit... y'wanna talk about that now?" he tugs your hair a little to make you squeal, using it to keep you in place like it's a handle. "i'll grab breakfast on the way there," he says into your skin. "this is more important."

you reach behind blindly because you're desperate to feel your husband or hold him, but he pushes you back down, then leans down to push his chest flush against your back, his skin hot against yours. he nudges his cock deeper in you at the new angle, moving a bulky arm to wrap around your neck and fuck you in a chokehold.

he groans against your ear, rutting harder now, his rhythm starting to lose control while your back arches for him, trying to take more even though you're so full. his hips snap forward with more force and he chuckles into your ear when you let out a garbled, " 'm gonna cum..." followed by a loud mewl. he groans, slamming into that one spot that gets you to tighten up around him each time his mushroom tip gives it a kiss.

"hmm, ask nicely, sweetheart," he nips your ear and bottoms out with an obscenely wet squelch. "mmmm.... c-can i... fuck, c-cum? please, 'm gonna..." your eyes screw shut and your pussy gushes around his thick shaft, leaving your thighs slick and shaky.

he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you so his cum can shoot as deep inside you as he can. he doesn't pull out right away. arms wrapped around your middle, nose pressed into your hair like he's anchoring himself.

"god," he mumbles, still pumping you full, and there's now a creamy ring where his cock enters your cunt. "filled your little pussy all up, didn't i? now i'll feel bad leaving you like this."

you're too wrecked to answer, slumped forward against the sink, letting him hold you up. he reaches for a washcloth by the towel rack and dampens it so he can clean you up, giving you little kisses the whole time while you cling onto him. he keeps praising you, too. "did s'good for me, pretty baby."

he leaves you with a soft peck on your cheek. "ill see you later tonight..."

-

it doesn't stop after that morning in the bathroom. that was just his warm up, after all; his first taste of what you gave him. the second the floodgates opened, there was no closing them. poor you.

there's the time in the gym changeroom, right after your shared workout ends. you're both sore and sweaty, and you duck into the locker room so you can grab your stuff and head home with him to shower. however, the second he sees your flushed skin and damp chest through your sports bra, he doesn't hesitate to tug you into one of the showers and sit down on the bench, tearing off your clothes and tugging you into his lap.

he'll stuff your panties in your mouth so your moans are muffled, and fucks up into you hard and fast with no shame, even as he hears people talking and shuffling about behind the flimsy shower curtain. "you're gonna make a mess on me, aren't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "you like knowing someone could walk in right now and see you like this? my sweet girl, cockdrunk in a gym shower?"

he makes you cum on his cock, stuffs you full of his seed and leaves with you once the coast is mostly clear.

next was the hike. you're halfway up the steep trail with him, on a quick break on the grass off the main path. you'd just bent over a little to re-tie your laces since your boots had been far too tight, when he'd come up behind you, grinding against you and palming your ass through your leggings in broad daylight.

"shouldn't bend over in front of me unless you want me to do somethin' to you," he mutters, voice low and warm at your ear as he presses himself closer, fingers kneading into the backs of your thighs.

he doesn't give you a second to argue before he's guiding you face first to a tree and dropping to his knees. he pulls your leggings down just enough to get what he wants, and the air hits your slick folds pleasantly. you whimper, bracing yourself as he spreads your ass to have your pussy fully presented to him.

"gonna be quick," he whispers, "just a little taste." he mumbles, before shoving his face right into your cunt.

you gasp loudly and your hands shoot up to brace against the tree bark right in front of you and dig into the wood. you tremble and let out a shaky breath when he licks a slow, nasty stripe from your pussy up to your clit, shaking his tongue a little so it slobbers over every inch of your drooling pussy lips, occasionally prodding your hole.

his hands are firm on your thighs to spread you open wider, dragging your hips back toward his mouth while he eats you out filthy and sloppy. his nose nudges your clit, tongue flicking in and out of you, then slipping deep inside.

you bite your lip and your eyes, wide and panicked, glance toward the trail. anyone could walk by since you're not that far off the path, hidden, but not well. if someone wandered off long enough, they'd find the two of you.

"god," he moans into you, closing his mouth around your pussy lips and sucking gently, then going back to make out with your pussy. "taste so fuckin' good, babe. made for me." your orgasm hits so fast that you barely have time to warn him, pushing back against him so you cream right into his mouth.

-

you intended to have one wholesome weekend without your man ravaging you on any available surface in the vicinity. a family gathering that your parents are hosting. you enter the countryside house with your husband's hand on the small of your back to guide you inside, smiling politely as your relatives greet you both with warm hugs and laughter. everyone is in a good mood, sipping drinks, chewing on appetizers. there's music playing, and scents drifting from the kitchen.

he lasts about twenty minutes into the evening before he leans down to whisper filth into your ear while everyone else is distracted in the dining room. "you keep looking up at me like that and you're not leaving this place without my cum dripping down your thighs."

you stiffen, body heating up with arousal instantly, even as your face stays composed for the sake of your family standing two feet away. your husband knows exactly what he's doing. he brushes his lips just under your ear again, letting his breath brush over your skin while his palm subtly slides down to squeeze your ass through your dress, making you yelp.

he's all over you most of the evening. hands holding your hips from behind, cupping your ass, arms around your waist, smelling your hair... blatant public displays of affection. he keeps whispering things. "you're dripping through this dress," he murmurs while you're getting drinks in the kitchen. "do you even know what you look like right now?"

you try to push him away, but he's already behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder as if he's helping, just to kiss the back of your neck. he's all over you right up until you take a break to get away from the party for a bit before dinner. you choose your childhood bedroom as an escape, needing one second away from him before he decides to finger you at the dinner table or fuck you in one of the bathrooms, but he follows you shortly after.

you just entered your old room, not realizing the door didn't click shut behind you. you make it two steps before he grabs you and pins you down onto your back in your old twin bed.

you jolt. "baby! where did you- what are you- "

"shhh," he murmurs, lips already brushing your neck. "just missed you. five minutes."

your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you tip your head to the side for him, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear and tugs the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pushing it under your tits so he can cup your bare mounds. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they stiffen under his touch, and he groans at your soft whines, pinching and rubbing them with his fingers while he kisses down to your chest, laving his tongue over the swollen peaks. he's practically slobbering on them, one bulky hand playing with one while his mouth works on the other, sucking sharply and then releasing with a wet pop.

he drags your panties down and off your ankles, spreading you into a shameful position to get a good look at you.

"fuck, look at this mess," he thumbs over your pussy with light pressure, teasing you. "this for me?" you whimper a soft yes, causing him to chuckle softly. he leans over you again, playing with your hole while his other hand wraps around his cock to stroke it slow and firm from tip to base, aligning himself with your hole. he doesn't make it easy for you and put it in straight away, instead tapping his cock against your folds and listening to the nasty little squelches that come from you. he slides it up and down, delaying your pleasure to make you desperate.

you gasp and mewl, thighs already lifting for him as he lines up and starts to press in slowly. your body clutches around him immediately, the stretch making your head spin. "ohhh my- fuck," he groans, pushing in all the way until he bottoms out. "tight as ever. made to be fucked in."

you moan breathlessly and tip your head back, letting him start to plow into you. he doesn't waste any time in putting one leg up over his shoulder and thrusting so deep that his balls squish against the curve of your ass and his shaft forms a faint print in your belly from how huge he is. your head lolls back with each of his deep, grinding strokes.

"look at you," he whispers, eyes trained on your filthy expression. "getting ruined in your childhood room. all the innocent memories, corrupted by this one." he mocks you while fucking into you harder. you moan loudly, hands fisting at the sheets, then clawing his biceps, then running down his torso. you have no idea what to do with yourself right now. he's fucking you into oblivion and now you're completely out of it.

"bet your parents think you're still their good little girl," he pants, rocking into you, stretching you out with his fat shaft with every drag. you can feel every vein and the exact angle in which his cock curves inside you. "they don't know you're upstairs getting your pussy wrecked like this."

"fuck! baby slow down, ahn, we're gonna get caught mmfuck, please!"

"please what?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to an unbearable pace. "please fuck me harder?" he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust so deep inside you your vision swims. "or please fill me up in my little princess bed?" he coos, grinding his pelvis against yours. your mouth falls open in a silent scream as a particularly deep thrust hits your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine while your back arches off the bed, pressing your heaving tits more firmly against his chest. you can basically feel his heartbeat against yours, thudding in time with his sloppy thrusts.

" 'm gonna cum inside you," he grits, pounding into you hard, cock scraping against your plushy walls and the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every inward thrust. "goddamn, look at me. want you to -haa- remember this." your nails scrape his back. you're crying out softly, trying to stay quiet, but you're so close. you clamp down on him so hard when it hits that he chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as he starts spilling into you with a harsh jerk of his body.

his cock jerks and pulses as he hilts inside you, the thick head flaring inside you as he releases ropes of hot cum pumps into your greedy cunt, your womb quickly filling to the brim.

within seconds, excess semen is already bubbling out around his shaft, dripping down onto the sheets beneath your ass. your pussy clenches and ripples, desperately trying to milk every last drop of him, and he continues rocking his cock inside you as he cums, fingers moving to play with your clit, and you cum shortly after, gushing around his cock and adding to the mess on the bed.

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[m4nderin]

prettier than him (frank langdon x reader)

𝙙𝙧. 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙙𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧. 𝙢𝙤𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙨, 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙮?

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: jealous!frank langdon x reader (gender neutral)

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1.6k

𝒂/𝒏: mohabbot nation we ride at dawn. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REQUEST IDEAS. & thank you for all the love on "secrets" :)!!!

to say you and dr. langdon were good friends was a severe understatement. outside the workplace, you two were practically attached at the hip. you drove to and from work together every day, you took his kids to the park together on off days, you two had even stayed the night at each other's places countless times before.

but as romantic as all that sounds, you guys were nothing more than best friends. and yet, had the thought about kissing him senseless crossed your mind? maybe once or twice.

after all, he was incredibly handsome. when you had first started your residency at the pitt all those years ago, you craved his attention, bad. it began as an attraction, but after getting to know him, you truly just wished for his friendship above all else. after a year or so, you told yourself it was never going to happen. it would make things too complicated at work, and you didn't want to risk losing him.

though, since then, you've rarely ventured out in the dating world. you barely even spoke of it. sure, of course, you're so busy with work to even begin to think about seeing anyone. your last relationship ended poorly, with the man having cheated on you with your mutual friend. but that was a long time ago, back in your hometown. it's the reason you moved to pittsburgh in the first place and proceeded to complete your residency at the pitt.

even with langdon's company, life outside of work got quite boring. you missed being in a relationship. you downloaded a few dating apps and tried to make connections. of course, that failed.

"maybe you should just try dating someone here!" samira mohan, another friend you've got to know over your years at the pitt chirped. it was the end of your shift and you were just finishing up the last of your charting for the day.

you scoffed with a smile. "yeah, like who?"

"well, you and langdon--"

"are never gonna happen."

speak of the devil, he had slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked over to the two of you, taking a seat at the computer next to yours. he had just one more chart to double check before he was free to go for the night. he still had to wait for you, too.

you shoot samira a look to shut her up and not bring up the idea of langdon and you being together again. samira holds in a laugh, biting her lip and looking down at her shoes.

"i mean really though," samira continued quietly, "all the men on dating apps suck, at least the doctors that work here are pretty handsome, for the most part."

langdon pretended he couldn't hear. you laughed a bit at her comment. "i mean, yeah, sure, but--"

just then, the night shift attending, jack abbot entered the er for his shift. you and samira's eyes shoot up and then you look at each other.

"okay, enough talking, my show's on," you joke as you exit your final chart, having finished up the last touches and watching as abbot walks by. god, he was just so nice to look at. and sweet, very sweet. too old for you to ever even want make a move, but god, was he something.

langdon's jaw clenches as he watches you from the corner of his eye.

"too bad he's spoken for," samira whispers as she smirks at you and then laughs. you knew how bad samira has had it for abbot since the moment you two became friends. and, from the stories you heard, you believed he wants her pretty bad, too.

you sigh dramatically with a smile as you stand up. "he's just nice to look at." you turn towards langdon. "i'm gonna go say hi to the night shift and catch them up a bit and then we'll go."

langdon doesn't look up. he doesn't bat an eye, he doesn't smile. he simply responds, straight-faced. "sure."

it was weird, of course, you knew that, and you walked away with confusion. he's probably just in another mood, you thought. that was it.

langdon watched unapologetically as you greeted jack abbot and caught him up to speed with all the current patients. abbot cracks a joke and langdon watches as you laugh hard, hitting his shoulder.

samira doesn't miss the tension. the squinting of langdon's eyes as he watches you with abbot, the clenching of his jaw and the bouncing of his leg. she watches as he stands up and swings his backpack over his shoulder once again, walking quickly out of the er doors.

when you return to grab your own bag and see that langdon was gone, you furrow your eyebrows.

"i think he's waiting for you outside," samira says. "he looked...not so happy."

you shake your head. "another mood, i'm sure."

"if i'm honest, and i'm not expert, it looked like he was jealous."

you tilt your head. "why would he be?"

samira pointed to abbot once more. you follow her gaze. you scoff. "i'm sure he's not."

samira shrugs and then bids you goodbye as you grab your backpack and exit the er, seeing langdon waiting there for you.

"hey!" you run up to him. "i am so ready to eat."

langdon just sends you a small nod and a clearly forced smile. you furrow your eyebrows again. "you okay?"

"i'm fine," langdon replies quickly. "let's go?"

still confused, you follow him to his car. and for the most part, it's a silent car ride. this wasn't normal.

and it's friday, which means usually, you guys pick up some takeout and watch a movie at his place. yet he takes a turn down your block and stops in front of your apartment building.

"okay, seriously," you break the silence, frustrated. "what is up with you? did i do something?"

langdon shakes his head but doesn't look at you. "no, we're good."

you scoff. "it's friday. we go to your place on fridays."

he finally looks over at you. "not today." he unlocks the car door. you just stare at him, confused. what could have happened?

"what the fuck is your problem?"

"i have no problem."

"so there's no reason you're breaking our weekly tradition? there's no reason you've been silent this entire car ride? no reason you've barely batted an eye at me since we left the pitt?"

langdon purses his lips and shakes his head. "goodnight." he reaches over you and opens the car door for you. after a moment of hesitation, and recalling what samira had mentioned, you scoff and close the door, staying in the car.

"i said goodnight--"

"is this about me talking about how hot doctor abbot is?" you cut him off.

he shakes his head with a scoff. "why would i care about that?"

"look at me and tell me you don't care then."

langdon hesitantly looks into your eyes. yet silence fills the air. you start to smirk. "that's what i thought."

langdon goes to open his mouth to defend himself but you cut him off again. "why you don't like that i find a coworker attractive, i have not a clue. but, if my suspicions are correct, you should know my 'feelings for him' are nothing more than mere attraction. samira is way too into him for me to even think about trying something with him."

langdon furrows his eyebrows and goes to open his mouth again. once more, you cut him off. "and you're way prettier than he is, too."

langdon's breath hitches and he looks away again. "no idea what you're talking about."

"so you don't have feelings for me? you're not jealous i think doctor abbot is hot? you don't--"

he hits the lock door button and the click makes you shut up. he doesn't look back over to you for a few moments. and when he does, you just swallow with wide eyes.

"anything else?" he asks.

stunned, you take a second before speaking. "um, when i first started working with you, i really wanted to...i don't know. be something with you. then we became friends so i kind of pushed those feelings away--"

he puts his hand on your face, making you flush against his touch. silence fills the air, and then he fills it. "keep talking."

your eyes flutter shut at that and you let out a shaky breath. "um, i mean, here we are, and those feelings obviously never fully went away, considering i'm barely managing to get my words out here." you laugh at yourself, embarrassed.

he just keeps looking at you, refusing to break eye contact. god, his eyes were so pretty, so piercing.

"so?"

you're at a loss for words again. "so...what?"

"you really think i'm prettier than abbot?"

you look down, embarrassed and he removes his hand from your face and puts it below your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his again. you swallow, nodding lightly.

he finally smiles lightly, eyes flickering down to your lips before he leans in slowly. you brace for impact, closing your eyes and holding your breath. his lips meet yours and it's everything you could've imagined. langdon's hand moves from your chin back to cup your cheek again, pulling you closer.

you're not sure how long it lasts, but eventually you pull away from each other. your eyes open and meet his and you both laugh lightly at each other.

"i've wanted to do that for a while," he speaks up. "probably longer than you have."

"i doubt that," you laugh, leaning your forehead on his.

he pulls away with a smile and puts the car in drive. "so, what are you thinking, pizza or chinese?"

"oh, now you suddenly want to hang out with me again?" you smirk at him.

he shrugs jokingly. "you want to go home? i'll turn around."

"no, no, keep driving."

masterlist! ☆.｡.:*

[inbred-eater]

MY MOON MY MAN

pairing .ᐟ dbf!jack abbot x younger!fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ 18+ mdni. smut. dry humping. oral over clothing. finger sucking (everyone scream!) sexual intercourse. unsafe sex (wrap it b4 you tap it irl plsss people). reader is dr. robby’s “daughter” - they’re not biologically related but she sees him as a father figure. age gap (reader is in her middle to late 20s). reader is close friends with trinity. both jack & reader are soooo flirty. he calls reader kid + many other pet names. reader calls robby ‘dad’ sometimes. horribly inaccurate medical jargon.

summary .ᐟ the 3 times jack has to pull himself from crossing that line that would change everything between yourself and him + the 1 time he throws caution to the wind and does something about his feelings.

acknowledgements .ᐟ gif (1): @/notbuckybarnes | gif (2): @/doctorjackabbot | divider: @/s-silk

authors note .ᐟ i listened to my moon my man whilst writing this ⭐️

The first time Jack realises just how fucked he truly is, is when you show up with the sweetest smile, warmest cheeks and what seemed to him, the raunchiest navy blue and white polka dot mini dress he’s seen in a long while.

He has a firm grip on the Bud Light can in his hand, nearly denting it as his eyes follow you across Michael’s backyard, flitting around with a smile and the swish of that damn dress as you greet Trinity, then Dennis, snorting when Trinity laid a playful smack to your ass, his grey eyes watching shamelessly as your pert ass recoiled under the smack, the ends of your dress lifting just slightly, already sending his perverted mind into overdrive. "Jesus christ man, get a fucking grip," He huffed under his breath to himself, shaking his head, as well as trying to shake away the less-than appropriate image of you in his head, busying himself with the beer in his hand, taking a sip to quench the thirst in his throat.

This thing he had for you, this crush (although he wouldn't dare admit that out loud due to how ridiculous it sounded - I mean a man his age having a crush was just humiliating, he thought) he'd begun harbouring, he knew it was wrong, he knew it was shameful - you were basically Michael's kid, not only that but he had scars older than you - everything about this little infatuation should've been pushed down to the deepest, darkest parts of his brain, but that weren't the case.

So deep in thought, he hadn't even realised that you were standing right in front of him, your greetings falling on deaf ears, "Earth to Jack - helloooo!" You smiled, your head tilted and eyes wide as you waved your manicured hand in front of his face, pulling him from his trance with an airy giggle.

"Hey kid, when'd you get here mhm?" He hummed, inhaling sharply as he feigned indifference, smiling as he brought you in for a hug, your vanilla perfume hitting him like a drug. "Got here a bit ago actually, had to take my things upstairs cause I'm stayin' here for the weekend - ooh what're you drinkin?" You hummed, mindlessly reaching for the can, taking a swig of it only to pull a face at the sour taste on your tongue, handing it back to him immediately, "Ew, tastes like burnt asshole," You snorted, pulling a smirk from Jack himself, shaking his head at your antics. "What? Can't handle a little beer? Thought you were a big girl," He cleared his throat, his eyes staying locked on yours as he took a sip from his drink now, his lips where yours previously were, the lipstick stain on the rim of the can a testament to that, "You know I am," You chuckled, quiet enough for only him to hear.

A beat of silence passed, that signature Jack Abbot stare prompting your thighs to press together, quickly looking over your shoulder to collect yourself, face warm to the touch.

With that, you conjured up the shittiest excuse to get away, leaving for the bathroom to pull yourself together, Jack needing to do a similar thing as he stepped inside the kitchen to seek refuge, adjusting his semi over his jeans before clearing his throat.

God, you were going to be the death of him for sure.

The second time Jack realises just how in over his head he really is, is the day of the Fourth of July.

Visiting the ED to see Dr. Robby was something you frequently did, staying at the hub by Dana’s desk as you chatted with the nurses, residents or med students, spilling gossip with Perlah and Princess, catching up with Langdon when he had a second to spare and bothering Dennis and Trinity whenever they didn’t seem so busy - hell your visits were so regular, Dana had a picture of you and her tapped to her station along with the pictures she had of her family.

What you don’t expect however, is to see Jack Abbot, decked out in what seemed to be the hottest uniform anyone’s ever worn, rush into the ED along side another officer on a gurney, your eyes widening, body - jesus everything perked up.

“Holy shit,” you huffed, more to yourself that to anyone else, brows shooting up to your hairline, Princess giggled alongside you, “Holy shit is right - cause if I got my hands on him-“ she chuckled loudly, prompting you to laugh along with her, lightly elbowing her side.

“What’s so funny, I wanna laugh too?” Trinity hummed from beside you, chewing the skin on her bottom lip as her eyes searched yours and Princess’ for any hint of what the joke could’ve been, only to follow your eyes and what seemed to be drool in the corner of your mouth, to a very sweaty, hot and bothered Jack Abbot sauntering off into an empty room by himself.

“Seriously?” she chortled, nearly doubling over with laughter, “Didn’t peg you for the dilf loving type, thought you liked the ratty lookin’ ones - like Huckleberry over there!” She laughed even louder, pointing to Dennis, cracking herself up with her own joke, only eliciting a not so gentle yet still playful shove from yourself.

“Shut up! And technically he’s not a dilf - silver fox though? Fuck yes,” you played into the joke, sticking your tongue out playfully before closing your mouth abruptly at the sight of Robby behind Trinity. “What’s a dilf?” He cleared his throat, moving past Trinity to place his hands on your shoulders, brows furrowed as he looked over your shoulders and down at you.

Trinity’s eyes widened before skilfully slipping away, your eyes wide in panic as you mouthed a hushed “fuck you,” to her as you turned in Dana’s swivel chair to face Robby, “Uhhh I am not havin’ this conversation with you, god no, go ask someone else - also, I saw Jack earlier-“ You huffed, looking over your shoulder to the room he’d slipped into, “He okay?” You asked, chewing the inside of your cheek as you looked up at Robby.

“Yeah he’s right as rain - bullet just grazed his shoulder,” Robby hummed, nonchalantly reaching for a mint in his pocket. Your eyes widened, brows furrowed to the Gods in worry, “He was shot? Is he okay? Shouldn’t someone be attending to him or something?” You worried, standing abruptly from the swivel chair you’d been sitting in.

Robby’s head tilted inconspicuously at your worried demeanour, his eyes narrowing before clearing his throat, “He’s a doctor himself sweetie remember? He’ll be fine - but you’re more than welcome to go ask him if you’re that worried mhm,” He almost teased, still suspiciously eyeing you and the manner in which you basically bolted from the hub and toward the room he’d gone in to, eventually shrugging it off and chalking it up to you being worried about a family friend (he was horribly wrong).

You knocked on the door to announce your entrance, clearing your throat, “Jack, hey it’s me - Robby uh - he told me you got shot and I just, I dunno - just wanted to come see if you’re okay,” You spoke softly, chewing the inside of your cheek with your hands crossed behind your back, rocking back and forth on your cowboy boots, waiting for him to either open the curtain or politely tell you to leave.

Jack went with the former, pulling the curtain open, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the man you’ve been crushing on for god knows how long, shirtless, “Oh,” you whispered to yourself, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your mind had to will your gaze away from his very distracting pecs, mentally face palming yourself for making your attraction towards him so glaringly obvious.

Jack only smirked, that soft but firm one he reserved for you only, “Hey kid - uh I was shot at - bullet proof vest remember, but thanks for the concern,” He softly laughed, distracted himself by the too-short, denim shorts you were wearing, his own mind wondering to dangerous places at the star and stripes of your bikini top peeking out from under your white tank top.

You nodded, rounding the cot to check his back, the wound nasty looking but nothing too serious you’d hoped, “You’re sure you’re okay?” You murmured, chewing your bottom lip - a horrible habit of yours, as you came back to face his front, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, lashes fluttering as you blinked.

Jack swore you were tempting him right now - that goddamn look in your eyes had him wanting to profess his love to you right then and there, the thought of ruining his friendship with Robby, pushed to the back of his mind with how your eyes roamed his, then flitted down to sneak a peek at his bare chest. God you were killing him.

“You’re cute when you’re all worried, anyone ever tell you that?” He muttered nonchalantly, keeping up his facade with his eyes downcast to the medical supplies on the tray before him, picking up a cotton swab doused in some sort of cream for his graze. You scoffed, lips parting to speak but his words had you speechless, your mind mush as it replayed “you’re cute,” on loop.

“Why do you do all this anyway - what, being an ER doctor isn't enough of an adrenaline rush for ER cowboy, Jack Abbot?" You teased, messing with a loose strand of fabric on your jean shorts, the softest smile on your lips as you picked your eyes up from your lap to Jack's, his eyes already on you, something flashing through them - something reckless, something that made you wanna jump his damn bones.

He huffed a laugh out, finishing up with his bullet graze wound, "Uh my therapist said I needed a hobby," He shrugged, raising his brows almost suggestively. You snorted, shaking your head, "Really? That's what you're calling it - risking your life like that is not a hobby, it's a death sentence," you scoffed, once again chewing the skin on your bottom lip.

Jack smiled, that same smile that made your cheeks flush, your ears warm and your thighs clench, "I can handle myself, stop worryin' so much," He cleared his throat, reaching for a clean shirt, sliding it over his frame, much to your distaste. Another beat of silence passed as he promptly pulled the shirt over, his salt and pepper curls a little disheveled, somewhat giving him a boyish charm, only serving to make you swoon even more.

"I take it you have plans," He hummed, swiftly changing the topic as he nodded toward your very skimpy, very distracting outfit, "Yes, uhm - I’m goin to a lake house with some friends, just came here to say bye to dad then I needa get back to my apartment to pack the last of my things," You hummed, mindlessly tracing shapes into the hospital bed. Jack couldn't help but wonder whether these friends of yours were boys, boys he was certain, no absolutely positive, he could treat you better than, that familiar raging green monster simmering just beneath the surface - god you were really messing him up.

"You need a ride back? I’m headed out anyway, could drop you off," He almost whispered, disposing of any used medical supplies before standing up, hissing under his breath at just how short those shorts of yours were, his adam's apple bobbing as he tried to remain composed - you had this ability to make him lose his cool like a teenager trying to talk to their first crush, it was bordering on embarrassing for a man his age.

You didn't miss the hitch in his breath, somewhat proud of yourself, "I actually drove here - I know surprising - but thank you Jackie, I'll take you up on that offer another time though," You giggled, fishing for your phone in your back pocket to check the time, "Shoot I should actually get goin - buttt do me a favour and get a less nerve wracking hobby please - see you later Jack," You beamed, winking as you turned on your heels, hips swaying as you left, most definitely hypnotizing that poor old man, waving over your shoulder before finding Robby.

Jack watched you saunter off, jaw clenched, eyes pierced and cock most definitely hard, "Nice talk kid," he scoffed to himself, shaking his head.

The third time happens when you're visiting PTMC's ED for a completely different reason.

You'd been at a bar with friends, a little tipsy (tipsy's a lie, you were flat out drunk off of your ass) when some guy repeatedly kept coming up to you, talking about showing you a good time even after you politely declined, multiple times at that; at one point he'd even gotten a little handsy, right when his apparent girlfriend decided to show up and in the flash of an eye you were being shoved against the bar, a right hook to your nose and the words "skank", "bitch" and "homewrecking slut" sounding through the air above the ringing in your ears, your own scream drowned out due to the stabbing, shooting pain going down your nose, towards your eyes.

"Jesus fuck!" You yelled out in agony, doubling over as your head started spinning, blood trickling down from your nose, warm and metallic as it gushed over your parted lips, seeping and soiling the cute white top you donned with the crimson colour of your blood. Your breath quickened as your vision grew blotchy, stumbling around on your vintage heels as your friends called out your name repeatedly, their pleas falling on deaf ears as your body gave out, vision going completely blank as you passed out.

Meanwhile back at the ED, it was nearing the time for the night shift to switch with the day shift, the limp in Jack's step a testament to the gruelling night himself and the rest of the doctors and nurses had that shift, his prosthetic giving him problems again. Just as he thought it'd all quieted down, in you came, well a very disorientated, clearly hurt you, hauled in on a gurney, your friend Alex at your side as Jack and a few nurses rushed up to you.

"Woah woah - what the fuck happened here kid?" He stressed, already at your side as the paramedics explained your condition, his eyes searching yours for anything else that might have been wrong. You simply groaned, eyes teary at the terrible pain in your nose, the blood that had been streaming from it now to a halt, dried sticky against your face and chest, "I'm fine - shouldn't even be here - this isn't necessary," You slurred, still a little out of it as they rushed you into a room, Jack assuring the paramedics that he had it from here, brushing you off when you let him know you could get off from the gurney and onto the bed yourself, breath hitching in your throat as Jack effortlessly picked you up and set you down onto the cot.

"Please don't tell Robby - I don't even wanna be here cause he'll just make a fuss and I just-just wanna go home and sleep Jack," You swallowed, wincing slightly as he took your face between his palms, "Okay, okay hush now kid, none of us will tell him but you gotta let me help you okay? Now tell me again what happened here," He softly spoke, his gentle tutting and the warmth of his hands on your skin calming you down to an extent.

"Some lunatic girl punched her square in the nose cause she thought she was flirting with her boyfriend - who was actully just harassing us and then she got all woozy and fainted and I panicked and called 911 cause I wasn't sure what to do," Your friend piped up from the seat she was in, hugging herself.

"That's good - it's good that she was brought in thank you," He hummed as he looked over his shoulder at your friend, smiling briefly before turning his attention back to you, lifting his one hand from your face, holding his index finger up and moving it side to side to assess your cranial nerves and eye muscle function, your hazy eyes following as best as you could.

"Okay now I’m gonna press my thumbs alongside your nose and you're gonna let me know when it starts to hurt alright? Then from there its up for a CT do we can see what we’re really working with here - you still with me sweetheart?" He cleared his throat, bringing his other hand back to your cheek, his thumb lightly caressing the plush skin there before softly pressing his thumbs along your nasal cavity up toward you eye, groaning and wincing once his thumbs reached your corneas.

"Doesn't seem to bad - took that punch like a champ, pretty badass if you ask me," He attempted to lighten the mood, peeking his head out to call on Princess, who had just started her shift, to take you up for a CT scan, only for your hand to wrap around his wrist, swallowing as you looked up at him with the neediest eyes he's ever seen, "Stay with me - please," You pleaded, your bottom lip jutted out, still tipsy and your entire face still throbbing.

Jack hesitated, his eyes locked on your smaller hand around his wrist, his scrubs suddenly getting too hot, "Yeah - okay I can take you up," He cleared his throat, helping you into the wheelchair and hauling you up for the CT scan.

Once you were done, you were back in the ED, already having assured Alex that she could go home and that you'd uber back to your apartment - the poor girl was exhausted and still drunk out of her mind, and her girlfriend had been waiting outside for her so you didn't see why not. In the meantime, Jack took to cleaning your face of the dried blood, his touch tender and reserved, apologising profusely when he'd apply too much pressure in an area close to your nose, his thumb once again tracing slow circles into your jaw as he worked to get you clean.

You sobered up real quick in that moment, your eyes darting all around the room but at the one thing you really wanted to look at; a stillness fell over the space, your heart beating pathetically fast, the cardiac monitor announcing it to the rest of the world along with it, pulling a particularly cocky smile from the man before you.

"So, good news is, there's a slight fracture, but it's nothing your body can't fix on it's own with some time and rest - bad news, no more bar fights for the next few weeks Rocky Balboa," He smiled, eliciting a snort from yourself, your shoulders bouncing as you hysterically laughed at his terrible joke. "What? I'm serious kid - or else you'll start to look like an MMA fighter, then next thing you know we're draining your cauliflower ears," He chuckled, your forehead connecting with his shoulder as your body fell forward with laughter.

"If the pain ever gets too much, a Tylenol should work - now lets get you out of here before Robby shows up," He called his hands, standing up from the edge of the bed, holding out his hand for you to take, like the gentleman he was, and you did, his hand dwarfing yours in size, something he tried really hard not to think about as he helped you stand.

"It okay if I take you home - cause I’m not letting’ you take an Uber like this, and I gotta be out of here soon anyway," He hummed, your hand still in his, his touch grounding you as you nodded, knowing that fighting him on this would only waste time. With that he led you out, trailing on his heels only to be stopped by Dennis and Trinity who were clocking in for their shift.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Trinity gasped, her hand on your shoulder to look you over, "You should see the other guy," You jested, your eyes heavy with sleep as you squeezed Trinity's arm, assuring her and Dennis that you were fine.

"Okay well let us know if you need anythin' okay?" Dennis hummed, hugging you before walking up to the hub, Trinity only raised her brows suggestively as she gestured with her head to Jack who had stood and waited for you, your lips twitching as you tried your best to not burst out laughing, hugging her before walking alongside Jack to his car. "My favourite shirt's ruined," You sighed in passing, more to yourself than to him, still tipsy as you looked down at your white shirt that was now stained red.

He turned to look at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he opened the passenger side door for you, "I'll get you a new one," He muttered casually, once again biting back your smile as you got into his car, sucking your cheeks in as you thought over the entire interaction, your fractured nose the last thing on your mind, storing it into that special place you kept all your memories of Jack in.

The final straw snaps on a night you should've been on a date with some lame guy your age.

You'd been excitedly waiting for him, already having ordered a cocktail at the quaint Italian place he suggested, decked out in an all new wardrobe, feeling good about this particular one.

An hour had passed and you’d already regretted your earlier feelings, the other side of the table still empty, the complimentary rolls eaten and your pornstar martini’s glass empty, your eyes stinging with tears as you realised you’d been stood up, the messages to his number not going through anymore.

You felt humiliated as you stormed out of the restaurant, scolding yourself for thinking this one would be better than the others, kitten heels clacking against the pavement as you tried to collect yourself, looking up to the night sky to try and calm down, not wanting to spill any tears on a man that didn't deserve them in the first place.

You fumbled for your phone in your leather purse, nostrils flaring as your hurt simmered under the surface of your skin, your thumb hovering over the Uber app, your mind overthinking to the worst possible scenario before decidedly exiting it and clicking on your contacts, scrolling and scrolling until you had no one else to call, chewing the skin on the inside of your cheeks till a metallic taste hit your tongue, scrolling back up until your thumb hovered over his name, Jack Abbot. You stared down at your phone for what felt like an hour, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you finally worked up the courage and pressed call, sniffling as you held the phone up to your ear.

Jack had been on his couch for the evening, his off day spent catching up with sleep and watching whatever bullshit was on the TV, massaging his leg as his prosthetic lay against the foot of the couch - that was until your name flashed across his phone screen, answering it with a sense of urgency only an ER doctor would have.

"Hey kid, what's up?" He hummed, clearing his throat as he flexed his unoccupied hand, the smile wiped from his face at the sound of your laboured breathing and stuffy nose from the other end. "Hey Jackie," You sighed, your jaw twitching as you looked up once again, inhaling a deep breath to stop yourself from crying, wiping under your eyes as you sniffled before speaking into your phone again, "Sorry for callin so late but I-I don't know who else t'call - Robby's on his stupid sabbatical thing and it's-fuck- its too god damn humiliating too call one of my friends right now and-shit you're probably busy, I shouldnt have called I'm sorry," You croaked out, hiccupping as you spiraled, hands shaky and your worlds a jumbled up mess as you realised what you were really doing.

Jack's brows furrowed at your frantic rambling, shaking his head as he held his phone between his ear and his shoulder, reaching to put his prosthetic back on, "Woah, hey-hey sweetheart slow down - okay you gotta breathe for me or else I can't help you kid - now take a minute, then tell me what's wrong - never too busy for you," He hummed softly, his voice immediately calming you down.

You inhaled sharply, swallowing the bile rising in your throat before trying again, "Okay uhm - was supposed to have a date t'night but the guy uh - he stood me up and I took an uber here, and I wouldv'e uber'd back but its so late and I just - I didn't know who else to call," You sighed exasperatedly, looking up at your surroundings again.

Without wasting any time, Jack sprung up from his couch, tugging on a quarter zip as he looked for his wallet and car keys, "Send me your location, stay where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can okay honey?" He huffed, only ending the call after you confirmed you heard him with a hum, looking down at his phone to see you'd sent the location of the restaurant you were hauled up at.

𝜗ৎ

You sat on the curb, legs crossed and hugging yourself against the chilly evening wind, your eyeliner slightly smudged due to the few tears you'd spilled, only looking up when the familiar roar of Jack's car sounded out, climbing out and urgently walking up to you, "Oh sweetheart," He cooed, gently lifting you to stand from your underarms, your bottom lip wobbling as the flood gates immediately broke open, bringing you to his chest, strong arms wrapping around your neck to keep you close, "I know baby, I know," He whispered, the pet name rolling off of his tongue with ease, rocking you back and forth in his embrace as he shushed your cries, pulling back as his hands slid to your jaw, his eyes falling to your teary ones - he hated seeing you cry.

"Hey hey, look at me - no more crying okay? Any guy would be lucky t'be yours, you know that right? He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” He murmured, the rough pad of his thumb stroking from your cheek down to your jawline, his other hand wiping profusely at your fallen tears, "That dick just shot himself in the foot standing you up - just shows he didn't deserve you in the first place," He huffed, pulling you in to press a kiss to your forehead, "Jesus you're freezing," He laughed softly, letting go of you briefly to pull his quarter zip over his head, his black undershirt riding up, revealing his freckled lower stomach. Your breath caught in the back of your throat, not even registering that he'd moved your arms above your head, sliding the quarter zip over, his cologne overriding your senses, his hands working deftly to pull your hair out from the sweater and back over your shoulders.

"C'mon lets get you home," He quipped, hand at the small of your back as he brought you to the passenger side, opening the door and helping you in, reaching over you for the seatbelt, "I can do that myself y'know?" You whispered, voice hoarse from crying. Jack snickered, pulling the seatbelt across your body and into place, "I know - but I like takin' care of you so sue me," He smirked, closing the door before rounding the car for the drivers door, the life coming back to your eyes as you melted in his sweater, head falling against the headrest with the stupidest smile on your face, the asshole who stood you up already forgotten.

𝜗ৎ

The drive to your place was quiet and easy, the radio playing softly in the background as Jack checked up on you every now and again, saying the stupidest jokes to lift your spirits; the car soon came to a halt in your apartment parking lot, Jack opening the door for you like before.

He walked you up to your apartment, hand hovering over the small of your back but still remaining close, digging for your keys in your purse as you came to a stop in front of your door, opening it before turning to him, swallowing as you worked up the courage to spit out the words burning on the tip of your tongue, "Do you…maybe wanna come in?" You murmured, looking up at him with those eyes again, paired with you in his clothes had him throwing all caution to the wind and nodding before his mind could even catch up to him, closing the door behind himself.

"You want something to drink?" You murmured from the kitchen, standing with your hands behind your back as you looked at him, looking like a puppy that just got kicked out onto the street, tugging at his heart strings, "Uhh yeah sure - what d'ya got?" He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a seat on your couch, his eyes darting across your living space, everything so uniquely you - a framed photo of you and Robby on the mantle above the fireplace along with a few others of you with family and friends, the photo of Robby seemingly staring him down, acting as the angel on his shoulder, reminding him of how “wrong” his love for you was.

"I've got water, cranberry juice, redbull and a beer?" You scrunched your nose up, your head tilted as you peered from the side of the fridge door, looking at Jack for an answer. "Beer's fine - thank you," He cleared his throat, taking his phone and wallet out from his pants pockets and setting them on your coffee table.

You handed him the can of beer, taking a seat next to him, your bare knee brushing his, your eyes flitting from his hand holding the beer, to the lines at the corners of his eyes and then back down to his mouth as he took a sip, unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

A somewhat awkward silence passed, the tick of the hands of your clock loud in your ears as you chewed the skin on your bottom lip, looking everywhere but at the man before you; "I meant what I said earlier - I wasn't just saying it to make you feel better," He spoke, his tone of voice low as he set the beer down, flexing his hands as he turned to you, "Look at me, please?" He practically begged, your body willing you to face him, almost as if there were a magnetic pull between you two.

His words from earlier wrang through your head like a broken tape record, lips slightly parted as you thought them over, the thinly veiled desperation behind those words clear to you now - he wanted to be yours and you wanted to be his.

The silence dragged on, and through it he could see the cogs whirring in your head, the picture of Robby on your mantle taunting him, telling him to stick to his word and not go against his better judgment - but how could he not? That dangerous line you both teetered on seemed to get thinner and thinner by the second, practically nonexistent with the way you were eyeing him, those sad eyes of yours pulling him in until the line was just…

Gone.

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours, sensually kissing you, large hands flexing on your waist as he hoisted you into his lap, desperately tugging at your (his) sweater and pulling it over your head, his lips falling back into place as he desperately found your mouth again, panting into one another as he moved all your hair over your shoulder, trailing his hungry lips down your jawline and to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, your eyes fluttering as he paid extra attention to the sensitive skin there.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this, you’ve been driving me crazy for as long as I can remember,” He mumbled into your skin, his right hand moving to bunch your skirt up at your waist, his left hand at the back of your neck, straightening your head to look at him.

And you did, your pupils blown with lust as you stared at him, brows furrowed as he began rocking your hips for you with the grip he held on your skirt, his bulge catching on your clothed clit so deliciously it made your head spin; “Yeah?” You huffed out breathlessly, letting out the cutest moan as he bucked up into you, “Yeah kid - should fucking hate myself for wantin’ you but I can’t,” He groaned, his forehead pressing against yours, your scent and touch all around him, making his cock even harder if possible.

You smiled, biting your lip as you looked at him, your hands in his grey curls, tugging at them as your hips continued working, “Bedroom, now please,” You whimpered, Jack smiling as he nodded, wasting no time hoisting you up with one arm, biceps bulging as he did so, his other hand on your bare thigh as he caressed and grabbed at it, getting lost in your mouth as he navigated through your apartment like a man on a mission, moaning into his mouth as his belt buckle rubbed up against your wet cunt.

After what felt like forever, your back finally met your cool silk sheets, his knee sliding between your legs on instinct as he hovered over you, his hand reaching out for the pink stuffed bunny you had on your bed at all times, looking at it with a meticulous gaze, “Cute,” He commented before tossing it, shaking your head and getting all shy as you leaned up to kiss him again, swiftly turning you both over so you were on top, your hands fiddling with his shirt, “Off - want this off,” You murmured into his mouth, his tongue claiming yours before scoffing at your needy demeanour, “So demanding,” He chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head, your lips swollen and kiss bitten as you pulled away, rolling your hips again as you looked down at his shirtless frame, bottom lip wedged between your teeth as you stared.

“What?” He smiled, leaning up on his elbows, growing slightly self conscious. You giggled, your nails trailing over his pecs, leaning down to press a few kisses to the freckles scattered like constellations across his chest, playfully nipping at one of his pecs before sitting back up again, “You’re just really sexy,” You shrugged, smiling as you manoeuvred off of his lap to undo his belt, moving further down south to take off his prosthetic.

“You don’t have to,” He hummed, running a hand through his messy hair - he hadn’t been with anyone since his late wife, and the thought of a younger, beautiful woman being saddled with his issues had him feeling just the slightest bit insecure, and you could see that, with the way his brows furrowed - but you were quick to wash all those thoughts away as you shook your head, “I want to, so let me,” You smiled saccharine sweet, little demanding thing you were, as you pulled up his pant leg to gently remove it, pressing a kiss to his leg once it was off then removing his pants and underwear altogether.

Your eyes widened at the length of him, lips parted in want as you eyed his cock standing at attention, pussy gushing around nothing as you sat between his open legs, “Get up here,” he huffed, quickly wiggling out of your skirt before his hand reached for yours, tugging you back up and onto his lap, his bare cock bucking into your soaked white lace panties, your desperation growing more intense by the second. “Fuck you’re so beautiful,” He hummed, looking up at you with hazy eyes, smiling as you removed your top, tossing it aside as his hands slowly inched from your waist up toward your bare breasts, grabbing handfuls and eagerly squeezing at the flesh.

You whimpered at the feeling, calloused hands rough against your sensitive nipples, his index finger and thumb rolling the pert skin between them, tugging harshly at them, only serving to soak your panties even further. His other hand fisted through your hair, bringing you down to his lips, this kiss messy, portraying the want, no the need, you both had for one another, teeth and tongue clashing, saliva dripping down your chin. “This-“ He breathed heavily, panting into your mouth, the precum leaking from his tip allowing for your clothed pussy to glide along the length of his aching hard cock; “Is why, you don’t mess around with boys baby - they wouldn’t know what to do with all this but I do,” He smirked against your lips, his hands working deftly as they moved you down onto your back again, giggling as he kissed his way from your lips, down your jaw, along the column of your throat and down toward your naval, his right hand smoothing along your thigh, bringing it over his shoulder, your sex right in front of his face. “You still listening baby?” He huffed, his unoccupied hand slapping slightly against your clothed clit, pussy weeping in response. You nodded, thighs threatening to close around him but his broad shoulders prevented it, “Yeah Jack - always listenin’ to you,” You quivered, somehow feeling him smirk at your response.

“Y’got the prettiest pussy honey,” He hummed, clearing his throat as he placed a kiss to your thigh, then right over your clothed clit, the wet patch right over your entrance an indication of just how badly you needed this, how badly you needed him.

“This all for me mhm?” He hummed against your cunt, darting out to lick a stripe along your covered entrance, the friction of the lace against your clit and his nose nudging into it as he mouthed at your entrance, sending your mind into overdrive as he ate it over your panties, using his left hand to pull the fabric taught along your pussy from the waistband, the stimulation stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck fuck fuck, yes! All for you, only for you,” You mumbled breathlessly, your hands fisting the sheets as he messily lapped at the wet patch on your panties, growing hungry for the real thing as he hazardously pulled your underwear aside, his tongue making contact with your bare clit now, stars shooting behind your eyes at the feeling of him sucking your sensitive pearl into his mouth. “Just the sweetest thing ever kid,” He hummed around his mouthful, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your raw pussy, his eyes on your writhing form, smiling in satisfaction before diving back in, all but making out with your sopping cunt.

Your thighs started shaking, back arching off of the bed as he continued eating you out like his life depended on it, his right hand still tentatively stroking your outer thigh whilst his left hand snaked back up to your breasts, flicking and pinching at your stiffened peaks, that coil in your belly snapping at the added stimulation, white hot shooting through your veins as you breathed rapidly, his tongue still massaging your folds as he worked you through your orgasm.

Your chest heaved, smiling as he lifted himself from between your legs, now hovering over you, one hand beside your head to keep him up, his head dipping down to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your nose and then finally your mouth, the sweet moment halted by tasting yourself on his tongue, your arms rounding the back of his neck, bringing him in even closer if that was possible. “You still okay?” He hummed against your lips, pulling back to smooth your hair from your face, thumbing your cheek, “Better than okay,” You giggled, pecking his lips again.

“That’s real great - cause as much as I loved tastin’ her - want you to ride me honey, you think you can do that f’me?” He whispered, blown pupils boring into yours, almost enough to push you through your second orgasm of the night, his chin glistening with your essence.

And that’s exactly what you did, the feeling of him sliding into your spent pussy more euphoric than anything you could have ever imagined, your hands on his chest as you rode him, thighs burning as you moaned out like a bitch in heat, the sounds coming from your room bordering on pornographic - your neighbours would surely send in a noise complaint tomorrow.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good for me baby,” He huffed, his hands on your hips as he helped you, tears pricking at your waterline as the feeling was all too much, the tuft of hair at his base deliciously rubbing against your worn clit with each roll of your hips, his cock hitting that spongy spot that made your vision blurry and sent your pussy gushing, your head thrown back at the feeling.

“Can’t-it’s too much Jackie-can’t,” You cried out, Jack’s voice cooing as he hushed you, chest heaving as he panted, “Nah you’ve got this sweetheart, I know you do, c’mon just a little longer - you wanted this kid now you gotta take it like the good girl I know you are,” He murmured, his hand snaking to cup your cheek, tilting your head so you were looking back down at him again, hips still rolling even through the overstimulation.

Your eyes dragged up to find his, dopily smiling through the pleasure, “There she is,” He cockily spoke, his thumb dragging along your bottom lip, before sliding it into your hot mouth, your lips immediately wrapping around the digit, tongue sliding along the rough pad as you moaned around it, sucking his thumb as you would his cock, picking your pace up.

“Fuck,” He almost growled, the sight of you on top of him, in your own little world with his thumb between your plush lips, your breasts bouncing with each thrust up as his large cock bullied through your swollen pussy, the ‘shlick’, squelching sound coming from where your sex were connected sending him reeling, his breath heavy as he used his unoccupied hand on your hip to keep you bouncing.

“I’m close - you still with me honey?” He huffed out, searching your pleasure clouded eyes for an answer. You hummed around his thumb, nimble fingers wrapped around his wrist to keep him there, increasing your pace to push you both just over that edge, your breath caught in your throat.

That line snapped with the last buck of your hips, his left hand digging into the skin on your hip whilst his thumb stayed between your lips, unintentionally quietening your moans as you did so around his digit, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your thighs spasmed around him, body shaking. Jack felt woozy on his own, fucking whimpering as spurts of his hot cum painted your insides, coming down from his borderline bone chilling high, pulling his thumb from your lips and dragging it down till his right hand joined his left on your hips, manoeuvring you until you slid off of his softening length, placing you right on his bare stomach, urging you with a hum and a hand on the back of your neck now, to lay your head to his chest.

And you stayed there, head tucked under his chin, his hand stroking any patch of skin he could find, murmuring sweet nothings and solid promises to you, lulling your overexerted body to sleep.

And finally when you were, your eyes rested, breathing even and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, the situation dawned on him - that picture of Robby flashing through his mind again, playing on his guilt - but that selfish part of him didn’t care - how could he when the sweetest girl was clinging to him, making him feel alive for the first time in a long while.

With a kiss to your forehead and a soft, “I love you,” against the sweat slicked skin there, he realised he didn’t care - you were worth everything and all of it, and he’d be dammed to let you go - Robby would just have to deal with it.

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[inbred-eater]

oh em gee 1000 notes 🥹🥹🥹 thank you everyone mwah mwah mwah