Everyone in Charming had an opinion about Tig Trager.
Most of them were negative.
Some of them were horrified.
A few of them were genuinely concerned for public safety.
And honestly?
Most of them had a point.
Because Tig Trager was, objectively speaking, a menace.
He stole things.
Not important things.
Just things.
For fun.
One time he stole Chibs' lighter.
Not because he needed a lighter. Not because he wanted a lighter. Just because Chibs had looked away for three seconds and Tig had decided chaos sounded entertaining.
He carried it around for two weeks.
Then left it inside Chibs' boot.
Another time he somehow managed to hide every single wrench in the garage.
Nobody ever discovered where he'd put them.
Not even Tig.
He once convinced Juice there was a mountain lion living behind the clubhouse.
Juice spent three days carrying a baseball bat.
Three.
Days.
"You know he's gonna kill me one day."
Juice pointed accusingly across the clubhouse.
Tig was currently attempting to balance a pool cue on his forehead.
"You say that every week."
"Because every week he gets closer."
You'd known Tig for almost three years.
Long enough to know that beneath the insanity was a genuinely good man.
A ridiculous man. An exhausting man.
But a good one.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, you'd fallen in love with him.
You didn't mean to. You really didn't.
It happened gradually.
The way most terrible decisions happened.
One bad choice at a time.
At first he was just entertaining.
Then he became familiar.
Then he became important.
Then one day you looked up and realized you couldn't imagine your life without him in it.
Which was unfortunate.
Because Tig Trager flirted with everyone.
Waitresses. Cashiers. Bartenders. Random women at gas stations. Women who were clearly not interested. Women who were definitely interested. The occasional grandmother.
Nobody was safe.
You'd watched it happen enough times to convince yourself you didn't stand a chance.
So you buried the feelings.
Ignored them.
Pretended.
Then Tig ruined everything.
As usual.
It happened on a Tuesday.
You were carrying a box of inventory supplies into the clubhouse.
The box wasn't particularly heavy.
Just awkward.
The kind of thing you could manage yourself.
Or should have been able to manage yourself.
Instead, the second Tig spotted you—
"Baby."
You immediately sighed.
"No."
"What?"
"I know that tone."
"I don't have a tone."
"You absolutely have a tone."
His grin appeared.
Dangerous.
Mischievous.
Predictably awful.
"Give me the box."
"No."
"Baby."
"No."
"Baby."
"Tig."
"Baby."
You hated him.
You genuinely hated him.
Mostly because his smile was making your heart misbehave.
Before you could react, he simply took the box.
Like it weighed nothing.
"Tig."
"What?"
"I was carrying that."
"I know."
"Then why'd you take it?"
He shrugged.
Like the answer was obvious.
"Because I don't want you carrying it."
Your brain immediately short-circuited.
Unfortunately, that happened a lot around Tig.
He walked inside carrying the box.
You followed, trying very hard not to smile.
"You're ridiculous."
"Yeah."
"Impossible."
"Probably."
"A menace."
His grin widened.
"But I'm your menace."
And then he walked away.
Leaving you standing there.
Staring.
Your heart betrayed you immediately.
You hated that too.
A week later, things got worse.
You were sitting at the bar doing paperwork.
One of the glamorous parts of helping SAMCRO that nobody talked about.
Numbers. Forms. Invoices. Receipts.
You were halfway through balancing a spreadsheet when Tig appeared beside you.
Without warning.
Like a leather-clad ghost.
"What're you doing?"
"Paperwork."
"Looks terrible."
"It is terrible."
"Want me to help?"
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your pen.
"Tig."
"What?"
"You once tried to use a calculator upside down."
"It still worked."
"It said 80085."
His face lit up.
"It did say boobs."
"Exactly."
He looked genuinely proud of himself.
You buried your face in your hands.
"How are you alive?"
"Natural talent."
"That's not what that means."
"It is for me."
You laughed despite yourself.
And suddenly his expression softened.
Just a little.
The way it always did around you.
There were moments like that.
Tiny moments.
Moments nobody else noticed.
But you did.
Because Tig looked at everyone differently than he looked at you.
Everyone else got chaos. You got gentleness.
Everyone else got jokes. You got sincerity hidden underneath them.
Everyone else got Tig Trager. You got Alex.
The man beneath everything.
And that was the problem.
Because the more you saw him, the harder it became to pretend.
The breaking point arrived six months later.
Not because of some grand tragedy.
Not because of danger.
Not because of violence.
Because of a fever. A stupid fever.
You'd been sick for days.
Trying to hide it. Trying to push through.
Which worked exactly as well as expected.
Meaning not at all.
By the fourth day, you'd dragged yourself into the clubhouse looking like death.
Juice noticed first.
"Damn."
"What?"
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"No, seriously."
You flipped him off.
Then nearly fell over.
Strong hands caught your arm immediately.
Tig.
Of course it was Tig.
His smile vanished instantly.
"Whoa."
You hated the concern in his voice.
Because it made your chest ache.
"I'm fine."
"No."
"I'm fine."
"Baby."
"Tig."
"You're shaking."
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"...maybe a little."
"A little?"
His hand pressed against your forehead.
Everything changed.
His eyes widened.
"Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"You're burning up."
You sighed.
"It's just a fever."
"No."
"Tig."
"No."
Before you could react, he was already moving.
Keys.
Jacket.
Determination.
"Tig."
"Nope."
"Tig."
"No."
"Tig!"
He pointed at you.
"Hospital."
"It's a fever."
"Hospital."
"I don't need—"
"Hospital."
The argument lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Mostly because Tig simply picked you up.
Physically.
Off the floor.
Like that solved everything.
"TIG!"
"Whatever you want, baby."
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"It does if you stop talking."
You hated him.
You loved him.
You were probably delirious.
The hospital confirmed it was nothing serious.
A nasty infection. Dehydration. Exhaustion.
A few days of medication. Rest. Fluids.
Nothing life-threatening.
Tig looked like he'd aged ten years waiting for the doctor.
And something about that stuck with you.
Because nobody looked that scared for someone they didn't love.
Nobody.
The realization settled heavily in your chest.
Then stayed there.
For weeks.
Until one night.
One stupid, ordinary night.
You found yourself sitting outside the clubhouse watching the sunset.
The sky was painted orange and gold. The air warm. The world quiet.
For once.
Tig appeared beside you.
Holding two beers.
He handed one over.
Neither of you spoke.
For a while.
Then—
"You scared me."
Your gaze shifted.
"What?"
"The hospital."
His voice was quiet.
Almost vulnerable.
"I thought something happened."
Your chest tightened.
"Tig..."
"I know."
He stared toward the horizon.
"I know it was stupid."
"It wasn't stupid."
He laughed softly.
"It was."
"No."
His eyes found yours.
And suddenly the world felt very small.
Very quiet.
Very fragile.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
The words hit harder than any gunshot ever could.
Because they were honest.
Raw.
Real.
And suddenly you couldn't keep pretending.
Neither could he.
"Tig."
"Yeah, baby?"
You swallowed.
"I think I'm in love with you."
Silence.
Complete silence.
The kind that changes lives.
Tig stared.
Once.
Twice.
Then his entire face transformed.
Disbelief.
Hope.
Joy.
Pure joy.
"You think?"
You laughed.
"Shut up."
His grin became enormous.
"Baby."
"Tig."
"I've been in love with you for two damn years."
Your brain stopped functioning.
"What?"
"Two years."
"TWO YEARS?"
He nodded.
"You absolute idiot."
His grin widened.
"Takes one to know one."
You shoved him.
He caught your hand.
Held it.
Neither of you let go.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
The sunset painted gold across his face.
Across his smile.
Across the eyes you'd loved for far longer than you wanted to admit.
And for the first time, there were no misunderstandings.
No missed chances.
No uncertainty.
Just you.
And Tig.
Together.
Finally.
He lifted your joined hands and kissed your knuckles.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like something precious.
Then smiled.
The soft smile he only ever gave you.
"Whatever you want, baby."
Your heart melted immediately.
"You know that's a dangerous thing to say."
"Why?"
"Because I might ask for forever."
For once, Tig Trager didn't joke.
Didn't tease.
Didn't laugh.
Instead, he squeezed your hand.
Looked you straight in the eye.
And answered with complete certainty.
"Good."
Then he kissed you.
And for the first time in years, everything felt exactly right.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader x toddler!daughter
Warnings: fluff, domestic, light teasing, family dynamics.
Summary: Jack Abbot ends up flat on his stomach serving as a human canvas for his three year old daughter.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Jack was flat on his stomach, completely at the mercy of his daughter. He wore only a pair of grey sweatpants, leaving his broad back completely bare.
Or rather, it had to be bare. Right now, it was a masterpiece in progress.
"Hold still, Daddy," the girl whispered, her fingers clutching a paintbrush like a magic wand. She smoothed a thick stroke of bright turquoise paint right over his left shoulder blade. "You need big wings."
Jack sighed, resting his cheek against his crossed forearms. A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm holding as still as I can, bug. But that tickles."
"''tayyy stillll," she instructed, her tongue poking out in concentration.
Your man was the one who commanded trauma rooms and now he was reduced to a human canvas for a toddler.
"How’s the masterpiece coming along, my little artist?" you asked, stepping into the room and dropping to your knees beside them.
Your babygirl looked up, her cheeks smudged with skyblue paint. "Mommy! Look! Daddy’s a fairy. I need more pink... More pink, please?" She held up a completely empty messy plastic palette.
"You got it, sweetie," you said, reaching for the bottles of paint on the coffee table. You squirted a generous amount of pink onto her palette. "Hold on, bug. If we're doing a fairy, we have to do it right."
You reached over to the craft basket and pulled out a shaker jar of extra fine silver glitter.
Jack's head, slowly, turned toward you. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, and he leveled you with a glare that said, Seriously?
"You..." he muttered. "Tell me you're not giving her the glitter."
"It's a crucial element of her artistic vision, Jack," you replied, trying to hide your grin.
"Glitter is so hard to wash off," he warned. "I'm going to be sweating silver in the ER tomorrow, for God's sake."
"Yay, shine wing!" the toddler cheered, completely ignoring her father's concerns. She held her tiny hands out, cupping them together.
You carefully shook a small pile of shiny silver dust into her palms. "Okay, bug. Very gently, put it onto Daddy's wings."
Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes tight, shielding his face in his elbows. "I'm a grown man. I am a department head," he reminded the floorboards.
The toddler leaned over his back, took a deep breath, and let out a huge PFTH.
A cloud of silver glitter exploded through the air, settling beautifully over the wet, blue and pink paint... and over Jack’s hair.
Jack opened his eyes and slowly looked back over his shoulder.
His back was SHINING.
He gave you another look.
"Beautiful, an absolute vision" you choked out, biting your lower lip hard to keep from laughing out loud as your baby clapped her sticky hands together, proud of her work.
"I'm letting her have her fun now, but you're the one who has to help me scrub all this off in the shower later."
"Deal," you laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
-
"You're a beautiful fairy, Daddy," she whispered after paiting his back with a little more of the pink paint, her voice dropping into a sweet tone. You recognized it, it was almost nap time.
"Yeah?" he asked softly. "You think I can fly now?"
His little girl nodded as she let out a yawn. "High the sky. To stars." Her eyelids fluttered but she shook her head stubbornly.
"Are you tired, bug?" you asked her softly.
"No, more," she mumbled, blinking against the sleepiness as she reached out a sticky hand toward the jar of glitter. "Needs..." She settled her little knees on either side of his spine, straddling his lower back, and took the jar from your hands. Her movements grew slower. Her arm hovered in the air, the jar tilting dangerously, before her hand finally came down to rest heavily on Jack’s body.
Then, she didn't collapse against him. Instead, she just stayed right there, sitting completely upright on his back like a tiny sleepy statue. Her chin slowly sank down to her chest, her breathing went deep and her grip on the glitter jar loosened as she drifted straight into dreamland, perfectly balanced.
Jack didn't move. "Is she... did she just fall asleep sitting up?" he whispered.
"She's out cold," you giggled quietly, leaning closer to look at her. Her head swayed slightly with her deep breaths, but her little legs remained locked on his waist, holding her upright in her sleep. "She’s like a little bear, oh my."
"A very creative bear," Jack murmured. He carefully reached one large hand behind his back, resting his palm flat against her small waist to keep her steady and secure. "I can't stay like this forever, as comfortable as my back apparently is."
"Don't move, I have to capture this," you whispered. You quickly grabbed your phone and snapped a photo.
"Help me out, baby," Jack groaned silently.
You moved in close, gently slipping your arms under your babygirl's arms and lifting her weight off his back. She let out a soft sigh but didn't wake up, immediately tucking her head into your neck.
With his back finally free, Jack carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked at his little girl, then felt the hardness of the paint drying on his back. "Please tell me we have a scrubbing brush in the bathroom."
Hiiiiii there. if you’re taking requests, maybe girl dad! Jack Abbot but no angst please because my poor heart won’t survive. xxxx
Hiii, thank you for the request. Hope this is okay.🥹warning: girldad!jack, mentions of food, fluff, pet names, use of y/n(0.6k)
Jack's walking down the ice-cream aisle, baby strapped safely in the sling to his chest. Jack practically beams as he shops with your babygirl.
As soon as you guys found out you were pregnant, Jack's decided that he'd take a couple of months off, too. He wanted to be there with you every step of the way with your baby. And why not do it when you guys had the opportunity to do so?
So Jack is enjoying every second of it. Even the sleepless nights, puke covered clothes, and the deep exhaustion. And doing it with you, side by side, seems so easy and so right.
But today you seemed like you needed a few hours to yourself so Jack decided a grocery shopping and a stop at Robby's were necessary.
"Shhh, bug, it's okay." Jack hums every now and then as your babygirl whimpers restlessly. Jack is taking his sweet time picking out the items of the grocery list.
"Dr. Abbot?" He almost groans as he hears the familiar voices of his colleagues. Don't get me wrong, he likes them, but he's not exactly thrilled to have his father - daughter bonding time interrupted.
He turns around and sees the day-shift kids waving him down. He gives them a small wave back, hoping they will get the hint.
They don't.
They walk towards him with huge smiles, and Jack knows they are not for him, but for his babygirl.
"Looking good dr. Abbot." Santos says and surprisingly, she's the first one to coo at the sight of his daughter.
It makes Jack melt, seeing his colleagues, his friends be so happy for him. Javadi and Whitaker join Santos, and they all smile big at the sleepy baby face.
"She's adorable." "She takes after her mom for sure." "I'm free to babysit whenever." They say at the same time.
"Thank you, guys. It means a lot. And we'll definitely take you up on that babysitting offer once she's a bit older." There's no way, he'll pay for a babysitter when all he wants to do is to be there every second of his babygirl's life. He doesn't want to miss a thing.
"How's the fatherhood?" Whitaker asks since he knows a bit about taking care of a baby.
"Perfect. I just-... yeah, it's perfect. It's everything I'd dreamed of and more." Jack says, voice a little bit strained with the overwhelming emotions.
"Really? You are one of the few men that would say this about taking care of a baby." Javadi chuckles, she clearly hints at the way men are used to just letting their women take care of the kids all on their own.
Yeah, fuck that.
"Y/N didn't marry a fucking loser." Jack deadpans with a shrug and that earns him a couple of chuckles from the young doctors.
But it's true. He'd never ever let you take care of anything or anyone alone. You are in this together. And plus, he loves taking care of people he loves, especially you and now your daughter, too.
"Damn right." Santos nods along, smirking at him. She was practically the one who introduced you two together.
Whitaker checks his watch and winces. "Well, we gotta go. But it was nice seeing you, Dr. Abbot. Hopefully, you'll be back at work soon."
"Not that soon, but thanks, man." He clasps him on the back playfully as they say their goodbyes and leave.
"We should head home too, huh? Mom is definitely missing us by now." He speaks softly. Jack hopes that you are sleeping soundly though, it was one of the reasons why he went grocery shopping without you.
"Okay, c'mon, bug. We'll take mom's favourite ice-cream and then go home." Jack pecks the top of his daughter's head before he heads to the freezer.
Summary: Your daughter fakes a stomachache to surprise her parents at work on Take Your Kid to Work Day, never realizing the panic it would cause.
Word count: 4.2k+
Warnings: fluff, tiny angst
A/N:
this was co-written with my friend Nora! We actually wrote some other stuff together too, but this is the first fic where she wrote the most of it. She also wants to write fanfics but is a little hesitant. Can’t wait for you to open your own blog and share your talent with tumblr Nora, this one’s you!!!💓
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
When your daughter Lucy heard about Take Your Kid to Work Day, she came home convinced it was going to be the greatest day of her entire six-year-old life.
Her class had spent nearly a week talking about it. Every morning another child had a new story, another exciting detail to add. Emma was going to help frost cupcakes at her mother's bakery. Noah couldn't stop talking about riding in his dad's garbage truck, proudly announcing to anyone who would listen that he was going to press the "real buttons." Olivia was getting a behind-the-scenes tour of the aquarium where her mom worked. Even little Ben, whose father worked at a bank, marched around the classroom with a paper tie taped around his neck, declaring he would be "approving loans all day." By Thursday afternoon Lucy had listened to enough stories that she'd begun planning her own. She was absolutely certain she would wear one of those little white doctor coats she'd seen in toy stores. She'd carry a clipboard. Maybe even a stethoscope. Everyone would finally get to see how cool her parents' jobs were.
So when you and Jack walked through the front door that evening after a twelve-hour shift, you barely had time to take your shoes off before Lucy came barreling across the living room like an excited puppy.
"Mama!"
She wrapped herself around your legs so tightly you had to catch yourself against the wall to stay upright.
"Daddy!"
Jack wasn't spared either. She launched herself at him next, nearly knocking the backpack from his shoulder.
"Whoa, easy, bug," he laughed, catching her under the arms before she could accidentally headbutt him. "Someone's excited. Where's your grandma?"
"In the kitchen. I have something important to say."
You and Jack exchanged an amused look over the top of her head. Important announcements from Lucy ranged anywhere from losing a tooth to discovering worms in the garden.
"Oh?" Jack asked, setting his bag down.
Lucy nodded so enthusiastically that her ponytail bounced. "It's Take Your Kid to Work Day next Friday."
Her grin stretched so wide it nearly split her face.
"And I get to come with you."
The silence that followed was tiny.
Barely a second.
But it was enough.
Jack's smile faltered first. You watched it happen almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth relaxing as his eyes drifted toward yours. The excitement on Lucy's face hadn't dimmed yet. She was already imagining hallways and stethoscopes and showing all her friends pictures afterward.
You felt your heart sink before either of you had even opened your mouths.
Lucy noticed immediately.
Her smile wavered.
"...What's wrong?"
You crouched until you were eye level with her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear while you searched desperately for words that wouldn't break her heart.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
Jack carefully lowered himself beside you, adjusting his balance before slipping an arm around Lucy's shoulders.
"Our jobs are a little different from everyone else's."
She frowned in confusion.
"But I can still come, right?"
Jack let out the smallest sigh.
"The emergency department isn't really a place for kids."
Her forehead wrinkled.
"Why?"
You looked at Jack for half a second before answering.
"Because the people who come to see us aren't coming for fun." You spoke gently, carefully choosing every word. "They're usually having one of the worst days of their lives. They're very, very sick..."
"Or hurt," Jack added quietly.
"They can look scary sometimes," you continued. "There can be blood. People cry. Sometimes they're frightened, sometimes they're angry, and sometimes they need every doctor and nurse in the room paying attention to them."
Jack nodded. "Our job is making sure they get help as quickly as possible. We can't always stop to explain what's happening, and there are things no six-year-old should have to see."
Lucy listened with surprising seriousness, though it was obvious she still didn't understand.
"But..." she said softly, "I'll be quiet."
Your chest tightened.
"I know you would."
"I could sit in the corner and color."
Jack smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You probably could."
"I wouldn't touch anything."
"We know, sweetheart."
"I wouldn't even talk."
Jack smiled sadly. "You'd probably be the quietest kid in the whole hospital."
For the briefest moment, hope flickered across Lucy's face before reality settled back in. She looked between the two of you, swallowing hard.
"So..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "...I can't?"
The words were so small they made your chest ache. You reached for her little hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"No, sweetie. I'm sorry."
Her eyes filled almost instantly.
"But everyone else gets to go to their parents' work."
Jack closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Every parent hated hearing those words because sometimes there simply wasn't a fair answer. He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the back of her tiny hand.
"I know."
"I wanna see where you guys work."
"I know."
"I wanna wear one of those little doctor coats."
Despite the ache in your chest, a smile tugged at your lips. "You would look absolutely adorable."
"I could help."
Jack let out a quiet snort, his expression turning dramatically serious.
"Oh, that's exactly the part I'm worried about."
Lucy blinked. "...Really?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said with a solemn nod. "I think you'd spend the whole day walking around the department telling everyone what to do."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
She crossed her arms.
"No."
"No?"
She puffed out her chest, planting both hands on her hips as she deepened her voice into what she apparently believed sounded very authoritative.
"'Okay everybody, one at a time! No pushing! You have to wait your turn!'"
Jack laughed so suddenly and genuinely that it echoed through the house.
"There it is."
You couldn't help laughing too.
"Our little charge nurse."
Lucy dissolved into giggles, pleased she'd made both of you laugh.
The moment was warm.
Light.
Comfortable.
Until it wasn't.
Her smile slowly faded as she remembered why she'd started the conversation in the first place.
"...But I still don't get to come."
Jack's laughter disappeared just as quickly. He opened his arms without saying a word, and Lucy climbed into his lap as naturally as breathing. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her little arms around him with a sigh that sounded much older than six years old.
"No," he admitted quietly, kissing the top of her head. "Not to work."
The room fell silent.
You watched Jack gently rub circles over Lucy's back while she sat curled against him, neither of them speaking. The disappointment in the room was almost tangible. You knew Jack was feeling it just as sharply as you were. Both of you spent your careers taking care of other people's children, yet this was one of those moments where your own daughter simply had to accept that your jobs came with doors she couldn't walk through.
Finally, you leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
"How about this?"
She peeked up hopefully.
"When we're both off next weekend, we'll take you to the hospital."
Jack immediately caught on.
"We'll show you the cafeteria."
"My locker."
"The ambulance bay."
"If there aren't any helicopters flying, maybe we can see the helipad from outside."
"The empty waiting room."
"My office."
Lucy sniffled, considering the offer with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty.
"...Can I push a wheelchair?"
Jack looked over at you.
You shrugged.
"If nobody's using it, sure."
She thought for another long moment before giving a tiny nod.
"...Okay."
It wasn't the answer she'd wanted.
It wasn't even close.
But she accepted it with the quiet resilience children somehow managed to find after their hearts had been disappointed. Before long she was asking what was for dinner and whether Grandma was still making pancakes the next morning, and by bedtime she seemed perfectly content again.
You smiled to yourself as you tucked her in that night, smoothing the blankets over her little shoulders.
Children had an incredible ability to move on.
Or so you thought.
Lucy had absolutely no intention of moving on.
She smiled when you tucked her into bed that night. She happily ate pancakes with Grandma the next morning. She colored pictures at the kitchen table, watched cartoons, and talked excitedly about the hospital tour you had promised for the following weekend. If anyone had asked, she seemed to have accepted your answer completely.
She hadn't.
To a six-year-old, "next weekend" felt impossibly far away. Everyone else would get to visit their parents' jobs on Friday. Everyone else would come back to school Monday with stories to tell. Emma would talk about frosting cupcakes. Noah would probably tell everyone he got to honk the garbage truck horn. Olivia would have pictures of fish. And Lucy... Lucy would have to say she stayed home because her mommy and daddy worked somewhere she wasn't allowed to go.
That simply didn't seem fair.
By Wednesday she had the beginning of a plan.
By Thursday she had improved it.
By Friday morning, she was convinced it was foolproof.
Your mother had barely finished pouring herself a cup of coffee when she heard small footsteps padding down the hallway. Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway still wearing her pajamas, her favorite stuffed rabbit dangling from one hand while the other pressed dramatically against her stomach.
"Grandma..."
Your mother looked up immediately.
"Morning, sweetheart."
Lucy took two slow steps into the kitchen, making sure not to walk too quickly. Sick people probably didn't move very fast.
"I don't feel good."
The smile disappeared from your mother's face at once.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She set her mug down without taking a sip and crouched in front of her granddaughter, brushing a hand over Lucy's messy bed hair.
"What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts."
"Oh no."
Lucy gave a pitiful little nod.
"It hurts a lot."
Your mother frowned with concern.
"Can you show me where?"
Lucy froze.
That...
She hadn't prepared for.
She looked down at herself, suddenly realizing stomachs had different parts. She'd heard you and Jack ask patients that question before. Daddy always wanted to know exactly where it hurt.
Panic fluttered in her chest for half a second.
"...Everywhere."
Your mother's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.
"Everywhere?"
Another solemn nod.
"Mhm."
She gently rested both hands on Lucy's shoulders.
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Do you feel like you have to?"
Lucy pretended to think about it before giving a hesitant little shrug.
"...Maybe."
"Do you have a fever?"
"I don't know."
"Hmm..."
Your mother pressed the back of her hand against Lucy's forehead before checking again with her palm, the way mothers and grandmothers always seemed to do. Her skin felt perfectly cool.
No fever.
That was reassuring. Still, children didn't always spike a temperature right away. Maybe she'd eaten something that hadn't agreed with her. Maybe a little stomach bug was just beginning.
Lucy watched every expression that crossed her grandmother's face. She could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.
She needed to make it more believable.
So she let out the tiniest little whimper she could manage. Not loud enough to sound dramatic, just enough to make it seem like the pain had returned.
Your mother's face softened immediately.
"Oh, you poor thing."
Lucy leaned instinctively into the comforting touch, a small stab of guilt twisting in her chest before she quickly pushed it aside. She wasn't trying to be naughty. She just wanted to see Mama and Daddy at work like everyone else got to.
After a long pause, she lowered her voice to an almost frightened whisper.
"I think..." She looked up through her lashes with the biggest, saddest eyes she could manage. "...I need the hospital."
Your mother smiled gently as she tucked a strand of hair behind Lucy's ear.
"Oh, honey. I don't think we're there just yet."
Lucy's heart sank.
"...But my tummy really, really hurts."
"I know it does."
"We should go."
Your mother hesitated. Normally she would've waited an hour or two, called you first, given Lucy some water, and seen whether she felt any better after breakfast before rushing to the emergency department.
But abdominal pain in children was one of those things she'd learned never to dismiss completely after watching both you and Jack work in emergency medicine for years. You had both told stories about children who seemed perfectly fine until they suddenly weren't. Appendicitis. Intussusception. Things she'd never heard of before you became a doctor and Jack became a nurse.
She didn't want to overreact.
She also didn't want to ignore something important.
Her eyes lingered on Lucy's face. The little girl looked uncomfortable enough to be believable, even if she wasn't crying. Some children tolerated pain differently.
Your mother sighed softly as she stood.
"Alright."
Lucy's eyes widened before she could stop herself.
Really?
It worked?
Excitement rushed through her so suddenly she almost smiled.
Almost.
She bit the inside of her cheek just in time, quickly lowering her head and pressing a hand dramatically back against her stomach.
"I'll get dressed," your mother said. "Then we'll have one of Mommy's friends take a quick look at you, okay?"
Lucy nodded with all the seriousness she could muster.
"...Okay."
As your mother disappeared upstairs to change, Lucy remained standing in the middle of the kitchen, hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest.
Her plan had worked.
In just a little while, she'd finally get to see where her mom and dad spent all day.
She had no idea that before the morning was over, two people who had faced mass casualty incidents, violent trauma, and countless life-or-death emergencies would see her name on the emergency department tracking board and experience a kind of fear neither of them had ever learned to prepare for.
The emergency department had been in controlled chaos since seven that morning.
Every room was occupied. Hallway beds had filled before breakfast. Monitors chimed from every direction, phones rang almost constantly, stretchers rolled past one another with practiced precision, and conversations overlapped until they became little more than background noise. Jack had barely stopped moving since clocking in. He had just finished helping stabilize an elderly patient in respiratory distress and was updating the tracking board when a new name appeared among the incoming pediatric triage patients.
His own last name.
At first his brain didn't process it.
He frowned automatically, assuming it was another family with the same surname. It wasn't uncommon.
Then his eyes shifted to the details beneath it.
Accompanied by: Lucy.
The world seemed to narrow into a single point.
His stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt.
No.
No, no, no.
His mind filled the blanks long before reason had a chance to intervene.
Car accident on the way to school.
She'd fallen from the playground.
An allergic reaction.
A seizure.
Appendicitis.
A ruptured appendix.
Internal bleeding.
She'd stopped breathing.
His chest tightened so sharply that, for one terrifying second, it felt impossible to draw in air.
He was already moving before he'd consciously made the decision.
"Jack?"
Dana looked up from her workstation as he hurried past.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
His prosthetic clicked faster against the floor as he rounded the nurses' station, weaving through stretchers and staff with an urgency that made several people instinctively step aside. Every extra second felt unbearable. His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he barely registered the voices around him.
Across the department, you were finishing charting after discharging a patient when your own eyes drifted toward the tracking board.
Your last name.
Pediatric triage.
Lucy.
Everything inside you went cold.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
Your pen slipped from your fingers onto the counter.
You didn't bother picking it up.
Someone behind you asked a question you never heard. You abandoned your chart mid-sentence and hurried out of the trauma bay, every rational thought dissolving beneath one singular, suffocating fear.
Not my baby.
Please not my baby.
You'd both spent years watching parents run into emergency departments wearing that exact expression.
The look that silently begged someone to tell them their child was okay.
Now you understood it from the inside.
Jack reached pediatric triage first.
He rounded the corner so quickly he nearly lost his footing, instinctively compensating before his prosthetic could catch awkwardly beneath him.
Then he stopped.
Lucy sat on one of the triage beds beside your mother, happily swinging her legs back and forth as she hugged her stuffed rabbit. She looked perfectly content, completely fascinated by everything happening around her.
The moment she saw him, her entire face lit up.
"Hi, Daddy!"
Jack didn't answer immediately.
He couldn't.
His breathing still hadn't caught up with him. His pulse hammered painfully against his ribs as his eyes swept over her with clinical precision born from years in emergency medicine.
Skin color okay.
Breathing normal.
Alert.
Talking.
No blood.
No bruising.
No obvious deformities.
No signs of respiratory distress.
No altered mental status.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Relief crashed into him so suddenly his knees threatened to buckle.
He had to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
"Jack?"
Your mother stood immediately, guilt already written across her face.
"I am so, so sorry. I should’ve called."
You arrived only seconds later, breathing almost as hard as Jack.
"Lucy!"
Your daughter beamed.
"Hi, Mama!"
You dropped to your knees in front of her without hesitation, your hands automatically moving through the familiar sequence every parent in emergency medicine knew by instinct. Forehead. Neck. Arms. Wrists. Face.
"What happened?"
Your mother looked apologetic.
"She was perfectly fine this morning. She'd been playing, and then all of a sudden she started holding her stomach and said she was in terrible pain. I didn't know if I should wait or..."
"You absolutely did the right thing," you assured her automatically, even as your attention remained fixed entirely on Lucy.
"Honey?"
Lucy nodded solemnly.
"It hurt."
"Where does it hurt, bug?" Jack asked.
She pointed vaguely toward the center of her stomach.
"...Here."
"How bad?"
She held up eight fingers.
"On a scale of ten..."
"...Eight."
"When did it start?"
"This morning."
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Feel sick?"
She hesitated.
"...Maybe."
Jack exchanged the briefest glance with you.
Neither of you relaxed.
Because children lied about vegetables.
They didn't usually lie about pain.
And even when they weren't lying, they were notoriously bad at describing it. Jack had treated smiling children with ruptured appendixes, kids who laughed while walking on fractured ankles, toddlers quietly coloring despite severe dehydration. Looking well meant almost nothing in pediatrics.
You rested a reassuring hand against Lucy's abdomen.
"I'm just going to press a little, okay?"
She nodded.
You gently palpated one quadrant.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
You moved to another.
"How about here?"
"No."
Lower right.
"No."
Lower left.
"No."
Jack watched every tiny flicker of her expression. Or rather, the complete lack of one. She wasn't tensing beneath your touch. She wasn't guarding her stomach or curling inward instinctively. If anything, she seemed far more interested in everything happening around her than in the examination itself.
Her eyes wandered constantly around the department, following nurses rushing past, patients being wheeled down the hallway, monitors chiming, stretchers rolling by, the ambulance doors sliding open every few minutes. She wasn't frightened by any of it. She looked fascinated.
You noticed it too.
Before either of you could ask another question, Lucy turned back toward Jack, wearing the brightest smile she'd had all morning.
"So..." She tilted her head innocently. "...Can I see where Daddy works now?"
Silence settled over the four of you.
Jack closed his eyes.
Very.
Very slowly.
Your mother frowned, looking between the three of you.
"...Lucy?"
Your daughter's grin only widened.
"It worked."
Jack opened one eye.
"...What worked?"
"My tummy."
Neither you nor Jack said a word.
"It wasn't really hurting." She paused, as though she'd only just realized you weren't reacting the way she'd expected. "I just wanted to come."
For several long seconds, nobody moved.
Jack slowly lowered himself onto the chair beside her, more because his legs suddenly felt weak than because he'd intended to sit.
Because his prosthetic leg suddenly felt unsteady beneath him.
He rubbed both hands over his face, forcing out a long, shaky breath before looking back at his daughter.
"You..." His voice was rougher than he intended. "...You faked it?"
Lucy nodded proudly, completely oblivious to the emotional hurricane she'd just unleashed.
"That was the only way Grandma would bring me."
Your mother's mouth fell open.
"Oh my goodness..."
Lucy looked between the two of you with complete sincerity.
"I wanted to see where you work."
Jack let out another slow breath that sounded dangerously close to becoming a laugh. Not because anything about this was funny, but because relief had nowhere else to go.
"You scared ten years off my life."
Her smile faltered.
"...I did?"
Jack swallowed, the image of her name on the tracking board still burned into his mind.
"When I saw your name pop up..." His voice caught unexpectedly, forcing him to pause. He looked away for a moment before gathering himself enough to continue. "I thought something terrible had happened."
You nodded quietly beside him.
"I thought my little girl was hurt."
Lucy's face crumpled almost instantly. The excitement disappeared, replaced by confusion and guilt.
"I..." Her shoulders curled inward. "...I didn't know."
Of course she hadn't.
She was six years old. In her mind, she'd come up with the smartest plan imaginable. Pretend to have a stomachache. Go to the hospital. Surprise Mommy and Daddy. She'd never stopped to think about what it would feel like for two emergency clinicians to suddenly see their own child's name appear on the tracking board.
She looked down at her sneakers, twisting one toe against the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Jack watched her quietly for a long moment. Every ounce of frustration he'd felt dissolved beneath the sight of her trying so hard not to cry. Without another word, he opened his arms.
Lucy climbed into them immediately.
He wrapped her tightly against his chest, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair.
"I'm not mad."
She looked up uncertainly.
"...You're not?"
He shook his head.
"I'm relieved."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"So unbelievably relieved."
He held her for another moment before leaning back just enough to meet her eyes.
"But you cannot ever pretend to be sick like this again."
She nodded immediately.
"Okay."
"I need a real promise."
"I promise."
You moved closer until your shoulder rested against Jack's, wrapping an arm around both of them. Almost instinctively, Lucy reached for your hand with her free one.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
You squeezed her little fingers.
"I know."
"I just wanted everyone at school to know my mommy and daddy have cool jobs."
Your heart ached.
"We know, sweetheart."
"They all got to go."
You met Jack's eyes for a brief second. Sometimes the hardest part of parenting wasn't saying no. It was understanding exactly why your child wanted something so badly and still knowing the answer couldn't change.
Jack kissed the top of Lucy's head.
Jack was quiet for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"Since you're already here..." He glanced at you, silently asking the question before either of you spoke.
You smiled back.
"I think our patient has been thoroughly examined."
Jack nodded solemnly.
"I agree."
He looked back at Lucy.
"So I'm officially discharging you."
Her eyes widened.
"You are?"
"Mhm." He reached over and gently tapped the tip of her nose. "No tummy ache. Cleared to go home with Grandma."
She giggled.
"But..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Before you go home, I think we can spare five minutes."
Lucy's mouth fell open.
"Really?"
"We can show you the nurses' station." He pointed toward the center of the department. "My locker. Maybe the ambulance bay if there isn't anything coming in."
"And the cafeteria," you added with a smile.
Jack nodded.
"But that's it."
"No treatment rooms."
"No sick patients," you said gently.
"And you stay with one of us the entire time."
Lucy threw her arms around his neck so quickly he almost laughed.
"I promise!"
"I know you do." He hugged her back before pulling away just enough to look at her seriously. "But that doesn't change one thing."
"What?"
"If you ever feel left out again, you tell Mommy or me."
She nodded.
"You don't have to scare us to spend time with us."
The smile slipped from her face.
"...Okay."
"I mean it, bug."
"I know."
She leaned forward to hug him again, then reached for you too, nearly pulling the three of you together on the waiting room chair.
Jack caught your eye over the top of Lucy's head.
"I think she inherited our problem-solving skills."
You laughed.
"No."
"Our stubbornness."
Lucy looked up immediately.
"I heard that."
"Oh, we know," Jack said with a grin. "Trust me, we know exactly who you got it from."
"I did not fake being stubborn."
"You absolutely did."
That earned another burst of laughter, loud enough that even your mother laughed through the tears she'd been quietly wiping away.
As Lucy happily slid off Jack's lap, already asking a hundred questions about ambulances and whether nurses really kept candy in the break room, the knot in his chest finally began to loosen. The fear hadn't disappeared entirely. He wasn't sure it ever would. Seeing her name on that tracking board had unlocked a terror he hoped never to feel again.
But as he watched her bounce happily between you, clutching one of your hands and one of his as though the last twenty minutes had never happened, he found himself smiling despite everything.
He would take fake stomachaches, dramatic plans, and six-year-old schemes over seeing his daughter in one of those treatment rooms for real every single day.
CW: Bratty reader, lowkey possessive/controlling but also dad coded! Jack. Rough dom! Jack, Dacryphilia!
(Ik this is short I just wanted to write something)
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Wdym you have to eat more greens than sweets and fast pack ramen now that he makes food for you everyday?
Wdym you can't speed like a racecar driver anymore since he drives you everywhere?
Wdym he crosses his arms over his chest and makes you fold your laundry instead of tossing it without a thought into your drawers?
Wdym he tells you to go to the bathroom before a movie or car ride, as if you don't know your own body better than he does? (He does.)
Wdym he makes you wash your plushies? Patting your bottom and grumbling about how if you want more then you need to take care of the ones you already have—
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NSFW below the cut
Wdym his touch is so warm and tender that when he says bye in the morning it makes your cunt puffy all day until it hurts?
Wdym he has to stay in the bathroom and help you wash your hair in the tub because he has to 'make sure you don't hurt yourself' but the whole time he's just staring at your nipples
Wdym whenever you whine and complain too much he'll squish your cheeks between his fingers as he fucks into you at a brutal pace "cmon, baby, speak up. You wanna keep talking back? Let the neighbors hear what a fucking brat you are, huh? Go on, talk back sweetheart." as you try to hold back your moans and whines, knowing he'll just be more of a meanie the louder you are.
You're still pretty young, there's at least a 20-30 year age gap (Jesus that disgusting old man). You started being a resident at the pitt around the same time as langdon, drifting through the night and day shift to adjust to your own needs outside of work. You both had already been married a while now, not wanting to waste any time while the clock ticks away. Despite working in the same space it never really clicked to anyone else that you guys were together- you both kept it pretty covered up. (Mostly your decision since it was a little embarrassing to say 'yes I actually love him' and spend hours defending yourself about not being a gold digger).
So to help keep the secret safe, you had a nickname used instead of your last name. Similar to how everyone calls Michael 'Robby'.
While working a fuck ass crazy shift, full of angry patients and escalating drama, you somehow lost your name tag. "Probably got tugged off when that psychosis guy came in" Whitaker murmured with a small scrunch of his nose; knowing exactly how annoying it is whenever that sort of stuff happens.
You spent hours searching around for it, even peeking around one of the trash bins embarrassingly. It stretched all the way until the shifts were being handed off to the 'Night Crawlers', a small sigh of relief leaving your shoulders at the sight of Jack coming in through the emergency doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and a nice fit black tee. You both gave each other a soft smile and nod, knowing you'll give each other a small kiss 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' in the storage closet in a few minutes.
All seemed hopeless in the search of the name tag, the one you managed to keep tucked in your pocket well enough for nobody to sneak a peek long enough at your last name printed boldly on the front.
"Hey wait I think I found it-" Santos huffed from behind you on one of the computer desks as she reached between one of those stupid cracks between the desk and the other office trinkets stuffed into the space.
Your face dropping like a ghost when she does in deed find it and give it a good look before you're able to snatch it out of her hands
"Your last name is Abbot??!"
Her face wide with a smile full of shock and disbelief.
Her voice was quiet enough not to cause a scene but it definitely made Jack's ears perk up- oblivious to the fact that their little secret had been made out as he struts over to the desk.
Your cheeks flushed in a scarlet rose as you notice jack start to walk towards the desks.
"uh- yeah yeah it's um a family name"
You stammer, knowing damn well this'll probably go further than you want it to
"Really?? Wait so are you and Dr Abbot related?"
Is all Jack hears from Trinity's lips as he steps up with an iPad in hand and his readers resting on the tip of his nose. Taking note of the hot flush on your cheeks and the badge held in Trinity's hand.
"Well yes we are if you must know"
His tone played off as a bit cocky, knowing exactly how to mess with you while also still technically covering up their little ring secret.
Your cheeks still tinted a deep pink as you give Jack a confused look with your hands nervously clinging to the hem of your shirt.
"I'm her dad. Ain't that right kiddo? We try to keep it under wraps though. Little thing, gets embarrassed when people know she works with her old man"
He tilts his chin up at you with a small nod, a little smirk on his lips as his gaze lands on your soft pink cheeks that seem to have gotten a bit more flushed than before. He knew damn well how to play with your daddy issues- there was a reason for that fat rock on your finger after all.
A/N: lowkey haven't written fanfic in months but I've been obsessing over peepaw Shawn for a while now and I gotta share my filthy brains ideas somehow 👅
Dr Jack Abbot and his Controversially Younger gf but she never takes care of herself and always asks him to give her check ups cuz she gets nervous :(
Tags/cw: just a short blurb, afab reader!, not a stated age gap but he's so dada, oral kink? Thoughts of finger sucking, insomnia, early period
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It's always the most random things too-
One day she'll get acid reflux bad enough to hurt her throat and she can't swallow without a lingering sting, so the second Jack gets home she's giving him a tight hug and a small mumble into his scrubs asking if he can check her throat for her. Then spending the next 15 minutes trying not to suck his fingers as they poke around by her molars—
Then the later on she gets her period early and the cramps are so fucking bad— she even considers using her sick hours just to stay home holding a warm water bottle hostage to her lower tummy. Once the pain gets to a certain level she's finally calling jack on the big iPad they share, one he specifically bought because he says the buttons on his phone are too small— you always poke fun at him for it but in times like these when you're half dead under a weighted blanket you finally understand.
His voice raspy and a bit more professional than how he speaks at home, "Sweetheart, everything okay?" You hear him shut a door, the background noise vanishing afterwards. He knew something was up since you usually texted him before calling. "Jackie it really hurts— and it's really early too, what if something's wrong?" Your voice a bit shaky as tears threaten to well up behind your lashes, the emotions in your body being a bit more persistent with their dramatics. Jack silently decides he might as well take his break now, spending the next 20 minutes asking you questions with that sweet gentle coax as you clutch the iPad closer and eventually fall asleep after he hands up with a "don't worry sweetpea, it doesn't sound like anything to be worried about okay? I'll double check when I get home but just try to sleep and keep the sheets warm"
Or or or or if you've been staying up too late doing god knows what - and your sleep schedule is fucked up beyond repair and no matter how hard you try to fix it you're always super sleepy- Jack is always there to help. After multiple weeks of failed attempts at waking up early, extra naps AND sleeping 10 hrs after said nap, your mind starts to ponder whether or not something was up. So while jack was reading his book in bed, black out curtains effectively blocking out all the sunshine as he reads under his bedside lamp, you crawl up on his lap. Wiggling your way on his chest and under his book, which thankfully he lifts up so you can lay on top of his chest. His thick skinned palm running up and down your arm as the other sets the bottom of the book on you back, using you like a little lap table. "What's goin' on honey?" You feel his voice rumble through his chest. He was wearing his thick tan hoodie with 'SWAT' printed on the front, always using it as a pajama shirt in the winter. You inhaled deeply, your brain craving oxygen to help give it enough energy to reply. "Jackie I've been so sleepy lately. Even when I take naps I still end up passing out for like over 8 hours during the night! Then some nights I can't even sleep" your voice sleepy and muffled into the soft cloth covering his chest, his body spray filling your nostrils and making your body flush with relaxation.
He lets out a brief hum as he processes your words while also finishing that last page of his book before putting a mark in it and setting it to lay down on your bum as he wraps both arms around you in a tight squeeze. "You've been drinking water? And don't lie about your caffeine intake sweetheart, I know you can't control yourself when you drive past the cafe's" he spends the next hour gently rubbing up and down your whole upper body, trying to get more blood flow in you while also inspecting to make sure you didn't have any signs of infections.
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A/N- Basically self insert atp, guys please gimme requests I'm bored af and I need to practice writing 🙏
Opening the door: whether it is the car door or just a random door, he will always hold it open for you. And bonus points, if he holds the door for the women behind you, it makes you fall even deeper for him.
Sidewalk rule: he will always walk on the side of the traffic. He will hold you by the small of your back or have his arm around your shoulders, guiding you towards your destination.
Best seat: he will always make you sit in the booth at the restaurant or bar, let you have the window seat at the airplane, that way he’s sitting between you and the stranger.
Dressing up: he always makes an effort to dress up when you go on a date or anywhere in general. He sees the effort you put into looking gorgeous for him, so why not return it?
Holding the umbrella: he always holds the umbrella up for you, trying to cover you as much as possible while he gets rained on on one side.
Holding your bags: he will never let you carry your own bag, whether it’s your hand bag, backpack, especially your suitcase, he will immediately grab it out of your hands and carry it himself, he wants you to have free hands for coffee and other things.
the bathroom door clicked open, releasing a thick, humid cloud of floral scented steam into the bedroom. you stepped out in your jack's oversized t-shirt, your hair bundled into a messy towel, and walked straight over to the vanity to start your nightly skincare routine.
across the room, the bed let out a heavy groan under jack’s massive frame. he was propped up against a mountain of pillows you had forcefully piled behind him over the months so he’d stop complaining about his 'horrible neck pain'.
his readers sitting low on his nose, holding his phone a little too close to his face. his thick thumb was clumsily swiping at the screen, his brow furrowed in deep, concentrated focus. lately, jack had become stupidly obsessed with instagram, a platform he didn't entirely understand, where his only follower and the only person he followed was you.
ding.
your phone buzzed on the vanity. you blinked at the screen. a direct message notification from jack.
you clicked it open. it was a reel of a smiling nutritionist explaining the benefits of drinking warm lemon water at 5 AM for optimal liver function.
you looked up, staring at him through the vanity mirror. jack didn't look back. his thumb swiped again, his face illuminated by the harsh blue glare of the screen.
ding.
another notification. this one was a video of a guy in a pristine kitchen showing how to properly meal prep organic chia seed pudding for the entire week to ensure a balanced gut microbiome.
"jackieee," you said, turning around with a bottle of toner in your hand, your eyebrows raised.
he didn't even look up over his glasses. "hold on, baby. looking at something."
ding.
you looked down. a video about the importance of a proper orthopedic pillow alignment for lower back support.
"jack, i am literally six feet away from you," you said, walking over to the edge of the bed, a silly, exasperated scowl breaking through your freshly moisturized face. "why are you sending me healthy lifestyle reels from across the room? you can just use your mouth and tell me."
jack finally paused his clumsy scrolling, his green eyes cutting up under the rim of his readers to look at you. a slow, sheepish smirk tugged at his jaw, but he kept his face deadpan. "algorithm says you need more antioxidants, sweetheart. i'm just looking out for you."
"the algorithm doesn't know me!" you whined, hopping onto the mattress and crawling over to plunge your face directly into his chest, deliberately getting a little bit of your expensive night cream on his clean shirt. "and you don't even like chia seeds! you literally called them 'frog eggs' yesterday!"
jack let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated straight through your cheek. he dropped the phone onto the covers, his massive, heavy arms immediately wrapping around your waist to anchor you against him. he leaned down, his stubble scratching against your temple as he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead.
"the guy in the video made some good points, sweetheart" jack murmured, his thick fingers tracing a lazy, soothing circle against your hip. "besides, wanted to make sure you saw it."
"i'm deleting the app off your phone," you threatened weakly, closing your eyes as the heavy, familiar warmth of his chest completely enveloped you.
"sure you are sweets," jack grumbled, a lazy, knowing grin in his voice as his grip tightened, keeping you right where you belonged. "then who's gonna send you the 5 AM hydration reminders, baby? keep your phone close."
When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 37
+18 MDNI
pt. 36 / pt. 38
summary: reader learns something that has her shook
content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), VERY lewd conversations, craig is nosy as fuck, pope being a sweet baby angel
a/n: PLOT TWIST!!!!!! i’m sadly not going to be daily posting anymore ☹️ real life is getting in the way 🙄 but the next chapter should be ready to go in the next couple days AND IT’LL BE FULL OF FILTHY SMUT!!!!!! - taglist is closed!
In honor of part three of my Rabbott fic coming out, I wanted to give y'all some headcanons
You're getting fucked around the clock 24/7. When Robby's at work during the day, Jack wakes you with kisses and slips his hard dick between your legs, fucking you while you're in and out of sleep. "Shh, sweet girl, just wanna use you," he muttered, thrusting in and out of you before eventually filling you up. Then, later that day, you'd kiss Jack goodbye, and Robby would come home, immediately pick you up, and toss you onto the nearest surface, taking all his anger and frustration out on you. "Fuckin such a long day, need you, baby."
2. They love it when you use their money for everything. Your money's just for you to save or do nothing with. They expect you to buy everything using their credit cards. Jack had you show him how to put his cards on your Apple Pay, and Robby quickly had you do the same. They get so upset when they find out you used your own money to pay for something; you get sat down and lectured for an hour.
3. Babies, you like there's no tomorrow. Obviously, there's a big age gap, so they like taking care of you. Jack cooks for you all the time and nags you to get enough protein. "No more sweet treats, finish your damn lunch." he'll flick your head. Robby will plop you on his lap and read to you while rocking back and forth, sometimes putting you to sleep. They love taking care of you like you're their pet.
4. Competitive in the bedroom. If Robby made your belly bulge because of how big his dick is, now Jack's obsessed with trying to make it happen. If Jack makes you come 4 times in an hour, Robby's now gonna make you come 5 times in an hour. They also take photos and videos to taunt the other. One time after Robby made you come just by sucking on tits, he sent Jack a photo of you sprawled on the mattress, exhausted, with the caption: Your turn, Jackie ;)
5. Old man strength is very real, and they use it on you all the time. Jack has gotten very used to picking you up and putting you wherever he wants. One time at movie night, you had apparently sat in his spot. "I don't wanna move. Why don't you just sit on that chair?" you whined. "You little brat, that's my chair; your little ass can sit anywhere, move. Or I'll make you." You scoffed in disbelief and stood your ground until he grabbed you, put you over his shoulder, and tossed you on the couch next to Robby. They also carry everything; you're not allowed to hold even a paper bag with a keychain in it. Robby demands that he move any furniture when you move in, and he is offended when you suggest movers.
6. They are super overprotective of you; they are so worried that something bad might happen to you. The two of them have been around long enough and have seen the horrors of the world and how twisted people can be after 20 years in emergency medicine, and especially Jack after being in the military. They always have your location and make sure one of them is scheduled on shift with you. If a code hula hoop is called, they immediately pray it's not you, and god help whoever hurts you if it ever is.
7. You have to explain a lot of new slang and memes to them. Jack's favorite new thing to say is "Hope this helps!" he says it all the time and thinks he's so funny. Also heard "Midnight Sun" once and now listens to it during workouts. Robby, on the other hand, will look at you sideways any time you use anything with him. You said, "Girl, whatever fuck you," one time, and he looked at you like you were crazy. "I'm not a girl, though?"
gn!reader & no physical description other than saying reader can grow body hair
Summary: You and Jack have a special treat for the birthday boy.
Technically a pt. 2 for Betrayal so I’d recommend reading that first (it’s short)
Wc: 495
Warnings: None :3 just fluff/crack — a bit suggestive too
Masterlist
No smut but mdni pls. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.
I do not consent to any reuploading, translating, or feeding my writing into ai. If you do I will make sure no one comes to your birthday :)
Not long thereafter the incident, your bush was back and better than ever and all was well in Robby’s world; just in time for his birthday weekend. Both he and Jack had managed to get the weekend off and the three of you were planning on spending it doing whatever Robby wanted.
His only request was dinner together at his favorite restaurant with the fancy bread and a nice bottle of red. Easy enough.
What he didn’t know was that you and Jack had a trick up your sleeve—or rather—down your pants.
After one too many glasses of Cabernet, the three of you made your way back home, ready to spend some quality time together. Robby had already opened his gifts this morning over breakfast in bed, so he was pleasantly surprised when you and Jack sat him down telling him you had one more gift for him.
He was even more pleasantly surprised when you started taking off your clothes, both of you stopping at your underwear. Robby lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, not quite sure what was to follow.
You’re the first to break the silence. “So… remember a bit ago when I went to the beach and I shaved and you cried?”
Robby scoffs, “I didn’t cry.”
“There were some tears,” Jack counters.
“Whatever,” Robby rolls his eyes. He isn’t interested in arguing on his birthday, especially knowing he will lose that argument—there were indeed tears.
“Wellll,” you cut in, trying to get the conversation back on track. “We thought it’d be funny if—since you have a very… strong love of the bush…”
Robby shakes his head in amusement, trying to cover his blooming embarrassment that has heat rushing to his face and betraying him.
“Just— just close your eyes,” you instruct, somewhat impatient to show him what you and Jack have in store.
Robby reluctantly obliges. Some ruffling noises and hushed giggles cut through the silence and force Robby to fight back a smile thinking up all the possible shenanigans his partners could be getting into.
“Okay you can look now,” you try to keep your voice calm even though you are simmering with excitement.
Robby slowly cracks one eye open, anxious to see the sight before him. His nerves are quickly dissipated when he comes face to face with your bush. It’s been carefully trimmed into the shape of a heart. There’s no fighting back the shocked laugh that bubbles up from his chest. “Oh my god.”
“Happy birthday,” you practically beam.
“I— I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure if I should laugh or thank you?”
“Both,” you shrug lightheartedly. “It’s supposed to be silly.”
“It’s…” he looks between the two of you, “yeah.” He has to do a double take when catching a glimpse of Jack's pubic hair. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“A candle,” he answers like it’s obvious.
“A… candle?”
“Yeah. Y’know… you’re supposed to blow the candle,” Jack says with a wink.
a/n: Thank you guys so much for all the love on pt 1 of this! Wasn’t planning on making a second part but I was talking to my friend ab ideas and she came up w the blowing out the candle joke and I couldn’t help myself. Anyways I hope this makes u guys giggle :) I’m working on a pt 2 for Cowboy as well so keep an eye out for that soon… 😏
Taglist: @slutforwoo @hwasstxr
MDNI divider by @cafekitsune | lace divider by @diviniyae
Header photo made by me on Canva w pics from Pinterest - pls don't reuse this!
gn!reader & no physical description other than saying reader can grow body hair
Summary: Robby gets some devastating news but Jack is there to comfort him.
wc: 297
Warnings: None me thinks :) pure fluff/crack
Masterlist
Pt. 2 out now!! — Birthday Surprise
No smut but mdni pls. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.
I do not consent to any reuploading, translating, or feeding my writing into ai. If you do I will find you and I will steal your deodorant :)
You shaved your bush. You have plans coming up that require you to wear a bathing suit and you wanted a clean shave. No biggie. It’s your body so you saw no reason to inform your partners about it.
Jack Abbot doesn’t really have much of a reaction. To him pussy is pussy and dick is dick; he doesn’t care if you like it bald, trimmed, or full grown. He’ll happily enjoy it each and every way.
Michael Robinavich on the other hand… he is devastated.
One day he’s having coffee with you before work saying goodbye with a kiss at the door, and next thing he knows he’s coming home to find out a massacre has taken place while he’s been gone.
“I’m going to the beach with my friends tomorrow and I’m wearing that new swimsuit I got. I didn’t want a bush for it,” you shrug as if it’s nothing.
But it’s not nothing. Not to Robby. “How could you do this to me,” he pouts, not even half joking.
You can tell how heartbroken he is over this so you do your best to stifle a laugh. “It’ll grow back, Robby. You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine for a little bit,” you reassure him with a teasing smile.
The next morning you’re up and out before Robby has to leave for his shift. Jack makes you coffee and makes sure you pack water and snacks while Robby quietly sulks in the corner. He stares at the door as it closes behind you, still feeling utterly betrayed.
Jack comes up behind him and with a pat on the shoulder comforts him, “Don’t worry baby, you still got my bush.” And for a moment, that actually makes Robby feel a little bit better.
a/n: hehehe I’m giggling 🤭 This was really fun to write I hope u find this as funny as I do. Thank you guys for so much love on my first blurb i seriously didn’t expect more than like 20 ppl to look at it. It might be a while before I post again because I have a ton of ideas but like now I have to sit down and actually write them… gulp
Edit: pt 2 here!
MDNI divider by @cafekitsune | tile divider by @suupersonic | shell dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps
Header photo made by me on Canva w pics from Pinterest — pls don’t reuse this!
When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 36
+18 MDNI
pt. 35 / pt. 37
summary: you and pope get back to normal aka an instagram date compilation!
content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), VERY lewd conversations, reader being horny for pope (when isnt she), pope has a kink for spending money on reader (like actually), reader and pope being cute.
a/n: this chapter is a random collection of ideas i had, that i didn’t really know what to do with. next two chapters ive got planned tho? ROMANCE!!!!! SMUT!!!! FILTHY SMUT!!!! - taglist is closed!
the first time Jack shows you pictures of him when he was younger after months of you begging to see it. he’d always shake his head, claiming you’d get one look at how handsome he used to be and realize you no longer want the old, washed up version of him. as if you would ever think that with his sexy salt and pepper and the crinkles around his eyes that you’ve mastered bringing out of him.
you recognize the gift you’re getting once he finally pulls a box out that he’d kept hidden deep in his closet, taking out old pictures of him from med school, his soldier days. you coo as you lean over his shoulder, and then you go quiet, nearly yanking one from his hand to bring it to your face and get a closer look.
he glances at you, apprehensive as he tries to understand why you’ve suddenly gone so quiet. but then:
“red hair???” you exclaim, your eyes widening comically as your face absolutely lights up with glee.
he lets out a chuckle that’s laced with relief. “yeah, baby, you didn’t know?”
“NO I didn’t know! you’ve never let me see!!” you say, almost offended if it weren’t for your excitement. you rifle through more pictures, gawking at the deep red curls on the freckled boy in all of them.
you don’t shut up about it for a long time after, much to jack’s dismay. you’d pull up pictures that are now saved onto your phone, staring at them with a giddy smile. you’d go up to him with a smirk, and he’d roll his eyes.
“hey baby, does the carpet match the drapes?” you’d drawl, wiggling your eyebrows at him while he laughs and pushes playfully at your shoulder.
“you’ve seen the drapes. they do match - it’s all grey.”
he knew he never should have shown you those damn pictures.
