sunbathing on the lawn & jack’s doing yardwork so he puts his thumb over the hose and sprays you just to hear you squeal & see your bikini get all drippy <3
smiling to himself and chuckling, his hand in his shorts pocket. full on laughing when you scream out a growing “jaaacCCCKIEEEE!”
“what? whatsa matter honey?” “enough!!” “of what sweetie?” soooo domestic and teasing
You're on a date. It is not going well.
You message Mateo to come rescue you from under the table. Or at least you think you do, because not even 15 minutes later, Jack Abbot is pushing into the restaurant, walking over to you, taking your hand and walking you out with him, without saying a word.
The date is bad in a way that’s almost impressive.
Not catastrophically bad—no spilled drinks, no shouting, no dramatic exit—but the slow, grinding kind of bad that makes every second feel longer than it should. He talks too much about himself, laughs at his own jokes, keeps leaning in just a little too close like proximity might fix whatever is clearly not working.
You’ve smiled so much your face actually hurts.
You’ve checked the time three times.
You’ve run out of polite ways to redirect the conversation.
And now he’s talking about his “five-year plan” like you’re already part of it.
You angle your phone under the table.
Open your messages.
Scroll.
Mateo.
please come rescue me this is actually painful
You hesitate for half a second, then add—
bad date. emergency level bad
You hit send without double-checking.
Because you don’t need to.
You know Mateo will understand.
Just fifteen minutes. Mateo’s good for that. He’ll come in, make up some excuse, drag you out—
You can survive fifteen more minutes.
Probably.
It’s maybe ten minutes later—
Maybe less—
When the energy in the room shifts.
You’re mid-nod, mid-that’s crazy, mid-I would rather be literally anywhere else, when something shifts.
You don’t notice it at first.
Not consciously.
Just the way the noise dips slightly, the way a couple of people glance toward the entrance.
Then your date pauses mid-sentence.
Frowns slightly.
Looks past you.
You turn.
And your stomach drops.
Jack Abbot.
He’s standing just inside the restaurant, eyes scanning the room once—
Then landing on you.
There’s no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
He moves.
Your heart starts pounding.
Because this—
This was not who you texted.
He doesn’t look at your date.
Doesn’t acknowledge him at all.
Doesn’t acknowledge the confusion, the interruption, the fact that this is objectively insane behavior in a normal context.
Just walks straight up to the table, stopping right beside you.
Close.
Solid.
Certain.
“C’mon,” he says, low, like it’s already decided.
Your brain short-circuits for half a second.
“Jack—?”
His hand finds yours.
Warm. Firm.
Not rough—but not asking either.
“We’re goin’,” he adds.
Your date blinks, clearly thrown. “Uh—excuse me? We’re kind of in the middle of—”
Jack doesn’t even look at him.
Doesn’t give him the courtesy of a response.
His attention stays on you.
Waiting.
And something in your chest—
Something relieved—
answers before your brain can catch up.
“Yeah,” you say, already pushing your chair back.
Your date scoffs. “Seriously? You’re just gonna—what, leave?”
Jack finally glances at him.
Just once.
And something in his expression—something flat, something final—that shuts the other man up immediately.
You stand immediately, your hand still in his, letting him pull you up like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Like you’ve done this before.
Like you belong there.
He doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you out of the restaurant, weaving through tables like he’s done it a hundred times before.
Like this was always how it was going to end.
Past curious glances and quiet murmurs and whatever the hell just happened—
And then the door opens.
Cool air hits your face.
And suddenly—
You can breathe again.
Neither of you speak until you’re in the car.
The door shuts.
The world goes quiet.
You sit there for a second, staring straight ahead, your hand still tingling faintly where his had been.
Then—
“Oh my God,” you say, turning to him. “Jack, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You texted me.”
You blink.
“…What?”
He starts the car, expression calm in that way that usually means something else is happening underneath it.
“You texted me,” he repeats.
“I—no, I texted Mateo—”
Jack reaches over, taps your phone where it’s sitting in your lap.
“Check.”
You frown slightly, unlocking it.
And there it is.
Your last message.
Sent to—
Jack.
You stare at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it.
“Oh my God.”
Silence.
Then—
“I am so sorry,” you say again, faster now, heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t mean to send that to you, I was trying to text Mateo and I must’ve just—hit the wrong—”
“Stop.”
You blink.
Because his tone isn’t sharp.
It’s just—
Firm.
Final.
You go quiet.
Jack glances at you briefly before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift like he’s completely unaffected by the fact that he just walked into a restaurant and stole you from a date.
“Don’t apologise,” he says.
You stare at him.
“…I literally made you come rescue me from a date.”
“Yes.”
“That is something I should apologise for.”
“No.”
You huff out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “Jack—”
He cuts you off.
“Always text me.”
You go still.
There’s a pause.
Then he adds, quieter—
“I want you to.”
Your chest tightens slightly.
“…Even if it’s not an emergency?” you ask.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Especially then.”
You don’t know what to do with that.
With the weight of it.
With the way he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s been sitting there waiting for you to notice.
“I thought you’d be annoyed,” you admit.
Jack glances at you again.
There’s something in his expression now.
Softer.
Still controlled.
But not distant.
“Why.”
“Because I interrupted your night? Because I dragged you into something that wasn’t your problem?”
He exhales quietly.
Then—
“You think you’re not my problem?” he asks.
The words land heavier than they should.
Not harsh.
Just—
Honest.
You swallow.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
A beat.
Then—
“But you’re wrong.”
You look at him.
Really look this time.
At the set of his jaw, the steady focus, the way his grip tightens just slightly on the wheel like he’s choosing his words more carefully than usual.
“You call,” he says, voice low now. “I answer.”
Something shifts in your chest.
Warm.
Unsettling.
Real.
“Jack…”
He shakes his head slightly.
Like he’s not done.
“Doesn’t matter what it’s for,” he continues. “Bad date, long shift, can’t sleep—doesn’t matter.”
Your breath catches slightly.
“You don’t deal with things alone if you don’t have to.”
There’s a pause.
Then—
“You don’t have to.”
Silence fills the car.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
You look down at your phone.
At the message that wasn’t meant for him.
That somehow—
Ended up exactly where it needed to.
“…Okay,” you say softly.
Jack nods once.
Like that’s enough.
But then—
His hand shifts slightly on the console.
Closer.
Not touching.
Just—
There.
“You hungry?” he asks after a second.
You blink. “What?”
“That didn’t look like dinner,” he says. “We can get something else.”
Jack makes this face when he comes up behind you while youre getting ready in the mirror, big arms wrapped around your waist, hands squeezing any part of you he can reach, he starts kissing on you only for you to giggle and try to escape him squealing "I've got a boyfriend, I've got a boyfriend!" All ornery and obnoxious-like and he just presses another kiss to your neck, jaw, and cheeks, mumbling "oh yeah? well he doesn't have to know."
a fight leads to a confession, and jack abbot finally admits something he wants.
someone else | @/miley1442111
you come back from a shitty weekend to an even shittier monday with rumours of your kind-of-boyfriend being into someone else. it only gets worse when an aggravated patient gets his hands on you, and jack doesn’t even know.
the first night | @/miley1442111
the first night you stay over at jack’s place goes well, and simultaneously badly.
Always | @/miley1442111
you have to go home for a wedding. jack comes to support. you think it’s the end of your relationship, he proves it’s not.
Your med school ex. | @butyoudidthis4what
Jack gets jealous when your med school ex shows up and spends the day shadowing you.
Soak | @inknopewetrust
Jack knows how to cure the remnants of a difficult day.
Sweatshirt | @rorysverse
you fall asleep during a shift and jack watches over you
seven years | @somanyideassolittletime
Whitaker learns about you and Jack in an unexpected post-shift ritual.
The Newlyweds | @yxtkiwiyxt
You and Jack are enjoying married life.
Free Fallin' | @/yxtkiwiyxt
On your birthday, your best friend convinces you to celebrate in a big way. The night takes a wild turn when you get a little too rowdy and accidentally fall off a bar table, ending up in the emergency room. There, you meet the charming and handsome Doctor Abbot.
Jealous | @/yxtkiwiyxt
You’re jealous of Dr. Walsh.
one night stand, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, 6.5, pt 7.25 | @spaceyaemonds
you have a one night stand with an extremely attractive older man, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll see him again. fate has other plans, it seems.
Only Yours | @witchbitchlovesdilfs
reader got some new, tighter scrubs. jack gets jealous when one of the first years tries to ask her out. will this give him the incentive to finally make things official between them?!
Spring cleaning. | @tway5314
thinking of you | @poisonofthepaint
jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.
you ( morgue tech!reader ) are a shy, soft-spoken, and far too good for the world you work in—but dr. jack abbot wants you anyway. wants you especially because of it. he’s older, bigger, rough around the edges, and completely undone by the way you squirms in his lap and stumbles over your words. you never had anyone take their time with you—never been praised, teased, or touched the way he plans to. and when he finds out just how untouched you really are? he makes it his mission to teach you everything you didn’t know you needed.
You Say That Like You Care | @frombookstoretobookstore
Put Him on Speaker | @abbotjack
Jack gets home from a long night shift, exhausted and unreadable as always. When Robby calls for a quick update, you decide to test his patience—climbing into his lap and pushing until he breaks.
SOME PROTECTOR | @literazine
reader is on the receiving end of patient aggression and ends up becoming a trauma patient herself; abbot feels helpless as her life hangs in the balance
family of four | @maoricth
you navigate family life with jack, baby dennis and (found family, adopted son) dennis whitaker. this includes whitaker’s match process, going back to work and a surprise…
Domesticity | @/maoricth
small snippets of your life with jack and your (adopted) son dennis.
full of life | @bitters-n-sweets
You overhear Jack talking to a woman closer to his age, and insecurities rise…
the night after | @/bitters-n-sweets
After celebrating someone’s birthday and getting absolutely wasted, you wake up naked next to your attending, Jack Abbot
i love him | @/bitters-n-sweets
Jack overhears the reader having a “secret” conversation with her best friend
coffee tables, part 02 | @/bitters-n-sweets
A late-night shift brings Jack Abbot face to face with the one person he let slip through the cracks. Some wounds don’t bleed, but still ache.
Whatever you do…don’t imagine Jack Abbot lounging around his house on a lazy Sunday morning wearing nothing but a pair of shorts hanging low on his hips. He’s shirtless of course, body on display as his freckled skin catches onto the sun that creeps through his blinds. The muscles of his back flex as he drinks his coffee, chest puffed out with his biceps bending to cradle the mug in his big hands. His stomach, soft and inviting, protrudes out the slightest bit, the waistband of his shorts snug under his bellybutton with a salt and pepper happy trail decorating a path to another part of him.
not that anyone asked but here's a fluffy drabble because my social battery has been so low from a weekend of social shit that today I literally couldn't wait to leave and wished joel miller could come save me. gooooodnight. sometimes I write these little drabbles and never post cause idk they're not smutty or even interesting. but I just love picturing joel in my regular life. so yeah. here you go I guess!
warnings: brief mention of hard relationship with extended family
It was exactly as your Aunt Kathy launched into her third, inexplicably detailed anecdote about her goldendoodle’s latest grooming fiasco that you felt the last flicker of your social battery sputter out and die. You’d seen it coming, the warning signs blinking dimly in the corners of your mind like a low fuel light you always swore you’d heed earlier next time: the long, barely-stifled sighs, the aching behind your eyes, the zoning out during conversations. You had tried, by God, you really did, to stretch it a little longer, to hold out for dessert or maybe just until Sarah got tired enough to want to leave too. But it always crept up the same way, that sensation of being entirely alone in a room full of fifteen people who had known you your whole life and still couldn’t seem to really see you. The same people who spoke over you with affection or obligation but never understanding.
You were already shrinking into the lawn chair, your elbows heavy on the plastic arms, your gaze unfocused and blank as your cousin’s husband droned on about his golf swing, when you felt the warm weight of a hand settle on your shoulder—the only hand in the world that made your shoulders loosen instead of stiffen. Joel had moved in beside you without a word, like a second sense had guided him from across the yard straight to you. The denim of his jeans brushed your bare arm and you tilted your head to rest the side of his leg, seeking him like shade on a sun-drenched afternoon. His hand drifted from your shoulder to the bottom of your neck, fingers parting the hair there, scratching slow and absent-minded.
And then he pulled a little harder at the nape: You okay? It meant. How bad is it? Do you want out? Do you need me to be the bad guy and make an excuse? Because I will.
You tilted your face up to look at him. His cheeks were flushed red from running around the yard with Sarah and your nephew, his forehead damp with sweat, the neck of his t-shirt clinging faintly to his collarbone. There was a sheen on him that reminded you of something feral and sweet all at once. He was so sun-warmed and masculine, worn in and beer-laced breath with barbecue smoke woven into the threads of his shirt. Vaguely, your tired brain entertained the thought of what the salt on his skin would taste like if you had even a single ounce of energy to lean forward and lick it clean. But alas, you were running on fumes at this point, so instead, you just tilted your head up and looked at him.
Get me out of here, you begged with your tired eyes.
His fingers kept grazing the base of your skull, and then, lazily, his long middle finger curled around to pinch your earlobe. You smiled, lips twitching upward in something involuntary and grateful. He caught it and sent one of those conspiratorial little winks down at you over the rim of his beer can.
He turned only to scan the yard, “Hey, hon?” he called, eyes settling on Sarah as she trotted toward the garden with your nephew in tow. She glanced up at her dad, cheeks pink from the sun, braid coming loose, the whole day written across her in sweat and sugar.
“You ready to go?”
Her face fell a little, a flicker of disappointment at the corners of her mouth. Before she could say anything, your mom swept in from the patio, asking if Sarah might stay a little longer for dessert, maybe keep the kiddo occupied. Sarah looked hopefully back at her dad, and Joel, bless him, sighed, already caving.
“Alright, but you help clean up if you stay,” he said with a soft point of his finger. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Sarah grinned.
“Why, you headin’ out already?” your mom asked, voice raised just enough for the rest of the family to turn and notice you both rising to leave.
Joel answered before you had to, holding your hand and pulling you out of the adirondack chair with a groan, “Think it’s about that time. Early wake-up.”
You nodded in agreement, offering your mom a tired, apologetic smile, and let yourself be folded into the leaving ritual. There were Tupperware containers shoved into your hands, leftovers you didn’t ask for but would be glad to eat tomorrow night in front of the TV. There were quick hugs, soft goodbyes, a kiss to the crown of your nephew’s curly head, and Sarah giving you a side-hug before Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll come get ya in a bit.”
“Grandma said I could stay over,” she chirped back.
Joel raised a brow, eyes narrowed. “We’ll talk,” he said with a hint of amusement.
And then you were walking down the driveway a few minutes later, the summer heat still clinging to your skin and the sun low and honey thick behind the trees. Joel didn’t say much, but he stayed close, hand resting lightly against your back until you reached his truck. He opened the door for you and you climbed in slowly, arms full of food and mind heavy with fatigue. Instead of shutting the door on you, he leaned in against the door frame.
“Alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning your face.
You looked up at him, all warm light and soft affection, the fading sky painting him in peach and pale blue. His silhouette was golden, haloed in evening light, and for one moment, he looked so stupidly beautiful it made your chest flutter. You reached up, ran your hand along his bearded jaw, thumb brushing the scratchy edge of his cheek.
“Better now,” you said with a small smile.
He grinned back and leaned down into the cab to press his mouth to yours. It was long and gentle, almost lazy in its heat. You sighed against him, drinking in the taste of beer and smell of charcoal, the quiet hum of safety he always seemed to carry with him. When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye, something playful beneath the concern.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you faked bein’ on your last legs just to get me outta there.”
You smirked, still touching his face. “On the contrary, Miller. I was genuinely suffering. You just happen to be the only thing I can’t ever resist.”
His chest shook with quiet laughter, and he kissed you once more, quicker but no less affectionate, before finally closing the door and rounding to the driver’s side. He hauled himself in with a groan, the seat creaking beneath him.
“Let’s get you home. What’s on the docket tonight? Love Island?”
You hummed, head tilted against the window, already letting the starting hum of the engine soothe you. “I’m thinkin’ Titanic. In the mood to watch some rich people sink.”
He groaned lightly but nodded, already resigning himself. “Titanic sounds… great, baby.”
You shot him a sly look. “Wow. Must really love me to cave that easily.”
His eyes flicked toward you at the stop sign, the amber of the sunset caught in them.
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
