summary: when your daughter has a medical emergency, you end up back in the Pitt. you find yourself confronting your painful past and ex, Jack Abbot, in the process.
content: single mom, mentions of abandonment and breakups, child who ends up in the ER due to an allergic reaction, unresolved feelings, cliff hanger (i’m sorry), probably medical inaccuracies, please let me know if there is anything else!
wc: 2.3k
a/n: all work is my own! this is my first fan fiction post on tumblr, so any feedback is appreciated! please let me know what you think and my requests are open! dividers made by @robinavitchslut
Thinking about walking back into PTMC was not easy, but for your daughter, you would do anything. Even if it meant hurting yourself in the process.
You were at home gathering your daughter's toys off the living room floor when you received a call from her preschool telling you that your 3-year-old daughter was being taken to the hospital. Apparently, she had eaten some of her friend's peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For anyone else, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But Margot, your daughter, has a severe peanut allergy. The preschool informed you that an ambulance was already on its way and said it would be fastest if you met them at the hospital.
“Ok, what hospital are they taking her to?” You asked. Already grabbing your purse and jacket and making a beeline towards the front door.
“Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” The woman said.
Your heart dropped, and it felt like time slowed around you. You stopped for a brief second as you approached your front door, but pushed yourself despite the fact that you wanted to stay right where you were. You told the sweet woman, whom you’d met a dozen times picking up and dropping your daughter off from school, thank you. Your body was met with the cold air as you opened your front door. You raced down your porch steps, boots crunching on the dead, dry fall leaves. You unlocked your driver’s side door and practically jumped in, wasting no time starting the car and driving off.
Your mind was racing as you drove to the place you used to call home. It was less than a ten-minute car ride, but it felt like an eternity. The last time you were in the Pitt, you left with unresolved feelings and a mess that you had no desire to go back and clean up. You hadn’t been in contact with any of your coworkers since that one winter day all those years ago. You hadn’t even talked to Dana, who was practically a mother to you. As you drove your car, you prayed that your ex, Jack Abbot, was still working the night shift.
Your and Jack’s relationship was quite frankly something you couldn’t describe with words. You had met each other in passing while he was working as the night shift attending, and you, as one of the new day shift nurses. At first, you would exchange glances and make small talk with one another. As time went on, your conversations bloomed into learning more about each other. You had learned how Jack liked his coffee. Black. He told you how long he had been working in the ER and shared very small details about his life before the Pitt. You told him where you attended school and where you were from. No matter what he told you, you listened, and he did the same for you. Even without telling him, he knew things about you that no one else paid attention to.
He learned what your favorite candy was after seeing it next to your water bottle at the nurses’ station. He knew your favorite color from the socks you wore and the jacket you brought to work with you. He knew your favorite genre of music based on the songs you would hum and sing under your breath while charting. You had never met a person who seemed to be so interested in someone they had just met.
After a few months of working together, you would go out and get drinks with the rest of the Pitt crew. But you two always seemed to find each other in a crowded room. You both could talk to one another for hours and somehow never run out of things to talk about.
Frequently, you would find Jack on the roof after his shift. Other than Robby, you were the only other person who could get him back on the other side of the railing.
When you made things official with each other, nothing really changed. Except for the fact that you would find yourself twisted in his bedsheets the morning after a night out. Or him pulling you into a supply closet, just to get a moment alone with you. That’s when you realized all the little pieces of information he stored away as he got to know you.
Jack would always make sure to keep a few bags of your favorite candy and snacks in the staff lounge, just in case you ran out. He pointed out that when something you wanted was in your favorite color and always told you, “I’ll pay for it.” He knew more about you than some of the people who knew you your whole life. You couldn’t fathom how you got to be the luckiest girl in the world.
Your relationship with Jack was steady, and he couldn’t have been better towards you. He was considerate, loving, and all around a good person. The problem was you. You never felt deserving of the love he gave you. You knew you loved him, but you kept hearing this voice in your head saying you were unworthy of what he was giving you. You grew up surrounded by chaos, and your brain was engraved with the thought that love should be messy. It shouldn’t be this easy.
You weren’t proud of how you left things with Jack. There was yelling, crying, and things said that couldn’t be taken back, mostly from you. You had been lucky all this time that there was no “real” emergency that had you landing in the Pitt. Hell, you were surprised you had gone this long without accidentally running into any of them. All of you and your family’s medical needs were being treated at the other surrounding hospitals, and you even made sure your daughter was born anywhere but PTMC.
You felt sick to your stomach as you pulled up to the ER. Were you ready to face all the people you used to call family? You didn’t have time to ponder your thoughts. You parked your car as close as you could to the emergency room and ran to the automatic doors. You pushed your way through the crowd of people waiting to be seen. You were hit by the smell of the ER waiting room and people begging to be taken back to be seen. When you worked here as a nurse, you tried your best not to let the people who had been waiting for hours get to you emotionally. You knew there were only so many hands and things you could do, but it still hurt to see people who waited for 12 hours in a crowded room with the electric buzz of bright lights. You said your apologies as you squeezed past an older gentleman and approached the front desk.
“Lupe,” you said as your voice quavered and you shot a look to the double doors leading to the main part of the ER.
Lupe looked up at you and opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She gave you a soft and sincere smile before opening the doors to your right.
You heard the buzz and made your way around the corner. Your heart felt like it was still at your front door, but your feet made their way through the madness of the ER. Your body was hit with the smell of antiseptic and the noise of the never-ending cry that occurs in the emergency room. It had been a long time since you had been in the midst of your old work environment. You forgot how loud it was with the sounds of beeping machines and shouting orders from the nurses.
You halted in front of the nurses’ station, looking up at the board, trying to place which room Margot was placed in. You could have asked for help, but it felt easier figuring it out on your own. Your eyes scanned the lit-up board with its fluorescent blocks of color highlighted with people’s names. Just as you came across your little girl's name, a woman's voice said your name.
Your eyes dropped down from the board to an older woman in gray scrubs with her blonde hair pulled up in a claw clip. Dana. You locked eyes with hers, seeing hers rim with tears.
“What are you doin’ here?” She said softly as she reached to put her hand on your arm.
You kept your eyes on her, not knowing what to say. How do you explain to someone you once thought was going to be at your wedding that you have a child with a complete stranger, who abandoned you and your little girl?
“Is there a little girl in here named Margot? ” Was all you could say, as you bit your lip to stop your chin from wobbling.
Dana drifted her gaze from your eyes and then to your hands fidgeting with your jacket button.
“Yeah, she’s in trauma two. C’mon.” She said as she put her hand on the lower part of your back, guiding you towards your daughter.
Even without telling Dana, she knew the little girl was yours. Dana knew everything, especially around here.
As soon as you approached the clear doors of the trauma room, your eyes fell on your little girl. You saw her ringlets of brown hair in the pigtails you had done earlier this morning. Her bright yellow t-shirt and the matching pants that went along with it. The light-up princess sneakers that she insisted on wearing every day, no matter where she was going. You saw her red cheeks and puffy eyes. The rash that seemed to be everywhere on her body was only getting worse.
Without thinking twice, you pushed the trauma doors open, just like you used to when you were assigned to a case. You rushed to Margot's side, practically shoving everyone else out of the way who wasn’t doing anything critical.
“Bug, I'm here. You’re gonna be ok.” You said with a soft but worried smile on your face.
Your daughter’s eyes fluttered open, finding yours. Her lip started to quiver.
“My throat hurts.” She tried to say as tears started to stream from her eyes.
You could feel her tiny heart racing as you lay your hand on her chest.
“I know, but I’m here. And the doctors are going to help you feel so much better.” You said fighting back tears yourself.
“How much Epi has she been given?” You asked, not taking your eyes off your daughter, your hand interlaced with hers.
The med students looked at each other and then back at you. “I am-well, I used to be a nurse here.” They nodded their heads as the female attending, whom you had never met, responded, “Only pushed one so far, she seemed to calm down with the one dose. We’ll see how she does in the next five minutes.”
Just as your question was answered, the trauma doors opened. You looked up, and your eyes met Robby’s. You could see the swirl of emotions he was feeling as he scanned your face. You saw his eyes drop down to the little girl on the hospital bed with an oxygen mask on her face. He didn’t know you fell in love after Jack or got your heart broken at 20 weeks pregnant. Let alone have a child. He quickly looked back at you, and his feet started to move.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi, we got this.” He said as he pushed past her and snapped a pair of gloves on his hands. The woman, whose name you had just learned, looked at Robby and then you, before turning around and exiting the room.
Everyone else in the room kept moving and informed Robby of everything they had already done. He looked at you again, seeing you look down at the little girl with tears in your eyes.
“Vitals are dropping.” A nurse beside you said, causing you and Robby to snap your heads up to the monitor.
“Push another of Epi,” You heard Robby say.
Margot’s eyes were shut, her tiny body fighting so hard as the grip of her hand lessened on yours. You looked down and ran your fingers across her tiny knuckles. Looking at the chipped bubblegum nail polish that she begged you to buy for her. Your mind raced through all the moments you’ve had with her. From when you first found out you were pregnant, to finding out she was a girl and watching her grow up into this tiny, beautiful human being.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to have you step outside.” One of the med students said coming to your side. Your head snapped to look at him, fighting the urge to slap him in the face. You knew as a nurse that family could get in the way of proper treatment for a patient, but you didn’t care. This was your blood, and you weren’t leaving her side. Before Robby or anyone else could respond, you heard a voice, and the door to the trauma room opened.
“She can stay, Ogilvie, she’s family.”
You knew that voice. You had taken comfort in that voice so many years ago. You heard that voice say “I love you” in the morning, at work, in passing, and before you would fall asleep at night. The gruff voice that would whisper in your ear how much he loved you and how well you were doing in your most intimate moments. The same voice that broke when you told him that things were over.
Your eyes shot up to meet him, and for the first time in years, you were in the same room as Jack Abbot.
hey everyone! i'm going to be posting the first part of my jack abbot x reader fan fiction tomorrow! if you are interested in being added to my tag list, please let me know! i'm so excited for you all to read it! 🤍
ahh i’m so sorry guys! i have a few things to change and edit before i post the first part of the fic! i want it to be perfect so im going to post it tomorrow! again im so sorry, but i want to make sure i LOVE it before posting!
hey everyone! i'm going to be posting the first part of my jack abbot x reader fan fiction tomorrow! if you are interested in being added to my tag list, please let me know! i'm so excited for you all to read it! 🤍
i would LOVEEE to see more of miracle and dana in your little miracle series, dana just gives such motherly and loving vibes
i’m loving this series btw!🤍
Cutie Patootie
(Little Miracle Series request)
jack abbot x nurse!singlemom!reader (ICU)
little miracle series masterlist
a/n: this takes place before your ex attacks you.
summary: you have another day shift but instead of a jail break jack leaves miracle in the ER for a moment while he goes to a meeting. dana puts the little girl to work
tags: sugary sweet tooth rotting fluff
wc: 1.1k
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You had another day shift to cover and this time Jack was watching Miracle. However, just because he was watching her doesn't mean Miracle wouldn't somehow end up in the ER. Abbot was called in by admin and had to go upstairs. He knew Miracle would have more fun in the basement then a polished waiting room with him.
Miracle sits on the computer pretending to type away on the keyboard. "How is my little worker bee doing?" Dana smiles at her.
"Good, Miss Dana." Miracle smiles.
"You all done? Cause I have a big girl job for you. Can you handle it?" She leans on the desk.
"Yes!" Miracle jumps off the chair excitedly.
"We need to go to the rooms and get the patients something to eat because it's lunchtime." Dana takes the little girl's hand and leads her to the food cart.
"We'll go room to room and ask if they want turkey, ham, or cheese. The we'll ask them what they want to drink. Got it?"
Miracle nods. Dana opens the first curtain, "Excuse me, we're just serving lunch right now." She looks to Miracle.
"Turkey, ham, or cheese?" Miracle stands by Dana shyly.
"What a cutie!" The woman smiles, "I think I'll take the turkey please."
"Miracle, ask if she wants a drink. Apple juice, orange juice, or water."
"Do you want apple juice, orange juice, or water?" Miracle gets a little more confident.
"I'll just have a water."
"Perfect. Alright, here is that, can you reach the table." Dana gives Miracle the food to put on the table.
"Uh huh." Miracle stands on her tiptoes and puts the sandwich and juice on the table.
"Good job!" Dana leads her to the next person. "Next time, say 'would you like' instead of 'do you want' It's nicer to say."
"When have you ever said 'would you like?'" McKay snarks as she exits the room Dana stands in front of.
"She has to learn to be nice before the world makes her cruel." Dana mumbles. She then smiles at Miracle to ask for the meal order.
They are almost done when Miracle enters a central room. Her confidence now high enough to enter on her own and speak, "Excuse me?"
"What? What is it? What do you want?" An old man grumbles.
"Mr. Olsen, we were just serving lunch. Would you like anything to eat?"
"I don't want nothing you're serving. I've been here damn near 5 hours."
"We're sorry about that but we urge you to eat something while you wait."
"Well, I don't want anything you're giving." He huffs.
"Alright Mr. Olsen." Dana ushers Miracle out of the room and back to the hub.
"He wasn't very nice." Miracle whispers as they walk.
"Yeah, the hospital isn't fun for most people." Dana explains then her dispatch phone begins to ring, "Why don't you finish your coloring pages at the desk."
"Yes, Miss Dana." Miracle skips back to the desk and digs through her backpack. As Miracle draws, Robby walks over to the desk.
"Hey, Panda. Where's Miss Dana?"
"She's on the phone." Miracle points.
"Hungry? Here, a little cutie for a cutie." He boops her nose.
"Robby," Dana approaches him, "MVA 5 minutes out. 2 major 4 minor and possible head injury. It sounds like a mess."
"Alright, Miracle can you head to the break room with your snack?" Robby asks. She nods and takes her little tangerine down the North hall. Dana watches her go before rounding up and delegating her nurses.
Miracle walks past the station and stops when she sees Mr. Olsen in his room. She looks around then enters the room. "Who is it? What do you want?"
"My name is Miracle." She whispers.
"Mr. Olsen grumbles, "The little lunch lady. I said I don't want anything."
"My mommy says if you don't eat for a long time, you'll get sick."
"I'm already sick," He frowns.
"Then you shouldn't get sicker." She sets her little fruit on the bedside table, "Oranges are good for you." She smiles.
Mr. Olsen can't help but smile in return as she walks away. Miracle then goes to the break room to wait.
After a half hour or so, Dana goes to check on Miracle, "You okay, little cutie."
Miracle nods, "I'm hungry
"That little orange didn't tie you over?" Miracle shakes her head. "Alright, I think there's some goldfish crackers up in this cabinet." She opens the cabinet and takes out a package for her. Miracle opens it as soon as it's in her hands. They then head back to the hub, "I've got to go check on Mr. Olsen, okay? Head back to the desk."
Dana heads back to Mr. Olsen's room and upon entering notices the fresh scent of oranges. She looks at the side table to orange peels, "Oh, so, you've decided to eat something." She checks his vitals on the monitor, "Who gave you the orange?"
"The little lunch lady. She was worried about me not eating." He chuckles, "She's a true nurse, eh?"
"Gotta start'em young." Dana chuckles, "I'll have a doctor check on you soon, Mr. Olsen. Get you outta here as soon as possible." She walks back to the hub.
Miracle hangs on Robby's hip and puts up her coloring page she had been coloring on the pillar. Dana smiles and stands beside them, "Robby, could you or one of your residents please check on Mr. Olsen."
"Uh sure, let's see who that is." He looks at the status board.
"I'll take Miracle." She opens her arms. They trade off and Robby goes to the room. "Miracle, Mr. Olsen told me you looked after him."
"He didn't eat." Miracle fiddles with her fingers.
"I know, I just wanted to say that was really nice of you to give your snack to him."
"Mommy says, nurses always give. And the don't stop trying." She smiles.
"Smart girl." She pats her back.
Abbot returns from admin and smiles at the sight. "Hi Sweetheart."
"Hi," She smiles. Dana hands her off to Abbot.
"How was she?" Abbot asks.
"She's a nurse, alright. When she's older I expect her to be working down here."
"Oh, no if she's down here it's because she's doing her clinical rotation for med school." Abbot objects.
"That's for her to decide but let me just say, your odds are not looking too good." She teases then tickles Miracle's side, "Bye, My Cutie."
"Bye bye Miss Dana." Miracle waves.
"I'll let Robby know you left. We'll see you tonight."
"Miracle waves to the rest of the staff as they head out of the ambulance bay. Dana turns around and looks at the coloring page on the pillar. Her heart swells when she gets a closer look. Miracle had colored the two nurses holding hands to look like herself and Dana. Both of them wearing the nurse's grey scrubs with rainbow belts.
summary : you and jack get caught steaming up some car windows
word count : 4.6 k
warnings : workplace romance, secret relationship, SMUT, MDNI, p in v, semi-public sex, hung!jack abbot, dirty talk, praise
a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq !!
The automatic doors of the Pitt slide open and closed as shift change tears through the emergency department.
You are exhausted. Twelve hours on your feet. More charting than should be legally allowed. Three trauma activations. A headache brewing behind your eyes. And somehow, despite all of that, your attention keeps drifting toward the ambulance bay entrance.
Toward Jack Abbott.
Night shift is arriving in waves. Nurses exchange reports. Residents rush between stations. Monitors beep endlessly in the background. Then Jack walks through the doors. The second you spot him, your stomach flips.
Six months.
Six months of secret dates, late-night phone calls, and carefully planned schedules. Six months of pretending there is absolutely nothing going on whenever anyone from work is around.
Usually you're good at it. Usually.
Jack makes his way toward the nurses' station, coffee in one hand. His eyes find yours immediately. Of course they do.
"Long day?" he asks. You let out a tired laugh.
"Catastrophic." His mouth twitches.
"Sounds about right." Nobody notices the way his gaze lingers. Nobody notices the tiny smile you fight to suppress. At least, you hope they don't.
Jack reaches for a chart you're holding. Your fingers brush. The contact lasts less than a second. It shouldn't mean anything. Instead, it feels like striking a match.
You glance up.
Jack is already looking at you. His jaw tightens. A dangerous look.
One you know very, very well. You should let go. Instead, your thumb drags lightly across his knuckles. A terrible decision. His eyes narrow immediately.
"Really?" he mutters. You blink innocently.
"What?"
"You know exactly what." You grin. Unfortunately, a nurse appears beside him before he can say anything else. The moment breaks. The tension doesn't. For the next twenty minutes, every glance feels loaded. Every accidental brush of shoulders feels deliberate. Every second spent near him becomes its own form of torture. By the time you finish charting, your shift is officially over. You are gathering your things when a familiar voice speaks beside you.
"Come with me." You look up. Jack is standing there. His expression is calm. Too calm. Which is exactly how you know you're in trouble.
"Jack—"
"Now." Your heart skips. You follow him through the employee exit and into the cool evening air. The hospital noise fades behind you. The parking lot is mostly empty. Jack keeps walking. You keep following. Only when he reaches his truck does he stop and turn toward you.
"I've wanted to see you all day." He hums, his eyes softening. Your chest clenches and you look around fearfully.
"Jack.." You mutter, smiling softly. His hand reaches out and he drags you towards him, your bodies pressed tight against each other as he leans on his truck. His expression shifts immediately. That look. The one reserved only for you. Not the one he gives patients. Not the one he gives coworkers. Not even the one he gives friends. This one is different. Warmer. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way. A laugh escapes you as you plant your hands on his chest to try to push him away.
"You know we're standing in the hospital parking lot, right?"
Jack glances around.
"Pretty sure."
"Anyone could walk out here." He shrugs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips trail down your cheek, to your jaw. His hands slide down to softly grasp at your ass through your scrubs, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as his hand cups up to cup the side of your face.
"I missed you today.." He hums against your skin. "Bed was too empty. Couldn't sleep." He says, his voice rough. You hum, nodding softly. Your whole body is on high alert.
Your boss could walk out. Your boss, aka Jack's best-friend.
Your friends could walk out. God, Trinity would never let you live this down. Dana would probab;y burn you at the stake.
But the feeling of Jack's lips on your skin sends you reeling.
He spins you around pressing you against his truck, groaning against your skin. His body cages you against the cool metal of his truck. The hard surface at your back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his chest. Jack's hands move with purpose, one sliding up your side while the other remains firmly on your hip, holding you in place. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as his lips find that sensitive spot below your ear.
"We have to stop." You rasp. "You have to work. I have to- I have to go home." Jack chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. Jack's mouth crashes against yours then—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss tastes of coffee and exhaustion and something that is uniquely Jack. One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Jack rests his forehead against yours.
"Get in the truck."
"Jack—"
"Just for a little while," he interrupts softly. "I need to hold you properly, not like this." You glance around the parking lot again, your professional warring with your personal desires.
"If someone sees—"
"They won't," he promises, though you both know it's a risk. "Everyone's busy inside. We'll be quiet." His thumb traces your bottom lip. "Please?" You stare at him for a long moment. Then you groan.
"You're impossible." A grin immediately breaks across his face.
"That's not a no."
"It should be."
"But it isn't." You roll your eyes. Unfortunately, he's right. Again. Jack opens the passenger-side door before you can change your mind.
"Five minutes." You point a finger at him. "Five."
"Five."
"Jack."
"Five." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. He places a hand over his heart.
"I am deeply offended by your lack of trust." You laugh despite yourself.
"Get in the truck."
"You are the worst."
"Get in the fucking truck, baby." The inside of the truck is blessedly quiet. Away from the bright lights of the emergency department. Away from the endless noise. Away from the constant demands of the day. The moment the doors close, the world seems to exhale. Jack settles into the driver's seat. Then immediately reaches over and drags you int his lap, making you climb over the console. Like he's been waiting all day to do exactly that. Maybe he has. His head buries itself in your neck, one hand crawling on the small of your back, pushing you into hik. For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn't awkward. It never is. It's comfortable. Easy. The kind that comes from knowing someone inside and out.
"Tired?" he asks quietly into your neck. You laugh weakly.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Fair."
"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around hour nine." Jack snorts.
"You should go home."
"I know."
"You need sleep."
"I know."
"You need food." You open one eye.
"Okay, rude."
"I've known you long enough." Unfortunately, he's right. Again. A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, hospital staff move in and out of the building. Ambulances come and go. The Pitt keeps running. It always does. Inside the truck, though, everything feels still. Jack leans back slightly to look at you. His expression softens.
"You know what sucks?"
"What?"
"I get here right when you're leaving." You smile.
"The tragedy."
"I'm serious."
"I know." His gaze drops to your joined hands. "I don't like missing you." He tugs you closer, closer still, until your knees straddle either side of his lap. He's smiling with a softness that undoes you completely, a patient, stubborn smile that says he always knew you'd cave.
"You could always switch to nights," Jack offers, his voice gentler than it has any right to be at this hour. His knuckles graze your thigh, just barely, but it's enough. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps.
"You can't just— Jack, we're in the middle—"
"Of the parking lot. Yeah." Despite the steady, reasonable words, his hands are mapped out under your scrubs, palms broad and certain, heating the bare skin of your waist. For one long moment, he just looks at you—really looks, the way you never let anyone see. It's a miracle you haven't combusted yet. "Hey," he murmurs, thumb brushing circles over your ribs, "you're safe here. I'm not letting anyone see you like this. Just me." You want to tell him it's a bad idea but the words tangle behind your teeth, undone by the gravity of him, the rare silence, the rare privacy. Instead you groan as he kisses you with bruising finality. Jack’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, detouring up your back, unhooking your bra one-handed like he’s done it a thousand times before. You shiver as callused fingertips graze your spine, the low drag of his mouth setting your every nerve alight. You rock unconsciously forward, desperate to erase every inch of distance between you. He moans like it’s church, like you’re something sacred. You barely keep up as he lifts your shirt, stripping it over your head, stashing it behind you with one arm never leaving your waist. He maps your skin with his mouth, trailing kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts. Each brush of his lips makes the heat coalesce low inside you, makes your thighs tense around his hips. You scrabble at his scrub top, yanking at it until he laughs—deep, unapologetic, full of mischief—and helps you peel it off, leaving his chest bare and golden beneath the tinted dome light.
“Greedy,” Jack teases, voice taut. The word stokes something reckless in you. You dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down against him, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Gonna tease me, or are you gonna let me ride you?” you whisper, nose brushing his. Jack’s eyes go black. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, kneading bruises into your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “please.” He scrambles for his fly, cursing a little when your hands get there first and help, and the two of you manage, in a mutual chaos of limbs and laughter, to free him. You shuck your own pants and underwear, grateful for the cover of rain-smeared windows and the blanket he keeps stashed in the cab. You climb back onto him, legs shaking as you nestle knees on either side, your bare ass sliding against cool vinyl. Jack’s attention is molten, fixed on your mouth, your throat, your chest, his palms guiding you as you lower onto him slow, so fucking slow, fighting the urge to rush. He leans his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You’re so tight, baby. Christ.” His words stroke pleasure up your spine, make you arch into him. You stretch around him, pulse thumping muggy-hot. The fullness burns, but you keep sinking, inch by inch, until your bodies lock together just right. Jack’s hands hold you steady, fingers shameless where they spread your thighs wider.
“Just like that,” he says, voice barely more than a gasp. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good.” You hide a whimper in the base of his throat, teeth scraping gentle. He bucks up, just barely, testing you, and you flinch at the jolt of feeling. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s the promise of relief, the bright pressure of him inside you, desperate and thick. He rocks you up and down, slow at first. You find the rhythm, bracing your arms on his shoulders, riding the push and give of his hips. Every time you lift and slide down, he groans, low and open, like he planned to worship you right here under the sterile hospital floodlights.
“That’s it, angel. Good girl. You like that?” he pants, lips grazing your ear, and you nearly sob at the endearment. No one has ever made you feel anything like this. Like the world is distilled to the backseat of a Chevy, and your body is the only urgent matter left on Earth.
“Yes,” you choke, clinging to him, heart hammering. “Yes, Jack, yes—” He leverages you up, thrusts in a little sharper. “Say it again. Want to hear you.” You do. You say it for him, say it for yourself, every word punched out on the ride of his cock. It gets easier, the wet glide, the pulse of want. He slides one hand to your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, his eyes so honest you struggle to hold his stare.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jack croons. “Best thing I’ve ever had.” Praise hits you raw, makes the ache inside impossible to control. You ride him harder, abandon the need for quiet. The truck starts to rock, subtle at first, then not—suspension groaning, windows fogging, metal biting at your back as you get lost together. Jack’s face dissolves to soft around the edges, pleasure making his lashes flutter. He helps you, of course he does, thumb finding the spot at the top of your clit, circling it in time with the pace of your hips.Every stroke is dizzy, electric. Jack’s too big for you, always has been, and he knows it—knows how you love being pressed full, stretched open, helpless to the pace he sets. He talks you through every second of it.
“That’s it, babe—” One palm on your hip, the other splayed wide across the small of your back. “You look so fucking pretty dripping on my cock.” He bites your shoulder, playful but sharp. You gasp and grind down, greedy for more, and Jack steadies you, hips working a small circle that makes your toes curl. He pets your hair, voice low and deeply satisfied.
“You’re taking it so well. God, I missed this. Missed you.” You dig in and move faster, head thrown back. His hands frame your face, thumbing away the sweat, stroking your cheek like you’re something deserving of reverence or maybe just up-close study. “There she is. Perfect. Perfect for me.” You’re losing yourself, deliciously so, chasing the high he has always offered so easily. Jack’s words tumble over your skin, a feverish litany of praise: good girl; baby, you feel like heaven; can’t get enough of you. The truck rocks harder beneath you, the air thick with sweat and rain and skin. You’re sure you’ll leave the cab smelling like fuck, and the thought of it almost unspools you completely.Jack’s face goes slack with pleasure, the line of his jaw working as he watches you fuck down onto him. You match his rhythm, making the truck bounce on its shocks, the whole world boiling down to the heat where you’re joined, the sweat running from your hairline, the feral edge of your pulse. You want to be quiet—god, you want to—but every time he hits the end of you, a raw little sound tears from your throat, and Jack answers with a grunt, more helpless each time. Your hands dig into the damp muscle of his shoulders, sinking your balance there. He lets you set the pace—the depth, the pressure, the angle—like he knows exactly how much you need to take control. His own body barely stays contained, all of him trembling under the thin veil of restraint.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groans, nipping at your neck. His praise unravels you, makes you whine as you bounce on his cock, thighs burning. “Atta girl,” he says, “just like that, Jesus, just like that.” He meets you on the upstroke and it hits perfect, a whiteout, and you clench around him like you might never let go. Jack is nothing if not strong; he lifts you to change the angle, guiding your hips so you crash down harder, deeper, again and again. The stretch is sharp, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks you slow and full, savoring every inch.
"Shh," he soothes, running his thumb down your spine. "You’re almost there. Let me hear you, angel." You can't quite control the desperate little noises that escape. He kisses your ear. "You can take it. Doing so good for me." You’re moving fast now, wild, Jack’s hips rising just enough to punch deeper every time you take him. Every inch of skin is electric, a live wire zapping your brain blank. Your orgasm builds dizzy and tight, faster and meaner than you expect. Jack catches your jaw, turning your head so you have to meet his eyes. You shudder, a hot burst of light behind your eyelids. He keeps you steady as you come, clenching tight around him. Jack groans, curses, and thrusts up into you as you milk the finish out of him, swallowing every shiver, every desperate noise. He holds you there, buried deep, for a long moment after, greedy for the afterglow. You collapse forward, boneless. Breathing each other in, foreheads pressed tight. He doesn’t let go—won’t, can’t. The whole ER could be on fire and you think he’d still have you sealed up in his lap, heartbeat sync’d to yours.
“There she is.” His voice is a blanket, the gentle drag of his hands up and down your back more soothing than the best sedative. “You okay?” You nod, unwilling to move.
“Gonna pass out,” you mumble. He laughs, wiping the hair from your face.
“We’ll just stay here,” he promises, amused. “I’m good with that.”
You shake your head.
“Jack, your shift-”
“I can be a few minutes late. Lemme hold you for a sec.” You do just that, sprawling across his chest with your pants around one ankle, everything sticky and sweet. Jack pets you absently, tracing lazy circles over your spine as you drift through the delicious aftershocks. The world is a muffled, infinite cotton ball. If time stopped, you might thank it. Maybe you even pray, a little, in the hush that follows, your heart finally un-clenching for the first time in twelve hours. The windows are fogged so thick you could sneak a corpse out of a hospital and no one would clock it, but you're not here to think about bodies or work, only Jack's hand splaying gentle wide over your ribs, the low hush of him in your ear. You almost fall asleep. And then there’s an unmistakable staccato rap on the passenger window. You freeze. For a second your brain decides it’s a hallucination, some ghost of a Code Blue haunting the concrete outside. But it happens again—a sharp, rhythmically certain knock, followed by a muffled cough. Beneath you, Jack tenses, but his laugh—muted and helpless—vibrates through your cheek and into your bones.
"Don’t look," he whispers, which of course makes you look. You squirm upright but can’t find your top, can’t find shame either; you’re still impaled on Jack, legs numb and boneless and absolutely not prepared to deal with social reality. Jack finds your shirt one-handed and holds it out, the other locked across your hips. You squirm to pull it on, body full of glowing aches. His cock softens inside you as you wriggle, but you know he’s still hard as hell everywhere else: his eyes, his voice, the way he grins as if it’s all a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. He rolls down the window a crack, like maybe it’s just a pizza delivery or one of his patients looking for their missing nurse. Rain pings the outside in fitful spatter.
Standing in the parking lot, arms crossed, is Dana.
And right behind her- Trinity. Dennis. Robby. Mateo. Princess. Perlah. Mel. Langdon.
Oh god.
Every single one of them. For one horrifying second, nobody moves.
Nobody speaks. The entire parking lot seems to fall into stunned silence. Dana's expression is completely blank. Which is somehow worse than if she were angry.
Trinity, meanwhile, looks like Christmas came early. Dennis is staring at the truck like he's trying to decide whether this is actually happening or if he's suffered some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Mateo's mouth is hanging open.
Princess looks deeply entertained.
Perlah looks seconds away from bursting into laughter.
Mel has both hands over her face.
And Robby—Robby looks directly at Jack.
Then at you. Then back at Jack.
"Oh." The single word somehow carries the weight of six months of secrets. Beside you, Jack closes his eyes. Slowly. Like a man accepting his fate.
"Jack," you whisper.
"I know."
"Jack."
"I know." Trinity immediately points.
"I knew it." The parking lot explodes.
"I told you."
"You absolutely did not," Dana shoots back.
"I literally did."
"You guessed every person in this hospital."
"And I was right eventually."
"Oh my God," you groan. You bury your face in your hands. You may never recover from this.
Ever.
Jack, apparently, has reached the same conclusion. Because he simply leans back against his seat and sighs. The sigh of a man whose life is about to become significantly more difficult. Robby rubs both hands over his face."For how long?"
Neither of you answers. Robby points.
"That silence is making me nervous."
"Six months," Jack says. The entire group erupts.
"What?"
"Six months?!"
"Six months?" Dana looks personally offended.
"Six months and nobody told me?"
"To be fair," Princess says, "that is objectively hilarious."
"It is not hilarious."
"It is a little hilarious."
"It is not." Trinity is practically vibrating.
"I need everyone to understand how validated I feel right now."
"You accused Jack of dating three different people."
"Details." You risk a glance toward Jack. To your surprise, he's smiling. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Smiling. The soft kind. The one that's been directed at you all evening. Robby notices immediately.
"Oh, that's disgusting." Jack laughs. Actually laughs. And suddenly everyone starts talking at once. Questions. Accusations. Celebrations.
A truly unreasonable amount of yelling.
The secret is officially dead. Gone. Destroyed. Burned to ashes in the employee parking lot. You should be mortified. You should be panicking. Instead, as Jack's hand finds yours beneath the chaos, a strange sense of relief settles over you. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more carefully timed exits and secret glances. Just the truth. Finally. Dana points at both of you.
"We are discussing this later." Trinity immediately points too.
"I have approximately four hundred questions." Mateo raises a hand.
"I also have questions."
---------
The first morning back at The Pitt after the parking lot incident feels different.
Not quieter.
Never quieter.
Just… louder in a very specific way. You don’t even make it past the locker room before it starts.
“Ohhh, it’s her,” Dana calls the second you walk in. You freeze.
“Please don’t start.” Trinity appears behind her like she’s been summoned by gossip itself.
“Oh, we’re starting.” You groan and shut your locker a little too hard.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Trinity says cheerfully. “You’ve just been promoted.”
“To what?”
“Main character.” Dana points at you with zero hesitation.
“Six months.” You bury your face in your hands.
“Can we not say that out loud in public areas?” Robby walks past and doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“I, for one, support this development,” he says.
“You would,” you mutter. Down the hall, you hear it before you see it. Jack’s laugh. Low. Amused. Infuriatingly calm. He rounds the corner holding a chart, coffee in hand like nothing in your entire life has been fundamentally altered. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts. Softens. Like it always does. But now everyone sees it.
“Oh my God,” Dana whispers immediately.
“Stop,” you hiss.
“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m observing science.” Trinity leans in.
“He’s looking at you like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Like he wants to fuck you in his truck again.” You make a strangled noise. Jack walks over without hesitation. Of course he does.
“Morning,” he says, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like six months of secrets didn’t explode into chaos. Like the entire hospital didn’t witness your downfall.
“Morning,” you manage. His gaze flicks over your face.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Did you sleep?” You narrow your eyes.
“You’re not my attending.” He smiles slightly.
“I can still ask.” Behind you, Dana makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choking. Trinity is absolutely vibrating. Jack leans just a little closer.
“Did you eat?” You sigh.
“Yes.” A pause.
“Liar,” he says immediately. You glare at him.
“You don’t even know that.”
“I do.”
“How?” He glances at your locker. Then back at you.
“You didn’t pack anything.” You hate him. Deeply. Fiercely. Romantically. All at once.
“Go away,” you mutter. His mouth twitches.
“Not yet.” That does it. Dana slams a chart onto the counter.
“I cannot do this.”
“You’re not involved,” you say.
“I am emotionally involved,” she snaps. “I was lied to for six months.” Trinity raises a hand.
“I was correct for six months.”
“That’s not a personality trait,” you say.
“It is now.” Jack finally steps back, but not far. Never far. Just close enough that his presence is still there. Still grounding. Still impossible to ignore. As the shift starts, it only gets worse. Because now everyone watches. Every brush of your shoulders in the hallway. Every time he hands you a chart a second too long. Every quiet check-in that sounds suspiciously like affection disguised as medicine.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take trauma bay?” Jack asks during rounds.
“I’ve taken worse,” you reply automatically.
“I know,” he says. Too soft. Too familiar. Behind you, someone drops a pen. Hard.
By midday, it’s unbearable.
You’re charting when Robby leans over your shoulder.
“So,” he says casually, “how’s domestic life?”
“I will transfer departments.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“You absolutely will not,” Dana calls from across the desk. Trinity slides into the seat beside you.
“So do you two argue? Or is it just intense staring and violation of hospital policy?" You slowly turn your head.
“I’m going to start requesting new coworkers.”
“You’d miss us,” Trinity says confidently. You open your mouth. Then Jack appears behind her.
“Stop harassing her,” he says mildly. Trinity spins around immediately.
“Oh, now you’re protective?”
“Yes,” he says simply. That shuts everyone up for exactly half a second. Then Dana goes,
“Oh my God.” And everything falls apart again. By the end of the week, it’s official. You are no longer a person at The Pitt. You are a storyline. If you walk into a room, conversations stop mid-sentence. If Jack walks in after you, someone says “Aww” at least once. If you so much as stand near each other for more than ten seconds, Trinity starts narrating it like a documentary.
“You see here,” she whispers loudly, “the couple in their natural habitat. Dangerous. Unsupervised.”
“I’m going to file a complaint,” you say.
“To who?” Dana asks. “HR? About you dating your attending? Be serious.” Jack, of course, makes it worse. He starts showing up with your coffee without being asked. He fixes your ID badge when it flips backward. He quietly takes over your charts when you look like you’re about to pass out. Every single time, someone sees. Every single time, someone comments. And every single time, Jack just shrugs like he doesn’t care.
Which is almost worse.
One afternoon, as you’re escaping to the supply closet for exactly thirty seconds of peace, the door shuts behind you. Jack is already inside. You stare at him. He stares back.
“You followed me into a closet,” you say.
“I missed you,” he replies.
“It has been twelve minutes.”
“Exactly.” You groan.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” He steps closer.
“No,” he says simply. Then, softer— “But I’m not really trying to.”
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