"c'mon, baby, gimme one more,” jack pants, his lips right against yours. his fingers had been plunging deep inside your cunt for the past long minutes. you've lost count already. brain turned to mush, all thoughts wooshed away.
“jackie,” you whine, gripping his forearm, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm.
“yeah, baby. i want you to come for me again. come for your jackie, sweetheart,” he kisses he corner of your lips.
it's too much. his thick fingers splitting up your cunt, the metal band of his ring now warm against your skin, but it only spurs you on. jack's thumb circles your poor, throbbing clit in time with his thrusts, making your eyes roll back shut.
your orgasm builds fast, barreling you over the edge. with your head thrown back, you let out a sinful moan as you come. your legs close around his arm, but jack doesn't stop.
he rides it out with you, fingers moving slowly inside you as you come down.
“good job, baby, cum so pretty f'me,” he whispers, voice raspy. jack chuckles when your pussy squeezes again. “look at that, she doesn't wanna let me go.”
his fingers slide off you slooooowly, a wet pop following.
“look how wet you got my fingers,” he taunts, smirking down at you. jack locks his eyes with yours, bringing his fingers up to his nose and taking a sniff of them. “i love this cunt so fucking much, baby,” he groans, licking his fingers clean. “let me say it to her,” jack slides down your body until his face is buried in your pussy.
summary: based on this ask, tweaked just a touch. pope cody comes home to find his girlfriend with a black eye. he is not happy.
content warning: MDNI! established relationship, mentions of violence, angst, fluff, some lil sexy things but not full smut, guard dog pope but he's lowkey domesticated by reader ;)
word count: 1.6k (i actually don't know how to be brief)
authors note: i'm so sorry this took so long but i hope it satiates anons desires :) i took it in a more soft direction but if anon would like to see pope beat the shit out of someone for his girl just send another request.
in my heart this is a follow up to Bodyshot but you don't have to read one to understand the other at all
Pope pulls up to your apartment complex a little before eleven at night and is surprised to see your bedroom window illuminated by the warm light of your lamps. You’re not supposed to get off work until midnight. His mind immediately goes to the worst case scenario but he tries to calm himself down like you’d shown him, taking four long, deep breaths. Maybe you just left the light on for him? You had told him to come over whenever he liked to wait for you, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower then crawl into bed together. Pope had gotten there early just to be in your space, your home.
Even if you weren’t going to be there he always felt better in your apartment, your sweet smell lingering in the air, your quirky trinkets tucked randomly on shelves and corners, your scraggly little rescue cat, Thimble, who had grown rather fond of Pope ever since the two of you started seeing each other. Pope tried to play down how much he loved that Thimble loved him so much. Something so small and delicate as her had decided that Pope was safe, that his lap was where she preferred to sit. The first time Thimble sat on Popes she purred and purred so much he asked you if something was wrong with her which made you laugh, she’s happy, you had said, scratching your little grey cat's head, she likes you.
Pope walks up the long pathway to your apartment, his fingers drumming on his set of keys with nerves as he breathes in increments of four. He takes the steps two at a time, fumbling a little with the keys before pushing into your apartment. Thimble greets him with a little chirp and he scoops her up calling your name.
“Andrew?” He hears your voice coming from the bathroom.
“Hey,” he says, a bit of fear in his voice, as he walks down the hall towards the closed door, “why are you home so early?”
He hears you sigh behind the door.
“You have to promise not to freak out,” you say softly. He says your name in an almost pleading tone, placing Thimble on the ground. He tries the doorknob but it’s locked.
“Unlock the door,” Andrew says and you can already hear him panicking.
“Andrew,” you say, soft but firm, “promise,”
“Yes- I- I promise,” he stutters out. The lock clicks and you pull the door open. You’re still in your work clothes, your hair tied back, and a blossoming, purple bruise under your left eye. Pope turns white as a ghost, all the color draining from his face as he pushes into the bathroom, taking your jaw so gently in his hands like he’s afraid you might break.
“What happened?” He says, eyes moving rapidly across your face, looking down your body for any other injuries.
“Andrew,” you say softly, resting your hands on his chest, “I’m ok,”
“You’re not-” he says, you can hear his breath picking up, “your eye-”
“I am,” you insist, “you promised not to freak out,”
“You’re hurt-” he says, and you can swear you see a tear twinkle in his warm, hazel eyes. He strokes your cheek so softly it makes you feel like you could melt. All at once his eyes seem to turn a shade darker, “who did this to you?”
“It was an accident,” you say, but Pope is shaking his head, his mind is already spiraling: was this a message from Smurf? A rival crime family? Something worse? Pope swallows hard trying to stay calm, for you. His hands drop down to your waist, squeezing your hips, and you can practically feel him vibrating with rage. You wrap your arms around his neck, sliding your fingers into the curls on the back of his neck, his face softening the slightest bit.
“Can we please go sit down?” You say sweetly and he, of course, obliges you. Taking a deep breath before turning, taking your hand firmly in his and bringing you out to your plush, blue sofa. In the seconds it takes for the two of you to reach the couch, one of his intrusive thoughts spills out…
“Was it one of my brothers?” He says, sharply turning to you, making you walk right into him.
“What?” You furrow your brow, squeezing his hand in yours, “Andrew, no, of course not,”
You sink down onto the soft, blue cushions pulling him with you. You drape your legs across his lap, he rests one hand on your knee and the other is snugly around your hip, pulling you into him.
“Please tell me,” he says, and it comes out like a whimper. Like he’s begging you.
“Kiss first,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. Pope looks at you pleadingly, wondering why you won’t just say it. You, on the other hand, aren’t trying to torture him but to keep him calm.
“I need you here with me,” you whisper, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his. And it’s you… and he can’t help himself. He melts into you, your mouths moving together with sweet devotion, before you pull away slowly, placing another small kiss on the corner of his lips.
“Ok,” he murmurs, his dark lashes fluttering on his cheeks before he looks back up at you. Even with the purple bruise blooming across your eye you still look so pretty.
“What was that?” You giggle, your sweet boyfriend not realizing he said that last part outloud.
“What?” Pope furrows his brows.
“You said ‘so pretty,’” you smile at him. He blushes and looks down where his hand rests on your knee.
“You are…” he says shyly, “so pretty,”
You press a kiss to his neck, pulling back as Thimble jumps up on the couch looking befuddled as to where she should sit, seeing Pope’s lap taken. She lets out a tiny meow.
“Oop, I’m in her spot,” you laugh, tucking your legs to the side, your thighs pressed against Pope’s as Thimble climbs into his lap, curling into a little silver swirl.
“Thimblina needs you here too,” you say, scratching her little head as she purrs contentedly in Pope’s lap.
“Please tell me,” Pope says softly, “I- I won’t freak out… again,”
You sigh.
“There was this group of guys at the Drop, I don’t know, maybe a bachelor party,” you say, “they were pretty rowdy but really only with each other.”
Pope feels heat swell in his chest, if one of those guys tried to touch you, hell if one of them tried to talk to you, he would not be happy.
“I see those little wheels turning,” you say, tapping on Pope’s forehead, “patience, my sweet,”
He lets out a sharp breath, nodding, trying to stay steady for you.
“Anyway, they were getting pretty… boisterous… and there were these two young women at the bar, really young, like freshly twenty-one, I think,” you sigh, eyes widening for a moment, “and these guys are buying them drinks and shots and the girls are trying to decline but the guys clearly don’t like the word no. So, I walked around the bar and got between them and told the girls to come sit at the end of the bar with me and I’d get them to leave. I told Deran to cut the guys off. One of them really didn’t like that.”
Pope is trying. He is really trying to be calm but his hands are starting to clench into fists. His mouth in a straight line.
“So, he comes over to me trying to be all macho or something telling me to fuck off and mind my own business. I told him it was time to go home before he embarrassed himself more than he already had and then he swung at me-”
“What did he look like?” Andrew cuts you off, voice rough, eyes dark again.
“Can I finish my story please?” You tilt your head to the side and he gives you one sharp nod, “he missed. Like fully. He wasn’t even close. Maybe a foot or two off. It was actually impressive how bad it was. But apparently chivalry is alive and well at the Drop because a bunch of other guys jumped him right away. One of the good samaritans who intervened, another really young guy, clipped me in the eye with his elbow instead,”
“By mistake?” Pope says, in utter disbelief.
“Total mistake,” you nod, “he pulled me out of the scuffle and was genuinely horrified that he hit me and wanted to call an ambulance. He apologized maybe a dozen times. He hardly looked old enough to be in there… he was just a kid trying to help. Craig wanted to beat him up but I called him off.”
“A kid?” Pope breathes.
“Well, I mean as much as a twenty-one year old is still a kid, yeah, I guess,” you shrug.
“Gave you a black eye?” Pope confirms, looking more confused than anything else.
“He was very boney,” you nod, “and very enthusiastic about defending me. Best part is I think little Romeo got one of those girls' numbers. Very cute stuff.”
“But the guy who tried to hit you,” Pope shifts in his seat and Thimble jumps off his lap, snuggling next to him on the couch and he holds his head in his hands, “I should have been there,”
“Andrew,” you say, keeping your voice steady, “there is literally no way to have known this would happen,”
You take his face in your hands making him look at you.
“And it means more to me that you’re here now,” you say as he brings his hands up, resting them on your wrists, stroking your soft skin with tender intention, “ok?”
“Ok,” he murmurs.
“Also Craig and Deran beat the shit out of the guy that tried to hit me,” you say, giving him a small smirk.
“I should have done that for you,” he says, eyes wide and almost sad, “I’m your boyfriend,”
“You are,” you say, climbing into his lap, straddling his waist, “but I need you for something much more important,” you drop your face to his neck, placing little kisses down his throat. Pope’s mind starts to get hazy, swirling in lust for you as he grips down on your hips.
“What- uh-” Pope stammers, the feeling of your mouth on his skin, the pressure as you grind down on him, making him short circuit, “what do you need me to do?”
“Mm,” you hum against his neck, “shower with me?”
“Ok,” he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he stands, hiking you up with him. You let out a little squeal as he lifts you, carrying you to the bathroom and placing you down softly on the cool tile. You turn on the shower, steam and heat slowly filling the room, turning back to him slowly.
Pope takes a small step towards you, your chests nearly brushing together as he takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers. You raise your arms and he pulls the top off you, his knuckles dragging across your soft skin, dropping it to the floor. You do the same to him, pulling his t-shirt off his sculpted body, making a little pile of clothes in the corner.
The pair of you can’t help yourselves any longer, grabbing for each other, moving your mouths together in a slow, desperate kiss. Pope unhooks your bra, the flimsy fabric falling to the floor and you both start fumbling with the button to the other's jeans as you slide your tongue in his mouth.
Pope lets out a little moan, licking the cupid's bow of your lips as he slips his tongue past your lips. You both get out of your pants, fully naked, and he backs you carefully into the shower, holding both your hands in his as you step over the lip of the tub. Your heart flutters with how careful he’s being with you. Pope steps in the shower after you, pulling the curtain shut and wrapping his arms around you as the two of you make out lazily in the shower.
You nibble on his bottom lip in a teasing, tantalizing manner and he drops one of his big hands, taking a handful of your ass in his rough palm. You let out a little squeaking sound into his mouth which he swallows with hunger. Fingers tangle in his wet curls as your tongues roll over one another’s slow and dreamy.
Pope pulls back, making you moan in playful frustration. He cradles your face in his hands and brings his lips up to your cheek bone, just where the bruise flowers across your skin and presses the gentlest constellation of kisses on your little black-and-blue mark. You blush and tuck your face into his neck, your arms around his waist as he draws little shapes on your lower back.
“You’re so beautiful,” Pope mumbles into your skin after dropping his head to your shoulder.
“Even with my shiner?” You pull back, twisting one of his little curls between your fingers. His eyes drift over your face, your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, plush lips… you couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.
“Makes you look tough,” he squints with a cheeky smile.
“Oh yeah?” You smile back.
“Mhm,” he hums.
“So I guess I don’t need you around when I’m working then,” you tease, “all the guys will know to back off,”
Pope pinches your side lightly making you yelp out a giggle, tightening your grip on him.
“When’s your next shift?” He says, eyes dropping to your mouth.
“Tomorrow,” you say, batting your wet, dark lashes at him. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours.
“I’ll be there,” he says, low and rough, before giving you a sweet, lingering kiss.
andrew cody who sneaks into the bathroom after staying over at your place to brush his teeth with his finger as usual and spots an unfamiliar green toothbrush in the little cup where your purple toothbrush has always sat. his throat immediately gets tight. he didn’t realize you were seeing other people. he certainly isn’t. and in a moment of hurt more than anger he grabs the green toothbrush and walks back out to your bedroom.
“what is this?” andrew says, holding up the toothbrush, as you rub your eyes and roll towards him with a groan.
“mm… good morning,” you hum, trying to wake up, “toothbrush,”
“whose toothbrush?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, trying not to sound desperate.
“yours,” you say, voice still scratchy with sleep.
“this isn’t mine,” andrew says.
“well, i guess technically not yet, yeah,” you sigh, sitting up and shifting closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, “you gotta use it first,”
andrew just sort of stares blankly at you and you finally wake up enough to catch on to what’s happening in that head of his.
“i got it for you,” you say, threading your fingers through his curls which have fluffed up with sleep, “for when you stay here,”
“you got this for me?” andrew blinks at you.
“well, i know it’s not the most romantic gift,” you smile, placing a kiss on his shoulder, exposed by his muscle tee, “but i thought it might be nice,” you mumble against his skin.
andrew drops the toothbrush on the bed next to him and takes your face in his hands, kissing you sweetly. you giggle against his lips, pulling yourself closer to him.
“thank you,” he says your name tenderly, forehead resting against yours.
“you’re so sweet,” you say, placing another quick kiss on his lips, “it’s just a toothbrush,”
“no- it’s-” andrew sighs trying to collect his thoughts, “it’s just nice that you thought of me,”
“well, i think about you a lot,” you smile.
“yeah?” he says, a blush spreading across his cheeks.
“mhm,” you nod before leaning forward, peppering kisses to his neck softly, “i like you,” you murmur between kisses.
andrew sighs, his eyes fluttering closed, god he likes you so much. in a little burst he grabs you by your hips, lifting you around his waist as you grab the back of his neck with a giggle. he stands, swiping his toothbrush from the bed, carrying you to the bathroom.
“andrew,” you squeal, “what are you doing!”
“i gotta try out my new toothbrush,” he says, placing you gently on the counter next to the sink. he stands between you legs as the two of you brush your teeth, giggling and exchanging minty kisses. you both rinse, smiling almost shyly at one another before he passes you a little hand towel to wipe your mouth with.
“so…?” you say, resting your hands on the edge of the counter, leaning towards him, “i’d like the review for your new toothbrush,”
andrew just smiles at you, pushing further between your legs, resting his hands on your waist. he places a soft kiss on your lips, your mouths moving together slowly. he pulls you closer with a sharp tug, slipping his tongue past your lips, the sharp sweetness of peppermint dancing in your mouths.
summary: as a fourth year resident in the Obstetrics department at PTMC, and the wife of jack abbot, calls down to the ER almost always brighten your day. certified wife guy jack abbot loves to see his girl in action.
content warnings: MDNI! graphic descriptions of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, a lil angst, husband jack abbot banter and fluff with his favorite person, you ;)
word count: 3.3k
authors note: just a little something that popped into my mind rewatching that season 2 case. pretty medical heavy but drop a comment if you enjoyed :)
“Hey, Dr. Abbot,” Medic Nguyen says, pulling out the heavily pregnant woman on the gurney from the back of the rig, “this is Judith Lastrade, 36 weeks pregnant with two days of headache, now a 10 out of 10 with blurred vision. BP 174/120, heart rate 92. No relief with fentanyl.”
“Judith, I'm Dr. Abbot,” Jack says calmly, “any weakness in your arms or legs?”
“No, no. Is this a stroke?” She says, resting her hand on her stomach.
“We need to check for everything,” Jack says, pushing her gurney into the ER with Robby and the medics.
“Where are you doing your prenatal care?” Robby asks.
“Nowhere.” Judith says, firm and defensive. “It's a wild pregnancy. I want a free birth.”
“Uh, ok,” Jack says, exchanging a charged glance with Robby as they push her into trauma two. “Mateo, Nazely, Henderson, with me. Lena, call up to OB, ask for-”
“I know who to ask for,” Lena says, smiling, phone already to her ear.
“CTG is on,” Mateo says, adjusting the strap on Judith's belly.
“CTG?” Judith says, looking up at him.
“Cardiotocography. Measures the baby's heart rate and checks for contractions.” Jack says, crouching forward, reading the stats on the machine, “fetal heart rate 128. Normal range, Nazely?”
“110 to 160,” Nazley says.
“So the baby's OK?” Judith says.
“Right now, yes.” Henderson says, “128 is reassuring,”
“Your next move, Crus?” Jack asks.
“20 of labetalol, IV push over two minutes,” Crus says, pulling the meds from the nearby drawer.
“Uh, what's happening?” Judith asks, the monitors beeping rhythmically in the background.
“You have a condition called preeclampsia,” Nazley offers gently.
“And how did it happen?” Judith says, voice laced with worry.
“Uh, nobody really knows, actually,” Jack says, looking out the glass doors towards the hub, wondering where you are, “it affects about 10% of the pregnancies. High blood pressure, headaches, protein in the urine, and swollen ankles.”
“Ok, well, it's a wild pregnancy, so that means no medical care,” Judith says,
“Then why are you here?” Robby says, no concern in his voice.
“I just need to get rid of this headache,” she says, tears starting to well in her eyes,
“Well, if we don't lower your blood pressure and treat with magnesium, there can be problems.” Abbot says gentler, trying to correct Robby’s harsh tone.
“Like what?” Judith sniffs.
“Seizures, bleeding, even death, for you and the baby,” Crus says.
“Oh, my God,” Judith cries.
“Robby,” Dana says, poking her head in the room, “need you in trauma one,”
“OK,” Robby says, following Dana out of the room, “you good?”
“Yeah, I'm good. I got it. With my eyes closed. But I won't. Maybe one eye.” Jack clicks his tongue as he winks at Judith.
“Jesus, Jack, she’s already pregnant,” you say, a cheeky smile on your face as you push through the back door of the trauma room. His whole face lights up as you walk into the room, your jade green scrubs hugging your hips just the way he likes. He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to you and squeezing your waist.
“She’s the other Dr. Abbot?” Nazley says under her breath to Crus, “she’s so much younger than him,”
“Yeah,” Crus murmurs back but you and Jack don’t hear them, the two of you in your own world for a moment, “they kinda don’t give a fuck,”
“Hey,” Jack says, his voice dropping to something much softer. He’s in awe of how beautiful you look under the harsh fluorescences of the ER.
“Hi, Dr. Abbot,” you smile, shaking your head, rubbing in the purell on your hands. The little group of nurses and doctors gather around you. You nod hello to Crus and Mateo, pausing on Nazely, “I don’t think we’ve gotten to work together yet,” you hold out your hand to her introducing yourself.
“Nazley Toomarian, intern,” she says, “I- I just started tonight,”
“Jesus and they put you on the night shift?” You turn to Jack, “free her.”
“I didn’t assign her to the night shift,” Jack holds his hands up in self defense.
“Well, it’s really nice to meet you Dr. Toomarian,” you say, “you’ve got a good teacher here,” you wink at Jack.
“You’re not biased or anything,” Jack smiles.
“Not at all,” you roll your eyes playfully, “whaddya got for me?”
“This is Judith. G1, P0 with no prenatal care. Preeclampsia with severe hypertension,” Nazley says, standing up a little straighter as she speaks to you, before turning back to Judith, “How's the headache?”
“Still a 10,” Judith moans.
“More fentanyl?” Crus asks.
“Yep,” Abbot says, trying to suppress the smile that wants to form on his face now that you’re in the room. He leans into you and murmurs under his breath, “missed you,”
“Jack, you saw me two hours ago,” you smile, "remember? We carpooled from our house?”
“BP's good,” Crus says, eyes on the monitor, “another fifty,”
Your eyes linger on Jack as he beams at you while you walk over to the patient's bedside.
“Hi Judith,” you say softly, “I’m Dr. Abbot from OB,”
“I thought he was Dr. Abbot,” Judith looks towards Jack.
“He is. I- uh- am too,” you smile at her, “we’re married,”
“Oh,” Judith sighs, “that’s nice. That you get to work together I mean. Do you have kids?”
“No,” you say, and you don’t have to turn your head to see that Jack has walked up next to you, to feel the tension radiating off Jack at her question. Thankfully Crus intervenes before Jack boils over.
“Some jelly on the belly. Gonna take a quick look with ultrasound.” Crus says, handing you the wand and gel.
“No, no, no.” Judith wraps her arms around her stomach, “ultrasound can harm the baby.”
“Not true.” Jack says curtly.
“I understand that you feel scared but not doing the ultrasound can end up harming you and the baby,” you say gently, “I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Ok,” Judith huffs, dropping her arm, “just do it as fast as you can,”
“Why no prenatal care, Judith?” You say, no judgment in your voice, squirting the gel on her stomach.
“I wanted a free birth,” she says defensively, “no doctors, no hospital, no medicine.”
“Mm,” Jack says from beside you, “you have a midwife? A birth doula?”
“No, I don't need one,” Judith says, as you drag the wand over her belly, “women have been having children on their own for thousands of years.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, clearly getting irritated, “with an infant mortality rate of 30% for most of those thousands of years,”
“You know Judith,” you say, cutting off your husband, speaking softly while keeping your eyes on the screen, “for a lot of those years birthing was a community event. Women relied on midwives and the other women in their lives to help them during childbirth.”
“What is this good cop bad cop?” Judith moans.
“I know this isn’t how you envisioned it,” you say, turning to her, “but there are a lot of people here who are more than happy to help you, if you’d let us.”
“Dr. Abbot is the best doctor in this hospital,” Jack says, feeling his heart swell at the patience and care you’re offering such a difficult patient, “I’d listen to her if I were you,”
“Femur length seven centimeters,” you say to Jack, “37 weeks. I’d induce.”
“What?” Judith says, panicked, “no, no, no. Absolutely not.”
“At 37 weeks, the cure for preeclampsia is to deliver the baby,” Jack says firmly, but with a little less bite, “we need to get you upstairs so Dr. Abbot can induce labor to save you and your baby.”
“No.” Judith sits up, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”
You stand, exchanging a knowing look with Jack before walking over to the phone and calling up to the OB department for a room.
“Labs are coming back.” Nazley says, pulling the labs up on the computer, “Hemoglobin 7.5, platelets 40. LFTs are sky high.”
“HELLP syndrome,” Jack shakes his head, looking at the results.
“Hemolytic anemia, elevated liver enzymes, and low platelets,” Crus explains to Nazley.
“They're cleaning a room,” you say, hanging up the phone, “I can bring her up in ten minutes.”
“How you doing, Judith?” Jack says, walking back to her bedside.
“I- I-” Judith’s eyes roll back, her body starts to spasm.
“Oh, she's seizing,” Nazely says.
“Oh, shit,” you say, moving next to Jack, “10 of IV diazepam. Have another 10 ready,”
“With all the movement, we can't get a fetal heartbeat,” Mateo says, checking the CTG.
“Putting on 15 liters by mask. Should we intubate?” Crus asks.
“Hold intubation. Let's try to break this. We don't want to mask seizures with paralysis unless we have to,” you say to Nazley, explaining your rationale.
“Nazely, what's the diagnosis?” Jack asks.
“Um, with the seizure, now it's eclampsia,” Nazely says.
“Fetal heart rate is about 90,” you shake your head, “way too low,”
“Mom's sats are going down,” Mateo says, his eyes on the monitor.
“Time to tube her?” Crus asks, looking between you and Jack. The two of you stare at each other, seeming to telepathically communicate.
“Set up for it, but wait,” you speak for the pair of you, “another 10 of diazepam. Push 4 grams of Keppra.”
“Pulse ox is 88,” Mateo says, shaking his head.
“Dr. Abbot?” Crus says, looking at Jack, “Intubate?”
But Jack looks at you.
“Let’s do it,” you say.
“Nazely, what do you suggest for rapid sequence induction?” Jack says.
“Etomidate and roc,” Nazely offers her best guess.
“Mm, not quite, Dr. Toomarian,” you say, snapping on a pair of gloves, “120 of propofol, 60 of succinylcholine.”
“Why is that, Crus?” Jack says, pulling on his own pair of gloves.
“Propofol for the anti-seizure effect, sux to avoid prolonged paralysis so we can check her neuro exam.” Crus says.
“Exactly,” Jack nods.
“Pushing the propofol,” Mateo injects the medication into Judith’s IV.
“Once she's flat for intubation we need to displace the uterus to the left,” you say across the table to Jack.
“Nazely, that's you. Big hug, both arms. Get the baby off the vena cava.” Jack mimes the movement, guiding her.
“What's she had so far?” Shen says, walking in the room.
“30 of diazepam, a full load of mag, Keppra, and propofol,” Jack says, eyes on the monitor.
“Damn.” Ellis’ eyes follow Jack's, “What's your next step?”
“Any ideas?” Jack asks the room, “Nazely?”
“Dilantin? Valproate?” Nazely offers.
“Infusion is too long. Push 100 of ketamine. That's had results with refractory status,” you say, nodding at Nazely. She injects the ketamine into the IV and immediately the heart rate picks up, but not as much as you’d like, “little better.”
“Yeah. She should be upstairs with the rest of OB,” Shen shakes his head.
“Best of OB is down here with us,” Jack says, looking at you with adoration. You smile and shake your head at his compliment. The phone in the room rings and Ellis moves to pick it up.
“Ok, got it.” she says, “OB says send her and Dr. Abbot up. They have an OR ready.”
“This one looks like it took a turn for the worse,” Robby says walking into the room, and as if he spoke it into existence, Judith’s heart starts to fail, “fuck. V-fib”!
“Chest compressions, Dr. Toomarian, Charge to 200,” you say, commanding the room, “Prep the belly. Get a baby warmer. Call the NICU. Start a timer.”
“Charged. Clear.” Mateo says. Everyone raises their hands off Judith and steps back. A shock jolts her body but her heart doesn’t pick up again on its own, “continue compressions!”
“Gown up, baby, it's you and me.” Abbot looks across the table at you and you give your head a little shake at the pet name in this dire circumstance.
“Dr. Toomarian, do you know the four-minute rule?” You ask as Mateo helps you slip on a gown.
“Uh, not sure.” Nazely says, tying Jack’s gown for him.
“Pregnant patient with a viable fetus, you have four minutes after cardiac arrest to save the baby.” You say, sliding your goggles up your nose.
“And the mom,” Jack adds, “we don't call it a postmortem C-section anymore. It's a resuscitative hysterotomy to try to save them both.”
“But she doesn't want any medical intervention.” Nazley says tepidly.
“Doesn't matter. Mom and baby are both dead if we do nothing.” You say. “OK, charge to 200. One more rhythm check and then Jack and I are gonna cut. Ellis, you and Crus on Mom resuscitation. Shen, you and Nazely take the baby. OK, hold compressions.”
Everyone steps back, raising their hands off Judith’s limp body.
“Still V-fib.” Crus shakes his head.
“We need to get this baby out right now,” Jack says to you, and you nod, “let’s have eyes on Dr. Abbot, this is a priceless demonstration we’re about to get,”
“Ok, ten blade,” you say, holding out your hand, grateful you’re masked up so the trauma room can’t see you blush. Mateo places the scalpel in your hand.
“First incision is from the xiphoid to the pubic symphysis through the skin to the linea alba.” You say, dragging the blade down her belly.
“Second incision goes through the peritoneum, exposing the uterus,” you’re laser focused, making an identical incision on the deeper layer of skin.
“Ellis, gentle traction,” Jack says, pulling back his retractor and she mirrors his movements.
“Ok, making a small vertical incision through the lower uterus so as not to cut the baby,” you say, taking the scissors from Mateo, “using scissors to extend superiorly.”
“Ellis, hand retract the uterus with me.” Jack says, knowing what you need before you have to ask.
“Amniotic fluid looks good,” you say, as it spills out, “give me some fundal pressure.”
“Breech position,” Jack says, as you reach into her uterus.
“Baby's out. It's a girl!” You say, and Jack can hear the smile in your voice. He knows that this is your favorite part, usually much more joyful and with the mother conscious.
“Ok, blue and flaccid. We got mommy, you take baby,” You say to Shen. Everyone works in frantic precision. You pull out the placenta in a smooth motion, getting it all out in one go.
“Hold compressions.” Jack says.
“I got a weak carotid.” Mateo says, and you breathe out in relief.
“No seizure activity on the EEG.” Crus says, eyes on the monitor.
“Ah!” Shen calls from across the room, “Baby girl just scored the winning point! APGAR of 8 is pretty normal.”
“Holy shit,” Dr. Pettyfer, your OB colleague pushes in the room, “what did I miss?
“Eclampsia with status, HELLP syndrome, cardiac arrest, resuscitative hysterotomy.” Jack says, resting his hands on his hips.
“I was in the OR with a septic twin C-section,” Pettyfer says, looking between you and Jack, “got your text 12 minutes ago.”
“Shit happens fast down here,” Jack shrugs.
“Dr. Abbot did a resuscitative hysterotomy in 36 seconds.” Crus says, awe in his voice.
“Impressive,” Pettyfer crosses his arm, looking down at Judith.
“You’re not gonna ask which one?” Jack says, crossing his arms.
“I don’t have to,” Pettyfer smirks.
“NICU's sending a team down,” Mateo says, hanging up the phone.
“Alright well I can take mom along with my star resident,” Pettyfer nods at you before turning to the ER crew, “you guys are rock stars,”
“We like to be referred to as crawlers of the night,” Jack says, a playful lilt in his voice.
“My god,” you roll your eyes at him, before turning back to Pettyfer, “can I meet you up there in five? I wanna wait for NICU to come get the baby,”
“Yeah, no problem,” Pettyfer says as Crus and Ellis help him roll Judith out of the room, the rest of the ER staff clearing out leaving you and Jack alone. You lock eyes and let out a long, deep breath.
“You were amazing,” Jack says, walking towards you, the tip of his boot bumping against your sneaker.
“I fucking hate anti-vaxx, make america healthy again bullshit people,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Jack teases as he moves his arms around your body, holding you against him. You pinch his side and he yells out a little yelp.
“She was scared,” you say, breathing in his smell, “idiots can be scared too, Jack,”
“So true, baby,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back, “you were good with her,”
“I was,” you sigh.
“I didn’t like it when she asked if we had kids,” Jack says into your hair.
“She was just scared, looking for a little connection,” you say, pulling back so you can look your husband in the eye, “it’s ok that we’re doing things our own way. We’re allowed to not want kids.”
“I love you so much,” he says, squeezing your hip.
“I love you so much,” you echo.
“Fuck kids,” Jack says.
“Fuck kids,” you say so enthusiastically Jack can’t help but laugh, “...for us though. For other people it’s super important to my livelihood.”
“Right,” Jack nods in mock seriousness. You smile at him, running your hands up his arms, locking your fingers behind his neck.
“I want you all to myself,” you whisper, leaning up, quickly biting his ear lobe. Jack grips down on your waist and lets out a small, soft groan.
“You got me,” he rasps.
“I know,” you smile, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I gotta get back upstairs my love,”
“Ok,” he says, trying not to be so disappointed, especially after getting to spend a little extra time with you.
Jack shoves his hands in his pockets as the pair of you walk towards the elevators, knowing he’d be too tempted to take your hand if he didn’t.
“If I give you constructive feedback will you still love me?” You say, as the pair of you move slowly through the pitt.
“I’ll love you no matter what,” Jack hums.
“You should try to call Nazley Dr. Toomarian,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back, “she just became a doctor. And I know you have your whole fun-attending-night-crawlers thing but… she worked hard to get here and I think it could mean a lot. Especially because the night shift down here is kind of a boys club,”
“We have Ellis!” Jack says.
“Jack…” you stop in front of the elevator giving him a somewhat incredulous look,“Ellis is the head of boys club,”
“Point taken,” he laughs, pausing, letting his eyes run over your face. “Ok. I’ll work on that. Can I give you some constructive feedback?” He pushes the elevator button for you.
“Of course,” you smile. Jack leans towards you, letting his finger brush against the back of your palm, against your wedding band.
“Your ass… looks amazing in those scrubs,” he whispers.
“Jack!” You laugh, as the elevator dings open, starting to walk through the doors.
“Hey,” Jack says in almost a whine, grasping your hand in his.
“What?” You smile.
“No kiss?” He says, his eyes wide and puppy-like.
“We are at work,” you smile, squeezing his hand and he gives you this look like he knows you want to kiss him just as badly. You sigh, “fine. A little one,”
“Just a little one,” Jack says, crinkling his nose, leaning towards you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You giggle against his mouth, turning your head away.
“That’s all you get,” you smile, pulling away, backing into the elevator.
“I’ll see you later,” Jack says, the tips of his ears red, burying his hands in his pockets.
“Bye, Dr. Abbot,” you say, drawing out his name with a flirty twang.
“Bye Dr. Abbot,” he nods at you with that smoldering look you love so much. You blow him a little kiss before the elevator doors slide shut. He catches it and presses it against his heart. It’s gonna be a long shift.
Flower shop!! Can I order a bouquet (?) of gardenias and yellow hyacinths with Michael Robinavitch? 🩷
- @science-hoes 🫶🏼
featuring: michael robinavitch x reader
wc: 2,640
warnings: oblivious reader, robby is a yearner, reader is a doctor but it's undiclosed if she's a resident or attending but is robby's subordinate, workplace romance, robbys a little mean to reader but he makes up for it, hurt comfort, a little bit of angst
tags: @science-hoes
you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here
Robby had always thought love was like a lightning strike. Electricity coursing through your veins until it felt like your entire being was on fire. That it was something wild and alive, coursing through veins like adrenaline. It was how his grandmother described love and when he was younger, freer, that’s what it felt like. For years he chased that feeling, the rush of hormones and fire because if love didn’t leave him breathless, was it even real?
But this. You, were different. You were all peace and softness, a warm blanket or hug after walking through an endless storm. The world around him could be falling apart, the very seams of reality being ripped apart, and yet if he had you beside him he knew it would be okay. He still felt breathless with you, soft eyes looking up at him like he held the answers to the universe in his hands, he could always feel his breath catch in his throat whenever that happened. Or when your steady hands reached for his over the counter, a fresh cup of coffee and a charming wink being passed like a secret between you and the universe.
It made him feel steadier, more human. The dark thoughts and demons that lingered at the edges of his mind shrinking away and leaving space for something brighter, the golden hue of your smile echoing in his mind for the rest of the day.
It was a feeling he kept close, wrapped in a neat little box and buried under his ribs right against his heart. In a place like the Pitt, which feeds on gossip and rumours, a feeling like this was dangerous. Not for him, he had power. A name. Tenure. If something were to get out, it wouldn’t be his reputation and a career that would be ruined, it would be yours. So, he chose to stay silent.
And maybe it was also because he was selfish. The way he hoarded the feeling as if it was something delicate that he refused to let the world bruise. He lives for the soft moments with you, quiet things tucked into the micro seconds between patients and the chaos of the Pitt. The private smiles passed across the room, the soft brush of your hand as it lingered a little longer than necessary, long enough to steady him.
There were the small things too. The lingering scent of your perfume as it clung to his hoodie after he’d handed it over because you were cold, he noticed it at the end of a shift. Light and sweet, and just for him. Something he didn’t have to, or want to share. It gave him a reason to come back the next shift, a different hoodie wrapped around his shoulders in the quiet hope you’d ask for it again.
The quiet conversations, whispered over coffee at the hub or sandwiches in the lounge, voices low and almost conspiratorial even though you were just discussing a movie you both enjoyed. It was soft, sacred. The rest of the world disappears for just a few seconds or minutes.
All of it was tucked away, buried in a box labelled ‘love’ because the moment someone else saw. Where it turns into something real and tangible and breakable, it would no longer belong to just the two of you. There would be quiet eyes and ears always watching, always listening, every moment and interaction picked apart into bare bones until conspiracies were made and secrets were shared. He wasn’t ready for any of that. He couldn’t lose something so precious.
So, he continues on like normal. Eyes finding yours first in every room, softening at the edges as he watches you work, his hand lingering close to yours or hovering over your lower back as patient care is discussed, the sharp edge of his voice turning into something gentler and more patient. His smile, soft and patient
Then came the conversation with Dana. It wasn’t something he was meant to hear, he had just happened to walk into the lounge for a fresh cup of coffee when it happened and he tried not to listen, truly he did. Mind turning over patient reports and statistics for his meeting with Gloria in the next half-hour, but then he heard the word ‘date’ and ‘Tanner’ leave your mouth and his mind instinctively tuned in.
He kicked himself for tuning in when he did, Tanner was some finance bro who was more interested in his Lexus and obviously fake Rolex than he had been in the date. Almost as if it was meant to be a time to show off rather than get to know the other person.
The jealousy hits Robby unexpectedly. It’s sharp and warm, something dangerous flaring beneath his skin as it travels through his veins. It was almost a physical sensation the way it stung, something gnarled and ugly digging claws into the soft flesh of his body. He tries to push it away, to ignore it and not let it show on his face.
But he fails, the flush is obviously noticeable and as he storms away not wanting to hear another word about a man who barely deserved oxygen never mind a date with you, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him, you jump.
You watch his back as he leaves, see the faint redness in his neck and scrunch up your eyebrows in confusion as you turn to Dana.
“What was that about?”
She huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes, hand gently reaching for yours as if shes about to drop something earth shattering directly into your lap.
“Oh honey, you are brilliant but so clueless.”
You scoff, eyes widening in mock offense but you can’t even defend yourself as she continues.
“That man looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.”
Another scoff leaves you, eyes rolling all the way to the back of your head,disbelieving her words and you gently push at her shoulder in mock annoyance.
“Okay, whatever you say,” your voice is dripping with sarcasm and annoyance but she just gives a squeeze of your hand and forces you to look at her again.
“I’m serious kid, you don’t see it? He’s soft for you. Remember how he covered your shift when you were sick? Or how he remembers the very precise way you take your coffee from that one indie cafe that’s 5 blocks away? Or how he always saves the birthday cake protein bars just for you because they’re your favourite?”
You shrug your shoulders, pull your hand back and cross your arms over your chest. Almost defensive in the way you’re trying to make yourself look smaller.
“That’s just… that’s just Robby”
An exasperated sigh leaves Dana as she stands, her hand coming down to squeeze at your shoulders.
“He’s not like that with anyone else.”
Then she’s gone, a wink thrown over her shoulder as if she hadn’t just upended everything you thought you had known. And suddenly you think back on it, every interaction with Robby and how he was with the others. There’s a feeling in your chest, light and airy and new, the edges of the truth blurring in your mind as pieces of a puzzle slot into place. But there’s no time to mull it over as another patient is brought in and you’re rushed back out onto the floor.
For the rest of the day, despite his best efforts, Robby couldn’t hide the storm in his mind. He snapped at Gloria in the meeting, tongue sharp and unrelenting as he once again brought up bed shortages and ER wait times being caused by lodgers waiting for beds upstairs. He snaps at Santos and Whittaker and Langdon, less sharp this time but just as scathing as they debate the course of action for a patient. Then, he snaps at you. It’s quieter, less public. Pulled into a corner of a trauma room where you had just battled to get an airway and won, but according to Robby you were slow and a little sloppy and should have just gone for a crike. He know he’s fucked up when your face drops and your shoulders stiffen, voice rough and hard when you say ‘thank you for the feedback Doctor Robinavitch’. You never used his full name, he was always Robby or Michael when he was in trouble.
As soon as he leaves the trauma room, your body disappearing behind the hub and into the locker room to gather your stuff for the end of shift, he’s pulled aside. Rough hands grab his arm and pull him into the lounge, when he finally looks at who’s doing it he’s met with the concerned gaze of Jack and Dana.
“What the fuck was that Robinavitch?”
Dana’s voice is calm, steady, but he can feel the undercurrent of anger coming from her in waves. He flinches back, hands flying up to his neck as he looks up the ceiling to avoid her gaze.
“I-I…”
Before he can even get the words ‘I don’t know out of his mouth’ Jack is calling him out.
“Bullshit, now why don’t you put on your big boy pants and tell the truth?”
It’s harsh, but needed, Jack was very rarely one to coddle. A sigh leaves Robby's mouth and finally he looks down and meets the eyes of his two closest friends.
“I got frustrated and I took it out on them.”
Dana rolls her eyes, crosses her arms and huffs out a humourless laugh.
“You don’t fucking say.”
Jack steps forward, for fear that Dana might actually reach out and slap Robby across the face.
“So what are you gonna do to fix it?”
He knows he should fix it, that he should grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness. But ego stops him, if he does that then he has to admit he was jealous. He would have to admit he was in love with you, and that was a terrifying thought.
Dana steps forward then fingers pointed into his chest and her gaze stern.
“You love her?”
“I-I,” he hesitates, the box buried in his chest slowly starting to unravel as he realised he wasn’t as discreet as he thought.
“It’s a yes or no question Robby”
“Yes”
It doesn’t come out as confident as he would like, but maybe that was just the fear he was feeling from Dana’s murderous look.
“But-”
Dana shakes her head, already anticipating what was coming.
“It was one date, he was an asshole. Go fix this.”
The tone left no room for argument and the raging jealousy simmered into something quieter, but just as dangerous. Regret.
“Go, I got handover.”
He nods at Jack, turns out of the lounge and heads towards the lockers with the pace of man on a mission. He was going to fix this, he had to.
An hour later, he’s at your door with a bag of takeout, that expensive wine knows you like and a special edition of a book you had been gushing about wanting to read only a few days earlier. Hand trembling as he knocks and for a moment he’s worried you’re not going to answer. It takes a few minutes, the stars and the moon the silent companions of his fear as his heart stutters against his chest, but then the door opens.
You look tired, sleep tucked into the corner of your eyes as if he had woken you up and suddenly guilt makes a home beside regret in his mind.
“What do you want?”
It’s almost callous the way the words trip out, and he knows he deserves it.He takes a deep breath, gulps down the fear that had risen in his throat and gently raises the bags in his hands, “Can I come in?”
A part of you doesn’t want to let him, wants to slam the door in his face and wait until you’ve simmered down a bit before talking to him. But there’s the other part, the love-sick fool that wants to listen to their heart and let him. Ultimately, that’s the side that wins as you open the door wider and step to the side.
He’s quiet as he moves into your space, almost deliberately so as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of your sanctuary. He places the bags on the table, takes the book out and presents it to you as a flush rises to his cheeks. It’s almost endearing how bashful he looks as he hands it to you.
“I know you’ve been wanting it and it was sold out online but I found this indie place a few blocks from the hospital that happened to have a few copies online.”
You try and fight the smile that rises on your face, fingers trailing delicately over the sprayed edges, but you can’t. It rises, slowly at first, the edges of your mouth tipping upwards at how thoughtful it was. You place it down on the counter before turning to him with a finger against his chest.
“I’m still mad at you.”
An affectionate chuckle passes his lips, one he can’t help, as he starts to pull the food out of the bags as you gather plates and cutlery.
“But you’re smiling, that's a win in my book.”
You roll your eyes and place them down in front of him, hands coming down onto the table as you lean on them with a raised eyebrow, expectant. He sighs, gentle as he starts to dish out the food.
“I’m sorry for earlier. I was…frustrated and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.”
You nod, hand moving up and turning in a playful manner as encouragement for him to continue.
“I…I heard you talk about your date and I-”, he hesitates, the words catching in his throat before he clears them. His eyes roam over you and he knows he can’t do this with this much distance between you. So, he moves around the table and you turn to face him as he places he basically crowds you against it, hands either side of your body.
“I lost my cool. Thinking of that guy Tyler or whatever his name was,” you huff out a laugh at that, “and how he didn’t deserve your time, to even breath the same air as you.”
You shift then, shoulders softening as your hands place themselves against his chest, moving slowly up until they were on his shoulders. Your eyes are gentler now, understanding settling against your heart and ribs like a weight and you can’t help the teasing tone that leaks out of you.
“You were jealous.”
He looks away for half a second, clicks his tongue against his teeth before he turns to you with a soft smile.
“Yes sweetheart, I was jealous.”
You see it then, his eyes. Filled with love and care and admiration, like you had hung the moon, just like Dana had said. You thread your fingers around his neck, pull him just that tiny bit closer until his forehead is pressed against yours. Robby finally feels like he can breathe again when you do that, his heart slows and something settles deep and low in his chest. A realisation blooming across his ribs, love cannot bloom in secret. It thrives in spaces where it’s seen, where it’s known and nurtured.
“I love you.”
It's a whisper almost lost against the hum of your washing machine and the steady ticking of the clock, but a whisper is still a declaration and this one was a sacred thing. You pull him closer, lips ghosting over his for just a second.
Langdon with baby's breath + daffodils + purple hyacinth 🥺?
featuring: frank langdon x wife!reader
wc: 3,871 [i dont know how this happened, i swear this was at 2,000 words when i opened it to finish it]
warnings: angst/comfort,, rehab and addiction, cravings and mentions of potential relapse, arguments, reconciliation, mentions of future/potential kids, i would apologise for the open ended ending but we would all know i was lying
you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here
It’s quiet in the house. Not the peaceful kind where heart beats sync and breath is shared in the comfort of bed, bodies tangled in fluffy pillows and comforters with limbs haphazardly thrown over the other. No, this silence is alive. Deadly. A current of electricity looking for a flame to bring the whole place down in flames.
It sits heavy against your chest, a weight that cracks your ribs with the force of it and leaves your heart feeling raw and broken as it drops to the floor below you.
Your dinner, what should have been a shared thing celebrating a year of sobriety for Frank, sits on the table. Cold as stone. Because he was late. Again. You wouldn’t have minded if he had texted or called or if it had been the first time that week, but he hadn’t and it wasn’t. It was the third time that week, the fifth time in two weeks. When he first got home from rehab in July you had expected it, it was tough transitioning back to the hospital after everything that happened, but it had been three months since then.
Frank stands at the opposite side of the room, his bag dropping to the floor with a thud that sounds more like an executioner's axe. There’s regret on his face and you can already anticipate the sorry that sits at the top of his tongue, but it’s too late for that.
“Baby…”
His voice is quiet, desperation clinging to every letter as he takes a step towards you. But you just take a step back and cross your arms over your chest.
“Don’t.”
There’s a sudden finality to the word as you say it, despite how your voice wavers and tears well in your eyes as you start to clean up the cutlery and wrap your food up to be kept in the fridge. Frank’s face changes into one of quiet desperation, a man ready to drop at your knees and beg for a forgiveness he isn’t even sure he deserves.
Your hands drop to the table in front of you, the tears that welled now falling down your cheeks like acid burning through your skin and finding home in your flesh. A defeated sigh leaves you as you look up at him and you can’t help the subtle shake of your head.
“I can’t keep doing this Frank.”
It’s a whisper against the silence but it’s still sharp enough to cut through Frank's heart as he tries to take another tentative step towards you.
“I…” You take a deep, shuttering breath and still it feels like something sharp is burying itself into the flesh, “I can’t keep dealing with these broken promises. I just-,” your breath catches again and you have to force the words out before you crumble, “I can’t.”
You turn away from him, hand raising to wipe away the tears and Frank steps forward again to chase after you. But he stops himself, fear and doubt mingling inside of his mind until he’s frozen to the spot, as you disappear from view and into the bedroom. The sound of the door closing almost sounds like a gunshot and it hurts just the same.
He doesn’t follow after you, he’s smart enough to know when you need space and when you need comfort, instead he sinks into the couch. The weathered leather cracking beneath his skin sounding far too much like the cracking of his ribs as his head hangs heavy in his hands. The silence that hangs around him is suffocating, the same weight that had settled against your chest earlier, now rests against his and makes it hard to breathe.
It’s the moments like these, where the silence is so loud and the guilt so heavy it feels like a weight in his soul that the ghosts of his past start to whisper. That tight, restless itch of cravings start to vibrate at the surface and the thoughts start to swirl. Just one won’t hurt. Just enough to quiet the noise, to numb the pain, to make him feel normal again.
He shoves his hands into his eyes and presses so hard he starts seeing stars to stop the thoughts from spiraling any further. He can’t go back there. He won’t go back there and throw away everything he had worked for these past 12 months. He couldn’t. What follows after the craving passes is worse. Fear. Deep paralysing fear that takes root around his bones, the same fear that kept him late at the hospital and led to the broken promises. He wasn’t good enough for you, he was a broken man made of haphazardly shoved together glass pieces, rough and jagged at the edges and only capable of making you bleed.
He takes a deep breath that rattles in his chest as tears fall from his eyes. It’s midnight, the world outside is peacefully asleep and awaiting a new dawn, but yet he pulls up the name of his sponsor and sends a text. I need help.
That was it, three simple words and yet 20 minutes later Frank finds himself on a cold metal bench under a dim street light that keeps flickering on and off, as if it can’t even decide if he deserves this. His sponsor sits beside him, hands clasped lightly on his knee as he watches Frank with patient eyes.
“I-” Frank clears his throat, the words are there at the top of his throat but as he goes to speak they jumble against his tongue and warp into something dangerous. Something vulnerable. Even after rehab and the continued therapy, it was still hard sometimes to let himself be seen. To be heard. He was still shedding the layers of self-protection is had built for himself that made him seem invulnerable but right now, they were holding him back.
“I’m really struggling.”
His sponsor, an older man named Daniel who had been sober nearly 20 years only nodded and let Frank sort through his thoughts himself.
“I knew coming back things would be different…” He looks up to the crescent moon, its light is dull against the night sky and he somehow feels like he’s being judged by it as he speaks.
“I just didn’t expect it to be this hard. Not loving her and being with her that's the easiest decision of my life,” his voice starts to fray at the edges, exhaustion and guilt settling in against his throat, “It’s…everything else.”
Frank’s voice is a whisper almost lost to the chilly autumn wind and he can’t tell if the goosebumps that rise against his skin are because of the chill or because of how he’s feeling. His head drops again, eyes casting to the cracked side walk below and he thinks, for just a second, about how it's like a portrait of his life the past year. One crack turning into tiny little fissures that grow and rupture the foundation completely.
“Watching her heart break every time I’m home late, feeling it through the phone when I send her the text that something came up and I needed to stay at the hospital. Re-integrating back into work itself…” He takes a deep breath and clenches his hand together so tightly his finger tips turn white and if he had been in his right mind he would be worried about the long term damage he was causing. “It’s watching her carry everything with some much grace and decorum even though it was never hers to carry in the first place, while I’m drowning.”
Daniel is quiet beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. He knows this isn’t the time to speak, but the time for processing. For things kept long buried to finally come to light. There’s another soft sigh from Frank, eyes casting up to the shadowed edges of the park. There’s a slide and a swing set that seems to move gently with the wind, images flit through his mind.
A child, yours and his, running and playing and screaming. A few months ago it was an image made of crystal, clear as anything and a future he yearned for, now it was fogged and distorted. His face was blurred and twisted into something, someone he didn’t recognise, another man taking his place and he has to take a second to steady his racing heart.
“I keep thinking she deserves someone better.”
Finally everything cracks, his voice and his heart spilling out onto the asphalt below as the tears he was desperately trying to hold back finally fall. Some of the weight dislodges from his chest, just a fraction, as if speaking the words to the universe somehow made the feelings lighter and more bearable.
“Better?”
It’s the first words that Daniel has spoken since he arrived, other than saying hi and asking how Frank has been, and there’s a gentleness to them. No judgment of pity hanging onto the end, but the quiet kind of understanding that only comes from a man who's been here before.
A humourless laugh leaves Frank, almost self-deprecating as he motions to himself, “Better than this, than me. Than…a broken man trying to prove to himself that he’s okay.”
His voice trails off at the end, quiet in a way that speaks volumes and Daniel nods understandingly.
“I got the help, I did what I had to and still…I hurt her. I broke her trust, I broke us and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“That’s because you don’t.”
Frank almost startles at the words, eyes darting to the side to look at Daniel as his eyebrows pinch together in confusion but Daniel is just rubbing at his chin and watching the flickering lamplight above.
“You did the work, you got sober and you continue fighting every day to get sober, but you keep trying to go back to the way things were.”
There’s no malice or cruelty in the words, just honesty in its truest form.
“But that won’t happen. You can’t just erase the hurt or rewind time back to the beginning. You both went through a trauma, even if it’s different it’s still trauma. You can’t just fix that.”
He looks to Frank now, head tilting to the side a little almost as if he’s approaching a wounded animal or child, “You’re different people now, both of you. Maybe instead of ‘fixing things’ you need to learn each other again. Start from the beginning.”
Frank's throat tightens and the tears continue to fall as he looks back to the ground, he notices then in the cracks of the pavement there's a line of daisies starting to sprout. New life spreading through the broken.
“You need to learn to love these new versions of each other.”
There’s a moment's hesitation for Frank, the words landing heavy in his chest, one single thought clouding his mind. What if you couldn’t love this version of him? Daniel sees it before it tumbles from his lips, hands uncrossing as he pats Frank on the shoulder.
“You can only try. You deserve happiness Frank but so does she.”
The house is quiet when Frank gets home, but it’s not the same as it was before. Not as charged, there’s still the hum of static electricity in the air but it’s not ignitable anymore, more like the air after a storm has passed through. Something fragile and beautiful and new that simmers just below the surface.
He doesn’t go into the bedroom, instead he pulls out a spare comforter and sleeps on the couch. Truth be told, he didn’t think he was going to fall asleep, Daniel’s words replaying in his mind over and over again until he saw the gentle light of dawn filter through the windows. He must have dozed off then, he can’t really remember.
When he wakes, it’s with a start. A bang in the kitchen and a curse raising his heart rate and causing him to shoot up, he regrets it almost immediately. Pain twinges through him, something sharp shooting down his spine as his nerves fight to keep up with the movement. He lets a quiet ‘fuck’ slip past his lips as he glances towards the clock, 11am.
You had let him sleep. Despite everything, despite the night before, you were still caring for him. He doesn’t know if you knew he left last night, he had left a note just in case you woke up and he was gone but it was still in the same place when he got home last night.
He moves slowly now, hand reaching behind him to massage at the spot that hurt, it didn’t do much but it was still a better reprieve than nothing, and he makes his way to the kitchen. He feels heavy, not the kind of heaviness that comes from exhaustion he was used to the way that lived beneath his skin but the kind that came with fear. It settles beneath his skin and nestles itself between his ribs, turns his heart beat into something thunderous and his breathing just that little bit ragged.
He finds you there in the kitchen, one of his old college shirts hanging off one shoulder while you run your hand under some water. He moves quickly then, feet carrying him over to you before he can even think about it. Frank’s gentle when he takes your hand out from under the stream, the skin starting to discolour and blister just a little bit.
“Frank I’m…”
He shakes his head, turning your hand over to make sure he’s getting a look at all sides, “Don’t say you’re okay.”
You blink up at him almost owlishly, eyes wide and a little shocked at both the gentleness and firmness in his voice. It’s not his usual doctor's voice, not the one he uses when he playfully scolds you for getting hurt. There’s a tenderness there, something raw and unspoken just sitting beneath the surface.
Frank turns the water tap off and motions for you to sit on the counter, you want to argue, really you do. But then he looks at you, eyes unguarded and cast low for the first time in months and suddenly the words die in your throat and you do as he asks.
“I’m going to get the first aid kit.”
“You’re dramatic.”
It’s almost teasing the way you say it, eyes rolling even though you cradle your hand gently to your chest, but still it’s whispered and sounds strange against your tongue. A long dead dynamic trying to revive itself as you fight to return to normalcy.
Frank’s gone for only a few minutes before he’s back again, the red first aid kit that lived in the bathroom in his hands. He quickly pulls out some cooling gel, burn cream and some gauze from the pack.
He’s quiet while he works, not because he doesn’t know what to say but because he knows this time sweet words and empty promises aren’t enough. He’s gentle too, almost too gentle like he;s afraid that if he presses into your skin too hard you’ll vanish.
You let him work, eyes scanning over his features in the pale autumn sunlight. You count his eyelashes and every freckle that dusts against his skin, he looks more human now than he has in weeks like some part of his soul that got ripped from him when everything happened finally returned.
“I’m sorry.”
Frank's words are almost a whisper as he starts to wrap the bandages around your skin. They’re words you’ve heard before, hushed apologies that dripped off his tongue with every late shift and night he was away from you, but they feel different this time. Like they're real this time.
You have to swallow hard to stop your breath from catching in your throat. Frank continues to work, hands gentle as the run burn cream carefully over the skin but his face is serious. Jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump beneath the skin. You want to run your hand out and soothe it, but you don’t.
“And I know I’ve said it before, I know I’ve hurt you…” He gets quieter then, voices trailing off into something hushed and wounded as he speaks as if acknowledging the pain has suddenly made it real to him. He clears his throat, eyes darting to yours for half a second before he goes back to your hand and starts wrapping the gauze.
“Yeah, you have.”
It’s dangerous the way you say it, no anger in the words, just that quiet kind of pain and tiredness that digs into Frank's skin beside the fear. The silence that settles is daunting, the universe holding its breath because it knows that whatever comes next will make or break you.
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I-I…I wasn’t staying late because I forgot or because I didn’t want to come home.”
He meets your eyes then, hand sliding from your own to wrap gently around your wrist, fingers digging in just a little to feel your pulse beneath the skin. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before he continues.
“It was because I was scared to come home.”
Your brows knit together immediately and you almost feel offended at the words, body pulling backwards to get away from him but Frank keeps his grip steady on your wrist.
“What?”
Another deep breath, this one less steady as it shudders from Frank’s chest.
“I was scared of failing again.”
You lean closer now, understanding blooming in the consciousness of your mind. Not fully, not yet, but still some part of you recognised what he was saying. The space between you seemed smaller now, more intimated. The kitchen turned from home and into a sanctuary, a place where sins can be confessed and forgiven.
“Every shift, every patient, every person who looked at me with weary eyes,” the words caught in his throat, emotions he can’t control welling with the words, “I…I kept thinking about how it would break me.”
Another deep breath, a small step closer to you as his thumb starts to rub circles into the skin of your wrist.
“Then there was you, your picture in my wallet. A text, dinner plans, a reminder of something important. Next steps, a future we had planned and I…” when his throat catches this time, the tears fall. You stay still and listen.
“I’d think, ‘how long until I fuck this up too?’”
“Frank…”
That understanding fully blooms now, lodges itself against your ribs. It’s sharp and uncomfortable but you hold onto the feeling despite the pain.
“It’s stupid and pathetic…”
“No,” the words tumbles from your lips firmer than you thought it would be, “It’s not stupid or pathetic, it’s human.”
Suddenly every piece of the last few months seemed to slot into place. The lateness. The distance. The exhaustion. The way he would stand at your front door, eyes darting around the room like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore. You reach for him then, hand wrapping around his cheek and wiping away at the tears as they fell.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Your voice shakes as you speak
“I’m your husband, I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”
You let out a humourless chuckle
“I’m your wife, this is the exact kind of thing you need to talk to me about.”
He closes his eyes and leans into your hand slightly, eyes fluttering close for half a second before he catches your gaze again.
“I thought you deserved someone better, someone stronger”
You blink at him, slowly, confusion and shock registering in your system. Because here was a man who dragged himself bleeding and wounded through hell and back and had convinced himself that surviving wasn’t enough, that he was weak.
“You’re an idiot.”
He almost laughs at the words, some of the tension leaking from his body and loosening his shoulders.
“Baby…”
It’s delicate the way he says it and the tears instantly burn against your eye line.
“No, you are an absolute idiot.” Your throat catches now, emotions rising like a wave you can’t hold back, “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t decide what I deserve. I love you and I would go into the very fire of Mordor for you.”
You know it’s a silly sentiment, but it’s something meant only for the two of you. A line from his vows, a piece of art that now hangs above your bed. A promise that ran much deeper than ‘in sickness and in health’. He crumbles, his face now digging into the palm of your hand with almost his full weight.
The tears don’t stop falling, from either of you for a few minutes and the silence that falls is enormous.
“I love you and I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of the world alone”
It’s a whisper against your palm, a gentle kiss to go with the words from your vows. There’s no hiding in the words, no doctor voice or a false strength. Just Frank. Your Frank. The man you fell in love with all those years ago, despite how fractured he is now.
“I want this work, God I want this work more than anything in the world.”
The tears start to blur your vision now and you have to take a deep breath to stop the hiccuping sobs from wretching out of your body.
“Then you need to stop shutting me out.”
“I love you,” he says again. “And I want this to work.” His eyes lift back to yours. “God, I want this to work.”
Your vision blurs.
“Then stop shutting me out.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know but I need you to try with me.”
You don’t know if something breaks then or if something heals but Frank steps closer, he lets your hand fall back to your side as he places his forehead against yours.
“I don’t know how to do this anymore but I do know I can’t do it without you.”
Truth be told, neither of you do. When he first came home from rehab you would have reached for him without thinking and a year ago you wouldn’t have ever believed you would reach this point, you would have laughed it all away before it got this far. Your chest aches at the revelation because you aren’t those people anymore and maybe you never would be again.
“Okay.”
You whisper the words, hand reaching up to gently wrap around Frank’s neck. The foundations of you once were maybe cracked but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for something new to grow. Something beautiful and alive and paved with gold. Something stronger than what you had before.
“Okay?”
“We try again.”
The words are almost sacred the way they hang in the air, a thing made of hope and belief that feels both terrifying and invigorating for Frank. Suddenly the fear that made itself home in his body starts to dissipate and something much more terrifying takes its place, hope.
the times michael robinavitch nearly tells you he loves you and the one time he does
wc: 8,077
content warning: pre-establish relationship and established relationship, medical inaccuracies, medical gore, fluff,, aggressive patient, violence against health care workers, age-gap (not specified but reader is younger than Robby) injury and death of a paediatric patient, one use of [full name]
Robby had loved you for years. It was a quiet truth that lived deep within his ribcage, buried under layers and layers of self-protection and a history of heart ache and pain. One he had carried for nearly two years without acknowledgement until one drunken night as he walked you home from someone's - potentially Dana's - birthday party.
You had one too many tequila shots, body wobbling slightly as you walked ahead of him singing an old tune into the emptiness of the streets. That night Robby had almost drowned in the amount of whiskey he drank, his excuse being that it was keeping the edge off after a week long shift of trauma after trauma.
But he was lying to himself, it was to try and drown out the pounding of his heart every time he touched you. To hide the flush of his face as you whispered in his ear over the pounding music or when you leaned back into him as you told him you were tired and wanted to go home. The small ember of affection that had been burning inside of him for years before that turned into a raging inferno as you took his hand when he said he’d walk you home.
So when you turned to him, moonlight illuminating your figure and the cheeky smile on your face, he couldn’t help himself. He had stepped towards you, one hand anchoring itself to your waist as the other cradled your cheek. You were beautiful in the moonlight, silver streaks lighting up your eyes and making them sparkle as you looked up to him with a quiet desperation that matched his own. He kissed you then, firm, passionate, his body drawing you even closer together as your arms wrapped around his neck.
It was magnetic, some unseen force pulling you together and anchoring a deep longing into your souls. But when the next shift came, neither of you mentioned it. You weren’t sure if it was shame, or embarrassment or both. Maybe you didn’t remember it. So Robby, once again, tucked the feeling into a neat little box wrapped in ribbon the same colour as your favourite scrubs and shoved back into place behind his walls and rubble. A secret shared only between him and the universe, that he was desperate to hold onto.
But secrets are hard to carry. Almost impossible to protect forever, and as all secrets do they come out.
There are a few moments throughout the years where the words nearly slip out, sitting right at tips of Robby’s tongue before he corrals them back and gets them under control. Like the time you insisted he joined your family for thanksgiving instead of spending it alone or at the hospital. Where he watched you dance with your dad to a soft country song in the back garden, as the song transitioned from country to a love song your dad handed you over to Robby who hesitantly joined you amongst your married family members. He still remembers how bright your eyes shone that night, like the stars themselves called them home and how sure he was there tiny little micro-galaxies hidden within your irises. Instead of saying it he, he simply told you how glad he was you invited him and how nice your family was.
Or that time after a shift, where you sat with him on the park bench with tins of beer in your hands and your colleagues around you after a particularly rough trauma came through the door five minutes before changeover. The way you leaned against his arm, head on his shoulder, your body slowly losing the fight with exhaustion, seeking safety and comfort in his touch. He melted at that. But instead of saying anything he just helped you to your feet and said he was bringing you home.
The one that sticks most in his memory though, is five years after the kiss. Because while he might not have said those three little words, you did something he’d been wanting too for years.
It was a normal day in The Pitt, a steady (and sometimes overwhelming) trickle of patients and traumas coming in and out of the doors keeping everyone busy with an echo of controlled chaos bouncing off every wall. Robby had been watching you for most of the shift, reading glasses perked on the edge of his nose, he hadn’t realised he was doing it. There was some unseen force calling his name and pulling his eyes to you in every moment that he could.
Dana had pointed it out, a smug knowing smile on her face as she told Robby he had been staring. He ignored her, simply rolling his eyes and looking back to the chart in his hand with a whisper, “God forbid I know where my best nurse is in case I needed her.” Dana considered smacking him over the head for that, but her eyes finally clocked the why he was staring.
There you were, a warm but polite smile on your face and a tablet pinned to your chest as you spoke to the social worker sent down to help deal with an intense peds case that was suspected abuse. He stood just a little too closely, Dana was sure that if she could see over the desks at the nurses station his feet would be touching the edge of yours. He was also touchy, hand first resting on your shoulder before moving down your arm to hold your elbow. If she had known the guy, she would have thought he was just friendly. But she had seen the way you tried to move away, back bumping against the desk behind you and decided that if Robby in his unrecognised jealousy wasn’t going to intervene, she would have too.
She walks up to you, confident and ready to fight. Her body was rigid and tense as she stepped in next to you, her eyes tracing the body of the social worker with care and practice and an undercurrent of malice that screamed if you don’t step back from my nurse, I will hurt you. Thankfully, he seemed to get the hint, hand instantly dropping from your arm as he took a step back and excused himself.
As he walked away, you let out a deep sigh and turned to Dana, “Thank you”
“No problem kid. I got a patient for you anyway,” as she reaches out a hand you give her your tablet, eyes moving over the nurses station to find Robby already looking. His head is tilted to the side slightly, eyes concerned but not overbearing as he tilts it downwards in silent question. Are you okay? You nod your head slightly, almost imperceptively, but it's enough for Robby and you both quickly look away. The quiet acknowledgement settles both of your hearts and nerves.
As Dana hands you back the tablet, you read over the information, “Mr Wilson. 52, brought in after an OD around 2 hours ago, treated with narcan at the scene. Original labs showed high levels of opioids in this system. We need to get a fresh COWS score, blood and vitals before we can give him anything.” You both turn towards the treatment room as she talks, “Currently not showing any signs of aggression, but be careful. Mataeos is going in with you and I’ll have Ahmed nearby in case you need him.”
You nod at her as you take a step towards the medical trolley to the side of the room, you eye his original vitals and make a mental note of them before gathering the necessary things for a blood draw. Mataeo joins your side as you walk into the room. Unlike the rest of the ED, the lights are dimmed slightly for Mr Wilson’s comfort as the drugs leave his system. It gives an almost eerie quality, one that has your hair standing up at the back of your neck.
He's slumped over slightly in the bed, chin leaning against his chest but you can see the sweat molecules gathering on his brow and so you enter cautiously. The next few tests determine if he’s going back into an OD or into withdrawal.
Mataeo introduces the two of you, explaining you’re there to just get a few vitals and a fresh blood draw before you can administer him anything for the discomfort. As he moves to check Mr Wilson’s pupils, you stand back from the bed and away from the two. Making sure to not over crowd the patient and agitate him as he comes down, your eyes scan the heart monitor watching the dips and spikes of his heart rate. The rapid beeping your first warning sign, “Heart rate is 130 and climbing.”
Despite it, you remain calm. Every part of your bedside manner and deescalation training kicking in at once even as anxiety gathers in your stomach.
Mataeo nods at your words, light shining brightly into Mr Wilson’s eyes, “Pupils are 8 and non-reactive.” The patient bats at Mataeo’s hand, trying to move the light away with a grumble and a curse of get that fucking thing away from me. Your second warning sign.
Mataeo steps away from the bed, replacing you at the foot as you pull up a chair and get ready for the blood draw. He’s more alert now, eyes scanning the room for any danger, body movements jerky as he reaches to rub his wrists and adjust his gown. When you speak, he looks at you and his eyes narrow, confusion echoing back at you.
“Hi Mr Wilson, you’re at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center. I know you’re uncomfortable right now but I just have to do a quick blood draw before we can give you anything, okay?” You’re softly spoken, tone neutral yet understanding but you’re not sure Mr Wilson gets what you’re saying. Very quickly, as you reach for his arm to try and find a vein, he gets frantic. He starts screaming and shouting, the words making no sense, and he reaches for you. Not to grab, but to push and in a moment of absolute chaos you end up on the floor. Head making contact with the corner of one of the monitors as you go.
The world blurs around you, ears ringing as tinnitus from the impact to the floor kicks in. There's a rush of voices and footsteps into the room, you can hear Dana shouting orders and Ahmed and the security team trying to restrain the patient but you can’t make out what they’re saying. As the chaos moves around you, you’re very gently hoisted off the floor and removed from the room.
You don’t know where you go, or how long it takes but you’re sat down in an empty trauma bed. Black spots enter your eye line and you try rapidly to blink them away. But with your head feeling like it was in a washing machine and your ears sounding like sirens it’s still hard to orient yourself. So you settle for closing your eyes, just for a second to try and ground your body back into reality. A gentle hand probes along the hairline on your forehead, warm liquid pooling down the side and finally you register that you’re bleeding. That you’re in pain.
As you open your eyes, the world slowly comes into focus. The ringing in your ears is replaced with the shuffling of feet behind the curtain, the beating of heart monitors. There is a pressure on your finger and you notice you’ve been put on a pulse ox. Slowly, you can finally begin to make out the things, and people around you. The heart-rate monitor beside you showing signs of a tachycardic rhythm, most likely from the adrenaline, Dana at your side as she takes in your vitals and checks your pupillary response.
“Reactive and equal,” you groan at the pen light and she gives a sympathetic smile, “You good to do the neuro exam?”
You follow her line of sight, the slow realisation that she wasn’t the one currently poking at your head making you wince just a little. Robby comes into view. His face is screwed up in concentration and concern, but he nods to Dana and after giving your hand a quick squeeze she leaves the bay.
“How’s it looking doc?” There’s a lightness in your tone, an attempt and a failure to hide the pain as Robby touches a particularly sensitive spot. He winces at your side, a soft sorry slipping past his lips as he removes his hands from your head and instead to your hands. You roll your eyes softly, wincing at the pain the movement causes, but you squeeze his hand as hard as you can. Concussion protocol hard-wired into your brain at this point.
“I need to clean it fully first, but you should be fine with some glue.” You hum as he moves to your feet, and suddenly you realise you’ve lost your shoes in the fray, but you ignore that for now and instead push into Robby's hands.
“Okay, go through the orientation questions while you do the drift tests.” You grumble under your breath, embarrassment flaring inside of you. If it had been anyone else, you would have fought them on all the unnecessary tests. Cursed them out and told them to fuck off to hell. You were fine, even if there was a slight residual ringing in your ear. Like a distant church bell.
You close your eyes and lift your arms up, palms facing the ceiling, “My name is [full name]. I am at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center, it is Friday the 17th of November 2024. I went to do a blood draw from a patient and they pushed me, I hit my head on a monitor and then on the floor as I fell.”
As you open your eyes again, you can’t help the eye roll as Robby approaches you with clean gloves on and a tray with saline, anti-septic wipes and dermabond. With him up close, flushing your laceration with saline and gently cleaning it with the wipes, you can finally see the worry on his face clearly.
The way his eyebrows are scrunched together, lips drawn into a hard line. His posture is stiff, rigid, a man bracing for an explosion and just waiting for the spark to ignite. You can’t help the way you reach out to him, hand gently cradling his face.
“Hey, I’m okay….” Your voice is low, subdued, the snark you had in your mind giving way to gentle reassurances. Robby looks at you then, truly looks at you and not as your doctor, but your friend. Your person. You see the shuddering breath he lets out, how it rattles his chest and makes his hands shake for just a second before they steady again as he applies the glue.
You had seen Robby shaken before, you were there after Pittfest and held him in your arms that night as you both shattered from the toll it took, but this was something different. Something inherent and visceral, not a combination of one thing after another but simply the idea that you were hurt and he couldn’t stop it.
Guilt ratcheted its way through his body, he couldn’t help it despite knowing it was the risk of the job. Knowing there was nothing he could do, even if he was in the room. That these things just happened, no matter how much you wished they didn’t. As a doctor and nurse, you both see people at their most vulnerable and most times that isn’t pretty. He doesn’t blame the patient, knowing he was scared and defensive and coming down from a disease he couldn’t control, but some part of him still blamed himself for not being there. For not being able to protect you.
Almost involuntarily, Robby leans into your touch, letting himself absorb the heat and steadiness of your hand against his cheek and he closes eyes. Just for half a second. Just enough to settle his nervous system, allowing it to recognise that you’re safe. You’re hurt but you’re alive. When he opens them again, he straightens and allows your hand to fall from his cheek as he leans his elbows into your bed side.
There’s worry in his gaze, the kind you’ve only seen a handful of times. It sends a shiver down your spine and makes you very aware of your body as you watch him. The way you breath, still slightly laboured but evening out. How your heart has picked up in pace again despite the waning adrenaline (you pretend not to see the same smile on Robby’s face as he realises it's because of him).
One of his hands reaches for yours and he laces your fingers together loosely. “You passed the neuro exam, but I still want to keep you for at least 24 hours observation and a CT-”
“Robby!” You go to interrupt him but he raises a finger to silence you and you pout but let him continue.
“I-” the word love dances at the tip of his tongue, the little box he buried the emotion in unraveling just a little at the stress of you being injured and the relief of you being okay. “Care about you. Okay? You’re not only one of my best nurses, but one of the best people I’ve met and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
You huff a little, the temptation to cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum being over ridden by how nice his hand feels in yours. “Fine. But you have to take me on a date while I’m off ‘recovering’” Sarcasm leaks into your words, you know you’re going to be out for at least 3 days after your discharge, probably longer with how occupational health worked.
It also allows you to hide the question of a date in humour, you’re unsure where the confidence to ask came from. It was unusual for you to be so brazen. Especially at work. Maybe you were truly concussed and this was a side effect. Maybe it was the look of worry on Robby’s face that finally convinced you he thought of you as more of a friend. Or it was you remembering life was short, and what had happened today could have been so much worse, that finally pushed you to do it.
“Are you serious?”
You give a small shrug and a roll of your eyes, “Maybe, maybe I'm just concussed. We can talk about it when I’m discharged.”
Now a smile crosses his lips and a chuckle tumbles out as he rubs soft circles into your skin and you can’t help reciprocate. Robby decides then in that moment, even if it is just the concussion talking he’s still taking you on that date.
_____
As winter begins to give way to spring and the cold weather starts giving way to warmth and a steady stream of sunshine, your relationship with Robbie deepens. The past few months have been almost blissful, the chaos of The Pitt no longer following him home and consuming his every thought.
Instead, there's warmth. Comfort. Connection. In your hands as you leave the ED together. In the steady domesticity of existing in a shared space with you, cooking dinner, or curled up on the couch with books in your hands. In your arms as you lay together at night, the steady beat of your heart against his chest replacing his sense of hopelessness with safety.
Though there were moments in between where the words nearly spilled out. Those quiet, in-between moments, where it was like the world was taking a breath to let things settle and grow. Simple everyday moments - you standing over the stove as bacon crackles and you flip pancakes, when you laugh into his shoulder as Whittaker and Santos bicker in the nurses bay, your hand finding his in nearly every moment you have alone, moments where the words bubble up but are never spoken. In moments, the urge is stronger, the words harder to swallow but something happens and the little box that has been slowly unravelling is put back into place. Not as deep, closer to his chest, just waiting for the moment it finally breaks free.
Like in the early December morning light, the sun bouncing off the snow and streaking rays of silver and white throughout the room giving it an almost dreamlike quality. The outside world was so still, the city quietening down as it braced for another snow storm to roll through. You were in bed beside him, your back pressed against his chest and his hand wrapped around your waist. There was a chill in the apartment air, the heating not kicking in yet, but the warmth of your body pressed into his kept him warm. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder as you started to rouse from sleepiness, consciousness fighting to fully awaken, and he almost said it then. Had convinced himself that in your half-dazed state you wouldn’t remember the words as they were whispered into the air. But then you wished him a good morning, and fear stopped the words from forming.
Or in the freezing January rain, the two of you rushing to get shelter under the canopy of a café before it soaked you to the bone. Your cheeks are flushed from the cold, hands shoved into your pockets to try and warm them up just a little. But there's a goofy smile on your face. Almost child-like, so free spirited and carefree. A part of you revelling in running through the rain like it's a terrible hallmark rom-com.
Robby reaches for you, pulls your hands out of your pockets and places them on the soft skin of his belly under his shirt. He ran warm, the cold temperatures barely affecting him, and he relished in the relieved hum of satisfaction you let out even as the cold shocks his system. He guides your hands around him, letting them lay against his back as he draws you close to his chest. The lingering rain drops in your eyelashes are like little crystalline microscopes, making them brighter and alive, little starbursts of colour that take his breath away. He goes to say it, the words forming in his mouth and on his tongue, but you interrupt his thoughts, instead suggesting you go inside and warm up. Get something to drink as you wait for the rain to pass. He chokes the words down, his momentarily bravery dwindling, as you drag him through the door.
There’s one distinct memory Robby has of the words almost tumbling out of his mouth in the months following your first date. It's late April, the winter chill finally being beat out by the warmer spring weather. It was only halfway through the shift, clocks just ticking past one pm, but it had been rough.
There was the usual that always came through the doors in spring - sports injuries, high school athletes desperate to throw themselves back into the swing of things but instead ending up injured, falls from heights and cut limbs as people got to their spring cleaning, cyclists that have come off their bikes and ended up with a severe case of road rash. Small traumas in the grand scheme of things.
Then came the life or death situation. A teenager, only 14 years old, had been in the mountains with friends finally getting the chance to try out their brother's new ATV they’d gotten for Christmas, only to have it end catastrophically. It had rolled on him, causing major crush injuries.
The team had worked for two hours to stabilize the patient, a well oiled machine working in tandem to try and stabilize the chemistry before they could get to surgery. Unfortunately, it was too late and the trauma triad of death took the young boy before his time.
As the team files out of the room after time of death is called, giving the family privacy to process and grieve, you don’t immediately reconvene at the nurses desk. You don’t go back to your other patients or charting. Instead, Robby leads you into the break room. Adrenaline still pounds through your body, enough to keep the shock and emotions at bay. Your ears still ring with the distant beeping of the heart monitor as it flat-lined, the electrical hum of the paddles as you attempt to resuscitate. You don’t hear a word that is said by Robby, Garcia, or Dana as they lead the debrief.
You can feel your body start to shake, tears welling in your eyes as the adrenaline starts to slowly leave your system. You force yourself to wrap your arms tight across your chest, the pressure just enough to lighten the obviousness of the shaking. You also feel Robby’s eyes on you, the heavy sadness inside of them weighing you down and reminding you you are not alone. You had lost patients before, but it never got easier. You never could just shove it all into a quiet little box and stuff if deep inside of you.
As everyone files out of the room, being given another five minutes reprieve to gather themselves and grieve in the very brief moments between patients, Robby places a gentle hand on your elbow. It's strong; Steadying. A reminder to breathe.
“Come on, let’s go get some air.”
His voice is soft, understanding. It doesn’t demand an answer, because he knows you can’t give one yet. As you exit the break room, Robby keeps you at his side closest to the wall. His body shielding you, not only from prying patient eyes, but the trauma bay. The pool of blood on the ground and the stretcher being removed from the room as it journeys to the morgue. Your eyes are closed anyway, flashes of the trauma coming to you in waves and making the shaking worse. The click of wheels joins the symphony of beeping monitors in your mind and you let out a shuddering breath.
He stops by the bathroom first, the one right beside the elevator, and guides you in with gentle hands. As Robby releases your arm, gathering up some nearby tissues and turning the faucet on, you move almost mechanically. Instinct overriding free will. As you wash your hands, the tremble now noticeable, eyes focused on the blank wall in front of you rather than the water that's slowly turning pink, Robby wets the tissues in his hands and starts slowly cleaning the blood lingering elsewhere on your skin.
On your arms where you had hugged yourself. Along your scalp line and your cheek. The slope of your neck. His touch is tender, soft with just enough pressure to wipe away the evidence of what had just happened. When he’s done, he turns the faucet off and dries your hands, fingers linking with your as yours move out of the bathroom.
The ride up to the top floor is silent, doctors and patients filling in from other floors giving you gentle smiles of acknowledgement that you can’t return. Where there would usually be conversation, there's heavy silence. One the interlopers catch onto and you are so grateful they let you exist in it for just a minute longer.
Robby stands close, shoulder pressed into yours and you are so grateful for the pressure, because without it you would have fallen apart. As the door opens, you let Robby lead you to the stairs of the roof. Your footsteps are heavy, like you were made of lead instead of flesh and blood, and the echo of them against the concrete finally crashes through the haze of heart monitors and clicking wheels.
Robby opens the door, and you’re met with unsettled calm. A slight breeze ruffles your scrubs as you step out into the air. The sky is clouded, colours of grey and deep blue filtering through and though there's a breeze, there's a heaviness in the air. We’re due some thunder soon, the thought is silent but it's the first one you’ve had since leaving the trauma bay.
You stare at the sky for a few seconds, senses slowly coming back into focus. The beeping of horns and the screech of tires. The call of birds as they seek shelter at lower grounds, all too aware of what was coming. The sounds of phones and people moving through the streets.
Suddenly, you break. Deep, heart wrenching sobs leave you and your knees buckle beneath you. Robby easily catches you, slowly lowering you to the ground as he pulls you into his chest. His rubs soothing circles in your back, his other arm anchoring itself to your waist.
You begin to babble, nonsensical words cutting in through the sobs. Robby catches a few, its not fair. He was so young. This shouldn’t have happened. He never cuts in, doesn’t undermine your grief and pain. He lets you live in it, lets you get it all out, the same way you had held him after Pittfest. You stay like that for a few moments, your entire body shaking from the exertion and the adrenaline finally making its way out of your system.
Your sobs give way to small whimpers and cries, but Robby doesn’t let you go. Not yet, not until you’re ready. You thread your hands into his jumper, the soft fabric between your fingers grounding you just that little bit more. A few moments later, you move back. Not very far, just enough so you can look at Robby. Your eyes are red rimmed and your cheeks are streaked with still falling tears, though now they're mostly silent.
“I-”
You go to apologise, but Robby stops you with a shake of his head. His hand, the one at your back, now moves to cup your cheek to rub away at some of the tears. You lean into the touch, letting him take the weight of your head as you close your eyes and re-center yourself. You didn’t have a lot of time left, you had to get back to the ED.
When you re-open them, you take a deep breath and let your breathing settle. Your chest no longer rattles, though the pain lingers. Your heart still beats strongly in your chest, despite the splinters. There’s heat and warmth flowing through you, despite the cold of the afternoon. There’s a beat of silence, of recognition. You’ve survived this before, and you will survive it again.
“Thank you for taking care of me Michael”
Your voice is quiet as you speak, hands removing themselves from Robby's jumper as you move to stand. But Robby doesn’t let you stand alone, he offers his hands and you gratefully take them as you stand up together.
“Of course Im going to take care of you, I-”
The words are cut off as both your pagers ding, a new incoming alert for an elderly fall patient. There’s a beat of silence, a deep breath as you both ready yourselves to face the rest of the shift.
“You ready?” The question is a whisper on the wind as it blows through your hair, another deep breath as you swipe the remaining tears from your eyes. Then you nod.
“Yeah, no rest for the weary right?”
There’s a quick kiss to your forehead, a gentle reassurance of I’ve got you. And as you both walk from the roof, there's a crackle of thunder and a distant streak of lightning. The universe saying what neither of you could.
_____
A few months later, as summer finally settles into the city with golden rays of heat and warmth, you and Robby are the unlucky ED staff members picked to attend the annual summer gala. After years of ignoring the invitations and avoiding Gloria anytime she had come to discuss the galas with him, Robby had been caught at the end of his shift before the end of the gala and ambushed with the promise of better staffing in the ED if they could secure the funds the night of the event.
And you? Well Dana had somehow managed to convince Gloria that, as their best nurse (not letting it slip that you and Robby were dating because neither of you wanted to face that HR nightmare just yet) it only made sense that you went as well. Nurses were just as essential as the doctors after all, without the nurses the ED would fall apart. You glared at her when she told you, just before you slipped out for the night. You were never one for spectacle, especially at parties, and now you would have to not only find a suitable dress (to your absolute horror) but spend the night crafting your words to make the ED sound like it wasn’t the chaotic mess you so loved.
Robby arrives at the gala before you, both of you agreeing you showing up at the same time wasn’t a good look. He had planned to hide in the darkest corner of the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey until you arrived. But unfortunately he couldn’t do that, immediately being pulled into conversation with Gloria and a donor when he took a step into the ballroom.
Caught in the conversation, foot nervously tapping on the ground and hand constantly fiddling with his watch, Robby doesn’t see you come in immediately but he feels it. A small shift in the air, something lightening the heaviness he felt when he first stepped in. His body, where tension was wound so tight he was almost springloaded, eased gently. His shoulders dropped and his foot stopped tapping.
At that moment, he looks past the donor and to the ballroom door. His heart starts hammering in his chest and his breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of you. Hair and make-up done perfectly, in a beautiful off the shoulder blue dress (the same shade as his favourite hoodie). You were stunning. More than that, you were almost goddess-like as you glided through the room to him.
“Gloria, Dr. Robinavitch. It's good to see you both out of the hospital for once.”
Your greeting is polite, cordial. The way you would have greeted him when you first met, before he had told you to just call him Dr Robby all those years ago. He hated it. So used to you calling him Michael within your private lives and simply just Robby or hun (though you called most of the staff that) in the ED. He had to fight the frown that was forming on his face as Gloria introduced you to the donor, who instantly compliments your dress as his eyes glide up and down your figure. Robby has to grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter to distract himself and stop him from reaching over and punching the donor.
He hands it to you as the donor gestures over a friend and conversation starts up again. While he listens in to the conversation, just enough to engage, he makes sure to position himself at your side. Far enough away to be professional but just close enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin, the brush of your shoulders against his as you move through the conversation.
He admires how you do it with ease. The professional mask slipped into place like an old friend. You carry most of the conversation on behalf of the ED, a quiet kind of confidence and competence that makes him feel so extremely proud of you, and if anyone tried to redirect the conversation to him you make a joke about how Gloria has him so wrapped up in paperwork some days you barely see him on the floor.
If someone questioned you about nursing, in a degrading way, you fight back with such finesse and eloquence they have no option but to stand down. You had spent your life fighting the misogynistic and degrading jabs and had perfected the art of redirection and polite scolding. The hesitant smile that had been on his face before was now a proud, genuine one.
More donors come and go, as well as pharmaceutical reps who try and convince Robby and Gloria that their new drug is god's gift to medicine as if there aren’t hundreds of other ones that do the same thing for a much better price. Conversation ebbing and flowing around the dynamics of the ED, memorable cases, what they would do with the funding if they got it as well as general mundane things (hobbies, how they decompress after a hard shift).
An hour after your arrival, when Robby’s head starts spinning from the multidirectional conversations going around him and his social battery starts to blink in an amber warning, a bell chimes and you’re called to dinner. Having looked at the seating chart before entering the room, Robby knows you’re seated together. Gently, almost like he isn’t touching you at all, Robby guides you with a hand at the middle of your back to your seats.
He pulls your chair out for you and as you go to sit, his body blocking yours from the view of the donors around the table, you offer a warm and comforting smile and your hand meets his for just a micro second as you go to sit down. The mask drops, just for that moment, your eyes bright and unguarded a secret acknowledgment that you see him and want this to be over with as much as he does. As he moves away to sit beside you, it instantly snaps back into place as you introduce yourself and Robby to the others at the table.
The dinner, speeches and impact video all blur together in a haze of sound and colours. Conversations carried over delicious food and glasses of wine blurring into one. While Robby’s a little more present here, after you’re pulled into a soft conversation with the former nurse turned charity philanthropist at your side, you still somehow carry the weight of the conversations. Discussing the in-between moments of the ED that Robby doesn’t always see.
Robby knows he hasn’t pulled his weight, he can see Gloria from his peripheral vision eyeing him up from the next table and making motions to get him to engage more but he doesn’t see a need too. The table is enthralled with you and your stories, your voice a siren song they can’t help pay attention to. It’s a relief to him, he always struggled with the conversation part of galas, and as your hand reached under the table for just a moment (like you’re grabbing something from your bag) you gave a gentle squeeze to his thigh to remind him it's alright. I got this.
Dinner ends and while Robby wants to run away with you, confident you have secured the necessary donations, you’re pulled away by your new friend to go talk to her husband. So instead, as donors gather to start their bids on some of the extravagant items up for auction he goes to the bar. It's quieter there, most people dispersing to talk to people they hadn’t gotten to yet, or to bid, he’s pretty sure he even saw a couple disappear into the stairwell that led to hotel rooms.
He sits at the end of the bar, where he can look out into the ballroom discreetly, and his eyes find you instantly. You're deep in conversation with a couple, the woman from earlier and what you can only assume is her partner. He had only managed to catch a few things that were said while at the table, something about supporting low income families in high crime areas and a mobile volunteer based clinic to help the unhoused and under-resourced. He knew why it had caught your attention, too many times had you seen someone come in at death's door simply because they couldn’t afford treatment or a simple GP visit.
He watched you for a few minutes, the way your eyes lit up and smile brightened the deeper into the conversation you went. The last he saw was the woman's business card being handed over before the bartender drew his gaze away from you to see if he wanted another drink. He gave a polite no, and went back to looking at you. But you were gone.
He looked around the room, not frantically. Not panicking. But just…observationally. If someone had caught him, he could just make the excuse he was people watching and trying to memorise faces. Though his heart beat rapidly against his chest, the anxiety and panic finding their homes in his veins, his face was one of quiet contemplation.
“She went up to the roof for some air.”
Robby jumps slightly, eyes widening at Gloria’s approach as she joins him at the bar. He turns to look at her, schooling his face into the professional mask he was supposed to have and not the one of the love-sick fool looking for you.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
His voice is calm, even. But the oblivious act doesn’t fool Gloria as she rolls her eyes and waves him off slightly as she takes a sip of your drink.
“Oh please Robby, I’m not blind. Just make sure the necessary paperwork is filled in next time you’re on shift”
He smiles at Gloria then, he knows Gloria's not a bad person. She’s just a pain in his ass that had a tendency to show up at the worst possible times. She wasn’t the enemy and he knew she tried her best to keep things running as smoothly as possible at the hospital. A soft ‘thank you’ leaves his lips as he turns to go find you.
When Robby finds you, you're leaning against a safety railing with your back to him. It's a picturesque vision, one even the greatest artists couldn’t replicate. Blanketed by distant streetlights and the stars, you simply look ethereal. A queen overlooking her domain with the kind of quietness that screams absolute devotion.
Your head tilts to the side a little, a simple acknowledgement that you know he’s there and he moves to you. As his arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, a contented hum that sounds almost like a sigh of relief leaves you and Robby smiles into the skin of your bare shoulder as he places a small kiss there.
Neither of you speak, the sounds of the streets below filling the empty space as a soft breeze rolls through to break up the heat of the night. You don’t need to. After a long night, where now both your social batteries are blinking red in warning, the silence is comforting. Grounding. It draws you out of the masqueraded professional persona you had put on and back into the truest form of yourselves.
You both let out deep breaths, chests rising and falling together as you let the moment settle around you. Your nervous systems,which had been in hyperdrive for the last number of hours finally settling back into their normal rhythms.
You're the first to break the silence, voice soft as if you’re afraid it's going to destroy something delicate, “Did you have fun tonight?”
There's a hum from Robbie, another kiss pressed to your shoulder before he answers, “I had fun watching you, you seemed to be in your element down there.”
You let out a snort and a laugh at the words, having felt like a fish out of water for most of the night, and turn to face him with a small smile as you lean your back against the railing.
“You think so?”
He pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear and smiles at you, warm and bright. The truest form of his smile the whole night, his eyes crinkles up and you want to reach over and place little kisses into the crevices of his crows feet.
“I know so, you did good.”
A bubble of anxiety that had lodged itself in your sternum throughout the night finally bursts and relief floods through you. Honestly, that was all you could ask for. You had been so out of your depth, spending hours with your friend (a lawyer who had been to more event like this than you could count and that had helped you secure your dress on such short notice) on the phone as you got ready - discussing how the events usually go, how to carry the conversation, how to make the donors like you. It was a relief that it had worked out well. There’s another exhale of relief.
“That’s good.”
Distantly, you hear the band start up, you register it as an orchestra playing a mellow, toned down version of You are in Love, Bridgerton style. A smile comes to your face, if you had been downstairs, surrounded by people and professionals in your field, this would have been your cue to leave. Instead, as the moon scatters bursts of silver across the roof and the stars wink above you almost as if they're in tune with the band, you reach out your hand.
“Dance with me Michael?”
There’s a moment of stillness, the slight breeze you had felt disappearing instead being replaced with the heavy blanket of the hot and humid night. But it’s not suffocating, it’s caring. The world wrapping you in a blanket of safety. Trust. Protecting you from unseen eyes and forces, promising that this moment is for the two of you alone.
“Of course” Robby takes your hand in his, his other going to your waist as yours goes to his shoulder. You sway to the music, your ear pressed against Robby’s chest and you use the beat of his heart as a metronome, the music of the band fading to nothingness.
There’s a beat, a silence that's comfortable. Wrapping you in a bubble of comfort for just the two of you. One that had existed for a while, one Robby ignored for fear of popping it. But love is not aggressive, it's not forceful. It's soft, delicate. At this moment it is not built for destruction, but for creation. The creation of a future that 10 months ago he never thought he would get to see.
But with you in his arms, head against his chest, he can see it. How love has, and continues, to transform not only him but the world around him. Where shadowed creatures once haunted him through the halls there’s now a golden light haloing him in its warmth. The muted ambience of the day, now a symphony of sounds and colour with your laughter and smile the center point of it all. Even now, he would have excused himself from the gala hours ago, boredom and exhaustion over riding his body and only letting him stay as long as what he considered polite. But with you by his side, a beacon of calm and safety, his social battery had lasted longer and he felt lighter than he had in a very long time.
Robby realises then, all those moments he almost said it were constellations. Little stars in the form of his heart and soul pointing him to here. To this moment. To his North Star. You. Finally, the little box he kept was fully unravelled, light and hope filling his entire body as he finally put words to what he was feeling.
“I love you”
You smile up at him, soft, gentle. Patient. Like you knew before he did and were giving him the space to process and say it himself. You didn’t rush him, you didn't need to. You saw it everyday - in the way he greets you with a soft kiss and your favourite coffee in the mornings at home, how he slowly integrated you into his space (pillows, throws, and little decor items you liked now littering his previously clinical home), how you were his first and last thought of every day even if it was just a text. He had shown you, in a million different little ways, that he loved you even before he said it.
Read "The Long Way Home" on Archive of Our Own here.
⚚✈︎ Pairing: Dr Jack Abbot x Female Reader
⚚✈︎ Tags: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap, reader is a flight attendant (based on that one comment he said in season 2), jack abbot thinks youre hot af, fluff, angst, eventual smut, masturbation (jack maturbates to u), PinV, hurt/comfort, humour, jealousy, pet names, possessive behaviour, size kink, creampie, rough sex, breeding, more tags will be added later
⚚✈︎ Summary:
It started with a medical emergency at thirty thousand feet, a stolen notebook, and a risque photograph. In which Dr. Jack Abbot meets a pretty flight attendant, accidentally stole her things, and becomes perhaps a little too invested in returning it.
⚚✈︎ Status: ONGOING (new chapter every weekend)
⚚✈︎ Total Word Count: TBD
AO3 | Wattpad | Spotify Playlist
CHAPTER ONE: THE RESCUE 🌶
CHAPTER TWO: DEPARTURE
CHAPTER THREE: A CHANGE IN WEATHER
CHAPTER FOUR: TEMPORARY LIVING
CHAPTER FIVE: MISSED CALLS 🌶
CHAPTER SIX: SLOW ROUTINE 🌶
CHAPTER SEVEN: EVE OF PARTING 🌶
Hi ! Do you take request ? I really love your stories and i have an idea for some time but i'm not a good writer 🥲I would love to read a story about Jack Abbott and reader, reader work with him, she has a crush but she is too shy to talk to him. One day she feel a bit lonely so her friend (or coworker) talk to her about a dating website (like tinder). She end up creating a profil there and find jack profil. She doesn't know how to react but swipe right and the message "it's a match" appear. They talk for a bit and she learn that jack is also interested and use the app because he heard some coworker talk about the fact that reader were on it ? Maybe with some cute smut at the end. (Sorry my english is a bit broken, it's not my first language)
profiled
jack abbot x reader
content: fluff, smut (MDNI) - mutual hand stuff ;)
You thrust your phone towards your best friend with a pleading expression. “Help me.”
She peers at the screen, puzzled. “Is this… a dating app?” she asks. “You hate dating apps.”
“I’m just so tired of being single.” You dejectedly flop down on the couch next to her. “I need your guidance. I have no idea what I'm doing.”
To your relief, she takes the phone from your hands and immediately gets to work, scrolling through your photos to select the most flattering or the ones with the most personality.
As she scrolls, she peeks over at you with a raised eyebrow. “What happened to Dr. Sexy?”
You sigh, because you know exactly who she means. Your hopeless crush on your attending has plagued you since you started working at the pitt. Just talk to him! Ask him out! she’s encouraged you time and time again. But you’ve never been able to summon the courage for anything more than a shy greeting. One time, you’d asked him in a soft voice how his vacation had gone, and nearly given yourself a heart attack in the process.
He’s too intimidating, too gorgeous, too… everything. And you’ve long given up hope on that front.
“Nothing is happening with Dr. Sexy,” you answer with a pout. “That’s the problem. I can’t pine from afar forever.”
“First of all, don’t use phrases like ‘pine from afar’. You sound like a romantasy writer.” With a final tap on your phone, she turns the screen back to you. “These are the photos.”
A mirror pic of you in your scrubs. A candid photo of you in a nice dress, dancing at a friend’s wedding. A selfie of you snuggled up in bed with your cat. A photo of you on a rare night out, squeezed into your friend’s borrowed dress.
You wrinkle your nose. “Not that one.”
“Come on,” she protests, “Your tits look awesome in that dress.”
“I don’t want to go out with someone who only wants me for my… tits.” You whisper the last word, embarrassed, despite the fact that it’s just you and her in your apartment.
“Of course not. But we must entice the men.” She passes off the phone to you, a list of prompts listed on the screen. “Now write.”
You struggle for almost ten minutes, chewing on a ragged cuticle as you try to come up with something witty, something alluring, something interesting. It all feels too fake, too contrived. In the end, you settle for short but truthful answers.
Love language- acts of service
I geek out for- star wars
I’m looking for - maturity
You pass the phone back to your friend, seeking approval.
She narrows her eyes as she considers. “Hmm. A little monosyllabic.”
“Maybe I’m mysterious?” you suggest weakly.
“Sure, let’s go with that.” She taps a few more buttons, making the profile public. “And… we’re live.”
A few days later, you lay in bed the morning after a grueling overnight shift, idly scrolling.
It had been a tough one. A never-ending stream of patients, hurting and sweating and already mad before a doctor even landed in front of them. Multiple demanding traumas, several codes, two patient deaths. And through it all, Jack’s steady presence. His soft reassurances of you did good, kid. His sidelong smiles that he had no idea punctured your heart every time.
So you’re scrolling Hinge, in an effort to distract yourself from any and all of those things.
You turn your attention to the Likes You tab, scanning for prospects. Any guy holding a fish in a photo is an automatic no. So are the countless profiles claiming they want to be ‘the jim to someone’s pam’. And then you stumble across a notification that has you bolting upright in bed.
The notification reads Liked your photo, and underneath is a picture of Jack.
You blink a few times to make sure you aren’t hallucinating, or that you don’t need to update your contact prescription. But it’s unmistakably him. Dark colored scrubs, salt and pepper hair, hands that you’ve caught yourself staring at more times than you’d like to admit.
What on earth is Jack Abbot doing on a dating app?
Holding your breath, you open the notification, thinking maybe it was sent by mistake. He liked the photo of you and your cat. Ironically, it’s the least flattering of all of them. Your hair is a mess, your face bare of makeup, your glasses set slightly crooked on your nose. But your grin is wide and real, your cat curled up and snoozing in the crook of your neck.
He left a comment. It says, ‘Cute.’
Not a mistake, an accidental tap. He’d left a comment — intentional, direct. Your heart does a timestep in your chest.
You toggle over to his profile. Jack, 51.
A selfie of him in sunglasses. A picture of him and Dana at a PASNAP strike (hot). A professional shot of him at some hospital fundraising event, wearing a tux (totally, unfairly hot). A mirror selfie, apparently taken in the Pitt staff bathroom, stethoscope looped around his neck.
His answers to the prompts he chose make you smile to yourself.
Love language- Quality time and physical touch.
My simple pleasures- Couch cuddling and the original trilogy.
I want someone who- is patient, kind, and intelligent. (Bonus points for pretty eyes.)
At the bottom of his profile, there’s a prompt — Best Dad joke —with a voice note attached. You bite your lip and press play.
There’s a few seconds of dead air, and then his voice plays through your phone speaker, rough with that particular rasp he gets towards the end of shift.
“You know Orion’s Belt? It’s a big waist of space.”
It’s lame, but his deadpan delivery makes you laugh softly. The recording keeps playing.
“Didn’t like that joke? That’s okay...it’s only got three stars.”
Just before the recording ends, he chuckles under his breath. It lasts a second at most, but you replay the recording just to hear it again. It makes you feel warm all over.
It occurs to you that this might be your chance. You tend to fumble in person, worrying about the right thing to say, flushing with embarrassment when you stumble over your words. But the phone is a buffer, giving you time to craft a response, letting you hide your facial expressions behind character limits and emojis. And you might never get an opportunity like this again.
You like the voice note. The app automatically gives you the option to open up a direct message chat. You tap it with your finger before you have the chance to overthink it.
You type a message.
that joke is truly awful
You take a breath and hit send, worrying that ragged cuticle with your teeth.
Delivered.
Cheeks burning, you consider locking your phone and walking away from it, or throwing it across the room. But before you can do either of those things, three little dots appear in a bubble onscreen.
A moment later, two messages come through.
I know.
Did it make you laugh?
Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You hadn’t thought this far, so you’re not really sure how to play this. Playing it cool is not really your strength, but you give it your best shot anyway.
i plead the fifth
It doesn’t take long for a reply to arrive.
A woman of mystery. I respect that.
While you’re still thinking of something clever to say, another message appears.
It’s early. You should really be sleeping.
You smile down at the screen. You like that he doesn’t wait to reply, doesn’t seem to know (or perhaps care) about the stigma of the double text. It makes it feel less like a game the two of you are playing, more like he’s just talking to you. Like he wants to be talking to you.
You fire back:
so should you
That would require me to stop messaging you. Sleep’s overrated, anyway.
You’re positively beaming now. You find that you like his steadfast use of punctuation, too. It reminds you that he’s older, and you like that it does. It keeps his age in the room with you.
i couldn’t agree more :)
After you hit send, your brain starts to overthink the use of the silly little emoticon. It felt genuine when you typed it, but it starts to look dumb the longer you stare at it.
Luckily, Jack doesn’t let the conversation lull for long.
So. Star Wars. Favorite movie.
A back and forth begins to unfold, effortless and real.
you’re not gonna like the answer
Try me.
i’m a total sucker for the prequels
they’re so underrated
…You are entitled to your incorrect opinion.
the ewoks, jack!! think of the ewoks
The conversation carries on for over an hour, neither of you able to put the phone down for long. Jack is right, you really should get some sleep, or you’ll be dead on your feet at your next shift. But you don’t think that you can fall asleep until you ask the question that’s been nagging at you since you saw his profile.
before you go to sleep, can i ask you something
Anything.
what the hell are you doing on a dating app?
Isn’t that what people do these days?
yeah, but you’re… you
you don’t seem like the type of guy who needs a dating app
Do you want the real answer?
That piques your interest even more. You type back:
always
The three little dots appear, then blink away, then blink back to hover for almost a minute. You’re on the edge of your seat when a message finally manifests on screen.
Mateo mentioned he found your profile on here. Figured it was a good way to shoot my shot. Got Robby to help me with my profile and everything.
As you read and reread the message, your heart grows about three sizes. The very thing you’d done to try and forget about your (seemingly) hopeless crush, he’d done to try to get your attention. You never would have imagined that the attraction might be mutual. After all, he’s Jack and you’re just… you.
You realize that while you’ve been lost in your reverie, you’ve left him hanging a few minutes. Your fingers fly across the keyboard.
that is… actually really sweet, jack
i didn’t think you noticed me that way
I always notice you.
If his last message launched you into space, that one sends you straight to the moon. Grinning ear to ear, you type.
i have another question
Shoot.
why not just ask me out in person?
There’s not a lot of time for flirting in the Pitt.
And maybe I was a little nervous.
You’re practically kicking your feet.
i make you nervous?
Important things make me nervous. You’re important.
That message promptly sends you to the outer reaches of the milky way. Either Jack has been very good at remaining professional at work, or you have been remarkably unobservant. Perhaps you were so preoccupied with your own feelings that you had failed to notice his in the background.
well, you wanted to shoot your shot. can i hear the pitch?
More tiny dots. You hold your breath in anticipation.
Friday night, the Manor Theatre. There’s a re-release of Revenge of the Sith. I can get us off work.
you would watch one of the prequels for me?
Only for you.
What do you say?
Floating on cloud nine, you don’t take even a moment to second-guess.
it’s a date :)
The date is just as perfect as you always imagined a date with Jack would be.
He picks you up in his car, gives you his jacket to stave off the crisp movie theater AC. He buys popcorn to share, and when the popcorn runs out, holds your hand through the rest of the movie. The two of you occasionally whisper little jokes to each other, and your whole body buzzes with excitement each time his nose brushes your ear.
He drives you home, and the whole ride you try not to fidget in your seat. Because with how well the date has been going, all signs point to you getting kissed at the end of the night. Because you find yourself wanting very much to be kissed. Because the prospect of kissing Jack is exciting and terrifying at the same time.
The car slows to a stop in front of your place. Jack walks you up to the building entrance, hand at your lower back.
“Did you have a good time?” he asks once the two of you are standing by the front door, eyes warm and soft, crows feet crinkling the edges.
You nod and answer truthfully. “I did.”
“Good.”
There’s a delicious, unbearable beat before anyone does anything. Even the night feels like it’s holding its breath. You try and fail not to look at his mouth. He notices.
Jack steps in closer, his fingers delicately lifting your chin up towards him, and your eyes close on instinct as his lips meet yours.
It's good. Like everything else about him.
At first, your brain registers each minute detail with delight. His lips, warm and careful against yours. The clean, masculine scent of whatever cologne he uses. The slight scratch of his emerging stubble. His hand, sliding to the nape of your neck, gently changing the angle of the kiss, deepening it.
And then there are too many details, too many moments to keep track of, and you lose yourself in it. You move closer, hands sliding along broad shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair, body molding to his. You hear, feel him make a sound — surprised, and then pleased.
Your mouth opens for him — instinctual, yet again. His tongue slides into your mouth, testing and then tasting. You try and fail to remain quiet. You feel yourself make a sound — soft, needy. A hand at your waist, then your lower back, pulling you flush against him.
Some disembodied voice at the back of your mind informs you — you’re making out with your boss in front of your building. There's only two ways this resolves — you stop kissing him and send him on his way for the night, or you invite him inside.
You don’t want to stop kissing him.
Jack has enough good sense to break the kiss before things get too heated, much to your disappointment. As the two of you catch your breath, still inches from each other’s faces, you ask the question before you can overthink it.
“Do you want to come up?”
Jack's eyebrow twitches upward, his mouth slowly curving into a smile.
“If you’re offering.”
“I am.”
With a flush in your cheek and your hand wrapped around Jack’s, you unlock the building’s front door and you let him in.
Before anything happens, Jack gets the house tour.
He leaves his shoes by the door and lets you walk him through your tiny apartment. He meets your cat, bribes him with a couple treats at your encouragement, scratches him behind the ears. But the tour inevitably concludes when you show him your bedroom.
You aren’t sure what to do with your hands.
You find yourself hovering a few feet from the doorway, looking at him, looking away, fingers fluttering at your sides. Your stomach is full of nervous butterflies, their flapping wings creating a tiny storm within you.
Why are you so nervous? It's just Jack. But it’s… Jack. Self-assured, experienced, drop-dead-sexy Jack. You’re not experienced, not self-assured in the least. And you don’t know what to do or say when you and him are standing less than six feet from your bed.
And of course, Jack notices.
With a patient expression, he calls for you. “Come here.”
And you do, though the increased proximity only stirs up the storm in your gut. You stand in front of him, making an effort to meet his eyes.
“You look nervous.” he reaches up, cradling your face between his palms. “I’m not gonna bite you.”
You don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and your voice is a little of both. “You're not?”
He chuckles. “Maybe if you ask me nicely.” Still, there’s lingering concern in his eyes behind the amusement. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” you insist, too quick, too eager, and your cheeks warm again under his palms. “I just… don’t normally do this sort of thing.”
“How ‘bout we start with this?” He brings his face down to yours for a tender kiss. Some of the tension melts away — your shoulders relax by degrees, your hands float to his chest of their own accord.
He pulls back to look at you, his expression serious, but not stern. So you know what he’s about to say matters to him.
“I meant what I said. You’re important to me. We'll go as slow as you want.”
You’re important to me. It echoes pleasantly in your mind. It does several things to your physical body, not the least of which is the demanding pulse between your legs.
You curl your fingers into his shirt and murmur, “Not too slow.”
His soft laugh is swallowed up by your lips on his. One kiss blends into another, until you’re once again lost in him without a map, without want of one — because Jack is there to guide you.
You don’t know when your dress came off or when his clothes did. You don’t quite remember when he laid you down on the bed like something precious. All you know is the pleasant weight of him on top of you, the warmth and beauty of him, the way he handles you like you’re important to him.
It surprises you how easy it all feels, after building it up so much in your mind. There's talking, little jokes. Jack asks permission on occasion, just in case, despite the fact that your body is a glowing neon sign of yes. You even find yourself giggling as he fumbles taking off his prosthetic and swears under his breath.
It’s silly and hot and real — everything you didn’t know you could hope for.
At long last, he leans over you, his hand slipping between your thighs, finding you already so wet and warm and needy that he’s cursing under his breath all over again.
Jack pushes a thick finger inside you, and you moan softly. When he adds the second, you’re reduced to a creature of want, of sensation, of need. As he moves them inside of you, your back arches, your hips shift, your hands flutter for something to hold.
His other hand finds one of yours, fingers intertwining against the mattress. Not a show of force, but of trust. His face is so close you could count his freckles, name all the variations of color in the hazel of his eyes.
His fingers curl, his thumb presses to your clit, and you gasp, “There, I — oh, Jack —”
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your neck. “Give it all to me.”
You come apart in his arms, shaking, a ragged moan clawing its way out of your throat. When it subsides, you kiss him, laughing breathlessly, half disbelieving.
Easing him into his back, you take care of him next, even as he mutters that you don’t have to, that he’d just wanted to make you feel good.
“I want to make you feel good, too,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you wrap your hand around him.
It doesn’t take long, which Jack is a little embarrassed by. “You’re just so… so pretty,” he pants in the aftermath. “And I’ve liked you so long, and I just—”
You hush him gently, cleaning him up before settling in beside him. “It was perfect, Jack."
The two of you talk for over an hour after. It's just as easy as conversing through the phone. In fact, it’s better, because you can feel the shake of his body when he laughs, his steady heartbeat under your palm, the warmth of his eyes when he looks at you.
Jack makes plans to see you again outside of work before he even puts his clothes on. Dinner before shift, two days from now. You program your number into his phone and shrug on a pair of pajamas to kiss him goodbye at the door.
“Thank Robby for me,” you tease. “Who knows where we’d be if he hadn’t set up that profile for you?”
He grins, squeezing your hip. “Honey, he’s getting a gift basket.”
a/n: i had so much fun writing this!!! tell your friends bc every time i get a fic request an angel gets its wings ;)
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen… I’ve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. don’t do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So you’d caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
It’s hot as balls outside. You’re covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen you’ve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesn’t break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
You’re waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
It’s nearly two in the morning. You’re hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festival’s sugary cocktails. You’re sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water you’ve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. “What are you doing?”
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. “I have cramps,” you explain, and just as you’re about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
“…please tell me you didn’t just take one of those,” she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because those are not aspirin, babe.”
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math — Beth had told you how much she’s looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh no.”
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last year’s Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyone’s life that much harder when they’re within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and it’s not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
“We have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,” she informs him. “Probable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well… Pitt Fest.”
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. “All right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.”
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
“Dr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're shitting me.”
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. He’s holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way you’re shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that he’s still worried about heat stroke. But you’ll need cooling down regardless.
“That’s quite the outfit you got on,” he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
“Do you like it?” you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. “I borrowed it from my friend. She’s so nice.”
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
“Yup.” Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. “She’s rolling, all right. Let’s get a tox to make sure there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
You don’t seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
“That feels good,” you murmur with a lazy smile.
“I bet.” Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. “Can I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?”
“I didn’t take it on purpose, I swear,” you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. “It was my friend’s. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.”
“You’re menstruating?” he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, “Ovulation cramps.”
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. “She tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldn’t because I don’t really have a gag reflex.”
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, “Oops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.” Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, “Your eyes are really pretty, doctor.”
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, “Let’s, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she won’t say any more nonsense she’ll regret in the morning.”
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And you’re running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, he’s glad you’re too high to notice. “You sit tight, sunshine.”
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
“You’re leaving?” your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
“I have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,” he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least it’ll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. You’re gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasn’t cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably won’t remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. You’re laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth that’s turning your tongue red.
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes aren’t here to observe.
“Hi. I missed you,” you sigh.
Jack smirks. “Did you now?”
You nod happily. “Mm-hmm.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
“Cold,” you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. He’s satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
“Yeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,” he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. “We’ll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.”
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
“Your hands are so warm,” you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn’t want to.
“Easy there, gorgeous,” he chuckles softly. “I need that hand for doctoring.”
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. “You think I'm gorgeous?”
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.
“I plead the fifth,” he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
He’s been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And he’s suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. “I think you’re high.”
You shrug. “Maybe. But I always think you’re gorgeous.”
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. “I think about these,” you say thoughtfully. “All the time.”
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were his—
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
“Can I tell you a secret?” You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. “I’ve got, like, the biggest crush on you.”
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. “Hey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, “He called me baby.”
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that you’re ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. You’re rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
“Jack, you’re back!” you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the ‘aspirin’ in your friend’s purse, it’s been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he can’t bring himself to go home until he knows you’re leaving in capable hands.
“Hey, sunshine.” He offers you a tired but warm smile. “Seems like you’re in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?”
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. “I don’t know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,” you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when you’ve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, there’s still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
“Jesus. Okay,” he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. “Listen up, sunshine.”
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what he’s about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But there’s a chance you’ll retain it, so he says it anyway.
“You're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?” He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, “They’re gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until you’re feeling a little more like yourself.”
You’re quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, “We’re having a sleepover?”
Of course that would be your takeaway.
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. “That's right. You got it.”
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, he’s reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. He’s knows he’s really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because there’s a very good chance that you won’t, and Jack doesn’t want to accidentally take advantage of your… impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isn’t bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. “Bathroom’s there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more… comfortable to wear,” he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how you’re already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
“Go on, then,” he instructs you. “While you’re still upright.”
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while you’re here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering — just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but it’s better than nothing.
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra — behave yourself.
“Time to eat something,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you don’t feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?” he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. “I had… lunch.”
“Thought so.” He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. “You and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.”
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. “I love Planet Earth!”
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and he’d bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that he’d almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jack’s own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
“Stay.”
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
“Sorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.”
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. “Why?”
Best behavior, Jack.
“Because you’re still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.” He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. “And I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.”
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
“What if I promise to be really, really good?” you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
“Baby,” he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. “Please,” you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders… how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? You’d said yourself that you’re ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers you’re wearing and Jack’s sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief you’re clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?
But he knows it would be wrong, because he’d be getting off on it even if you didn’t touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesn’t want to make you come for the first time when you’re whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
“It wouldn’t be right. I'm not touching you until you’re sober,” he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.” He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. “Other than that.”
“You’re no fun,” you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift he’s had in months, he’s unsure how much sleep he’ll actually manage to get knowing you’re in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if it’s him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
You’re in a bed that doesn’t belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jack’s hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
You’re at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god you’d asked for tonight off as well, anticipating you’d need recovery time after Pitt Fest.
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings you’d experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
“Hey, lover girl,” he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. “How are you feeling?”
You rub your eyes and groan, “Like I got hit by a Mack truck.”
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. “Let’s get some food and water in you.”
“Thank you,” you mutter sheepishly. “I’m sorry about… all this.”
“Don't even worry about it, sunshine.”
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. “I'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.”
“I hope we’ve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friend’s purse.” He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasn’t yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
“Never again,” you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's ‘aspirin,’ you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but it’s generally tidy, and it’s a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. “Dr. Abbot?”
“Jack.”
“Jack," you concede, frowning. "Don't take this the wrong way, but…why am I here?”
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. “You’d never taken MDMA before, and I knew you’d be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.”
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
“That’s… very considerate,” you mumble.
“What can I say? I'm a considerate guy.” He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. “Does the whole Pitt know?”
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. “There… might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.”
You drop your face into your hands. “Awesome. That's really awesome.”
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if it’s just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
“Hey.” Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.”
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
You can’t bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.
“Of course.”
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.
“Let’s get comfortable on the couch,” he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. “You’re still on the comedown.”
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being — even if you’ve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that you’ve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until you’re slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, it’s much less disorienting. It helps that you’re much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am — you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. “Hey there. You sleep good?”
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, stretching. “I'm feeling much better, I think.”
His mouth curves at the corner. “Good.”
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. “I should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?”
“Sure thing, sunshine.”
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing you’ll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what you’re walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You can’t resist the urge to ask anymore. “Was I a total mess?”
He nods, amused. “Yes. But a very cute mess.”
“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan. “What did I say?”
“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. “…was it bad?”
“You got a little fixated on hands for a while.” Jack pauses, like he isn’t sure how much to reveal, if you’re ready to handle it. “Said you think about mine all the time.”
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts… if that’s not the worst of it, then what is?
“Oh god,” you whisper in horror.
“You said you think I'm gorgeous,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. “And that you have a big ol’ crush on me. And… you might’ve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.”
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. “Excuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.”
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. “It's okay.”
“It is completely not okay, Jack,” you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but it’s intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
“It was flattering,” he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. “And extremely cute.”
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesn’t move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.
“…really?” you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot — your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip — really think you’re cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Really.”
There isn’t much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your building’s front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says as you unlock the main entrance. “Minus the party drugs.”
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. “You wanna have another sleepover?”
“Very much.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. “See you tonight?”
“See you tonight, doctor.”
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. “Hey. One last thing.”
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one you’d experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
“Had to wait until you were level,” Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
Summary: Jack is confident, but it doesn't mean he's not affected by bad days. That's where you enter.
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: mentions of death and accidents, canon compliant swearing, it tech!reader, age gap (Jack is 46, reader is 27), reader is clumsy and awkward as hell
Author note: Jack and Bunny are getting closer and closer <3
Read parts: (1) (2) (3)
Carl's paternity leave was long. FMLA warranted him twelve weeks, so that meant you were going to be on night shift for around three months.
You didn't think it was long enough, though. Three months caring for a baby, and then having to go back to work and leave your spouse to their own devices for god knows how long? Unfair. Extremely unfair.
"I think it should be six months," Ellis says, munching on a slice of banana bread. "I don't care about the baby, I just want to keep eating good."
A soft snicker leaves your lips, your shoulder bumping hers; you're both sitting on the stairwell, hiding from the rabid 4am pastry devourers. You brought chocolate chip banana bread this time, and it seems like everyone and their mothers love banana bread.
"Come on, it's not like we're not going to see each other again." You reply, arms folding over your knees, head resting on top of them. "We can hang out on day off, and I can stay behind a bit when I finish my shift!"
Parker side eyes you, crumbs littering the corner of her lips. Her brow arches, and you can feel the way she's about to say bullshit.
"You have a month and a half left."
"Yes."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"Because you're wary of good things." You quip back, cheek squished against your own arm. "Like the first day Shen showed up with coffee for you, and you thought he put laxatives in it, even though he's your friend."
"Could be a prank," She retorts just as quickly, brushing the crumbs off her lips. "I'm not wary of anything. I'm skeptical, it's different."
Your lips purse, a short laugh leaving in the form of an exhale. Parker looks at you, unamused.
"It's smart." She says, and you nod.
"Didn't say it wasn't."
"You're a menace when you actually get close to people."
The both of you walk back into the Pitt, the clock on the wall blinking 4:27am. Shen is checking on a bike accident victim, Lena is yapping out orders, and everything is a bit of a mess.
"Nobody sees me as much as the ones who work in the Pitt," You confess to Parker, cheeks pinking. "It's not even about the computers, anymore. I just like it here."
Aside from the sadness you feel whenever anyone is in pain, or the anger when the staff are mistreated, it's a nice place.
Bright and noisy as hell, but it feels... Honest. Like there's no performance, just raw emotion and the hard work of the people who need to give the first attention to every patient.
"You like the stink, the blood and the shouting?" Parker jokes, and stops right beside you, adjacent to the counter. She stares up at the monitor, lips pursing - must be hard to choose a patient. You can't even imagine how you'd do that.
"I like the way it's real. No fancy anything." You murmur, eyes flitting around the place. Jack is nowhere to be seen, probably floating from place to place. "It's kinda sad, but I guess it's the closest we have to real life."
Parker's head tilts to the side, and she sees the way you're unconsciously looking for the senior attending. She's seen how comfortable you've become with him since the bowling alley hangout; you posted one picture with everyone on Instagram, and suddenly Shen was yapping about how unfair it was that they didn't get invited.
Because they were working.
"'s that why you're looking for the old man?" She asks, and your cheeks flush.
"I'm just used to seeing him rush around." You reply, feet shuffling on the clean floor. "It's weird when he's not on sight."
She sighs, and Lena suddenly gets quiet. That's a signal right there - the nurse is always talking, whether it's about work or gossip (about work).
"You know where he is, Lena?" Ellis asks, knowing you're too shy to ask about it. Not because you're ashamed, but because the mere thought of asking anyone for anything is enough to make you think you'll be a bother.
"Pediatric," The nurse replies, nodding her head towards the colorful walls. The door is closed. "No one but him, there."
Parker looks at you once, before tugging on her stethoscope. "Go on. I'm sure he's gonna be happy when you tell him you saved him a piece of the banana bread."
The doctor walks off then, disappearing into an open door, and Lena looks down, already picking up the phone again. As she rattles off patient informations to the upper floors, you slowly walk towards the pediatric section.
The door is closed, and you can't see Jack through the glass partitions that served as walls, which meant he was probably sitting down somewhere near the door itself.
(That's physics.)
You knock. Just two little raps, enough for him to know you're there, and you open the door. It takes you four seconds to spot him right beside your right leg, his back resting on the colorful walls.
His eyes are half lidded, curls mussed, and he looks so tired, all you want to do is scoop him in your arms and take him home. Maybe cover him with a blanket and hug him until he falls asleep.
These damned thoughts are getting more and more dangerous, since you started hugging him at the beginning of every shift - a change that started after the famed bowling alley hangout.
You had a crush on him, before. Now, you had something akin to a crater left by a pissed off meteor, right in the middle of your chest.
"You look tired." You blurt out, and your cheeks flush at the lack of brain to mouth filter in your body. "I mean— more than usual."
His lips quirk up into a smirk, and the door closes behind you, and your face is definitely burning by now.
"Not that you always look tired, it's just— fuck me." You grumble, back sliding down on the door as you sit beside the attending. "You look like you need to rest, and I need to shut up."
"I always do need to rest, though." He says, and you're both in similar positions, now; sitting beside each other, both legs outstretched. "Today, I need it more. You're not wrong."
You want to ask what exactly happened to make his energy drain out like this, but it's a tricky thing; it might just be a bad day for him, or maybe he lost more people than usual, or maybe he didn't sleep well the previous day.
"If you want to talk about it, I'm a good listener. Way better than a talker, you probably figured by now." You say, voice softer than usual. His shoulder brushes yours, and amidst your embarrassment, you're brave enough to turn your head.
He's already looking at you, eyes a bit more open now. The green sticks out under the bright lights, and his pupils are slightly dilated, enough for you to be able to see it.
You're not stupid. Awkward, yes. Shy, yes. Not fucking stupid at all. Jack is not on anything that would cause it, and you know exactly what dilated pupils mean.
"Or a— if you want a hug," You stammer out, cheeks burning hotter. "That's alright, too. It helps."
Jack is smiling, now - not grinning, not smirking, actually smiling. Lips in a soft line, his teeth peeking out and the crow's feet around his eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart skip an unhealthy beat.
Curse him and his handsome mug.
"I'd really like a hug." He replies, angling his torso towards you. "If that's okay."
You sigh out in relief, shifting your body to the side. Your arms wrap around Jack's shoulders, and the moment his head nestles in your neck, you're gone.
His curls tickle the tip of your chin, his own arms wrapping around your waist. You're leaning into each other now, balancing out so nobody tilted sideways.
"Lost a four year old, today." He mumbles into your skin, and you can hear how heavy it weighs on him. "She was on the sidewalk with her dad, and a wall fell on them. He made it out."
You exhale, fingers caressing Jack's shoulderblades. Your nose is buried in his hair now, and no words come out - there are no words that'd make this entire situation less shitty. A damn wall collapsed out of nowhere, and now a kid is dead because of it. A father is left with survivor's guilt, quite probably.
"Then this teenager, OD. Pressured to consume drugs by his friends. Arrived here, and there was nothing we could do." He says, his hands fisted on your uniform shirt. "Sixteen years old."
Jack talks. Not as doctor Jack Abbott, but as Jack, the man who feels just as much as everyone else, but doesn't let it show. If it shows, he's not sure he won't break apart.
He talks about the elderly couple who passed away in a car crash. About the middle aged businessman who threatened a nurse over a migraine that didn't go away. About the way his leg hurts, but he couldn't just stop and sit down and take his prosthetic off, because that'd be seen as weakness.
And when he stops, you're still quiet. Your hands caress his back, his neck, his hair, and by the time you notice it, your fingers are caressing his scalp. He's nearly melting in your hold, hot puffs of breath hitting your neck.
"You did your best." You finally say, eyes slowly roaming over his freckled neck. "That's all we need to know, isn't it? That you do your best every single time."
It takes a massive amount of guts, and you're surprised with yourself when your fingers curl on Jack's cheeks, tilting his head back. His eyes lock with yours, and you swallow thickly, glasses askew on the bridge of your nose.
"Sometimes it's a good outcome, sometimes it's not. Doesn't mean our best isn't good enough," You say, and Jack leans back. Not enough to pull away from your touch, just to see you properly. "It just wasn't meant to be. You still did your best, and that's more than enough."
Jack blinks, taken aback.
"I knew you were hiding words of wisdom behind your clumsy personality." He says, and your lips are already curling into a smile.
"Just doing my best, doctor Abbott."
Jack rolls his eyes so hard, you nearly get worried about them getting stuck on the back of his head. "We're past the honorifics, sweetheart. You've called me Jack for two weeks, now."
"That's reserved for casual settings, only." You retort, letting go of his face. Your face is still burning, his proximity being a danger to your health. "Here, you're doctor Abbott."
The attending clicks his tongue, and you're already standing up, patting non-existent dust off the back of your jeans.
"I saved you some banana bread." You say, looking down at him. "Let's go, before Parker attacks the hiding spot."
Jack takes the hand you offer him, and he stands up just as Shen walks by. The other doctor doesn't even glance towards the colorful walls, and you're opening the door when Jack's phone pings three times.
The attending picks up the device, opening the text thread with Shen.
Shen: [2 images attached]
Shen: I can't believe you're cuddling on the clock, boss. Shame on you
Shen: I want cuddles too
Jack is already turning the device off, looking at the ceiling as if God himself would be willing to end his misery. The pictures are damning: the first one shows you, holding him in your arms, and the second is worse - your fingers curled on his cheeks, his eyes locked on your face as you spoke.
It looked like you were about to kiss.
Fuck, he really wanted to kiss you.
"And I put dark chocolate chips, because they're better with the banana," You say, already yapping as you enter the employee lounge. "But they're so good—"
Jack looks up as you grab the hidden Tupperware - it was shoved under a cabinet, of all places -, your smile bright and doctor Abbott echoing in his mind.
Doctor Jack Abbott was in deep, and he didn't even care anymore.
No more computer issues. (Jack Abbott x F!IT!Reader)
Summary: Jack is smooth, extroverted and always charming someone (even unintentionally). That's exactly why you never notice he has a soft spot for you — aka you always infodump on him, and he tries not to have cuteness aggression.
Word Count: 1.6K
Warnings: canon compliant swearing, it tech!reader, age gap (Jack is 46, reader is 27), reader wears glasses and is a good baker, Jack is a smug flirt, reader is clumsy and awkward as hell, jealous!Jack, reader isn't American but no countries were specified.
Author note: writing these two is actually a lot of fun, so here is more! Awkward x smooth ftw <3
Read the first part here. Third part here.
Working nights became easier with time. It was obvious all you needed was to get used to sleeping all day instead of nights - logically speaking, the more time you spent awake in ungodly hours, the less you'd feel tired!
"Logic can kiss my ass and suck a dick," You mumbled, forehead hitting the wall with a dull noise. "It's been thirteen days. I am not supposed to be sleepy."
Jack isn't spying on you. If anyone passed by and asked him why he was half-hiding behind a pillar, watching as you bonked your head on the wall beside the ER's vending machine, he'd laugh and say something smooth like "I am just taking a breather,".
It didn't mean anyone would believe it, because it's obvious he is spying on you.
Thirteen nights (less, actually, because he obviously has a few nights off) of seeing you around, walking to and fro rooms in the ER, pressing buttons and arranging cables, and the man has developed a quiet fascination.
He knows you wear the dark blue button up uniform, because it's less likely to stain. The white one gets smeared with dust or dirt whenever you have to crawl or squeeze behind machines and computers. He knows you favor jeans, because slacks are "too expensive for someone who is always crawling under desks".
He knows you wear sneakers - either those athletic ones, or converse -, always in some dark color, because they're silent and won't disturb patients who are resting. Also because they won't stain with blood.
Jack knows you're always bringing dinner from home, because meal prep is healthier, and you like to eat meals from your home country. But he also knows you go to the cafeteria once a week, exactly at two in the morning, and buy a plate of fries with diet coke.
He knows the taste of your baking, as well; Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, you bring in some kind of pastry you bake for everyone in the ER. So far, he's had brownies, choc chip cookies, banana bread, carrot cake and cinnamon apple pie.
"You'll get a bump on your head, sweetheart." He finally says, waltzing from behind the pillar as if he hadn't been creeping there for the last nine minutes. "Can't damage the goods. We'd be lost without your expertise."
Your ears burn as you hear his voice, head whipping around to face him. Your hair is wrestled into a little bun, and your glasses are just a bit askew over your pretty eyes.
Of course he'd see you like this, uniform rumpled and having a mental breakdown near the salt and vinegar chips.
"Good evening to you too, doctor Abbott." You grumble, turning back towards the wall. "Just trying to wake myself up."
"There are better ways to do that, you know?" He retorts, reaching for you. Slowly, his hand presses between your forehead and the wall, calloused fingertips brushing your skin.
Warmth blooms on your face, but you don't pull away. You've seen him do this kind of thing to other people - not the stopping from banging their head on walls, but the caring. He's charming, and he's nice, and he's always looking way too good.
His bicep brushes your ear, and your heart skips a beat, a squeak leaving your lips.
"Easy there, bunny." He rasps, his other hand curling on your shoulder. "Always looking like you're about to flee."
The nickname should throw you off, but it only serves to make you flush harder, eyes flitting towards his face. He's already looking at you, and the mere idea of looking into his eyes is terrifying, so you look down.
"I'm just tired." You reply, as he turns you around and away from the wall.
"There's coffee in the break room."
"It gives me palpitations."
Jack's lips purse, and he looks a bit amused. You're still staring at the floor, so he finally lets go of your forehead, but not before brushing over your hairline. His other hand stays on your shoulder.
"I'm not even going to suggest an energy drink, then." Jack quips, fingers brushing the juncture of your neck and shoulder. God, your pulse is literally rabbit-quick. "Is it a health thing?"
"No, no." You shake your head, finally looking up at him. His nose, actually, because you still can't look into his eyes - he's not much taller than you, but God, is he broader. "It's just— I, hah. I drank a lot of coffee while I was in university, because I had a full scholarship, so I couldn't let my grades drop. And I had online classes, because my first three years were during Covid,"
You remember how hard it was to just focus on someone explaining integral calculus through a screen. It could be used as a form of medieval torture.
"So I had to do my assignments and everything without any support, and my mom, bless her heart, made approximately half a liter of coffee especially for me when deadlines approached." You explained, brows furrowing as you calculated the conversions in your head. "That's... Sixteen ounces of coffee, I guess. Daily. For three days each trimester. During three years."
Jack blinked. You blinked back, finally looking into his hazel eyes.
"...that's a lot of threes." You mumble, cheeks flushing harder.
Jack's lips quirk into a grin, and he shakes his head. He looks almost fond, and retracts his hand, shoving it in his pocket before he can do something stupid like pat your head or tug you close.
"No wonder you're like a rabbit. All that coffee got you skittering through the computers." He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. "No more caffeine for you, then."
Shen walks by then, loudly slurping his iced coffee, obviously overhearing the conversation.
"Should I quit, too?" He asks, and Jack side eyes him so hard, a few nurses nearby start to snicker.
"By all means, continue. Caffeine and sugar, Shen." Jack quips, placing a hand on the middle of your back. "No better poison."
You think it's banter, of course. You don't notice how Jack always keeps an eye out for you when you're nearby, making sure you don't hit your head on any desks or chairs.
You don't notice how he doesn't chide anyone's unhealthy habits, but makes sure you have an actual meal instead of fucking protein bars or venti sized Dunkin coffee.
Robby noticed it, between shift changes.
On the fourteenth day, he arrived earlier. Found you squatting near the pediatric section of the Pitt, changing a printer cable. Jack was peeking from the front desk, mimicking a damn giraffe as he stretched out his neck.
"Hey, kiddo. How's my favorite genius doing?" The older doctor asked, as you stood back up without a hassle. Fuck your young and healthy knees and lower back.
"Doctor Robby!" You squeaked, eyes widening as he approached you. "It's been a long time!"
Robby chuckled, spreading his arms wide. To Jack's utter shock, you nestled right into his embrace, wrapping your own arms around his waist. You were nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, by now.
"Damn right it has. How come I never find a crumb of your pastries anymore?" He asked, leaning back to look down at your face.
Your lips quirked into a grin, cheeks flushed in excitement. Robby had been the first person to make you feel welcome, when you started working at PTMC the previous year. He was like an older brother, always making sure you're alright.
"'m sorry, everyone eats the leftovers when it hits 4am. I think it's a night shift issue," You replied, genuinely baffled. "I'll bake you something, then? Keep a separate Tupperware in the break room?"
Jack had already gaped when you hugged Robby, but now he just looked betrayed. You'd bake something especially for Robby? You'd go out of your way to make him a special pastry and put it in a Tupperware labeled Doctor Robby with some stupidly cute emoji, probably, and would set it aside for him—
"You're red in the face." Parker chirped, materializing beside Jack. "Like, so red."
The man looks scandalized.
"I can't—"
"Hey, brother!" Robby called out, finally letting go of you (Jack sighed loudly at that). "You could save some of the pastries for me, couldn't you?"
Jack entertains the thought. You always bring a large portion of whatever you bake, and place the Tupperware in the break room. It takes ten minutes for everyone to notice you've arrived and gone through, and two more minutes until the room becomes a war zone with people slapping each other for the pastries.
Jack is always the first one to arrive there and escape with whatever he got - maybe two cookies, or two slices of cake -, and he savors it like it's his last meal. When he has a day off and it's coincidentally pastry day, he orders something from a bakery and tries not to cry when it tastes bland.
"No way in hell," He finally barks, turning around. "Fight for your own food, Robby."
You gasp. Robby is already shaking his head, walking towards his best friend.
"I'll definitely bake you some, doctor Robby."
"Special treatment is forbidden," Jack grumbles, looking at you. "Nothing for doctor Robby."
"But, doctor Abbott—"
"It's Jack, sweetheart."
"Doctor Jack Abbott—"
Parker snickers, elbowing Shen.
"Special treatment is forbidden, he says." She whispered, wiggling her brows. "Does he notice the hipocrisy?"
Shen shrugs. "Leave it. At least we've got entertainment."
Summary: Jack Abbott is bad with tech. Luckily for him, the IT girl is very efficient (and hella awkward).
Word Count: 1.5K
Warnings: canon compliant swearing, Jack is bad with technology, it tech!reader, age gap (Jack is 46, reader is 27), reader wears glasses, Jack is a smug flirt, reader is clumsy and awkward as hell, reader isn't American but no countries were specified.
Author note: I always find the Pitt fics where the reader is in healthcare, so I wanted to do something I can relate to! For all the IT girlies out there, all my love <3
Part 2 here.
Working at the PTMC as an IT gal is not for the weak. It's a chill job, as chill as it can get when you're in a small room with two other people, in a big ass hospital. People keep pinging your department over sputtering printers, glitchy desktops and spotty WiFi.
There's three people per shift, each shift lasting twelve hours. It's hard fucking work, but, again, it's PTMC. They need the computers and internet to keep everything working.
Carl, one of the night people, goes on paternity leave, so you cover for him.
First time you're working nights, and someone pops a message through the internal server - one of the computers down in the emergency floor is not turning on.
You walk down there, wearing your little blue button up uniform shirt and jeans, converse squeaking on the floor, and there's some guy angrily gesturing towards a black screen. The head nurse stares blankly at him.
He looks up. Sees you, young and way too relaxed for the entire ER vibe, and his brows furrow.
"Where's Carl?"
"Paternity leave." You reply softly, walking up to the desk. "I'm covering for him. Nice to meet you."
You tell him your name, and he's still gaping at the fact a twenty-something is here, instead of the balding white guy he's used to.
"What seems to be the issue, here?" You ask, voice still softer than anyone else's in this entire building.
"The damn thing won't turn on." He replies, flicking the screen with his index finger. "Fucking expensive, and still--"
You squat down behind the desk, and a moment later, the screen turns on. A button is pressed, and the computer's fans start whirring while the starting Windows screen lights up.
The doctor blinks.
"It wasn't plugged in the outlet." You say, standing back up. "Should work fine now."
He still hasn't told you his name. The lanyard around his neck does it for you - Doctor Jack Abbott -, and you blink up at him.
"Of course it wasn't." He huffs, arms crossing over his chest, and you don't miss the way his biceps bulge against the damn fabric of his scrubs. "You're probably used to dealing with this, coming from people my age."
"Not at all." You reply, hands folding behind your back. "My dad is around your age, and he has a degree in Computer Science."
Jack blinks. The nurse snickers behind her mug, and a nearby doctor chokes on his coffee.
"And Electrical Engineering. My parents had me young." You conclude, nodding your head as if it's the most normal thing in the world - info dumping family history on a random doctor. "I did the same thing, three days ago. Cursed my washing machine because it wouldn't turn on, and when I looked up, it wasn't plugged in."
You blink up at Jack, doe-eyed and cheeks flushed at the fact that you, a graduated engineer, forgot to plug a machine into the outlet. And cursed at it.
"So it's definitely not an age thing. Just an attention thing."
It doesn't seem to make him feel better, but his lips twitch. The nurse is logging into the computer now, so you blink up at him.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
He shakes his head, lips definitely turning into a grin, now.
"You're fine, kid. Thanks."
Not a kid, you think, but only nod your head, turning around and going back to the elevator.
When you're out of sight and hearing, Shen is already shuffling towards Jack, snickering and wiping his mouth with a stray napkin.
"I hear that's Robby's awkward protegé." He says, and Jack is already turning towards him.
"She's an IT gu— girl."
"Still," The man wiggles his brows. "That's the one who keeps bringing pastries for the Pitt's day shift workers."
Jack has heard about it, both from his best friend and the others. The nurses survive on the sugar, the med-students look up to your technology wisdom, and the doctors try to make you open up.
Robby once told him that "she's a bit less awkward than Whitaker, but has a worse way with words than Mel," and that's enough for him to know you're awkward as fuck, but not a bad person.
Just introverted, maybe struggling with too many thoughts in your pretty, smart head.
It's two hours and seventeen minutes later that he's found your Instagram. It's not hard to, since your username is literally @tech and your name.
You never go out with anyone from PTMC, but you've posted pictures hanging out with a few friends; always at quiet places - pizza joints, a nice café, a movie theater -, never bars or clubs, and Jack wonders if you even drink.
The bio states your age: Twenty-seven, not half his age, but he could definitely be your father - though he doesn't dwell on that for too long. It feels weird to.
There's also your degree there - Automation Engineering -, and the fact you're not even from the US. Your entire family is back in your home country, according to the pictures, but you've moved abroad after graduating, around a year and half ago.
Jack feels a bit bad for doing the cyber stalking, but honestly, what was he supposed to do? Ask you himself? As if.
He's a bit curious. You're pretty, obviously, in the girl next door way, and you've got no pictures or captions stating a partner. Someone like you oughta have something of the sort, right?
He doesn't get to wonder, though, because his break is over, and he's pulled back to real life, and now it's seven in the morning.
Jack's walking towards the parking lot, spotting his truck from afar, when he sees you. Backpack light on your shoulders, and your hair tugged into a low bun as you pull on a black helmet.
A bike helmet. As in a bicycle helmet, and it clicks closed as you walk towards the little bike supports in the covered area of the parking lot.
"Hey, tech girl!" He shouts, fingers closed around the strap of his own backpack. It's slung over his left shoulder, and he nears you in a few hurried steps, ignoring the soreness of the prosthetic on his stump. "No car?"
It takes you a moment to recognize him - your glasses are a bit askew on your face, his form blurry from afar -, but when his question lands, your cheeks burn.
In embarrassment, a bit. Sheepishness, maybe, because you know exactly what's going to come out of his mouth when you reply.
"I don't know how to drive."
Jack freezes for a few seconds, and then, he laughs. Not in a mean or demeaning way, just surprised at the irony.
"Tech genius doesn't know how to drive?" He teases, leaning his weight on his left leg. "I'm shocked."
"They don't cover that in engineering school." You quip back, looking at your feet. "I don't want to learn it, anyway. I know the traffic laws, and that's enough."
Jack whistles lowly, grin softening into a smile. The redness in your cheeks makes something inside of him bubble with the need to bite them.
"No offense. You just bike everywhere?"
"None taken." You reply, looking up at him. "I either bike or walk. It's good exercise."
A moment of silence grows between you. Jack's fingers tighten on the backpack strap, and your eyes flit to his biceps again, face burning for an entirely different reason.
"I'm just gonna— go home. Uh," You mumble, looking up at him. "Have a good day, doctor Abbott."
You're already hopping onto your bike when Jack's lips purse, holding back a smirk. He never thought awkwardness could be endearing, but fuck, here he was.
"It's Jack, sweetheart."
The pet name throws you off kilter, and you lose your footing, nearly stumbling down onto the asphalt.
"Have a good day, doctor Jack Abbott!" You squeak, and violently cycle away, trying not to crash on anything.
Jack laughs, then, but you're already too far to even hear it. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, opens Robby's contact, and it takes less than twenty seconds for his best friend to accept the call.
"Tell me there's a good reason for you to have woken me up on my day off, brother." Michael's voice is rough on the other end of the line, and Jack is already smiling.
"Tell me about your tech protegé, Robby." He says, turning around, back towards his truck. "Does she look like a lost bunny all the time?"
Robby pauses. "...what are you planning to do with the poor girl, Abbott?"
"Nothing, nothing. We just had a really interesting interaction here—"
"She blurted out an honorific and tripped on something?"
"Something of the sort, yeah."
Robby sighs, already feeling a headache coming. Jack slides onto his truck, the image of your flushed cheeks printed on the back of his eyelids.
Jack Abbott is not an awkward man at all. He's the opposite of every little thing that makes up your personality, but damn it all.
~ Warnings: rough sex, dubcon, implied consent, agegap, semi established relationship, secret relationship, forbidden, breath play/suffocation/smothering (not safe), free use, somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, pet play(if you squint) (puppy & mutt nickname used a lot), crybaby!reader, dom/sub elements, praise, degrading, (good girl nickname a lot), biting, gagging, spanking, slapping, lots of dirty talk, mean/grumpy!Jack (if you squint), orgasm torture/ruined orgasm, fluff
~ TLDR: Professor Abbot and you have had an inappropriate relationship for a few months now. When fall break rolls around Professor Abbot - Jack, invites you to spend it with him at his cabin in the woods. You accept.
~ Summary: Professor Abbot and you have had an inappropriate relationship for a few months now. After his wife divorced him, he seemed to take an unhealthy interest in you. You stay after hours to discuss your work. Sometimes he walks you to your apartment with a hand on your back. Sometimes he says things that make you shiver, things you know he'd get in trouble for. He's rough around the edges but somehow you pull out a different side of him. A side he only shows you, a side even his ex wife never got to see. When fall break rolls around Professor Abbot - Jack, invites you to spend it with him at his cabin in the woods. You accept.
~ Word Count: 10.6k, not proofread
It's Thursday the last day of classes before fall break. You sit at your desk, scribbling in the corner of your paper as you wait for the bell to ring. You don't really have anything to be rushing off to yet you're still antsy. As your foot taps beneath your desk you stare down the center of the classroom to the man up front.
Professor Abbot stands at the board, giving us a reading assignment for the long weekend. A few quiet groans fill the air, the sounds of books closing and zippers gliding all mixing together. You could care less about the reading as you see Professor Abbot's biceps flex in his button up.
When class is dismissed you take your time packing up your things, waiting for most of your classmates to leave. When you start walking down the aisle you notice he's finally looking back at you. Your bag hangs in the crook of your elbow as you stand in front of him, his messy desk in between you. With the classroom empty now you wait for him to speak first. He doesn't though, instead he just eyes you up and down with thoughtful eyes and his signature scowl.
"Reading homework over Thanksgiving break? Really?" You ask, tilting your head with a smirk to match your sarcasm.
"It's two chapters." He rolls his eyes at you, a hidden smirk on his lips. He rolls his sleeves up before grabbing stacks of papers from his desk to organize.
"I thought I could come over tonight. Before your holiday plans." You suggest, thinking about how it's been a few days since the two of you have had alone time.
You're not really sure how it all started. One day he's asking you to hang back to discuss your work, he gives you extra advice and attention - and then all the sudden you're in his car late at night and he's buying you ice cream while touching your thigh. One day he's avoiding eye contact while reviewing my work, the next he's calling you puppy and making you come like no one else possibly could. Of course you never protested, you've always had a little crush on him. It's been a few months now and you seem to spend most of your free time at his whim.
He bites his lip in thought, creasing his eyebrows at you as if he's deciding something. You stand tall, pretending that you're not wanting to rub your thighs together.
"Do you have plans?" He asks.
You hesitate but decide to answer honestly because you're he'd be able to tell otherwise. "No."
"Go home and pack a bag. I'll pick you up tonight." He instructs in that firm tone you just love.
"Where are you taking me, Professor?" You ask, anticipation all the sudden flooding your thoughts. He stands up straighter, his face turning a little grumpier and it makes you smirk.
"Baby, you know it's Jack when class isn't in session." He reminds you, as if you don't already know. But he's rounding his desk to step up on you now, so you're getting exactly what you want. His attention.
Jack stands tall in front of you, glaring because he knows he can't touch you here, especially with the door still open. But his eyes tell you what he's thinking, that he'd like to just shut you up already.
"Baby?" You ask, pouting your lip at him. You don't mind any pet name really, you're not picky in that sense. But one you never thought you'd like, one you'd never even heard of before him has a special place in your heart now.
He comes closer until his chest is practically brushing yours, his cheeks a little pink when you feel his fingers brush yours. He's as close as he can be without losing control.
"Puppyyyy." He drawls out in a whisper, his eyes flickering between yours. He watches you like a hawk when you grin up at him, blushing at your favorite pet name coming from your favorite set of lips. "You're spending the weekend with me, at my cabin. I'll pick you up in an hour and we'll drive up tonight." Jack tells you, his tone so stern and matter of fact you couldn't argue with him even if you wanted to.
You nod earnestly, biting your lip to hide the true size of your smile. The idea of spending the entire long weekend in a cabin, alone with Jack makes you flustered instantly. You two have been wanting more alone time, with true privacy, so you can explore one another more. It's just hard when you share an apartment with two other students. And since the divorce Jack has been in a short term rental while he builds his new house. It dawns on you that one day you might get to the house, when it's all finished.
Maybe that doesn't matter.
"Quit looking at me like that." He grumbles, his composure clearly slipping. Anticipation about the weekend settling over him right here in his classroom. "Go on. Get." He shoos you away, tapping your butt and winking as you stumble towards the door. "Be ready when I show up." He points a finger at you.
"Yes, sir." You whisper back as you step out of the room, waving goodbye until he disappears from your sight.
⋆˚꩜｡
You sit on a bench by your front door with a carry on bag by your feet, waiting on a message from Jack to pop up. You don't mind waiting, the anticipation gives you something to look forward to.
Your roommates are already gone for the weekend, heading home to their family's for Thanksgiving. Part of you is grateful you'll be with Jack instead of your family this year. Most of you actually.
When Jack texts to let you know he's arrived you feel your heart lurch in your chest. You can't wait to see him again even though the last time was only just over an hour ago. His message is simple and straightforward, and you feel it all over.
Parked out front. Come.
You stand up immediately and rush out the door, locking up your apartment for the weekend. He waits for you with his arms crossed, leaning back on the passenger side door as you skip down the sidewalk. He takes the bag from your hands as soon as it's within reach, using his free hand to welcome your hug. He pecks your lips, the familiar warmth making you squirmy. His hand grips your waist tight as he holds you to his chest.
"You're so quick. - Good girl." He praises and you practically melt in his hold. You lay your head on his shoulder and kiss his neck gently instead of saying thank you. "Let's get you in the car. You can do your reading for class on the drive." He suggest but deep down you know you don't have a choice. And truthfully, you don't really want one.
He gets you settled in the passenger seat with a pillow, blanket and a bag of snacks he packed just for you. He buckles you in before handing you the book you're supposed to be reading, with a bookmark already on the right page. He drives with a firm hand on your thigh, redirecting your attention back to the reading when you get distracted.
But it's easy to once you're up in the mountains, the trees are so green and lush you can't help staring. Your feet rest on the dash, the book open in your lap but you're watching the scenery fly by. A few moments pass before Jack realizes, this time getting more stern about it.
"You're not listening, hon. Read your book." He demands, nodding with his head towards the open pages. He reaches over and grabs your ankle, yanking your feet to his lap. He digs his thumb into the center, massaging gently. You feel the pleasant pressure all the way up your leg.
"It's so pretty out." You whine a little. "Can't I read at the cabin?" You look over to him with your best doe eyes. He glances between you and the road, his jaw clicking as he squeezes your foot tighter.
"Read. Out loud." He's curt and demanding, you know better than to keep pushing him. So, you clear your throat and start speaking the words on the page. You only get through one page before you feel his fingers dancing up your thigh.
You try to ignore it, stuttering over a few words before finding your groove. His warm touch makes you shiver. When you glance over at him his focus stays on the road entirely. Even when his finger slips into the loose leg of your linen shorts. You try to ignore, acting just as casual as him.
But you can't. Your hips squirm and you lose your place on the page. Jack teases the lace of your panties, you lose your breath and quit speaking altogether for a moment.
"Keep reading, puppy. Go on." He encourages, the pads of his fingers meeting your clit. Chills cover your entire body, you squirm in our seat as you try your best to keep reading.
You stutter through it, losing and catching your breath every other sentence. He only touches you enough to make you squirm, enough to ruin your panties but not enough.
You make it through a few more pages, sweat brimming your brow as it becomes increasingly harder to focus. His fingers are all over your clit and it's becoming too much. You need him inside of you already.
Somehow you make it through the rest of that chapter, internally grateful that's all you have to do for now. You slam the book closed in a huff, throwing your head back on the seat.
"There. I'm done - Please, Jack." You start to beg, grabbing wrist to try and force him to touch you more. He stiffens against you, your protests and yanking useless against his strength.
"Keep begging, puppy. You know how much I love the sound of it." He grumbles, trying to focus on the road.
"Please," You moan, grinding yourself into his fingers as your heels slide over his thighs. You can feel his muscle tensing as he presses the gas and brake peddle.
He finally slides a finger in your slick cunt and you melt into your seat. It's exactly what you need. He slides in and out, all his teasing makes you wet enough there's no resistance. He curls his finger in just the right spot, the one only he's ever been able to find.
"That's it, that's it." He coos when you start to clench around him. He slides a second finger in and it jumpstarts your orgasm. You writhe and whine, your joints tingly as you ride it out. You collapse in your seat when it all fizzles out, your chest heaving as your search for your breath.
Jack reaches to grab your arm, rotating your body to lay your head in his lap instead of your feet. You can feel his cock, hard and stiff, against your cheek as he pets your tousled hair away from your face.
"Sweet thing, you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Can't resist the chance to come for me, hm?" He coos gently at you, his rough fingers scratching your scalp and caressing your cheek.
"Never." You whisper, admitting just how wrapped up in him you are.
"Rest your eyes, hon. We'll be there soon."
⋆˚꩜｡
You arrive to the cabin just after sunset, there's even a little orange still left on the horizon as Jack carries you inside. You hold onto him tight, yawning as you look around the area, still trying to wake up from your nap.
The cabin is nice and secluded, lush green trees hang over the roof and surrounding paths. There's a stone path he takes you down to get to the cabin, propping you up over his shoulder so he can fumble with the keys. Once you're both inside he sets you down and then turns back for your bags.
You take a moment to look around, admiring the rustic furniture and natural wood walls. It's cozy and handsome, just like Jack.
He comes back moments later with the bags, setting them to the side so he can latch the door closed. He walks forward, grabbing your hand on the way to the kitchen. He grabs you by the hips to lift you up on the center counter.
"We'll go to the store tomorrow for groceries. Tonight it's frozen pizza and beer." He tells you like a warning.
"That works for me." You giggle, letting your feet dangle as you watch him step around the kitchen; preheating the oven and digging around in the freezer. A few minutes pass in silence as you spectate, your mind running wild with thoughts of how you ended up here.
This situation is not only uncommon but also wrong. You both know that but it doesn't seem to discourage either of you. You're discrete on campus, you haven't spoken a word to any of your friends. They'd probably freak out, especially after seeing the shiny, gray hairs spreading from his sideburns. They just don't get it like you do.
Somehow, things progressed and now you're comfortable with him, you actually quite like him and the way he treats you.
"When is your house done?" You ask.
"After the holidays. Then I can get my stuff out of storage and get my mustang back from that crazy woman." He grumbles a little as he speaks, the mention of his ex wife making him tense.
You don't know much and you dont ask, it's not really your business. He was divorced long before you two got involved. You know they grew apart and started resenting each other.
Jack steps closer and you reach for him, guiding him to stand between your legs as you rest your arms on his shoulders. His hands rest on your hips and you instantly feel him relax. His eyelids get heavy as he looks up at you and you blush from the intensity of his gaze.
"Will you touch me on your mustang like you did in your truck?" You ask, hoping to distract him. And it works, he smirks, blushing and leaning in to kiss your lips.
"You're a filthy thing." He huffs through a chuckle. You kiss him a little more, enjoying the warmth of your bodies being so close together.
When you pull away you look at him deeply your mind thinking even deeper. Your fingers slip through his short, graying curls.
"What made you pick me?" You ask, looking at his lips to avoid his heavy gaze. He makes up for it by gripping your hips tighter, pulling you closer to him.
"Pick you?" He asks to clarify.
"Yeah. Why did you pick me to - touch? And to bring here?" You ask further, curiosity getting the best of you.
"I didn't pick you. I'm drawn to you. You happened to me." He clarifies earnestly and it makes your belly twinge with butterflies. You don't want to say anything and mess up the moment so you just lean in and kiss him.
After a moments of passionate kissing - and a little grinding - Jack carries you back to the couch. He hands you a flannel blanket and the remote to the little satellite TV in the corner. Moments later he returns with crispy pizza from the oven and cold beer from the fridge.
He opens the beer for you, holding the bottle and your jaw to give you your first swig. You as you gulp it down, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand when he sets the bottle on the coffee table.
You share the pizza with him, sipping on your beers as the tv hums. When you're full and the perfect amount of buzzed you lay your head in Jack's lap. He pulls your shirt up a little, his palm flattening over your belly as he gently massages you.
It's blissful under his care, you reminisce on it the whole time you lay in his lap.
⋆˚꩜｡
You wake up in the same bed as Jack, his wood bed in the upstairs loft with cotton sheets and more flannel blankets. It's the coziest bed you've ever slept in and with the body heat from Jack cuddling you so close, you never want to leave.
He stretches against your back, groaning loudly before letting out a hefty sigh. His muscular arm falls over your waist and he pulls you closer to his chest.
"I could get used to this." He whispers, sounding groggy and starstruck. You hum happily, scooting back into him further and gripping his arm. He groans into your shoulder as his hips rut forward to meet you. His cock, large and proud, presses into your ass.
It makes you shudder, blushing into the blanket as you push back again. You know you're testing him by teasing but you just can't help it. You love the way he feels and sounds.
"Be careful, hon. It's too early to start that." He warns, his gravely voice giving you chills. Despite the urge to keep pushing his boundaries you settle down, letting him cuddle you until you both felt like getting up for the day.
He whips up a small breakfast of eggs and toast, rewarding you with freezer burnt, chocolate ice cream for eating everything on your plate. After breakfast you ride with him to the closest town and you shop for the rest of the weekend.
Neither of you say but you both feel it, the relief of being far away enough from campus that you can go out together like this. You keep a hand around his bicep the whole trip, he loves it, kissing your knuckles every so often.
After getting the groceries put away you end up on the couch again. Jack sits with his arms crossed and legs spread. You're curled up next to him, playing with the ruffles on your socks.
You're restless, you can't seem to sit still. Maybe it's because you aren't cuddling him, maybe you're just horny and don't know how to say it. You look over at Jack who's giving the television a grump-face. You find it endearing.
Something comes over you in the heat of the moment and you're acting before thinking; you lurch forward and sink your teeth into Jack's taught biceps. He flinches and pulls away, looking down at you with furrowed brows.
"What was that?" He asks, his voice makes you jump a little. He uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on the tops of his thighs as he gives you a stern look.
You go in for his bicep again, biting down on a different area, this time harder than the last. He jumps and grunts, one his hands nudging your shoulder back.
"Why the fuck are you biting me?" He snaps, his brows sinking into a look of anger as his voice lowers to match. You stare at one another for a few seconds, waiting on each other to act first.
You move first, going back in for a third bite. But Jack is quicker this time, he catches you by the throat to stop you. You resist, pulling at his wrist and swinging at his chest.
He lets go long enough to wrestle your arms, reach for your wrists. You continue to fight back, giggling as you fight with him. As soon as he gets a good hold on you, you manage to slip out just long enough to get pinned again.
"What has gotten in to you?!" Jack strains as he attempts to tame your outburst. In the midst of it all your arm slips from his hold and you end up slapping the side of his face. His eyes flash and he reacts before you can even see a full thought behind his eyes. His palm lands across your face in a too-quick retaliation.
You yelp as the impact sends you sliding off the couch onto your ass. Your palms hit the thin rug sitting on the hardwood behind you to break the fall. You stare up at him with glossy eyes and a burning cheek, he's frozen, not sure of he should to you or not.
Another something unknowing washes over you, maybe it's the mess in your panties or the adrenaline in your veins but the next thing you know you're reach for him.
You shuffle on your knees to grab his neck, pulling his lips to your lips and his body over your body as you lay back onto the rug. The hardwood strains against your spine as his body weight settles on top of you.
"This is what you want, huh?" He taunts, grabbing you by the throat and slamming your head back down on the hardwood floor. You yelp but he muffles it with a hand over your mouth. "You want it like this?" He continues, grinding his hard cock between your legs until your panties are out of place and soaking.
"Mhm." You hum behind his palm, squirming beneath his warm body.
He keeps one hand on your mouth as he leans back to expose himself. His cock always give you a little shiver when you see it, so big and pretty.
"I'm gonna fuck you raw, puppy, you hear me?" Jack growls, his pupils blown out so far you can almost see your own reflection. "Claim you as mine." He adds in a whisper, kissing down the side of your neck and grinding his hips again.
You whine, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. You feel his bare shaft graze your clit every few strokes as it continues to mess up your panties.
"Spread your legs." He demands, nudging them apart. You let your knees fall open, giving him full access. "Good girl." He praises, touching your thighs with his free hand. He dances his fingers up your core, sliding your panties to the side and your long t-shirt up your torso. "Look at your pretty pussy, already dripping for me. - Jesus christ." His finger play in your arousal a moment before spreading the mess on his tip for lubrication.
He thrusts deep inside of you in one fell swoop, starting a relentless pace instantly. You squeal and whine, the feeling of him pounding into you makes you dizzy and tingly. All the noises forced out of you get muffled against his palm as he continues to fuck you. Your head bounces off the rug every few thrusts, your fingers wrapped around his wrists as you watch his face.
He's lost in his pleasure, watching you like he owns you. His thrusts are harsh and bruising and you love every last second of it.
Jack leans down so you're chest to chest, his thrusts shortening length but not potency as he cages you in. "You pathetic mutt, you wanna get fucked like this because you know you deserve it. Don't you?" He growls, brushing his nose against mine. "You know you need it - to be put in your fucking place. Hm?" He taunts.
Your legs hang open as your muscles start to go limp, the force from his thrusts taking a toll on your body. Tears prick your eyes and stream down the side of your face, the blur your vision and cool down your face when you nod 'yes'.
"That's fucking right, baby." He moans with a satisfied grin. He grabs your knee and pushes it up so he can reach deeper and get closer to your chest. You squeal under his hand again, blinking fast to clear the tears so you can see his face.
He's practically feral as he pounds into you, your spine and hips aching against the floorboards. Jack reaches places inside you you never thought existed, you start to become light headed as it all catches up to you.
Small sobs start bubbling in your chest, your breathing becoming erratic. You can't get enough air in through your nose when Jack is fucking you this fast and this deep. Your skin turns cold and hot back and forth, the pressure becoming almost unbearable.
He removes his hand from your mouth so he can touch your clit, you jolt instantly. You gasp for full breaths, choking down sobs from the overstimulation.
"Let it out, hon, cry for me." He coos, kissing your cheek as he works you closer to the edge. He kisses you through your cries and you feel your heart bursting in your chest. "I need you to come, puppy."
His words are enough to have that similar build up staring in your belly. He slows his pace just enough for your body to find a more reasonable pace and rhythm. His fingers swirl in tight circles over your wet clit, making you tighten around him.
"Take deep breaths." He whispers, pecking your lips while coaxing you into your orgasm. You breath heavy with your chest, letting your body writhe into your climax at its own pace. "Good girl, come all over me." Jack encourages, touching and kissing you all over while he fucks you through the waves of it.
The euphoric feeling seems to get better and better with him, it's like he learns you and your body a little better each time.
You lay limp on the floor, gasping for air as you come down from your orgasm while Jack continues to ruin you.
"I'm gonna come so deep inside of you, puppy. - You'll never get rid of me." His hips stutter and eventually he's laying on top of me trying to catch his breath too. His large pecks press to your breasts and you feel his rapid heartbeat. Your hands are on his sides, clinging tight to feel grounded.
When he's caught his breath he gently pulls out of you and scoops you up in his arms. Your panties and tank top aren't even covering you at this point, but you pay no mind. Instead, you nuzzle into Jack's neck as he carries you up the stairs.
He passes the bed and goes for the bathroom, setting you on the counter before turning the water on. He slips his sweatpants and boxers all the way off as the tub fills with water.
You watch the steam puff into the air around him as he turns back for you. He wiggles you out of your disheveled clothes before pick you up and taking you to the bath. You get in together, him sitting against the back and you with your back to his chest.
The water is warm and comfortable, you lull your head back on his shoulder and feel almost like you could fall asleep. He massages your arms and shoulders, making you feel dizzy all over again. It's tender, he touches you like it's something he's meant to do.
"Don't fall asleep, hon. Not yet. Let me get you cleaned up first." He says softly, kissing your shoulder and reaching for the soap.
"I like it here, with you, Professor." You mumble sleepily, admitting only a fraction of what he make you feel.
"Me too, puppy." He responds sweetly, kissing your lips to seal it.
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The next morning you wake up in Jack's arms just like you did before, snuggled close to his chest and extra warm against his skin. But it's early, the sun is barely cresting over the horizon as you stir in his arms. After your bath Jack didn't put you in any pajamas, instead you both slept naked.
You secretly hope you do this every night you're together now.
Jack breathes heavy in his sleep, his chubby fingers twitching over your bare stomach and it makes you blush. Even in his sleep he works you up to know end, maybe you're insatiable or maybe he has some sort of spell over you. But you don't care.
You nuzzle your head further into the pillow you're sharing with him, squeezing your eyes shut and beckoning sleep to return, just long enough to put you out of your horny misery. But it doesn't work, you can't ignore the ache between your legs growing as his warm breath travels down your spine over and over again.
The skin of your bare thighs is warm and smooth as you rub them together, trying anything to numb the aching between them. It's only a dull relief, and quite honestly it's working you up more. You whine a little, biting your lip to hold it in so you don't wake Jack.
He stirs a little behind you, groaning and shifting his hips forward, his clearly hard cock rubbing into your back. It gives you chills and you feel yourself get wetter, especially when his arm lifts up your body to rest between your shoulder and jaw.
Your clit throbs so intensely it buzzes through your whole body. It's unbearable, you're nearly in tears trying to ignore the arousal building in your core. You're weak, you can't fight it off with Jack so close and warm and smelling like himself.
The choice is lost in your brain when you slip a hand between your legs and start playing with your clit. You sink your teeth gently into his un-tensed bicep, the taste of his smooth skin egging you on. The relief sparks through your core and up your spine, your whole body tensing up as you spread your arousal over your clit for more lubrication.
Your eyes water, warm tears trickling down the side of your face as you hold your breath around his bicep. It feels so good, you needed this so bad. Your hips shift harder the more you touch yourself, the pleasure building and forcing your legs farther apart.
In the midst of chasing your orgasm you get carried away with your teeth in Jack's arm. You bite down hard when your fingers find the perfect pattern to lead you to the edge. You hear Jack huff behind you, shuffling in his sleep. You know you should calm down, release your bite and let your orgasm subside. You know you should just wait on him but you're too far in now, too worked up, too desparate.
So, you don't bother controlling yourself. Jack stirs behind you, this time more aggressivley as you bite down again, your hips bouncing off his cock as you ride your own fingers. You whine and pant, barely even noticing the noises he's making now.
He groans, waking up in a little daze as he tries to move his arm away. But you don't budge, whining when he tries to take away your chew toy. He hisses when your sharp teeth dig deeper, you feel his already hard cock twitch against you and it spurs you on.
Your orgasm approaches quickly and you're so excited for the release you've needed all night. Jack catches on quick though, snatching your wrist with a hold tight enough to make you wince. When your orgasm dwindles away from the lack of touch you cry out in pain, grinding your hips into nothing as you chase the lost sensation.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He grumbles, his voice gravelly and you can tell he just woke up. He lets go of your wrist to grab your face, yanking your face to the side so you can see his sleepy glare. You don't answer, instead you give him your best bedroom eyes through your frustrated tears. "Huh?" He squeezes your jaw tighter when you don't answer and you sniffle while grinding your ass back into him.
He realizes your predicament, looking up and down your flushed, naked body, still writhing as you chase an orgasm that was nearly yours. But he doesn't look sympathetic, no, he looks devious. He glares at you, grabbing your throat and rutting his hips forward just to tease you.
"Couldn't even wait for me to wake up, could you, puppy?" He taunts, his hard cock leaving a warm wet spot on your ass as he grinds into you. You're whining like you do, shaking your head 'no', not even bothering to hide how desparate you are. "You know better than to touch yourself without my permission." He warns, squeezing your throat tighter, making you light headed.
"I didn't want to wake you, sir." You whisper, batting your eyelashes for effect.
"You impatient, pathetic mutt." He sneers, his nose brushing yours as he pecks your lips. It's only long enough to steal a few of your tears before he lets go of your neck and sits up behind you.
He grabs you by your forearms to roll you on your stomach, your head to the side so you can see him kneel next to you. His fat cock hangs between his legs and you resist the urge to reach for it. But you know it might ruin your chances of getting stuffed with it later so you control yourself for once.
Jack straddles the backs of your thighs, petting your messy hair away from your face as his other hand gropes your ass. His hands are rough and methodic, you'd barely be able to tell he'd just woken up.
"You're ungrateful too, aren't you, puppy? I fuck you whenever you want and your ungrateful ass can't even wait for me to get a full night's rest." He spanks one of your ass cheeks with a flat, open palm, the noise reverberating through the room. You yelp from the sting but it's muffled when Jack presses your face into the pillow you'd just been laying together on.
"I'm sorry." You gasp, trying to turn your face out of the pillows. He lets you for a moment, to catch your breath some as he glares down at you. "I'm sorry, sir." You start to get teary eyed again.
"You should be, I trained you better than this." He grumbles, smacking your ass again, hard enough that you're yelping and blinking tears away. "After your little outburt last night and now this, I'm starting to think you need to be put in your fucking place." His words come out tight and punctated. He's clearly dissappointed in you and you can't stand it. You want to make it up to him and behave better but the aching between your legs makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything but relieving it.
He backhands your cheek to show you he means business, the impact bounces your head on the mattress as you let out a pained cry. He chuckles at your tears, wiping them up with his thump despite you flinching away from him. "Keep crying, puppy, god, it makes me so hard for you." He groans, licking your tears from his thumb and rubbing his fat cock between your butt cheeks. "Tell me who you belong to." He demands, ruttung his hips to fuck himself between your plump ass cheeks, his precum lubbing up his shaft along with the mess from your pussy.
"You, Jack!." You say through broken breaths, trying to hold in your sobs but it's no use. You really are pathetic, you're a mess and you need him to fix you.
"Who does this pretty little pussy belong to?" He continues to taunt you, smearing your tears all over the side of your face with his thumb.
"You! It's yours." You cough out as he puts more of his body weight on you. Your chest is heavy as it's pressed into the mattress but you don't mind, Jack's body weight keeps you grounded and you can't help enjoy how dizzy it makes you.
"Is that why you're crying, puppy? 'Cause your pussy needs it's owner to claim it anytime you get antsy, huh?" His taunting works you up, you continue whimpering into the pillow even though it's true. He makes you an easy, gooey, needy mess with just one look.
"Mhm." You hum, unable to get enough air in your lungs to form words.
Jack grabs the back of your thighs and nudges them apart so he can lower himself between them, he pressed his blunt head to your sopping wet entrance and sinks into you so fast the air gets caught in your lungs on the way out.
You're choking and sputtering, the wind knocked out of you as he fucks you fast and hard with no warning. He taps the side of your face with the back of his knuckles to get your attention and you do what you can to peak back at him as he leans over you.
"Fuck! Your cunt is soaking wet, you're already dripping on the bed." His voice is still deep and gravelly but there is nothing sleepy about the way Jack is fucking you right now. Sounds of your skin slapping and your wet pussy being stuffed over and over fill the room.
You're so dizzy you can't see straight and you're not quite sure if you're taking full breaths or not. But it doesn't matter because you know Jack will take care of you. He pounds into you so hard your stomach aches, broken sobs being forced out of you from the impact.
"Tell me you're not going to touch yourself without my permission again." He demands, breathless himself from the force of his thrusts. His hands grab your hips for balance, sliding your mostly limp body up and down his shaft. "Tell me a stupid mutt like you knows how to listen." He's panting through his demands but you can tell he's not going to run out of stamina anytime soon.
"I w-won't, sir. I'll wait f-for you." You stutter out, losing your breath while tears soak your face and the hair on your cheeks. The back of his hand swipe across your face again, the tingling dulling out as you start to feel incoherent. You're dizzy and light-headed, your body is like jelly and your joints tingle with the threat of numbness.
"I know, baby, I know you try to be good for me. You're just so filthy you can't help it." He coos, grunting between his words as he continues to pound into you. "It's like you need to be split open on my cock all the time, huh? Like you aren't whole without your owner so deep you can't breathe." He whispers, arching down over your back to kiss you damp cheek.
His hips still thrusts with brute force as you whine about how he's right, about how you need him and his cock all the time. You mean it with your whole heart, so much that for a split second you wonder how you two are going to go back to normal when class starts again.
"You'll never have to want for anything as long as you're mine." He grumbles, nibbling at your shoulder, forcing you to arch deeper for him. "Will you be my good girl so I can keep taking care of you?" He begs, as if your answer would be anything other than a resounding yes, so you say it for him.
"I'm your good girl, Jack, sir. I'll be so good for you." You're practically whispering, the weight and force of him keeping you from regulating your breathing.
He hums happily into your neck, thrusting in time with his kisses as he cages you in. You start to clench around him as your orgasm builds again, your hips writhing all on their own and you chase it. Jack feels your pussy react and changes his pace, all the build up dissapating.
You cry out just like the first time he ruined your orgasm, sobbing like the cry baby you are because you just can't handle it.
"You're not getting off that easy, hon." Jack grumbles, threatening this torture on you. And he follows through. He fucks your pussy just the way you need for just long enough to have the build up returning. As soon as you feel like you may finally fall over that beloved edge, he slows down. You continue to sob, the frustration turning to pain as your pussy weeps along with your eyes. He does this to a few more times, you lose count after the third.
Considering how fuzzy your brain is you're suprised you can even still make out the pain of losing your orgasm over and over. But it stings and aches every time it's stolen prematurely and Jack gets off on every last second of your misery.
His eyes are wide as he watches you closely, like he's comtemplating something. His thrusts slow down just enough that you can start to make out a clear picture of him.
"Do you trust me?" He whispers, rocking into you slower now as he brushes the hair from your face. You nod vigorously, slow blinking up at him while his fingers dance along your inflamed cheek. "Be the obedient puppy you are and relax, hm? Trust me…" He whispers.
There's a brief halt to his movements as he places his hand over your mouth, pinching your nostrils shut with his thumb and pointer finger. You attempt to breathe in and obviously it doesn't work. Your eyes widen as he starts rocking in and out of you again, slower this time so he has time to gauge your response and watch you close.
Jack continues to hold his hand over your nose and mouth as he fucks you, you try not to panic, the pleasure fighting with the pressure in your chest. The need for air sits heavy in your lungs, your throat tightening as you try to focus on how his cock slips in and out of you. Considering everything else he's put your body through this morning it only takes about 30 seconds before you start to gag and hiccup.
Jack looks at you with furrowed brows, likes he's worried about how turned on he is over this. The look in his eyes is so full of adoration you feel it searing into your chest, all the way to your heart where he sits, comfortably. He watches you like a hawk as you start to convulse, your eyes roll back in your head before your body finally gives out.
You go limp in a second, your body like a doll on the mattress under Jack's muscular body. Jack removes his hand from your mouth, grabbing both your hips as he continues to fuck you. His mouth hangs open as he watches you slide up and down the bed, making a mess of the sheets and pillows.
He checks to make sure you're breathing, once confirmed he forces your back to arche and hits an angle that he's usually too big for. He throbs inside your pussy, hitting you so deep it makes his spine ache, you'd usually tell him it's too much at this point and he'd make sure not to give you every inch all at once. But now - with you passed out and still clenching around his cock - he's the deepest he's ever been.
His heart nearly bursts out of his chest because of your beauty and dedication. He can't call it love but it's something stronger, something better. He has a sweet, needy little puppy who trusts him enough to use her body even when she has no control over it. The connection forming between you two is something beyond special, he knows it'll bond him to you forever and it only spurs him on.
He's not sure how to reconcil the fact that this is all happening with his student. You're smart, wondeful, beautiful, funny, the light of his life if he's being honest with himself. You graduate in the spring which is only six or so months away, he could keep you satisfied that long and then you wouldn't have to be secret. You wouldn't have to leave town to spend time together in public.
When the time is right Jack will tell you how he feels, when he can say it proudly and without having to hide you. For now though, he doesn't mind that you're his special secret puppy. He couldn't be happier about it actually.
You start to stir moments later, your breath quickening as you come to. Your eyes blink open, immedietly filling with tears, at the same time a sob rips out of your chest. You're disoriented for a few seconds, unsure of where you are or what's happening as your body flashes hot and cold.
It doesn't take long for you to feel the impact of Jack's cock hitting your sensitive walls and his warm hands massaging up and down your spine. You suck cold air into your lungs, relishing in the feeling of control of your own breath. Your head pounds in a way that tingles rather than aches and you know he's spelled you - you know exactly where you are and you know you'll never get enough of whatever it is he does to you.
Jack kisses your face, running his hands under your arms to grope your breasts. "Ohhh, baby, you have no idea what you do to me." He whispers, pinching your nipples and licking your lips as you moan and pant. "My good girl knows how to take me, you do it so well." He praises and it gives you chills. Your pussy is beyond raw but you'd never ask him to stop, you'd let him fuck you forever if that's what he asked of you.
"Take deep breaths for me, puppy, - You poor thing. You're so pretty when you're fucked senseless, but I need you to breathe and come back to earth a little bit. - Can you do that for me?" He's sweeter now, rocking his hips just enough to keep himself hard. "Can you come back to me?"
He keeps deep eye conact with as you slowly nod your head 'yes', giving him a tired smile so he knows you're not completely out of it anymore. He guides you through a few sets of deep breathing until you've settled your heart beat and regained some feeling in your joints. His cock moves in and out of you at the same pace as your breathing while Jack pets your head and kisses your cheek.
"Atta girl. Look at you, puppy. You're so strong." He praises and you blush all over, unable to form full sentences. His hips start thrusting faster once you've caught your breath, shoving his hand between your hip and the bed until he finds your clit. "You can come now, you've earned it. - Just relax and breathe, puppy, I'll take care of you." He promises, kissing your lips as he swirls his fingers over your clit.
He fucks you at a steady pace, gauging what you need as he works you into it. You're incredibly sensitive but he knows just how to angle himself inside you to hit the best spots. He talks sweet to you, making sure you're breathing full breaths the whole time.
Your orgasm pulses through you so strong you start to convulse again, you scream for Jack, your sir, your owner, and he muffle your noises with his mouth. He gets himself drunk off your moans, whimpers and pleas as he fucks you through your orgasm. Every wave of pleasure is matched by a skilled stroke of his cock, swirl of his fingers and kiss of his lips. He truly knows just how to take care of you.
"Oh, my sweet puppy, you did so well. You make me so proud, -fuck, hon - I'm so proud." Jack praises you in gentle coos, petting your head gently and kissing your face all over. "Your cunt was made for me, you'ew make me come like no one ever has - not even myself. - Fuck, baby, m'gonna come, gonna come so deep inside you. Tell me you want me to fill this cunt to the brim." He babbles on, clearly getting so close he's losing his mind a little.
"Please, please, Jack, I wanna feel how warm you are." You beg, encouraging him. He ruts his hips in an odd fashion, stuttering and moaning as he comes and fills you just like you wanted. You feel every last warm sprut coat your walls and it makes you nearly come all over again.
Jack grunts, his hips hitting your ass with so much force you wonder how much more it would take for you to melt into the mattress. When he's finished he pulls out of you quick and turns you over on your back, laying next to you before dragging you under his arm. You cuddle close, swinging your leg over his waist and touch his face as you both catch your breath.
He kisses your temple a few times, squeezing tight to his chest. He sniffs your scalp for the comforting scent of you sweat and shampoo mixing together. He commits it to memory so he can think about it when they're not under the same roof anymore.
A few minutes pass where you both just lay comfortably in one another's arms, you feel as at peace with him. You'll be trying to make sense of the things he does to you for weeks to come and why you like them for even longer but - it's all worth it.
"My sweet puppy, please promise you won't ever let anyone else touch you like this, - like you let me touch you. I need to be the only one." Jack asks of you, his eyes closed as he faces the ceiling, his hands touching your body with strength and passion.
Your heart swell in your chest like it often does when you're with him, you hold him tight back, nuzzling your face into his peck. You let his scent soak into your skin and your heartbeat catch up to his.
"I wouldn't dream of it." You whisper, meaning it more than either of you truly undertsand.
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Jack gives you the pampering of a lifetime after you manage to drag yourselves out of bed. You're adorned with special soaps when you share a bath again. His rough hands are gentle as they wash your hair and body. He dries you by hand with a towel, kissing any marks on your skin he left behind and touching you with tendrness.
When your hair is braided and he's put you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his, he carries you downstairs for breakfast. You sit in a barstool on the oppisite side of Jack as he cooks for you. Your body still feels quite weak even after all of Jack's touching and massaging, you're sure it'll take a day or two to fully recover.
"I don't want to go home tomorrow." You admit, playing with the ends of your shirt as your bare feet kick back and forth. You mean it, you want to stay in this cabin where no one can get you. Where no one can judge the fact that you're falling for your disgustingly older professor - and maybe he's even falling for you too a little bit - you think to yourself.
Jack spins from the stove top to look at you, his face gentle as he approaches you. He leans down on his elbows so you're closer to eye level from across the island counter.
"It's because you're so spoiled up here." He grins and so do you.
"Well, of course." A hint of honesty in your words. Jack thinks hard for a moment, tilting his head at you as if he's deciding what to say next.
"I promise to spoil you like this when we go back home too. - I think I'd like you to stay over on the weekends. You know, if you're not busy." Jack offers and you melt in your seat, blushing like an idiot when you see him doing the same.
"I'd like that too, sir." You say through a grin, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. "You mean, like, when your house is done, right?" You ask to clarify.
Jack slides a few panackes onto a plate and set it in front of you. He's smirking ever so slightly as he spins around to grab the scrambled egg pan and scrape some next to the pancakes. You watch his face closely because you can tell he's stalling, pouring your glass of milk at a liesurely pace just like pulling the bacon from another pan.
Once, your plate is full he rests his hands on the counter top edge, looking at you with a more firm smile now. "I don't think I can wait that long. My apartment isn't all bad…" He shrugs, as if he's worried you may not agree to it.
"Yeah, okay. I'll have to figure out what to tell my roommates but - yes." Your heart flutters a little in your chest, you can't hide your blush. Jack reaches across the island to touch your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.
"Eat your food, puppy. I want a clean plate." He raises his brows at you to solidify his command. You lean into his palm, nodding your head 'yes' before placing a kiss to his palm. He pulls away to fix his own plate, coming to sit next to you while you both eat. You two talk about maybe going on a hike for the day, maybe fishing down by the lake. By the time you're full and can't eat anymore it's still undecided.
You push your plate away, sighing with satisfaction and smiling over at Jack. "Thank you so much." He scowls at your plate, looking back to you expectantly.
"You're not finished." He points to the few bites of pancake left on your plate. You look between it and him, smiling sheepishly.
"I'm full." You tell him, rubbing your stomach to prove it.
"Do as you're told, puppy. Finish your food." He's more stern now, sliding the plate closer to you as he picks up your fork. "Come one, I'll help." He encourages, bringing a fork full to your lips. "Good girl." He coos, watching your throat swallow his homemade food. Once he's fed you the last few bites you feel too full.
Your eyes are a little heavy and you feel ready for a nap even though you've only been up for a couple hours. But you sit up straight, smiling at Jack while you thank him again for the meal. He scoops you up and carries you to the couch, setting you down with a pillow under your head. Jack curls up behind you, pulling you tight to his chest as you settle in the little spoon position.
"I know a pretty trail we can walk through later. I'll pack us lunches before we go." He tells you quietly, rubbing up and down your arm as you pretend to watch the reruns playing on the tv.
You groan at the mention of more food, squirming for a moment as you try to fight off the effects of the food coma he forced upon you. His large hand engulfs your bloated belly, massage you gently and kissing the skin under your ear.
"Keep resting, hon. I know we had a busy morning." He whispers. You snuggle back into his chest, soaking up his warmth and sweetness as he touches you back into a light sleep.
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You're sound asleep on the couch as Jack's little spoon, you've been like this for the better part of an hour. The clock under the tv shines the time in green - 10:45 AM. Jack touches your belly underneath his shirt that your wear so well. He can't help how worked up you make him. He finds himself in the same position you were in earlier this morning.
He looks down at your sleeping face, kissing your pinked cheeks to feel your sleepy warmth. He knows he's in too deep with you but he'll find a way to rationalize it until you graduate, then he won't have to feel guilty or perverted about how he feels for you.
His hand ventures up your torso to cup your perked breast, he squeezes gently, massaging you gently a while nuzzling his nose in your hair. Your scent drives him crazy, he can't help it when his hip push forward, grinding his half hard cock into your back. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger until you squirm.
But it doesn't wake you, you're still tired from this morning and too full from breakfast. He continues to play with your nipple gently, placing his cock between your legs so he can feel you get wetter and wetter. He slowly starts to shift his hips, fucking your thighs and using your arousal as lube.
When he's made a certain mess of your thighs and his cock he reaches down to angle himself upward, the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaking wet entrance. Part of him is surprised he can handle so much of this, he's just grateful he hasn't lost his stamina with age. In fact, he's sure you're his personal form of viagra.
Jack kisses the hot flesh of your neck as he slowly slides himself into you, groaning softly and groping your tit for comfort. He whimpers into your skin as he pulls out and sinks back in, his pace slow and soft. You grip him so well even in your sleep, it nearly brings him to tears.
You start to stir heavier now, the sensation of his fat cock stretch you out setting off your nerve endings. At first you think you're having the most intense sex dream of your life but then you realize you're not dreaming, you're just incredibly groggy and full.
You're barely concious as it starts to register, the swaying of your body and burning between your legs, Jack's cock is in fact deep inside you - and not just in your dream. You blink your eyes open, gasping for air and reaching behind you for his hip.
"Jack!" You cry, wiggling against him as tears prick your eyes.
"Oh, puppy, I'm so sorry." He coos, kissing your face and fucking you deeper, forcing more cries out of you. "You're just so beautiful sleeping in my shirt - I couldn't help myself, I needed your pussy wrapped around me again." He explains, making his excuses.
"I'm too sensitive!" You try to tell him, crying into your arm as your pussy throbs. You're so sore and raw you can barely handle it. In face, you're not sure you can. Jack tries to comfort you, touching your face and belly with his gruff hands, slowing his pace down some as he finds your lips.
"I know, baby, but I need you. I need this pussy. I can't stop." He whines, confessing to you his lack of control. You want to please him, you always want to please him but it's just too much this time.
"I'm so sorry, Jack!" You say through a broken, sleepy sob as your grip the couch cushion for dear life. "I can't take it, I can't." You whine, being honest about how sore he's made your pussy.
"I can't stop, puppy." He admits, sounding a bit worried himself as he keeps pounding into while you two spoon. Your sobs turn hysterical, you blabber on and on about how it hurts and you can't take it. But Jack doesn't stop, like he confessed, he can't.
He grabs the pillow your sleepy head had been resting on, pressing it over your face with force. You squirm at first, tyring to move away from it to see and breathe but Jack tames your body. He holds you to his chest under his arm as the other hand keep the pillow smushed to your face.
"It's okay, puppy, just relax. I promise I'll take care of you" He coos in your ear, his thrusts making your body buzz as you start to get dizzy. "That's it, sweet thing, shhh. Go back to sleep, baby." His voice soothes you as your vision blurs over and you go limp for him again.
He holds you close and tight, pumping his cock in and out of your pussy at a relentless pace now that you're out. He throws the pillow somewhere to the floor and checks to make sure you're breathing even in your unconcious state.
Your body moves like a ragdoll in front of him, swaying uncontrolabbly every thrusts but he uses his hold to keep you on the couch with him. He's all the sudden closer than he anticipated considering your state. He didn't expect you to be so sore but he should've, he should've thought about it before sinking into you and not being about to stop.
You looks just as peace as you did when you were sleeping not too long ago, taking his cock like a sleepy angel. He fucks you at whatever angle and speed he'd like, taking advantage of your altereted state to get what he wants.
He doesn't experiment for too long, determined to come before you wake back up so you don't have to be in pain while he finishes. Even in your sleep and even when you're too sore to take it, your pussy swallows him up like that was it's only purpose in life. He fucks you so deep, pressing his hand against your belly to feel the depth of his reach.
He hits his own palm over and over again as he presses on your stomach, you flutter around him at you start to stir and it sends him over the edge before he's truly expecting it. His hips stutter as his orgasm rips through him, he pumps every last drop of his come inside your sensitive cunt, practically in tears himself from the intensity.
He stops his thrusts moments before your eyes flutter open and you start gasping for air again. He touches your faces, tapping your cheek to get your atenttion quickly. "Jesus christ, puppy, you made me come so hard. You're so fucking good." He coos, his words fuzzy as you try to pull yourself back to reality. "Thank you so much, god, puppy, thank you." He rambles, panting into your shoulder as he touches you gently to comfort and ground you. "Can you talk to me, hon?"
"I love pleasing you." You whisper, groggy and disoriented but you mean it.
"You do it so well." He promises, turning your head to the side so he can kiss your mouth. He's slow and languid, his tongue hypnotizing you. "I have to pull out, okay? Take a deep breath for me." He warns and you listen, inhaling and exhaling in time with him sliding his half hard cock from your swollen cunt.
He cuddles you for a while, touching you and kissing you until you've fully come back down to earth. He keeps a hand over your chest and every so often you catch him counting the pace of your heart beat. At some point your grab the back of his hand and look back at him.
"Why are you doing that?" You ask.
"I have to make sure you're breathing right." He tells you very matter of fact, nudging your face forward so he can nuzzle into your neck. You two lay like that for a little while longer, until you've both calmed down and settled. "Think you'll still be up for that hike?" Jack asks around Noon, mostly teasing as he massages your shoulder.
You look back at him with determination, batting your lashes and scooting back into him. "Anything for you, sir." He catches your lips at the end of your sentence, taming any attitude that might have been creeping up in you.
"I can't wait to have you like this every weekend." He murmurs and you internally agree. You can't wait to give yourself to him like this two days every week.
CW: fem!reader x frank, jack, robby, dennis [separate], fluff, pet names, not proofread + no clue on wc since I typed in app, probably missed some warnings too.
— I should be working on my other wips but this wouldn’t leave my head so.
FRANK LANGDON shows his love mainly through physical touch. Don’t get it twisted he isn’t big on PDA whatsoever, he won’t be all over you at work or out in public. The most you get from the man in the presence of other people — is his fingers intertwined with yours and on rare occasions a peck on your cheek or a short forehead kiss.
But in the private of your home he is a very tactile person. Always touching you in some way or another whenever possible. Rubbing his thumb over your ankle bone where your feet rest in his lap as you two watch your favorite drama show Frank pretends to not be invested in. Running his fingers down your spine and back up listening to your breathing evening out as you fall into a deep chest, just about drooling against his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist when he sneaks up behind you as you cook, plopping his chin on your shoulder to watch.
His hands will genuinely start to almost ache and itch if he hasn’t felt your skin under them in a while. It’s almost as if your touch calms him. When he comes back home after the hell of a first day back, he damn near collapsed into you. Walking in the house and seeking you out immediately, finding you laid out on the couch. Dropping his bag and hat onto the floor making a thud that snaps your focus out your book. “Oh you’re home, hi baby how was-” before you can finish your question he is falling down atop you, softly of course. Scooping his arms under your body as he presses his head to your stomach, burying his face in the soft fabric of one of his mysterious misplaced hoodies you had on. The rest of his body hanging off and bending in a slightly uncomfortable way to accommodate all nearly 5’10 of him on the couch.
“Bad huh?” You sigh softly as you slip your hand under the collar of his t-shirt scratch softly at his back. You’ll be sure to adjust the two of you in a second into a more comfortable position, so his back doesn’t hate him in 20 mins but for now you’re enjoying the moment. “Not good I’ll tell you that” he grumbled out against your tummy, letting out a deep sigh as a distinct scent of you mixed with the new laundry softer you insisted on buying fills his nose.
SECONDARY way is quality time. Frank loves lazy or busy Saturday afternoons simply being in your presence. He doesn’t care much if you two are doing chores together that most definitely only really require a single person or if you are lounging in bed and wrapped in each other’s arms. He refers to Saturdays as his favorite day of the week for this very reason.
JACK ABBOT shows his love mostly through preforming acts of service. He already feels as if he has to be constantly moving, or doing something. Weather it’s an old army instinct or an ER doctor thing, his hands are constantly busy. So why not “make the best of it and put that habit to good use” as his therapist would say. He’s quite a perceptive man, always watching, always noticing. So when he takes note of something being broken in your apartment, you running low on your favorite lipgloss or something in general being wrong he is quick to fix it.
Therefore when after a particularly tough night shift together Jack finds you at the lockers and tells you he’s driving you home, you don’t question it. You let him, knowing that caring for you is his catharsis after a hard day. He cooks the two of you a meal, the warmth of the sunlight leaking through your open blinds nearly lulling you to sleep as you wait. “Hey sleepy girl, eat then you can head to bed” he prompts when he sets your plate of food in-front of you on the couch. The two of you eat side by side in a comfortable silence before he is picking up the empty plates and working on your sink of dishes. “Jack, come on let’s go sleep please you don’t have to do that” you coax, lightly tugging at the back of his t-shirt as you glued your self to his hip at the kitchen counter.
“You sleep sweetheart, I can’t I’ve got to keep busy. Promise I’ll be in bed before you wake up” he sends you off with a kiss to your forehead. You do wake up that late afternoon with him nuzzled under the covers with his arms around you. You also wake up to an empty sink and clean kitchen, your showers water pressure being fixed after complaining only that pervious day to Jack about it. Your dryer running silently in the background for certain with your scrubs for tonight’s shift in the load, your water bottle you were to tired to fill up before sleeping magically full and on your bed side table. Jack knows he doesn’t need to do all these things, but caring for you and being useful comes too naturally to him to turn it off.
You always make sure to wake him up and show your appreciation for the cleaned apartment and such. Kissing all over his sleepy face til he lets out a groggy little chuckle and lightly pushes you away. “I get it I get it, you’re welcome baby you know I enjoy doing it. it’s not a big deal” he explains as he cups your cheek and rubs his thumb under your eye, brushing away a eyelash that must have fallen in your sleep. Put it out infront of your mouth, “Make a wish honey”
SECONDARY way is quality time but not doing nothing, as stated he hates sitting still. Therefore your time spent together is usually doing something active. Planning out workouts or yoga routines to do side by side, going through boxes of old pictures he kept from his army days, even finding a box of his old records which prompts him to start playing his favorite tracks and showing you how “Music was much better back in my day sweetheart”
MICHEAL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH shows his love in a more unexpected way of gift giving that he always tries to play off. He’s just as nosy and observant as Jack, only he would never admit to it. But he picks on things you need. A new work bag when yours became a nice home for one of the escaped rats, more pens when they have been mysteriously misplaced, new stethoscope when a unruly injured kid pulled yours from your neck and broke it.
You let out a sharp gasp when the next shift Robby hands you a box containing a brand new littmann in your favorite color. “Robby what the hell, I swear I was gonna get a new one I just didn’t have the time. These things are on average 300 and up what the-” you sputter out, baffled at the expensive gift in your slightly shaking hands. He always tries to pay it off, whether it be he’s gifting you a 300+ dollar stethoscope or even just handing you a 8 dollar pastry from your favorite bakery when he comes in for shift. Waving it off with a small “It’s nothing, you needed it hon” or “You earned it sunshine, ‘s nothing” when he gifts a few pairs of figs branded scrubs after you graduate up a resident year. Robby enjoys being needed even if he would never admit it. Gifting you even these small things is his way of showing you appreciation for making him feel that way.
Typically this love language is accompanied by enjoying gift receiving as well but not for Robby. He doesn’t dislike getting gifts or treats etc but he’d much rather give them away to you. He doesn’t exactly know how to react when given something with the same level of thought to which he gives you things. His face is a bit flush when you hand him a beautifully wrapped box of books. Some from his favorite author, others about motorcycles he hasn’t read yet but you heard were good. He thinks the air has been punched out of his lungs when you nervously gift him a guardian angel bell, blabbing on explaining it as if you didn’t just hand him the most precious gift he’s been given in his 50+ years of life.
“You um hang it on the lowest part of your frame on the bike, it’s supposed to help ward off evil spirits” you sputter out when he still hasn’t spoken up. “I know it sounds a little ridiculous but I read a lot of bikers consider them good luck and that you shouldn’t buy them yourself” you continue explaining as Micheal stares down at you with an un readable expression. “They should be gifted everyone said and with you going off for 3 months I figured now is a better time as any to give you it, so your safe and all” the end of your rant trials off into a small whisper, growing more and more anxious as he doesn’t react yet. “Fuck ‘m sorry it’s just a stupid thing I can take-“ your sentence is cut off when his lips smash against yours. Him whispering out “Thank you Angel” against your mouth as your body melts into his arms.
SECONDARY way is also very subtle and coming in the form of words of affirmation. Praise is an easy thing but rare for Micheal if you work alongside him. The difference in this is it’s very simple yet effective words of reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere. Instead of his unnerving passive suicidal comments he makes soft veiled promises he wants to live. Plans with you months in the future, he makes note of when your lease is up so that instead of renewing it, you move in with him. He shows you he isn’t going anywhere.
DENNIS WHITTAKER shows his love is many ways, he’s just so full of it for you it comes out in every possible way. But mostly through acts of service, he’s a farm boy after all he was raised helping out wherever he could. He volunteers to pump up your tires when you whine that the low psi notice came up on your way to work. He offers to cook dinner when he comes home and sees you exhausted even if he is equally as tired he does it with a smile. When you buy new furniture, a new bed frame, bookshelf or coffee table doesn’t matter what it is. He come over to build it without being asked knowing you hate doing it.
Your car will often disappear from your drive way and this should be considering but when it’s returned full of gas and newly washed you know it was Dennis. When he sleeps over at your place or you at his you are always woken up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes. He is always cleaning something around the house, fixing something or replacing it. The one time you attempted to change the dead lightbulb in your fridge you were only half way through when he came and took over.
“I can do that myself you know Den I had it” you huff out, a bit upset that he stopped you. “I know you can baby, I just like doing these things for ya’ I’m sorry” he apologized as he finished changing the bulb, testing it quickly before spinning back around to face you. “Promise I’ll let you do it on your own next time” he prompts but you shut it down, “No, no ‘s okay I’ll call you to do it” the juxtaposition of this with your previous statement confused him but he brushed it off.
He doesn’t have to know that your small bout of anger was swiftly soothed when you watched him change the light. There was just always something about the way the veins in his hands, the muscles in his arms popped as he would fix things that often made your mouth run dry. Maybe having a handy boyfriend wasn’t such a bad thing.
SECONDARY way is mostly through physical touch, which is a close contender for first. Dennis is very handsy and it’s quite hard for him to keep them off of you. Keeping a hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the new restaurant the two of you picked for date night. Tracing shapes on the back of your hand or your outstretched arm that lays across his chest as you sleep. Rubbing at your thigh or holding the back of your neck and thumbing at your pulse while he drives.
summary : you were going to the beach for a week to get your mind off your cheating ex only to find out your brothers best friend aka your sworn enemy would be joining you
tags/warnings : smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, miscommunication, petnames, jealous!reader, things move hella quick, vacation, TSITP reference, age gap (reader is in mid-late 20s, jack is in late 40s, slight injury, reader almost gets SA’d (not by jack), brothers best friend!jack, robbys sister!reader
wc : 8.3k
You were going to kill him.
He had told you to come to his house so you could drive to the beach together, yet here he was with a shit-eating grin on his face that you were so close to slapping off, standing in front of a very familiar truck, with your suitcases in hand.
“Where's your stuff, Robby?”
“So, about that.” He says, turning to put your suitcases in the truck bed. “No. No, Robby, I'm not fucking doing this with you right now.” You spoke, annoyed, because you knew exactly what he was going to say. “Listen, I need to stay an extra day. I thought I was in the clear, but I was wrong-”
“What the fuck, Robby! Why are you just now telling me this? You're dumber than I thought you were if you think I'm going now.” You get closer, trying to grab at your bags, but he stops you and laughs in your face. “Jesus, you're such a brat.”
Groaning frustratedly at his statement, you back up and shake your head as he continues, “I paid for the goddamn Airbnb, just go! You can ignore him the entire time for all I care. Or you can finally figure out what the hell is wrong with the both of you and make up. I mean, Jesus, he's my best friend! I just want the two of you to get along.” Losing the smirk on his face as he speaks shows you how much this really affects him.
“So you send me on a five-hour car ride with him? Yeah, this’ll definitely fix everything, Robby. Good job!” You start clapping, applauding his great idea, and he rolls his eyes. “I don't understand. He's one of the greatest guys I know, everybody and their mother loves him, but you.” You can't help but return an eyeroll of your own.
“God, please keep brown-nosing him, Robby. It's like your specialty at this point. And don't get me started, he's a fucking asshole to me. You think knowing how much the world loves the oh-so-perfect Jack Abbot is gonna make me dislike him any less?” He stands there, letting you speak, and you don't see the smirk that reappears on his face.
“So you think I'm perfect?” a deep voice, laced with amusement, speaks from behind you, causing you to tense up. Fuck, another thing he’ll hold against you if you went on this cursed car ride.
He walks past you, brushing your shoulder, sending chills down your spine as he puts his own luggage in the back with yours. “Jesus, we’re only going for a week, why'd you bring your entire apartment with you?” and that gets a laugh out of Robby.
You give him a sweet smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “You're only going for a week,” you correct, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at Robby. “She's being dramatic.” He sighs out, and you shoot daggers his way.
Dramatic? Not wanting to be in a car alone with the man who made your life hell for the past five years every time you interacted is not dramatic. You had agreed to this vacation not even knowing Jack was coming. Only finding out through eavesdropping. When you confronted Robby about it, he had explained how you could just ignore him. He'd be with Robby most of the time, so you could easily avoid him, only seeing him on rare occasions.
So no, you weren't being dramatic.
Robby sighs out, a concerned look in his eyes. “You know you need this, plus, he promised he’d behave the entire time.”
Now something flickers in your eyes. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of three years, catching him with your best friend. You were heartbroken and had lost two of the most important people in your life. Robby couldn't stand seeing you like that, so he told Noelle he'd take you to the beach house instead, explaining why and promising he’d make it up to her.
Turning to stare at Jack, you see something waver in his eyes. “I'll be good, I promise.” He says quietly.
Your tense shoulders drop. I mean, you did need this for yourself, and how bad would it really be? You’d probably be asleep for most of it. You had barely gotten any sleep because you spent most of the night packing, unpacking, and then repacking your bags. Last minute was your thing, according to Jack.
You groan out loud as you walk towards the passenger door. “Fine, but you're buying the snacks.” And before you reach the door, Jack's there opening it for you. “Anything your heart desires,” and you can't help the blush that creeps up your neck.
Hopping in, you look back at Robby. “You owe me one.” That makes him chuckle. “Yeah, because an all-expense-paid trip isn't enough. Have fun, you two!” You flip him off as he walks back to his house. “Thank you, it'll be hard, but I’ll tr-.” The car door slams, cutting you off.
You look over and Jack's walking to the driver's side, his smile from earlier gone. Of course, the second Robby was gone, he was back to his ice-cold self. When he enters, you can't help but give him a ‘what the fuck?’ look. “I don’t ever wanna see how you treat cars that aren't your own.” Ignoring you, he turns the engine on and drives, beginning your very long journey.
You mutter a “whatever” and lay back in the seat, your exhaustion suddenly hitting you. You hear Jack grumble something, but you don't catch it, already half asleep.
Your body jerks awake at the sound of a car door shutting. Groaning, you rub your eyes and take a look at your surroundings. You were at a gas station, Jack already pumping some in. Maybe it was the fact that you had just awoken, but fuck did he look good. I mean, you've always known he was good-looking, but he was so frustrating, you’d yell at yourself internally anytime your thoughts wandered in the wrong direction.
So you hop out, stretch, and round the corner. You see him leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting for the tank to fill up. His arms looked so delicious… They were huge and veiny, and you were just a girl, so you couldn't help wanting to take a bite out of his arm.
Your stomach suddenly grumbled at the thought.
“Good morning, I didn't mean to wake you.” He says, turning to look at you.
Jesus.
You look at him and scoff. “Yeah, I don't believe that for a second, but I'm starving, so I'm glad you woke me up.” He shrugs, reaching out with a card in his hand. “Well, go and get us something to eat then, sweetheart.” Your stomach flips at the nickname. You mutter an “Okay” and rush into the gas station. What was wrong with you?
Heading straight for the bathroom, you lock the door and splash water on your face, needing a second before you went back out. While trying to recover, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. It was your ex. You groan, debating whether to pick it up, but ultimately do.
“What do you want, Noah?” Your voice was full of irritation. “Baby, where are you? I need to come see you, please.” He sounded so small, it made your eyes roll. “You cheat on me and expect everything to be okay? You're unbelievable. Stop calling me.” You yell, hanging up on him. He was a complete idiot. Why were you entertaining him?
You step out of the bathroom and collide with someone standing outside. Of course, it was Jack.
“Jesus, were you fucking listening in on my conversation?” You question, anger still lingering in your voice. He raises an eyebrow at you and scoffs. “I need to use the bathroom?” He pushes past you, and your face heats up. Obviously, he just needed to use the restroom.
You finally move to order two breakfast sandwiches and grab snacks/drinks for the rest of the trip. Quickly walking back to the car, wanting to forget that entire interaction.
Jack joins you shortly after, so you reach out with the sandwich in hand, with a meek apology coming out of your mouth for accusing him. He looks at you and shakes his head, laughing slightly. “I don't get why you haven't blocked him yet.”
So he was listening.
You look away, taking a bite of your sandwich. “That's absolutely none of your business.” Agitation lacing your voice.
He starts driving, sandwich in one hand, the other on the steering wheel. “You're so childish.” He mutters under his breath, and your head snaps towards him. “Excuse me?” but he ignores you, keeping his eyes on the road.
You groan loudly. “You're so infuriating! You think you know everything because of how old you are.” He sarcastically laughs at that. “I'm not going to argue with you, but you need to leave that boy behind and move on with your life.” Him speaking with his mouth full of food pissed you off even more.
“What do you think I'm doing? I mean, me being here with the only person in the world that hates me is proof that I’m trying, otherwise, I’d be at home right now letting him come over.” You exclaim while he shakes his head. “I don't hate you.” The words causing you to tense up.
He's now dropping his half-eaten sandwich and putting his hand on your bare thigh. “You drive me a little insane, but I could never hate you. And I'm glad you chose to be with me instead. You deserve someone who knows your worth.” Your annoyance slowly left with every word he spoke. You hummed in response, not trusting yourself to speak, while you shuddered at his touch.
Hate was a strong word, but you had truly believed he felt that way. Now, finding out he didn't, while he drew circles on your leg, had you questioning everything.
When he removed his hand to continue eating, you looked over at him and observed his face. The freckles covering his face disappeared under his shirt and reappeared on his arms. You wanted to learn every freckle and mole that covered his body. He cleared his throat, interrupting your thoughts. “You like what you see, sweetheart?”
Eyes wide, you reach over and brush his shoulder, trying to play it off. “Just saw some lint.” He eyed you suspiciously. “Right.” The asshole could see right through you.
You sigh and turn to look out the window, wanting the earth to swallow you whole.
Honestly, the drive wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be. The wind was blowing through your hair as you read a book while music from the 90s played softly on the radio. It was nice.
He was driving through a back road when you noticed a sign that made you perk up and gasp. “We can go if you want,” he says, picking up on your excitement, and you shake your head. “No, it's fine, we already passed it.” There's a small pause before he does a U-turn, and you can't help the grin that grows on your face.
You eagerly get out once the car stops and motion for him to join with the biggest smile on your face. It was a self-serve peach stand, filled to the brim. The sign next to it said, “$1.00 per peach, CASH ONLY!”
The last two words made your smile drop. “What's wrong?” Jack questions as he sees your big smile disappear. Pointing at the sign, you sigh. “I don't have any cash on me. I'm sorry for making you turn around.” He chuckles and pulls out his wallet. “First of all, you didn't make me do anything, and secondly, I always carry cash on me. I haven't left those days behind, unlike your generation.”
You pull him in for a hug, not thinking twice about it until you feel him tense at the touch. “Thank you for being old,” You say, voice muffled by his shirt, and he sighs. “I'm not that old.” You laugh at him and pull back, instantly turning towards the stand to pick a peach up.
You moan as you take a bite. “Oh my god, that's perfect.” The peach was so juicy and sweet. You were so focused on eating that you hadn't seen the man in front of you staring intensely at you, only noticing him after finishing the peach. “Are you not gonna eat one?” You quietly ask, blinking up at him curiously.
He moves to wipe your chin gently with his thumb and shakes his head. “I'm full just watching you eat one, sweetheart.” You were frozen like a deer in headlights as you watched him pick up his thumb and bring it to his lips, tongue lapping over the juices. “Mm, you were right, it does taste delicious. Why don't you grab some for the road while I pay for the rest?” You nod slowly, utterly speechless at what just occurred.
You two had barely spoken since the peach incident, the tension in the air suffocating you. You tried picking your book back up, but you couldn't focus, your brain was full of thoughts about Jack and his touch. So you chose to look out the car instead, trying your best to ignore his burning gaze that flickered to you every now and then.
You only had around an hour left before you would be Jack-free, so all you had to do was stare at the clouds until then. That was easy enough, right?
Wrong
It suddenly started pouring so hard that Jack had to pull off to sit on the side of the road until the rain calmed. “Jesus, the sky was clear and sunny a second ago.” You muttered as you closed the window, the rain hitting you fast. Turning towards Jack, you watch his features darken as he looks down at your chest, then back to your eyes.
The rain had dampened the top half of your shirt, and because you weren't wearing a bra, your chest was now visible, nipples hard from the cold rain. Mind you, you just wanted to be comfortable, so you opted to go without a bra. How were you supposed to know that you'd be with Jack instead of your brother? Both of you were silently staring, waiting for the other to speak first.
He broke the silence first. “Come here, you look cold.” Your body reacted before your brain could. You moved to unbuckle your seatbelt and scooted across the bench seat to lean into his body, his arm quickly wrapping around you.
There was an electric feeling where your body connected. You had never felt this with your ex, and it made you feel so alive. You breathe him in, and it makes your head buzz. “You smell really good.” He laughs at that, and you can't help but chuckle against his chest. “Thank you, princess.”
His other hand reaches for yours, wanting to play with your fingers. “So, have I been good, or are you gonna run back to Robby complaining?” You look up at him and sigh. “Yeah, you've been a little too good.” You almost sound disappointed. He finally looks down at you, his hand stopping its movement, and lust flickers in his eyes. “Yeah?” His face was inching towards yours, making your breath hitch. “Yeah.” You whisper and close the space, your lips finally touching.
The kiss was slow and gentle, both of you wanting to savor it. Your hand came up to cup his jaw, and his went to the back of your neck, pushing you deeper into the kiss while he slid his tongue across the bottom of your lip, asking for permission, and you gave it to him, your kiss escalating quickly. You only pull away from him to catch your breath, a string of saliva following you.
Both of you were breathing heavily, unable to look away from each other. Lust taking your brain over, you reach over and start rubbing his bulge, feeling it grow. He groans loudly, and you rub your thighs together, chasing friction to help the ache between your legs. “Jack, I need you.”
He shakes his head. “We shouldn't do this,” and even he doesn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. You sit up, hand reaching under your shirt to pull it up over your head, revealing your bare chest. You then take his hand and rest it over your breast, moaning as his hand makes contact with your skin, kneading it.
“I know you want this as much as I do, please, Jack. I'm begging you.” The desperation in your voice has him grunting and pouncing forward, lips now meeting your neck as he unbuttons your shorts, his hand pushing past your underwear to touch you. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You nod, biting your lip while grinding against his hand.
He forced himself to remove his hand, rushing to pull your shorts off, lifting yourself to help him. Now fully naked, he was staring at you, taking you all in. Giggling, you reach over and kiss him while you pull his pants and boxers down enough to spring his cock free. When you look down at his length, you can’t help but gulp at the sight.
He was huge.
“You sure you wanna do this?” he says above you, noticing your reaction, and you scoff. Obviously. “Take off your fucking shirt, Jack.” You demand, and he obeys you, taking it off effortlessly. You crawl over his lap, settling yourself over him, and start peppering kisses all over his chest.
You both moan out as you grind against him, rubbing your slick all over him. He grips your hips hard, and you reach under to line him up, slowly sinking down, gasping at the stretch. “F-Fuck, you're so tight.” He stutters, feeling himself close already.
“Oh my fucking god! Y-You're so big, it can barely fit.” You were so full of him already it felt unreal. “It'll fit, I know you can take it, baby.” You scream out in pleasure as he helps you slide the rest of the way, guiding your hips. You rest your head on his shoulder, needing a second to adjust to his size.
Jack moves his hands to wrap them around you tightly, the feeling so intimate you almost cry. “Take your time, baby.” He whispers in your ear, your walls tightening around him at the sound of his voice.
You pick your head back up and look him in the eyes, resting your forehead against his as you start moving, setting a slow pace. You wrap your arms around his neck as you bounce faster, your breaths entangled.
The noises of skin slapping and both of you moaning fill the car. You were being so loud that if it were any other time you'd be worried about getting caught, but the rain was so heavy that you knew no one would be able to see or hear you.
“God, you feel so good, this pussy was made for me, baby.” His words cause you to shake against him, your vision fading to black as you come undone on top of him. As you slow to a stop, he groans. “Fuck, I’m close, baby.” You quickly climb off his lap, both of you whining at the loss, and bend over to wrap your lips around him.
His breath hitches in his throat as you bob your head. "Oh, Jesus, yes, just like that.” He gathers your hair and helps guide you. You hollow out your cheeks, and he groans loudly as he comes down your throat. You do your best to swallow it all, and he removes you with a pop.
His grip on your hair tightens as he moves you up his body. “Show me.” He demands, chest heaving, and you open your mouth, showing him you swallowed every last drop. He hums in approval and pulls you in for a short kiss. When you pull back, you fall back against the bench seat, feeling giddy. Giggles erupt from you, and he smiles at you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I can't believe that just happened.” You say while trying to catch your breath. He chuckles and reaches for a paper towel in the back to clean you up. “I wish it had happened sooner.”
You look at him in disbelief, something twisting in your chest as he gently cleans you. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't such an asshole it would've happened.” He looks up at you and raises an eyebrow. “You seem to forget the way you've treated me.” He says, continuing to wipe you down. Scoffing, you move his hand and start to put your clothes back on. “Are you serious? You deserved it!”
He shakes his head, throwing the paper towel away, then moving to pull his pants up. “Since the day we met, you've disliked me, and I did absolutely nothing to deserve it. I wasn't gonna let a twenty-one-year-old sit there and disrespect me, so I mildly teased you back.” Now you're straightening your back, looking at him with wild eyes. “Oh, so we’re gonna play the victim card and lie? Clearly you're the one who's forgotten the way you treated me.” And he stares at you, waiting for an explanation.
You groan, frustrated. “I heard what you said the day we met.” You look down, an anxious feeling crawling into your chest. “What?” he says, confused, reaching out, but you withdraw yourself before he can touch you. You feel an old wound reopen, and you can't help the tears that well up in your eyes.
“I was excited to meet you, so I was all over you that day. Maybe it was a lot, but I had heard so much about you, and you were so handsome. I could tell you were agitated that day, but I just assumed it was because of something else. That was until I came back from using the bathroom and heard you speaking to Robby, talking about how annoying and loud I was, and how horrible you felt for any man that ended up with me. God, you fucking broke my heart that day, but I guess you were right, look at how my last relationship turned out.” Your tears falling as you finish.
You see realization hit his face, and he calls your name softly, the weight of your words hitting him. “That was never about you.” He says, grabbing your face and wiping your tears away. Now it's your turn to look at him, confused. “I was with someone awful after my wife had passed, and that was the day I found out she had cheated on me. So what you heard was me venting to Robby. Honestly, I don't remember half the things I said, it was so long ago, but it crushes me to know you spent all this time believing that it was about you. I wish you had come to me.”
Your sadness was now tenfold. All this time you wasted because of a stupid misunderstanding. “Oh, my god.” You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in unevenly. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe. It's okay, I promise it is.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him, and you bury your face in his chest, tears soaking his shirt. “N-No, it's not okay. I'm so sorry, Jack.”
He removes your face from his chest so you can look at him. “Don't apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. But it's okay, we have so much time to make up for it.” He says, and you sniffle, your tears slowly coming to a stop.
“Do we?” You say, a poor attempt at a joke, and he laughs. “Hey, I'm not that old.” He grumbles, eyes squinting at you. “Yeah, but you're still old.” He cups your face and kisses you. “You like me old though,” and you nod, grabbing his hand intertwining your fingers. “I do.” The pang in your chest was still there, but it felt so much lighter, a huge weight had been lifted off your chest.
You sighed as you leaned against him, noticing the rain had calmed down. “Can I stay here the rest of the drive?” You ask, nudging yourself deeper into him as he rubs your arm. “Of course, baby.”
You let sleep take over your body, exhausted from the excessive workout and argument.
You wake up to Jack softly calling your name. “C'mon, wake up, we’re here.” You slowly get up, stretching your body while you stare at the view in front of you. “Holy fuck.” It was a big, beautiful, coastal house, the beach only being fifty feet from it.
You turn to look at Jack, who had been staring at you. “This place is beautiful.” You smile, excited to spend any amount of time here. He returns the smile and kisses your forehead. “I'll bring the suitcases in if you want to go explore the inside.” He says, pulling his car keys out and handing them to you. You bring him in for a kiss and hastily get out of the car, not wanting to wait any longer.
The smell of the ocean hits you instantly, and you feel like you're in heaven.
Quickly making your way to the door, you try every single key on his keychain before finding the right one. Swinging the door open, you walk in and start exploring.
Every room was so big but homey. There were at least 4 bedrooms, a huge kitchen, and an even bigger living room with a fireplace. It was like your Pinterest board had manifested into this house, like it was made just for you.
When Jack entered with your suitcases, you pulled him upstairs, dragging him into the master bedroom. “We’re sleeping in this one, the other rooms don't compare.” You say, and he sighs, his smile fading. “No, you're sleeping in this one.” You frown and make a funny face, confused. “I don't think Robby would be too happy if he found out we were sleeping in the same room.” And as soon as your brother's name comes out of his mouth, you remember the reality of your situation.
You slept with your brother’s best friend, a man almost twice your age.
Robby would kill him if he found out.
“Fuck.” You move towards him and rest your hands on his face. “He can't find out.” You pause for a moment before continuing. “But I really like this.” You see relief appear in his eyes at your words. He nods and moves to rest his forehead on yours. “I really like this too, we just need to be careful.”
You peck his lips and make space between you two. “I agree… Now, I need you to come fuck me in this huge, expensive shower, there's a chair in there for you, baby.” You start walking towards the bathroom while removing your clothes one by one, and he stalks after you slowly, with that dark look in his eyes.
God, he was going to be the death of you.
You spent the rest of the day stuck to Jack’s side, wanting to make the most of it, but your mind would drift to Robby throughout it, your anxiety eating away at you. You know Jack felt the same but kept quiet so you wouldn't feel worse. He noticed the stress that would randomly show on your face.
Now you were on the beach with Jack, watching the waves as the evening ended. He was lying on your lap while you scratched his head softly.
You wished you two could be like this forever.
Suddenly, a voice calls out from the house. You look behind you, confused, and that confusion quickly turns into fear. “Oh my god, Jack, get the fuck up,” you whisper-shout as you push him off you, and shoot up from the ground, dusting the sand off your blue flowly sundress.
“Robby, what are you doing here?” You question, a tremor in your voice while walking toward him, leaving the disheveled man behind you.
“I was able to make the drive today. I thought you'd be relieved to see me?” He raises an eyebrow, confused, his eyes now moving to look behind you. “Of course I'm relieved to see you, just surprised. Actually, I was just telling Jack I missed you.” You pray that he believes you, but the confusion on his face grows. “You two worked it out?”
You nod while rubbing the back of your neck. “Kinda, yeah,” and he looks at you, shocked. “I never thought I'd see the day.” You feel a hand press against your lower back, almost making you jump. “Me neither, brother.” Jack laughs next to you. “How was your drive here?” Robby asks, and Jack smirks. “A storm hit us so we had to pull over, but besides that, it was good. How about you?”
“Yeah, it was fine.” He looks back at the house like he was waiting for something. That’s when you notice two bodies moving in the house. “Robby?” You say slowly, waiting for an explanation.
He looks back at you and Jack with an apologetic look. “So I ran into Noelle at the hospital, and I felt really guilty, so I asked if she wanted to come again…” Honestly, you saw that coming. “Okay? Who's the other person?” You ask impatiently. “Well, I didn't want Jack to third wheel while you were off doing your own thing, so I asked Baran if she wanted to join us. I didn't think she’d be able to take time off, but she was able to get a few days off.”
Now you were turning to look at Jack, his eyes wide at the revelation. “Who's Baran?” you ask, crossing your arms, and Robby answers the question that was directed towards Jack. “Dr. Al-Hashami. You met her before I went on my sabbatical.” You nod your head and shrug Jack off clearly annoyed. “Thank you for making me the fifth wheel, Robby. I really appreciate it.” You sarcastically say before heading back in. You were fuming. When was Jack gonna tell you about his little girlfriend?
As soon as you walk in, the two women acknowledge you, Noelle being the first to walk up and hug you. “Hey sweetie, how are you doing?” You mumble a “Not so great,” and back up. You know why she's asking, but you couldn't care less about your ex right now.
Now Baran was pulling you in for a quick hug, and you tense at her touch. “Hey, it's so nice to see you again.” She says sweetly, but you just hum in agreement and look around awkwardly. “Um, I'm gonna head up, I don't feel too well, but you should join them out there, the sun's about to set.” You quickly turn to walk up the stairs, not giving them any time to reply.
You beeline for the window as you enter your bedroom, trying your best to stay hidden as you look out. You watch as Baran and Noelle walk out with beers in hand and scoff. You selfishly want him to walk away from her, but are quickly disappointed as you watch him grab the beer and pull her in for a hug. When he pulls away he glances up at the window somehow noticing you, so in a panic, you drop to your knees.
“Shit.” Your breath comes in unevenly as you get teary-eyed.
You pull at your hair and groan at how naive you were. He was a prehistoric fuckboy! You can't believe you fell for his act.
You're so goddamn tired of getting hurt.
Picking yourself up off the floor you reach for your purse and bolt to the front door. Your hands pause above Robby’s car keys. You're sure he won't mind if you use his car but you reach over and grab Jack’s instead.
As you enter the driver's seat you feel your heart rate pick up. You turn the engine on and rest your hands on the steering wheel gripping it tightly while your eyes flutter shut. Were you acting crazy? I mean everything changed between you two today and here you were being a jealous mess when the day hasn't even ended.
“Whatever” You mumble to yourself and start driving, looking for the nearest bar.
You were multiple drinks in when your phone started going crazy. Looking down at it you see one message from Robby asking where you were and why you had taken Jack's car, and a bunch more from an unknown number that you couldn't bother reading.
Flipping your phone over, you look back at the distraction sitting next to you with a grin. “You in trouble?” the man asked and you shook your head giggling. “Nooo.” you pause and look at the bartender motioning for some more shots. “Maybe?”
“Maybe, you're trouble.” You roll your eyes playfully and grab the shot the bartender placed in front of you, downing it easily. “And what if-” You're cut off by your phone ringing.
Picking it up you see it’s the unknown number. “Ughh, I'm so sorry, give me one second.” You hop off the bar stool and make your way outside, the cold night air hitting you hard.
“What do you want, Jack?” You answer angrily and you hear him sigh. “What do I— Are you fucking drunk?” He asks, matching your frustration now. “Nope, what makes you say that?” You were clearly slurring your words. “I'm coming to get you.” He stated, voice now quiet but firm. “You don't even know-” He hangs up before you can finish your sentence. If he wants to come get you he can, but you weren't going to make it easy.
“Ah, the woman of the hour is finally back!” The man at the bar exclaims, passing you another drink. “Mhmm, thank you-” You raise your eyebrow, waiting for him to give you his name. “Noah.” he finishes for you, and you cringe. “Ew, that was my ex's name.”
“That doesn't sound good for me.” He said as he put his hand on your thigh. The touch didn't feel right, but you shrugged the feeling off, you were here to distract yourself from Jack. “Well you're doing a lot better than him so far, he would never pay for any of my drinks.” You take a sip and force yourself to lean into him.
He clicks his teeth and shakes his head. “His loss, I'd take real good care of you, baby. Why don't you come back home with me?” He asks and you scoff immediately getting the ick. “You think I'm gonna give it up just cause you bought me drinks?” You laughed in his face, You were fucked up but not enough to sleep with a man you were barely attracted to.
His grip tightens on your thigh making you whimper. “Ow, you're hurting me.” and his gaze darkens. “Don't be such a prude, I've been so good to you.”
“I barely know you, get the fuck off me.” You spit at him, trying to retreat from his touch but he moves his hand to your waist, not letting you budge. You were trying your best to push him when all of a sudden he was yanked off you and thrown to the floor. Glancing at the person who did it, you can't help the smile that grew on your face, how the fuck did he find you? And how did he find you so quickly?
Jack stands over the man and grabs onto his collar. “Did you fucking hurt her? You put anything in her drink, asshole?!” He growled his voice bouncing off the walls, everyone at the bar now turning to look at you three. “N-No man, I'm not that kind of guy!” He tries explaining himself but Jack punches him square in the face. “But you're the kind of guy to force a woman to sleep with you?”
You run over almost stumbling over yourself, and grab onto Jack, trying to pull him back. “Jack, it's okay, I'm fine, let's just go home please.” He looks back at you and his eyes soften.
He then pulls the man on the floor closer. “I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you near her again.” He throws him back and gets up looking towards the door, nodding. You follow his eyes and see Robby walking towards you with anger clouding his vision.
You grab onto his arm before he can pass you and reach the man who was laid out on the ground. “It's handled,” Jack says and you look at Robby with sorry eyes.
He sighs and stares at you with a scolding look. “Give him his keys back.” You nod, and bite your lip, trying your best to keep your composure. You whisper an unsteady “sorry” as you pass Jack his car keys and he doesn't reply, just takes them and starts walking out the bar. Robby follows dragging you with him, not sparing you a second glance. When you reach his car he grabs onto you before you enter. “What the hell were you thinking?” You look past him at Jack who was silently watching, and shake your head. “I don't know.”
Everything that conspired had regret seeping into your chest. You were embarrassed by the situation you had put yourself in. You were still mad at Jack, but he had protected you, and you were thankful.
The entire ride back was silent while Jack was following behind you two closely. You knew if you tried speaking it would end with the two of you in a full-blown argument, and you didn't have the energy for it.
Robby looked over after parking the car and muttered, “Get some rest.” before getting out. You see him say something to Jack before turning to walk into the house. Before you could process it, Jack was walking towards you, opening the door and extending his arm for you to hold onto. “No.” You state turning your body to fully face him. He drops his hand and looks at you with a look of disbelief. “What's going on with you?” He was back to being frustrated.
“You know what the fuck is going on!” Why was he trying to act stupid? He quickly slapped his hand on your mouth, eyes going wide at the volume of your voice. “Sweetheart, you need to be quiet, and if this is about Baran, you haven't given me the chance to explain.” He whispers, slowly removing his hand.
“Robby explained! He didn't want you to be a third wheel so he brought your girlfriend with him. I mean, god, he didn't have to do that, I would've hung out with you.” You whisper-shout at him, still slightly slurring your words. “Nothing is going on with Baran and me anymore, we’re really good friends who cut things off a long time ago. Robby just wants to play matchmaker like an idiot.” He places his hands on your waist pulling you in closer.
“So you slept with her? And if you cut things off with her, why did you stay with her instead of comforting me earlier?” You say pouting your lips, feeling like you were gonna cry. “Yes, once, but we both agreed we weren't right for each other after, and I was just trying to be careful like we talked about. I'm sorry, baby, do you forgive me?” He looked at the house before turning back to you and pecking your nose.
Your mouth quirks up a little bit, and nod reluctantly. “I'm sorry for taking your car, and for not being careful, and for being too much.” You look down shyly feeling embarrassed. “You can take my car anytime you want. I just need to know where you are, you're lucky there's only one bar nearby. You're also never too much, you've just been hurt like crazy baby, but I won't let that happen to you ever again, I promise.” He raises your chin so you can look back at him and continues speaking. “Now let me help you inside so Robby doesn't get suspicious.” He reaches back out and you take his hand this time.
He helps you walk through the house as you nearly trip over yourself. It was quiet and dark, everybody already in their rooms ready to end the day. So when you arrive at your bedroom you can't help but push Jack onto the bed, falling on top of him. “Please stay here tonight, Jack.” You start peppering kisses all over his face, and he chuckles. “Anything for you. Let me go lock the door so nobody walks in on something they can't unsee.” He jokingly says, moving you off of him.
You start undressing yourself and climb under the sheets, Jack joining you after locking the door. “Today's been a long day. You need to sleep or else you're gonna be mad at yourself in the morning.” You whine but whisper “fine” against his lips “Goodnight, baby.” He drapes his arm over you and gives you one last kiss before you mumble your own goodnight and drift off.
You wake up the next morning to an empty bed and a massive headache. You get up, change, and do your morning routine before heading downstairs, following the smell of breakfast.
“Good Morning, sleepyhead!” Robby yells, causing you to wince at his volume. “Jesus, shut up.” You grumble and open up the fridge to grab some orange juice. “Where's the aspirin?” and Robby hands it to you not missing a beat. “Here, come join us out there for breakfast, I made your favorite.” He says while walking out with toast in hand, and you follow not wanting to miss out on pancakes.
As soon as the sun hits you, you flinch and squint your eyes. You hear your name being called from the left and turn to see everyone sitting at the table eating. “Good morning, how are you feeling?” Jack asks and you flash a genuine smile at him. “I'm okay, could be better.”
You see him glance down your body and his gaze stops on your bare legs. “Oh my god, is that from last night?” Baran asks, now focused on your legs too. You look down and see your thigh bruised up. Your sleeping shorts had ridden up so they were clear as day. “Jesus.” You whisper softly. You hadn't seen the bruises when you changed earlier so the image came as a shock. They looked really bad, and you're sure your waist looked worse.
You look back up at the table and see the concern in everyone's eyes, especially Jack's. “I'm fine, I bruise easily, plus Jack got the guy off me pretty quick.” You lie straight through your teeth, you just want everyone to stop looking at you.
You see Jack and Robby stare at you extra hard, not believing you as you sit down and start putting pancakes on your plate. “So, you gonna explain why you ran off last night?” Robby questions not asking about the bruises, leaving those questions for later. You take a bite of your pancakes and quickly glance at Jack before bringing your attention back to Robby. “I was just depressed over Noah. Actually It's funny cause the guy that attacked me was also named Noah.” You chuckle at the irony. Nobody else laughs.
“Well, I'm glad you're okay.” Noelle cuts in before Robby starts scolding you. “Yeah if you need any drinking buddies we’ll totally come with.” Baran adds and you nod at her. “You know what? That sounds like a great idea.” You’re genuine with your reply, she seems sweet and you weren't gonna let a tiny fling in the past tarnish her image.
The next five days go by pretty fast. You go out with the girls, Robby and Jack included sometimes, and sneak around with Jack. He ends up in your bed every night, and is gone by the time you're up. It definitely sucks waking up to a cold bed but it was the best you were gonna get so you were grateful.
Baran had left by the third day, leaving the four of you together. Honestly despite the age difference you grew close to her in the few days you were in her company. You felt guilty for ever being jealous of such a sweet woman.
Now you were back on the beach with Jack on the last day. Robby, and Noelle were with you earlier but left to start packing. You were lying side by side staring at each other. “This is the best week I've had in a really long time, and I don't want it to end.” You say after a long period of silence and he hums in agreement. “You've altered my brain chemistry baby, I don't think I could survive this ending.” He reaches out to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.
Your eyes go wide. Everything with him had moved so quickly, but it felt so right. You lean into him and passionately kiss him. When you pull away breathless he grabs you and pulls you on top of him effortlessly. “We need to tell Robby.” He says and you freeze. “He’ll be so mad at us, I don't know if I could deal with that right now, Jack.”
“Baby, we can't keep this from him. Who knows if he’ll forgive us if he finds out on his own?” He sighs and you slowly nod your head. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I do think we should wait until we get home though.” and he hums. “I can work with that.” he says as he grabs the back of your neck to pull you in for another passionate kiss.
You break away when you hear the back door slam. “What the fuck!”
Looking up you see Robby running over with anger written all over his face. You both quickly move to get up, shock taking over your face. He passes you and goes to grab Jack’s collar before throwing a punch. “Robby, stop it!” You scream, tears falling down your face.
Jack dodges the next punch and manages to get away. You step in between them and look at Robby. “Robby, please stop.” You’re pleading, you feel like you’re so close to passing out. “My baby sister? She’s half your age for Christ's sake. When did this start? Were you even going to tell me?!” You flinched at his voice, he was so angry. “It started on the car ride here, and we were just talking about telling you, Robby, please calm down.” You say, walking closer to him, and he moves back. “I’m sorry, man.” Jack’s voice was soft, not wanting to upset your brother further, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Robby starts moving towards him again, ready to throw another punch. “I’m going to fucking kill you–” You back up into Jack’s chest, wanting to protect him.
“Stop! I love him!” You feel Jack tense up and watch Robby freeze. He scoffs sarcastically while rubbing his face. “You fucking hated him a week ago, now suddenly you love him? He’s taking advantage of your broken heart, and you can’t seem to see it!” You shake your head and move your hand to grab Jack’s behind you. “I never hated him, Robby! What I've felt with him this past week has been so much more real than anything I’ve felt in my life. It's real and raw, so stop treating me like a kid Robby, I’m an adult who can make my own damn decisions.” You were hiccuping, tears still falling from your face, but you were passionate, and Robby could see it.
“It’s true, Robby. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but you know I would never hurt her.” He pauses and squeezes your hand, showing you he was there for you. “I love her, I really do.” You feel your heart skip a beat. Everything had moved so fast, but it was all genuine. You could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.
You see Robby process it all, a minute passing before he speaks. “I’m not happy about this, but Jack is a good man and probably the only man I trust near you.” He lets out a long sigh. “God, my best friend and my baby sister? I wanted you two to make up, but Jesus, not like this! I need some more time to get used to this, please give me that.” And you nod instantly, letting go of Jack to hug Robby. “Thank you so much, Robby, I love you.” He kisses your head and whispers an “I love you too” into your hair. “We’ll talk more once we’re home.” He says, letting go of you. You can see the stress and worry in his eyes, and it breaks your heart, but this was bound to happen. He takes one last look at Jack and turns to walk back into the house.
You turn back to Jack and run into his arms. “I’m sorry.” he starts rubbing your back, shushing you. “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for, we’ll figure it all out. Robby’s just upset right now, but everything will be fine. I promise. I love you.” You look at him with tears streaking your face. “You mean it?” and he chuckles, sadness clouding his beautiful eyes. “I haven’t felt this certain in a long time. Did you mean it?” He asks, and now it's your turn to chuckle. “Yes. You complete me, Jack.” You state, and see his eyes water. “Fuck, baby, you complete me too.” He pulls you in for a deep, loving kiss.
Everything was going to be alright.
a/n: WHAT A RIDE. currently otw to the airport as i post this so hopefully nothing got deleted. ill reread and check later but i really hope yall enjoyed!! also had to add the tsitp refrence cause i love that scene smm! lmk how yall felt about it tho and ty for reading<3
Summary: After months of shameless flirting and undeniable chemistry in the ED, Jack stops fighting the pull between you and gives in to his buried feelings — finally admitting just how badly he wants you.
Tags: Fluffy idiots in love, Mutual pining between colleagues, Workplace romance, Power dynamics, Slow burn, Endless banter, Flirting, Kissing.
Word count: 5.7k.
Part one of The Coffee Chronicles.
Next part: ☕️
The night shift started the way it always did, with controlled chaos. Monitors chimed in uneven rhythms, stretchers rolled through the ambulance bay doors, and somewhere down the hall someone was already asking where Dr. Abbot was.
You found him exactly where you expected. He was standing in front of the patient board, coffee cup in one hand, tablet in the other, with his reading glasses perched low on his nose.
“You know,” you said, walking up beside him, “those make you look old.”
Without looking away from the board, he replied, “And you’re late.”
You checked the clock. “I’m three minutes early.”
“You were supposed to relieve McKay seven minutes ago.”
“Are you counting?”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked toward you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “…Yeah.”
You grinned. “That’s kind of cute.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“No?”
“No.” He took a sip of coffee, finally looking you over. “Did you eat yet?”
You blinked. “Good evening to you too.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I had a coffee.”
“Caffeine isn’t a meal.”
“It’s close enough.”
Jack sighed through his nose. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before it’ll start getting busy in here. Go eat something.”
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“I’m your attending.”
“Only in here,” you said, gesturing around the department.
He looked at you for a beat, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Go.”
“Bossy.”
“And yet, you’re still standing here.”
You held his gaze for another second before turning away. “You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll page you if I change my mind.”
⸻
An hour later, the ambulance bay exploded, just like Jack had predicted.
“Incoming trauma! Male, twenty-three, high-speed MVC. Hypotensive en route.”
The doors burst open, and everything else disappeared.
“Trauma Two,” Jack barked. “Move.”
You were already moving. The room filled in seconds with doctors, nurses, and trauma surgery on standby.
Jack snapped on a pair of gloves. “You with me?”
“Always.”
He didn’t even look to see if you were ready. He knew you were. “Airway?”
“Secure.”
“Pressure?”
“Eighty systolic.”
“FAST-exam?”
“Negative.”
“Hang the second unit.”
“Already running.”
Every order was followed before he finished saying it. Every instrument he reached for was already in your hand. You worked perfectly in tandem with barely any verbal communication. At some point your shoulder slammed into his as you switched sides of the bed. Neither of you apologized. There wasn’t time.
Then, the patient’s pressure tanked.
“He’s crashing.”
“I know.”
“No pulse.”
“Start compressions.”
The room blurred into muscle memory. Minutes stretched. Then, time stopped. A heavy silence settled over the trauma bay. Jack looked at the clock. Nobody spoke while he called it. Not until the family liaison quietly asked for the time.
⸻
The room had slowly emptied. You stood at the sink, scrubbing blood from your hands harder than necessary. The water was almost too hot.
“You’ll take your skin off.” Jack’s voice was quieter now.
You didn’t look up. “I missed something.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I should’ve caught the bleed sooner.”
Jack stepped beside you, washing his own hands. “You did catch it. It was a hard one. ”
“It wasn’t enough to save him.”
“No.” His honesty made you finally look at him. “It wasn’t.” He dried his hands. “But that doesn’t mean you missed it.”
You hated when he did that—refused to sugarcoat anything. Somehow, it always made you feel better anyway.
“You okay?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I will be.”
He studied you for a second too long, then reached over without thinking. His thumb brushed across your cheek.
“What—”
“You had blood on you.” His hand dropped immediately.
“Oh.” You touched the spot yourself.
Neither of you moved. For one suspended second, the noise of the department disappeared.
Then, someone called Jack’s name from the hallway.
He cleared his throat. “I need you to finish the chart.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“And eat something.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You almost had a nice moment.”
He huffed a laugh. “Don’t push it.”
You watched him leave, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his thumb against your skin. Over at The Hub across the corridor, Dana, who was working a double, watched the entire exchange.
She caught your eye and raised one eyebrow. You immediately looked away.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say anything!” she exclaimed, her accent thick as usual.
“You didn’t have to.”
She smirked. “You two are getting worse.”
“We’re coworkers.”
“Mhm.”
“He’s my attending.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you done?”
She picked up a chart. “When one of you finally kisses the other, I expect flowers for putting up with this for ages.”
You scoffed. “As if.”
On the other side of The Hub, Jack was observing the patient board again. He looked away for the briefest moment, and his eyes met yours. He smiled. Small. Barely there. It was enough to make your stomach tighten. You smiled back before you could stop yourself.
Dana groaned loud enough for both of you to hear. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
Neither of you acknowledged her. Neither of you stopped looking.
You walked over to him with the intent of joining him on his next case. You were both staring at the board when another patient popped up.
“Central Eight,” he said without looking at you.
You glanced over his shoulder. “Abdominal pain?”
“Seventy-two-year-old. Spiked a fever in triage.”
“You always give me the fun ones.”
“You always steal the fun ones.”
“I learned from the best.”
He snorted. “Doubtful.”
You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “That’s almost a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
⸻
Mrs. Alvarez smiled weakly when the two of you walked into the room.
“Good evening,” you said, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and this is—”
Jack shot you a look.
You smiled innocently. “…my attending.”
Mrs. Alvarez laughed. “So you’re the important one?”
Jack sighed. “Unfortunately.”
You finished taking the history while Jack listened, occasionally jumping in with a question you’d missed. By now, the rhythm between you was automatic. He knew when to let you lead, and you knew exactly when he wanted more information without him having to ask.
By the time you stepped back into the hallway, he’d started putting orders in.
“CT, standard labs, lactate,” he said.
“Already did that.”
He stopped typing. “You did?”
“I was standing next to you. I’m good at multitasking.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am impressed.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“I'm pretty sure that was an actual compliment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You make a terrible liar,” you said smugly, nudging him lightly in the side with your elbow.
“I make an excellent attending.”
“You can be both.”
Before he could answer, Dana waved the two of you over. “Abbot, EMS just called. Two minutes out.”
“What’ve we got?”
“Possible overdose. Found unresponsive. Given Narcan on scene with no effect.”
Jack nodded once before looking at you. “You with me?”
You looked back at him like he’d asked something ridiculous. “Since when am I not?”
For the briefest moment, something softened in his expression. Then it was gone. “Let’s go.”
⸻
The patient rolled in, still unconscious and with blue lips. The room shifted instantly into motion.
“One, two, three.”
Transfer.
“Bagging?”
“Respiratory’s got it.”
“IV access?”
“Working on a second line.”
Jack moved around the bed with practiced calm, calling out orders as the team responded around him. You were half a step behind, anticipating what he needed before he said it.
“I have the naloxone,” you said, already connecting the syringe to the patient’s IV.
“Push it.”
A beat. Nothing. Another. Then the patient jerked, coughing violently. The room collectively exhaled.
“Welcome back,” you muttered under your breath.
Jack heard you anyway. “Professional.”
“I am.”
“You absolutely are not.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“I saw it.”
“You imagined it.”
“You smile at my jokes all the time.”
“I tolerate them.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
He looked at you for a long second. “My face doesn’t say anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The monitor stopped chiming as the patient’s oxygen saturation climbed. Jack turned back toward the bed, but you caught the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. You counted that as a win.
⸻
The next couple of hours refused to slow down. A toddler with a febrile seizure. A college kid who’d managed to dislocate his shoulder trying to impress his friends. A chest pain that turned out to be anxiety. The board filled. Emptied. Filled again.
By two in the morning, the department had settled into that strange rhythm only the night shift understood—everyone exhausted, nobody slowing down.
You were finishing a note when Jack’s voice carried across the station. “I need another set of eyes.”
You rolled your chair over. “What’ve you got?”
He turned the monitor toward you. “EKG.”
You studied it. “…No STEMI.”
“No. But something’s off.”
You leaned closer. “So that’s why you called me.”
“I called you because you’re good.” His words came so matter-of-factly that they almost slipped past you. Almost.
You looked up at him. “Wow, Abbot, again with the compliments?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The grumpy old man.”
“I’m fifty.”
“I didn’t say ancient.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did.”
He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. Empty. He frowned into the cup like it had personally offended him.
“You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re about to steal mine.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering it.”
You slid your coffee across the desk before you could think better of it. He looked from the cup to you.
“I’ve had half,” you stated.
“I know.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’ll survive.”
Jack hesitated for just a second. Then he picked it up and took a sip.
“You know,” he said, setting it back down, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever done.”
You scoffed. “I covered your shift last month.”
“That benefited you too.”
“It did not.”
“You got overtime.”
“I got yelled at by Robby.”
“He told me.”
“And you didn’t even thank me.”
“I bought you breakfast.”
“You bought everyone breakfast.”
“I bought you an egg sandwich without mayonnaise.”
“…You remember my go-to order?”
“I remember everything.”
The sentence hung there a second longer than either of you intended. Jack looked back at the computer.
“Abbot!” Dana poked her head over the monitors. “EMS. Three minutes.”
Jack stood immediately. “What’ve we got this time?”
“Industrial accident. Crush injury.”
His expression changed in an instant. Focused. Calm. Professional. “Trauma Two.”
⸻
The patient came in awake. That almost made it worse. He was young, early thirties, gripping your wrist hard enough to hurt while you cut away the shredded sleeve of his work jacket.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“I know,” you said evenly. “Stay with me.”
Jack arrived at the bedside a short while later. “Walk me through it.”
You rattled off the vitals while the nurses worked. He listened without interrupting.
“Compartment syndrome?” you asked quietly.
“Maybe. Call ortho.”
You nodded once. “They’re already on their way.”
Everything moved fast after that. X-rays, pain control, consults, phone calls. The room gradually emptied as the patient was stabilized for transfer upstairs. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Jack was stripping off his gloves. “You called ortho before I asked.”
“You were going to.”
“I was.” He looked at you for a second. “You’ve started anticipating me.”
“I’ve worked with you long enough.”
“It’s getting annoying.”
“You mean helpful.”
“I mean annoying.”
You laughed. “I’ll try to be less competent.”
“Don’t.” The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.
Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I think I do.”
Before either of you could say another word, Dana leaned through the doorway. “There you are. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
You both looked at her simultaneously. “What happened?” Jack asked.
She folded her arms. “The vending machine ate my five dollars.”
You blinked. “…That’s why you interrupted us?”
“I need an attending,” she said, winking at you.
Jack stared at her. “For the vending machine?”
“It’s a crime scene.”
You giggled. 'Way to cockblock, Dana,' you thought to yourself.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “I went to medical school for this…”
Dana nodded toward Jack and pointed at you. “See? She laughs at your jokes.”
“I didn’t make a joke.”
“You exist. Close enough.” As she walked away, she tossed one last look over her shoulder. “And if you two are done making heart eyes at each other, Central Nine’s waiting.”
You and Jack answered at exactly the same time. “We’re not.”
Dana just laughed and kept walking.
Jack sighed. “This department is unbearable.”
“You could transfer.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re the problem.”
You stepped backward toward Central Nine, walking in reverse. “And yet you keep asking for me.”
His eyes followed you all the way down the hall.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I do.”
You didn’t hear him. He was almost glad you hadn’t.
⸻
By four in the morning, the crowd in the waiting room had thinned. It wasn’t empty—that never happened. But for the first time all night, the department felt calmer. There weren’t any ambulances backing into the bay or trauma pages overhead. The lull lasted exactly eleven minutes.
Jack was halfway through signing off on an admission when you dropped into the chair beside him.
“Tell me you’ve got something interesting.”
He didn’t look up from the chart. “You volunteering?”
“Depends. For what?”
He swiped the screen of his tablet. “South Twenty.”
“What is it?”
“Foreign body.”
You groaned. “No.”
“Yep,” he said, popping the final p.
“Please tell me it’s a kid who swallowed a Lego.”
“You wish.”
You closed your eyes. “…It’s not.”
“It is not.”
“You can go by yourself.”
“I’m the attending.”
“So attend.”
He finally looked over at you, fighting a smile. “You scared?”
“I’m tired. It’s four in the morning.”
He stood, grabbing the chart from the printer. “C’mon.”
You stayed exactly where you were.
Jack stopped after a few steps. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can.”
“You literally can’t.”
“I’ll assign you to hallway admits for the rest of the shift.”
Your eyes narrowed. “…You fight dirty.”
“I learned that from you.”
You pushed yourself out of the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
“I am.”
⸻
By the time the patient had been evaluated, reassured, and referred to the appropriate service, nearly half an hour had disappeared. You stripped off your gloves and stepped back into the hallway.
“I don’t get paid enough.”
Jack fell into step beside you. “You got to tell someone not to put random objects where they don’t belong.”
“I’d rather not have that conversation ever again.”
He laughed. A real laugh—the kind that made the fine lines around his eyes crinkle in that way you adored. It was rare enough to make you glance over at him.
“What?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“You laughed.”
“And?”
“So you usually don't.”
“I laugh.”
“You smirk.”
“I laugh.”
“You exhale slightly harder through your nose.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
He looked genuinely offended. “I laugh.”
“Do it again.”
“I’m not performing.”
“Coward.”
“You done?”
“Never.”
The Hub came into view again. Jack had stopped by the break room to pick up two fresh coffees while he waited for you to finish up with the patient. He held one out.
You blinked. “I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“You got this for me?”
“I got two.”
“You hate this roast.”
“I do.”
“So…”
“So take the coffee.”
You accepted it, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The touch lasted just long enough to notice, but you didn’t want to pull away.
Then, a monitor alarm started blaring in Central Eleven, breaking the spell.
“I’ll get it,” you said, chugging the lukewarm coffee as you went.
Jack nodded. “I know you will.”
⸻
Central Eleven turned out to be nothing more than a loose lead. When you stepped back into the hallway, Jack was standing at The Hub, elbows braced against the counter, tablet in front of him as he scrolled through lab results.
You walked up beside him and nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Crisis averted.”
“The ECG lead survived?”
“Barely.”
“I’ll notify its family.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That was terrible.”
“You laughed.”
“I pitied you.”
“Sure.”
He was still smiling when he pulled up the next chart. Before he could read it, you reached over and turned the tablet your way. You quickly skimmed through the information while Jack still held onto the device.
“How come you’re always stealing my patients?” Jack asked, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“I read the chart first.”
“I was literally holding it.”
“Possession isn’t ownership.”
“You making legal arguments now?”
“I’m making winning arguments.”
For a second, neither of you let go of the tablet. It was stupid. Childish. Completely unnecessary.
Jack looked down at your hand over his, then back up at you. “You planning on letting go?”
“Are you planning on asking nicely?”
“I’ve never asked you nicely.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His head tilted just slightly. “You like pushing my buttons.”
“You have so many.”
“And one day that’s going to get you in trouble.”
You smiled. “With you?”
His gaze held yours. “Yeah.”
The answer came low and easy. Not a joke, but not quite a warning either. Before either of you could decide what it meant, the overhead speaker crackled: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He let go of the tablet first.
“Saved by the pager,” you said.
Jack didn’t answer. He just looked at you for one lingering beat before turning toward the ambulance doors. “You coming?”
You fell into step beside him. “Always.”
The doors opened before either of you reached them. “Incoming.”
Jack’s expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared. That was the thing about him—no matter how much you pushed him, no matter how much you got under his skin—the second someone needed him, he was exactly who he was supposed to be. Calm. Focused. Unshakable.
“Give me your report.”
The paramedic rattled off the details. Forty-five-year-old female. Found unconscious at home. Unknown downtime. Family on scene. You moved into position beside Jack without thinking. The two of you had done this enough times that there was no hesitation. You just knew where you belonged.
“On my count.”
The stretcher moved.
“One, two, three.”
The room filled. Orders, numbers, questions, hands moving, voices overlapping. Jack stood at the center of it all, directing the chaos into something controlled. You watched him do what he did best, impressed as always by his skill.
“Pressure’s coming up.”
“Good.”
“Glucose is low.”
“Treat it.”
“Getting a response.”
The patient’s eyes fluttered. The room exhaled. Not relief exactly—not yet—but enough to keep going.
⸻
When the patient was finally admitted, you found yourself standing at the sink again. Same place as earlier. Same fluorescent lights. Same exhaustion settling into your bones.
“You have a favorite spot in this department or something?” Jack’s voice made you look over.
“You just keep finding me here.”
“Because you keep coming here.”
“Maybe I like the sink.”
“Interesting choice.”
“Are you judging my taste?”
“I am.”
“Rude.” You smiled despite yourself.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The shift was catching up with both of you now. The adrenaline had worn thin, the jokes were quieter, and the space between you felt different.
Jack leaned against the counter beside you. “You were good tonight.”
You looked over. “That’s thrice.”
“What?”
“You’ve complimented me three times this shift.”
“I compliment people.”
“Not like that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you mean it.”
A beat. Then another.
“I do mean it.”
The answer was simple. No teasing, no deflection. Somehow, that was worse.
You looked away first. “You’re dangerous when you’re tired.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You get honest.”
“I’m always honest.”
“No.” You glanced back at him. “You’re careful.”
Something in his expression shifted, because he knew you were right. Jack Abbot was careful. With patients, with decisions, with people. Especially with people.
“Maybe careful is a good thing.”
“Sometimes.”
“And sometimes?”
You shrugged. “Sometimes it just means you spend a lot of time not saying things.”
The silence after that was louder than the department. A monitor beeped down the hall. A nurse laughed somewhere near triage. The world kept moving.
Jack looked at you. “You always this difficult?”
“Only with you.”
There it was. The thing neither of you acknowledged. The line—the one you kept walking toward and then stepping back from.
His mouth twitched. “That’s what I thought.”
“You think you know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?”
His gaze stayed on yours. Long enough that your heartbeat picked up. Long enough that you remembered exactly how close you were standing.
Then, someone called his name. Again. Always again.
Jack looked toward the sound, then back at you. “I have work to do”
“You always have work to do.”
“That’s because I work here.”
“Convenient excuse.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Central Six.”
“Are you assigning me?”
“Yes.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
“Enjoying it?”
“Maybe.”
The honesty surprised both of you. His smile faded slightly, not because he regretted it, but because he realized you knew he meant it.
“Careful, Abbot.”
His eyebrows lifted. “With what?”
“Getting honest.”
For once, he didn’t have a comeback. You walked away before he could find one. And you hated how much you wanted him to.
⸻
Five-thirty came around without either of you noticing. That was the dangerous part of the night shift. Time stopped meaning anything. There was only the next patient, the next call, the next thing that needed doing—until suddenly there was a clock on the wall telling you the sun was going to come up soon.
You were finishing a chart when Jack appeared beside the workstation.
“You’re still alive.”
You looked up. “So are you.”
“I’m the attending.”
“You say that like it’s a personality trait.”
“It might be.”
You smiled. “That’s actually concerning.”
He ignored that. “How many charts left?”
You glanced at your screen. “Three.”
“Three?”
“Don’t sound so offended.”
“You’ve been here all night.”
“So have you.”
“I finished mine twenty minutes ago.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No one thanked you.”
“They should.”
“For doing your job?”
“For doing it efficiently.”
“You mean quickly.”
“I mean efficiently.” Jack shook his head. “You tend to complicate things.”
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
The words slipped out easily. Too easily. Neither of you laughed this time. Jack looked at you for a second.
Then, the familiar voice of the overhead speaker filled the space once more: “Dr. Abbot to the ambulance bay.”
He looked toward the doors, then back at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
“What?”
“Winning arguments.”
“You make it very easy.”
“One day that’s going to backfire.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
His eyes held yours. “No.”
Something about that answer made you forget your next smart remark. Thankfully, the ambulance bay doors opened before you had to find one.
⸻
The final case of the night was never really final. There was always something standing between you and going home.
This time, it was a woman in her sixties with shortness of breath, a husband who wouldn’t stop apologizing for bringing her in, and a room full of worry. You took the lead on questions while Jack examined her. Between the two of you, the diagnosis came together piece by piece. Medication history, recent symptoms—you caught the detail everyone else had missed.
Jack saw you catch it. He didn’t interrupt or step in. He just let you work. That was one of the things about him that you appreciated. He never needed to prove he was the smartest person in the room.
After the patient was stabilized and admitted, the room finally emptied.
You exhaled. “Done.”
Jack checked the chart one last time. “For now.”
“You ruin everything.”
“It’s the ED. ‘Done’ isn’t really a thing.”
“Let me have my moment.”
“Fine.” He stepped back.
“Done.” You looked at him.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.” You laughed.
And there it was again. That look—the one where he forgot to look away. The one where the attending disappeared for a second and he was just Jack. Tired. Human. The man you adored.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re not as intimidating as everyone thinks.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Even worse.”
“You have a reputation.”
“I know.”
“And then you do things like buy people breakfast and remember their coffee order.”
He shrugged. “People work better when they’re well taken care of.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He knew. You could tell by the way his expression changed, the way he looked down briefly before looking back at you.
“You can head out. I’ve got it covered,” he said.
“You’re avoiding the conversation.”
“I’m telling you to get some sleep.”
“You should too.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The silence stretched. Jack looked away first. It was a small victory, but you took it.
“You do that a lot,” you noted.
“What?”
“Change the subject when something gets too close.”
His jaw tightened. “You do that too.”
That caught you off guard. “What?”
“Make a joke,” he said, pausing. “Make it easier.”
You didn’t have an answer. Because he was right. He always was.
Dana walked past the doorway. “Either of you planning on leaving today?”
You both stepped back at the same time. The moment broke.
“Eventually,” Jack said.
Dana looked between you. “Sure.” She walked away, but not before flashing you a knowing grin.
You grabbed the chart from the counter. “People are annoying.”
“People notice things.”
“People should mind their own business.”
“Maybe.”
You looked at him. “Maybe?”
“Maybe they’re not wrong.”
Your heartbeat kicked. But before you could answer, Mateo called out from nearby, “Abbot, your sign-outs.”
He sighed. “Saved by paperwork.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound tired.”
“Liar.”
He looked at you with a tired smile on his face. A real one. “Finish your charts.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And eat before you leave.”
“You’re ridiculously bossy.”
“I am your boss. You’re welcome.”
You watched him walk away. For the first time all night, you didn’t make a joke. The truth was becoming harder to ignore. The shift was almost over—and somehow that felt more dangerous than anything that had happened inside the ED.
⸻
Six-fifteen. It was the hour where everyone started moving slower. Not because they were lazy, but because hours of alarms, trauma calls, admissions, and impossible decisions had finally caught up with them.
The ED was still alive, but the edges had softened. The waiting room had almost emptied, and the board was finally cleared—a miracle.
You finished your last note and leaned back in your chair. “Tell me we’re almost done.”
Jack was at the workstation beside you, signing off charts. “We’re almost done.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was suspiciously easy.”
“It was a simple question.”
“You never answer simple questions simply.”
“I just did.”
“Exactly.”
He glanced over. “You always this paranoid?”
“Only when you’re involved.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth before he caught it.
“There.”
“What?”
“You smiled.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Jack.”
His eyes flicked up. Not doctor. Not Abbot. Jack. It was a tiny reaction—barely anything—but you noticed. And judging by the way he looked away, he noticed too.
“Your chart is missing a medication list,” he said.
You stared at him. “That’s your move?”
“My move?”
“Changing the subject.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re such a coward.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because one day you’ll say something you can’t take back.”
You leaned back in your chair. “Maybe I already have.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. Jack looked at you. Really looked. Then, the printer started up—loud, obnoxious, and perfectly timed. You both looked away.
“Saved by office equipment,” you muttered.
“Apparently.”
⸻
By seven-fifteen, the last sign-outs were done. You grabbed your bag from the locker room while Jack finished his handoff to Robby in front of the board. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. That should have been the first sign.
“You leaving?” Jack asked.
“Eventually.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Because you avoid answering my questions.”
“You’re good at noticing things.”
A pause.
“Yeah,” he said.
The quiet honesty of it made you look over. Jack seemed to realize what he’d said. Neither of you moved.
He looked toward the hallway. “You should go home.”
“So should you.”
For once, neither of you laughed. The supply room door stood open down the hall—empty, quiet, and private. Jack noticed you looking. You nodded toward the door and began walking without turning around to check if he was following.
You knew he was.
The door clicked shut behind the two of you.
“You know this is the part where we’re supposed to make the smart decision,” Jack murmured.
You stepped closer. “Are we?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be.”
“Trying?”
A tired laugh escaped him. “You really don’t make anything easy.”
“You like that.”
His eyes met yours. “I do.”
The answer was immediate. Too immediate. The silence afterward was different—not awkward, just honest.
Jack shook his head. “You know how long I’ve been trying not to?”
You tilted your head. “Not to what?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me say it.”
You held his gaze. “Maybe I want you to.”
That was it. Not some dramatic moment, nor some perfect confession. Just the last bit of restraint finally wearing thin.
Jack looked away for a second, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
“Yeah.” He paused, looking back at you. “Yeah, I am.”
The supply room light hummed. The hospital carried on around you, but for once, nobody needed anything from him. No patients, no decisions. Just this.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” he asked.
“Noticed what?”
“Every excuse you find to come by the board. Every argument you drag out longer than it needs to be. Every time you look at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Your mouth curved. “Maybe I do.”
His eyes dropped briefly before finding yours again. “That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
When he answered, there was no teasing left in his voice. “‘Cause I want ya.”
The words were quiet, but they were everything he’d been refusing to say.
You didn’t move.
Jack exhaled, almost like admitting it had taken something out of him. “I want ya, and I’ve been trying not to.”
The space between you felt smaller.
“Because you’re my resident,” he added after a pause. “Because I’m supposed to know better.”
You looked at him. “And now?”
His eyes stayed on yours. “Now I think I’m tired of pretending.”
Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to. The kiss happened because there was simply nothing left to argue about. Months of almost. Months of looks across the department. Months of pretending the pull between you was just banter. Gone.
His lips were soft against yours, and you couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped you. Finally.
Your hand came up to tangle in the graying curls at the nape of his neck. His hands were steady at your waist, keeping you grounded. For a moment, neither of you moved, like you were both waiting for the other person to realize what was happening and pull away.
Neither of you did.
The kiss deepened slowly, carefully. Not rushed, but not exactly uncertain either. More like both of you were trying to memorize something you had spent too long pretending you didn’t want.
One of his hands left your waist, coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed along your jaw with a gentleness that almost undid you more than the kiss itself. Jack was always steady, always controlled. But here, with you, there was something softer. Something honest.
You leaned into his touch without thinking. His forehead rested briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes stayed closed for a second longer than they needed to.
For a moment, the ED disappeared. The noise, the exhaustion, the rules you had both been so careful about—all of it vanished.
When you finally pulled back, Jack stayed close. He took a quiet breath, a small, disbelieving smile touching his lips. “This is still a bad idea.”
You smiled. “Probably.”
“You’re agreeing?”
“Absolutely.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you were right.”
He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
The sound of footsteps outside the door reminded both of you where you were. Reality came back. The hospital was still there, and the shift was still ending. Jack stepped back first, because of course he did. Control. Always control.
But the look in his eyes said it wasn't as easy as it used to be. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice a quiet invitation.
