[santosscissorsister]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ about me ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⟡ masterlist ⟡

⟡ i just go by 's'

⟡ this is my side blog dedicated to my being a freak about the pitt

⟡ trinity santos defender

⟡ it has to be said : fuck trump, fuck ice, free palestine.

⟡ any hate of any kind to anyone will be blocked or really any bullshit i don't wanna hear

[santosscissorsister]

this you? @stitch-away

better yet, this your man? @oh3mgeealexx

[stitch-away]

nuh uh

[santosscissorsister]

he’s straight up lyin

[santosscissorsister]

this you? @stitch-away

better yet, this your man? @oh3mgeealexx

[thepittmemes]

[scullayann]

[blossom2blossom]

facts i think need to be kept in mind when looking at trinity's hatred for/fear of langdon:

she was sexually abused as a child by a male authority figure

her childhood best friend killed herself because of their rapist

langdon is a male authority figure who is commiting a crime

langdon is a father. he has access to children

trinity, on the same day, watched her department collectively decide not to report a man for raping his daughter

[santosscissorsister]

to make the connection that because frank has a substance abuse issue, he would hurt children, his own specifically, is so misguided and frankly, reenforces terribly and harmful ideas that those addicted are violent and dangerous people.

i don’t even care about the show in this. the way you talk about people matters. this type of thinking is deeply flawed and ultimately does way more harm than good.

and that’s me being nice about it.

[blossom2blossom]

where did i suggest that he would hurt his own children or make a connection between his addiction and child abuse. show me, quickly

[santosscissorsister]

if you can’t see yourself where that connection was made, intentionally or not, then anything i add to this conversation is futile frankly

[blossom2blossom]

facts i think need to be kept in mind when looking at trinity's hatred for/fear of langdon:

she was sexually abused as a child by a male authority figure

her childhood best friend killed herself because of their rapist

langdon is a male authority figure who is commiting a crime

langdon is a father. he has access to children

trinity, on the same day, watched her department collectively decide not to report a man for raping his daughter

[santosscissorsister]

to make the connection that because frank has a substance abuse issue, he would hurt children, his own specifically, is so misguided and frankly, reenforces terribly and harmful ideas that those addicted are violent and dangerous people.

i don’t even care about the show in this. the way you talk about people matters. this type of thinking is deeply flawed and ultimately does way more harm than good.

and that’s me being nice about it.

[tiptapismellbullcrap]

Okay, dennis slipping up and saying he loves the beach and he used to go all the time. Everyone is like 🤨 bc hes said before that he’s only ever been in nebraska and pittsburgh, what the fuck beach are you going to?

Anyway, he awkwardly admits he went to undergrad in california and lived right near the beach, he just had some bad experiences there that he doesnt really like to talk about it.

Anyway, someone is nosey and decides to search “dennis whitaker california” or something to see if theres anything there. They end up finding a report of an arrest of an Andrew Cody following a bank robbery, and Dennis is listed as a witness - from what they can tell he never said anything incriminating and was able to use his relationship to andrew to avoid answering some questions, and he probably lied on the stand.

[orlovbats]

From the moment he steps into the Pitt to begin his night shift, Jack knows something is wrong. As he'd kissed him goodbye, he'd joked to Robby that he was wishing for an easy shift, but this is simply strange. It's as busy as it usually is—perhaps even slightly busier—yet there's hardly a sound. Everyone, patients and staff alike, are speaking in low, whispering tones. They keep their heads down like nuns. Even Myrna looks subdued.

"Pussycat went cuckoo," she says to him as he passes. Jack scowls and readjusts the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. She can't be coherent. But when he arrives at the hub and catches sight of the small crowd looking worriedly into Behavioural Health 1, her words begin to make more sense.

"Hey," he shouts. Roughly, he pushes past his colleagues until he is standing in front of the window into the observation room, bracing his hands against it and almost hyperventilating with fright. All of a sudden, the whispering in the ED feel far too loud and grating. The lights are agonisingly bright. The sight in front of him is the worst sensation of all. Because Dennis, his baby, is suffering and he is trapped in Behavioural Health. "Open this door right fucking now."

"We're waiting on Psych to come down," Dana says, trying to sound calming. "You go in there and you'll only break your heart and upset him further."

"It's really hard to listen to," McKay warns. "He's crying for his dad, we think."

"His daddy," Santos corrects. She drawls the word out so that it reeks of discomfort. Then she sighs, crossing her arms across her chest, and sorrowfully says, "He's lost it."

Jack's fright turns to fury. They don't understand. He raises his fist and almost barrels it against the glass window, stopping only millimetres away from the surface. On the other side, Dennis does not move. He only cries, looking weak, looking small, looking so desperately in need of his pacifier and blankie. With Robby, they'd talked about how they would proceed if Dennis started to slip into little space at work, but their plans hadn't accounted for Dennis being alone on shift.

The worst has happened: Dennis has regressed at work, and their colleagues have signed a 302 order to involuntarily commit him.

Jack can hardly breathe.

[santosscissorsister]

wtf

[flashandtheholograms]

Incorrect Quotes

[stitch-away]

@santosscissorsister and me

[santosscissorsister]

no bc we have this conversation daily

[shostakovalexei]

the jack abbot tag is getting too heterosexual for my taste. jack abbot with a boyfriend. jack abbot with two boyfriends. jack abbot getting DPd. jack abbot getting fisted. jack abbot in pup gear. jack abbot getting fucked with a cock ring on. gay slut jack abbot whose favorite thing is getting fucked in filthy bathrooms. gay slut jack abbot whose favorite thing is sucking cock in dirty bars. gay slut jack abbot who regularly attends kink parties and orgies. gay slut jack abbot who's slept with every man in the pitt, yeah, even that one.

gay slut bottom jack abbot who got passed around in the army, was everyone's free use slut. gay slut jack abbot who's on prep and gets regularly tested because he's a responsible slut. gay slut jack abbot with a drawer full of dildos and anal beads and a fucking machine. gay slut jack abbot who posts cock and hole online. gay slut jack abbot who gets silenced grindr notifications constantly because everyone in the state knows he's the throat goat. gay slut jack abbot in lingerie. gay slut jack abbot getting gangbanged by the entire male cast of the pitt. shall i go on

[little-mouse-dennis]

Aw, Robby’s mom left him :(

He should… he should call… he should call Dennis mommy…

He should… he should…

He should suck on Dennis’s nipples, lying across the younger man’s lap while Dennis jerks him off and comforts him as he cries

[dennis-the-freak-whitaker]

When Dennis had suggested the idea the first time, Robby hadn't been receptive to it. Or, well, he'd been far too receptive to it, which had had shame curling hotly and uncomfortably (and unfortunately arousingly) in the pit of his stomach.

But there had been nothing in his eyes that indicated he was judging him, nothing that had shown Robby he thought it was gross. In fact, there had been a spark in his eye that had told him the opposite, that Dennis was very ready and incredibly willing to give Robby what he needed.

And so, after too much and not enough self-reflection, two nights later as they'd been lying in bed, Robby had brought it back up. And Dennis, of course, had been more than happy to indulge them. Which was exactly how he'd ended up lying over Dennis' lap, something hot coiling in his belly as he clutched onto one of his belt loops.

"Sh, sh, there you go, there you go..." Dennis cradled Robby's head in the crook of his elbow, pulling his shirt up so the older man had access to his chest. "I've got you, mommy's got you."

Robby couldn't help the whine that followed that, or the absolutely pathetic way that he looked up at Dennis, whose face was nothing but warm and receptive. The backs of his eyes pricked as he was tugged closer, his head angled up slightly. "I... I... mommy."

"Oh, my baby, it's alright. I've got you. Go on, go ahead, take what you need. Mommy's going to help." He hooked his finger under Robby's chin to guide his mouth toward his chest, sighing softly as his lips wrapped around his nipple. "There you go, that's it. I've got you, my baby. Sh, sh."

Robby couldn't help it when the tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes as he began to suck, or the way that he began to get hard against Dennis's hip. He clutched at his hip with one hand, peering up at him with big, wet eyes, and whined.

Please, please, please.

"Oh, baby. Do you need mommy to help? Hmmm? Need mommy to help you feel good? That's okay. I've got you, mommy is going to give you everything you need, oh, my sweet boy." Dennis moved the hand that had originally been settled on Robby's hip to the waistband of his pants, easily slipping it past the button, under the elastic of his underwear.

As soon as Dennis wrapped a hand around him, another pitiful-sounding whine fell from his lips, muffled by the nipple in his mouth. As the hand began to move, Robby could only suck harder, his hips rocking faintly against the careful movement of Dennis' fingers. He pawed gently at his stomach, whimpering and whining and pleading Dennis with his eyes.

Please, please, please.

"There you go, that's it. Just let mommy help you feel good. Ohhhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's alright. Mommy's got you now."

Please, please, please.

His hand slipped up from his stomach, settling over his other nipple, pinching at the bud like it was a comfort to him. His face was wet with tears, the little rocks of his hips turning into him really rutting into Dennis' hand, only half aware of the way the other man's breath hitched and his hips shifted beneath him.

"Oh, my baby. It's okay, it's okay. Mommy has you. Just let go, sweetheart. Shhhhh, it's okay, mommy has you."

With something like a sob mixed with a moan, the coil in Robby's stomach snapped and he spilled over Dennis' hand. His mouth never left his nipple, tears still streaming down his cheeks as the younger man held him securely.

"Oh, baby. There you go. Doesn't that feel better? That's right. Just needed mommy to take care of you, hmmm? I've got you."

[spankerella]

[barantos-prompts]

Baran's family never particularly liked or approved of her ex-husband so she's a little more than relieved with just how much they seem to adore Trinity.

So much so that Baran's own mother sometimes calls just to find out how Trinity is doing. Not her daughter. Not her grandson. Her girlfriend.

She's a little concerned that it might be overwhelming. Her family can be... a lot at the best of times.

But one night she overhears Trinity tucking her son in, answering questions about her own family and how they're non-existent in her life. Hearing Trinity telling Baran's son that Baran and he and his family are her family now settles something she didn't know needed settling deep in her heart.

[little-mouse-dennis]

After Robby gets into a horrible accident on his motorcycle, he is somehow transported back to PTMC

When he wakes up from his medically induced coma, they realize he’s suffering from temporary partial memory loss

He knows he’s a doctor, he lives in Pittsburgh, yada yada. It’s just personal relationships that seem to be all scrambled in his head. He knows Jack, Dana seems familiar, everyone else is really fuzzy, but Dennis seems to be unusually prominent in his memories

People write it off as Dennis being the last person to talk to Robby before he rode off

Dennis, with his sacrificial savior complex and enormous crush on his boss, volunteers to take care of Robby. I mean, he already has the keys to the place, and Robby seems most comfortable with that idea

Dennis is changing his bandages, scolding the older man when he moves around too much, coaxing him to relax, and entertaining him when he gets bored

He's cooking nutritional meals, making sure Robby takes his medicine on time, going out on nature walks with him so he's not just cooped up inside

It suddenly clicks in Robby’s mind. This is his husband!

When Dennis is feeding Robby a bite of this new dessert he’s trying out, Robby thanks him by leaning over and pecking his lips, y’know, like a husband would do

Dennis lights up in a furious blush, making Robby confused as he stutters out an excuse and flees from the house

Robby noticed before that Dennis doesn’t have anything personal around his house; it’s all Robby’s

Robby is horrified to think that they’re in the middle of a separation, and the only reason why Dennis stuck around was guilt and some sort of misplaced obligation

Now Robby is on a mission to win back his husband and stop the divorce from happening

He calls up Jack and tells him his plans, confused on why Jack is howling with laughter, while Trinity is laughing at Dennis back at her apartment, while he’s face down on the couch and screaming

[annsfics]

♡ that's what i'm here for ♡

♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: due to seasonal depression, your own self-care, & accuracy at work both begin to suffer. unwilling to stand by while you're put through the wringer for the next few months until spring rolls around again, jack takes it upon himself to look after you in the meantime.

♡ content: caretaker!jack, d/s vibes (lil bit of dd/lg too), pining robby, jack braids your hair, makes you eat snacks, gives bath time, etc

♡ a/n: based on this request, ty!

You're not yourself today.

Well... You haven't been for awhile, truth be told. Change of the seasons, you think. Fall isn't terrible, but it nevertheless serves as the herald of the worst time of year: winter.

It brings about slick roads that you're terrified to drive on, power outages that cast people's homes into negative digits, an uptick in emergent cases because of car accidents and slipping on ice, snow that piles up on a driveway that exhausts you to shovel, everything dying or hibernating or migrating south to wait out the cold, and the Northern Hemisphere being bathed in darkness for the grand majority of each day.

Safe to say you absolutely despise it and plan to eventually marry rich so that you can one day get yourself a home in Key West that you'll winter in as soon as October rolls around every year.

A silly daydream, yes, but nevertheless a nice thought.

While Abbot gives his typical obnoxious pep talk about nightcrawlers and the wild west, you stand to the side while shifting on your feet and studying the electronic board ahead—its colorful fields filled to the brim, as always, with cases that never seem to cease in volume.

When the speech finally concludes, you jump slightly, then turn to walk away... Until Abbot calls for you.

You swing back around to him with a forced cheery smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"You alright?" he asks while resting a calloused hand against your upper arm in concern.

You nod while glancing past him. "Yeah. Fine."

"Didn't join in tonight. Getting tired of your old man already?"

Your eyes flit back to his and you shake your head. "Just thinking about getting to waiting patients." Swerving around Jack—not wishing to give him an opportunity to dig any deeper than surface-level—you head in the direction of an occupied trauma bay.

In the middle of a debridement, a patient's local anesthetic wore off—something you were meant to be keeping in mind, as they were going to require further dosages as you worked to ensure that the site was kept good and numbed while you cleaned—and were made more than aware of that fact when they started howling in pain due to your negligence.

Gently pushed aside when Abbot came sprinting into the room, you stood idly by and sniffled quietly while your eyes filled with tears and apologies poured forth from your lips. "I'm so sorry," you'd whimpered while wiping at your cheeks and mentally berating yourself to get it together!

Once the patient was given a dosage of anesthesia and another resident was summoned to take over, Jack pulled you into an empty room to check in with you.

"Sweetheart, what has been going on with you?" he asks gently with crossed arms.

Wrapping your own around yourself, you shake your head in denial. "I just forgot by getting lost in what I was doing. I'm so—" you clamp a hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry."

Jack sighs, then takes a step forward and does something unexpected: he wraps his arms around you before tucking you beneath his chin and safely against his chest. "You look exhausted. Are you not sleeping well?"

You yawn and decide to give in. You screwed up, so he deserves explanation. Plus, you're too beat to try and worm your way out of this. "I think I have SAD."

You can't help but feel the least bit pitiable for it. You're surrounded by people with broken bones, burns, lacerations, and unidentified chest pain. Meanwhile, you're in a depressive mood because it's gotten cold outside.

He hums. "You taking anything for it?"

You shake your head. "I had a script for vitamin D once, but I don't feel like it made me any happier. Or any less stressed, for that matter."

Jack runs a hand up your back. "I thought you seemed off lately. I didn't know if it was something outside of here, or work itself."

Your eyes water. "All of it."

"Startin' to worry me. You're not taking breaks, you're taking on more cases than you can handle—"

You pull away while wiping your tear-stricken cheeks with the sleeve of your undershirt. "I'll be fine."

Truth is, you had hoped that by overwhelming yourself here, your bouts of sadness would subside because you were more than occupied and didn't have time to think about anything else.

Jack makes to reach out to you, but you turn and head for the door. "I have patients to get to. I'll be more mindful from now on. I'm sorry, Dr. Abbot."

He watches with disappointment as the door clicks shut behind you.

You're standing idly by and observing Dr. Garcia perform an emergency thoracotomy on a patient with penetrating trauma when you end up having to squeeze your thighs together due to a suddenly straining bladder. Continually shifting your weight from one foot to the other in hope of relief does you little good, though.

Just another way you've been neglecting your own wellbeing lately: by not even bothering to use the restroom regularly.

Hopefully it doesn't result in a UTI. It'd just be another issue to add onto the already growing pile.

Abbot glances to you curiously and watches as you rotate your neck and squeeze your eyes shut before popping open again. Trailing his own lower, he notes the familiar little dance you seem to be doing and sighs.

This damn girl.

Discreetly, Jack silently crosses the room to reach you, then turns and leans in close. "Go to the restroom and relieve yourself."

You glance up to him and blink.

"Go potty, sweetheart," he mumbles before stepping away.

You turn and exit without anyone noticing.

The next time Jack takes note of your obvious self-neglect is when he's passing by the computer station just as you're making to stand, and you sway on your feet before thankfully catching yourself on a nearby counter.

Circling back around, he settles a hand on your hip and guides you in the direction of the employee lounge.

"What're you—"

He stops just outside the door and slides his hands into his pockets while nodding toward the room's interior. "Go get a snack. I'm not going to have you passing out from hypoglycemia."

You roll your eyes, then open your mouth to insist that you're fine and will eat a Snickers later, until he crosses his arms and steps forward with an unwavering expression painted across his features. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

You stare blankly at him. "I'll be okay. I had a protein shake before I left the house. I'll have a granola bar later."

Jack grips your shoulders and spins you around while ushering you into the break room. "You're going to have a cup of Ramen, which you will finish every bite of, as well as a juice box, and only once both are on your stomach will I deem you fit to return to work."

A juice box? What, are you five?

"I really am fine," you insist.

He blocks the doorway. "Since you seem incapable of looking after yourself, I'm taking up the obligation instead."

You glance away in humiliation. "I'm not an invalid."

Jack sighs with remorse. "Honey, I didn't mean it like that. But you're worrying me sick. How can you expect to properly look after your patients if you're continually putting your own needs aside?"

Walking further into the room, you yank a container of Ramen off the counter. "I just have to get through to Spring. I'll be fine."

"That is months away," he counters. "So until then?"

You peel the lid off the thin cardboard bowl and toss it into the trash. "I eat my Ramen and drink my stupid juice box," you mumble while filling the container up to the designated line at the sink.

You're slurping up a mouthful of seasoned noodles when Robby waltzes into the lounge for a bottle of water before he clocks out.

Grabbing a cold one from the fridge, he looks at you with a sportive expression. "I'm sorry," he begins with a chuckle. "Are you having a snack in the middle of your shift?"

You narrow your eyes while chomping down on your noodles—sending them sliding back into the bowl. "Jack made me."

He leans back against the fridge. "Jack made you?" Robby asks incredulously before nodding toward the table. "He make you drink the juice box, too?"

You sip at it, then mumble your response. "Yes."

He softens then, with only a slight, playful grin now upon his lips. "Are you alright?"

You shrug while stirring your noodles. "Just not myself lately."

Robby's tennis shoes squeak quietly against polished tile as he heads for the table you're seated at. Pulling out a chair, he seats himself across from you before leaning back. "Something happen?"

"SAD."

He sighs. "Are you taking any—"

You hang your head. "I swear you're both two halves of a whole."

"Guessing he asked the same thing?" he inquires while unscrewing the lid on his bottle.

You return to your noodles. "Yes."

"And?" he asks while leaning forward.

"No."

Robby shakes his head while sliding his clasped hands atop the table. "Do one of us need to write you a prescription?"

Now finished with your noodles, you go in for the juice box so you can finally get back to work. "I'll be fine."

"And how many times have you fed that line to my supposed 'other half'?"

You glance to him and sip the remaining dregs with a frown. Releasing the plastic straw, you reply quietly. "Couple times."

Robby leans back with a sigh and a hand planted atop his thigh. "Well, I suggest you take Dr. Abbot's advice and do a better job of looking after yourself going forward."

He rises, then comes to your side and rests a hand between your shoulder blades while looking down at you. "Otherwise, one of us will. And speaking for myself, I already have enough patients to worry about as it is. So do you."

You crumple the juice box before standing. "I will," you supply—desperate for them both to crawl off your back. "You don't need to worry, Robby," you finish while tossing the item into the trash.

Sliding a tender hand down the side of your neck, he purses his lips. "I hope not." He heads for the door. "Need to be able to look forward to seeing my favorite girl every night before I go home."

Robby turns the handle to finally head out. "Don't know what I'd do if she wasn't here for me to set eyes on."

You watch as he leaves, completely taken aback by his comment. But it nevertheless causes you to warm all the more toward him, now knowing he's so fond of you.

When you wake the next evening, it's with a renewed vow to yourself, your patients, and coworkers: you'll be making every effort going forward to do considerably better. More bathroom breaks—including stops for water afterward—and you have a shopping bag full of nonperishable snacks you plan to lock away in a drawer at the computer station to munch on when you're charting.

Small efforts, but all good steps in the right direction.

Standing in your bathroom, cast in only the soft yellow glow of a nightlight—too early...or, rather, late for the glare of an overhead bulb—you brush your teeth while doing your best to keep your eyes open.

And then a firm, heavy knock resounds from your front door. Your plastic toothbrush clattering from your hand and landing in the sink, you quickly swipe your phone from the porcelain countertop and when you check your outside camera, your jaw falls open.

"Is—Is everything okay? Did something happen at the hospital, or with Robby, or—"

Abbot raises a brow while easing his way inside and over the threshold of your home while brushing past. "Robby always the first thing on your mind in the morning?"

You cross your arms while turning around—curious as to the bag he holds. "No. You two just seem attached at the hip."

He blows a raspberry, then hands you the bag—which seems to have some heft to it—before bending at the waist with a groan to untie his shoes.

"What is this?" you ask while gently lifting the item.

"Breakfast," he replies. Tossing his shoes to the side, Jack stands upright while settling his hands against his back and lightly stretching.

"W-Why?"

He takes the bag again, then plants a palm against the small of your back. "Kitchen?"

You pad in that direction.

Once you've reached it, Jack reaches up and switches on the hood light atop the stove—you're thankful that he didn't go for the ugly hanging chandelier overhead instead, which you plan to replace when you finally have the funds—before opening and closing cabinets in search of a plate.

"I can just eat it with my hands," you say while peeling the brown paper bag open—not that you even have an idea as to what's inside.

You assume some sort of sandwich or biscuit.

You've only just removed plastic utensils when he slides a plate in front of you and snatches the bag away. As he's pouring the contents of a steaming breakfast bowl onto it, you look at him. "How...How did you know where I live?"

He smirks, then steps away to throw away the now empty plastic container and bag.

"Wait," you blurt. "Did you look in my employee file?"

"Took down your cell, email, and home address," he retorts before glancing toward the hallway you emerged from but a few minutes earlier. "Bathroom this way?" he asks while pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yes..." you reply with furrowed brows while watching him disappear around a corner.

Talk about making one's self at home...

Jack is satisfied to see you cleaning the plate in front of you while also sipping on the bottle of orange juice he purchased.

You bristle at the sound of his heavy, ambling footfalls, and open your mouth to begin hounding him with questions until you feel a brush suddenly being run through your hair.

You jerk in your seat and a forkful of scrambled eggs plop back onto the plate in front of you. "What're you doing?"

"Your hair. What's it feel like?"

You toss down the fork before spinning around. "Why're you doing this? The—The breakfast, and you having my information, and now trying to—"

"I told you," he says while settling his hands on his hips. "I am taking up the mantle of your personal babysitter. At least until the seasons change." He shrugs. "Probably until well after, if I'm being honest." He circles his finger. "Turn back around."

"But—"

He leans in close while gripping the back of your chair. "Finish your breakfast, young lady. Now."

You gulp at his demanding tone, and ultimately do as you're told.

You raise a brow at the feel of him parting your hair before consistently running a finger through it and tightening as he goes. "Are you braiding my hair?" you ask between chews.

He hums in response.

"How do you know how?"

He snorts. "These hands can do more than just hold a scalpel." He happens to slide a finger down the back of your neck. "And braid hair, but that's a conversation for another time."

You remain silent while sipping at tangy OJ.

"There was a woman I served with. Hurlston was her name. Her daughter was only a few months old when she got deployed. Got into her mind that she needed to know how to do all these fancy hairstyles for whenever she got older. So, she ordered one of those big fuckin' Barbie doll heads and practiced on it constantly. Complicated shit.

"When there's down time in the Army, there's a few things you can do: read, write letters, watch movies, some plays games... She did hair. Sometimes, I watched when I got bored with a Tom Clancy novel. Learned how to do just a basic braid that way. French? Had her teach me that."

Your plate now being clean, you swirl your juice around to occupy your hands. "Why? Just...boredom?"

Jack shrugs while tying a band he found in your medicine cabinet around the end. "That. And...if I ever got married again, or had a daughter of my own, I figured it'd be something worth knowing how to do."

He squeezes your shoulders while taking the plate to slip into the dishwasher. "Finish your juice and then we're going once you're dressed."

Jack seems to be set on going the extra mile with this. Such as him not allowing you to so much as carry your own bag, and when you slide into the passenger seat...

"Ok, I can get my own seatbelt—" you sigh with irritation as he clasps it into place anyway.

Placing one hand on your seat's headrest and his other forearm across your lap, Jack remains close while speaking. "I am only gonna say this once, so you need to listen."

You draw your knees inward and keep your eyes on his arm before finally meeting his gaze again.

"You need someone to look after you for the next few months. Sweetheart, I refuse to turn a blind eye when someone that I care deeply, deeply for is suffering in silence. All your 'I'm fines' are bull, and you know it. So, until the change in seasons—hell, probably even past that, given where we stand, like I said earlier—you can consider me glued to your side. That means giving you designated break times at work, ensuring you're eating three square meals a day, as well as snacks, bath time here at your home or mine, bedtime—whatever I need to do to ensure that you're being looked after the way you not only need to be, but deserve."

Your chin wobbles. "I'm not a child, Jack. I can—"

"No, but if you need someone to father you—or...or just act like a surrogate husband when things get dark, then baby, that's what I'm here for. Alright? All the shit you're having trouble carrying right now? Put it on me. I can handle it. Okay? I am not losing you to depression—seasonal or otherwise. Because, sure, right now maybe it's forgetting to eat or use the restroom, but what about when you don't have the energy to bathe, or the mental fortitude to get out of bed every evening?"

You sniffle while settling a palm atop the back of his hand. "Are you sure?"

He slides his hand out from beneath your own, and cups your cheek. "My purpose at work is obvious. Outside of it?" he swipes a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Honey, you're it. And I couldn't be more thrilled."

Jack sort of moves you into his home in the middle of the fall season. Nothing drastic like furniture, but he does have you pack up the basics: clothes, toiletries, hobbyist materials like your laptop, some books, a journal, and so on. And as your newly designated caretaker, he only thinks it fair that he pay your rent and utilities while you're away, since he's the reason for your sudden absence from your domicile.

He once makes a joke while giving you a bath—yes, something which most certainly sent you reeling the first time he drew one for you—that if you give up your lease, then he won't have to worry about checking on dripping faucets once snow starts to fall.

In way of repayment, whenever you're both off, you try doing chores and general tidying up around his house while he watches TV or works on bullet reloading. Until your pacing and utterly inane babbling finally does Jack's nerves in...

After yanking you into his lap one afternoon in the living room and practically cradling you in his arms while threatening to shove his thumb in your mouth if you didn't calm the hell down, you finally got the message that you needed to sit and shut up for awhile.

Now, he gives you designated chores on a chart on the fridge for you to do a few times a week, so as to occupy you, and time set aside for you to talk your little heart out where he listens until you've run out of words. He adores talking with you, but God if you can't be a chatterbox at times when you get excited.

It honestly gets to a point that, when you're outside of the ED—which you're once again flourishing in because of Jack's consistent, precise direction—you almost wholly turn your mind off and otherwise leave it in more capable, trusted hands because you feel so safe and taken care of with him.

Jack drives you home, bathes you, puts you in clean PJs, makes you dinner, and even tucks you in right next to him every morning.

He'd initially tried out the arrangement of giving you his bed—he refused to listen to your protestations when you insisted it be the other way around—while he would sleep on the pullout couch, but it didn't last long because of his back.

Turned onto your side with Jack behind you, he runs a calloused palm beneath your camisole and up your back, trying to coax you to sleep. "Do you need a cup of warm milk?" he whispers.

You pop open a curious eye. "That actually sort of sounds disgusting."

He smirks. "I thought so, too, but figured it worth offering if you thought it'd help."

He tugs the hem of your camisole up to just below your breasts, then returns to massaging your back. "There's another tried and true method that usually helps get me to sleep."

You close your eyes again. "Hm?"

He grows quiet for a moment. "Be easier to get started on if you took your clothes off."

You sigh in irritation. "I don't think my attending is supposed to say things like that to me."

He chuckles. "I think that ship sailed when I appointed myself your caregiver, sweetheart."

Rolling onto your other side, you drag yourself closer, then burrow into the warmth his bare chest provides. "Goodnight."

Cupping the base of your skull, he tilts your head back and brushes a kiss over your lips. "Good morning."

You tangle your limbs around him before making to count up to a hundred in an attempt to finally drift off.

"Maybe we should move to Alaska," he mumbles. "Then there'd be no reason for this to ever end."

You shake your head while giggling. "Go to sleep."

Jack wraps his arms around you. "Sooner I get to see you again, the better."

[seewhoyouwanttosee]

FETISH - JACK ABBOT X READER

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.5K

☆ SUMMARY: Jack Abbot is a boob-guy through and through, so much that you sometimes wonder who he’s here for— you or them. You decide to mess with him and tell him you're getting a breast reduction, and his reaction is not what you expected.

☆ CONTAINS: Younger, fem!reader (doesn’t even have to be younger tbh), established relationship, boobs and suggestive content.

☆AUTHORS NOTE: This was actually so fucking funny to write, like I’m writing about titties. Based on this request. Special thanks to anon for requesting this, I was starting to take myself and my writing way too seriously and you reminded me to just have fun while doing it instead! A short one for now, but other fics to come soon!

☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @sweetmelodygraphics

The mirror reflects the sight of you while you adjust the straps of the top you’re wearing, sighing for the umpteenth time as it flops right back down into that unflattering angle again as soon as you let go.

Everyday it was a new struggle– if your best bra didn’t work with the outfit, the outfit itself had to be scrapped. Online shopping was a no go– you’d learnt your lesson when the stores started charging you for the amount of returns you’d done, never keeping anything because of your fucking boobs.

As much as they were a pain in your back– literally– Jack always made sure to show his appreciation for his favorite assets of yours— or, at least one of his favorites.

It was brains, beauty and then boobs.

Jack loved your fucking tits.

If it wasn’t evident in the way he’d tell you, it was evident in the way he’d touch you.

You’d more often than not wake up with his large hand pressed under your shirt, cupping your chest. Other times, the first thing he does when coming home after a rough night at work is bury his face between them, muffling his groans as the heavy weight of his tired body pushes you deeper into the couch.

When you’d be cooking dinner for the two of you before he’d head to work, Jack would wrap his arms around you, voice low as against your ear as the two of you talk about anything and nothing at all, while letting his hands wander aimlessly– just needing to feel you before he lost himself for 12 hours–and in the end, always landing on the same place.

Your chest.

It wasn’t even in a sexual way most of the time, only that his hands needed to be on you at all moments, and why wouldn’t he indulge in the feeling of your soft, pillowy tits if he had access to them? 

He'd be insane not to.

You can hear him turn off the shower from where you’re standing in your bedroom, a sudden idea sparking in your mind. Why not torture your poor, loving, sweet boyfriend?

The door to the bathroom opens just as you finish planning your evil trick– the steam curling around Jack’s frame as he steps into your room, crutches beneath his arms. Unfortunately, he’s wearing his boxers, but his salt- and pepper curls are still damp, and you hungrily watch as a drop of water trickles down his freckled back– the farmer's tan he’s sporting making him even easier on the eyes than usual.

There’s nothing hotter than a working man, especially if that man is Jack Abbot.

He sits down on the edge of your bed, using a towel to dry his hair, and you force yourself to tear your gaze away again, setting your plan in action.

Another sigh, this time louder and more dramatic. You run your hands down the side of your body and watch through the mirror as Jack’s eyes land on you, that focused look whenever he’s with you on his face again, and clearly trying to figure out what was going on with you.

“You okay, honey?” he calls out from where he’s seated, and you don’t respond, just continuing to stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You hear the mattress creak and turn around just in time to get a final view of his toned skin— right before his shirt covers the sight, and then watch as he leans back against the headboard.

Walking over to where he’s sitting, you perch yourself on the edge of the bed first, and within seconds he’s grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you closer, then deciding that it’s still not close enough, and finally tugging you into his lap, your legs on each side of his hips as you straddle him.

A surprised laugh escapes you at his actions, and Jack relaxes further at the sound, hands rubbing up and down the side of your waist, the look in his eyes warm and filled with relief once he sees you smile.

Unfortunately for him, you can’t have that.

You grab his hands, pulling them to a stop and to rest between you as you look down, avoiding his gaze.

“Jack, I need to talk to you about something,”

Jack nearly has a heart attack. Though instead of letting it show, he simply gulps and nods, before he realizes you’re not looking at him. Clearing his throat, he speaks up.

“Of course honey, what’s going on?”

You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him nervous, shifting in his lap.

Jack’s hands, which had gone still under yours, start to tense slightly, his thumbs brushing against your fingers like he’s trying to comfort you, but you know it’s more to ground himself.

“Hey…” he murmurs, softer now, leaning forward a bit to catch your line of sight. “You’re scaring me a little,”

You almost break right there, 

But you press your lips together, forcing a small, conflicted sigh as you shift in his lap again, your gaze still downcast.

“It’s just…” you start, hesitating on purpose, “I don’t think this is working anymore,”

Jack freezes, and you feel his body tense beneath you.

His grip on your hands tightens just a fraction, like he’s afraid if he lets go you’ll disappear.

“What– what do you mean?” His voice is careful now, fragile in a way you don’t hear often.

You finally glance up at him, just enough to see the way his brows have drawn together, the way he’s already watching you, searching your face for answers he’s not sure he wants.

Letting go of his hand, though it was harder than expected since he wasn’t trying to let go of yours, you motion vaguely towards yourself– more specifically, your chest.

“They’re just too much,” you explain, a defeated look strewn across your face, before you continue, “I think I’m going to get a breast reduction,”

If he wasn’t sure before, he was definitely sure now– Jack was having a fucking heart attack.

“That’s, uh–” he begins, then laughs nervously, “That’s a pretty big decision honey– are you sure about this?” 

Please say no, please say no, please say–

“Yes,” you say, nodding your head adamantly, “I’ve probably never been more sure in my life,”

The silence that follows nearly has you breaking character and admitting to everything. Jack looks absolutely defeated, a far away look in his eyes.

“...I understand,” he says after a very long moment of silence, finally looking back at your face, “If that’s what you want, it’s what you should do. Always, honey,” Jack finishes off with squeezing your hands, then they settle on your waist again.

“Thank you,” you say weakly, and despite it just being a joke, it felt good to know he’d understand you and go along with your wishes if it ever came down to it. 

Well, now you just felt stupid. Your mouth opens, and you’re just about to fess up when Jack speaks up again, a small frown on his face.

“Can I say goodbye to them?”

You stare at him. Jack stares back at you, gaze unblinking. 

A sharp laugh bursts out of you, your head dropping forward as your shoulders shake, any attempt at composure completely gone.

Jack flushes, flexing his jaw as he looks away.

“Don’t laugh, honey– I’m serious! If they’re going away I at least deserve a proper goodbye–”

His words send your further reeling, and you slump against his chest when you calm down, struggling to catch your breath.

“Jack–”

“Please? Just one last squeeze and I’ll–”

“Jack!” you exclaim through laughter, cupping his face to stop his rambling. “I was just kidding,”

Jack blinks at you, face completely blank for a second as he tries to figure out if you’re telling the truth or just messing with him.

Then he groans, dropping his head back against the headboard again with a dull thud.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You are actually unbelievable,”

You’re still giggling, leaning into him now, your forehead brushing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d–” another laugh slips out, interrupting your sentence.

Jack feels his lips twitch despite everything, and he would be lying if he didn’t say he was relieved you were just joking. Even if he had just embarrassed himself– at least his girls weren’t going anywhere. 

All three of them.

Huffing, he flips the two of you over, smirking at the small yelp you let out when he’s suddenly hovering above you, lips inches away from yours, yet not touching.  His hands slip beneath your top, brushing against the underside of your chest.

You feel your heart race faster, cheeks turning red as you arch into his touch.

“Jack…” you begin, only to bite your lip to stifle a sound when he fully cups it, his large hand squeezing it gently. His nose brushes against yours as he breathes harder into your mouth and says;

“I think I know how you can make it up to me,”

☆END NOTE: This took me less than an hour to write, because...let's just say I was inspired.

☆TAGLIST: @realwhoreforfictionalmen @iloveclarkent @dilfsffx @777bambi777 @zar6 @halcyonwithletters