Hi everyone! I want to start posting again, sorry I’ve been MIA! I’m in nursing school and don’t really have a whole lot of time to write! I want to know who you would like me to write about, I know I’m definitely going to be doing Dr. Jack Abbot from the PITT, and some Dr. Robby from the PITT. Comment down below or message me suggestions on who you want me to write about! Sorry for rambling :/ I love you guys! 🩷
summary: jack won’t let you ruin your health with something as stupid as vaping.
cw: intoxication (reader), vaping, argument with jack :( but it’s just cause he caressss
wc: 1.1k
a/n: guess who quit vaping 30 days ago?? me!!!!! it feels really fucking great—I still miss it, but I’ve saved so much fucking money, and I feel so much better already. the first few days, I cried every single day and annoyed all my friends, I think, but now it’s better. I still have the occasional cigarette, but that’s something I’m working on.
Jack looks upset when he comes to pick you up from your night out with your friends. You’re drunk, but not so drunk that you don’t see the furrow between his brows and the way his jaw clicks.
To his credit, he is right to be unhappy.
His car pulls up to the curb you and your friends are sitting on, glittery skirts reflecting his headlights. You’re the one who’s currently holding the vape.
Scratch that—you’re not just holding it.
The taste of strawberry ice fills your mouth and lungs, settling there like a heart attack waiting to happen. Jack frowns at you as he shuts the car door with more vigor than necessary.
“Hey, baby,” he greets you, then nods at your friends.
Your sheepish smile tells him everything he needs to know.
Despite his anger, his hand finds yours with the gentleness you’re used to as he helps you up from the floor.
“You ladies got rides home?” he asks your friends. All of them nod, a mix of shy and giddy expressions all around. Your girls are almost as infatuated with Jack as you are, your handsome older boyfriend, who always shows them—and you, of course—the utmost respect, despite the gap in age, experience, and, well, everything.
He looks at you, then at the vape in your hand.
“You wanna give that back to whomever it belongs to?” he questions sternly.
“It’s mine. I bought it,” you reply.
His face shifts for a second. It’s not exactly disappointment that flickers across his face, but something eerily similar.
Shit. Maybe you should’ve lied. Drunk-you tends to get you in trouble.
Jack wrinkles his nose, then takes a deep breath.
“Time to go home, sweetheart,” he mutters.
His hand tugs on your own, leading you to the passenger side of the car. He opens your door and shuts it for you the moment you sit down.
As he rounds the car and drops into the seat behind the wheel, his jaw ticks again.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he grumbles.
The drive back is tense—you feel sick to your stomach, and it has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol in your system.
Jack keeps his eyes on the road at all times, not sparing you a single one of the tender glances he usually bestows upon you. He adores you drunk, when you get all cuddly and sweet, but right now, you feel like he’d prefer it if you had gone to your own place.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out.
He simply holds up his hand.
“Not now, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Just… let’s just get home first, okay?”
You know it’s not punishment that he withholds communication, but rather him sorting through his thoughts, but, intoxicated, you feel like you’re being reprimanded for something almost everyone does at some point in their life.
“It’s just a vape,” you mutter, a little sharper than you intended.
Jack’s head snaps to you.
“Baby, I mean it, not now. Okay? We’ll talk about this at home.”
When the car pulls up into his driveway, you undo your seatbelt and open the door. As you storm inside, a little wobbly on your feet, Jack follows you quickly.
You do something you haven’t done since you were a teenager: you slam the front door loud enough that Jack’s neighbors probably heard it, and disappear into the kitchen.
Outside, Jack stands on the welcome mat and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“God-fucking-dammit,” he whispers to himself, then pushes the door open.
When he steps inside, he finds you leaning on the kitchen counter, balancing on one foot and trying to get the strappy heel off of your other one. You give him a sour glance before you pull at the clasp below your ankle again.
“Hey,” he calls out. “You have no reason to be mad at me. I’m the one who’s fucking pissed.”
He walks towards you, then grabs your hips to stabilize you.
“Stop that,” he adds. “I’ll do it.”
Jack hoists you onto the counter with practiced ease. For a moment, being lifted so suddenly steals your breath, and your fingers dig into his shoulders. You're a little too drunk for such acrobatics. He doesn’t mention it.
Instead, he just drops to his knee and starts unhooking the clip of your shoe, first the left, then the right.
The moment you’re freed, you exhale deeply.
Jack stands back up and walks to the sink, where he fills two glasses with water. He silently passes you one, then puts the other one down next to you.
“You know how I feel about smoking,” he says grimly. “I see what it does to people every fucking day.”
You nod quietly.
“I don’t care if it’s a cigarette or a vape or- or that snus stuff. It’s really fucking bad for you. And I don’t want you showing up in my ER any time in the future, or ever, because of something as avoidable as this shit.”
His voice quivers slightly, and your eyes snap up to meet his. The anger has left and instead bled into pure concern.
“I know,” you reply timidly.
“Do you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The word comes out firmer than you meant, and you quickly cover his hand with yours.
“Yes,” you repeat, softer. “I was just… being an idiot. I didn't think it mattered that much, but... I know it’s bad for me. I won’t do it again.”
“No, you won’t,” he agrees, then nods to the untouched glass next to you.
You breathe in deeply, then feel for the vape in your purse. Jack watches, his eyes not leaving you for even one second, as you hold it in your hand.
“You know what to do,” he encourages gently.
For a second, dread fills your chest like a vice around your lungs. Then you drop the vape into the water, watching as the bubbles rise to the top. A tiny cloud of grey smoke swirls around before the vape dies.
“Good girl,” Jack mumbles.
He squeezes your hand and leans in to kiss your forehead.
“Didn’t mean to ruin your night,” he says quietly, his breath ghosting over your brow bone. “But I won’t let you do shit like that, you hear me?”
You nod again.
“You didn’t ruin my night,” you reply. “And I know you’re right. It just sucks that all the fun things are bad for you.”
“That’s hardly true,” Jack answers.
A small smirk plays around his lips.
“I can think of a million fun things that aren’t bad for you. Some of them might even satisfy that desire of yours to have something in your mouth.”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
♡ synopsis: a patient presents with alcohol poisoning when she's brought into ptmc after getting rowdy at a bar. jack attempts to treat her & when she gets physical...you see red & go to an extreme length to defend your husband.
♡ content: battery, punching, cursing, jack is smitten w/ reader, robby is pining, mentions of spanking & fingering
♡ a/n: based off this request by @styx03, ty!
"Guess she smashed a bottle over the bartender's head, then went ballistic and starting snapping pool sticks over tables," Langdon says, recounting what the EMT relayed to him but a half hour ago before heading out in their ambulance again.
Blowing a big pink bubble, your gum pops and you start chewing again. "Is he okay? The bartender, I mean?" You ask concernedly while turning back to Frank.
He shrugs. "EMT checked him out. He said he felt fine apparently, and declined a trip to come and see us. Guess if his goose egg starts causing dizzy spells he'll end up on our doorstep eventually. As for this one," he says while nodding. "Once she's been cleared of alcohol poisoning, I wouldn't be surprised if they come and cart her off to jail for drunk and disorderly. Not to mention battery."
You watch from a distance as Jack tries administering an IV to get some fluids flowing through the woman's system other than that of alcohol, but she swats his hand away in irritation.
You take a small step forward.
He shakes his head, says something you can't discern from a distance, despite trying to read his lips, and tries again.
Same thing, only this time, she sneers like a rabid dog.
He plants his hands on his hips and attempts to level her with a disapproving look. An expression which you know all too well. Only difference is, he doesn't actually mean it with you. It's like a silent form of sarcasm.
Such as a few weeks ago when you climbed atop him in bed wearing only one of his Army t-shirts and slid your hands up his chest before submerging your fingers in silken silver curls.
"We need a new dryer," you'd purred before leaning forward and brushing soft kisses along the stubble that coated his upper neck. When you flicked your tongue against his pounding carotid, he'd groaned before grabbing your hips and pushing you back so he could face you head-on.
"And your plan," he'd began while fingering the hem of the t-shirt you'd donned, "is to seduce me for it?"
After wrapping your arms around yourself and pulling it off before finally tossing the garment onto the floor, you'd grabbed his hands and settled them over your breasts. "Is it working?"
He'd pursed his lips—same as he's doing now in Trauma 3—and deliberated for a moment before gently massaging your nipples. "Lay on your back and spread your legs," he'd commanded before sliding off the bed and onto his crutches—headed in the direction of the bathroom for a dose of Viagra.
"You move," he'd called from the other room—followed by the sound of running tap water. "And I'll put you over my knee when I get back in there."
You'd merely giggled before standing and padding toward the middle of the room to see if he'd follow through.
Your bottom stung for two days afterwards. But after many kisses and rub-downs with lotion (which may or may not have ended with his fingers inside of you on more than one occasion), you were more than happy to grant him your forgiveness for the erotic punishment.
Finally, Jack tries one last time—third time's the charm, after all—and all hell breaks loose.
Diving off the bed like a wildcat, she tackles him to the floor and begins smacking him across the face while shouting vulgar obscenities. Threatening to rip his throat out with her teeth is when you see absolute red.
One minute, you're standing next to Frank. The next, you're racing across the ED toward the room she has him trapped in.
Lunging at her with reckless abandon, you dig your nails deep into her scalp and clutch a handful of tangled blonde strands and yank.
Hard.
"I've got twenty on Y/N!" Shouts Parker from the doorway.
"Hula hoop!" You hear shouted from the common area of the ED, but it does little to deter you from following through on making her feel exactly what Jack just did, since she apparently has a death wish.
Leaning over her—now practically seething with rage—you bring your face in close, mere inches from her own. "Shouldn't have put your hands on my husband, you dumb fucking bitch," you spit with venomous scorn before swinging her around.
She clutches desperately at your wrist, but with your refusing to release her, there's little she can do about her current circumstances. Having turned into the strongest claw machine there ever was, you head straight for the other side of the room and toss her against the wall like a bowling ball.
Her head makes a satisfying thud off the drywall, and she slumps into a corner before bawling her eyes out.
Reeling back, you pop her in the nose with a closed fist. It emits a rewarding crack in response, and she begins howling that you've broken it when blood runs over her cupid's bow and down her lips and chin in a blazing river of crimson red.
Just when you've drawn your leg behind you for a swift kick in the ribs, a pair of arms wrap around your middle to haul you away.
You thrash against your captor, until he announces himself. "Calm the hell down or I'll put you both in cuffs!" Robby bellows.
Ahmed advances past and throws a grin over his shoulder that's aimed at Parker. "Frank owes us both a damn pizza and a six-pack looks like," he says with a chuckle while hauling the woman back onto the gurney and fastening the provided straps to her gangly limbs.
"I'll finish what I fucking started, bitch, just try me!" You scream. "I know how to make it look like an accident!"
"That is enough, Y/N!" Robby shouts directly in your ear.
After the adrenaline wears off some time later, you think of lying down on one of the hospital beds for a long nap with a curtain drawn and the lights dimmed, so as to give yourself a bit of privacy. That way, you can stop being stared at like a caged animal in a zoo by curious onlookers who keep passing by the room Robby has relocated you to.
He refuses to let you out of his sight for the rest of your shift, however.
After having you thoroughly wash your hands, Robby wipes your scrapes with alcohol, then soaks an extra large cotton swab in triple antibiotic. As he rolls it over your wounds, you merely watch.
"I shouldn't have done that," you say quietly. "She was drunk, and not in control of her faculties. She was already down after I...threw her against the wall." Tears pool in your eyes. "I assaulted a patient. I could be fired."
He sighs. "Drunk or not, the moment she went after Jack she committed a felony. If you hadn't run in there, I would've." He looks at you from beneath his lashes. "With you being a woman, you'll have a better chance of getting away with how far you took things. Had it been me?" He sucks his teeth and shrugs.
You frown. "Still."
Setting the swab aside, he plants his gloved hands on his knees. "It'll be fine. You did the right thing. With maybe a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, but..." He rolls back and tosses the soiled materials into the trash.
Returning his attention to you, Robby crosses his arms. "Gotta say, I was impressed. Had no idea you had it in you."
You snort. "You and me both."
He chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment before rolling towards you again. "There's two people in this hospital I would go that far for without hesitation."
You lift your chin to meet his gaze.
"Jack is one of them," he supplies.
Your eyes flit between his. "And the other?"
By not speaking, but instead keeping his gaze trained strictly on your own, his answer is made abundantly clear.
"Oh."
He smiles softly. "Not the time and place for that sort of conversation, I imagine," he mumbles before pushing against his knees and standing with a groan.
You remain seated as he heads in the direction of the sink to wash his hands.
"Where is? Or...when?" You shouldn't be asking that—prying at a lid that's best left closed.
Curiosity killed the cat.
He chuckles. "Before your wedding, probably."
Once he's dried his hands, he pulls out a roll of gauze from a nearby drawer and sits once more.
He had been Jack's best man. You'd thought he had spent a bit long looking at you that day as you stood across the aisle from the two of them. And that his touches had lingered when you danced together at the reception.
You suppose you know why now.
Holding out your trembling hand, he begins wrapping it.
"I didn't know," you whisper.
His lip twitches. "Because I didn't tell. Being on night shift, you spent more time with Jack. I saw from a mile away where that was headed from the beginning." He looks at you. "Wouldn't have been right to get in the middle."
You wiggle your fingers to ensure he's not wrapping it too tightly.
"I guess... Thank you for telling me. Better late than never."
He grins. Tucking the tail-end of the gauze neatly away, Robby runs the pad of his thumb along the back of your injured hand. "Jack is lucky to have someone that's so protective of him."
He stands and walks over to the exam room door and jerks his head as indication that you should follow him. "Let's go see him."
You narrow your eyes at Frank who's currently tending to your husband's injuries. "You bet against me," you pout while crossing your arms.
He grits his teeth and cringes. "Had no clue you'd do something like that. You've always been so—"
Docile? you think. Sweet? Quiet? Passive?
"I'm her husband," Jack interrupts. " And I had no idea, so how the hell could you?"
You shift on your feet while biting back a satisfied smirk. Better to be ashamed of yourself for it, and yet...
Frank raises his hands in surrender before slipping past Robby. "Far be it for me to get in the way and be the next victim."
You throw your head back and groan in irritation. "I'm not a psycho."
"Whatever you say, Misses Bateman!" he throws over his shoulder.
You turn and watch him go—heading back toward the lockers, presumably, to gather his belongings and set off for home. Your eyes transfer to Robby next who's leaned against the doorway with crossed arms.
"How're you feeling?" he asks while looking at Jack.
He moans, and you watch as he rotates his arm. "Woman put the smackdown on me, I'll give her that much."
You frown.
Robby chuckles. "Think it safe to say that she got a taste of her own medicine in the end."
Taking a step back, he grabs the door. "I'll give you two some privacy," he states quietly before stepping out and shutting it behind him.
Picking up where Langdon left off, you cup the unaffected side of Jack's face in your hand while patting the scratches on the opposite with a saturated cotton ball. "Are you okay?" You ask softly.
He smirks while sliding a steady palm up the back of your thigh. "Never better."
When he grabs a handful of your backside, you squeak in surprise before taking a step back. "Can you behave yourself for five minutes while I tend to your wounds?"
His mouth curls into a smirk while he pretends to think. Finally, he shakes his head and pats his right knee. "Can't be any worse than losing a limb, so not likely. I've got other things on my mind than ointment and—"
You roll your eyes before stepping forward again. "Keep it up and I'll plaster your face with Hello Kitty bandages when I'm done."
Gripping either of your hips, he scooches forward from atop the exam table he occupies and pulls you firmly between his spread legs. "Honey, after tonight, you can do whatever you like with me."
"Good Lord," you mumble before applying a butterfly bandage to the apple of his bruised cheek.
"What?" He questions. "I'm supposed to lie and say that wasn't hot as hell? You should really bring that kind of energy into the bedroom, sweetheart. I mean, I'm lying on the ground getting my ass handed to me and here you come—running to the rescue. How can I not get off on that?"
You drop your chin and regard him with serious, unblinking eyes. "I assaulted someone, Jack."
He hums, then grabs your hand and guides it between his thighs. "And just think of all the good it's gonna do you once I get you home and shut the blinds."
Glancing down to his growing erection, you shake your head and grin. "Oh, yeah, risk of my right to practice medicine being revoked makes for great foreplay."
He settles a heavy hand against the back of your head. "You're gonna be just fine, baby. Between me, Robby, and the lawyers the hospital keeps on retainer, we'll make sure of it."
Guiding your lips down to his, he grants you an open-mouthed kiss with an exploring tongue that teases your own.
You mewl softly against his mouth while running the heel of your palm up the length of his developing erection.
He sucks in a sharp breath of air, then leans back. "Once I get done with you, we're both going to be sore tomorrow." He nuzzles his nose against yours. "Killer."
(You try a tik tok trend with your boyfriend attending and he shows you that actions have consequences.)
Spit (Jack Abbot x Reader)
(Warnings: mentions of sex MDNI 18+, oh yea and a spit kink)
———————————————————————————
Right around when the hospital had found its rhythm, you and Parker were doom scrolling on TikTok while Shen, Lena, and Abbot discussed which coffee brand was superior.
“Have you seen the trend where couples share a drink and the other wipes it off before they take a sip?” You asked, “I gotta say, kinda find it funny.”
“You know Abbot would be pissed if you did that to him.” Parker said with a laugh, “There is no his or hers for you too. It’s always ours.”
“Fuck, you ain’t wrong there.” You said with a laugh.
Parker couldn’t have been more right. Since dating Jack and now dating him, it was always ‘ours’. You two were the kind of couple to always try the others food and share food and drinks. It was normal for the two of you to share a drink or even a meal.
“She’s swallowed my sperm and I’ve ate her out, there is no problem sharing drinks.” Abbot had said, completely wasted. He was trying to explain to Robby why he didn’t mind sharing food or drinks. Robby who was criticizing him about just looked horrified.
“I think we should prank him.” Parker said with a smirk, “Peepaw deserves it. Did I tell you he took the last fucking peanut butter granola bar from our stash?”
“Of course he did.” You said, looking over to see Abbot flexing next to Shen, “Why am I not surprised?”
“Yo Abbot and Lena! We are ordering coffee, you guys want in?” Parker said, looking down at her phone.
“Coffee?” Shen asked, appearing right beside the two of you.
You and Parker let out a nervous laugh, confused on how he got over here so quickly.
“Yea coffee.” You said and Abbot came over, putting his hands on the back of your chair.
“Sure, I’ll pay for it too.” He mumbled, moving his hands down to massage your shoulders.
“Thank you.” You mouth leaning back to look up at him.
Shen and Parker made gagging noises and Abbot looked down at you with a smirk.
“Never mind, I’m only paying for hers.” Abbot said, squeezing your shoulders.
“And she’s my girlfriend.” Abbot said, “Respect your elders.”
“Yea right peepaw.” Ellis mumbled and Abbot shot her a look.
“Alright. Write down what you guys want, I’ll order it.” Abbot said and the list for coffee orders began.
———————————————————————————
About 30 minutes later, the coffee order showed up. Abbot had met the delivery guy in the ambulance bay and walked in through the ambulance bay doors, juggling the carriers.
“Alright coffee’s are here.” Abbot said, setting down carriers. “They should be named.”
The team soon grabbed their coffees and you plucked yours from the carrier. Parker gave you a look and you knew your plan was in action. You knew Abbot had gotten a new drink to try so you just waited for him to finally put his straw in.
Just like that, Abbot put his straw in and took a sip. “See, I like this. You can taste the hazelnut.” He explained, “Here baby girl, take a sip.”
He offered you his drink and you took it from him. It was go time.
“Thanks babe.” You said with a smile, grabbing a tissue. You wiped off his straw and took a sip.
The look on his face was priceless. He went from, confused to shocked and then angry.
“What the fuck?” He asked, getting in your space to drink from the cup. After he sipped, he nudged it back toward you and you wiped it off again.
“What?” You asked innocently, trying his drink again, “It’s really good.”
He glared at you, “Nah you don’t do that. Why are you suddenly having a problem with my drink?” He asked, taking another sip. He then grabbed your jaw and tried to get you to take another drink, “I don’t have fucking cooties, you can take a drink after me.”
You quickly wiped it off again and took a sip, “It’s really good.”
“I came in you raw and spit in your mouth literally an hour before our shift started and you’re pulling this shit.” Abbot snapped and grabbed your drink. He licked all over your straw and took a sip of your drink.
You set down his drink and go to wipe your straw. You hadn’t noticed he didn’t swallow.
He grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He spit your iced coffee in your mouth.
“Good girl, now swallow.” He said, still holding your jaw. You locked eyes with him and swallowed. He wiped the iced coffee remnants off your mouth and walked away, sanitizing his hands. “Don’t pull that shit again.” He warned.
“Did he just?” Parker asked. Her and Shen watched the entire scene play out in front of them. Shen had already sipped down his iced coffee and was just staring in surprise.
“Yea um.. he did.” You said, shocked.
You weren’t expecting that reaction from the prank.
summary: you assume jack likes you until the pitt starts betting on how long it'll take him and samira to get together; jack assumes you like him until you get called into work while on a date with your coworker. turns out, all it takes is a bad bet and an even worse date for you and jack to realize how in love the two of you are. (7k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!loser!reader, trinity santos, samira mohan, nick barker, mcvadi crumbs
contents: friends to lovers, idiots in love, implied age gap, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, jealousy, humor, so much flirting, cw for medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, and probably several hr violations
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You make it halfway through your shift with a lighter wallet and a heavier heart than when you started it.
You can hear Princess shuffling through her stack of cash from the other side of the workstation, flaunting her winnings from a well-placed bet. You try and fail not to let it distract you as you scribble at the clipboard before you, with your heavy head propped on your clenched fist.
Charting was hard enough back when the computers were still running, back when it was easy — let alone when you have to make every single note by hand, and flit physically through a hundred different files just to cross-reference all the information.
“Is this what it was like back when you were a resident?” you’d asked Jack, when he dropped off an order slip by the filing cabinet, beside the bulky fax machine you were standing in front of and trying to tame.
He slid in beside you with a wide hand on your lower back, smelling like a dizzying mixture of sweat and musky cologne. He adjusted your labs in the tray without another word, turning it around and flipping it right-side up for you.
“Yeah, actually,” he’d nodded, dialing the proper number on the machine with his pointer finger, including the area code that you had forgotten to add. The corner of his lip flickered upward in a faint half-smirk as he joked with squinted eyes, “Back in the 1900s— when charting was done by candlelight.”
You felt your own mouth curling into a quiet smile despite yourself. “So this must feel really nostalgic for you then, huh?”
“Extremely,” he deadpanned.
“Well…” you sighed. “Got any tips for me then, old man?”
Jack exhaled a heavy breath and turned to face you while the heavy machine beeped and buzzed beside you. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his camo pants and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, look at it this way— Today is gonna suck, but… That means every shift from now can’t possibly get worse than this one, right?”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “That, or we just… keep descending into another circle of hell every day.”
Jack smiled wider at your cynicism, patting you softly on the shoulder before sauntering off the way he came. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
You still feel his hand on you even now, wide and warm over your thick black scrubs, while you trudge through the rest of your charting. You hate the effect he has on you; you hate how often he plagues your every thought. It takes a great amount of muscle memory, you find, not to accidentally jot his name down as your hand moves the pen on autopilot.
You don’t think it’d feel quite as pathetic if you thought that there might be an inkling he felt the same way about you. But now, all you are is an R4 with a stupid schoolgirl crush on her boss, and half a mental breakdown away from scribbling little hearts in her notes with his initials scrawled inside.
“You plan on getting in on this?” Santos asks in place of a greeting as she slides her swivel chair next to yours. She wears a faint smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her light eyes that gives you great pause.
Ink smudges on the inside of your wrist as you halt your scribbling to flash her a dubious look. “…On what?”
“Ahmad got bored after Princess won the last bet,” she tells you, reaching behind her to tighten the half-ponytail at the crown of her head. “Said the grid was too good to take down so soon, so… He started a new one.”
You scoff a dry laugh and turn away again.
“Yeah? What is it this time— Which one of us is gonna be the first to have a breakdown and quit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d win that one…”
“Close…” Trinity croons, leaning in like she’s about to tell you some sort of secret. Her eyes flit somewhere over your shoulder, in the vague direction of where Mohan stands with Jack across the room, before she confesses. “It’s about Abbot and Samira. I have it on good authority that they were getting pret-ty close in Central 4 together…”
“C-Close?” you echo on bated breath.
Your head whips over your shoulder to the other side of the workstation, where Jack and Samira exchange information about one of her patients. You hadn’t given their closeness a second thought before now. It’s like you blinked, and now the sight of them together makes you feel sick.
You hope Santos doesn’t see the hurt weighing down your features when you turn back to her. “What— What do you mean close?”
“I mean, Dr. Abbot was half naked while Samira was tending to his shoulder,” Trinity explains with a scoff and turns back to her own clipboard. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it until I heard her say, ‘It’s our little secret—’”
She mocks in a high-pitched voice, which sounds nothing like Samira’s, before laughing to herself.
“—Like, c’mon. You guys could at least try to be subtle about it.”
You know she expects you to start laughing with her, but you struggle to find the energy to do so now.
“Yeah…” you sigh instead, hardly audible as you struggle to speak through the sudden tightening in your chest. “Right…”
“You should go place a bet,” she tells you, half-distracted by the files before her. “You could win back the money you lost and then some.”
“With what?” you joke with a sad scoff. “The three dollars I have left to my name?”
She flashes you a deadpanned look. “If that’s all you have to lose, I think I’d take those odds.”
You figure Trinity’s right. You have nothing more to lose, in truth — not after the shit day you’ve already had, and the money you’ve already lost, and the teenage heart inside of you that’s already broken.
You finish up your charting, return the clipboard to the patient rack, and retrieve your wallet from the locker room. Because, as you see it, you’ll either leave this shift about a hundred dollars richer or with nothing at all; either totally vindicated or with a bank account just as empty as you feel on the inside.
You find Ahmad in the security room, and he flashes you a toothy grin as you slink through the doorway like a shy little storm cloud. He motions with the notepad he holds in a sun-kissed hand. “I knew you’d wanna get on the books, kid— What’d it take to convince you this time?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug with a mournful sigh. “I just… realized that I have nothing else to lose, I guess…”
Dr. Barker laughs from beside you.
“Well, that’s always the best reason to make a bet, in my experience,” he jokes with a pearly white smile, pushing the sleeves of his navy button-down up to his elbows to reveal the expanse of his tanned, scruffy forearms.
Nick Barker stands quite a few inches taller than you — which you hadn’t expected before now, since he’d spent most of his time in the E.R. sitting behind the portable radiology machine. He has to look down at you from the bridge of his broad nose from this angle, with eyes so dark they’re almost black.
He’s almost effortlessly handsome. Like, Disney prince sort of handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look into his eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.
“I’m normally a lot more responsible than this, but… I figured all things considered…” you trail off with a sheepish shrug.
“Yeah, you’re talkin’ to the girl who hasn’t taken a day off since I started here— Two years ago,” Ahmad scoffs. “I think you deserve to let loose every once in a while, Doc, all things considered.”
He taps you gently on the head with his notepad. You roll your eyes and reach into the pocket of your scrubs, cheeks burning under the weight of the sudden attention you’re getting.
“Just put me down for $10—” you say, but cut yourself off when Ahmad hisses through his teeth. “…What is it?”
“Minimum this time twenty,” he grimaces.
Your shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Seriously?”
“We had to up the ante this time, kid— Rules of the game.”
“Then I guess put me down for twenty…” you huff and pluck your wallet from your scrub pockets. “For… unrequited…”
“Unrequited by who?” Ahmad presses with his brows raised to his hairline.
“I don’t know. Samira, I guess,” you shrug, half-timid, ‘cause it’s not like you totally believe it either. You’re just trying to take a page out of Trinity’s book, really, and manifest something good for yourself for a change — pretending that Abbot isn’t into her in the hopes that it’ll make it somehow real.
“What?” Ahmad laughs like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in love?”
You flash him a solemn look in return. “I’ll start believing in something again when the systems come back up,” you answer in a monotone.
“Touche…” he nods slowly while Dr. Barker exhales a quiet laugh through his nose.
A familiar voice comes suddenly from the entrance:
“I think that is the single sanest answer I’ve heard all day,” Jack Abbot himself hums in a gritty deadpan.
You nearly break your neck with how fast your head whips over your shoulder, finding the man leaning against the doorway with his toned arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk dancing on his lips.
Your skin prickles with a red-hot heat while your pounding heart drops to your stomach. If he wasn’t into you before, he certainly won’t be now — not with you making bets on his love life like a crazy person with nothing better to do. (Though, in many ways, that is exactly what you are.)
“Dr. Abbot…” Ahmad croons, trying to play casual despite knowing his secretive betting ring’s finally been found out. “That’s funny— We were just talking about you.”
“Robby may or may not have told me,” Jack confesses as he saunters slowly into the security room, boots heavy on the white linoleum. “Wanted me to tell him if there was something going on with Mohan and me, so he could recoup the money he lost in the last bet.”
“…Well, is there?” Nick wonders lowly.
“C’mon, Barker. Where’s the fun in that?” Jack scoffs a dry laugh, then goes strangely solemn again in a flicker. “Even though, as an attending, I think I have to say that I am very against this— I feel like this has H.R. violation written all over it.”
“Well, what Gloria doesn’t know, won’t hurt us, right?” Ahmad quips.
“I’ve been livin’ by those exact words for years, brother.”
Your hands are clammy and trembling for a reason you can’t name as you pull two crumpled bills from your wallet — a dingy, pastel Polly Pocket billfold you’ve had since you were twelve — as if you needed another reason to look any less cool in front of Jack. The pale pink interior is left glaringly empty, save for a few folded receipts and miscellaneous fortune-cookie slips.
“Wow…” you huff as you pass Ahmad the twenty. “That is all the cash I have to my name. I’m officially more broke than I was in med school— I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“I can take you out to dinner with my winnings, if you want,” Nick offers suddenly.
Your head snaps in his direction, and his eyes widen, as though surprised by his own forwardness. He swallows hard, pronounced adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, scruffy with a five o’clock shadow.
“You know, if you— if you wanna… let loose or whatever.”
Your lip flickers upward in a shy smile when Dr. Barker sighs and shakes his head to himself. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall from their gelled quaff and hang over his forehead until he pushes them back in place again.
“Sorry, that, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly at himself. “That came out weird.”
“I might be stuck in charting jail for the rest of the night, actually,” you say with an apologetic grimace, wringing your clammy fingers into knots. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Yeah!” he blurts, a little quicker than he means to. He clears his throat and, in an octave lower, repeats himself. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”
You dismiss yourself with a quiet smile and lack the courage to look Jack in the eye when you pass him on the way to the door. He watches you leave and waits for you to glance back at him with his heart in his throat. You never do.
Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself; after watching you turn down the handsome radiologist every woman on this floor has been fawning over all day. He turns back around and hisses through his teeth, trying not to look as smug as he feels.
“Damn,” Jack deadpans. “That was cold, man…”
Nick’s dark eyes widen and flit wildly between the two men on either side of him. “Wait— Really?”
“Ice cold…” Ahmad affirms with a slow nod. “Girl said she’s broke, and you think she’s gonna say ‘no thanks’ to some free food? In this economy? Yeah… She’s not into you, man.”
Jack claps the solemn boy hard on the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, kid… Don’t take it too hard.”
You forget all about the stupid bet and Nick’s offer some hours later, when Robby sticks you with Ogilvie and tells you to walk the MS4 through your canthotomy patient.
You talk aloud as you slice your scalpel through the young girl’s eye, where the socket is raging red and bulging from the pressure behind it. The boy doesn’t say a word the whole time, just holds the plastic cup where the bright crimson blood drains from the eye, and doesn’t move a muscle until it stops.
“I think that’s the closest I’ve come to puking since I started med school,” the boy confesses when it’s done, standing just over your shoulder while you fill out the patient’s med slip. “I didn’t even get that close during cadaver lab, when all of us started craving meat from the formaldehyde— I’m pretty sure five people dropped out that day alone…”
His voice trails off when Samira catches your eye, rushing by the desk with her wild curls falling from her claw clip. She wears the hard shift all over as she makes a beeline directly for Jack, planting herself ahead of the older man; so close she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.
Your hand freezes around the pen as you keep your eyes on the two of them, staring harder than you probably realize as you struggle to make out their conversation. Their words are drowned out by Ogilvie’s rambling, and the surrounding beep and chatter of the crowded E.R.
Mohan talks wildly with her hands and says something about “a letter,” while Jack nods along sympathetically and says something along the lines of “give me your number.”
Your chest flares with a white-hot feeling when you watch the man pass Samira his phone to plug her number into. It’s like the world has fallen out from under you and swallowed you whole, like you’re drowning in the fire of your own envy.
You’re barely seven hours on the job, and you’ve already lost all your cash — you’ll be doomed to the three-day-old leftovers in the fridge, if the newfound heartache hasn’t already snatched your appetite for the evening. That means you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow morning — still broke, still hungry, still heartbroken.
Then you remember Dr. Barker — Disney prince Dr. Barker — and his offer of dinner from earlier in the security room.
You make the terribly impulsive decision to take fate into your own hands and forget to properly dismiss yourself before dropping the finished order slip off across the room. Ogilivie is quick to follow close behind, lacking any real sense of personal space. He nearly trips over himself to keep from running into you when you freeze suddenly in place.
“You don’t have to follow me anymore,” you tell him.
“Oh… Well, then… What am I supposed to do?” the blonde boy shrugs.
“I don’t know. Do whatever you want…” you trail off and glance around the bustling work station. You spot Trinity standing at the chart rack and motion over to her. “Go help Dr. Santos with her next patient.”
The dark-haired girl turns at the sound of her name.
“Oh, please don’t—” She cuts herself off with a sigh when Ogilvie makes his way towards her anyway. “Fuck. Fine…”
You continue your trek to the other side of the crowded work station, where the portable radiology machine takes up the majority of the room. You can smell the man’s expensive, musky cologne before he ever comes into view.
“Hey, Nick…” you greet, then wince at how weird it sounds a second later. “I mean, Dr. Barker— Sorry—”
He glances up from his work at the sound of your voice. “Nick is fine,” he assures with a kind grin and a pair of chocolate-colored eyes.
You try to smile back, but your nervousness makes it look more like a grimace. “It’s not, like, totally too late for me to take you up on that offer for dinner, is it?”
“No!” he blurts with a shake of his head. “Of course not!”
“Great…” you say with a relieved sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll text you the details later.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t…” You scrunch the bridge of your nose in a sheepish look. “You don’t have my number…”
His mouth falls softly agape with the realization. “Oh. Right. Duh.”
You smile wider despite yourself, ‘cause he’s almost as awkward as you are, which you didn’t think was possible before now — especially not for someone as pretty as he is.
You turn away and grab the nearest pen, clicking it on with your thumb before reaching for his arm. You scribble your number over the dark blue veins on his wrist with a newfound confidence — one that you never had before now, one spurred on by the man’s obvious shyness.
You feel Nick’s eyes on you when you look away, flitting wildly across your profile.
“This isn’t… This isn’t just because of the bet, is it?” he wonders with a waver in his voice.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the whole thing you said about… losing all your money or whatever,” Dr. Barker explains with a sheepish laugh. “You’re not just going out with me for a free meal, are you?”
“Well, isn’t that kinda the point of going on dates? The free food?” you joke with a dry laugh, which fades instantly at the confused look Nick gives you in response. Your face floods with horror a second later. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding— Of course not.”
“Okay,…” Dr. Barker says with an awkward chuckle. “Good.”
“Good,” you echo with a sigh and rise to full height again.
“I’ll, uh— I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” you chirp with a polite nod and a giddy grin, which ebbs the second you turn away from him. You shake your head as you slink back through the bustling emergency department, squeezing your eyes shut and murmuring under your breath in disgust, “I’ll be waiting—?”
You nearly trip over yourself when you ram suddenly into a firm body. Two calloused hands grasp gently at your elbows as you stumble backwards. You almost lose your breath when you find Jack Abbot towering over you.
“Shit… you huff. “Sorry, I— I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Jack squints. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Your shy smile fades into a disbelieving squint almost instantly; at the bitter reminder of Jack and Samira — of the seemingly intimate conversation they’d shared just minutes ago, and of the bet you know you’re bound to lose now.
“No, you weren’t,” you deadpan.
“I was,” he insists. “I feel like I always am, some way or another.”
Your chest warms at his words. You choke on the funny feeling when you force yourself to swallow it down. “I was just— walking one of the interns through a lateral canthotomy,” you stammer as you step back out of his hold.
“Gnarly,” Jack hums with a slow nod.
“Did you, uh… Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah, I have a patient over in Trauma 2— Sliced through his left hand with a circular saw,” Jack explains, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose as he crosses his strong arms over his chest. “But the crazy part is, he used his right hand to take the nail gun and—”
“Oh, my god,” you blurt before you mean to. “He tried to put his hand back on with the nail gun, didn’t he?”
“Close…” he hums with a knowing glint in his eyes. “He used the gun to fire two nails into his temple— Said he thought it would distract him from the pain in his hand. And the weird thing is, he’s walking and talking just fine.”
“Holy shit…” you mumble, wide-eyed. “Why do you always get the cool cases?”
“You can have it,” he assures you, with something soft swimming in his eyes. “That’s why I wanted to find you— so you could do it with me.”
Something about it feels way more intimate than being asked out for dinner.
You finish the rest of your shift as normal — feeling like a shell of your former self after hours of running on fumes; both excruciatingly tired and buzzing with white-hot adrenaline all at once.
The only real difference between today and every other day before this one is that, for the first time in a long, long time, you actually have plans outside of work — almost like a real human person with a social life would.
You return home after the long day, only for an hour or so, to shower and change out of your scrubs. You wash away the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic from your skin, and only cut your knee once when you shave your legs for the first time in weeks. You pull out a nice top, a short skirt, and a real bra from the depths of your closet. You go as far as to break out the expensive perfume that you’ve had for years, ‘cause you only use it on extra special occasions, which tend to be few and far between for you.
You feel like an entirely different person when you meet Dr. Barker at the address he’d sent you a few hours ago — a nice bar, just a few blocks down from your apartment building, that you’d been meaning to visit for years but found every excuse in the book to stay home instead. You find the man sitting alone in a far booth in the dimly lit room, sipping slowly at the beer he nurses in his hand, and feel a little like a fraud when you slide into the vinyl seat across from him.
Nick has only known you for the better part of a work shift, to be fair, not counting the handful of times you’d smiled politely in passing when you clocked out for the day. You know he’s got some version of you in his head already, like all men do — someone much cooler than you really are, someone much better at separating their work life from their personal life than you are.
You prove him wrong in record time, sharing a plate of loaded nachos between you and forgetting to eat any of it as you get too easily lost in your ramblings. You tell him of the long shift, and of the man you met with two nails in his skull, and fail to remember that not everyone can talk of blood and gore over a meal as easily as you can.
“—Honestly, I’m still surprised it didn’t hemorrhage! The X-Ray showed one of the nails was, like, half an inch away from nicking an artery,” you ramble with a giddy grin. “I pulled them out with some local anesthetic, and he was totally fine— Well, except for the hand, obviously. ‘Cause he did lose a few fingers, but… Dr. Abbot took care of that, so…”
“Did he?” Nick hums, hiding his smile behind the pint he brings to his mouth.
He thinks this must be the fifth or so time you’ve brought up the man’s name tonight alone — not that you seem to notice. He doesn’t know whether that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.
“Yeah— I always tell him he would’ve been an amazing surgeon if he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination of, like… A half-blind sloth,” you say, then swallow hard at the playful look Nick gives you in response. “‘Cause, you know, sloths are really clumsy, and they… Sometimes mistake their own limbs for branches, so… They fall a lot…”
You trail off and reach for the glass of water at your side, becoming very suddenly self-aware of your inability to stop rambling.
“You talk about him a lot,” Nick observes with a kind smile, licking the sheen of alcohol from his lips.
“…Who?” you wonder with furrowed brows.
“Dr. Abbot.”
Your features flood with terror. “Do I?”
His broad nose scrunches with a breathy laugh. “A little bit, yeah.”
“Oh, god…” you groan and hide your face behind your hand. Nick’s laugh gets lost in the rock music playing overhead. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry—”
Your phone glows to life as it buzzes against the wooden table it sits on. You reach over to flip it face down before you can read the message on the screen.
“I didn’t… I didn’t even notice… I’m so sorry.”
It vibrates again, twice more in quick succession.
Your stomach twists with the anticipation of what it might say.
“It’s whatever,” Dr. Barker shrugs, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “I get it. He’s your boss and everything, so…”
Your phone buzzes on the table once more, for longer this time, now with a phone call.
You tense, but make no move to answer it, for fear of making this more awkward than you already have — though your pretending not to hear it doesn’t make it any better.
The corner of Nick’s lip twitches into a sympathetic smile, ‘cause he can tell that you’re trying to be polite, even though you’re fidgeting at the thought of answering it. Because your friends usually only ever text you, so if someone’s calling, it’s bound to be important.
“You can get that if you need to—”
“Thank you,” you sigh before he’s properly gotten the words out, scrambling for your phone with anxious hands. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m sure it’s just… Fuck.”
The call ends before you can answer it.
Nick’s eyes widen at your reaction. “Everything okay?”
“It’s Parker…” you answer with your eyes trained on the blue-white screen. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh beneath your skin-tight top. “And I know it’s serious because she despises double-texting and she just sent me four back to back, so…”
Your eyes are wet and preemptively apologetic when they dart to the man across the table, who meets the disaster of you with a tender grin.
“You gotta go back in, huh?” he squints.
“I do…” you sigh. “I’m so sorry—”
“Just make it up to me next time,” Nick shrugs, watching with kind eyes as you scramble for your phone and purse. “When I win that bet, I mean. I’ll take you out somewhere nice— We can do this for real. If you want.”
You slide out of the cracking vinyl booth with a grimace — equal parts unnerved at the idea of doing this a second time and half-surprised that Nick would even want to, after you did nothing but anxiously ramble before bailing on him out of nowhere.
“Yeah…” you waver anyway as you stand to full height again. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”
“Thank you again— I’d kiss you right now if I could,” Dr. Ellis tells you when you pass her in the ambulance bay, where she hurries out of the E.D. on long limbs. She calls over her shoulder, moments before she’s out of earshot. “You look hot, by the way!”
The passing reminder of what you’re showing up to work in hits you like a punch to the stomach.
The double doors of the PTMC part for you, and the air-conditioned emergency room wraps its cold fingers around every inch of your exposed skin — your shaven legs, arms, and collarbones; all of which are normally concealed by your dark scrubs and undershirts.
You can’t help but feel a bit like you’re doing the walk of shame as you race past the work station with your head bowed, barely noticing that the systems are up and running again as you go. You’re too busy trying to make yourself as small as possible on your way to the scrub dispenser down the hall.
Jack smells you before he sees you.
He gets a sudden whiff of something sweet and creamy, like whipped vanilla and fresh raspberries, something candied enough to eat. Then he looks over his shoulder, from where he’s stood at the front desk, and finds you rushing past him in a hurry. His neck nearly cracks with the strength of the double take he gives at the back of you — short skirt swishing around your thighs, tight shirt showing a sliver of your lower back. He feels a little like he’s in middle school again, going wild at the mere sight of a girl’s bare shoulder.
By the time his brain starts working again to greet you, you’ve already turned the corner.
“Whoa, gotta hot date tonight?” he hears Shen ask as you walk by.
“Just left one, more like,” you scoff.
“Damn. Poor guy,” the man quips, then laughs when you flip him off.
“…What the hell?” Jack mutters under his breath, with his eyes still trained on the empty hall you’d just disappeared down.
“What? You didn’t hear?” McKay wonders aloud, from where she’s hunched over the monitor across from him, still closing down for the day now that the ED isn’t in analog hell anymore. She peers up at him with tired blue eyes, half-hidden beneath her wild fringe. “Don’t tell Princess, but apparently, she went out with that Dr. Barker guy from radiology.”
“Oh, really?” Jack hums, nodding slowly to feign interest. He hopes the hurt flaring in his chest doesn’t show all over his face as he turns back to his computer. “Sounds fun…”
Javadi eyes him from behind McKay’s shoulder. Her dark, observant stare traces the edges of his face as she twirls the string of her lavender jacket with her pointer finger.
“Well, don’t look so upset about it, Dr. Abbot,” she jokes with a quiet laugh, half-dazed from the long day. “I have a lot riding on this bet about you and Mohan, you know—?”
Cassie flashes the younger girl a wordless look.
Victoria’s eyes go wide when they flit back to Jack’s.
“—Which I wasn’t supposed to mention in front of you…” she blurts and fakes an awkward laugh. “There is no bet, actually. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
Jack doesn’t ease the tension by telling her that he already knows; that he has known all day. He just flashes her a half-smile and a pair of squinted eyes as he steps back from the monitor.
“Real smooth, kid…” he jokes before he walks away.
He leaves the work station and turns the corner to find you cradling a pair of black scrubs to your chest and making a beeline for the restroom nearest to the break room. He rushes on long legs to catch up with you, limping slightly from his prosthetic. You freeze at the sound of your name from his lips, echoing from down the long hall. Your skirt swishes around your thighs as you spin in place to face him.
“Hey…” Jack greets, only slightly out of breath when he towers finally over you.
Your brows lower in confusion at the sight of his flustered state, but you smile nonetheless. “Hey…?”
“How was the, uh… The date?”
“Date?” you scoff. “What date?”
“The one you had with Dr. Barker.”
His biceps strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at you from the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks flare instantly. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught, like he’s just found out you’ve been cheating on him or something — even though the two of you aren’t even together, even though it’s abundantly clear that he wants someone else.
“Well, it wasn’t— it wasn’t really a— a date,” you stammer and turn away. “It was just… dinner.”
“Right,” Jack scoffs and follows behind you the short distance to the bathroom. “Because the two of you weren’t flirting in the security room or anything.”
You huff an emotionless laugh and roll your eyes at him, even though you know he cannot see you. “Yeah, because you and Samira weren’t flirting in Central 4 this morning or anything…” you echo in a gritty monotone.
Jack catches the bathroom door before it can shut behind you. You glance over your shoulder when you hear it hit his palm. You find the man looming in the doorway with something mischievous glittering in his narrowed eyes.
“I’m trying to get changed,” you deadpan, despite the distant fluttering in your chest.
Jack passes through the threshold and lets the door shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the empty bathroom, where the white-blue fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
“Am I hearing things, or do you sound a little jealous?” the older man quips, glittering eyes trained on the back of you as you duck into the singular stall across the room.
It clicks shut behind you.
“Aren’t you the one who came chasing after me, Dr. Abbot?”
“Aren’t you the one who ran off from your date just to come back in?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” you laugh.
“C’mon,” Jack scoffs. “You know what.”
Your short skirt pools around your feet with a quiet thud. You step out of it and toe off your right shoe, sliding on the adjoining pant leg before slipping the sneaker back on again. You do the same for the left side, and Jack has to shake the visual of your half-naked body from his head.
“I thought we had… You know, I thought we had a thing going on…”
“A thing?” you repeat, half-muffled, as you slide your shirt over your head. You hang it over the stall before reaching for your scrub top. “I wouldn’t exactly consider flirty comments and lingering eye contact a thing.”
Jack catches a glimpse of your bare spine through the sliver in the door frame. He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at his feet.
“You say that like I don’t wish I could do more,” he tells you. “I’m an attending— I can’t just go around making moves on my residents. It’s not a good look.”
The stall door squeaks open again. You come into view, now dressed in your scrubs, and wearing a hardened scowl on your dolled-up face. “Well, that didn’t stop you from getting Samira’s number, did it?” you argue. “Or letting her patch you up this morning?”
“I gave her my number because she asked for a recommendation letter, and I told her I’d give her one,” Jack confesses, watching you with a glittering gaze as you storm past him with your clothes cradled to your chest. He makes room for you by the sink and fights back a grin while you scrub angrily at your hands. “And I was patching myself up, actually, until she walked in looking for her patient.”
“Well, how convenient…” you grumble.
Jack smiles wider. “You are jealous,” he croons.
“I am, actually,” you deadpan, with your eyes trained on the soap you suds between your fingers. Even still, you can see the man in your peripheral vision, standing in the mirror just behind you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes.
“So that’s why you went out with the Barker guy, huh?” Jack lilts. “You just wanted to make me jealous…”
“No, actually,” you tell him. “I went out with Nick because I figured I should probably stop chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t want me.”
You turn off the faucet with your fist and reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
Jack follows your every move.
“Yeah?” he hums lowly. “And who said I didn’t want you?”
You turn around to glare at him despite the newfound heat swimming in the pit of your stomach.
“Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear, Dr. Abbot,” you deadpan. “I don’t think the entire floor would be betting on you and Samira otherwise.”
Jack takes a daring step closer, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze when he towers suddenly over you. With his hands crossed over his chest, he bows his head and tells you, “Well, I don’t want Mohan. And I don’t care about that stupid bet. Is that clear enough for you?”
Your chest warms with a familiar feeling. Your features crumple under the weight of it as you murmur sheepishly, “Okay. I’m not even trying to be funny right now, but if you’re trying to tell me that you do like me, you’re going to have to say that outright, or else my brain won’t—”
You feel his hands on you, wide and warm around the outsides of your elbows. You feel your feet stumbling on the tile, and your chest colliding with his, and then his mouth pressing against yours. You feel his chapped lips, his coarse scruff, and his exhaled breath from his nose as it fans warm over your skin.
You freeze against him, too stunned that he’s kissing you at all to remember to kiss him back.
Jack pulls away from you a dizzying second or more later. He peers down at you with a heavy gaze and smiles when he realizes you haven’t yet taken your eyes off him.
“I like you…” he tells you slowly, as though to make sure you’re really hearing him. “Are we clear now?”
You swallow hard and nod your head, licking at your kissed lips in a feeble attempt to taste him again.
“Crystal,” you quip drily.
You rise to the tips of your toes and wrench your free hand in his scrub top, with every intention of kissing him again — for real this time. You flinch in a fleeting panic when the bathroom door squeaks open a second later.
Samira slips inside, too distracted by the phone in her hand to see what she’s walking in on. You and Jack freeze against one another accordingly, as if being so still will somehow make you invisible.
The door closes behind her and muffles the never-ending chaos outside. Only when it clicks shut again does Samira look up from her phone, dark eyes wide as they flit wildly between the two of you.
“Holy shit…” she mumbles under her breath, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.
You push the man away from you on instinct.
“We weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hardly convincing in the matter.
Jack’s soft eyes cut over to you. “Real smooth,” he mumbles.
Samira’s look of shock ebbs into a giddy smile.
“I knew it!” she exclaims, voice ringing through the tiled restroom. “Ahmad looked at me like I was crazy when I put forty dollars on the two of you, but I knew I was right!”
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The bet,” she shrugs with a smile. “I put mine on the two of you. Which means I just got a couple hundred dollars richer, at least.”
The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach.
“Which means I just lost all of my money…”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I can spare some of my winnings. I mean, it’s only right, right?” Samira says with a pretty laugh. “You guys can go out for drinks or something special. My treat.”
It becomes suddenly very difficult to imagine yourself from five minutes ago — back when you were overcome with jealousy just by the sight of her alone — knowing now that she had been rooting for you this whole time. Jack seems to know this, too, based on the smug smile he gives you.
“This real nice of you, Mohan,” he says. “But if I’m taking my girl out for drinks on a first date, I’m gonna be the one payin’ for ‘em— No offense.”
“None taken,” she shakes her head. “Means more money for me.”
You’re still catching your breath in the meanwhile, ‘cause the newfound title has all but punched the breath from your lungs. My girl, he’d said, and god, you wanted nothing more than to be his girl.
“We should, uh—” You clear your throat when the words get stuck there. “We should probably get out of here before the others think something weird is going on…”
“Something weird is happening— The entire E.D. is betting on my love life,” Jack scoffs as he follows you out of the bathroom, where the chaos of the E.R. finds you almost instantly. “Sorry you lost, by the way. The bet, I mean…”
He catches himself nearly reaching out for your hand. He balls his own into a fist instead to fight the urge. You can see the longing to glittering in his eyes, anyway, when you turn to flash him a sheepish look in response.
“Well, I didn’t lose completely,” you lilt with a lazy shrug.
“No?” Jack hums.
“No…” you grin. “I think I won where it mattered.”
Where the Hell Is My Husband? - Jack Abbot x Reader
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader
WC: 1.5k
Summary: It was supposed to be date night… but Jack was nowhere to be seen.
A/N: This work is all mine, and proofread by Grammarly.
Masterlist
After being with Jack for years, you two had fallen into a rhythm together. One constant: every two weeks, a day was set aside for a date. Sometimes brunch, sometimes running errands together, sometimes just dinner out. Tonight was supposed to be date night, at some new, upscale restaurant on the far end of town that a fellow doctor had recommended to Jack.
You glanced at yourself in the mirror one last time, ensuring that everything was perfect. Heels on, Jack’s favourite dress hugging you in all of the right places and lipstick with no smudge in the slightest.
However, one thing was missing.
Jack.
Your phone sat on the counter, silent. No call. No text. Nothing. You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged on your lips. Of course, he was late. Trauma cases didn't exactly respect your dinner plans.
“Jack,” you muttered under your breath, tapping your fingers on the counter as you waited. “You’re something else.”
Still, you knew where he was. Probably elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity, saving their life. He probably forgot the world outside of work. And yet… You couldn't help but feel a little pang of annoyance that made your arms cross over your chest.
You stalked around your apartment, heel clicking against the floor as you filled a bag. If Jack wasn’t coming home, you were going to him.
And with that, you sling your bag over your shoulder, grab your coat, and leave for the hospital.
–
The sliding doors of the hospital opened with a soft hiss, and your heels clicked against the polished floor. The familiar hum of the hospital filled you, the beeping monitors, soft chatter and distant calls over the intercom. Your eyes scanned the room as you made your way to the nurses' station, searching for him.
“Hey, honey!”
You looked up to see Dana, the Charge Nurse for the daytime shift, waving with a warm smile. “Looking gorgeous as always,” she added, giving you a quick hug.
“Thanks,” you replied with a shrug, trying to hide the edge of your annoyance. “The things we do for our husbands.”
From behind, a sharp, mischievous voice chimed in. “Ohhh, look at you!”
Dr. Ellis leaned against the desk, hoodie half-zipped, and sneakers scuffed from a long shift, grinning as she looked you up and down.
“I don’t know if I should be jealous or terrified, honestly. Jack’s gonna melt into a puddle when he sees you.”
“That’s the plan,” you said with a shrug, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Or at least… it was.”
Ellis leaned on the counter, grinning. “Ooooh, he must be in trouble. I can see the smoke already.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Careful, Ellis… keep it up and you’re gonna see way more than just smoke.”
Ellis threw her hands up, eyes wide in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! I wasn’t planning to get burned today, unlike someone.”
You smirked, still chuckling. “You’re fine; the only person facing my wrath will be Jack.”
“Now that I need to see,” Dana said, raising her eyebrows.
You leaned on the counter. “Where the hell is my husband anyway?”
Dana gave a sympathetic smile. “Oh, he’s in Trauma Room 3. Got called into a case. Multiple car pile-ups, he's probably elbow-deep in it right now.”
Dana’s words barely left the air before you let out a quiet sigh, though it carried more amusement than frustration.
“Of course he is,” you murmured. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“They brought the worst one straight to him,” Dana added as she took a seat at her computer.
That didn't surprise you in the slightest. Jack was good, damn good. Years of experience meant he was the one they trusted the most with the worst cases. It was one of the things you loved the most about him, his ability to lead, even if it meant waiting sometimes.
Ellis tilted her head at you. “You’re taking this suspiciously well for someone all dressed up.”
You shrugged lightly. “I married a trauma doctor who loves his job. Expecting him to always be on time would’ve been my first mistake.”
Dana laughed softly. “Fair point.”
You leaned in closer to the women, speaking quietly enough for only them to hear. “Besides,” you added with a sly smile, “now I get to make sure Jack works for what he wants.”
Ellis barked out a laugh. “You cheeky little thing,” She had a feeling her coworker was going to be in for a very long night once he finished that trauma case.
Dana shook her head, smiling as she glanced down the hall towards the trauma rooms. “Poor Abbot,” she said with a small chuckle. “Man just finished wrestling a major trauma to have to come out and fight with his wife looking like that.”
You just smiled sweetly, smoothing a hand over your dress to avoid wrinkles as you turned your gaze towards the rooms at the end of the hall.
As if on cue, the double doors swung open.
A couple of nurses stepped out first, pulling off their gloves and chatting about labs and scans. Perlah was the first one you recognized. She spotted you and immediately slowed, eyes widening as she smudged the other nurse, whom you thought was Princess.
They both glanced back towards the trauma room with barely contained grins, whispering among themselves. Even the nurses knew Jack was in for it.
A moment later, Jack stepped out.
His shoulders looked heavier than usual, and the exhaustion from the case was settling on his face as he tugged his gloves off. He reached up to rub the back of his neck in relief when he looked up.
And froze.
His eyes found you instantly.
He took in the heels.
The dress.
The makeup.
Standing there in the middle of the ER, as if you had stepped straight out of date night.
For a split second, the trauma attending who had just run an entire emergency team looked like his brain had completely shut down.
Then the realization hit him.
His eyes widened.
“…Oh shit.”
Behind you, Ellis clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
Dana just leaned back in her chair, watching the scene unfold with open amusement.
And Jack stood there, staring at his wife like a man who had suddenly remembered something very, very important.
Because he knew.
He had forgotten date night.
Jack quickly made his way towards you, running a hand through his hair.
When he got close, you could see the tiredness that clung to his eyes, but also the look of regret written all over his face.
“Hey,” he said softly, stopping in front of you.
You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms.
“Hey?”
He winced immediately. “Right— no,” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry. The pile-up came in and I just—”
“You forgot,” you finished for him.
Jack nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I forgot.”
Behind you, Ellis and Dana were very clearly pretending to type on their computers while they watched the interaction like it was prime television. Perlah and Princess stood near a code cart nearby, suddenly looking very interested in the equipment they definitely knew how to use.
You stepped a little closer, invading Jack’s space just enough that he instinctively leaned down towards you.
Then you reached up and gently straightened the collar of his scrubs.
Jack blinked in surprise.
“You’re lucky,” you murmured, “that you're hot and pretty good at saving lives.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, relief flickering across his face.
“You’re not mad?” he asked cautiously.
You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. Looking at him, tired, apologetic, still coming down from the high of saving someone’s life. It was hard to stay mad for long.
“Oh, I’m still making you work for it,” you said sweetly.
Behind you, Ellis snorted.
Jack’s ears turned slightly red.
You smoothed a hand down the front of his scrubs before stepping back. “Now go change,” you added casually. “So we can go home.”
He blinked. “Home?”
“I already called the restaurant,” you said, picking up your bag from the counter and handing it towards him. “Told them we’re doing pickup instead.”
Jack stared at you for a second, clearly processing that. “You… did?”
“Mhm.” You nodded toward the hallway. “Now go change.”
Jack looked back at you, something soft settling into his expression, something warm and a little overwhelmed. For a moment, the tough trauma doctor disappeared, replaced by the man who loved you.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Then he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading down the hall.
The moment he disappeared around the corner, Ellis spun in her chair.
“Oh, my god.”
Dana shook her head with a laugh. “That man is so whipped.”
Perlah grinned. “Completely.”
Princess nodded. “I’ve never seen a trauma attending run that fast.”
You glanced down the hallway where Jack had disappeared, a small warmth settling in your chest. Maybe he was.
But that was only because Jack Abbott loved his wife more than anything.
Summary: Sometimes healing looks like greasy food, warm hands, and learning how to be gentle with each other.
Warnings: Panic Attack, 18+, NSFW
The morning after is worse than the night before.
Jack doesn’t look at you when you pass him in the hallway. You don’t look at him either. It’s deliberate, practiced two professionals pretending they didn’t almost ruin each other in the quiet of your apartment.
Every interaction feels sharp. Loaded. Unsaid things pressing against your ribs.
By mid-afternoon, everything goes wrong.
A patient codes and comes back wrong. A family screams at you like you’re something they can blame. Someone snaps at you for a mistake that wasn’t yours. Your hands shake when you chart. Your chest feels tight, like it’s shrinking.
Jack notices.
Of course he does.
You catch him watching you once, brow furrowed, jaw tight but he doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.
When you finally clock out, the walls feel too close. The noise too loud. You take the stairs two at a time, pushing through the rooftop door like you need air or you might drown.
The city stretches out in front of youlights flickering on, traffic humming below. You grip the railing, breathing fast, shallow.
In. Out. In.
Your vision blurs.
Your heart is racing, pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. Your hands are numb. You press your forehead against the cool metal and try to remember how to breathe.
You don’t hear the door open.
“Hey.”
Jack’s voice is gentle. Careful. It breaks something in you.
You shake your head, panic spiking. “I’m fine.”
He’s beside you instantly.
“No,” he says softly. “You’re not.”
You turn and the world tilts.
Jack catches you before you fall, hands firm on your arms, grounding, real. “Hey. I’ve got you,” he says. “Look at me.”
You try. Tears blur everything.
“Okay,” he murmurs, lowering his voice like he’s afraid of startling you. “We’re gonna slow this down. Just follow my voice, alright?”
You nod weakly.
“Name something you can smell.”
You inhale shakily. His cologne clean, familiar, something that’s anchored you more times than you’ll admit.
“Your… your cologne,” you whisper.
“Good,” he says. “Good. Name something you can see.”
Your gaze drifts to his face too close, too familiar. The tiny freckles across his nose you’ve never mentioned out loud.
“Your freckles.”
His breath stutters but he doesn’t stop. “Okay. Name something you can hear.”
You listen. Focus. “An ambulance,” you say softly. “Down on Fifth.”
“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Stay with me.”
Your breathing starts to slow, shaky but real. The tightness in your chest eases just enough for the tears to spill over.
“I’m sorry,” you choke.
Jack’s grip tightens not restraining, just there. “Don’t be,” he says immediately. “Never apologize for this.”
Your knees give out before you can stop them.
Jack pulls you into him without hesitation.
You crumble against his chest, fingers clutching his jacket as if he’s the only solid thing left. He wraps one arm around your shoulders, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
You breathe him in. His hand strokes slow, steady paths through your hair, grounding you better than anything else could.
Neither of you speaks.
The city keeps moving below you. Sirens wail. Life goes on.
But up here, for just a moment
Jack Abbott holds you like he’s been waiting to do it all along.
The city keeps moving beneath you, unaware that something fragile and permanent is taking shape above it.
You stay tucked against Jack’s chest long after your breathing evens out. His hand hasn’t left your hair slow, steady strokes like he’s counting each one, afraid if he stops you’ll disappear. The quiet isn’t awkward. It’s full. Earned.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally.
You shift just enough to look up at him.
“For everything I said,” Jack continues, voice low and rough. “Everything I didn’t say. I was scared.” He exhales slowly. “Scared to actually love someone. Scared of what it would cost me if I did.”
Your heart aches in that soft, understanding way that doesn’t hurt anymore.
He rests his forehead against yours. “I can’t do this halfway,” he says. “Not with you.”
His thumb brushes under your eye, gentle. Almost reverent.
“I want to do this with you,” he adds. “I want you.”
Then, quieter but steady, unshakable
“I’m all in, baby.”
You swallow, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like you’re anchoring yourself to something real.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” you say honestly. “We’ll mess up. We’ll have bad days.”
Jack nods. “I know.”
“But,” you continue, voice soft but sure, “I’m willing to try. For you.”
Something in him settles like a decision finally made without hesitation.
His hand lifts to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knuckles brushing your cheek. His other hand slides to the back of your neck, drawing you closer inch by inch, giving you time to change your mind.
You don’t.
When your lips meet, it’s not hurried. It’s intentional. Like both of you are trying to memorize the moment before it slips away. He tastes like mint and coffee comforting and familiar. You taste like mint and chocolate sweet and grounding.
You feel delicate in his hands not fragile, but precious. And Jack feels solid, steady, like something you can lean into without falling apart.
He kisses you again, softer this time, and you smile into it.
When you pull back, foreheads resting together, neither of you speaks right away.
The wind tugs gently at your clothes. The city hums below.
Jack presses a quiet kiss to your hairline. “You hungry?” he asks, like this is the most natural next step in the world.
You laugh softly. “Is that your way of asking me to stay?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. “And also I haven’t eaten since 6 a.m.”
You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Okay.”
He laces his fingers through yours no hesitation, no looking around to see who might notice and squeezes gently.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you home.”
The walk home is quiet in the best way.
Not the heavy silence from before, not the kind filled with things unsaid just the calm that comes after choosing each other. Jack keeps his hand loosely around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles every now and then like he’s reassuring himself you’re still there.
Halfway down the block, the smell hits you first.
Something greasy. Something warm.
You slow. “Is that—”
“A food truck,” Jack says, already smiling. “Still open.”
You laugh, a little surprised at how easy it feels. “After today, I think I deserve something unhealthy.”
“You absolutely do,” he agrees. “Come on.”
The truck is parked under a flickering streetlight, music playing too loudly, the vendor chatting like it’s the middle of the afternoon instead of late evening. Jack orders without asking two hot dogs, extra everything and somehow it feels right.
You sit on the curb, city lights reflecting off the pavement, legs brushing. You’re halfway through your hot dog when Jack chuckles softly.
“What?” you ask.
He tilts his head. “You’ve got—” He reaches out before you can react.
You freeze.
His thumb brushes gently at the corner of your mouth, wiping away a streak of mustard. The touch lingers a second too long.
“Jack—” you start.
“I know,” he murmurs. “But—”
Instead of pulling his hand away, he leans in and presses a soft kiss right where his thumb was.
It’s quick. Sweet. Almost shy.
Your breath stutters. “You just kissed mustard off my face.”
“I did,” he says, completely unapologetic. “Felt important.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
His smile softens. “Yeah. But I’m yours.”
Something warm settles in your chest.
You finish eating, shoulders pressed together, talking about nothing and everything—bad shifts, favorite comfort foods, the city at night. Jack listens like it all matters. Like you do.
When you stand to leave, he laces his fingers with yours again, no hesitation.
“Hey,” he says quietly as you start walking. “Thank you. For today.”
You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for not doing this halfway.”
He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “Never again.”
And as you walk home together laughing, full, steady you realize something important.
Jack walks you to your door like he’s afraid to cross a line just by breathing too close.
He stops at the threshold, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, posture careful again respect sliding back into place even though everything between you has changed.
“I should probably—” he starts.
You turn to face him, keys still in your hand.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
The words are quiet. Vulnerable.
Jack freezes.
You look up at him then, lashes long and soft, eyes open and hopeful in a way that should be illegal. He exhales, something helpless and fond breaking through his usual restraint.
“How could I say no to that?” he murmurs.
Inside, the apartment feels warmer than before. Safer.
You lead him down the hall, flicking on lights as you go. “You can use the spare bathroom,” you say, already opening the door. “I’ll grab you a towel.”
He sets his work bag down, pulling out a folded set of clean clothes like he’s done this a hundred times for overnight shifts that never ended. You smile at the sight.
“Make yourself at home,” you say softly before disappearing into your own bathroom.
Jack showers quickly, the sound of water still running down the hall when he steps out, hair damp, sleeves rolled, feeling strangely nervous. He wanders slowly through your place, careful not to intrude.
There are pictures on the walls your family laughing, arms slung around each other. Friends crowded together at what looks like a birthday. You smiling in every single one.
He pauses at your bookshelf.
Dog-eared paperbacks. A few well-loved romances. Margins bent, spines cracked. He smiles to himself, shaking his head fondly.
Of course.
The water shuts off.
Jack turns just as you step into the hallway.
You’re wearing a matching pajama set soft fabric, clearly chosen with intention and ridiculous cow slippers. Your glasses sit low on your nose, hair freshly washed and still slightly damp around your shoulders.
Jack forgets how to breathe.
You stop short when you see his expression. “What?”
“You,” he says quietly. “You’re—”
Speechless, apparently.
Heat creeps up your cheeks. “They’re comfortable.”
“They’re perfect,” he corrects.
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching something precious. His hand lifts, hesitates, then gently tucks a strand of damp hair behind your ear.
Your heart stutters.
“You’re beautiful,” he says simply not like a compliment, but like a fact he’s just realized.
You smile, soft and shy. “Come on,” you say. “I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”
Jack follows, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Not urgency.
Not chaos.
Just peace.
And the quiet certainty that staying was exactly the right choice.
The movie is your idea.
Jack doesn’t even pretend to resist it.
“You’re already staying,” you say, handing him a blanket like it’s an offering. “Might as well make it official.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and settles beside you on the couch, careful to leave just enough space to be respectful. You pick something comforting something you’ve seen a hundred times because tonight isn’t about the movie.
It’s about this.
The way your knees brush.
The way his arm rests along the back of the couch, not touching you but close.
The way the room feels smaller in the best possible way.
Halfway through, you lean your head against his shoulder without thinking.
Jack goes completely still.
Your heart stutters, but he relaxes a second later, tilting his head just enough that it rests gently against yours. His warmth seeps into you, steady and grounding.
This is nice, you think.
Dangerously nice.
Jack isn’t watching the screen anymore.
He’s hyperaware of everything else the faint scent of your shampoo, the way your breath evens out when you relax, the softness of your hair brushing his jaw. He’s afraid to move, afraid to break the moment by wanting too much.
When the credits roll, neither of you says anything right away.
You sit there in the quiet glow of the TV until you finally sigh. “Okay. Bedtime.”
He walks you to the guest room, lingering awkwardly like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.
“You can sleep here,” you say softly. “I mean if you want. No pressure.”
Jack nods. “Thank you. Really.”
You smile, then hesitate. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“Goodnight,” he replies, voice warm.
You retreat to your bedroom and close the door.
And immediately stare at the ceiling.
Your thoughts refuse to settle.
You replay the way his shoulder felt under your cheek. The way his laugh sounded in your living room. The way he looked at you earlier like you were something precious instead of fragile.
He’s in the next room, you think.
Jack Abbott is in my apartment.
Down the hall, Jack lies awake too.
The bed is unfamiliar. Too quiet. His mind won’t shut off. He keeps thinking about the way you leaned into him, how natural it felt like something his body had always known how to do.
He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling slowly.
Get it together.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time feels slippery.
Eventually, you both give up at the same time.
You swing your door open just as Jack raises his hand to knock.
You both freeze.
“Jesus—” you gasp.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering his hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, biting your lip.
Jack exhales softly. “Me neither.”
For a second, neither of you moves
For a second, you just stand there barefoot, heart racing, eyes locked. You bite your lip without thinking.
Jack exhales sharply. “Fuck it.”
That’s all the warning you get.
You jump into his arms, laughter turning breathless as he catches you easily, momentum carrying you back against the wall. Your mouths crash together no hesitation this time, no careful edges.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting all night.
Slow at first. Reverent. Like he’s afraid of missing something if he rushes.
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the slightly uneven rhythm of their breathing. Jack had guided you backward with reverent hands, his palms warm against your waist, until the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress.
He didn’t rush.
He eased you down slowly, like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. Your back met the cool cotton, and he followed, bracing himself over you on forearms that trembled just enough to betray how badly he wanted this. His eyes dark, focused, almost reverent traced every inch of your face before dropping lower.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice rougher than usual. “I’ve thought about this… way too many times.”
He started at your throatopen-mouthed kisses, slow drags of tongue, gentle scrapes of teeth that made your breath hitch. Then lower. Collarbones. The valley between your breasts. He peeled your shirt up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he uncovered like he was committing it to memory.
When your bra finally came off, he made a low, broken sound in his throat.
“God, look at you.” His palms cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked under his touch. Then his mouth followed hot, wet, unhurried. He sucked one nipple deep, tongue swirling lazily while his fingers rolled the other, switching sides when your back arched and a soft whine slipped out.
“Jack…” His name left you on a shaky breath.
He groaned against your skin like the sound physically affected him. “Say it again.”
“Jack.”
Another low rumble of approval. He spent long minutes there, worshipping your chest until you were squirming, thighs pressing together, desperate for more.
You couldn’t wait anymore.
With a sudden burst of courage (and maybe a little impatience), you pushed at his shoulders. He let you flip him easily too easily, like he’d been hoping you would take control. The moment his back hit the mattress you swung a leg over his hips and settled on top of him.
The hard length of him pressed right against your core through his boxers and your still-on panties. You both gasped at the contact.
You leaned down, catching his mouth in a deep, filthy kiss—tongues sliding, teeth catching lips, little desperate sounds shared between you. While you kissed him stupid, your hands found the hem of your own shirt (already half-off anyway) and you pulled it over your head in one slow, deliberate motion, letting your hair fall messily around your shoulders as you tossed it aside.
His hands flexed on your hips like he was trying not to grab too hard.
You sat up straighter, giving him the full view, and started rolling your hips in long, lazy grinds. The friction was perfect his cock throbbing beneath you, your clit catching just right against the ridge of him through the fabric.
“Fuck… baby…” His head tipped back, throat working. “You’re killing me.”
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You’re unreal.”
You kept grinding while you leaned forward to kiss him again, letting your bare breasts drag across his chest. Then you sat back up and hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your panties.
You didn’t take them off right away.
You teased—pulling them down just enough to show the tops of your hips, then back up. Down a little farther, exposing the soft mound. Up again. Down until the fabric caught on the fullest part of your ass. His hands were shaking now, gripping your thighs.
“Please,” he finally rasped. “Let me see you. All of you.”
You rose up on your knees, slid the panties the rest of the way off, and dropped them somewhere behind you.
He stared like he’d never seen anything more perfect in his life.
Then his hands were everywhere—running up your thighs, gripping your ass, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “I need to taste you,” he said, voice wrecked. “Please. I’ve been dying to.”
You didn’t make him beg twice.
You scooted up his body until your knees framed his head. The second your core hovered over his mouth he wrapped both arms around your thighs and pulled you down.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He licked a long, flat stripe from entrance to clit, then circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, learning you. When your hips jerked, he groaned into you like your taste was the best thing he’d ever had. He sucked gently, then harder, cataloging every hitch in your breathing, every roll of your hips, every time you whispered his name like a prayer.
“Jack—oh god—right there—”
He stayed. Relentless but patient. Tongue dipping inside, then back to your clit, fingers spreading you open so he could get deeper. When your thighs started shaking he slid two fingers in, curling them just right while his mouth worked your clit in slow, steady circles.
You came with his name on your tongue and your fingers tangled in his hair, hips rocking against his face while he drank down every shudder.
When you finally collapsed forward, boneless, he guided you back down his body with careful hands.
He kissed you deep letting you taste yourself on his tongue while he kicked off his boxers. When his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, your breath caught.
He was big.
Not intimidatingly so, but enough that your core clenched in anticipation.
He watched your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “We can go slow. Or stop. Whatever you need.”
You shook your head, reached between you, and wrapped your fingers around him. He hissed, hips jerking into your touch.
“I want you,” you whispered. “All of you.”
He rolled you gently onto your back again, settling between your thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing your entrance until you were whimpering and trying to pull him closer.
“Eyes on me,” he murmured.
You locked gazes as he started to push in.
Slow.
So slow.
The stretch was exquisite intense, perfect pressure that had you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders. He stopped every few inches, letting you adjust, kissing your jaw, your temple, whispering how good you felt, how tight, how perfect.
When he was finally buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours, he let out the shakiest breath you’d ever heard.
“Fuck… you feel like heaven.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Move, Jack. Please.”
He did.
Long, deep, rolling thrusts that hit every spot inside you just right. Every time he pulled out almost all the way and sank back in, you both moaned loud, shameless, desperate.
He watched your face the whole time, cataloging every expression, every sound. When your nails raked down his back and you gasped his name again, his rhythm faltered.
“Say it again,” he begged. “My name. Please.”
“Jack—Jack—oh god—”
He fucked you harder then, but still controlled, still careful, chasing the sounds you made like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You came first clenching around him so tight he nearly lost it, crying out his name as your whole body shook.
He followed seconds later hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a long, broken groan of your name against your throat.
For a long minute neither of you moved, just panting against each other’s skin, hearts hammering together.
Then he kissed you slow, soft, reverent.
“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he whispered against your lips.
You smiled, still trembling.
“Good,” you breathed. “Because I’m not done with you either.”
Jack stayed buried inside you for long, lazy moments after he came, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. His weight was comforting rather than crushing he held most of himself up on shaking forearms, but he didn’t pull out yet. Instead he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your temple, the corner of your mouth, murmuring your name like a quiet mantra.
When your breathing finally began to even out, he lifted his head, eyes searching yours in the dim light.
“You okay?” His voice was hoarse, tender. “Did I… was that too much?”
You shook your head, smiling through the lingering haze. “No. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”
Relief softened his features. Slowly carefully he eased out of you, both of you hissing softly at the loss. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before sliding off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.
You heard water running. A cabinet opening. The soft clink of something being set down.
He came back with a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water.
“Stay,” he said gently when you started to sit up. “Let me take care of you.”
He knelt between your legs again this time with none of the earlier hunger, only care. The cloth was the perfect temperature as he wiped between your thighs, gentle strokes that cleaned away the mess of both of you. His touch was so soft it almost tickled, and you felt yourself relax completely under it.
When he was done he tossed the cloth toward the hamper, then reached for the water.
“Drink,” he coaxed, holding the glass to your lips. You took several long swallows, suddenly aware of how thirsty you were. He watched you with quiet satisfaction, then set the glass on the nightstand and climbed back onto the bed.
He gathered you against his chest without asking, pulling the sheets and comforter up over both of you. His arms wrapped around you completely one hand splayed across your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head so your face tucked naturally into the crook of his neck.
You felt him exhale, long and slow, like he’d been holding tension in his body for hours.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your hair. “Just rest.”
You melted into him. The steady thump of his heartbeat under your cheek was better than any lullaby. His fingers started moving in slow, soothing circles over your spine up and down, up and down while his other hand played gently with your hair, untangling any knots with careful patience.
For several minutes there was only the sound of your breathing slowly syncing, the occasional brush of lips against skin, the quiet rustle of sheets when one of you shifted closer.
“You’re shaking a little,” he noticed after a while, voice soft with concern. “Cold?”
“Not cold,” you mumbled into his collarbone. “Just… overwhelmed. In a good way.”
He made a low, understanding sound and pulled you even tighter, tucking the blanket more securely around your shoulders. Then he reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the soft throw blanket he kept there, and draped it over the top of the comforter for extra warmth.
“Better?”
“Mhm.” You nuzzled closer. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Get used to it.” His lips brushed your forehead. “This is how it’s gonna be every time. You let me have all of you? I’m gonna take care of all of you after.”
You felt your chest squeeze at the quiet promise in his words.
He kept holding you, kept stroking your back, kept pressing little kisses to whatever part of you he could reach your hairline, your temple, the tip of your nose. Every few minutes he’d check in with a murmured “Still good?” or “Need anything?” until you finally laughed softly and told him to stop worrying.
“Never,” he said, but there was a smile in it.
Eventually the trembling faded. Your body grew heavy with that deep, bone-melting exhaustion that only comes after being loved so thoroughly. Your eyelids drooped.
Jack felt the change in you immediately.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You hummed, already slipping, safe and warm and completely surrounded by him.
The last thing you felt before you drifted off was his hand still moving in those slow, endless circles on your back, his lips resting against your hair, and the quietest, most reverent “Goodnight baby” breathed against your skin so soft you weren’t even sure if you dreamed it.
Summary: He showed up at her door, and everything between them shifted. But what happened next… you’ll have to see for yourself.
The Pitt never really quiets down it just changes pitch.
Monitors beep. Shoes squeak against the floor. Somewhere down the hall, someone’s arguing with security. You’re charting at the nurses’ station when a shadow falls over your shoulder.
“Hey,” a voice says. “Quick question.”
You glance up to see one of the med students Evan, maybe? Clean scrubs, nervous smile, the kind of earnest that still believes this place won’t eat him alive.
“Yes?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you’re—uh—if you’re single?”
You blink.
Behind you, a chair scrapes back.
Jack Abbott looks up slowly from his tablet.
The air shifts.
You feel it before you see it ; his attention snapping sharp, dangerous, locked on the interaction like he’s clocking a threat. His jaw tightens. His pen stills.
The med student keeps going, blissfully unaware. “I just thought maybe we could grab coffee sometime? If that’s okay. Totally okay if not.”
You open your mouth to respond
“Is there a reason you’re distracting my staff during a live shift?”
Jack’s voice is calm.
Too calm.
The med student turns, startled. “Sir—I didn’t mean—”
“Charting incomplete?” Jack asks coolly. “Because I’m seeing gaps in your last intake notes.”
The kid pales. “I—I can fix that.”
“I’m sure you can,” Jack says, standing now. “Somewhere else.”
The med student nods quickly and disappears down the hall.
Silence settles like smoke.
You turn to Jack, heat rising in your chest. “What the hell was that?”
He doesn’t look at you. “A correction.”
“That was intimidation.”
“That was supervision.”
You scoff. “You had no right.”
Jack finally faces you. His eyes are dark, stormy. “You’re at work.”
“So was he.”
“He crossed a line.”
“You crossed one first,” you fire back. “You don’t get to scare people off just because you—”
“Because I what?” Jack cuts in, stepping closer. Too close. “Because I notice when someone looks at you like you’re a reward?”
Your pulse spikes. “That is none of your business.”
“Everything in this building is my business.”
“Not me.”
That stops him.
For a moment, the mask slips. Something ugly and honest flashes across his face.
“Are you single?” he asks quietly.
Your breath catches. “Why does that matter?”
Jack’s lips part then press together again. He shakes his head once, sharp. “It doesn’t.”
“Then stop acting like it does.”
He leans in, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Then stop letting people think they have a chance.”
Your chest aches. “You don’t get to say that to me.”
“I know,” he says, and there’s regret there now. “That’s the problem.”
A code is called overhead. The moment fractures.
Jack steps back, rebuilding his walls in real time. “Stay focused,” he says, already turning away. “This isn’t the place for personal complications.”
You watch him walk off, heart pounding, anger and something far worse tangled together.
Because the way his hands were shaking?
That wasn’t control.
You aren’t trying to eavesdrop.
You’re just late getting back from supply, arms full, head down, when you hear Jack Abbott’s voice from around the corner.
Sharp. Low. Dangerous.
“You don’t get to talk about her like that.”
You slow instinctively.
Someone laughs. “Relax, Abbott. I just said she’s distracted lately.”
Your stomach twists.
“She’s doing her job,” Jack snaps. “Better than most of the people in this building.”
You recognize the other voice now senior staff. Confident. The kind who thinks they can say whatever they want because no one ever checks them.
“I’m just saying,” the man continues, “you keep letting her slide. People are starting to notice.”
There’s a pause.
When Jack speaks again, his voice is quieter but infinitely more threatening.
“Let me be very clear,” he says. “If anyone has a problem with her performance, they bring it to me. Not the rumor mill. Not their friends. Me.”
You stop completely, heart pounding.
“She’s professional. She’s competent. And she doesn’t owe anyone here anything beyond that.”
Another pause. He adds, colder now:
“And if this conversation is really about something else about who she talks to, or who talks to her you can shut that down right now.”
The other man scoffs. “You’re awfully defensive.”
Jack exhales slowly, like he’s reining something in.
“Because she deserves better than this place chewing her up.”
Silence.
Then, softer but unmistakably sincere:
“She’s the best thing in this building. And I won’t have her treated like anything less.”
Your breath catches painfully in your chest.
You take a step back before either of them can turn the corner. Your hands are shaking, supplies suddenly too heavy, your heart doing something reckless and stupid and hopeful.
Jack thinks you’re not listening.
He has no idea you heard every word.
And that makes it worse.
Because later when he looks at you across the floor, expression unreadable, distant, careful
You know.
You know he’s fighting something.
And you don’t know how much longer either of you can pretend it doesn’t matter.
You don’t confront Jack right away.
You wait until the noise dies down, until the floor settles into that exhausted lull where everyone is running on caffeine and adrenaline and regret. You find him near the observation window, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on something that isn’t there.
“Jack.”
He turns, already guarded. “What do you need?”
You hate that he does that. Turns everything into procedure.
“I heard you,” you say quietly.
His expression doesn’t change but something behind his eyes does. A fracture.
“Heard what.”
“You defending me,” you reply. Calm. Measured. “Earlier. In the corridor.”
Silence stretches.
Jack looks away first.
“You shouldn’t have,” he says.
Your chest tightens. “That’s not what I said.”
He swallows. “You weren’t meant to hear it.”
“I know.”
That’s the worst part. There’s no accusation in your voice. No anger. Just truth.
“You meant it,” you continue. “Everything you said.”
Jack exhales slowly, like he’s bracing for impact. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
Not a grand confession. Not a dramatic speech. Just that one word heavy, devastating.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” you say. “But I needed to know if you saw me.”
Jack finally meets your eyes.
“I see you,” he says immediately. Too fast. Too honest. “That’s the problem.”
A call crackles overhead. Another emergency. Another thing pulling him away.
“This can’t happen,” he adds, quieter now. “Not here. Not like this.”
You nod, because you understand. Because you always understand.
“Then don’t do it again,” you say softly. “Don’t say things you don’t want me to hear.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. “I don’t know how to stop.”
Neither do you.
The shift only gets worse from there.
Everything stacks. One critical patient after another. A call goes wrong. A decision Jack makes saves one life and costs another.
You watch it happen.
You watch him carry it like a wound no one else can see.
By the time it’s over, Jack is bleeding, not physically, but in that way that never heals right. He scrubs his hands too hard at the sink, water splashing, knuckles white.
“You don’t have to stay,” he mutters without looking at you.
“I know.”
You stay anyway.
“I can’t afford to care about you,” he says finally, voice rough. “Not with this job. Not with who I am.”
You step closer. Not touching. Never touching.
“I’m not asking you to,” you reply. “I just needed to know I wasn’t imagining it.”
Jack laughs quietly, broken. “You weren’t.”
That’s when it breaks him.
Not the chaos. Not the blood. Not the impossible calls.
The fact that you know and you’re still standing there.
Later, when he leaves early and doesn’t look back, you feel it in your bones.
This is the night that changes everything.
The night he decides distance is the only way to survive.
Jack knows he shouldn’t be here.
That’s why Robby’s driving.
“You don’t have to do this,” Robby says for the third time, fingers tight on the steering wheel as the car idles outside your building. “You’re drunk. You’ll regret it.”
Jack stares out the window, jaw clenched. “I already do.”
Robby sighs. “I’ll wait.”
Jack nods once and gets out.
The night air is cold, sobering in the cruelest way. He knocks before he can talk himself out of it.
When the door opens, it feels like a punch to the chest.
You’re in pajamas. Soft. Real. Not armored the way you are at work. Barefoot, hair loose, eyes tired and still kind.
“Jack?” you say, startled. “What are you—”
“I know,” he cuts in quietly. “I know I shouldn’t be here.”
You hesitate, then step aside. “You’re drunk.”
“Enough to be honest,” he says.
Inside, everything is low light and calm. The opposite of his head. He stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room like he doesn’t deserve the space.
“I heard you,” he says suddenly. “Earlier. When you confronted me.”
You don’t respond. You just wait.
“I don’t defend people unless I mean it,” he continues, voice rough. “And I don’t lie when it matters.”
Your arms fold around yourself. “You don’t get to decide what this is.”
“I know.” He steps closer, stops himself. “But I need you to know, I didn’t say any of that because I thought you’d hear it.”
Silence hums between you.
“You showed up,” you say quietly. “That feels like deciding.”
Jack laughs softly, broken. “I’m terrible at restraint.”
You look at him then really look and something in your expression shifts. Not anger. Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
“You’re going to ruin yourself,” you whisper.
His eyes lift to yours. “I already have.”
The space between you shrinks without either of you meaning to. Jack’s hand lifts, hesitant, hovering near your waist like he’s asking permission without words.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
You don’t.
Your lips brush his.
Barely there. A ghost of a kiss. Enough to steal the breath from both of you.
And then—
Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Loud. Unmistakable.
Jack freezes.
You pull back instantly, like you’ve been burned.
Another knock. More insistent.
“Jack,” Robby’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “We gotta go.”
The moment shatters.
Jack steps back, face already rebuilding its walls. You smooth your pajama sleeve, heart racing, expression carefully neutral.
“I should—” he starts.
“Yes,” you say quickly. “You should.”
Robby opens the door a crack, takes one look at the distance between you, the tension in the air, the way neither of you is breathing right—and understands everything.
“Hey,” Robby says gently. “You good?”
Jack nods. “Yeah.”
He looks at you once more before leaving. Controlled. Polite. Professional.
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Goodnight,” you reply, like your lips didn’t almost betray you.
The door closes.
Outside, Robby doesn’t say a word as Jack gets back into the car. Just pulls away from the curb, glancing at him once.
“You didn’t even kiss her,” Robby says quietly.
Jack stares straight ahead. “I did worse.”
Inside, you lock the door and press your fingers to your mouth.
Summary: They were supposed to hate each other until lockdown forced them to face everything they were avoiding
AN: i’ve been sitting on this for a while because i love an enemies-to-lovers situation and these two absolutely ruined me. the tension, the arguing, the way everything feels one wrong move away from exploding? yeah, that’s my weakness. i’m honestly really proud of how this story turned out, as always, thank you so much for reading, feedback is always welcome and appreciated. STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 2 ♥️
The alarms start screaming at 2:17 a.m.
Red lights flash down the corridor, painting the concrete walls in warning, and every instinct in your body tells you to run even though you know better. Lockdown protocol snaps into place with mechanical precision. Doors slam. Steel groans. Somewhere down the hall, someone yells.
And then there’s Jack Abbott.
“Don’t move.”
His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade low, commanding, infuriatingly calm. You turn just in time to see him blocking the hallway, broad shoulders squared, eyes sharp as they lock onto you.
You glare. “I work here. I don’t take orders from you.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. You’ve seen that look before. It’s the one he gets right before he does something reckless and calls it necessary.
“This isn’t a debate,” he says. “It’s a lockdown.”
“And whose fault is that?” you snap back. “Let me guess another one of your ‘controlled situations’ spiraled?”
For a split second, something dark flickers behind his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Maybe both.
Then the ground shakes.
A distant crash echoes through The Pitt, followed by shouting too close. Way too close.
Jack doesn’t hesitate. He grabs your wrist and pulls you hard into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind you just as footsteps thunder past.
“You didn’t ask,” you hiss, yanking your hand free.
“No,” he fires back. “I saved you.”
The emergency lights flicker overhead. The room is small storage, maybe stacked with metal shelves and shadows. The door locks with a heavy click.
Silence.
Not the calm kind. The waiting kind.
You turn on him. “You always do this. You decide what’s best for everyone without asking.”
Jack steps closer, towering, voice dropping. “And you always think this place runs on ethics and good intentions.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Another bang hits the door down the hall. Closer now.
Jack glances toward the sound, then back at you. “You want to argue? Fine. But not while people are tearing this place apart.”
Your chest tightens despite yourself. You hate that he’s right. You hate even more that he knows it.
“You don’t trust me,” you say quietly.
Jack exhales through his nose, eyes softening just enough to hurt. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Just watches you like you’re something fragile in a place built to destroy things.
“The problem,” he finally says, “is that if something happens to you… I won’t follow the rules anymore.”
Your breath catches.
The alarms keep screaming.
And suddenly, being locked in a room with Jack Abbott feels far more dangerous than anything outside.
The room is too small.
That’s the first thing you notice once the adrenaline fades. Too small, too quiet, too full of Jack Abbott’s presence. He leans against the metal door, arms crossed, listening to the chaos beyond it like he belongs to it.
You pace instead. Anything to keep from standing still. Anything to keep from thinking about what he said.
If something happens to you…
“You didn’t mean that,” you say finally.
Jack’s eyes flick to you. “Didn’t mean what?”
“You implying I matter more than protocol.” Your laugh is sharp, brittle. “You don’t get sentimental.”
Something tightens in his jaw. “Careful.”
“Why?” you challenge. “Truth makes you uncomfortable?”
A shout echoes down the hall. Someone screams. Jack doesn’t move but his hand flexes, like he’s holding himself back from tearing the door open.
“You think this is a game?” he snaps. “You think I enjoy locking myself in rooms while everything goes to hell?”
“No,” you fire back. “I think you enjoy pretending you don’t care.”
That gets him.
He pushes off the door in one smooth motion, closing the distance until you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Way too close. You can feel the heat of him, the controlled violence just under the surface.
“You have no idea what I care about,” he says quietly.
Your heart hammers, but you refuse to back down. “Then explain why you nearly lost it when I was talking to Reyes last week.”
Jack goes still.
Ah. There it is.
“That’s what this is?” he scoffs. “You think this is about jealousy?”
You cross your arms. Defensive. Exposed. “You don’t get to interrogate him like that. He’s not an inmate.”
“He was leaning too close.”
“That’s not your call.”
Jack laughs low, humorless. “Funny. You never seem to mind when I’m the bad guy.”
“Because you choose to be,” you shoot back. “You push people away before they can disappoint you.”
His eyes darken. “Including you?”
The question hits harder than any shout.
Before you can answer, something slams into the door from the outside. The metal rattles violently. You gasp despite yourself.
Jack moves instantly.
One second you’re standing alone, the next his body is between you and the door, one arm braced against the wall beside your head. Protective. Automatic.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice barely audible over the alarms.
You nod, throat tight.
He doesn’t move right away.
You’re painfully aware of how close he is how careful he’s being, like he’s afraid to touch you but even more afraid not to. His breath is warm against your temple. You can feel his heart racing, betraying the calm he pretends to have.
“You should hate me,” he says suddenly.
You swallow. “I don’t.”
That confession hangs between you like a loaded weapon.
Jack closes his eyes for half a second—just long enough for you to see the crack in the armor.
“That’s the problem,” he says. “Because everyone who gets close to me gets hurt.”
Another crash. Louder this time.
Jack steps back, rebuilding the walls you just saw crumble. “When this lockdown ends,” he says, voice hard again, “you stay away from me.”
You laugh softly, even though your chest aches. “You don’t get to decide that either.”
His gaze locks onto yours intense, conflicted, dangerous.
“If you keep pushing,” he warns, “I won’t stop myself next time.”
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N's hand had been proposed to by a well-off man eager to make her his fiancée. The girl was excited to get married, as she always wanted a wedding to remember and a husband who loved her, although in this case she didn't know him well, because it was an arranged marriage.
Y/N must travel to the Walker mansion to meet her future husband, and who better to take her there than the family's faithful foreman: Spencer Dutton.
The man who crawl under her skin just to bothered her.
Author's note: Hello! I want it to write something like from a long time ago, so here i am.
I need to tell you guys i haven't watched the show, but i got inspired by his character in 1923's, so I apologize if I write something wrong or that the character doesn't do; i'll try my best <3
P.S: This story is set in the 19th century.
《tags: fluff, enemies to lovers trope, angst, mentions of bad words and body parts, sexual tension, reader and spencer hating each other, +18》
It was a hot day.
Summer had arrived, and with it the perfect weather for Y/N to wear her floral dresses with fake underskirts that made her look even more extravagant and elegant. She liked dressing up, but even more so for this occasion.
Her father had given her the news a couple of days ago of the marriage arrangement between her and the Walker family's son, John. Although she didn't know him well, her heart couldn't contain the excitement of finally meeting the man of her dreams. The man who would become her husband.
She had always dreamed of falling in love with and marrying the Prince Charming from the stories her mother used to tell her, but she had never received many letters from suitors asking to meet the girl. So she wouldn't waste this opportunity.
Right now, she was waiting for the person who would take her to the Walker mansion, as it would take about a week to get there. Her housekeeper helped her carry her suitcases filled with fine clothes and everything she needed for the journey. Y/N couldn't hide her excitement and nerves at being so close to leaving and beginning this new experience in her life. She only hoped to meet James and that he would be a gentleman and love her as she was.
"My dear daughter, everything is ready for you to go," her father announces as he comes to her side. She smiles. "Everything will be fine. You just have to do your part and be the lady we taught you to be."
She nods.
"I will, Father. I just hope we have something in common," she says in a soft voice with a hint of emotion. "I don't know whether to talk to him about the books, or the plays we've seen. Do you remember the one about...?"
Her father looks at her disapprovingly.
"Darling, we already talked about this." She lowers her gaze, embarrassed. "No man likes a woman who babbles and talks nonstop about meaningless things. Just smile and be nice. Nothing more."
Y/N smiles feeling disappointed.
"I will, father" she says.
The carriage arrives a few seconds later, and she feels nervousness consuming her. Her housekeeper begins packing her belongings while she watches the foreman's back. Her father greets him politely and begins to discuss some things with him, while Y/N smooths her skirt.
"Y/N, my dear. Everything is ready for your departure," her father tells her, returning to her side. Now she notices how the rider begins to dismount from the seat. "I've decided to entrust you to my most loyal man, who will take you safely to the Walker's. Spencer, come here, man."
Y/N freezes as she sees the man walking confidently and indifferently toward them.
Spencer Dutton.
The man who, just by opening his mouth, made her blood boil with hatred. He made it his mission to mock her every chance he got, calling her a princess for living in luxury and never having picked up a shovel in her life, just because she had people who did everything for her and her family.
It wasn't Y/N's fault, of course. But Spencer enjoy seeing her angry, or atleast trying to look angry.
The man was handsome, that was something Y/N couldn't deny. The worst part was that he knew it, he knew it damn well and he didn't hesitate to use it against her, but he never went too far or made her feel uncomfortable. After all, this job was what provided him with food.
Spencer smirks in amusement and bows slightly to Y/N.
"Miss Y/L/N. It's a pleasure to see you," he says.
"Likewise" she says with a force smile.
"Dutton, I want you to get her to the Walker mansion without a scratch or a trace of fatigue. You know what's going to happen to you if you don't listen to me, kid."
Spencer plasters a tight smile on his lips.
"As if it's the last thing I do, sir. You have my word," the man promises.
The older man just smiles and kisses his daughter's head before disappearing without staying to say goodbye. Y/N is a little disappointed, but she knows he's a busy businessman, so she ignores the ache in her chest.
The man smiles at her and reaches out to help her into the carriage.
"May I?" he asks, his tone mocking.
Y/N rolls her eyes. "Don't think just because you're driving me means I'll let you get away with it, Dutton" she warns.
He laughs as if it's funny.
"Princess," he begins, leaning closer to her, "you know it's more fun that way. It's how our relationship works, right?"
Ignoring his hand, she climbs into the carriage on her own and waits for it to depart. It will undoubtedly be a long journey.
———
The sound of the horse galloping was the only thing heard on the road. Neither Spencer nor Y/N spoke to each other, their egos too big to put aside their differences. Y/N read a book while she felt the carriage move.
The truth is that their hatred for each other wasn't fully explained, but it mainly had to do with the class differences between them. While Spencer had to work his ass off to live, Y/N had everything without lifting a finger. It wasn't that Y/N was rude to the workers in her house; in fact, she was the only one in the family who treated them with respect and dignity. But Spencer had a fixation on Y/N, and that's why he bothered her so much.
Suddenly, the carriage comes to a screeching halt, and Y/N jumps, dropping the book from her hands. She rushes to stick her head out the carriage window, but Spencer's firm voice stops her.
"I don't want to fight, gentlemen," he says outside.
"Give us everything and you won't get hurt, man. You don't want to mess with us," says another deep voice.
Y/N is slightly startled by the tone of the conversation, and has an idea of what might be happening outside.
Before she can even move, she feels a gun placed against her temple. She freezes, her heart racing, and she immediately raises her hands in surrender.
"Look what we have here," the man says, still pointing the gun at her.
The stranger forces the girl out of the carriage, so she does so with trembling knees. It hadn't crossed her mind to have to live through this situation now, and she hated it.
The girl's frightened gaze meets Spencer's who doesn't take his eyes off her.
"She's a cutie, boss. What should we do with her?" The man moves his mouth to her neck.
"Hey!" Spencer warns, while the other man, who is apparently the boss, points a gun at him. "Take whatever you want, but leave her alone."
The disgusting man laughs, causing Spencer to clench his jaw.
"I'd say she's more worthy of us taking, huh?"
"What's in the carriage could let you live worry-free for the rest of your lives," he says in a firm voice. The pair of thieves seemed to be considering it, given the doubt on their faces. "Take everything, except her."
They didn't like the idea very much, but they finally agreed, letting their greed take over.
The bastard suddenly released Y/N, pushing her into Spencer's arms, who immediately caught her. In that moment, the hatred seemed to be camouflaged by the adrenaline of what was happening.
They remained like that for a few moments until they saw the carriage disappear, hearing the pair's triumphant laughter getting away with her belongings and food for the travel.
She immediately breaks away from Spencer and fixes her dress, blurting out in frustration.
"Oh my God, I had all my dresses and jewelry in there," she complains, sounding like a brat. "And the food. My books! What are we going to do now?"
Spencer snorts and starts walking away from her.
"Find a place to spend the night before it gets dark." he says.
Y/N chases after him, grabbing the hem of the only dress she has left.
"I can't walk that far in heels. It's the only pair of shoes I have left," she says, and he stops, turning suddenly and approaching her. "We need to do something, call for help... what do you think you're doing?!"
Spencer has lifted her over his shoulder, making sure the hem of the oversized dress doesn't ride up, so he wraps his arm around it.
"Spencer Dutton, you better put me down right now!" she orders, hearing a laugh escape his lips.
"It'll be a long walk to the nearest town. I say you settle in, princess," he offers as he continues walking.
Y/N opens her mouth indignantly to snap at him, but stops when she feels his arm around her body forcefully tuck her onto his shoulder. She sighs and tries to stay still to avoid falling, because she still doesn't trust the man.
Or maybe it's because she feels warmth when she feels his hand clinging to her waist.
Spencer, for his part, has a smile plastered on his face as he hears the girl's angry little snorts on his shoulder, every time he tried to make her fall. It was the closest the two of them had ever been to each other, and he was surprised Y/N didn't throw a tantrum to get him to stop holding her.
"Tell me, princess," he says, moving forward, "what is the name of your dream man?"
Y/N seems interested in that question after being silent for a couple of minutes on the road.
"James Walker," she answers simply. Spencer lets out a laugh. "What are you laughing at, if I may ask?"
"I just realized you only know his name; you don't even know what this James guy looks like," he replies.
Y/N frowns, ready to intervene, but she's left wondering how true his words are.
"I'm sure he's more of a gentleman and handsome than you," she says with a shrug, without him seeing her.
Spencer nods. "I hope you're right, because I'd hate to see you make a mistake and be disappointed that your future husband is an old man."
Y/N lightly pats his back, falling silent. And she just hopes that James Walker isn't an old man. At all.
———
They arrive at a tavern that has rooms available for the night. On one hand, she's relieved to have a place to sleep, but on the other, she feels uncomfortable feeling the gaze of several men on her while Spencer eats the food with his hands as if they're chasing him.
She grimaces at her plate.
"You could at least have some table manners," she chides the man, who looks up at her. "Is this how you behave around a lady?"
He lets out a laugh and pops a piece of bread into his mouth.
"I don't usually behave around them. They say the like it that way," he says, his words hinting at something else.
Y/N blushes and looks away from the man, who seems amused by her reaction. She doesn't understand why she suddenly feels a heat spread through her stomach when she imagines him like that.
"Eat," he says, looking at her plate without touching it. "Later, your stomach will hurt from not eating."
"I highly doubt it's because of that and not because of how the food was made," she says, eating a piece of bread.
Not even five seconds pass before a man approaches their table to flirt with Y/N.
"Hey, beautiful," the man says, "what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"
Spencer clears his throat and looks at him seriously.
"She's with me," Spencer says firmly.
For some reason, Y/N feels a sense of satisfaction when she hears those words come out of his mouth. The other man laughs mockingly and spits on the floor. Y/N backs away a little, feeling uncomfortable. She'd never been so exposed to this kind of environment, and she now understands why.
"I could make you feel better, miss," the redhead says with a disgusting smile. "You look miserable next to this idiot."
Spencer suddenly stands up from the table and towers over the redhead in front of him by several inches. The difference between them is noticeable, with Spencer looking more toned and muscular compared to the other. Y/N senses a tension between them and hears how the atmosphere seems to quiet down and focus on both men, who stare at each other defiantly. The girl stands up and stands between them, placing a hand on Spencer's chest, who continues to stare at the redhead.
"Spencer, it's better if we go to the bedroom. It's not worth fighting over this," she tells him.
Spencer lowers his gaze to her for a few seconds and seems to soften his gaze when he feels the touch of Y/N's fingers against his chest, since the top buttons of his shirt are undone. Then, he nods with his head.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. She's just a little bitch," the redhead says mockingly.
Spencer turns around and punches the other guy in the nose. Y/N backs away and watches as Spencer takes care of him, encouraged by the other men in the bar. The girl doesn't interfere because she knows it'll be pointless to even separate them, so she waits for them to finish. After a few seconds, the brunette drops the redhead on the floor, complaining about having his nose broken. Spencer licks his lips and goes to grab his jacket and hat, taking Y/N's hand to lead her to the room they rented for the night.
Entering the room, Spencer locks the door while Y/N paces the room, frantically mumbling.
"I can't believe what beasts you men are," she says. "The guy could have killed you."
Spencer lets out a laugh, leaving his garment on the chair.
"He didn't even have a chance," he replies, going to sit on the bed.
Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the cloth from the pocket of her dress that she always carries with her and wets it with the water from the wall faucet. While she does this, Spencer takes off her shirt.
"I can't believe we've already been robbed and had a fight. What's next, huh? I don't even want to know, no..." Y/N turns around and freezes when she sees Spencer shirtless and smoking a cigarette.
The man looks at her amused, seeing her paralyzed, standing a few feet away from him.
"What's wrong? Have you never seen a man without a shirt?" Y/N clears her throat and approaches him, sitting on the bed and gently running the handkerchief along the corner of Spencer's lip, while he looks at her intently.
"You're an idiot," she says simply, ignoring the heat spreading to her cheeks.
"You've already told me that, but what else?" Y/N ignores him and continues cleaning the wound, avoiding looking at his hairy chest.
After a while, they get ready for bed, and Y/N remains in her dress sitting on the bed while Spencer arranges a pillow and blanket on the floor. She was going to be a married woman in a few days and couldn't share the bed with him, not to mention the fact that she hated him enough to let him be so close to her.
Spencer stares at her.
"You're not going to sleep in that, are you?" Y/N looks at him.
"No, of course not," she says immediately. "It's just... I can't undo it in the back."
After a few seconds, he says:
"Stand up,"
She frowns and stands up. He takes her by the waist and turns her around, starting to work on the knots of her corset so she can remove it more easily. Y/N stills as she feels his fingers skillfully working the knots, and when he finishes, she allows herself to let out the breath she'd been pent up.
"Thank you," she says, turning her back on him.
Spencer makes a sound in his throat and lies down on the floor to sleep, ignoring the tingling he feels in his fingers after nearly touching her. Only a layer of clothing separated him from her skin.
———
They continue their walk early in the morning, but first they decide to go to the town market to see if they can get something to eat.
Spencer had spent what was left of his money on the room rent, so they didn't have any breakfast.
"It's impossible," he says, coming up to the girl's side. "No one wants to give us even a piece of bread. And I won't steal, so let's go."
Y/N bites her lip and suddenly has an idea.
"Wait here. I have an idea." Spencer frowns slightly as he watches the girl wander through the stalls with a sweet smile, chatting with the vendors.
What surprises the man is how easily he notices the girl is given fruit, bread, and a little water. After a moment, she arrives at his side, acting nice to people, her hands full of food and a triumphant smile.
"Our breakfast," Spencer smiles and rolls his eyes in amusement.
"I would have avoided embarrassment if you'd thought of it first, Princess," he says, taking an apple from the girl and helping her with the rest of the things.
She shrugs. "That's why I'm smarter than you."
They both continue on their way, breakfast, lunch, and dinner ready for the day. After that, they both seem more comfortable with each other's presence. Y/N talks more with Spencer, leaving the teasing comments aside. With a twinkle in her eye, she tells him about a book she just finished reading, which she'd lost after being stolen.
"It's a beautiful love story, where the girl ends up with the person she least imagined she'd end up with," she tells him with a hopeful smile.
"Who's the lucky one?" Spencer asks, giving her a sideways glance.
"Her faithful guard," she answers timidly. "The one who protected her and took her everywhere without anything happening to her."
Spencer makes a sound with his mouth, to which Y/N looks at him amused.
"Sounds like me, doesn't it?"
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
"It could be..." she begins to play along, "but he was more polite and tender with her, something you lack."
Spencer chuckles. "Oh, princess. How you enjoy making me suffer."
They both share a laugh.
He tells her some things about his life, as they arrive at a small river that can be heard in the silence of the road. The water is crystal clear and feels refreshing compared to the heat burning the back of their necks. Y/N feels the dress stick to her skin from the sweat running down her body, reminding her once again that it's time to get clean.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spencer begin to remove his clothes, leaving them on the floor without a care in the world.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asks, watching as the man proceeds to take off his pants.
She looks away.
"I should take advantage of the water to get rid of the smell; the heat doesn't help much," he replies, and Y/N hears him jump into the water.
The girl turns around and can see the water reaching the beginning of the V-line of his body. She takes a few steps and sits down at the edge of the river, feeling the heat of the dress growing. She doesn't know if it's because of the weather or something else.
"Come on. Get in. You're not thinking of sitting in the sun until you burn to death, are you?" Spencer questions, swimming until he is in front of her, immersed in the water.
"I can't go in there naked. I'm getting married in a couple of days. What would people think of me if they knew I was naked with another man in the river?"
Spencer raises an eyebrow and shrugs.
"There's no one here," he says in a low, almost dangerous tone. "Just you and me."
The girl decides to do so, unable to bear the sticky feeling of her body any longer. She stands up and begins to remove her dress as best she can, struggling to undo the knots. The she hears the water moving and notices Spencer approaching her to help her.
"You could just ask for help, you know?" he says in a suggestive tone.
Y/N turns around and lets him take care of the garment. If he had offered help a few days ago, she would have flatly refused, but now that she was alone with him, she had no choice but to accept. After a few seconds, she feels the garment fall from her body and holds the dress to keep it from falling. Y/N turns to look at the man and notices the closeness between them, then notices the drop of water running down his bare chest.
She clears her throat. "Thank you," she says in a soft voice.
Spencer smiles sideways.
"I'm starting to get used to hearing you say thank you to me." Y/N can't help but smile.
He mimics her and crosses his arms in front of her, revealing his much more defined arms, making her wonder what it would feel like to be surrounded by them in a hug. She pushes those thoughts out of her head and clears her throat.
"I don't want you to see me," she tells him.
Spencer lifts his hands and begins to walk backwards until he gets back into the water, then turns around to give the girl space. She decides to stay in her underwear and puts one foot in the water, then her whole body in.
"You can turn around," she says.
The man turns around and stares at her, while she stays on the edge of the lake away from him.
"I don't bite," he mocks.
Y/N shakes her head. "I'm fine here," she declares.
Spencer laughs and begins to swim deeper, suddenly sinking while the girl watches.
"I won't fall for that." But Spencer doesn't float for a while, which worries the girl. "Spencer, it's not funny."
She swims to the spot and sees no sign of the man.
"Spencer!" She starts to worry and tries to search or feel the man's body, but it's in vain. "Spencer!"
Her heart races until she feels arms wrap around her waist, making her jump. Spencer's husky laugh makes her spin, held in the man's arms.
"It's not funny," she says, hitting his chest a couple of times before Spencer's hand wraps around hers to stop her.
"Were you worried about me, Y/N?" he asks, getting closer to her.
She catches a glimpse of the man's lips and shakes her head.
"Of course, you still have to take me to the Walker mansion."
Spencer brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, while the girl feels a shiver run through her body at the small gesture. He doesn't seem to want to let her go, and he's having a mental debate about him as he begins to feel more strongly about the girl in his arms.
———
After that moment, something had changed in their dynamic. The tension that began to build between them was palpable, shifting from the hatred they felt for each other to—so to speak—the acceptance of being with each other. All those touches, those subtle glances, and the racing hearts were turning into a pleasant sensation. A warm one, too, every time their hands brushed on the way to the nearest place to spend the night again. Silence had found them again on the road, but this time it was a pleasant silence, even though it still revealed certain emotions.
Y/N stood with her back to Spencer, carefully and gracefully arranging her dress, placing it on the chair. The man watched her for longer than he should have, recalling the feeling of having her so close to him at the lake. He was a man after all, and although his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, he couldn't help but glance at the girl's breasts, which were visible when they both got out of the water.
"So..." he begins. She turns away, and he avoids eye contact, thinking that if he does, he'll be unable to control his urges. "Are you excited about tomorrow?"
Y/N doesn't understand what he's talking about at first, but then she realizes he's talking about meeting her future husband. The truth is, she'd been forgetting the real reason for this trip, mostly because Spencer's company and everything they'd experienced together these past few days.
"Oh, that. Mhm, yeah," she says hesitantly. "I'm excited."
A smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes rests on her face. Spencer looks up and notices it, feeling her heart weigh.
"That's... that's good," he says, clearing his throat. He seems to want to say something else, but decides not to. "He'll be lucky to know you, Y/N."
She smiles faintly and licks her lips.
"It's not that big a deal," she says, playing with her fingers.
"It is," he chimes in confidently. "Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs."
Spencer turns around to take off his shirt and set it aside.
"Even you?" she ventures, which leaves the man frozen in place.
Y/N approaches him, while his back is still to her. He swallows and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.
"Y/N..." he warns, turning and looking into her bright eyes.
"You can't ignore what's happening," she tells him. "I've been feeling it for days. And I know you have too."
"Y/N, you know it's not right. And you can't change the way you feel about someone overnight," he replies with a confident tone, or so he tries to. "We hated each other, remember?"
"Yes..." she says in a low tone, moving closer to him. "I remember. I still hate you."
Spencer lowers his gaze to her lips for a few seconds and curses himself for doing so, because now he wants to kiss them.
"I've been having doubts about what I want for myself," she confesses, and he listens attentively. "I don't know this man, and my father never listens to what I really want. I'm afraid of not knowing the world for myself and deciding what I want."
Spencer looks at her attentively and understands what she means. He decides to place his hand on her cheek.
"You are capable enough to do everything you set your mind to and more. Don't be afraid to express what you feel or avoid doing things because your father won't let you. You are incredible, Y/N. You are a great woman." he says sincerely.
Y/N smiles, feeling the tears in her eyes. Spencer quickly wipes one away with his thumb.
"So... can I say what I want?" she asks, looking at his lips. Spencer nods, trying to resist the urge to grab her and kiss her right away.
"Spencer. I want you." Spencer leans his face closer to hers, their noses touching.
He slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer, leaving no space between their bodies.
"Be clear that if we start this, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you go," he says as he strokes the girl's back. "I won't be able to take you to that Walker guy, and I won't be able to watch you marry that bastard, because I'll want you for myself."
Y/N smiles against his lips as she moves her hands up to his bare chest, sending shivers down his spine.
"Then take me"
And it's enough for Spencer to devour her mouth and press her against his body, hearing the girl gasp at the action. Y/N clings to his shoulders as she feels a heat spread through her stomach, continuing through her lower intimate area.
Spencer lowers his hands to the girl's butt, pulling her closer to him and feeling his member rub against her stomach. Spencer takes her in his arms and sits with her on his lap on the bed. They lock lips again for a long time, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, he possessively grabbing every corner of her body. She pulls away from him enough to begin pulling her underwear down her torso and freeing her breasts. It doesn't take the man five seconds to suck on one and massage the other with his hand, while the girl throws her head back.
"Spencer," she moans, grabbing strands of his hair and tugging at the sensation of him sucking on her breasts.
"Yeah, princess?" he says in a raspy voice "Yo like that?"
"Hmh" she says in a moan.
"I need you to tell me. In words, gorgeous," he says, pulling away to look at her, immersed in pleasure.
"Yes.... I like it, Spencer," she says, hugging him to keep him going "Please, i need you"
Spencer laughs softly and continues playing with her tits. Then, he feels her begin to move in his lap, feeling his member harden at the touch. He moans and grabs her waist with his hands to keep moving her.
"Princess, you're going to drive me crazy," he says, and she smiles shyly. He finishes pulling down her underwear, leaving her naked before him. "See what you do to me? Feel it, princess."
She moans and nods, starting to feel how wet she is in his pants. Spencer kisses her and doesn't leave her side when he leans her onto the bed with him on top of her. He takes off his pants, leaving his erect penis on her stomach, and she licks her lips at the image of him, hard and big, and wonders if he'll fit her.
Spencer teases her by rubbing his tip against her pussy, kissing her lips again and swallowing the moan she lets out. Spencer intertwines one hand with hers, lifting it to rest on top of her head, while with the other he works to mold her pussy and prepare her for him. She moves her hips to continue feeling him and find relief from the pleasurable pain of having to wait for him. Spencer pulls away from her and places a kiss on her forehead.
"Believe me, I want to go crazy with you, but I'll be gentle. It's your first time, and I want you to enjoy it," he tells her, and she nods, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"
She moves her head and, with her free hand, grabs onto his shoulder. Spencer enters her as gently as possible and notices the pain on her face at the new sensation. He begins to move slowly so she can get used to it, feeling how tight and wet she is. After a few seconds, Y/N feels a delight in the movement and her legs wrap tightly around his waist, opening herself wider to feel him completely.
"Spencer," she moans, closing her eyes.
"Yeah, baby? Are you alright?" he asks, continuing to move his hips, feeling her deeper.
"Move faster" she begs.
He moans loudly upon hearing her say this and quickly moves, listening to their bodies crash against each other. She whimpers, feeling a sensation in her pussy with each thrust he makes. Then she feels the hand entwined with Spencer's as he moves down to feel her stomach.
"Do you feel that? You're taking me so deep and delicious, princess," she moans with pleasure, and he kisses her lips, each time feeling the expected climax approaching. "You're doing so well. You'll almost feel yourself letting it all go. It'll feel delicious, I promise."
Y/N kisses him and feels his tongue explore the cavity of her mouth as their bodies move in sync.
She feels herself about to let go, and she can't hold it in any longer.
"I can already feel it coming, Spencer," she says against his lips.
He moans and begins to speed up his movements, touching her deepest spots.
"Yes, princess. Let it go, cum for me."
And the feeling of letting it all out and cumming is the most pleasurable thing Y/N has ever felt in her life. He takes it all like a champion claiming his prize, moving a few more times inside her before pulling out and releasing all his cum onto her thigh. Spencer drops his head to Y/N's breasts and kisses them softly while she catches her breath.
"That was.... amazing" she whispers.
Spencer looks up to her and smiles.
"Did it feel good?" She nods, and he kisses her passionately and lovingly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."
Spencer settles in to open the bed sheets and cover her and him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her face to face. She gently caresses his face, and he strokes her thighs, trying to clean the traces of him off her.
"What do we do now, Spencer?" she asks.
"What do you want to do, princess?" Y/N smiles.
"Now I want to stay like this for a while." Spencer kisses her lips, tasting her, feeling the girl melt before him.
"We can stay here for a while, yeah," he declares. "But what about that Walker guy, huh?"
She smiles amused. "He can keep waiting."
Spencer kisses her, and they both sink into the heat of the moment, enjoying each other's bodies and the feelings they can no longer deny.
summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.
warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!
notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!
wc. 4700+
all that glitters
There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.
“Too fast,” they said
“Too young.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”
But they didn’t know Jack.
He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.
Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.
Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them.
His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand.
Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.
Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work.
Especially now.
Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.
Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.
And you still tried.
You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .
He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.
Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.
Fine. You had a job to do anyway.
The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.
That’s when he showed up.
Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.
“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.
You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”
He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”
Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.
You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.
You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.
Jack didn’t say a word.
But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.
He didn’t like it. You could feel it.
And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.
You felt giddy.
You weren’t trying to make him jealous.
But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?
Good.
Let him remember.
The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.
Not close enough to talk.
Just… there.
Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.
There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.
Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.
Typical.
You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.
Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.
“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.
You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”
Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”
You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”
“Same difference,”
You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.
“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”
“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”
He chuckled. “Of course they do.”
You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.
Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.
You looked up and smiled, just a little.
He didn’t smile back.
He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.
“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.
Jack shrugged. “Fine.”
Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”
“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.
There was a pause.
You went back to your oats.
Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”
You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”
Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.
Just something.
Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”
Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.
“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”
You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”
Jack finally looked up. Right at you.
“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”
Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.
You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”
Jack’s gaze didn’t move.
“Maybe I liked the distraction.”
The room went quiet again.
Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”
“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.
You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”
When Leo left, the silence stretched.
You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.
“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.
You blinked. “Which one?”
“The one about locking the side door this morning.”
“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”
Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”
You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”
“It was about you being safe.”
That landed somewhere in your chest.
You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.
“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”
Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You stared. “That has lemon in it.”
He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”
You laughed.
He didn’t.
But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.
He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.
You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”
Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”
You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”
He shrugged.
“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.
His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You kind of are.”
“I’m tired.”
“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”
Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”
“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”
That got his attention.
“I’m not possessive,” he said.
You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”
“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”
You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”
Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.
You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.
You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”
He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.
“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.
You beamed. “So you are jealous.”
Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.
“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”
Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.
You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”
That earned you a snort—low and surprised.
“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”
His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”
“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”
“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss, “Wouldn’t change it.”
And there it was.
The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.
Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:
“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”
Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.
He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.
“Be careful,” he said.
You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”
Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.
The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.
But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.
The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.
You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.
You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.
“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”
He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”
You kept it professional. “Thank you.”
But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.
“You married?” he slurred.
You didn’t answer.
“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”
You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”
He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”
You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.
“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”
He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”
And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.
You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.
“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”
You didn’t wait for a reply.
You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.
The door creaked open a minute later.
“Hey.”
Jack.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”
You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.
“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.
You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”
His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”
You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”
You looked up at him. “Jack—”
He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.
“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.
“We’ll get written up…”
“I don’t care.”
But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.
“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”
His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”
“I know.”
“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”
You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”
“Like you did with that prick.”
You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”
Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.
You tried again. Softer this time.
“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”
His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.
You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”
And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.
You didn’t hear him lock the door.
You felt it.
That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.
“Did you just lock the door?”
Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high.
The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight.
Jack hadn’t liked that.
He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.
He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.
“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”
Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”
But you didn’t get the rest out.
He kissed you.
Not sweet. Not careful.
Claiming.
His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.
“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”
His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.
His answer was a growl.
Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.
His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.
“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”
You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”
“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now.
And god help you, you did.
Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.
His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.
“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”
You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”
And that was all it took.
He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?”
The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.”
You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”
He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.”
Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass.
You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right.
Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn.
Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already.
Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.
Then he just pulls away.
Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again.
“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone.
“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants.
He’s aching, he’s so hard.
He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt.
Jack wasn’t going to make love to you.
He was going to fuck you like you needed it.
Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.
“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time.
Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state.
“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.”
He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard.
You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to.
“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second.
“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air.
“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello.
Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him.
“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”
It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss.
You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different.
He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release.
“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs.
Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”
His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public.
You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could
“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…” you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes.
“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,”
“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you.
He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”
“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!”
“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.”
When a girls night out goes to shit and Jacks wife ends up at the Pitt, she thinks she can hide it from him. Silly girl.
As much as he liked the night shift, there were things he didn’t like about it. Namely, leaving his wife all alone on the nights he worked. So as much as he worried when you said you were going out with the girls from your new job tonight, he was glad atleast you weren’t left to your lonesome yet another night.
You were such a good girl when you went out. Truly, you put his old heart at ease. Sending updates on where you were going, what you were wearing, cute little selfies of your drinks. As much as it was for your safety, and his peace of mind, he liked feeling included.
It looked like you were having a good night. All smiles and bright lipstick, and sensible mocktails. He replied as much as he could, but he was a busy man. Thankfully, it was a quiet night- not that he would dare say the Q word out loud.
“Jack?” “Yeah, what’s up Dana?”
“why the hell is Y/N in chairs?”
Jack froze, as his heart dropped.
“What do you mean Y/Ns in chairs? She’s on the list?”
His head whipped towards the waiting room, and sure enough, there you were. “No. She’s with-“ “some of her friends from the new job. Shit. It’s one of them. Thank fucking god. Why the fuck didn’t she call. Whatever. Figure out who the girl is and bring em back. I’m gonna kill that girl.” Jack groaned.
“Relax, Tiger, I’m pretty sure this is exactly why she didn’t tell you. I’ll go get her.”
“No, actually, don’t. Have the new girl get her. I want to let her think she’s getting away with it.”
Dana rolled her eyes. “There’s something wrong with you.”
You sighed with relief when a completely unfamiliar face opened the doors to the emergency room, calling your friends name.
With her arm slung over your shoulder, you thanked the nurse as she guided you to central 2.
You were getting too old for this kind of shit, even if Jack called you a kid half the time.
Carrying drunk girls heels in one hand, them in the other.
The new nurse, whose name you should have mentally recorded and totally didn’t, took her intake information, her vitals.
“Okay, the doctors going to be in shortly. Feel better” she waved sweetly.
“Thanks. Um, Do you know who her doctor is going to be?” You asked. The nurse smiled politely. “I’m not sure, it’ll be the first available. Everyone here is quite capable”. “No, no of corse. Sorry. Thank you.”
“What’s that about? Do you know one of the doctors here?”.
“Something like that” you winced.
The curtain pulled open a second later, and there went all hope.
Grinning like a kid, there he was.
“Hi there, I’m Dr Abbot. What happened here?”
“Abbot? That’s so funny, her last name is Abbot too.”.
That’s when Jack looked at you and beamed. “I know. I’m the one who gave her it. Lovely wife of mine, would you like to tell me why you brought your poor injured friend here to my ER and didn’t think to call first?”
“Heyyyyy Jackie.”
“Don’t hey Jackie me.”
“I thought you wouldn’t find out.”
“Oh, no honey. You didn’t think. That’s the problem. You’re Alyssa, yes?”
Your friend nodded. “Okay kiddo. Let’s see this ankle. How’d this happen?”
Jack looked all too sexy as he snapped on his gloves, scooting in to ever so carefully extend the limb, checking for other damage.
“We were leaving a bar and I slipped on a patch of ice.”
“Did you hit your head? She hit her head?” “No.”
Jack nodded.
“I know Y/N and now I know Alyssa here, who else am I looking at?”
Jack didn’t look up from the leg, listening to the soft “I’m Stephanie” and “I’m Carly” with a hum.
“Nice to meet you girls. Alyssa, did any of that hurt, or just this cut here?”
“Just the cut. Y/N made me walk on it before we came here.”
Jack looked at you shortly. “That’s my girl. Do you know if you have a tetanus shot? They’re good for 5 years?”.
“Oh yeah! I do! I stepped on a nail 2 years ago.”
Jack hissed. “Someone’s a bit injury prone. Glad to hear it though.-“
Jack tsked, looking at you and rolling his eyes. “God forbid you admitted you were cold.”
“I’m fine-“
“You’ve got goosebumps and you’re barely wearing anything. You could have asked.”
“I didn’t want to, I’m fine”.
He sighed, quickly shucking off his fleece and handing it to you.
“You’ll get cold.”
“I’ll live. I’m wearing a hell of a lot more than you. Tell me, Alyssa, anyone hit on my wife in this completely indecent dress of hers tonight?”
“I sent you photos of my outfit before I left!” You defended. “And I stand by what I said, you look very pretty honey. But I’ve used more fabric to dress dog bites.”
Carly laughed from her seat beside you. “You kidding me? You can see that rock from space, no one’s coming near her.”
Jack beamed.
“Damn right you can. I did good didn’t I? I like her. Keep her around.”
“Doctors and their egos.” You teased.
“Okay. Miss Alyssa. You’re going to need some stitches, you knew that. But the good news is, that’s the worst of it. This doesn’t look like a sprain to me, and thankfully nothings broken. Just a little twist and the cut.”
Alyssa nodded. “I’m going to get myself set up, and we’ll have you girls out of here in a jiffy.”
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊
“Alright. You lady’s are out of my custody, but she’s not leaving here until I’m done with her” Jack announced after giving Alyssa her aftercare instruction, and looking at you with a devious grin that encouraged laughs from your friends.
“Jack.”
“Y/N. That’s no way to address your friends doctor.”
“Dr Abbot?”
“That’s more like it, princess.”
“And that’s definitely sexual harassment.”
“Yeah go tell Gloria baby.”
“This is going to reflect really badly in your patient satisfaction score”
“Thank god you’re not the patient.”
There was an edge to that sentence, that made you swallow. That was definitely soemthing you would have to apologize for later. Privately, at home. For worrying him.
The look in both your eyes portrayed just how much you both knew that. You’d worried him, and were careless with hurting him, with worrying him. And so he was upset with you, just a bit.
“Mrs Abbot, how much have you had to drink tonight?”.
“I haven’t.”
He believed you. “Good girl. You drove.”
You nodded.
“In those shoes?”.
You blushed. “In my slippers.”
He nodded, satisfied.
“Okay. Get these girls home then get yourself home. And call me when you get in. Yes?”.
You nodded.
“Of corse. Thank you Jackie.”
“Of corse. Baby.”
He kissed your cheek and forehead in quick successions.
“It was very nice to meet you girls. And please feel better, Alyssa. If anything’s wrong just ask Y/N for my number and I’ll help.” He promised.
When you attempted to shrug off his fleece he laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you your fleece back?”
“Just bring it home.”
“You’ll get cold.”
“I’m not going out in the 50° weather. Take it home.”.
Who was he to argue with?
You offered Alyssa your arm to stand up, and his heart throbbed at the memory of why you were the woman he married.
Halloween night at the Abbott house was pure, wonderful chaos four sugar-charged kids, one very amused dad, and one mom questioning her costume decisions.
“Remind me again why I’m the pumpkin?” you asked, tugging at the orange tutu and leaf headband that made up your costume.
Jack grinned, adjusting his shirt plain black with the words “Peter Peter” printed across the chest in bold white letters.
You gave him a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, smirking. “It’s festive. It’s clever. It’s seasonal.”
“It’s something,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but laugh.
Jack leaned in, lowering his voice. “Hey, it’s an inside joke. Only the adults get it.”
“Exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Your seven-year-old son Hunter came bounding in, fully suited as Spider-Man, mask on, muscles padded, and already practicing web-shooting poses.
“I’m ready!” he yelled.
“You were ready two hours ago,” Jack teased.
Next came Ellie, five years old and absolutely thriving as Elphaba from Wicked green face paint, black witch hat, and a dramatic cackle she’d been perfecting all day.
Then Nora, four, marched in silently as Wednesday Addams black dress, pale makeup, pigtails perfect. She stopped in front of the mirror, stared at herself, and muttered, “Happiness is for the weak.”
Jack pointed at her. “See? That right there definitely your side of the family.”
You shot back, “And you think Peter Peter gets to make jokes?”
Finally, tiny McKenzie, just two years old, toddled in dressed head-to-toe as the Lorax fuzzy orange suit, yellow felt mustache taped under her nose. She immediately started dancing and singing in her baby voice, “Let it growwwww!”
Jack nearly dropped the candy bowl laughing. “Okay, she wins Halloween.”
🏡 Stop #1: Dana and Robbie’s House
Fog machine. Spooky lights. “Thriller” blasting on loop. Classic Dana and Robbie.
As soon as you reached the porch, the kids rushed up yelling, “Trick or treat!”
Dana opened the door dressed as a glamorous vampire. “Oh my gosh! Look at you all!”
Robbie came up behind her, dressed as a wizard and then he saw you and Jack.
He froze. Looked at your tutu. Looked at Jack’s shirt. Then..
He lost it. Like, doubled-over, can’t-breathe, full-on hysterical laughter.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” he wheezed. “PETER PETER.. AND YOU’RE THE PUMPKIN?! You two win. I can’t. I cannot!”
Dana smacked his arm, but she was laughing too. “Robbie! Not in front of the kids!”
Jack was grinning smugly. “What? It’s a classic nursery rhyme.”
You covered your face, trying not to laugh. “You’re all twelve.”
Robbie was still dying, tears in his eyes. “That’s the best couple costume I’ve ever seen.”
Meanwhile, McKenzie tugged at Dana’s skirt and squeaked, “Let it growww!” while doing her wobbly little dance, mustache slightly crooked.
Dana melted. “Okay, that just saved the joke.”
🏡 Stop #2: Dr. King’s House
Dr. King opened the door in a mad scientist wig, holding a fogging punch bowl.
“Ah, the Abbotts!” he declared dramatically. “Spider-Man, Elphaba, Wednesday Addams, and the Lorax! You’ve brought the perfect blend of chaos and ecology!”
McKenzie puffed out her chest. “I speak for the tweees!”
Dr. King blinked, then burst out laughing. “She speaks for them! I love her.”
Jack grinned. “She’s been unionizing the houseplants.”
You noticed Dr. King’s eyes dart briefly to Jack’s shirt. He snorted. “Peter Peter, huh?”
Jack smirked. “Seasonal branding.”
Dr. King just shook his head. “You’re never living that down, Abbott.”
🏡 Stop #3: Dr. Langdon’s House
Dr. Langdon, looking calm and tidy as always, opened the door in a cozy flannel and jeans, holding a meticulously organized candy bowl.
“Well, if it isn’t the Abbott crew!” he said warmly. “Spider-Man, Elphaba, Wednesday, the Lorax fantastic costumes.”
McKenzie beamed and immediately launched into “Let it growwwww!” again, spinning in a tiny orange blur.
Langdon chuckled. “That’s commitment.”
Then his eyes flicked to Jack’s shirt. He paused. Blinked. And then he laughed, that quiet, knowing kind of laugh that says, yep, I get it.
Jack winked. “We like to keep Halloween educational.”
You groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”
Langdon smirked. “Oh, I think that shirt’s going to be the talk of the hospital tomorrow.”
Jack just grinned wider. “Good. I was aiming for ‘memorable.’”
🏡 Stop #4: Dr. Santos’ House
Dr. Santos’s yard was full of inflatables and glow-in-the-dark ghosts. And there she was once again dressed as a banana.
Jack burst out laughing immediately. “You’re still doing the banana, Santos?”
Dr. Santos struck a pose. “It’s tradition.”
McKenzie gasped. “NANA!” and ran straight for her, wrapping her arms around her leg. “Let it growww!”
Dr. Santos bent down, laughing. “This kid gets me. Environmental awareness and potassium appreciation.”
You and Jack exchanged a look you both knew you’d never top this moment.
The streets of Pittsburgh were finally quiet, and the Abbott house was slowing down after the sugar-fueled chaos. Jack carefully carried McKenzie, the tiny Lorax, asleep in his arms. Her orange costume was wrinkled, the yellow mustache slightly crooked, and her tiny fingers curled against his chest. “I can’t wait for her to crash completely when we get home,” he whispered, grinning down at her.
You were pushing Hunter and Ellie in the wagon like tiny cargo, both kids rubbing their eyes sleepily. Spider-Man’s mask was crooked, and Ellie’s broom lay across her lap. “I swear, I don’t know how they still have any energy,” you muttered. “Next year, I’m just handing them a candy bag and calling it a night.”
Jack laughed softly. “Yeah, but then we’d miss all this chaos. I kind of love it… even if it’s exhausting.”
Once inside, the real battle began: changing the kids into pajamas.
“Okay, Spider-Man,” you said to Hunter, tugging at his costume zipper. “Time to swap this superhero suit for some cozy PJs.”
“I can’t!” he protested, squirming. “The city needs me!”
Jack crouched beside him. “Easy, Spidey. The city can wait. Pajamas don’t put themselves on .”
With a dramatic groan, Hunter finally gave in, and you slid him into his Spider-Man pajamas. “Good. You’ll be ready for tomorrow’s hero missions.”
Ellie clutched her broom. “I can’t take off my hat! My magic will leave me!”
Jack gently took the broom from her. “Don’t worry. You’ll still be wicked in your PJs.”
After a little negotiation and a few tickles you got her into soft pajamas. She flopped onto the bed, clutching her blanket like a wand.
Nora, calm as ever, perched on her bed. “I suppose pajamas are acceptable,” she said flatly. “But I expect my chocolate to remain undisturbed.”
Jack tucked her in carefully, smoothing the blanket under her chin. “Of course, Wednesday. Chocolate stays safe.”
Finally, McKenzie remained asleep in Jack’s arms the whole time. You and Jack carefully slipped off her orange Lorax suit and tucked her into soft pajamas without ever waking her. Her tiny arm twitched as if she were waving, but she stayed blissfully out cold. Jack kissed her forehead. “Night-night, little Lorax. Keep the trees safe,” he whispered.
Once all four were finally tucked in, you and Jack collapsed onto the couch together, glasses of wine in hand, exhausted but happy.
“I’m tempted to make another little pumpkin of our own,” Jack murmured, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
You rolled your eyes, leaning against him. “Nice try, Peter Peter. Try again tomorrow.”
He chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Fair. But I’m not giving up that easily.”
Outside, the streets were still. Inside, the house glowed warm and cozy, candy wrappers scattered across the floor, and four little dreamers slept soundly in their beds. And somewhere, deep down, Jack was already scheming for tomorrow.
jax hates when you’re pissed at him. when you give him the cold shoulder—eyes sharp, words short. he hates even more how often he happens to piss you off. it’s happened so many times now, in fact, that he knows exactly how to handle it. his hands are already on your hips when you roll your eyes the second time and when you open your mouth to bitch at him some more—his mouth is already on yours. tongue swirling around your mouth like it’s his own.
and when you try pushing him away—his hands are wrapped around your wrists by the time you blink, pushing your arms above your head as he pins you against the door.
“you done bein’ a brat?” he breathes, nose brushing yours, breath hot and heavy from the kiss.
you glare. you don’t answer. you won’t give him the satisfaction. he grins—fucking grins—like you not answering is all the answer he needs. “mm. didn’t think so.”
his knee comes up between your thighs, spreading your legs wider against the door. he’s already rutting his hips against yours, slow and deliberate—just enough friction to make your eyes flutter shut for a second before you remember you’re mad.
“you’re such an ass,” you hiss.
“yeah?” he smirks. “but you love this ass. and you’re fuckin’ soaked already, baby. don’t lie.”
you want to slap him. or fuck him. maybe both. especially when he leans in again—voice all low and smug at your ear,
“wanna keep pretendin’ you’re mad? or you gonna be a good girl and let me make it up to you?”
his hand is already sliding under your shirt. you don’t stop him.
you never do.
not when he touches you like this. not when he knows you like this. not when he kisses the apology into your skin instead of saying it out loud—tongue and teeth and hands gripping your thighs like he’s never letting go.
Oof. That PMDD is hitting hard. This world is getting under my skin more than usual and damn if I haven't tried finding the answer at the bottom of a carton of ice cream (it wasn't there). Have a blurb.
Jack Abbot was a smart man. Not just the being a doctor and passing med school with flying colors shit. He was smart in life. He knew how to read a person, better than the books taught. Somethings couldn't be taught and that was one of them, he thought.
So, when you came barreling through the front door, your hair a mess and face red, he knew better than to ask what's wrong.
"Why is this world so absolutely fucked up!?" You growled as you threw your bag next to the door.
He wasn't touching that question with a ten-foot pole.
"Red or white?" Jack asked as he got up from the couch.
You stopped for a second, expecting him to try and placate your rage with some half-assed turn of phrase.
"White." You huffed as you made your way to the bedroom. You really should know better at this point. You'd been together for over a year, lived together for the better part of it. He wasn't the type to roll his eyes at your emotions, wanting to just get your rant over with so he didn't have to deal with you. No. That's not Jack Abbot. He wants to hear you rant. He'd listen to read the phonebook if it meant you talked to him and you were happy at the end of it.
Your favorite pajama set is folded and waiting on the bed. Of course it was. You almost wanted to pick a fight over him being so goddamn considerate. But Jack would always be prepared. His consideration was his way of being prepared. Jack had to be prepared, he didn't do well if he wasn't.
You stomped back out to the living room, face still red. Jack handed you a very full glass of wine. You took it with a slight nod of your head as you chugged most of it in seconds.
"You want to talk about it?" He gave a soft chuckle as he sat back down.
"No." You grumbled as you sat next to him.
"If you need to, I'm ready to listen." He hummed as he wrapped you in his arms.
That did it.
Bastard.
The dam broke.
The tears started flowing without restraint. It had been building all day. You finally let yourself feel everything. You were in the safety of Jack Abbot's ridiculously buff arms. You never really understood how he could be so ripped and feel so soft and warm when he held you.
"I-I just feel like...I can't do anything right! Like...no matter what it's not the right move! Then the world is falling apart and my dreams so silly and stupid when people are starving and dying!" You blubbered.
He rubbed gentle circles on your back.
"Your dreams aren't silly or stupid." He murmured into your hair.
"They are! Who cares about making movies right now!? Who cares about art right now!?" You had tipped over the edge. There was no reasoning with you.
"Honey. Art is always important. Art helps us understand the world around us. Movies are important in their own way. Movies allow us to relax and forget about ourselves for a while. They can teach us lessons. You're making a difference in your own way." He tucked hair behind your ear.
"What a joke for me to be crying all over you about movies and the state of the world when you probably were elbow deep in some poor guy's guts last night." Your lip quivered.
"Don't do that. Don't act like I'm better for the job I have. I'm not. You're employing how many people on your sets? Hundreds? That means you are helping feed hundreds of people. That's important. You can always cry all over me. I don't mind it." Jack smirked.
That smirk.
Oh, that goddamn smirk on that goddamn face.
"Fuck off." You snorted.
"What?" He chuckled.
"You look like that and I get to look at you like that. I must have been a very good girl in a past life." You sigh as you scratch at his beard, holding his face.
"This face likes your face a hell of a lot, too. Not sure how I deserved to wake up to it every morning. I won't question it too much, I might break a spell or something." He hummed.
"Shut up." You rolled your eyes.
"Make me." That goddamn smirk. Your lips crashed into his, following his orders.
"I like when you talk me off the ledge." You sighed, relaxing into his arms.
"Always will." He traced lazy patterns on your arm.
"Do you think I cry too much?"
Jack Abbot was a smart man. He knew better than to fall into that trap.
"Honey, you cry however much you want to." He kissed your head.
You let him have that one. Now, you were too tired and his chest was soft and warm.
Jack Abbot was a smart man. He knew when he had it good. He knew when he was given more than he deserved. He knew when he was right where he needed to be.
hi love 🫶🏻 can i please request a jack abbot x wife!reader moodboard drabble where they’re both trying to squeeze in a quickie because jack got really turned on by her halloween costume she just put on, but in the middle of their fucking, their adorable little girl interrupts by insistently knocking on their locked bedroom door and pouting about how she wants to go trick or treating nowww.. lol
this is a sequel to my one-shot 'leaning on you'! approximately four years later :)
Turns out, Jack Abbot has a thing for Halloween costumes. As evidenced by the way his eyes haven't left your figure since emerging in your Morticia Addams costume.
Junie's been having a real Wednesday phase recently, so it just made sense that you and Jack should be the senior Addams.
He'd pressed a quick kiss to her cheek while she watched an episode from the latest season, with a promise that you'd all head out for trick-or-treating soon.
His next move had been to usher you into the bedroom, under the pretence of 'helping mommy get ready', before dropping to his knees and hiking your dress up to your waist.
"I've missed you so much, sweet girl," He'd murmured, working his way back up your front after making you come so hard you saw stars.
You wouldn't change her for the world, but between June and work, it can be hard to find any kind of alone time these days.
You'll take whatever you can get.
Currently, Jack is balls-deep inside of you, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that might escape. Junie's a curious kid. You don't want to give her any reason to come looking for you both. And you're not known for your ability to stay quiet.
"My beautiful, perfect girl," He murmurs, punctuating each word with a thrust. "You look so fucking good like this-"
A knock at the door freezes you both. "Mommy? Daddy? We go now?"
Chest heaving, it takes a second to gather your thoughts - it's hard when Jack's still inside of you, one hand cupping your tit. "One second, honey! Daddy's just helping me get dressed."
"I help? I have makeup."
Jack lets out a low chuckle, slowly pulling out, before grabbing a towel to clean you up. "Why don't you go and get your makeup, and Mommy will be out soon? Then you can help with her costume."
A moment's pause, as if she's considering, before a cheerful, 'okay!' sounds, and little footsteps patter away.
"That kid needs a bell," Jack mumbles, zipping his pants up.
