Headcanons to Yandere! Jack Abbot x Patient! Reader
WARNINGS: yandere, obsessive behaviour, toxic behaviour, unhealthy behaviour, manipulation, mature language, possessiveness, etc.
SUMMARY: as a doctor, jack abbot dedicated his life to helping people. unfortunately for you, he stopped seeing you as just a patient a long time ago.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i will get to requests soon. i'm just going with the flow for now.
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
It had started innocently enough. You were just another patient on his schedule, another person he was supposed to help. Jack had always taken his work seriously. Medicine wasn't just a job to him, it was a responsibility he had devoted his life to. Yet somehow, he found himself remembering details about you long after your appointments had ended.
Your favorite color, the book you'd casually mentioned reading, the way you laughed at one of his dry jokes. Those were small, insignificant things that had no reason to linger in his mind. And yet they did. More often than not, he caught himself thinking about them at two in the afternoon, which considering his night shifts, might as well have been two in the morning.
Jack had spent months making excuses for his growing fixation. Every time he checked your chart more often than necessary, he reassured himself that it was purely professional concern. "I'm just making sure they're doing okay," he would mutter under his breath while pulling up your file for the third time that day.
Deep down, however, he knew most doctors didn't need to reread the same information repeatedly. The problem wasn't your health. The problem was that seeing your name had become one of the best highlights of his day.
He had even lied to his therapist about it. Whenever conversations drifted toward relationships, Jack purposely omitted the parts involving you. He hid behind half-truths and justifications as a doctor, presenting everything as harmless concern.
His therapist never saw the darker thoughts lurking beneath the surface because Jack himself refused to acknowledge them. As long as he kept calling it concern, he didn't have to confront the fact that it had long since become something far more dangerous.
Unlike more obvious obsessives, Jack's fixation had been terrifying precisely because of how subtle it was. He was never the type to be impulsive or reckless, even with the things he desire. He wasn't the type to make grand declarations or openly chase after someone without some sort of plan unless of course, it's what you're into.
He was patient and frighteningly good at hiding what he was doing. To everyone else, he remained the same calm and very reliable doctor they'd always known. No one would have suspected anything was wrong unless they paid very close attention.
A few people, however, knew him well enough to notice the cracks. Lena, in particular, had started watching him more carefully whenever your name came up. She had done her best to keep your file out of his reach whenever possible, occasionally assigning someone else to handle routine matters involving your care.
Somehow, though, Jack always found a way to access the information anyway. It wasn't even difficult for him. Every attempt to create distance only seemed to make him more determined to stay involved.
Jack absolutely hated it whenever you missed an appointment. Logically, he understood that life happened. People forgot things. Emergencies came up. Schedules changed. He was a reasonable man, and he had always prided himself on being patient.
He could wait. He should have been able to wait. Yet every time your scheduled slot passed without you showing up, irritation began crawling beneath his skin. The reasonable explanations never satisfied him for long.
"They probably just forgot," someone might have excused with a casual shrug when he asked where you were. Meanwhile, Jack's mind immediately jumped elsewhere. Who had distracted you? What had possibly been more important than your health? More importantly, what had been more important than seeing him?
The thoughts embarrassed him whenever he examined them too closely, but that didn't stop them from appearing. After all, he was your doctor. Your wellbeing was his responsibility. Surely that meant he deserved a certain level of priority in your life... right?
He had become surprisingly possessive of that title as well. You're his patient. So when another physician was assigned to your care, even temporarily, Jack found himself growing irritated far more quickly than he should have. He suspected Lena and some of the others were responsible, subtly trying to reduce his involvement with you.
The idea alone annoyed him. Nobody knew your medical history better than he did. Nobody understood your case like he did. At least, that was the excuse he used whenever someone questioned his insistence on remaining involved.
The truth was far less professional. The thought of someone else earning your trust made something unpleasant twist inside his chest. He hated imagining you smiling at another doctor the way you smiled at him. Hated picturing someone else listening to your stories, learning your habits, remembering your little preferences.
"I know their history best," he would insist whenever the subject came up, sounding perfectly reasonable while carefully concealing the possessiveness hidden beneath the statement. What he really meant was far simpler: he knew you best.
Over time, Jack started finding reasons to prolong your appointments. What should have been a quick ten-minute consultation somehow stretched into thirty. Sometimes even longer. He would ask about work, then ask follow-up questions.
He'd inquire about stress levels and somehow steer the conversation toward your hobbies, your friends, your weekend plans, and your daily routine. None of it was entirely inappropriate, but there was always a little more curiosity than necessary. A little more interest than any doctor should have shown.
Every new detail he learned about you felt valuable. He collected information the way other people collected keepsakes, carefully storing away every small fact you offered him. Your favorite coffee order. The route you took to work. The television shows you watched when you couldn't sleep. The songs you listened to during long drives.
None of it should have mattered as much as it did. Yet every new piece of information felt like another piece of a puzzle he couldn't stop trying to complete.
Before long, Jack found himself remembering things about you that even your friends probably forgot. He remembered passing comments you'd made months ago, tiny preferences you'd mentioned only once, stories you'd told in passing without realizing he'd committed every word to memory.
The realization should have concerned him. Instead, it filled him with a strange sense of satisfaction. After all, if the people closest to you couldn't be bothered to remember these things, then perhaps it was a good thing that someone did.
Someone had to appreciate every little detail that made you who you were. And Jack had long since convinced himself that nobody appreciated those details more than he did.
Whenever you mentioned a partner, an ex, or even someone who seemed remotely interested in you, Jack's expression never changed. He remained calm, attentive, and pleasant throughout the entire conversation, nodding at all the appropriate moments.
The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable or scare you into keeping parts of your life from him. Internally, however, it was an entirely different story. While you spoke, he was already cataloging every detail you provided, quietly analyzing whether this person deserved a place in your life at all.
"Your boyfriend forgot to pick you up?" Jack had asked one evening, his tone light as he helped you gather your things after an appointment. The sympathetic smile on his face never faltered, though something darker settled behind his eyes.
"That's unfortunate." He adjusted the strap of your bag onto your shoulder before guiding you toward the exit, listening patiently as you explained away your partner's absence. By the time you left, Jack had already convinced himself that someone who continually disappointed you clearly wasn't reliable enough to keep around.
Jack secretly enjoyed hearing about the shortcomings of the people around you. Every forgotten promise, every missed call, every careless mistake felt like confirmation of something he already believed.
To him, these incidents weren't isolated accidents; they were evidence that nobody appreciated you properly. While you often brushed these things off, Jack remembered every single one. The list of reasons why other people weren't good enough for you seemed to grow longer with every conversation.
Over time, he became completely convinced that nobody could care for you the way he could. In his mind, it wasn't arrogance or possessiveness; it was simply the truth. He paid attention to details others overlooked. He remembered things people forgot. He noticed when you were tired, stressed, or upset before you even mentioned it.
Every mistake someone else made only strengthened his belief that you were surrounded by people who failed to recognize how important you truly were.
If you ever became sick or injured, his obsession became significantly harder to disguise. The concern in his eyes was genuine because he truly hated seeing you suffer. The problem was that his relief whenever you depended on him was equally genuine. He had given you his personal number under the guise of caution, insisting that you contact him if you had any health-related concerns, no matter how small.
Whether it was a persistent cough, a headache, the flu, or something more serious, Jack always made himself available. The fact that your first instinct might be to reach out to him also filled him with a satisfaction he preferred not to examine too closely.
"You need to stay off your ankle for at least a few days." Jack didn't even glance up from the notes he was writing as he spoke. When you immediately protested that it was only a minor sprain, he simply sighed and set his pen down.
"And that's exactly how minor sprains become worse injuries." His gaze lifted to meet yours, calm but firm enough to end any argument before it properly began. By the time you opened your mouth to object again, he was already discussing recovery plans as though the decision had been made for you.
Jack hated seeing you cry. Not because tears made him uncomfortable, but because they triggered something deeply protective inside him. The moment he noticed your eyes watering or your voice trembling, every other thought seemed to disappear. His attention immediately shifted toward finding the source of your distress. Nothing else mattered until he knew who or what had upset you.
Unfortunately, the answers rarely satisfied him. If someone had hurt your feelings, Jack remembered their name. If someone had embarrassed, insulted, or disrespected you, he remembered that too. He never forgot the people responsible for your tears.
Outwardly, he remained perfectly composed whenever you spoke about them, offering advice and reassuring words. Internally, however, they earned a permanent place among the small group of people he disliked. Whether they realized it or not, anyone who hurt you had just given Jack a reason to pay very close attention to them.
The most dangerous part was that Jack genuinely believed everything he did came from a place of care. He never viewed himself as controlling or obsessive. As far as he was concerned, he was simply looking out for someone important to him.
Every boundary he crossed had a reasonable explanation. Every intrusive thought came wrapped in concern. Every possessive impulse disguised itself as protection. The line between caring for you and wanting to control every aspect of your life had blurred so gradually that Jack no longer noticed it existed at all.
As the months passed, Jack's presence in your life began extending far beyond the walls of his office. He never forced his way in; he simply made himself available often enough that his involvement started feeling natural.
If you had a bad day, he somehow found out. If you mentioned an upcoming problem, he'd check in afterward to see how it went. Little by little, he became someone you instinctively reached out to whenever something went wrong. By the time either of you realized how often it was happening, the habit had already formed.
What made the situation worse was that Jack was genuinely dependable. He knew which foods you avoided when you were stressed, which topics made you uncomfortable, and which excuses you used when you weren't feeling well.
Being cared for by him felt effortless because he anticipated your needs before you voiced them. Sometimes you found yourself relying on him without realizing just how much space he had silently occupied in your life.
Jealousy remained one of the few emotions Jack couldn't completely conceal, however. Most of the time, he maintained remarkable control over himself, but certain situations tested that restraint. Whenever someone flirted with you or seemed a little too interested, a subtle tension settled over him.
His expression rarely changed, but his jaw tightened, his responses became shorter, and his attention sharpened noticeably. The casual questions that followed always sounded innocent enough, yet they revealed just how closely he'd been monitoring the interaction in the first place.
"Who was that?" Jack had asked one afternoon after watching someone linger a little too long in conversation with you. His tone almost absent-minded, as though he were merely making small talk. Yet his eyes never left your face as he listened to your answer.
He nodded politely when you explained, offering a small smile before changing the subject entirely. The conversation appeared harmless on the surface, but the information had already been filed away alongside everything else he considered important about your life.
Unlike the possessive figures people imagined in stories, Jack had no interest in controlling you through fear. He never wanted you to feel trapped. He didn't need threats or confinement because he preferred something far more effective: making himself indispensable.
If you chose him willingly, there would never be a reason for you to leave. So he devoted himself to becoming the person you trusted most, the person you depended on most, and eventually, the person you couldn't imagine navigating life without.
"You know you can always call me." The words had become so familiar that you barely thought about them anymore. When you nodded and told him you knew, the smile that appeared on his face was warm and entirely sincere.
"Any time," he replied softly. There was no manipulation in his voice, no obvious pressure hidden beneath the reassurance. That was precisely what made it so dangerous. Jack meant every word, and his unwavering availability slowly encouraged you to lean on him more than anyone else.
In Jack's mind, none of his behavior qualified as obsession. Obsession was irrational, unhealthy, and selfish. What he felt for you was different—or at least that's what he told himself. He loved you. He cared about your wellbeing. He wanted you to be happy, healthy, and safe. Every decision he made could be justified through those goals.
The fact that his version of care often encouraged distance between you and others was something he conveniently chose not to think about too closely.
Over time, the boundaries he'd once maintained disappeared so gradually that he barely noticed them slipping away. You were no longer simply another patient whose wellbeing concerned him. You weren't even just a friend anymore.
Somewhere between the countless conversations, late-night check-ins, and years of accumulated attachment, you'd become something far more important. His days seemed to revolve around you without his permission, and thoughts of you occupied far more of his mind than they ever should have.
Eventually, Jack reached a point where imagining life without you felt genuinely impossible. Every future he envisioned included you somewhere within it. Every major decision was subconsciously weighed against how it might affect his ability to remain close to you.
What had started as simple interest had evolved into something woven into the fabric of his everyday existence. You had become the center around which everything else seemed to orbit.
And that was perhaps the most dangerous thing about Jack Abbott. Not the jealousy, the possessiveness, or even the fixation itself. It was the certainty that you belonged in his life. Once that belief settled into his mind, it rooted itself so deeply that removing it became nearly impossible.
Because Jack wasn't the type to give up. He was patient enough to wait for years if necessary, and stubborn enough to convince himself that eventually, somehow, you'd realize that staying by his side had been the right choice all along.
