Jack takes off his prosthetic like it’s any other chore, which it is, because it’ll never be something he lets carry weight.
It’ll carry him, but nothing else, and when you watch him through half-lidded eyes as he removes it with practiced hands, you think he’s beautiful bare. You don’t tell him that tonight.
You’ve learned the whole of Jack well enough that you know he has to be in a particular mood to accept your desecration of his insecurities.
You’ll hunt them down one by one, one day, with your cunt and your need to hold him forever...
With the fact that you’ve given him the most perfect baby girl in the whole wide world, and you’ll give him more and more and more.
“Night.”
Jack sets down his prosthetic against the nightstand, and he’s easy in sliding under the covers and pulling you in with an instinctive tug.
“Goodnight.”
His voice is rough. The house is dark and still. He sleeps for a few blessed hours with you in his arms, but only after checking that the baby monitor is truly on for the third time.
“She go down okay?—”
“Yes, Jack. She’s a champion at knocking out.”
Jack sleeps, but sometime later, he wakes up earlier than he’d like to. You’re still a warm weight nuzzling into him, face smushed against him. There’s nothing wrong except the fact that it’s a shame his bladder can’t make it till daylight.
He reaches toward the nightstand—
And he goes still when his hands find air.
“...The hell?”
Jack, half-asleep and in no mood for wherever the hell his prosthetic leg could’ve gone, frowns before reaching again.
Nothing. His nose flares as the sheets slide off his thighs. He searches the floor, then under the bed, and it’s not fear that’s making his pulse climb. Nope.
It's just the simple, humiliating realization that something he kinda depends on is missing, and he doesn’t know how that happened, so he’s just as confused. Confused and embarrassed. Two very fun emotions. God fuck.
He turns back toward you, the peaceful girl who’s completely unaware that her husband is sitting in the pitch dark because he’s lost a limb. He swallows.
He’s gonna have to ask you. He hates this. He loves that it’s you that’s ruined him and you that can crack him open, that it’s you he’ll be vulnerable with. But he hates having to ask, because the husband that doesn’t deserve you and the father to your baby shouldn’t be losing his fucking limb and making you go look for it.
Jack leans closer and murmurs your name. With no response, he tries again, a little firmer.
“Sleepy. Baby.”
He swallows again when your eyes flutter open, a small sound you make to go along with it.
“...Wha…wha’s goin’ on?”
Jack blinks slows. He’ll smother the embarrassment flickering under his nerves later.
“My leg’s gone.”
You blink at him. Yep. That’s something to blink at. He won’t blame you.
“What?”
Jack simply gestures toward his side of the bed, because maybe if he pretends like this happens all the time, then he doesn’t have to be suddenly hyperaware of what’s not just missing from the room, but from the whole of him. Sounds like a fucking plan.
“I took it off. I put it by the nightstand. It’s not there. It’s not under the bed. It’s not anywhere on my side.”
You squint into the dark. “Well, did you move it? Maybe it rolled under the bed and maybe over to my side—”
You pause, and Jack stares as he watches your shadowed expression shift. It’s confusion to realization, your eyes widening slightly—to a look where you’re finding something…adorable.
“Oh. Oh my God. I can take a guess.”
You throw the covers off, sliding out of bed.
“I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going—”
You squeeze his hand, smiling sleepily. Fitting. “Trust me.”
Well. He has to, doesn’t he? You’re gone into the hall before he can say anything else.
He sits there for a hot minute, and don’t worry, sleepy, he doesn’t have to be reminded of his own helplessness.
Making kiddo look for your limb while you sit pretty. Husband of the year—
You reappear before he can even wonder why he couldn’t hear your footsteps down the hall, but your eyes are glossy, and you’ve found it—you’ve tucked his prosthetic under your arm.
“What the hell?”
“I found it, and you’ll be happy to know where. Oh my god.”
Your face is open in a way that makes Jack’s chest crack open with a furrowed brow. You set his prosthetic in front of him on the bed, and you climb onto the bed on your knees.
You pull out your phone. Jack couldn’t guess what you’re so in awe about.
“What are you—”
“Look, Dad.”
Your voice is trembling between the line of laughter and slight tears, and Jack can only listen when you hold the phone up to him.
He freezes. The sight is—the sight is…
The only thing as beautiful and ridiculous than what you’re showing him is you.
On the screen is a photo you must’ve taken just minutes ago in baby’s room, only lit by her baby-sun nightlight. She’s asleep in her crib, face turned into her pillow.
She’s got her chubby toddler body wrapped around his prosthetic leg like it’s a stuffed animal.
She’s hugging it. Like the thing is comforting.
…Like it’s Dad.
You shine in watching Jack stare into the screen, and it’s the blunt force of tenderness burning its way into his heart. His throat might close to the point of suffocation.
Not a bad way to go.
“Chubby must’ve took it while we were sleeping. Just…she just dragged it into her crib and fell asleep with it. We’ve got a little thief on our hands.”
“...Why?”
He’s unbelieving. He can’t believe—
“I think she thinks it’s…I don’t know. She’s two. If she has your leg, she has you.” Your voice is warm, near wrecked in the explanation. “I’m surprised she was able to carry it. She’s got baby muscle.”
…He can’t believe he’s this fucking loved.
The joke he tries going for slips out broken with a low sigh. He swallows again, dragging his finger along the metal of his prosthetic.
“My kid…stole my leg.”
“Yes she did. She also had my badge clip. I left it. It might be a little easier to take from her in the morning than your lovely chunk of metal.”
“Inherited her mommy’s love for trinkets.”
You laugh at that. Jack’s mouth twitches into something thin.
He’s loved by a perfect kid from a perfect woman, and he guesses he can only be defeated by their love in its most absurd form. Even if that’s what he’ll never deserve.
“...She can keep it next time. Long as she brings it back to me.”
You lean in to kiss his shoulder. He only wants the moment he leaves this world to be like this, you lingering with your lips, the grainy sight of Chubby needing the part of him he sometimes loathes to go to sleep.
“She loves you so much, Jack. But maybe we can find her a stuffed leg.”
SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, you’ve grown accustomed to that. You don’t expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you don’t expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.
NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.
REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.
The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.
"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.
Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.
"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.
Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.
"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. It’s deep."
"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.
"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."
You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.
"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."
You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.
Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.
"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."
For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.
"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.
"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."
Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.
"That’s it. That’s got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."
"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.
You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.
"Whoa—!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.
Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.
A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.
"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jack’s voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"
"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."
From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.
"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."
"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.
"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."
It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.
"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"
"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."
"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.
"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "It’s a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"
You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.
Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."
Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.
Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pitt’s intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.
"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"
"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, what’s gone on? You’re supposed to be off until Monday."
"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."
"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, I’ve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. It’s Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."
"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."
"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."
"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, it’s me and my DIY projects."
A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.
"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.
"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, it’s a bit of a disaster."
Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.
Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"
"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.
"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jack’s wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."
While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jack’s a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jack’s dressing and got him a dose of something strong.
Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.
The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.
"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."
The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"
Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jack’s heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"
Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh my… are you okay? Well clearly not but… what happened?”
"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.
Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jack’s bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."
"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."
"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."
Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"
Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jack’s arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.
"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write ‘DIY FAIL’ on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jack’s forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."
"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."
Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."
"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."
"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."
Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."
"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."
As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jack’s arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.
By the time Jack’s arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.
Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.
"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."
"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."
Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."
when the crew discovers your secret tramp stamp, jack accidentally reveals he knows far more about it than he should
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: jack abbot x shy!reader
WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader wearing a bikini, shy!reader, secret relationship, tramp stamp, nosy coworkers, suggestive banter, implied intimacy
PROMPT: here!
WC: 1.2k
It’s too bright out today. Blindingly so. Like the sun crawled out of bed nursing a petty grudge specifically against your corneas and decided today was the day it would exact revenge.
Your palms form an ineffective visor above your eyes, everything still burns despite this.
The sand throws light back at you in sharp, splintering flashes, like someone crushed up a chandelier and scattered it along the shore, sea spread out before you in that lurid, too-perfect blue that does not look real anywhere outside of vacation brochures and edited Instagram posts.
You squint toward the shoreline, blinking against the glare until Emma and Joy emerge in pieces.
A moving arm. Emma springing up and down at the edge of the surf. Joy beside her, louder, both hands around her mouth with the grave urgency of someone trying to rescue you from land.
Which is ironic because you are on land. And land is safe.
Land is reasonable. Land is not going to seize your ankles with freezing water and stop your heart out of spite.
Whitaker’s speaker thuds behind you, the bass breaking open in the breeze as Joy yells, “Stop being such a wuss!” and Emma adds, a little gentler, “Come on, it’s really not that cold!”
“They're just gonna keep bugging you, you know,” Jack butts in, flipping another page of his book with a flick of his wrist. “Might as well rip the band-aid off.”
You glance sideways at him, stretched beneath the umbrella like some indolent deity, skin still glistening from the generous layer of sunscreen you smeared into his chest earlier, fingertips skittering shyly over muscles and bones as he tolerated it with begrudging patience.
His shoulders, however, still blush pink at the edges, a physical monument to yesterday’s disregard for your very detailed and considerate planning.
Jack Abbot would rather burn a little than admit you might know best. The eternal martyr, sacrificing comfort at the altar of pride.
You didn’t give him the chance today.
“But the sand,” you protest, words coming out a little more whiny than intended, each syllable a tiny balloon of anxiety popping mid-air. “It gets wet, Jack, and then it sticks in between my toes, and dries in weird little crusty patches, and then I’m stuck thinking about that all afternoon instead of, I don’t know, enjoying myself, which is the entire point of a vacation — at least as far as I understand vacations, and —”
Jack’s book snaps shut decisively, interrupting your spiraling train of thought.
He stares at you, expression caught somewhere between amused tolerance and weary affection, as though he’s watched you spin yourself dizzy like this too many times before. And he has.
“Hey.” His voice is level, gently pulling you back to earth by the scruff of your neck. “We’re at a beach. Sand is inevitable. Rinse it off, dry your feet, move on. You’re preemptively ruining your own day, you realize that, right?”
A helpless little pout blooms across your mouth, the tired-and-true expression you reserve for only the direst emergencies. Which, admittedly, occurs more often than you’d like to acknowledge.
It’s practically foolproof.
And the way Jack’s gaze softens in increments demonstrates that.
He sighs in response, an unconvincing performance of irritation, eyes half-lidded in exaggerated exasperation.
“Look,” he mutters, resignation thickening his voice, “if it gets that bad, just come back up here and I’ll...I don’t know, help rinse the sand off myself, if that’s what it takes.”
“Kay,” you mumble, the concession melting off your tongue in the most petulant way possible, fingers fussing at the edges of your cover-up, dragging it upwards.
“There we are,” he drawls, squinting to look at you. “Atta girl.”
You resist the urge to stick out your tongue at him as you pull it fully off.
And when you do, a sudden, piercing wolf-whistle splits emerges from somewhere in the sea of your peers.
You reel backwards until the backs of your legs nearly knock into Jack’s chair.
You freeze when you get your bearings, cover-up still bunched in your fists, shoulders crawling toward your ears as Dana’s voice sails across the beach.
You think it might be loud enough to alert passing boats.
“Well, damn. Didn’t have you pegged as the type.”
For a second you think she means the bikini, which is revealing, yes, but nothing crazy.
And that would be bad on it’s own, honestly, because it’s weird enough to have your coworkers perceive you in swimwear, but then Santos gasps from your left.
“Little Miss Prim-and-Proper has a tramp stamp?”
You can feel your eyes double in size.
You release a strangled little laugh. At least, you meant for it to be laughter. You think it sounds more like a sparrow smacking headfirst into a glass window.
“Oh, it’s — it’s nothing,” you insist, swatting a hand. You hope no one notices that the pitch of your voice has risen several octaves. “I honestly forgot it was there.”
A lie. A terrible one at that. Because yes, obviously, people forget about permanent body art all the time. Perfectly normal. Perfectly believable.
You turn so your back is toward the ocean, blocking the majority of everyone’s view of the damning evidence as your palm flutters helplessly near your hip.
Whitaker rolls slowly onto one elbow from his spot on a towel, eyes narrowing. “Is it, like, supposed to be symbolic?”
“Is — what?”
“The tattoo,” he elaborates, waving a hand in your general vicinity, like he’s reluctant to approach it directly, wary of frightening you off. Valid concern. You do feel like a flight risk at this exact given moment. “Does it represent something meaningful?”
Dana snorts into her drink. “Yeah, kid. It means she had a wild semester and access to eighty dollars.”
You part your lips, words half-formed. Explanations or possibly just meaningless static. More likely the latter.
Because with everyone’s eyes suddenly looking at you waiting for you to say something, the attention feels a little too overwhelming.
“It’s a pomegranate,” Jack announces suddenly, rescuing you from yourself. You could kiss him right then and there. “For Persephone. Rebirth, renewal, growth, all of that. She got it sophomore year of college.”
“Yeah,” you agree faintly. You glance helplessly from face to face, feeling every glance bounce painfully between you and Jack, dissecting the air between you into tiny, fragile pieces. “It’s, um — exactly that.”
Samira’s the first one to offer a reassuring smile. “Oh, that’s actually really beautiful.”
You release another round of nervous laughter, shoulders inching down cautiously. A little uncertain whether you’re in the clear just yet.
Apparently not.
Langdon jerks his head toward Jack in one jerky movement, sunglasses nearly tumbling from the bridge of his nose. “Hang on. Why the hell does he know that?”
Your stomach does a violent drop. Like someone yanked a trapdoor beneath you and forgot to cushion you fall.
Shit.
Of course. Why wouldn’t this happen?
Because clearly, the tattoo itself was only a minor humiliation, the polite opening number before the headline act of Jack publicly revealing his encyclopedic awareness of the ink approximately one inch above your ass.
But this is salvageable, right? It’s plausible that you would’ve told him this on a night shift after too much adrenaline and too little sleep.
Your gaze swings toward Jack, wordlessly pleading, imploring him to explain this all away, practically mentally gripping him by the collar and begging for mercy, but he only shrugs. Lazy and indifferent with the tilt of his burnt shoulders.
“Kind of hard to miss from certain angles.”
You watch everyone’s faces go slack jawed.
You don’t wait around the witness the dawning realization behind you.
There’s no need; you can feel it spreading through the air like spilled ink soaking silently into paper.
A terrible little chain of silence, then gasps, then hissed laughter like matches flicking alight one by one. You’ll never live it down, you think.
Someone’s voice calls after you, but you’re already moving towards the ocean.
summary : a loud noise on a rare day off leads you to your neighbor’s apartment, where, in an unexpected turn of events, you find yourself trying to piece him back together.
inspired by this request !
pairing : jack abbot × neighbor!reader
word count : 1,7k
tags/tw : hurt/comfort, implied ptsd, panic attack and anxiety, fluff, sunshine!reader, jack is whipped, developing relationship
a/n : thanks for the request ! i didn't think i’d get to it this fast but here it is
It seemed to come from upstairs, if the feeling that the ceiling was about to fall down on your head was anything to go by.
You had been enjoying a rare and well deserved day off, tidying up a bit your apartment before indulging in some ice cream while you occupied your hands with crafts.
Your new hobby, not that you had had much time to get to it with your work and everything, had been crocheting. You went from one hobby to the other every few months and spent all your time and money on it in that time period.
So obviously, your place was now pilling up with colored yarn, multiple crocheted beanies you couldn't seem to stop making and some unfinished projects laying around.
Another loud noise boomed upstairs making you pause your show and look up as if you had been suddenly blessed with x-ray vision.
Jack happened to live right above your apartment, and though you didn't know which room was above which, you had come to the conclusion that his bedroom was mainly above your living room.
So when the noise echoed again you stood up not really knowing what to do next.
Sure, he was supposed to be sleeping, and he didn't make any noise at this time of day usually since he, well he worked nights, and he wasn't even a noisy neighbor. So surely all this ruckus was a least a little worrying ?
You stood in the middle of your living room for a minute, yarn and hook in one hand, a spoon that previously held some ice cream in the other.
You couldn't just go up and knock because you had heard some noise.. could you?
You weighted up the options before settling on sending a quick text. You started typing up, before deleting it, before typing it out again, letting your thumb hover over the send button.
Finally, in a surge of impulsiveness, and before you could change your mind, you pocketed your phone, slipped your feet into your worn out crocs and left your apartment, door slamming behind you.
You skipped the elevator and went straight for the stairwell and a minute later you were standing in front of his door, hand hovering in the air, wondering if it was all a good idea.
But before you could talk yourself out of it, you forced your knuckles against the door and called out for him after the seconds of silence that followed.
As you were about to knock again the knob rattled, making you freeze in place.
The door creaked open revealing a quite.. disheveled looking Jack.
His hair was all messed up, his prosthetic seemed to have been put on in a hurry seeing his sweatpants had caught on it, his hand gripped tightly the door as though he needed the feeling of the wood pressing into his palm to ground himself. And his eyes, usually so keen on maintaining eye contact, were hazy, missing their usual fire and instead jumped from one point to the other, unable to settle on you.
"Jack.?" your voice came out small but it seemed to catch part of his attention as he quickly flicked up his eyes on you, before looking down again.
"What are you doing here?" he muttered in a gruff voice, gripping the door a little tighter.
"I- I heard a noise, I wanted to make sure you were alright." you tried to take a step forward but he shifted back almost in a flinch.
"I'm fine. Now go." he briefly locked eyes with you before going to close the door.
Without thinking, you jumped to stop him, bracing your hand against the doorframe and making him stop short just before the door could slam on your fingers.
Instinctively, his hand shot out to brush your fingers, as if to make sure it didn't hurt you but he quickly removed it, taking a step back again.
"What are you doing? I told you to leave." he mumbled again, but his breathing was growing increasingly erratic, his chest heaving as it rose and fell dramatically.
Before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand, fully stepping into his apartment.
He seemed like he was trying to say something but the words wouldn't leave his lips, his breath catching in his throat.
You distractedly shut the door with one hand before taking in the darkened hallway despite the early hour of the afternoon. Further down the corridor, a small table had been knocked over, the vase previously sitting on it now lying shattered on the floor.
You looked back at Jack, who was struggling to contain whatever anxiety seemed to be taking over him.
"Jack, can you hear me?" you softly placed a hand on his arm as you spoke. "It's me, you're alright. We're gonna sit down okay?" you gently pushed down on his arm, gesturing for him to sit, mindful of his leg.
He was still mumbling under his breath, his eyes looking straight through you, keeping him locked away in some far memory. His breathing was still panting and your face scrunched up in helplessness.
You tried to brush your hand soothingly over his bare arm but you could feel him shaking under your hands.
Long gone was the confident doctor front, leaving before you a vulnerable man, shaking in your hold and struggling to catch his breath.
You pushed down the lump in your throat and sat between his opened legs.
"Jack, what you're seeing isn't real. You need to come back. Come back to me." you found yourself almost imploring, taking his face in your hands in the hope that he would finally see you.
But when his eyes settled on you, they were only full of fear.
"It's okay, it's over. Breathe okay? Follow me."
You placed your hand over his thundering heart and placed his over yours. You took deep breaths, slowing when his own caught in his throat and made his chest shudder.
You muttered small encouragement and comforting words as a few tears escaped his eyes and his breath progressively slowed down to match yours.
Your hand had fell down to his side where your thumb was stroking back and forth over his clothed skin, while your other hand gently dried his tears.
After a long while, he finally looked up to you, his eyes finally cleared, seeing only you and nothing behind.
You mustered a small smile and grabbed his hand settled on his extended leg.
Your breaths intertwined as your head rested on your drawn up knee, sitting so close to him when he felt so far away just seconds ago. Your eyes quietly sank into his, allowing him time to compose himself.
After a little bit you finally spoke up.
"Feeling better ?"
His eyes fluttered close as his head fell back against the wall, a heavy sigh letting the pain evade the body.
"Yeah."
The silence settled over both of you for a minute before he broke it again.
"You shouldn't have stayed."
You slipped your hand out of his and opened your mouth to apologize but his hand quickly gripped yours back as his eyes opened again.
"But I'm glad you did... thank you."
You looked up at him with widened eyes, while he looked straight back at you, quietly conveying everything he couldn’t say at loud.
"Don't thank me. I'm happy I stayed. If it helped, I mean." you whispered bashfully, fidgeting with his shirt still in your hand.
"It helped." his rough voice filling your ears as his warm gaze settled on you.
You kept your eyes down as you asked, "Does it.. happen often ?" you feared the answer as much as you expected it.
"I- Yeah. More than I'd like I guess." he took a deep breath and played with the hem of his pants as he spoke. "My therapist tells me it should ease up the more I talk about it and accept it. But some days it doesn't feel like it will."
His eyes fell back on you, "Other days it feels more bearable."
You pressed his hand and leaned in the smallest bit,
"Thank you for telling me."
After lingering into his eyes, you looked away and your eyes fell on the destroyed vase again.
"I see we both have a knack for destroying our own furniture." you chuckled, looking back at him. "Do you need help cleaning it up?"
"Nah it's okay. You should get back to your place, I took enough of your time." he answered with a voice that carried much more emotion than just an apology for taking up your time.
"Ah don't worry, it's my day off. I wasn't doing much anyway." you shrugged with a smile.
He helped you up, his hand lingering in yours before you went to leave. He opened the door ready to thank you again but you turned back suddenly.
"Wanna come down eat ice cream with me? I know the cold helps with the anxiety" you offered abruptly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Later, when you're both eating on your couch, crochet projects pushed aside, you're rambling about the show playing on your tv, not noticing his eyes on you
When it's silent again, he busies himself with his ice cream bowl as he asks,
"How did you know? About.. everything, how to deal with it."
"I get them too." you explained easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I learned how to deal with it a long time ago. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't." you let a spoonful of vanilla ice cream melt on your tongue as your eyes wandered back on the tv.
Jack studied you for few minutes, trying to grasp the fact that you just admitted having panic attacks too. You, his beautiful, sunshiny neighbor that crochet and scrapbook on her days off.
Well, he imagined you couldn't have guessed the crippled gruff doctor upstairs was having panic attack either.
You definitely made quite the pair.
But before he could dwell on it, he settled back into your couch and let his hand fall closer to you than needed to.
And if he spend more time sneaking glances at you than at the show, that is only for him to know.
jack abbot x f!reader
Word Count: 11K (oops – eat a snack)
Rating: E
Summary: You’re pissed off at Jack, and he does everything to try and win you back.
Warning: SMUT(18+MDNI), idiots in love, rom-com vibes, slightly drunk reader, language, angst, emotional argument, jealousy, groveling jack, loverboy jack, fluff and feelings, flirting, pet names, thrill of getting caught (they horny), public sex-ish? (someone could walk in on them?), fingering, oral sex (f & m), jack abbot’s whore mouth (aka dirty talk), praise, possessive sex, unprotected p in v sex, more implied smut (they are feral), animal kingdom reference, mentions of jack being a widower, alcohol, tipsy jack, i fear ive made jack too perfect, hallmark ending (HEA <3)
A/N: Okay, everyone’s panties were down to their ankles over episode 2x07. And I was one of those people. GIF credit to @wesandresons found HERE. dividers as always by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist | Part 1 l Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | You're reading the final part
After throwing up, you’d escaped to the nearest restroom to splash cold water on your face until your skin stung, brushing your teeth with the little disposable kit a nurse handed you, and inhaling a bottle of water. You’d stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to pull yourself together, trying to breathe past the humiliation and the shock of seeing him here of all places.
Your phone went off with a piercing sound that felt like it cut straight through your skull. You winced at the noise, but when you glanced down at the screen, you saw a message from Lina. It turned out that Maria wouldn’t need surgery. Jack confirmed that there was no nerve damage. Just a very deep laceration. He said a resident would come in shortly to clean it, stitch it, and she would be fine.
By the time you stepped back into the hallway, your stomach had settled, but your emotions hadn’t. You couldn’t fucking stand to be here any longer, so you turned on your heel as you headed toward the front of the hospital, needing distance, needing air, needing anything that wasn’t Jack’s face. You felt a stab of guilt because you hadn’t even said goodbye to Lina or Maria.
You were almost at the sliding doors when you heard footsteps behind you.
"Wait!" You kept walking, but he caught up quickly, breath uneven. "Hey—wait," he said again, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. "Please. Just… let me explain."
You glared at him.
"Wait? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been ignoring me."
Jack had never seen you mad before, and he knew he was about to have his ass handed to him.
"I swear I haven’t been ignoring you," he said, hands lifting slightly in a helpless gesture. "I’ve just been a little busy." He waved vaguely at the hospital around you.
"How could you not tell me about this?"
"I wanted to. I swear I did. I just… wanted to tell you when everything was figured out."
"Figured out?"
"I literally just started a couple of days ago," he said. "There’s still a lot to figure out, and everything is still completely up in the air, and I didn’t want to dump all of that on you until it was done and settled."
"Why?" you demanded.
"Sweetheart," he pleaded, and his hands reached to cradle your face. "I was going to reach out to you when everything was settled. When this still wasn’t a mess. When I wasn’t living out of a suitcase in corporate housing or juggling paperwork or dumping my car at my parents or trying to figure out who’s gonna rent my house in Pittsburgh."
"Don’t call me that!" you hissed, pulling away from him. Jack stepped back like you had struck him in the face. "I can’t believe you moved here without talking to me about it!" you growled. Your heart was racing, blood pumping through your veins so intensely, you could feel your hands start to shake. "You just made this unilateral decision— something that affects both of us by the way—without even factoring me into it?"
"I wasn’t trying to cut you out," he huffed, shaking his head. "I just… wanted to come to you when it was real. Not something I was still scrambling to figure out." He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
"So you just don’t respond to me?" you shot back, voice shaking. "You leave me hanging for a week, having me relive that night we had and wondering what I did wrong."
Jack’s eyes widened, but you didn’t stop.
"God, Jack— I thought that night was supposed to… I don’t know… mean something. And instead I’m sitting there replaying every second like a fucking idiot while you disappear."
"I’m sorry," he said immediately. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I swear—"
You cut him off.
"Well, I hope you didn’t move here for me," you spat out, nostrils flaring and fists clenched.
He was genuinely thrown. This wasn’t how he’d pictured this going at all. In his mind, this was supposed to be a gesture— him closing the distance, finally stepping toward something real for the two of you. And the longer he stood there, the more that confusion twisted into irritation he couldn’t quite hide.
"Of course I did. I did this for you!" he said, shaking his head angrily and snapping at you harsher than he meant to.
"What am I, your mother?" you scoffed, and rolled your eyes. "I don’t want you to do things for me. I want you to do things with me," Jack watched tears fall down the curve of your cheek, and you swiped your thumb under your eye, "you’re acting like you did this grand, romantic thing, but you didn’t even think about how it would land. It’s selfish! You just moved, made plans, changed your life, and somehow I’m supposed to be grateful you remembered to not tell me at all?"
His face crumbled. You didn’t even look mad anymore; you just looked sad, which made him hate himself even more.
"Fuck—I almost—" a sob lurched out of your throat. "I almost slept with someone tonight, Jack. Because I thought whatever we had was truly over. Because you didn’t communicate a damn thing!"
Jack felt his heart crack in two. The words I almost slept with someone kept echoing in his head, each one hitting harder than the last. He couldn’t breathe right.
"O-okay," he stuttered, his voice feeling raw and used.
"Okay?" you repeated, and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. "Unbelievable. I just told you I almost fucked someone else, and that’s your response?"
"Well, what the hell do you want me to say?" he said through clenched teeth, "That the idea of another man putting his hands on you makes me physically ill? Because it does." His hand dragged over his mouth, trembling, and then he let it fall to his side so he could actually speak, chest rising and falling too fast. "I would hate it. God, it would make me sick."
"You have no right to feel that way."
"You don’t get to tell me how I’m supposed to feel," Jack snarled. "What if it was me telling you this? How would you feel?
Of course you’d hate it. Of course the thought of him with someone else would tear something open in you. You didn’t need to analyze it because the reaction of jealous rage was instinctive, almost physical.
But he didn’t need to fucking hear that.
You dropped your gaze from his face, and your eyes went straight to the ground. "I… I need to go home," you murmured, and your head swam a little when you spoke. "I’m still—" you gestured vaguely, trying to find the right word, "slightly drunk. And tired. And I just… I can’t do this right now."
"Y-yeah," he said quickly, almost tripping over the word. "That’s fine. We can talk tomorrow. I can come over, or—"
"No."
It came out softer than you expected, but firmer too. Jack’s hazel eyes were frantic, panic flickering across his face.
"Tell me how to fix this."
You finally looked up at him, eyes shining.
"You can’t."
For the next 7 days, Jack Abbot groveled. He called. He texted. He left voicemails you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. He sent you a bouquet of flowers to your apartment every single morning.
By day 4, your 78-year-old neighbor across the hall had knocked on your door with the tight smile of someone trying very hard to be polite.
"Honey," she’d said, eyeing the hallway. "These flowers are blocking the fire exit."
You’d apologized profusely, gathered the armfuls of flowers and whatever‑the‑hell else he’d sent, and hauled them inside. By day 5, he started sending them to your office as well. Today’s delivery arrived before you’d even finished your first cup of coffee. Nia (a beauty columnist) hovered by your desk the way people do when they’re pretending not to be nosy but absolutely are. Today’s bouquet was impossible to ignore—a ridiculous explosion of lilies and roses.
Nia reached for the little envelope tucked between the stems.
"Mind if I…?" she asked, already sliding the card out. You didn’t stop her. At this point, the flowers were basically office décor. Nia read the note once. Then again, slower. Her eyebrows climbed higher with each pass.
"You must have some serious magic pussy…" she whistled, and then gave you a sugary sweet smile.
Your eyes darted around the room "Jesus, Nia, can you keep your voice down?" You glanced over your shoulder and shifted into your seat to check if anyone else was listening.
She set the card down gently. You hesitated before picking it up—just long enough to pretend you didn’t care what it said. But your fingers closed around it anyway
I know I messed up. I know you know I messed up. I’m sorry. Please talk to me.
"This man is on one hell of an apology tour," she said. "When are you just going to fucking forgive him? He’s hot, is a doctor, and has a full head of hair. I don’t think you understand how rare that is in this city."
"How do you even know what he looks like?"
She didn’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. With the confidence of someone who had absolutely nothing to hide, she spun her laptop around and opened a tab she’d clearly had ready.
The NewYork-Presbyterian staff directory filled the screen with rows of polished headshots and professional bios. And there he was.
Dr. Jack Abbot, Emergency Medicine Physician
Department
Emergency Department
Area(s) of Practice / Specialty
Emergency Medicine, Trauma Surgery, Emergency Surgical Intervention
Undergraduate Education
West Point – The U.S. Military Academy
Medical School
Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine
Residency
Walter Reed National Military Medical Center – Trauma Surgery
Fellowship
Mayo Clinic – Trauma & Critical Care
Previous Appointment
Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center (PMTC) – Senior Attending
Military Service
Former U.S. Army Medical Officer Commendations for field trauma response and rapid‑deployment surgical care
Nia tapped the photo. "See? Hot. Competent. Gainfully employed. And combat experience? Girl…" She turned the laptop fully toward you. "…if you don’t want him, pass him along to me."
You let out a long, audible sigh.
"Do you know the last time a man apologized to me like this?" Nia asked, eyes wide with faux sincerity.
"When?"
"Never. Not once. The closest I’ve ever gotten was a guy texting me 'my bad doll," after ghosting me for three weeks. And that was only because he butt‑dialed me first. Meanwhile, you’re over here acting like accepting an apology is a felony. Babe, at some point you’re gonna have to take your pride, fold it neatly, and shove it somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine. There’s clearly a reason he didn’t tell you, and you need to find out why!"
You reached for your phone, the weight of the past week settling in your chest. Nia watched you with raised brows, like she already knew what you were about to do. Your thumb hovered for a second (your pride putting up one last, half‑hearted fight) and then you typed the only thing you had the energy for.
You: No more flowers
Your message sent, the screen still glowing in your hand, you barely had time to exhale before it buzzed.
DO NOT ANSWER: Okay. No more flowers.
Another vibration, almost immediately after:
DO NOT ANSWER: How about coffee tomorrow, then?
You groaned under your breath.
You: I’m trying to be mad at you
DO NOT ANSWER: I know. I’m trying to make that as difficult as possible.
And damn it… he was succeeding.
You: I don’t need a coffee
DO NOT ANSWER: Okay, maybe not coffee. Tea? Hot chocolate? A smoothie? A Capri Sun. I’m flexible.
A twitch pulled at the corner of your mouth. You hated him (well, not really). But, before you could talk yourself out of it, you switched apps to Google Maps, zoomed in on a spot, tapped it, and hit Share.
You switched back to the chat with Jack and hit send.
You: Meet me here tomorrow during my lunch break. I can spare you approximately ten minutes
Three dots appeared instantly.
DO NOT ANSWER: I’ll be there.
Jack was early. You’d picked a place just a few blocks from the Hearst Tower—practical, considering your office was inside the building. He’d taken a seat by the window and was half‑focused on his phone, texting his property manager back. She’d just sent over information for prospective tenants moving from Maryland: early thirties, steady jobs, good credit, they made three times the rent, and had a dog. Solid people. The kind you didn’t have to worry about. They were interested in starting the lease in August.
He was in the middle of typing Looks good to me when the door opened, and you walked in. When you walked in, he almost didn’t recognize you. You were so… corporate, wearing a well-fitted blue blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, heels clicking against the tile, and your hair was pulled into a sleek bun. Whenever he’d visited you in the past, it had always been over a long weekend. You weren’t going into the office then, so he’d only ever seen your home setup and you wearing soft sweaters or old college tees. You gave him a huge smile (at least, he thought it was for him) right before a voice boomed behind him.
"Ma chérie!" My darling
An older man swept past Jack and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground.
"Ça fait tellement longtemps," he said, kissing both your cheeks. I haven’t seen you in so long
"Je sais, je sais. J’ai beaucoup voyagé cet été," you said slipping effortlessly into French." I know, I know. I travelled a lot for work this summer. He clicked his tongue, squeezing your shoulders.
"Tu travailles trop," he scolded warmly. You work too much
"Peut‑être," you said with a small shrug. "Mais, j’ai des factures à payer," Maybe, but I’ve got bills to pay.
"Tu paies beaucoup trop pour ce petit appartement," he huffed. "C’est du vol." You pay way too much for your tiny apartment. It’s robbery.
Jack had no idea what was being said, but then you faced him, switching back to English.
"Jean‑Luc, this is Dr. Abbot," you said, gesturing between them. "He just moved here from Pittsburgh."
Jack stood immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket as he reached out to shake the older man’s hand. "Please…just call me Jack. It’s a pleasure to meet you."
Jean‑Luc gave him a firm, approving handshake, the kind that said he’d already decided whether he liked Jack or not. You smiled at Jack, stepping closer. "This place has the best madeleines you’ll ever have in your entire life."
"She is too kind," Jean-Luc said, his French accent thick.
You laughed softly and slid into your seat, smoothing your skirt as you settled in. Jack followed, taking the chair across from you. The moment he sat, Jean‑Luc was already hovering beside the table with a notepad he absolutely didn’t need.
"And what will you have, ma belle?"
"Comme d’habitude," you said. My usual
"And you, monsieur?"
"Black coffee,” Jack said. “Just… black."
"Très bien. I will bring you two some madeleines," he declared, tapping the table once before heading toward the counter. Alright then
Jack looked at you with a grateful smile. "Thanks for seeing me today. I really appreciate it."
"You now have nine minutes," you said, glancing at the clock, and Jack’s heart swooped down into his gut when he remembered that he was on a time crunch.
"I’m sorry," he said, settling into his chair. "I should’ve told you what was going on. I tend to pull the trigger the second I’ve made up my mind about something. It’s one of my worst qualities. Maybe it’s the military in me… but when you’re trained to make split‑second decisions all the time, you just… do it. You don’t talk it through. You don’t wait. But…" there was a pause that made your insides flip in anticipation, "that wasn’t fair to you."
"Why the silence the last few days?"
"Because I’m a fucking idiot. I swear, I was going to reach out after I wrapped my brain around the move. But, that's not a good enough excuse. I fucked up."
You pretended not to react, not to soften, not to let any of his apology land too close. Instead, you glanced at the clock again, as if you were simply keeping him on schedule.
"Mmhm," you said lightly, folding your hands on the table, "how long have you been thinking about moving to New York?"
"A while," he admitted. "Longer than you probably think."
You kept your expression neutral, almost bored. "Define a while."
"Even before you," he said. "Remember the day we met?" Your eyes flicked up, just slightly. Of course you remembered. "I was visiting that patient at Mount Sinai," he continued. "One of my old mentors was consulting on the case. While I was there, he told me about a job opening. At the time, I wasn’t seriously considering it. It was just… a question. A hypothetical. Plus, it wasn’t the first time he’d asked, either. He’s been bringing it up for a couple of years now…every time we crossed paths, every time he heard about a job. I always brushed it off."
You kept staring at him pointedly, and he felt a frown pulling his brows down.
"But then you and I happened," he said quietly, watching you pull your lip between your teeth. "And suddenly it wasn’t hypothetical anymore. It became something I actually wanted to explore. So... I started putting some feelers out. Talking to people. Seeing what was possible."
"Why didn’t you end up at Mount Sinai?"
"Because it was for a night‑shift attending position," he said. "And I’m finally at a point where I want to just work the day shift. I’ve done my time with nights. Years of them. I’m ready for something different.” He could hear his pulse throb in his neck and hear it his ears. "And I don’t want to build a life here if I’m going to be awake when the person, I lo—" he stopped, inhaling sharply as if weighing his words. "—care about the most is asleep."
He watched your lip wobble, and he knew you were trying not to let your walls crumble. Jack exhaled, running a thumb along the rim of his coffee cup. "And then when I saw you last time… it just kind of made sense for me to finally respond to NewYork‑Presbyterian about their job offer."
"How did PTMC take it?"
"They didn’t love it."
You raised a brow, waiting for the real part.
"Robby was pissed," Jack admitted, a contemplative look settling across his handsome features. "Like… actually pissed. He kept saying I was abandoning ship, that the timing sucked. He went on this whole rant about loyalty and how he 'saw this coming' the second I started flying to New York more often." Jack continued, shoulders softening, “But, after he got it out of his system, he calmed down. He said he understood why I was doing it. That it made sense for me. That I’d earned the right to make a move like this. That I deserve to be happy."
A whirlwind of emotions swirled in your chest as you processed his words. You didn’t know what to say, so you hummed quietly in thought, and Jean‑Luc returned just in time to break the tension—two cups balanced expertly in one hand, and a small plate of madeleines in the other. He set your cup down first, then Jack’s black coffee, then the warm, golden pastries between you both.
"Voilà," he announced proudly, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he gestured toward the delicate plate. You responded with a soft, appreciative thank you. He gave Jack a playful wink before smoothly drifting back behind the counter to attend to other orders.
Jack’s gaze was fixed on one of the small, beautifully crafted madeleines resting on the plate. He reached out with a tentative hand, his fingers lingering briefly before he gently picked one up, bringing it close to his lips. He took a cautious bite, and immediately his expression changed—his eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of awe passing across his face. A moment of stunned silence settled before he managed to utter, "Oh fuck," his voice muffled slightly by the crumb still resting on his tongue. He paused, then added with genuine amazement, "You weren’t lying. This is… absolutely incredible."
You allowed yourself the smallest, most satisfied smile, and lifted your drink to your lips.
"I know," you said, picking up a madeleine, "So…where are you living?"
Jack wiped a stray crumb from his thumb. "My corporate apartment is in Midtown." You didn’t even try to hide your reaction—your face pulled into a subtle cringe before you could stop it.
"What? What’s wrong with Midtown?"
You lifted the madeleine to your mouth, taking a slow, thoughtful bite before answering.
"It’s Midtown."
"Okay, noted. Midtown is… Midtown."
You plastered on a soft smile that you hoped conveyed nonchalance.
"I’m actually touring some places this weekend."
"Oh yeah?" you asked, tone light but eyes sharp. "Where?"
He made a vague gesture with his hand. "I don’t know. Around. It’s kind of overwhelming. Every neighborhood feels like a different planet."
You nodded, because that was true. New York wasn’t one city—it was a million stacked on top of each other, all pretending to get along.
"Well," you said, setting the rest of your madeleine down, "the hospital is on 68th. It’s probably smart to look on the Upper East Side. Short commute, quiet streets, decent coffee, fewer tourists."
"You know, I remember you once told me that the Upper East Side is basically just a neighborhood full of old, boring, rich people sitting around in their fancy apartments."
"Well, sounds like you’d fit right in then, doesn't it?" you teased, and Jack felt like his entire body was swelling with this choking feeling of immense love for you. He glanced over to you with an annoyed little scowl. Before he could fire back, your phone chimed with the alarm you’d set earlier flashed across the screen.
You sighed, more annoyed at reality than at him. "I really was serious when I said I didn’t have much time," you said, standing and lifting your hand like you wanted to touch his cheek the way you usually did when you would say goodbye. Jack squinted his eyes in search of an explanation, so you gave it to him. "I’ve got one of those meetings where you have to prep before the meeting… and then prep for the prep. All that bullshit."
"Right. Of course. I get it." He started to rise from his chair, polite to a fault, but you lifted a hand.
"No! Really. Stay seated. Enjoy yourself." You nodded toward the plate of madeleines. "Jean‑Luc will be offended if you don’t. It was nice to see you."
Jack hesitated, then eased back into his chair, watching you with that quiet, earnest focus he always had when he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. You headed toward the door, but just before you stepped out, something tugged at you…enough to make you turn back.
Jack looked up, looking hopeful in a way he didn’t try to hide.
"Thank you for your apology, and um the flowers," you said with a longing behind your eyes that almost startled him. "I’m sorry about your shoes the other night… and I’m happy you’re here."
Despite the ache that he now felt in his chest when he watched you leave the bakery…the anxiety that Jack felt earlier had subsided.
"What do you think?" Jack asked you.
You hadn’t seen him in person since the bakery, which was about a week ago. The two of you had kept in touch, with some texts here and there. It was comfortable in a way that made you a little nervous if you thought about it too long. Then, yesterday, he’d asked if you’d come with him to see one of the places he was considering signing a lease for. There was a part of you that thought absolutely not. It felt too intimate, too couple‑coded, too… something. But he’d practically begged, saying he wanted your opinion, that he trusted your judgment more.
So here you were standing in the middle of what had to be one of the most stunning apartments you had ever been in. And you weren’t even a Manhattan girl (Brooklyn through and through), but this place was fucking beautiful.
You still couldn’t believe how he’d gotten in here. Well…actually, you could. He’d used a broker.
Jack, in all his sweet, brand‑new‑to‑New‑York innocence, had hired a broker and had absolutely no idea that brokers were basically legal pickpockets with business cards. They charged you thousands of dollars to unlock a door and say things like 'great natural light' while pointing at a window that faced a brick wall. But somehow, miraculously, this broker had pulled off a private showing for an apartment that wasn’t even listed yet. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Washer and dryer inside the unit. Massive kitchen. Sunlight everywhere. The kind of crown molding that made you want to lie down on the floor and weep.
You’d seen the price and felt your soul briefly leave your body. Then you remembered Jack had probably doubled his salary by moving here.
And, objectively… for New York? It was actually a good deal. You turned slowly, taking in the space again, trying not to let your jaw drop.
"Jack," you said, almost laughing, "this place is insane."
"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" the broker chimed in, stepping closer with the kind of bright, polished smile only someone who lived off commission could pull off. "The couple who lived here just bought a brownstone and needed more space after their second baby. But they really didn’t want to give this place up."
"Yeah, no shit," you muttered under your breath.
"When was the last full inspection?" Jack asked, arms crossed, posture straight.
"Uh… last year. Everything passed," she replied, looking surprised. It wasn’t your typical question.
But then again, Jack wasn’t your typical guy. He gave her thoughtful nod, the kind that said he was filing the information away in some internal system only he understood.
"Water pressure? Any issues with the boiler? And what’s the average utility cost in winter?" he continued, and you watched him, amused.
You could practically see the military training in the way he moved through the apartment, and was checking corners, testing windows, opening closets, scanning for anything out of place. He even tapped the wall once, listening for something only he understood.
The broker followed him, slightly breathless. "The couple kept the place in excellent condition."
Jack paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Any noise complaints? Any future construction planned on the block? And what’s the emergency exit route from this floor?"
You almost laughed, and then the broker’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen, winced, then looked back at you both.
"I’m so sorry—I need to run to another showing across the street. Feel free to take your time. And if you leave before I get back, just let the front desk know."
She was already halfway to the door, heels clicking, still typing something on her phone.
Jack nodded politely. "Thank you."
You echoed it, and then the door shut behind her, leaving the apartment suddenly quiet. Sunlight spilled across the hardwood, warm and golden, and the air felt… different. More intimate. Like the space had shrunk around just the two of you. Jack exhaled, hands on his hips, scanning the room one more time with that same tactical focus.
You couldn’t help it—you smiled. He had no idea how endearing it was to watch him take this so seriously. He looked so good right now. His hair fell slightly forward, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw.
"Why Gramercy Park?" you asked. "This makes your commute to the hospital like… thirty minutes. You don’t want to be walking distance like you were in Pittsburgh?"
Jack didn’t even hesitate. "It’s easy access to Boerum Hill."
Your smile dropped before you could stop it because that’s where you lived in Brooklyn.
"What? You want me to lie?" Jack asked, his eyes flickering nervously all over your face.
You turned toward the window, needing a second. The view opened onto the private park, and it looked all so impossibly serene for Manhattan. You stared at it, trying to control the emotion that was swelling in your chest. It was a mixture of frustration and longing that threatened to overflow. Your shoulders trembled, and Jack stepped closer without a word, pausing just behind you. "I’m sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn’t have said that. I just…" His words trailed off. You drew a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, to find the strength to speak without breaking completely. After a long pause, you finally managed to steady your voice, though it still trembled with emotion.
"You’re going to regret this, Jack," you said, your voice thick with the weight of your fears. "You’re going to wake up one day and realize that you left your entire life in Pittsburgh behind. Your job at PMTC and your friends, like Robby and Dana. I worry you’re going to resent me someday…for being the reason you moved, for pulling you away from everything you knew." You closed your eyes briefly, wishing your negative thoughts away, but they lingered, "and honestly, I’m terrified you’ll end up hating me," your fingers were fiddling anxiously at your sides, and every moment that passed was making you feel worse and worse. "I’m worried that this choice will make you see me as holding you back or somehow making you settle. I don’t want that. I just… I just need you to understand what’s really at stake here, because I care about you."
Jack’s gentle hands reached out, and before you could fully grasp what was happening, he took hold of your shoulders, turning you softly but firmly to face him. His eyes searched yours, and a slow, genuine smile crept across his face.
"Hate you?" As he looked into your eyes, Jack let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Sweetheart. You’re overthinking this." Your whole body tensed at his statement; the muscles in your back going taut. "Honestly, I’m laughing because I can’t believe you’re worried about all of that right now." He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering gently on your cheek. "Listen to me," he continued, "Pittsburgh or New York—hell, even if I was on the moon—that doesn’t matter to me. What matters is you. Just you."
He paused, tugging at your hands to get you to look at him, and when you did, he took a deep breath. "I’ve been trying to tell you this, but I guess I’ve been scared to say it outright. The truth is, I’m so in love with you. And I really need you to understand that. I love you," you stared up at him, eyes wide as you let the words settle over you. "The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be anywhere else but here…with you."
Your eyes filled with tears, and you took a shaky breath, your heart pounding fiercely in your chest. "Are you sure, Jack? I mean, really sure?" Your eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. Was he really ready? What about his late wife?
"I’m 44 years old, for God’s sake. I’m old enough and have been through enough to know how I feel about you. I didn’t think I’d ever be lucky enough—or privileged enough—to feel this again. But I do. I love you."
A wave of emotion washed over you, and despite the tears streaming down your face, you couldn’t help but smile through them. Your lips trembled as you looked up at him, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. "Please," you whispered, voice trembling. "Say it again. Please." Your hands reached up to gently grasp his shirt.
"I love you," he repeated.
“I’m scared of saying it back right now. But I promise you. I feel the same way."
Jack shook his head, not in disagreement, but in understanding. "You don’t owe me the words. Say them when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere." You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Your lips met, and you wondered if that jolt of awareness that shot through you every time his lips touched yours would fade over time. He pried your mouth open with his tongue, and your response was immediately allowing him entrance and delving your fingers through his soft locks while his hands slid to your waist, drawing you closer. "Can we really do this again?" you whispered through bruised lips.
"Yes," he mumbled against your lips, and started kissing a trail down the column of your neck, and you gasped when he nipped at your collarbone.
You tugged on his hair, and Jack groaned, the sound slipping out of him before he could stop it. You pulled again, firmer this time, and his breath hitched. "If you ever shut me out ever again, or leave me waiting, or make me guess what’s going on… It’s seriously over. Lose my number. Do you understand me?"
Jack nodded immediately, almost instinctively. "Yes, ma’am."
You could feel it in the way he straightened, the way his hands tightened at your waist, the way he understood you weren’t joking. Not even a little.
His thumb started circling over your pulse point in your wrist. "Are you going to let me show you how sorry I am?"
You felt your pulse quicken, the heat pooling low in your belly as the implication of his words hung in the air. He pushed you against the wall, and the way he was looking at you now, with that fierce intensity, was enough to make your breathing labored. Then he whispered close to your ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a bolt of electricity through you, "I like this dress." The world around you faded, leaving only the sound of his breath mingling with the rhythm of your heart.
You inhaled sharply, heat flooding your cheeks in a rush of shyness and exhilaration. "Yeah?" you managed to stammer, the vulnerability of the moment making your stomach flutter with a mix of nervousness and desire. You hadn’t even meant to wear it, not really. A sundress wasn’t your usual style. It was too soft, too pretty, too feminine for the version of yourself you usually showed the world. You were usually all about soft tees, lived‑in denim, and scuffed Converse you refused to replace. But New York had been a wall of heat and humidity all week, and when you’d slipped it on that morning, it made you feel… light. Beautiful, even.
"I like it very much," he continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note, yet it was laced with a playful edge. You then pulled one of the straps down your dress slowly, hinting to him what you wanted. He raised his eyebrows at you, and then you started pulling the other strap down, to reveal your breasts. You gave him a naughty smile. He took the sight in front of him, and licked his lips. You didn’t t even need to see his cock to know it was straining in his jeans at the sight.
"Mmm, I missed these," he said with a wild grin. He dropped his head and groaned into your chest before leaning in to put a nipple in his mouth, and began circling his tongue on it.
"Jack…" you whimpered as his name fell from your lips. It felt so good to be touched, and you felt the throb between your legs becoming painful.
"Fuck. What is it, baby? What do you need" He panted against your nipple while he grabbed the other one with his hand to pinch.
"I’m—I need—" you whispered, soft and trembling with want. "I need you to touch me. It’s been so long." Jack popped your nipple out of his mouth and nudged your legs apart with his knee. He was clearly worked up, pressing his own very apparent arousal to your center.
"Christ," he muttered as your hips bucked against him, desperate for more friction. His hand found the slit of your dress and dipped beneath the fabric, touching the edge of your panties, and you felt your arousal growing. It was fucking difficult to suppress. You held his gaze, unflinching, and your clit was throbbing under the weight of his eye contact. His eyes darkened, and you knew he could feel how drenched your panties were, the fabric clinging around your pussy. Soon enough, his hands were roaming again, his tongue brushing against yours, and the heat was building again.
"Fuck, baby. You’re so wet," he murmured, two fingers rubbing firm circles over the damp fabric of your panties. "This all for me?"
A breathy 'yes' slipped past your lips in response, and you grabbed onto his shoulders for support. He slid his fingers beneath the cotton and pumped two thick fingers inside your warm hole, stretching you open possessively, and your slick coated his fingers immediately. You moaned his name on repeat as he set a relentless pace with his fingers.
"God damn, sweetheart. Look at you," Jack said, watching you squirm around as he fucked you with his fingers, slowly and expertly, and with that fucking immaculate patience and skill he had. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew the broker could come back at any moment.
But right now? You couldn’t bring yourself to care. If anything, the idea of her walking in on you was clearly turning the both of you on…even more.
"Fuck," he whispered, cheeks tinting pink and eyes all wide and dark. You arched into him then, eyes fluttering shut, and your whole body moving without thought. Inferno was the only word that could come to your mind, and you were numb with pleasure as he continued his ministrations. He began moving his thumb against your clit, and the feeling was pure fucking bliss while he whispered encouraging words in your ear with your breasts pressed against his chest. At this point, you had buried your face completely in his neck and continued to thrust your hips to match the rhythm of his fingers.
"I’m—I’m g-gonna come," you gasped out, looking at him through lowered lashes. "I’m c-close," you were panting and moaning in anticipation of release, your vision swimming faster as his wrist pumped faster. You were right there, and then he dragged his hand from between your legs.
You nearly whimpered, your walls clenching around their own emptiness, and your eyebrows pulled together immediately, meeting in the middle as confusion flickered across your face at the sudden loss.
"I love you," he whispered, kissing the underside of your chin. His voice was so hypnotic and sensual—it felt like a caress against your skin.
I love you too.
Then he dropped to his knees, and the sight alone sent a jolt through you. He placed both of his hands on the curves of your hips and held you steadily while he looked up at you with a devilish smirk, pushing up your dress, and lifted one of your legs to drape over his shoulder as he settled his face between your legs. He replaced his fingers with his mouth to lick a firm stripe up your pussy, making you cry out. It was downright pornographic the way you screamed out his name without shame when he sucked your clit in his mouth. You started thrashing around, but Jack kept you still with a bruising grip on your hips.
"Fucking come for me," he slurred against your pussy. "I need to taste it."
At the sound of his voice, something in you reacted before you even had time to think. Every nerve ending snapped to attention the second he told you that he needed it. Your vision went white as your release tore through you, and Jack worked you through it— licking and sucking and moaning into your cunt. He was relentless, lapping up your release. Every single last drop.
When you finally slowly came back to earth, your chest was rising and falling, breath ragged. You felt Jack press a chaste kiss to your clit before resting his forehead against your thigh, breathing you in. His scruff burned the inside of your thighs, and in the back of your mind, you hoped you would feel it for the rest of the day.
"God, I missed your perfect pussy," he murmured, his voice all soothing as he pressed gentle kisses against your inner thigh. Then he stood up, putting your panties back into place, and his hands slid up your sides with deliberate care before he leaned in to capture your mouth again, where you could taste and smell yourself in the kiss. When he pulled away, he licked his fingers into his mouth. You lifted the straps of your dress and looked away, feeling embarrassed, covering your face with your hands, overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half‑smile, and you barely had time to register it before the door swung open.
"Great, you guys are still here!"
You practically jumped. Jack straightened so fast it was almost comical. And you tried to smooth your hair, your dress, your entire existence into something that didn’t scream I was just about to get dicked down.
The broker stepped inside, cheerful and oblivious, tablet in hand. "Any more questions?"
Jack didn’t miss a beat. His voice was steady, professional, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you. "No, I think we’re settled here. Can you send me the application link?"
Her face lit up. "Absolutely," she said, already tapping away. "I’ll send it over right now."
You nodded, trying to look composed, even though your pulse was still racing and your lips definitely felt a little too warm.
Jack glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and there was an exchange of heat when his eyes floated over to yours. Like he knew exactly how flustered you were and was enjoying every second of it.
And you knew, without him saying a word, that he wasn’t done with you.
"Fuck, feels so good," you whined, face smushed into your pillow, ass high up in the air as Jack continued to pound into your cunt.
Jack wished he could have been slower, more tender, and gentler when he got back to your apartment. He had wanted to make love to you, but it didn’t help that you had dropped to your knees as soon as you locked the door behind you to take his cock down your throat. The broken sound of his voice only seemed to spur you on, and he could feel himself throbbing in your mouth, the pressure building as you found a sweet spot that had each snap of his hips get desperate as he thrust roughly into your sweet mouth until he hit the back of your throat. He was so close to coming that he had to roughly yank you off him. After that, he practically flung you on your bed, with you shrieking in delight as he did.
Next time, he would be more careful, and more patient. However, right now, you both seemed desperate for the same thing—especially with your pleas for him to fill you up and make you feel whole. He was a man after all, and that was a request he could easily fulfill. He grabbed your soft flesh, kneading your ass in his hands, and picking up the pace of his thrusts as he watched your ass jiggle against him.
"Always so wet and tight for me, baby, fuck." He gritted through his teeth, while your fingers tangled into the sheets, pushing your hips back into his. Jack could tell you were getting close, judging with your moans, and by how your legs were shaking. And Jack was selfish; he wanted to watch your face when you came—wanted to see that beautiful face of yours.
Suddenly, he withdrew from you, and the pained sound you made nearly killed him, but he quickly twisted you around, so your back was flat against your bed, and he quickly went back to fucking you, burying himself to the hilt.
The hazel pools of his eyes were filled with so much want and need as they locked with yours. "Fuck me. I can’t believe you’re all mine." His voice was thick and raspy between his heavy breaths. He told you how much he loved you, how perfect you were, how much he had missed you (and your pussy). He could hear how wet you were getting from the praise, and he could even see his cock shining in your wetness after every stroke. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pawed at his biceps and shoulders, telling him you were his.
He began to fuck you with new vigor, awestruck and mesmerized by the way you were shuddering beneath him. "Look so pretty taking my cock. My good girl." You pinched your eyebrows together, spewing out weak, whimpering nothings. "D-don’t stop. Oh my god, p-please don’t s-stop," you begged, your breath coming in quick gasps. You kept chanting out nonsense, almost sounding delirious, and he had never heard you sound so needy before, and it was stirring something primal in him.
"I want to fucking hear you scream for me. Let me hear it," he was pumping into you forcefully, not even sure where the possessive edge of his voice was coming from.
"Jack!" you cried out, and then his favorite thing happened, and he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, your body erupting in complete pleasure, and he got to watch your eyes roll back into your skull. The sight was too much for him. Heat pooled in his gut, and the sensation of your warm cunt strangling him caused Jack to immediately spill himself inside of you with a guttural groan. His cock was throbbing as he pushed every last drop of his spend inside you. His thighs trembled from the intensity, and his neck was red and splotchy, as if he'd just completed a marathon.
He raggedly caught his breath and slumped his head against your chest, starting to trail wet kisses along your shoulders. His fingers trembled slightly as he propped himself up and turned your face toward him to lean in and kiss you, slow and deep. His tongue moved with desperation while his body pressed tighter against you, like he couldn’t get close enough. After a few moments, he slipped out of you, and he took his time cleaning you up as if you were made of glass. You melted against him, and he tenderly kissed the tip of your nose while you rested your head on his shoulder and placed your hand on his chest. He could tell you were feeling overwhelmed by the moment, and shyly kissed his shoulder before drifting off to sleep.
Jack lay beside you, his heart still racing from the exhilarating events of the day. Glancing at you, a soft smile spread across his face. He brushed a few strands of hair from your forehead, fascinated by how serene and beautiful you looked in the dim light of your apartment.
The next morning, he woke slowly, the kind of slow that only happens after real rest—the kind he hadn’t felt in months. For a split second, with his eyes still closed, he thought he was back in his corporate apartment.
Then he inhaled.
And the sheets didn’t smell like detergent and nothingness. They smelled like you. His eyes opened, and your room came into focus. He glanced at his watch on the nightstand and blinked. 9:23 a.m. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept eight straight hours. His body felt almost foreign in its calm.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair, and quietly pulled on his shirt, his boxers, and placed his prosthetic back on, before stepping out of the bedroom.
The soft clatter of something in the kitchen guided him, and when he rounded the corner, there you were with your hair a little messy, wearing only a Northwestern t-shirt and some panties, humming under your breath, completely absorbed in whatever you were making.
He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.
"Good morning," he murmured.
You smiled without turning around. "Good morning."
"Why didn’t you wake me?" he asked, voice still rough with sleep.
"Because you looked peaceful. Didn’t have the heart to ruin it."
He reached for something on the counter, clearly intending to help, and you smacked his hand lightly.
"You’re a guest," you scolded.
Jack rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over his jaw as a thought hit him.
"Do you have an extra toothbrush?"
"There should be one under the bathroom sink. I keep a few extras."
He gave you another soft kiss, this one closer to the corner of your mouth, and padded back down the hall. When he opened the cabinet, he found a neatly packaged spare toothbrush sat right on top of a stack of folded towels. He brushed his teeth, rinsed, and without really thinking about it, set the toothbrush down next to yours on the counter. The sight of them side by side made him smile. Before, he always had to dig his toothbrush out of his toiletry bag, unzip the same worn pocket, and go through the same routine of unpacking and repacking whenever he visited you. Now, he didn’t have to do that anymore. He made a mental note. He would buy you a new toothbrush for his place too. One that would sit next to his, waiting for you, the same way this one waited for him. He washed his face quickly, then dried off and headed back out.
By the time he returned, you’d already set the table— two plates, two mugs, a small pitcher of orange juice, and a pot of coffee that smelled like heaven. You gently placed a giant omelet in the center of the table, and you both settled into your seats. Emotion swelled in his chest at your thoughtfulness.
"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a warm kiss to your palm.
You snorted. "Jack… it’s just eggs."
"It’s not," he said softly.
And when you looked up at him, really looked, he hoped you understood what he really meant.
Thank you for forgiving me.
Thank you for letting me wake up next to you.
Thank you for giving me another chance.
Thank you for being you.
You leaned in to give him a kiss. "You’re welcome."
As you ate, conversations drifted effortlessly, punctuated by shared smiles. Every so often, Jack’s knee brushed yours under the table, and neither of you bothered to move away. Once the plates were cleared, you both migrated to the couch, sinking into the cushions. The world outside faded away; there was no rush, no deadlines. Just you two lounging around, doing absolutely nothing but soaking in this lazy Sunday. Jack stretched out, his arm draped over the back of the sofa, his gaze drifting lazily as he watched the sunlight filter through the curtains.
Time slipped by unnoticed until the late afternoon finally hit. You had gotten him into this show called Animal Kingdom, claiming that he looked like this Andrew Cody character, and he was definitely sucked in. Jack’s stomach tightened with a reminder—that familiar sense that reality was creeping back in. He sighed softly, sitting up and glancing at the clock. It was time to head back, to face the demands waiting outside this peaceful bubble. He needed to apply for the apartment, stock up on groceries, and get ready for his shift tomorrow. With a reluctant smile, he leaned over to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.
"I probably should head back."
"I know," you pouted.
Jack stood up slowly, brushing his palms against his jeans as if that would make leaving any easier. You walked him to the door, both of you moving reluctantly, like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the idea that the day was ending. At the doorway, he cupped your cheek and kissed you.
"See you soon, handsome," you whispered.
"Absolutely," he promised, thumb brushing your jaw before he finally stepped into the hallway. Jack had just turned, one foot already stepping toward the stairs, when you reached out and caught his wrist, causing him to turn back around to face you.
"I love you." The three words slipped past your lips, and he honestly thought he would have had to wait weeks (maybe even months) before he heard them from you because of what he had put you through.
Jack’s words got lost on his tongue as you stared up at him. Lucky. That was the first thing he felt. Stupidly, undeservingly lucky. Like he’d been handed something he wasn’t sure he’d earned. And underneath that warmth was something stranger, something he hadn’t expected: the echo of the last time someone had said those words to him.
His wife.
For a split second, he braced for the pain he thought he would feel. But it didn’t come. He would always love her. But…she was his past, and you were his future.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the smile on his face must have looked ridiculous. His heart raced, pounding in his chest, trying to process the overwhelming surge of joy that threatened to consume him. "Sweetheart, I love you so much." He pressed his mouth against yours again, and he could feel and taste your smile. Suddenly, it was all tongue and teeth for a minute, both of you losing yourselves in the moment for longer than you should have. He reached past you, fingers curling around your doorknob, and pushed the door open behind you. You stumbled back a step, breath catching, and he followed you inside.
He left an hour later… after certain activities concluded.
ONE YEAR LATER – LONDON, UK
You and Jack were on your first international trip together. It was technically a work trip, but you had extended your stay to make it a vacation with your man. "This is gonna be fun," he had told you. Over the past year, you'd gone on a few domestic adventures together. Like your friend's wedding in Napa or when he introduced you to some of his old military friends, with a ski trip to Big Sky with the group. Naturally, you also returned to Pittsburgh to visit friends and family. About six months ago, Mel started dating your brother, and although it was still a bit strange to process, you were happy for them. The moment your brother told you, you made it very clear, in no uncertain terms, that if he ever hurt her, there would be consequences. He might have been your brother, but she was your person—the one you’d choose every time.
And somewhere along the way, without either of you making a big deal out of it, you started hitting those relationship milestones. A few months back, you’d taken the train to Philly to meet his parents. They were wonderful, so warm, and easy to talk to. His brothers lived in Philly too, and were exactly what you’d expected from the stories he’d told you. Between his two brothers, they had five kids, and watching Jack with his nieces and nephews had been… something.
He was patient in a way you hadn’t seen before, letting little hands tug at his sleeves and climb into his lap without a single complaint. He carried tiny humans on his shoulders, tied shoes, wiped noses, and somehow managed to turn every mundane moment into a game. He was absolutely the fun uncle. He was the one they sprinted toward the second he walked through the door, the one they begged to play with, the one who always said yes, even when he probably shouldn’t.
It made it impossible not to picture him years from now, doing the same thing with his own children who shared his eyes or his smile.
And then there was your family.
Pretty early on, he had come out to your family's vacation lake house in Michigan, trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t nervous. It helped that your brother and Mel had been there. Your parents adored him almost immediately, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest. They would never say it out loud, but you knew you’d dated your fair share of fucking assholes before Jack. Men who were flaky, or chaotic, or charming in all the wrong ways. They were so happy that you had found somebody stable and lovely.
And then came the next milestone… the one that felt both huge and strangely obvious.
Your lease ended three months ago, and as the date crept closer, you’d started doing the mental math. You could renew. You could also find a new place because the rent had fucking skyrocketed. But Jack had beaten you to the conversation. One night, completely casual, he’d mentioned that if you wanted to move into his place in Gramercy, he’d love that. He said it like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was the most natural thing in the world… and somehow, it was.
It felt fast on paper. But in reality, moving in with Jack didn’t feel rushed at all. It felt like the next logical step, the one you’d both been drifting toward without even noticing. You were already spending most nights at his place, and half of your stuff had already migrated into his apartment.
And when you finally moved your things in (feeling slightly like a traitor for leaving Brooklyn), when the last box was unpacked, and your clothes hung next to his, Jack had looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Like he couldn’t believe he got to keep you.
And honestly? You felt the same way.
Life wasn’t perfect, though. You hadn’t gotten the editor position at Cosmopolitan.
As predicted, it went to Michelle. You stayed at Cosmo, but the disappointment sat heavily, so you started looking for jobs. The process was exhausting. Months of applications, rejections, and silence. The market was a mess, and it was frustrating. It made you question yourself more than you wanted to admit. But then your old editor stepped in, and he passed your name along to someone at Harper’s Bazaar, and suddenly you had an interview. Associate Editor, Travel.
When the offer came through after multiple rounds of interviews…it felt unreal. It made you feel like you were finally moving in the right direction. You knew your time as a full editor would come eventually, but this? This was a massive step up from being a columnist. One of the biggest perks of the job was the drop in travel. Since you’d be editing the pieces instead of reporting them, you could finally have a life that wasn’t dictated by flight schedules and hotel check-ins.
And through all of it. Jack had been there. In fact, he’d cried harder than you did when you told him the news. Actual tears, the kind he tried to blink away but couldn’t. You’d never had a man care about your career the way he did, never had someone look at your success like it was their own. The next week, he took you out to a Michelin‑star restaurant to celebrate. He’d made the reservation without telling you, just showed up at the door in a suit that made your knees weak.
You had never been loved like this before.
You currently found yourself at the bar, waiting for the bartender to hand over the drink you’d ordered. You were in London for a couple of days, invited to an exclusive event series curated by Harper’s Bazaar to celebrate women in literature and publishing. Panels with acclaimed authors, conversations with industry leaders, rooms full of people who cared about the same things you did. You felt Jack before you saw him. He came up behind you, warm and a little unsteady, and pressed a slow kiss to your shoulder. His hand slid around your waist, fingers curling with that unmistakable tipsy confidence he only got after a couple of drinks. You could tell he was a little drunk with the way he leaned into you, and the way his nose brushed your skin like he couldn’t help it.
"How much longer until I get to take this dress off of you?" he murmured, voice low and rough against your ear. He was wearing this very sexy dark blue tuxedo that made you want to sit on his face. And, you were wearing the same mauve dress that you wore at the PTMC holiday party. His eyes had raked up and down your body when he saw you step into it earlier this evening.
Heat shot straight through you, but you managed to keep your composure.
Barely.
You tilted your head just enough so only he could hear you and whispered, "I have to schmooze for a little longer… then we can get back to the hotel, and you can do whatever you want with me." You leaned up and pressed a kiss to your favorite spot on his jaw, the place that always made him melt just a little. He turned immediately, aiming for your mouth, and you knew exactly where this was headed. His lips brushed yours, warm and eager, and he was seconds away from escalating it into something, so you quickly put an end to it before it became too heated when the bartender appeared right in front of you with your drink.
You pulled back quickly, cheeks warm, trying not to laugh at the frustrated little sound Jack made under his breath. The bartender set your drink down with a polite smile.
"Would your husband like a drink as well?" he asked.
You grabbed your drink and opened your mouth to correct him (that he was your boyfriend, not your husband), but Jack beat you to it.
"I’d love an Old Fashioned," he said smoothly, like the title fit him perfectly.
The bartender walked away to make Jack’s drink, and you looked up at him with a teasing smile. "I didn’t realize we were married."
"Not yet," he said, like it was already settled. "But we will be."
The words landed so casually, so confidently, that your eyes almost bugged out of your head. Before you could respond, he gently pulled you a few steps away from the bar, just enough to give you both a sliver of privacy.
"Uh… is that a presumptuous thought?" Your heart squeezed. He looked almost unsure, like he was bracing for an answer he didn’t want to hear.
"I honestly never thought it was on the table," you said quietly. "I just assumed you never wanted to get married again."
"Why would you think that?"
You hesitated, then admitted, "You’re a widower. I don’t know," you exhaled, searching for the right words. "I just… thought you wouldn’t want to go through all of that a second time." And the second the words left your mouth, you felt a heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. Because as soon as you said it out loud, you realized how flimsy it sounded. Widowers got remarried all the time. You knew that. You’d seen that. Grown up with it. You shook your head a little, almost at yourself. "I guess that was… dumb."
Jack didn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looked like he understood exactly how your brain had gotten there.
"Do you want to get married someday?" he asked.
"I’ve honestly never really thought about it."
He looked a little hurt at first until you rushed to explain. "No, I mean… my parents were never married. And when my father died, and my mom met my papa, they only got married because it made the adoption with me and my brother easier. Less complicated. I guess marriage was never this… big thing for my mom. Love and respect was the big thing she needed from a partner. And I agree with her, those are the things I need from my person—whether we’re married or not."
"Well…" he said slowly, eyes searching yours, "how would you react if I told you I’ve thought about it. About you and me… getting married in the future," he swallowed, suddenly sounding very nervous. "Does that scare you?"
You shook your head. "It doesn’t scare me. I just… I’m not like most women with Pinterest boards and dream weddings planned out since they were eight."
Jack huffed a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Yeah, I didn’t exactly picture you as the 'color‑coded binder' type of gal."
"And you don’t strike me as the guy who wants all that hoopla either," you added.
"I don’t care about the hoopla. I just care about you. But if you wanted the hoopla. I would do the hoopla."
You hummed, flashing him a flirty smile. "I didn’t expect you to be so… traditional Dr. Abbot."
His cheeks flushed a gentle pink as he looked away briefly, trying to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. You sort of loved knowing that calling him that drove him a little crazy inside.
"Would you let me hyphenate, or are you passionate about women taking their husbands' last names?" you teased.
His blush deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the side. "You wouldn’t have to take my last name," he mumbled, voice slightly muffled but sincere. "Honestly, I think I’d be more surprised if you did."
You chuckled softly, enjoying the way he was blushing and trying to play it cool.
"I don’t like diamonds," you said casually, watching his reaction. "I like—"
Jack didn’t even let you finish.
"Sapphires," he said immediately.
"How did you—"
"You think I don’t pay attention? Your favorite piece of jewelry is that sapphire necklace your grandmother gave you. And blue’s your favorite color."
You felt your cheeks warm, partly from the way he said it and partly from the fact that he was right. You genuinely didn’t know what you’d done to deserve a man like Jack. He noticed fucking everything. You toyed with the rim of your glass, then looked up at him through your lashes. "You know…" you said lightly, "Mrs. Abbot actually doesn’t sound too bad."
"Mrs. Abbot, huh?" he repeated, stepping forward, gently cupping your face, giving you a soft kiss. Then breaking it with a wink, he said, "I think you should hyphenate."
"Sounds like a plan, Dr. Abbot."
Masterlist | Part 1 l Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | You're reading the final part
Surprise! This has actually been done for a while; I just needed the week to wrap up the last section (epilogue and flashforward). I was going to post it next week, but I've kinda put you guys through a lot with the angst, so here is my gift to y'all. Guys, thank you for joining me on this journey, where I created this Pitt AU mini-series and kind of just ran with it. As someone who lives in NYC, bringing Jack into my city was a self-indulgent choice—FOR SURE.
As for readers future engagement ring…Jack would pour his whole heart (and wallet) into it. If it meant finding the perfect blue sapphire for you, he’d track down the exact stone with that deep, luminous shade that felt unmistakably yours. Then he’d take it straight to a jeweler and design the entire ring, making sure every detail was intentional and personal. And if the whole thing ended up costing an insane amount of money, he’d shrug, smile, and say it was worth every penny.
Hii, i love your fanfic. I just want to request jack abbot having his pregnant wife comes to er because shes craving the hospital food, wants to add something that his wife is pregnant with twins so she look really pregnant
💞Tags/Warnings💞: Fluff, slight age-gap, pouty!Reader x AttentiveHusband!Jack Abbot
💞Plot💞: When Y/N shows up in the ER at 1am, she causes a bit of a stir. But it’s a complete misunderstanding..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Momma Abbot
💞A/N💞: Love a good “pregnancy AU” 🤭 Hope you enjoy!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
“Alright!” Jack claps his hands once, getting up from the bed to put the lotion away. “Feet are rubbed, favorite show is on,” He says slowly, going through the checklist in his head as Y/N rubs her stomach lazily, eyeing her dork of a husband.
“Night is approaching…” Jack continues, voice going softer as he walks back over to the bed.
“Mm.. The peanuts want something sweet.” Y/N announces as her husband effortlessly moves the bedsheets on her to tuck her in. It was rapidly approaching 9pm, and Jack had a deal going with Robby. He’d be able to come in at 9:30pm instead of 7pm every night, as long as he wasn’t a minute late.
“Oh yeah?” He smirks a bit. “Let me ask them what they want..” He says and playfully leans over to her stomach, placing his ear against her six month belly.
“Yeah? Huh..” He says quietly as if his kids are talking to him. Y/N stiffens a giggle. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” He whispers to her stomach before looking up at her. “They say they’re okay with ice cream.” He bargains. She snorts.
“That’s not what they’re telling me..” She jokes back. “They’re saying they really want those.. Chocolate chip cookies? From the hospital cafeteria..” She says hopefully. Jack groans at that jokingly.
“I will… Snag a couple while I’m on shift.” He assures as he climbs into bed to hold her. He wanted to come in later because he always wanted to be around to hold Y/N till she fell asleep.
“Promise?” Y/N whispers as she snuggles into his toned chest. He chuckles quietly.
“You will wake up to those cookies, Darlin. Swear on a stack of bibles…” He states gently before kissing her temple.
*
*
*
“Alright, night crawlers!” Jack begins as he steps out of a trauma room. “Give me some..” He proudly celebrates at the most recent save. Shen and Mateo are fast to high five him, riding the high as well.
“Tonight’s moving smooth.” Mateo sighs as if relieved.
“Like butter, my main man.” Shen brags playfully. “Real quiet-“ Jack is quick to slingshot a glove at Shen, hitting him on the shoulder.
“We’re not jinxing this. I’d like to be home on time to wake my wife up..” Jack says firmly as Shen stiffens a laugh, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Got it, got it. No one mention anything.” Shen teases as he walks off to check on other patients with Mateo following in tow.
Jack sighs heavily, moving to lean against the nurses station. “Still standing, solider?” Lena Handzo teases as she looks him up and down from over her reading glasses. Wordlessly, Jack puts up a thumb. Lena chuckles at that.
Jack looks up and eyes the clock on the wall. 1:15am. “This is great practice for when the twins show up.” Jack notes playfully after a moment, and Lena shakes her head in playful disbelief.
“I still can’t believe that happened. What are the chances?!” She laughs.
“I’m just that good..” Jack smirks proudly, making Lena swat at him lightly with her clipboard. Jack laughs before he spots the new fourth-year emergency medicine resident from the corner of his eye.
“Dr. Henderson. Going on break?” He calls to the calm, cool, and collected young man.
“That’s the plan. 15.” Crus assures with a short nod, making Jack give him a halfhearted salut back as a goodbye.
As Crus walks out of the ED, he spots a woman waddling down the long hallway, one hand on her stomach while the other is firmly against the wall. She stops moving after a few more steps, breathing deeply through her nose before moving some more. “Shoot.” He says to himself before he rushes over.
“Ma’am! Hold on now!” He calls, making the woman stop. She turns to face him, leaning her back against the hallway wall, both hands now going under her stomach that looks about eight months along. She’s panting softly, looking exhausted.
“I’ve got you, ma’am.” He assures fast and she looks up at him in confusion.
“Wha..?” She asks, completely lost as she still tries to get her second wind. He moves to grab a wheelchair that was left astray beside a couple of vending machines.
“Let’s get you to a room.” He says already motioning for her to sit down.
“I.. No, I… Cafe.” The woman tries as Crus quickly ushers her into the seat anyways. She can’t move away from him because honestly the wheelchair looks inviting after all the walking she’s done.
“Let’s get you checked.” He says, thinking this is the night he delivers his first ‘ER Baby’.
“Hey! Wait!” The woman finally manages to let out between more even breaths as he pushes her forward and into the ER, away from the cafeteria doors that were so close…
“Got a could be Active Labor..” He calls out, making the woman’s eyes widen.
“What?!” She says as she holds on to her stomach now. Lena looks over along with Dr. Parker Ellis, both women paling at the sight of the woman in the chair.
“Oh… Uh…” Lena pauses slightly, thinking tonight’s the night. “Y/N, honey, you okay? Room 3.” She orders as she rushes over to help.
“Oh shit.” Ellis mutters quietly, running to find Abbot.
“Hey! Wait! I’m okay!” Y/N rushes out as they get her into the room.
Jack stands in the break room, somewhat overhearing the commotion, but shrugging it off because his coffee was almost fully brewed anyways. Shen is walking past, and curiosity gets the better of him.
“Shen!” He calls out. The other man stops his movements, nodding for Jack to continue as he steps into the break room doorway.
“What’s going on down the hall?” Jack asks.
“Uh.. I think Crus found some lady in active labor in the hallway?” Shen says. “She walked herself all the way here, is what I’m hearing.” He continues, giving a look to show that’s the most badass thing he’s ever heard. Jack pauses in surprise, a bit impressed too.
“Now who the hell lets a pregnant woman travel Pittsburgh all alone at night?” Jack shakes his head in judgment. Shen shrugs, stepping out of the room just as Ellis runs in.
“Abbot.” She says, eyes showing panic. Jack straightens up at that.
Without another word shared, Jack follows Ellis towards room 3. He’s quick to put on gloves, preparing his mental for whatever awaited him beyond that threshold. Walking into the room though, his shoulders slump at what’s in front of him.
Y/N.
“Huh. Apparently I let a pregnant woman travel Pittsburgh all alone at night…” He mutters to himself, walking in fully as Lena and Crus stand aside now, having been assured by Y/N that she was not about to pop any time soon.
“Hi, honey…” Y/N sighs.
“Honey?” Crus asks as he looks between Y/N and Jack.
“Dr. Henderson, meet.. My beautiful wife.” Jack says gently as he smiles at a bashful Y/N.
“Oh. Congratulations, Dr. Abbot.” Crus chuckles a bit as Lena crosses her arms while giving Y/N a playful glare over the scare she’d caused.
“I didn’t know you were in labor..” Jack continues softly as Y/N smiles sheepishly.
“Neither did I..” She jokes quietly.
“I may have been… A bit overzealous in my actions.” Crus admits softly. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Abbot.” He adds politely. Y/N smiles warmly at the resident.
“Don’t be. At least now I know the response time is good here.” She teases a bit as she rubs her stomach.
“Very assuring.” Jack nods before crossing his arms at his wife. “What are you doing here?” He asks as if that’s the golden question. Y/N smiles innocently.
“The cookies.” She says and Jack shuts his eyes to keep from laughing at the situation.
“Did.. Did she just say cookies?” Ellis asks slowly, eyeing the room to see if everyone heard the same thing. Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as Lena smiles while watching the couple.
“Let’s give them some space…” Lena whispers to Crus and Ellis. They all step out and only then does Jack shut the hospital room door to give them some much needed quiet and privacy.
“You showed up here at one in the morning for cookies!?” He asks finally.
“Hey! I tried just sleeping and waiting till the morning, but the peanuts! They wouldn’t let me get comfy!” She says back in a tone that resinates a ‘I’m just as mad as you are!’ vibe.
“You walked all the way here?” Jack asks, tone quiet, but Y/N knows that’s a falsehood. He’s getting mad.
Y/N knew her husband. That man took nothing, but her safety and health, seriously. He got shot at? It happens. Didn’t eat all day long because he was too busy? Oh well. But have Y/N stub a toe or, god forbid, accidentally get a cut? Oh, it was the end of his world.
“It’s a nice night. Plus we live close.” She defends quietly, knowing she’s messed up.
“Y/N!” Jack begins.
“Hey!” She quickly states. “Okay, I didn’t really think it through. I… Thought the walking and the fresh air would do me some good. But…” She sighs.
Might as well admit to everything..
“I forgot my maternity support belt..” She mutters. No wonder Crus thought she was in labor, Y/N had walked four blocks with no support for her stomach. She’d been out of breath and exhausted by the time she got here..
“Oh, I’m gonna have you locked to our damn bed…” Jack says quietly mostly to himself as he rubs his face yet again, pacing a bit.
“Okay, okay. It was stupid. But I just.. I really couldn’t sleep…” Y/N pouts up at her husband, giving her best puppy dog look. Jack slows his pacing, sighing deeply as he slowly moves closer to her bed side. “I’m okay now…” She points out softly as she grabs his hand with both of hers, slightly twirling his gold band like she always does.
Jack curses quietly. When she pulled out that pout, he couldn’t be mad for long.
“You know you nearly gave everybody on this floor a heart attack?” Jack mutters after a moment of just watching her hands on his. Y/N smiles at the calmness before she shrugs sheepishly.
“Hey. If anything else, I’m the victim in all this..” She points out softly.
“You?!” Jack laughs in disbelief.
“I was promised something..” She defends innocently as Jack raises an eyebrow at his wife’s logic.
“Oh?” He asks in humor. Y/N nods, standing by her statement.
“I wasn’t even gonna come in here! I was gonna…” She pauses, shifting a bit in the hospital bed. “Bribe the cafeteria staff myself.” She admits finally.
Jack lets out a deep breath. This night just keeps getting better for him. “You would’ve never known..” she shrugs, sticking to the notion that she had a great plan.
“Y/N…” Jack sighs as he shakes his head. “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” He asks quietly after a moment of looking at her softly. She blushes at the tone of his warm voice.
“Take responsibility?” She offers gently.
“Responsibility?!” Jack scoffs playfully. “Of what?” He challenges as she sits up more, wordlessly motioning towards her stomach.
“You’re kidding. Me?!” Jack jokingly bickers.
“Yes, you! You with all your little sweet talk.” Y/N fusses playfully.
“‘Oh, Y/N let’s just see what happens, let’s just go with the flow. We’re on our anniversary vacation’…” She mocks his ‘bedroom voice’, making Jack smirk at the memories.
“Okay…” He mutters playfully as if not buying it. His arms cross over his chest as he watches his wife with humor in his adoring eyes.
“I was an innocent passenger in your evil plan…” She states bluntly. Jack laughs at the accusation, grabbing at the edge of her bed to lean over more.
“Oh, baby, you were a willing participant in it..” He corrects quietly, close to her ear. It makes her shiver slightly. His usual sandalwood scent from his aftershave invades her nostrils as she eyes the way his arms flex.
“Same thing…” She mumbles shyly now as he pulls back to eye her, their faces inches apart. She sighs softly as she really looks at him.
“I’m sorry.” She finally says, letting the jokes and taunts fall to the wayside. She had a moment of pregnancy brain, really. Thinking she could walk about without a care.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure those damn cookies were in your hands the second you asked for them.” He says gently, making Y/N smile. She grabs his face in both hands, kissing him sweetly. He melts into the affection almost instantly.
They’re pulled apart by a knock on the hospital door. Turning their attention towards it, Lena walks in with a little hospital tray. “Somebody ordered a snack?” She asks softly and Y/N gasps happily, quickly sitting up more and lightly pushing Jack out of the way. He takes no offense to it, chuckling as he sees how excited his wife gets.
“You’re lucky I know people.” Lena jokes as she hands over the tray.
“Ugh! Thank you, Lena!” Y/N groans happily as she digs in without hesitation.
“Whatever Momma Abbot wants..” Lena declares lightheartedly with a simple shrug before leaving the room again so they can be alone.
“Mm… So warm…” Y/N mumbles as she takes a bigger bite of the cookie. She breaks off a piece to feed to Jack who gratefully opens his mouth for the small chunk. He kisses her thumb as she pulls her hand away, making her smile.
“Good?” Y/N asks as Jack nods in agreement. “I told you! Best cookies in Pittsburgh..” She says as Jack chuckles while shaking his head in amusement.
“I’m glad you’re having fun..” Jack begins as Y/N does a happy little dance in the hospital bed at the great cookies in front of her. “Because you’re staying here till I’m done with my shift.” He continues, making Y/N pause her movements.
“What?!” She complains.
“Yup. Then I’m getting your butt back in bed when we get home..” Jack says simply. Y/N pouts a bit, opening her mouth to debate him on that only to have him place another cookie in her mouth. She gives him a dirty look, but begrudgingly enjoys the cookie.
“Fine..” She mumbles between chewing before eyeing the cookie in her hand. “Mm.. Baby?” She asks innocently. Jack hums. “You know what would go great with these cookies?” She asks hopefully. Jack smirks knowingly.
“Peanut butter?” He guesses tenderly and she giggles giddily, nodding fast. “On it.” He assures.
“Mm… You’re so good to me…” Y/N states in mock awe, sighing dreamily with a hand on her chest as Jack chuckles.
Pairing: Dr. jack Abbot x female!reader
Warnings: baby fever, domestic, lactose intolerance, bloating, thoughts of pregnancy, future family talk.
Summary: a joke and a quiet moment change the way Jack sees the future with you.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Jack stood leaning against the doorframe. "I told you," He said. "The sign on the counter only said milk. You swore up and down it was oat milk."
"It tasted like oat milk!" you protested, though your voice lacked any real bite. You were standing in front of the mirror, hands gently resting on the sides of your stomach.
Because you were lactose intolerant, your digestive system had reacted almost instantly. Your lower stomach was visibly swollen and round, tight against the waistband of your sweatpants, puffing out to a degree that was ridiculously uncomfortable.
You turned slightly to the side, examining the rounded curve in the glass. Despite the mild cramping, the sheer visual of it was hilarious. You cupped the bottom of your bloated belly with both hands, arching your lower back just a fraction.
"Look at this," you said, catching his eye in the mirror. You patted your stomach gently. "It looks like I’m three months pregnant. Or maybe four."
Jack let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You’re going to be miserable in about twenty minutes if you don't take your medicine."
"No, seriously," you giggled, smoothing your shirt down over the bulge to accentuate the shape even more. "I could walk into the hospital tomorrow, demand light duty, and no one would question it. 'Doctor Abbot, look what you've done.'"
Jack chuckled again, but as his eyes stayed on you.You kept looking in the mirror, laughing softly to yourself as you stroked the bump.
But in the quiet that followed, you noticed Jack hadn't moved.
You watched his expression shift.
The teasing grin faded into something intensely focused. His gaze remained fixed on your hands resting over your rounded stomach. His eyes softened, a faint crease forming between his brows as his gaze traced the line of your waist, the way your hands fit over the curve, and the maternal picture you unwittingly painted in the bathroom.
There was a palpable gravity in his gaze; a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with bloating.
For a second, he was looking at a glimpse of a potential future, staring at the image of you carrying a life that was half his.
The joke died on your lips.
You froze slightly, your hands still resting on your waist, meeting his gaze in the glass. The air in the room felt suddenly thick.
Jack seemed to realize he’d been caught staring. He blinked but he didn't look away, nor did he try to make another joke to brush it off. Instead, he took a step forward.
He reached out, his hands gently replacing yours over your stomach.
"Jack?" you whispered.
"It suits you," he said softly.
His voice was quiet, stripped of any pretense. He met your eyes in the mirror, his chest pressed against your back, his hands resting over your stomach.
"Jack, it’s just a dairy baby," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips, though your chest felt tight.
"I know," Jack smiled. "But... still."
He leaned down, resting his chin on your shoulder. He stared at the two of you in the reflection for a long moment, letting the quiet thought linger between you both without needing to put it into words.
After a moment, he squeezed your waist gently and kissed the side of your neck.
"I'm going to get your medicine." he murmured softly as he straightened up. He left the bathroom and you stood by the mirror a moment longer with your heart still beating a little faster than before.
Later, the heating pad was warm against your lower stomach, but it wasn't the physical discomfort keeping you awake.
Jack had his arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so your head rested in the crook of his shoulder. His breathing was slow, his hand gently resting over yours where it lay on top of the heating pad.
Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was the reflection in the bathroom mirror; the stillness in Jack’s face, the unguarded softness in his eyes, and the way his hands had felt when he placed them over yours.
You shifted in his embrace, turning your head to look at him.
"Jack?" you whispered.
He stirred and his arm tightened around you. "Hmm? You in pain? Do you need more water?"
"No, no… I.. I need to ask you something." you said softly. You hesitated, tracing a thumb over the back of his hand.
Jack opened his eyes, blinking against the dark as he picked up on the slight hesitation in your voice. "What's on your mind, beautiful?"
You took a breath, the question tumbling out before you could lose your nerve.
"Back in the bathroom... when I made that stupid joke," you began. "You got this... look on your face. You stared at me like... I don't know..." You looked down at your hands joined over your stomach before looking back up at him. "Have you been thinking about it? About... being a father? Like... making a little us?"
He looked at you, his expression searching, surprised by your directness but completely unbothered by it.
"Is that... what kept you awake?" he asked softly.
"Maybe..." you admitted, your cheeks warming a little. "You just looked so... serious for a second. It made me wonder."
Jack stared up at the ceiling for a second, organizing his thoughts, before bringing his gaze back to you.
"Honestly?" Jack said. "Yeah. I have."
Your heart gave a small flutter.
"For a long time, I didn't allow myself to think beyond the next shift, or the next patient. As if I only needed to be in the present... But with you…"
He paused, shifting so he was propped up slightly on one elbow, looking down into your eyes.
"With you, I start thinking about what comes next," Jack whispered. "And when I saw you standing there in front of the mirror earlier... even with you making jokes about oat milk... I couldn't help it. I pictured what it would actually be like. You, holding a baby that has your eyes. Or my bad habits. A little piece of both of us running around, driving us crazy."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"I think about it more than I probably let on," he admitted softly. "I want that with you. When the time is right. When we're ready. And only if you want it, too."
A happy warmth bloomed in your chest. You smiled, reaching up to cup the side of his face.
"A little us," you repeated quietly, sweetly, nodding.
"Yes, a little us," Jack confirmed with a smile, kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hand not leaving the side of his face.
"I love you," you whispered against his lips.
"I love you, beautiful." He said before settling back down onto the pillow, pulling you tightly against his chest. "Go to sleep before we start picking out names."
You laughed quietly, closing your eyes as his arms wrapped around you, feeling completely warm and loved as you finally drifted off to sleep together.
