information: jack abbot x fem reader!resident
before reading: you are struggling with never being the one who anyone picks. but you have been the one for jack since he met you
warnings: age gap, family issues, reader feeling really sad, crying, reader has no friends, fluff and a very cute and an overprotective jack
you never felt picked, not in kinder garden, not in middle school, not in high school or even college
you were never the one for anyone
and that didn’t change in your work zone
you were called a lot of stupid nicknames too, none of them good
you were really tired of this shit, never being the one, never having friends, never able to move on
and that hurted. because you wanted to, for even once, feel that someone cared.
you have no friends, your family was too centred on your twin sisters to be calling you (because for them you mostly were a shadow, always forgetting about you), however a lawyer was more suitable and successful career than peds in a hospital called “the pitt”
jack noticed all. the part of you trying to keep everything to yourself, never asking for help (he was always around you because he knew you won’t ask for him to help, but he will ask you if you need him instead)
he was always caring without you notincing
like one time when whitaker asked if you where coming on one of the coworkers bar-night
jack was watching and hearing everything, he was next to you on the nurse station.
and he could actually see the hope your eyes were carrying, and something broke inside of him
your face actually light up for a second but—
“she says yes every time and ghosts every time,” trinity said, not even looking up from her phone. “don’t waste a seat.”
the room went silent, the most part of your coworkers were there, and they laugh, you thought it wasn’t a evil laugh, but your heart ache
that spark in your face died so fast it was almost violent
that small, practiced smile that jack had come to despise more than anything.
“oh,” you said lightly. “yeah, no, she’s right. I probably won’t.”
whitaker shifted awkwardly. “i mean, you can still come—”
“it’s fine.” you gave him a little shrug, already looking back down at the supplies in your hands. “i’m probably just gonna head home.”
jack knew enough by now to know that “home” usually meant a microwave dinner, a shower too hot for your skin, and sitting on the edge of your bed staring at your phone, waiting for messages that rarely came.
he watched the way your shoulders tucked in.
the way you laughed once, under your breath, like you were helping them smooth over their own cruelty.
jack shut the chart a little too hard.
the sound made everyone glance up.
he was upset, he had the right to be when you were being treated like a fucking circus freak
“whitaker,” he said flatly. “if you’re done socializing, room nine’s labs won’t review themselves.”
whitaker straightened immediately. “right. sorry.”
“what?” she looked up, already defensive.
“if you’ve got enough free time to comment on other people’s plans, you’ve got enough free time to recheck the peds intake in bay three.”
“seriously?” she blinked.
jack’s stare could’ve cut steel.
she muttered something under her breath and shoved her phone into her pocket.
the others dispersed quickly.
you stood there with a box of gauze in your hands, frozen, clearly unsure whether you were supposed to be embarrassed or grateful.
“that is not fair, you know it’s not”
you stay silence for a while
“did you finish the restock list?”
your brows furrowed slightly, thrown by the change in subject.
you nodded and moved closer, handing him the clipboard.
he looked at it for maybe half a second before his eyes flicked to your face.
you were doing that thing again, pretending nothing had happened.
pretending you hadn’t looked like someone had held out something precious only to snatch it away.
“you should go,” he said.
you let out a short, startled laugh.
“i just said I probably won’t.”
“that wasn’t an answer. that was a retreat.” he said knitting his brows together
jack stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.
“It’s not really my thing.”
he gave you a look. but you looked away first.
“It’s not,” you insisted, softer. “I don’t really… fit with them.”
the words came out careful. like you’d said them to yourself enough times they’d started to sound factual.
he looked at you. really looked.
he thought that you were too young to doubt about things like this, you should be having fun, making mistakes, laughing so hard that you would earn bad glances from everyone around you
but instead, you were used to bad things at being this young. too young to already be this used to disappointment.
too young, in his opinion, to carry yourself like affection was a privilege other people got and you had to earn.
he was old enough to know exactly how dangerous it was to care.
old enough to know better.
“you don’t have to fit,” he said quietly. “you’re not the problem because a room full of idiots who don’t know what to do with someone decent.”
jack realized, a beat too late, how intense that sounded.
he took the clipboard from your hands before he did something worse, like touch your face in the middle of the damn er
“go home if you want,” he said, tone returning to clipped professionalism. “but if you’re staying out because you think they don’t want you there, that’s a different conversation.”
your fingers flexed at your sides.
and for the first time all day, your eyes met his fully.
that awful, fragile thing.
“would you…?” you started, then stopped.
“would I what?” jack’s voice gentled despite himself.
“would you come?” you looked almost embarrassed for asking.
you immediately rushed to fix it.
“i mean, not because of me, obviously. just— if you were there, it’d be less…” you swallowed. “weird.”
something hot and fierce lodged itself behind jack’s ribs.
of course the first time you asked for something, it was small enough to apologize for.
because you weren’t asking him to stay.
you were asking him to make a room feel survivable.
“yeah,” he said softly anyway
your eyes widened. “yeah?”
a smile broke over your face before you could hide it.
“okay,” you said, trying and failing to sound casual. “okay. then maybe I’ll go.”
jack had to physically stop himself from smiling back.
he turned before he did something incredibly stupid.
and you did. you finished the restock and now you were sitting while waiting for a ct, in the staff room
you were scrolling on your social media, when you saw a post
you swallow as you feel the tears coming
your mom posting a picture of your sisters and your father making you aside was everything you needed to break down
the tears didn’t stop falling from your eyes
and the description was worse
“my beautiful family. nothing else” you say reading it out loud
you shake your head with bitterness
you shouldn’t have been surprised.
not when this had been your whole life.
not in kindergarten, when kids picked teams and your name came last like an afterthought.
not in middle school, when people only remembered you if they needed homework.
not in high school, when every friend you had somehow found someone better.
not even in college, where you told yourself maybe this time things would change.
not even your own family could pretend for one damn second.
your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt to breathe.
you stared at the screen through blurry eyes, the photo burning into your mind.
your dad with his hand on one of their shoulders.
your mom’s caption still sitting there like a knife under your ribs.
my beautiful family. nothing else.
you let out a laugh that sounded more broken than amused.
“right,” you whispered, voice cracking. “nothing else.”
a tear slipped down, then another.
you wiped them away too fast, angry at yourself for even crying over this, but it didn’t matter. more followed.
your palms burned from how tightly you were holding your phone.
because some part of you (some embarrassingly small, hopeful part), had still believed maybe they’d noticed.
maybe there’d be another post. another picture. a text. anything.
proof that even when you weren’t there, life kept going like your absence didn’t leave a shape at all.
the staff room was too quiet.
your breathing started turning uneven, shaky in a way you hated.
you quickly locked your phone and pressed it face down on the table, like maybe if you couldn’t see it, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
but it was already inside you now.
like no matter where you went, people somehow learned how to look through you.
your hand came up to cover your mouth, trying to stop the sound that threatened to come out.
you bent forward in the chair, elbows on your knees, trying—desperately trying—to pull yourself together before anyone walked in and saw.
you couldn’t do this here.
not in the middle of a shift.
not where someone could catch you crying and ask if you were okay with that fake, awkward pity that only made everything worse.
the tears kept falling anyway.
and that was exactly how jack found you.
the staff room door opened with a soft creak.
you straightened too fast, swiping at your face with the heel of your hand, your pulse jumping into your throat.
because jack abbot was already standing in the doorway–
one hand still on the handle, brows pulling together the second he saw you.
he didn’t say anything at first.
didn’t ask that awful question.
didn’t hit you with ‘are you okay?’ like either of you would believe the answer.
his eyes flicked once to your face.
then to the phone on the table.
and his expression changed.
something that looked dangerously close to anger on your behalf.
“i’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice betraying you immediately.
jack shut the door behind him.
“yeah,” he said, low and rough. “i can see that.”
not because it was cruel.
because jack wasn’t looking at you like you were inconvenient, or dramatic, or too much.
he was looking at you like he was trying to figure out how long you’d been sitting there hurting by yourself.
and somehow, that made your chest cave in even more.
“It’s nothing,” you whispered, wiping at your face again. “i just— I’m waiting on a ct.”
jack didn’t move from the door.
he let the silence sit for a second.
long enough that the room felt too full of him.
too full of the fact that he wasn’t leaving.
“you’re crying over a ct?” he asked finally, voice dry, but soft around the edges.
a broken laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
not in a way that cornered you.
you instinctively reached for your phone, like you could hide the evidence now, but his hand landed on the table before you could grab it.
his eyes dropped to the dark screen.
the question was so simple it nearly shattered you all over again.
like he already knew this wasn’t random.
like he already understood someone had to be responsible for the way your face looked right now.
and because it was him—because he was standing there looking at you like he’d rather tear apart the world than watch you cry alone—you made the mistake of telling the truth.
the words came out small.
but jack heard them anyway.
something in his face stilled.
he glanced at the phone again.
like he was asking you to let him carry part of it.
your fingers shook as you unlocked the screen and turned it toward him.
jack took the phone carefully, his hand brushing yours for the briefest second.
his eyes moved over the post.
and you watched it happen in real time—
the way his expression darkened.
the muscle in his jaw jumping.
his mouth flattening into a line.
that dangerous kind of stillness settling over him like he was forcing himself to stay calm for your sake.
for a second, he said nothing.
you gave the tiniest nod.
you stared down at your hands.
“they probably didn’t mean it like that.”
the second the words left your mouth, jack let out a humorless exhale.
“don’t make excuses for people who hurt you just because you’re used to it.”
he set the phone down gently, like he didn’t trust himself not to crack the screen in half.
he crouched in front of you.
jack abbot—older, respected, intimidating, impossible jack—lowering himself until he was at eye level with you, one forearm resting against his knee, the other hand coming up to wrap carefully around your wrist.
just enough for you to feel him there.
“look at me,” he said softly.
and that was your mistake.
because the second your eyes met his, the tears came harder.
his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist once, grounding you.
“hey,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower. “easy.”
you let out a shaky breath that turned into something dangerously close to a sob.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
jack’s brows pulled together instantly.
“what are you apologizing for?”
“i don’t know, i just— ihate this, i hate crying at work, i hate that it still gets to me—”
you stared at him, tearful and startled.
“it should,” he repeated, firmer now. “they’re your family.”
the words hit somewhere deep.
because no one ever said that.
no one ever acted like what they did was actually bad enough to count.
you gave a tiny shake of your head, tears still slipping down your face.
“i should be over it by now.”
jack’s hand tightened around your wrist just slightly.
his voice stayed low, but there was iron in it now.
that one almost broke you completely.
he got it without you having to explain every humiliating little detail.
jack noticed immediately, his eyes flicking down before returning to yours.
“i’m gonna say something,” he said quietly, “and you’re probably not going to believe me yet.”
“but that doesn’t make it less true.”
his thumb moved again, slow against your skin.
“there is nothing forgettable about you.”
you went completely still.
the distant hospital noise beyond the door.
because jack was looking at you like he meant every word.
and maybe that was the worst part.
because for one terrifying second—
you wanted to believe him.
you were looking for something to wear
because you decided to go to the bar.
maybe that can make you feel less pity about yourself, being around people who didn’t noticed you
you reached your phone from the bed, checking your messages, like you had lots of them
it was from a guy you go out with a few times, but he just cancelled you more times than you went out
—sorry i can’t tomorrow, no time. work is killing me
you bit your lip knowing that this was going to happen
you let out a shaky breath
no one will ever choose you
too full of overworked medical staff pretending they weren’t one bad shift away from a breakdown.
jack arrived later than everyone else on purpose.
he told himself it was because he needed distance.
because walking into a bar because a resident had asked him to would already be enough to get him side-eyed if anyone noticed.
he’d needed twenty extra minutes to argue with himself in his car.
about the fact that you were too young and too earnest and looked at him like he was something steady when he knew exactly how unsteady he could become around you.
and because some selfish, reckless part of him wanted to know if you’d still be looking for him.
the second he stepped inside, your head snapped up from the booth in the back.
the look on your face when you saw him—
you brightened instantly.
like the whole room shifted around the fact that he’d shown up.
jack felt it low in his chest.
you were tucked into the end of the booth, drink in hand, half listening to something whitaker was saying. your hair was still a little damp from a rushed post-shift shower, and you’d changed out of your scrubs into a soft sweater that made you look even younger than usual.
too young, his brain said.
something far more dangerous answered.
he ignored that immediately.
whitaker looked over, surprised. “holy shit. abbot?”
“don’t make it weird,” jack muttered.
santos snorted. “too late.”
you slid over instinctively, making room beside you.
no one else heard what was hidden inside them.
your smile turned small and soft.
but something in jack’s chest went tight and mean.
you were staring down at your drink like you hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“so do I,” he said quietly.
and something passed between you that was too private for a crowded booth full of coworkers.
something that made santos narrow her eyes suspiciously from across the table.
for a little while, it was actually… good.
whitaker was loud and harmless.
mel made fun of everyone equally.
someone put terrible music on the jukebox.
you laughed more in that first hour than jack had ever heard in one shift.
not the small, convenient one.
hand flying to your mouth when you got embarrassed for laughing too hard.
jack barely touched his drink.
he spent most of the night watching you.
the way you always made space for everyone else on the bench, even if it left you half perched at the edge.
the way you said sorry when someone bumped into you.
the way you immediately handed over your fries when someone reached for them, even though you’d barely eaten all shift.
the way you lit up at scraps.
“hey,” one of the nurses said, leaning over the table with a grin that already felt mean. “did your mystery man finally stop standing you up?”
jack’s entire body went still.
whitaker frowned. “what mystery man?”
the nurse laughed. “she’s always waiting on some loser who never actually shows.”
“shut up,” you said quickly, cheeks burning.
“you literally got dressed up for that concert last month and he cancelled an hour before.”
jack turned his head slowly toward you.
you were looking anywhere but at him.
santos winced. “Okay, that’s enough.”
another voice chimed in, drunk and careless.
“i still can’t believe you keep giving people chances like that.”
“seriously,” someone else added. “at some point, babe, that’s on you.”
the sound cracked through the table like a warning shot.
he didn’t raise his voice.
you were trying to laugh it off again—jesus christ, you were actually trying to save them from the discomfort of humiliating you.
“it’s fine,” you said too fast. “they’re joking.”
no one at the table moved.
you stared at him for a second, then slid out of the booth on shaky legs.
jack stood, towering and broad and suddenly very obviously not in the mood to be challenged.
as he passed the table, he said without looking at any of them—
“if any of you are confused about why she doesn’t come out with you, I’d start there.”
no one had the guts to answer.
outside, the night air was cold enough to sting.
you stepped onto the sidewalk with your arms folded tight across your chest.
“i swear to God,” he said, turning toward you, “if you tell me it’s fine one more time—”
“it isn’t fine!” you snapped, the words ripping out sharper than either of you expected.
the silence after that was brutal.
you looked away immediately, like you regretted it.
jack’s anger vanished as quickly as it came.
you laughed once, shaky and ugly.
“i know it’s pathetic, okay?”
hou ignored him, because once the words started, they wouldn’t stop.
“i know what they think. i know what everyone thinks. that I’m too much, or too clingy, or too easy, or too stupid to realize when someone doesn’t want me around.” your eyes were glassy now, voice trembling. “and the worst part is I do realize. I always realize. i just keep hoping maybe this time it’ll be different.”
jack took one step toward you.
not because you were scared.
because you were unraveling.
and you didn’t want him close enough to see all of it.
“i wasn’t wanted at school, i wasn’t wanted at home, and apparently I’m not wanted here either, so excuse me if I’m a little fucking tired of pretending i don’t care—”
jack crossed the distance in two strides.
his hands landed on your upper arms, firm, grounding, not rough.
you were crying now, and you looked furious about it.
“I’m serious,” you choked out. “my sisters get everything. my family barely remembers to call me. they still tell people i should’ve gone to law school because at least then I’d be doing something that matters.” a broken laugh escaped you. “and I’m here, busting my ass in peds, and I can’t even get people to— to—”
his grip tightened just slightly.
the age gap, the job, the rules, the caution—
all of it got very hard to care about when you were standing in front of him shaking apart like this.
slowly, your eyes lifted.
jack had never looked at anyone the way he looked at you then.
like he was telling the universe to go to hell.
“your family is blind,” he said. “your coworkers are immature. and every man who’s ever made you feel like you had to beg for basic decency is a fucking idiot.”
“you want to know what I see?”
“i see the best resident in that department.” his voice dropped lower. “i see the first person in a room to notice when a kid is scared before they even start crying. i see someone who works twice as hard as everyone else and still somehow apologizes for taking up space.”
tears spilled faster down your cheeks.
jack’s thumb brushed one away, then another.
“i see someone so young and so goddamn good that it scares me how easily people have convinced her she’s hard to keep.”
your whole face crumpled.
jack’s hand moved to cradle your jaw.
“listen to me,” he said, rougher now, quieter. “you are not hard to keep.”
you let out a tiny, wounded sound.
“I know.” his forehead nearly touched yours. “I know.”
the city noise blurred around you.
music thumped faintly through the bar walls.
a car passed somewhere down the street.
and still, all you could feel was him.
the steadiness of his body.
the impossible safety of his voice.
“you shouldn’t do this,” you whispered, even as your fingers curled into the front of his jacket.
his eyes dropped to your mouth.
“that one bothers me more.”
despite the tears, a weak laugh escaped you.
your eyes fluttered shut for half a second.
when you opened them again, he was still there.
still looking at you like staying was the easiest thing in the world.
“no one stays,” you admitted in a whisper.
jack’s expression changed.
something softer. deeper. almost angry in how much it meant.
the words hit you like a heartbeat to the chest.
“i shouldn’t promise things to you when you’re upset,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “and I’m trying very hard to be better than every man who’s ever touched your life.”
“but I need you to understand this one thing.” he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “if I step into this with you, I’m not doing it halfway.”
you forgot how to breathe.
“i don’t do casual with you.” his thumb stroked your cheek once. “i don’t disappear. i don’t leave you wondering. and I sure as hell don’t make you chase me.”
your hands shook against his chest.
because nobody had ever said anything like that to you.
nobody had ever sounded like they meant it
“you make this very hard,” he murmured.
this time, there was nothing tentative about it.
still careful—because it was jack, because he would rather die than hurt you—but deeper, hungrier, like he’d spent too long pretending he didn’t think about this.
his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you steady as your body swayed into him
you kissed him back like you’d been starving.
like all the loneliness in you had found one place to go.
his mouth softened instantly at that, the edge of him melting as he realized exactly how much you were giving him.
“easy,” he murmured against your lips, as if soothing a frightened thing. “i’ve got you.”
that did something unbearable to your chest.
a sob caught in your throat before you could stop it.
jack broke the kiss immediately.
“hey. hey.” both hands on your face now, eyes searching yours. “did I push too far?”
you shook your head quickly, tears still falling.
“no— no, I just…” you laughed shakily, embarrassed. “i’m sorry.”
he said it so gently it almost made you cry harder.
his forehead rested against yours.
“you don’t have to be easy with me,” he said quietly. “you don’t have to be convenient. you don’t have to be the version of yourself that takes scraps and says thank you.”
your fingers tightened in his jacket.
he kissed the corner of your mouth.
and because he was older, because he knew exactly how vulnerable you were, because the age gap made him even more careful—not less—he didn’t take more than you could give.
on a cold sidewalk outside a shitty bar, with your coworkers inside and your whole messy heart beating itself raw in your chest—
he held you like you mattered.
like he had no intention of dropping you.
after a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you.
not because you were scared.
because no one had ever asked that like it meant rest, not use.
jack saw the flicker of panic and immediately clarified.
“to sleep,” he said, voice dry. “In my bed, if you want. I’ll take the couch. or we can sit on opposite sides of the apartment and I can order enough food to make you stop shaking.”
a watery laugh slipped out of you.
“i’m forty,” he muttered. “my version of romance is making sure you eat and stop spiraling.”
that made you smile for real.
and jack looked almost stunned by it.
his eyes searched yours one last time.
he brushed your hair back from your face with a tenderness that nearly ruined you.
not like something shameful.
just firm and sure, fingers threading with yours like they belonged there.
and when he led you away from the noise, from the bar, from the people who only ever wanted pieces—
because for the first time in your life,
someone had looked at all of you—
the lonely parts, the bruised parts, the inconvenient parts, the needy parts, the hopeful parts—
