Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x nurse!reader
Warnings: sensory overload, autism signs, meltdown, fever, illness, emotional exhaustion, high stress, fluff.
Summary: when you're pushed to your breaking point by a brutal shift and fever, Jack is there to catch you and guide you into the quiet dark.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 based on this request 🎀 and this one 🎀
You had woken up with a fever that left your joints aching and your skin overly sensitive even to the friction of your own clothes.
But the hospital was understaffed, and calling out felt like a betrayal. So, you swallowed two ibuprofen and walked into the chaos.
Masking autism was exhausting when you were entirely healthy. And running on a fever, it was an ordeal.
The sound of ringing phones, groaning patients, and shouting doctors felt like a physical assault. Worse, the social exhaustion of constantly forcing eye contact, modulating your tone, and scripting polite interactions had drained your battery down to zero hours ago.
You had managed to hold it together for ten hours. But then, a trauma came in. It was messy and required a lot of communication. As you stood at the sink washing the blood from your hands, the bulb flickering above the mirror began to... sound loudly.
It was the final drop in a cup that was already overflowing. Your breath hitched as the sensory overload crashed over you.
You practically sprinted down the back hallway, slipping into an empty and dark exam room.
You sank on the stretcher.
The meltdown hit you violently.
Tears blurred your vision, your breathing turned into gasps, and you pressed your hands firmly into your ears.
You were rocking slightly, a self soothing stim you usually never allowed yourself to do outside the safety of your own apartment.
Suddenly, your throat felt completely locked. And you couldn't form a thought, couldn't explain the agony of your own body. And the panic directed itself outward. The fabric of your scrubs, usually manageable, now felt like sandpaper dragging across your feverish skin. Every fiber felt like a million tiny needles.
Desperate to get away from the sensation, you began fiercely scratching at your arms, your fingernails digging into the fabric and your bare skin, trying to scrape the torturous texture away.
The door clicked open. The brief influx of light and noise made you flinch.
"Hey. I thought I saw you slip in here."
It was Jack.
The two of you were close, closer than just a nurse-attending, but you had never let him see this.
Jack moved with urgency. He didn't grab you, but he slid closer, carefully extending his hands.
"Sweetheart, look at me," he murmured, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. "Hands off. Let's stop the scratching, okay?"
You couldn't answer. You just let out a choked sound, your fingers still frantically tearing at the scratchy sleeve of your scrub top.
It hurt, it was too hot, the texture was suffocating.
Understanding flashed in Jack's eyes. He, somehow, knew your signs. Gently, he reached out and captured your wrists, intercepting your hands before you could break the skin.
"What is going on? Are you okay?" he asked, worried.
The moment his fingers brushed your skin, he froze. He immediately used one hand to keep your wrists safely gathered, while the back of his other hand carefully pressed against your forehead.
You couldn't speak, tears spilled over your eyelashes, and you gave a frantic nod. You tried to pull your hands back to resume scratching, the panic making your chest heave.
"You're burning up," he noted softly, his brow furrowing with instant concern. "You have a fever."
"I- I'm fine," you choked out, your voice trembling terribly. "Just, just give me a minute, Jack. Please." You tried to sound fine but your voice betrayed you, sounding raspy.
"You have a fever. We need to check on you, get you some fluids—"
He was trying to be the doctor. He was trying to reason with you, to fix the physical symptoms, but the threat of being taken back out into the medical floor crossed the final wire in your brain.
The dam broke. The non verbal wall shattered under the weight of sheer desperation, and the truth came rushing out in frantic sobs as you burst.
"NO, okay, I’m sick, but please don't make go out there." you wept, the words spilling out of you in a desperate torrent. "I can’t think anymore. I can’t look at anyone. I need a calm playlist and I need everyone to stop, I want to go home, hug Duckie, and just stare at the wall. I'm sorry, Jack, I can't—"
"Hey, it's okay," Jack interrupted gently, cutting off the spiraling apology before it could swallow you whole. "Stop. You don't ever have to apologize."
He stayed a respectful distance, giving you space, but his eyes were filled with a protective warmth. "I know. You don't have to explain or be sorry."
A small smile touched his lips. "I pay attention to you. I see how you tap your fingers in a specific pattern when the alarms go off for too long. I know how much energy it takes for you to mask when the ER gets like this, let alone when you're running a fever. You don't have to hide it from me, okay? You can just be done."
He held his hands open, offering but not taking. "Can I touch you? Like I do when your shoulders are tense?"
You could only manage a small nod.
Jack moved in, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his chest. He applied steady pressure, tucking your head under his chin.
"I'm going to tell Lena you're going home sick," he murmured after a long while, once your breathing had finally started to match the pace of his own. "And then, I'm going to take you to my car, drive you home, and make sure you get to your Duckie. Okay?"
You nodded against his chest, letting a long sigh out.
-
The cool leather of the passenger seat was a mercy against your feverish skin. Jack had practically carried you out the back exit of the hospital and now you were safely cocooned inside his car.
Jack opened the driver’s side door, the brief chime of the door alarm making you wince. He noticed immediately, slipping inside and shutting the door quickly to cut off the sound.
He didn't start the engine right away. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water and two white pills.
"Fever reducers," he murmured, as he carefully placed the pills in your palm and unscrewed the cap of the water bottle for you.
You swallowed the medicine. Your throat felt locked. Your social battery was empty. Jack didn't press you to say thank you. He just took the bottle back and set it in the cup holder. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone along with his wireless earbuds.
"Here," he said softly, putting the case in your lap and holding out his phone. "It’s unlocked. Put on whatever you need."
You looked down at the screen, then up at him. Your eyes were still heavy and wet from the meltdown, your chest aching with exhaustion. You couldn't form the words to tell him how much this meant, so you just looked at him, letting your eyes communicate what your voice couldn't.
Jack’s expression softened. "I know. It's okay."
You carefully put the earbuds in, the active noise cancellation immediately kicking in. You tapped his phone, finding a familiar ambient track you always used to decompress.
It was perfect. It was the calm you needed.
Jack buckled his seatbelt and finally started the car, the headlights cutting through the dark parking lot. Before he shifted into drive, he turned his head to look at you. He tapped your leg so you would look at him.
"We're going straight to your place," he said, speaking a little clearer so you could read his lips. "I'm going to get you inside, and then I'm going to stay until the fever breaks. Sound like a plan?"
You looked right into his eyes and gave him a slow nod.
Jack smiled.
"Alright. Let's get you home."
The steady sound of the track in your ears blended seamlessly with the quiet rumble of the car's engine. The world outside the window was a blur of passing streetlights, melting into soft streaks of gold and white against the dark. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body finally succumbing to the heavy exhaustion of the fever. You floated in that peaceful limbo between awake and asleep.
Through the fog of your half-sleep, you felt the car slow down, idling at a quiet red light.
A moment later, Jack’s hand carefully brushed your face before the back of his fingers came to rest flat against your forehead.
He held it there for a few seconds. checking the heat radiating from your skin.
"Still a little hot," Jack murmured to himself. "But you're sweating it out. That's good."
He carefully pulled his hand back so he could shift the car into gear as the light changed.
As the car moved forward again, his hand returned across the center console, resting casually but securely on your thigh, a grounding weight to let you know he was still right there.
Your eyelids felt too heavy to open. Slowly, dragging your hand up from your lap, you slid your palm over the back of his hand. You slotted your fingers between his, squeezing weakly.
Jack was looking straight ahead at the road, but the moment your fingers intertwined with his, a small smile broke across his face.
He didn't say a word, respecting your quiet phase, but his thumb began to stroke the back of your hand. He squeezed back, a firm and reassuring promise.
You relaxed as you held onto him. The ER was miles behind you, the calm sound was filling your head, and Jack was driving you home.
as someone with 300+ unanswered asks in my inbox, i would love to see any “oops only one bed” uwu xoxo @rr-after-dark
james!! thank you so much for the request (: i decided to do this one with jack. i reallllyy hope you like it!! <3
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, a conference, a blizzard, and a single bed what could go wrong?? (:
dr abbot x f!reader
Jack frustratedly tapped his credit card against the front desk, "I don't understand, I reserved two rooms."
"I'm really sorry, sir," A flustered receptionist in her early twenties said emphatically, "With the rush because of the storm, we overbooked and—"
"Hey, I got the rest of the stuff," You said, materializing next to him with your bags. When you looked up to see his face, you frowned, "What's the matter?"
"Uh," Jack nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, "With the, uh, storm… The hotel seems to have… Overbooked the rooms—"
"Again," The nervous receptionist interrupted, "I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh no," You frowned, "There's no rooms?"
"No, no," The receptionist said quickly, "No it's just, you booked two rooms, but we only have one."
You visibly brightened, "Oh! That's a relief."
Jack could feel his blood pressure steadily rising. He knew coming to this conference with only you for company was a mistake. Robby had teased him about it when he realized, with horror, it would just be the two of you.
The entire trip he was overly conscious of his proximity to you, the heat of your body, your knee knocking into his. And you, by all accounts, seemed painfully oblivious to his internal warring. He had to fight himself not to touch you, not to look at you too long, not to imagine what it would be like to kiss and touch you the way he really wanted to.
Robby had encouraged him ages ago to just ask you out, but he felt so out of practice after his wife he couldn't deal with the possibility of rejection. It was much easier to just use the idea of you as a fantasy. What if he finally worked up the courage and you said yes?
But this entire trip, his anxiety had been at an all time high with no one else for him to buffer his nerves.
He cleared his throat, "The room only has one bed," He said lowly.
"Hm," You hummed and turned back to the receptionist, "Could we get a cot in the room?"
She shook her head ruefully, "I'm so sorry, all of them are in use. If you want I can cancel the reservation and fully refund—"
"No!" You said quickly, "No, no, it's um…" You turned back to Jack, "I'm totally fine with sharing a bed for one night if you are. I mean, everywhere has to be booked up because of the storm. We might not find anywhere else."
You were right, of course. Despite the fact that kill bill sirens were on a loop in his brain at the idea of having to be so close to you all night when he desperately needed to let off some steam in private after being so close to you all goddamn day— It seemed he didn't have much choice.
He forced a smile, "If it's good with you, it's good with me."
And with that, you took the room key from the receptionist and Jack Abbot willingly followed you down the hall into his own personal hell.
You showered first as he carefully removed his prosthesis and sighed in relief as he sat at the edge of the bed. Turning on the TV, he watched the weather report as a man went on and on about the severe blizzard conditions that were expected to start in a few hours. About ten minutes later, you came out of the bathroom in a robe and sat down next to him, the scent of coconut and vanilla wafting off you.
"Oh, shit," You murmured as you took in the report, "This is worse than they were saying a few hours ago."
Jack nodded. Although he was distracted with thoughts of you, he was also running over emergency contingency plans in his head. But really, besides having emergency supplies in his duffle (warming blanket, non perishable foods, flashlight, batteries, first aid kit) it seemed likely that they might be stuck here for more than just one night.
He tried not to think about that. Went to shower and fucked his fist in his shower chair, biting on his arm to keep himself quiet while his mind raced with thoughts of you, imagining himself peeling you out of that robe, kissing gently down your neck and color bone, licking up stray water droplets from the shower. He tried to imagine what you might sound like moaning his name in pleasure. He longed to worship you the way you deserved, if only he had the fucking nerve to tell you how he felt.
It was most on his mind this trip since you'd been forced to be alone together for so long. You'd traveled here together on the same flight, spent the entire conference side by side cracking jokes and mingling with other doctors. He saved you a seat at every table, listened intently when you rambled on about how nervous you were about presenting at a big conference for the first time.
"I've always been shit at oral presentations." You said, fingers twisting nervously in front of you as the two of you waited in the wings. You were up next.
"Don't put so much pressure on yourself," He said, "I'll be there the whole time. I'll jump in if you need me to.
You'd grabbed his hand, squeezed it gently, and smiled at him, "Thank you."
He'd nodded and pretended the softness of your hand in his didn't feel transformative, didn't make him feel like they were made for him to hold.
Now he made his way out of the shower, in just a pair of briefs as he used his crutches to maneuver back into the bedroom. You were sat up in the bed, eReader in hand, the blue light of the TV flickered over the plains of your face. Your eyes widened just slightly at the sight of him, shirtless and still dripping from the shower, but then swallowed and averted your eyes.
"Um, do you—" You cleared your throat and Jack stifled a smirk, "Do you need help with anything?"
Jack shook his head as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed again, "No, I got it. Thanks."
After some time, he made his way into the bed next to you and the two of you sat in companionable silence as the weather man continued to give play by play updates as the blizzard got ever closer. Jack was trying not to think about the warmth your body might provide in the night when you yawned and placed the eReader on your nightstand.
"Think I'm gonna try to get some sleep," You said, settling beneath the covers.
"Oh, let me turn off—" Jack started, reaching for the remote, but you cut him off.
"No, it's okay. Turn it off whenever. I can sleep through anything."
Jack sat awake for what felt like hours, unable to sleep for fear of reaching for you in his sleep. Somewhere in his subconscious was a level of desire he was hardly able to keep in check when he was awake. He had no idea what his body would do once his brain was offline.
He was listening to you snoring softly and had flipped the channel to M*A*S*H reruns when the room suddenly went dark. The whir of the heater creaked to silence until the only sound in the room was the wind rattling against the windows.
Fuck. He thought.
"Jack?" Your voice was bleary with sleep.
"Power went out," He said in response, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and fumbling around for his crutches.
"Well—Don't—It might come back in a second—"
"It's not coming back on. They can't send crews out in this weather."
"Well the hotel must have a generator."
"Maybe," Jack said, now ruffling through his duffel for a flashlight, "But it might be a while."
He clicked on the switch on the flashlight and immediately felt relief as light flooded the room. Pointing it towards your spot on the bed, you squinted and covered your eyes with your forearm at the sudden brightness.
"Sorry," He said and pointed it away from you.
"Why don't we just get some sleep," You said through a yawn, "The power'll probably be back up by the time we wake up."
You were likely right, but the more time passed the more he felt like the possibility of him being able to sleep while you were right next to him was slim to none.
He reached for his prosthesis, "I'm just gonna take a walk to the front desk to see—"
"No!" You said quickly, and it came out almost like a whine, "Please, don't. I just, um, I don't wanna be alone."
He almost laughed, "Are you… Afraid of the dark?"
You sighed, "Don't make fun."
"I'm not," He said quickly, schooling his features, "I'm just surprised. I won't leave if you don't want me to."
"Thank you," You said, the relief in your tone palpable.
He climbed back into the bed, leaving the flashlight on the nightstand and pointing towards the ceiling so that it bathed most of the room in a warm glow. He saw you shiver after a moment and frowned, "You're cold?"
You sank deeper into the duvet, "I can already tell the heat is out."
"Well I have an emergency warming blanket—"
You laughed, "You really are prepared for everything, huh?"
Not everything. He thought. Not you.
Instead, he only shrugged.
"I don't want some weird foil blanket, I'd have to be close to hypothermic before I'd use it."
He chuckled, "Suit yourself."
But after almost twenty minutes without the heat, you were nearly vibrating the whole mattress with your shivering.
"Could I, um…" You sounded shy and when he looked over at you, you were staring at the ceiling, "Could I move a little closer to you? Just…For warmth. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."
He fingers itched to pull you to him, envelop you entirely in his warmth, but he resisted.
"Yeah, of course." He said instead, carefully camouflaging the want from his voice.
You scooted your body over until your hips were touching his. He wanted to resist, really, he did. But you were so cold.
"Well, that's not gonna help you much," He said softly and turned on his side toward you, "Can I?" He asked, reaching his arms toward you.
You barely hesitated before nodding and he pulled you into his arms. Once settled, you sighed in contentment, running your hands along his arms as they held you flush to his chest.
"This okay?" He asked softly.
You nodded, "Yeah, you?"
He closed his eyes, "I'm good."
He relished in the feel of you in his arms, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. With you so close to him, his mind wandered to thoughts of kissing your neck and allowing his hands to wander beneath your shirt, knead and toy with the soft flesh of your breasts—
Shit. He felt it when the blood rushed between his legs, his cock swelling and prodding at your ass. He felt the flush crawl up his neck, "Fuck, sorry, I—"
"It's okay," You said quickly, sounding a bit breathless, "It a normal reaction, but…"
He hung on your every word, "But…?"
"Well, I just, if—If it were more than that. That would be okay, too."
He thought his heart might have skipped a beat. He swallowed thickly, "Yeah?"
You nodded, "But it's okay if… if you don't feel the same."
He laughed, "You have no idea just how desperately I want you."
"Really?"
He nodded and used his hands to gently tilt your face to the side so he had access to your neck where he laid gentle kisses all the way up to your ear. You sighed and turned your head so you could meet his kisses. The taste of you, finally on his tongue, it was addicting. The sounds you made, better than anything he could have imagined.
His hands roamed up your shirt and as he teased and twisted your nipples, you squirmed against him, creating friction against his cock, "Jesus Christ." He hissed.
So quickly, you were putty in his hands, unable to string a sentence together. Drunk on his touch.
He slipped a hand down your belly and into your panties. Slowly, he ran his fingers over your lips and then circled your clit. Repeated the motion, ghosting over your entrance, but never quite penetrating. Until you were writhing against him, rutting your hips into his palm, whining for more.
"That feel good, baby? You want more?"
You hiccuped, nodding helplessly.
"You want me to fuck you with my fingers?"
"Please, Jack." You managed finally and he smiled, pressed a kiss just below your ear.
"Good girl, so good for me." He murmured and slowly pushed his middle finger inside you.
Already wet and aching, you accommodated the stretch with ease and he began prodding, finding where it was that most drove you crazy. Then he pushed his ring finger inside you, used his thumb to continue rubbing your clit.
In moments, you were falling apart in his arms. He cooed sweet words in your ear as you came down and then slowly slipped his fingers out of you once you settled again. Unable to help himself, he sucked your juices off his fingers. The taste of you riled him so thoroughly, his cock twitched, aching and full against his thigh as he considered splaying you open to feast properly.
But before he could do anything, the TV came back on and the heater hummed back to life. You turned in his arms to face him, the blue light casting shadows across your face. But it didn't matter, he saw the giddiness you tried to hide. You swallowed, "Looks like the generator kicked in."
He nodded and ran his thumb over your lower lip, "It's a shame, I was looking forward to keeping you warm all night."
Finally, a smile split across your face and you closed the inches between you to kiss him, "I'm still pretty cold," You said softly into his mouth, "If the offer still stands."
A wolfish grin spread across Jack's face as you began tugging at his boxers.
Hellooo, I was wondering if you could do a Jack Abbot x fem reader (maybe she’s a nurse) where they both obviously like each other a lot and are super close so they spend a lot of time together in and outside of the Pitt. It’s a miscommunication in that reader thinks they’re dating but Jack doesn’t and he’s all pining after her (maybe insecure cause he’s so much older than her). It kinda goes on for a bit before Jack overhears her one day talking to someone about a boyfriend and he’s so brokenhearted that he starts avoiding reader. Obviously she freaks out and asks what happened, thinking he might break up with her only for both of them to be confused when they realize how stupid they’ve been.
I’m sorry if that was really long/too descriptive. I’ve seen this trope maybe once or twice and I just thought I’d love to see your take on it since you write Jack sooo well💞
💞Tags/Warnings💞: age gap relationship/crush, fluff, talks of age insecurity ( so hurt/comfort ), miscommunication leads to confessions
💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot is the perfect boyfriend! He just doesn’t know it yet..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: So, what are we?!
💞A/N💞: this is so funny! I love a good miscommunication trope. And thank you sm! Hope you like it!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
“God, I love this man..”
Those words leave Y/N’s mouth effortlessly as she grabs the candy bar that was left on her desk. She already knew who it was from. She didn’t have to read the dorky post it note that was attached to it. The confession stuns even her for a split second.
This was her first time saying it out loud.
It’s followed by a giddy giggle as Mel gets bashful for her. She couldn’t help it though. She was falling for the Jack Abbot. The man who’s been a constant by her side since she started working at the Pitt almost a year or so ago. He’s been her number one supporter on good days and her rock on bad ones.
“You’re so happy.” Mel notes with a big smile as if Y/N’s good mood was contagious. It makes her laugh a bit more.
“My boyfriend is literally perfect, Mel. Of course I’m happy…” Y/N smiles wide, holding the candy bar closer to her chest. Both women fail to notice the older attending hovering around the corner, though.
Jack had been waiting as patiently as he could for Mel to walk away so he could check in on Y/N. She’d had a terrible morning. Hence the candy he’d set for her on her desk. But hearing the word ‘boyfriend’ had done something to his chest. Maybe it had broken his rose colored glasses.
Maybe it had woken him up.
He slowly backs away as it sinks in. Of course. Of course a beautiful girl like Y/N would be taken. He rubs his hands along his cargo pants as he instantly tries to busy himself. He should’ve known that this long game he was playing would only end badly.
He didn’t know when it started. He likes to believe the moment he met Y/N, he started to woo her. But, honestly, he had seen Y/N as a mentee. Someone with a passion for saving people that he respected.
Jack loved a capable woman.
And the day he watched her practically get on top of a plus sized patient so she could have the leverage to give CPR as paramedics rushed the gurney down the hallway? He knew he had to buy her dinner.
Maybe that’s when the view changed? He couldn’t pinpoint it. One day, though, he just looked at her and thought to himself.. ‘huh. Have her eyes always been that deep?’
And he’d been falling in them ever since..
But here he is now. Embarrassed and fidgeting with his stethoscope out of an overwhelming gut feeling of aimlessness. He felt dumb to say the least.
But why feel anything else? What should he feel instead?
Surprised? He’s 50! Obviously getting the girl wasn’t for someone of his age.
What about anger? For all the late night breaks spent on the roof or at the park across the way? For all the deep conversations that an attending and nurse could not platonically have because they’re so intimate in nature, especially if the nurse has a boyfriend! But maybe Y/N was just a naturally open person. Maybe those details he had learned about her weren’t special in nature because everyone knew them. Maybe he imagined the comfortable silence and hand brushing. The resting her head on his shoulder were just habits of hers that she’d do with anyone.
Should he feel concerned? Confused? A boyfriend and yet she’d grab breakfast with him after almost every shift? A boyfriend, but she’d hold his hand as they walk through the farmer’s market on Sunday because she wanted him to explore new aspects of Pittsburgh. There’s a boyfriend in her life, and just earlier this afternoon they’d shared a hospital bed to nap in together for their night shift!
Jack wants to laugh in disbelief. Some girlfriend Y/N was! If he was said boyfriend, he would’ve been down here the first time he heard his girlfriend had gone out to grab a slice at 1am with her attending. Just to make sure the guy knows she’s taken. Maybe they weren’t that kind of couple though. Hell, maybe it was that old school mindset that Jack had that solidified him just not being Y/N’s type.
Jack busies himself by checking the supplies in empty hospital rooms. Refilling what’s needed. It’s tedious, sure, but also just enough to keep his mind on something else and stop his racing thoughts from suffocating his heart..
“Hey..” He hears from behind him, and slows his movements only a bit but stays with his back turned. Looking at her would only make him break.. And he was way too old to be this heartbroken..
Y/N pauses at the tension she clearly sees on Jack’s shoulders. She frowns slightly. “You okay? Is it the supplies?” She tries to joke as she moves closer. “Do you need a stocking buddy?” She teases as she moves to stand next to him. Usually, her teasing would be met with a joke of his own. A sly comment with a soft smirk.
But the minute Y/N’s hand brushed against Jack’s, he drops the glove box he’d been wrestling with and just walks out of the room. Leaving Y/N stunned…
What the hell was that?!
*
*
*
That wasn’t Jack. This wasn’t Jack.
And Y/N was beginning to worry.
For a man who had once told her, ‘you’re the Pitt nurse, sure, but you’re my nurse first’, he was surely enjoying calling for Mateo to follow him on cases tonight..
Y/N stands at the nurse’s station, racking through her brain to think about this. What the hell had she done? What had she said? Why couldn’t he look her in the eyes tonight? Why would he vacate any room she walked into like she’s the plague?
“I’m off..” She hears from behind her and turns to wave bye to Mel who’d been pulling extra hours now that she had no responsibilities towards her sister. That’s when it hit her.
Oh god.
Maybe she had messed up!
Telling Mel! She’d told Mel! She hadn’t used any names, sure, but maybe it was obvious. Maybe Jack wanted to keep this private. He was a very open book at work, though. Hell, Y/N found out the majority of her facts on Jack because of Robby!
That was his work husband through and through..
But maybe this, maybe they, were supposed to stay a secret. Something just for them. And telling Mel had upset Jack. She gets a thought that makes her heart drop..
Maybe it had showed him her immaturity.
She needed to find him…
*
*
*
The sun was just starting to peek up from the city line as Jack leaned against the railing. He needed the fresh air to clear his mind. The night had dragged on and today was a new day. A day to fully sit with this somber acceptance. Y/N wasn’t his. And she never would be..
The roof top door squeaks open and Jack doesn’t turn to see who has entered, assuming it to be Robby. If it was, he’d try and convince the older man to just sit here with him for a moment or so. He could use the silent company. But a voice breaks out of the silence.
“I knew I’d find you here..”
Jack cringes slightly. He sighs at the flutter in his heart. Her voice does that to him. Even now, knowing everything. He hates it.
“Just about to leave.” He says, voice gruff as he goes to grab his bookbag that’s on the gravel ground by his feet. He picks it up and swiftly moves over the railing. Y/N is quick to get in his way.
“Jack. Please. I can explain..” She whispers, finally dropping any casual front. She knew they had something to discuss..
“There’s nothing to explain, Y/N. I’m just your attending..” Jack says shortly, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see her heart break from his words.
“Jack..” She whispers, as if in shock that he’d even say that. He moves to walk past her, but he can’t stop himself anymore. They did have something to discuss…
“No.” He says, turning back around to face her. “You know what really sucks? Is the fact that you couldn’t just tell me.” He states.
“I didn’t think it was important!” Y/N quickly says back, shaking her head as if beside herself in this moment.
“You didn’t think…” Jack laughs humorlessly. A short sound that’s cut off by his hand coming up to rub his mouth in disbelief.
“We spend every night, every morning, every day off together, and you didn’t think it was important?” He continues with a heavy sigh of disbelief and anger.
Y/N shakes her head, arms coming up to hold herself. It’s her turn to breathe shakily in frustration. “I’m sorry that you wanted me kept a secret! I didn’t know you were so ashamed of being with me!”
Jack pauses. “What?” He whispers in disbelief. “What?!” He repeats as if at a loss. “I.. You know what I’m ashamed of, Y/N? Being the other man!”
“What?!” Y/N practically shrieks in shock. That sound stuns the older man for a brief moment. Long enough for her to continue.
“Jack. There is no other man. It’s just you!” She says fast.
“I…” He blinks a bit before shaking his head. No. No, he’d heard her clear as day. “You’re gonna lie? I heard you. Talking about your boyfriend..”
“Are you… Is this a senior moment?!” Y/N loudly proclaims in actual astonishment.
“Hey..” Jack warns.
“You’re my boyfriend, you big dummy! I was talking about you!” She shouts. What the hell wasn’t he getting right now?!
There’s a beat of silence the falls between the two. As if they’ve just now realized how different their viewpoints had been.
“I… I am?” Jack asks slowly now, turning pale with shock. Only then does the anger in Y/N’s body melt away, replaced with surprise. But it’s mixed with something else. Something bitter.
Mortified humiliation.
“A-Are you..?” She asks back before covering her mouth. Had she just assumed all those outings were dates? All those moments alone, all those afternoon naps at work? It was all just friendly?!
“Oh my god, you must think I’m a kid..” She whispers, horrified as Jack lets it all fully sink in. Y/N turns away, hand on her forehead as she wishes for the ground to just swallow her whole. Jack looks at her. Really looks at her, and he can’t help but start to chuckle.
“It’s not funny!” Y/N whines, tears in her eyes as Jack walks over.
“I’m not laughing at you. I.. Come here..” He whispers as he pulls her in. As much as she wants to run, she knows his arms around her will feel so much better…
He holds her close as he rests his chin on the top of her head, arms on her shoulders while she grips his waist. “I… I’m so so sorry..” He says finally before pulling back to look at her.
They both take a moment to actually look at each other and softly begin to laugh. What the hell was this?!
“You must think I’m some dumb school girl.” Y/N groans as Jack smiles softly, muttering assurances that he doesn’t, but she keeps talking. “I.. I thought we.. We’d go out, you’d buy me flowers..” She tries to defend her thought process, but her voice comes out sheepish.
“I was… I was playing the long game..” Jack admits bashfully.
“Long game?!” Y/N asks in a flabbergasted tone.
“Yeah! You know… When a guy likes a girl, so he.. He woos her! To show he’s a good candidate!” Jack defends. Y/N actually eyes him as it clicks.
“Oh my god..” She mumbles as she remembers. Right! He’s 50! Of course he’d think dating is still some big show and dance where the guy has to pull out all the stops before he can even get the girl to be his girlfriend.
“That was all just you being chivalrous?!” Y/N stomps a foot.
“I thought it’d work!” Jack says right back. In his defense, he hasn’t been in the dating game in almost ten or so years..
“Well it did! I thought we were dating already!” Y/N groans as she face palms. Jack chuckles quietly.
“We never kissed..” He points out after a moment. Y/N sheepishly shrugs.
“I thought you were just building up to it..” She defends quietly as he softly laughs and shakes his head.
The two stand on the roof, the early morning sun shining on them as they find comfort in each other’s arms. Slowly, Y/N looks up from her playful tugging at the hem of his scrubs.
“So..” She mumbles. “What are we now?” She asks finally, voice soft and slightly lighthearted. Jack looks at her before leaning in, catching her lips in a tender kiss with his hands cradling her chin and jaw. The kiss makes Y/N’s head spin. It’s exactly how she’d imagined it. The coffee taste and all..
When they finally pull away, Y/N smiles wide against his lips. “Okay..” She mumbles, nodding only slightly as if agreeing to his silent proposal. The two slowly head for the roof door now, with all that settled. But Jack can’t stop himself as they get into the stairwell.
“So. How long have we been dating?” Jack asks curiously.
“Shut up…” Y/N laughs, still embarrassed as she lightly swats at his shoulder.
“What? I need to know if I gotta plan for an anniversary!” Jack teases further as she playfully shoves him before squealing when he goes to grab her waist, playfully running from him and down the stairs as he chases her..
summary : jack always thought age would take him away from you. he never even considered you could leave him first.
warnings : angst !!!!!!!!! like a shit load haha good luck, mention of injure, mentions of blood, jack abbot being physically unwell
word count : 7.2 k
a/n: based on a rq !! nor proofread !
Time has never been Jack Abbot's friend.
He only had a few years with his wife before she passed away. Only a few years in service before he lost his leg.
He's always known his time was limited. That he would go sooner rather than later.
So when he met you, the hot-headed resident that swept the night-shift by force and took over every single of inch of him - body, mind and soul- he knew that he had to have you.
Just for a little while, before the earth reclaimed him and swallowed him whole.
The affair began in a sterile supply closet, the scent of antiseptic and desperation thick in the air. You were all sharp edges and furious energy, a storm in human form, and he was the ancient, weary rock you broke against. You challenged him in front of nurses, questioned his diagnoses with a fire that should have insulted him but instead ignited something long dormant in his chest. You saw the prosthetic leg, the limp, the weary lines around his eyes, and you didn't see a broken man; you saw a fortress to be conquered.
He let you in. He let you scream at him for being reckless with a patient, let you cry on his shoulder after a child coded on your table, let you fuck him with a ferocity that left him feeling more alive than he had in decades. He never spoke of love, and neither did you. It was an unspoken rule, a sacred pact between the ticking clock in his chest and the boundless, reckless energy in yours. He was your anchor in the chaos of the hospital, and you were his glorious, final blaze. He knew it was selfish, a cruel theft of your time and your heart, but as he watched you sleep, your face soft in the dim light of his apartment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was a condemned man, and you were his last, perfect meal.
But unfortunately for him, Jack does love you.
God, does he love you.
He loves the way you march through the emergency department like you're declaring war on death itself. He loves how you refuse to accept "good enough" when someone's life is on the line. He loves that you steal his coffee because "yours always tastes better," despite the fact you make it the exact same way. He loves the little wrinkle that appears between your eyebrows whenever you're reading a chart. He loves that you hum under your breath during sutures. He loves the stubborn tilt of your chin whenever someone underestimates you. He loves you in a thousand tiny, impossible ways.
Which is exactly why he knows he has to let you go. The realization doesn't come all at once. It settles into him quietly. One Tuesday morning, while you're standing at the nurses' station arguing with Radiology because somebody lost your CT request.
You're furious. Absolutely incandescent.
"You either find the scan," you snap into the phone, "or I walk down there myself." Jack watches from across the department. A nurse bumps into you with an apology. Without even looking, you smile at her.
"It's okay." Then you're right back to terrifying someone over the phone. He smiles despite himself. God. You're beautiful. Too beautiful to spend your twenties watching an old man grow older.
Too beautiful to become someone's widow before you've even learned who you're supposed to be. He catches himself imagining impossible things.
A little house. A garden. You yelling at him because he planted tomatoes too close together.
Sunday mornings. Children.
The image hurts enough that he has to look away. Because he knows exactly how it ends.
Not with the house. Not with the garden.
With a funeral.
His.
And you standing beside the casket far, far too young.
He spends the rest of the shift avoiding you. Not because he's angry. Because if he looks at you for too long, he'll fold. You make it easy to avoid him. You don't seek him out either. You present cases through another attending. You eat lunch in the residents' lounge instead of his office. During trauma rounds, your eyes slide over him like he's just another physician in blue scrubs. Professional. Detached.
It should make him happy. Instead, it hollows him out.
After a bout six hours of this bullshit, you finally snap.
Your hand wraps around his arm as he walks by the supply closet and you drag him inside, locking the door behind the both of you.
"What the-"
"What exactly is your problem ?" You snap, shaking your head as you look up at him. God this man is beautiful.
He always has been.
The moment you met him, you knew you were as good as gone.
It had been your first week.
You'd walked into the emergency department with your chin held too high, your white coat too stiff, determined to prove yourself to every attending who thought a twenty-something resident couldn't keep up. Jack Abbott hadn't even looked up from the chart in his hands when he'd said,
"You're standing in my trauma bay." You'd looked him dead in the eye and replied,
"Then maybe work faster." The entire room had gone silent. A nurse had actually choked on her coffee. Jack had slowly lowered the chart. Looked at you. Really looked at you. Then the corner of his mouth had twitched.
"You're either very brave," he'd said.
"Or very stupid."
"I haven't decided yet." You'd smiled. He'd been doomed from that moment on. So had you. Now, months later, you're standing inches from him in the same supply closet where everything began. Only this time, neither of you is smiling..
Jack stares at the floor for a long moment.
"Baby.." Your expression hardens.
"Answer me, Jack."
"I'm fine." His voice is tired. You blink.
"No, you're not. Talk to me." He exhales slowly.
"I can't..." His hands settle on his hips. "I just- I can't handle this shift anymore. I'm exhausted." You step closer.
"You're lying to me." He doesn't answer. "Tell me what changed." Nothing. "You were fine yesterday." Silence. "You kissed me goodbye this morning." Silence. "You told me to drive safe." His jaw clenches. "So what happened between eight o'clock this morning and now?" Finally, he looks at you. Your heart splinters open. You reach up to him, your fingers tangling in his graying hair.
It's softer than it looks.
You cradle the back of his head, your thumb brushing slowly along his temple.
"Jack…" He closes his eyes. Just for a second. And he leans into your touch. The movement is so small most people would've missed it. You don't. You never do.
"There you are," you whisper. His breath catches. "You only do that when you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're lying." A tired smile ghosts across his mouth.
"…You're getting too good at reading me."
"I've always been good at reading you." Your fingers slide through his hair again, smoothing it back from his forehead. "You haven't looked me in the eye all day." Silence. "You've been avoiding me." Silence. "You skipped lunch." Silence. "You gave Mrs. Alvarez's discharge paperwork to Robby instead of me." Another silence. "And…" your voice softens, "…you haven't touched me." That one lands. You watch something inside him crack. His shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.
"I couldn't."
"Why?" He laughs once. It's a horrible sound. Because there's no humor in it.
"I was afraid if I did…" His eyes finally meet yours. "…I'd never let you go." The words steal every ounce of air from your lungs.
"Jack…"
"You smiled at me this morning." His voice has gone distant. Like he's remembering it instead of living it. "You stole half my toast."
"I did."
"You kissed me…" His hand comes up almost involuntarily, resting lightly against your waist. "So I spent the whole drive in thinking…" His thumb flexes once against your scrub top. "…how many mornings do I actually have left?" Your expression crumples.
"Don't talk like that, Jack." You say, your face falling "Please, don't." You beg. HIs face hardens as he sees the sad look cross your face, and he cups your cheeks, tilting your face up.
"Can't help it. I'm on borrowed time, baby. And I know that." His hands smooth down your neck to rub affectionately at your arms. "I just... God, i don't want to know you'll still be here when i'm not." You shake your head, grabbing his hand and pressing it to your chest as you mirror your hand on his.
"I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere." You press a kiss to his temple. "We're not going anywhere." Jack's eyes close the second your lips touch his temple. He stands perfectly still. As if he's trying to memorize the feeling.
"…You always say that," he whispers.
"Because it's true."
"It isn't."
"It is." He gives you a sad smile.
"You're too young to know what forever looks like."
"And you're too stubborn to let anybody love you properly." That actually earns a quiet laugh.
"Fair." Your thumb strokes across the back of his hand where it's pressed over your heartbeat.
"Feel that?" He nods. "That's where you live." His gaze drops to where your fingers are laced together.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you."
"I know."
"You could have kids."
"I know."
"You could travel."
"I know."
"You could find somebody who'll still be around when you're sixty." You shake your head.
"I already found somebody." His jaw tightens.
"Baby…"
"No." Your voice is gentle now. Not angry. Not pleading. Just certain. "I don't want some hypothetical man twenty years from now." You take another step until your forehead rests against his. "I want the grumpy attending who steals my fries." A tiny huff escapes him.
"I do not steal your fries."
"You absolutely steal my fries."
"I sample them."
"You sample half the basket."
"They taste better off your plate."
"They're the same fries."
"They ain't." You smile despite yourself. His expression softens.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You should go home." You blink. "Your shift's over."
"I know." You glance toward the tiny window in the supply closet door. The afternoon light has already started fading. "You coming?" The question is so ordinary. So domestic. The kind you've asked a hundred times before. Jack's hand stills against your cheek.
"…Not yet." Your smile fades.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got some charts to finish."
"You can do those tomorrow."
"I'd rather do 'em tonight."
"Jack." His eyes slide away from yours.
"I just…" He clears his throat. "I need a little while longer." Your heart sinks.
"You still want to be alone."
"No." The answer comes quickly. Painfully quickly. "I just need to think." You study his face. The lines around his eyes. The exhaustion he keeps trying to hide. The fear he can't.
"You promise you'll come home?" His throat works.
"…Yeah."
"Jack." He looks back at you. "Promise me." Something flickers across his face. Something almost guilty.
"I promise." You search his eyes for another long moment. Then you nod.
"Okay." You smooth the collar of his scrubs absentmindedly. "I'll start dinner." His lips twitch.
"What're we havin'?"
"I was thinking pasta."
"The one with too much garlic?"
"There is no such thing as too much garlic." He smiles.
"There she is." You rise onto your toes and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't."
"You always say that."
"I know."
"And then I end up asleep on the couch waiting for you." His hand finds your waist again.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." You squeeze his hand once. "You just have to come home." His chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts. Home. Not your apartment. Not his. Home. Wherever you were waiting. He watches you unlock the supply closet door.
Before stepping out, you glance back over your shoulder.
"I love you." The words are easy. Habitual now. Like breathing. Jack smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I know." You frown.
"…That's not what you're supposed to say." A sheepish smile.
"I…" His voice catches. "I love you too." You grin.
"There we go." Then you're gone, disappearing back into the controlled chaos of the emergency department. Jack stays where he is long after the door swings shut. The closet suddenly feels impossibly quiet.
With one last glance in the direction you'd gone, he squares his shoulders and walks back onto the emergency department floor, never noticing the rain beginning to fall outside the hospital windows.
Time passes by in a blur.
Before he knows it the sun is coming up, and Jack's shift is nearing it's end.
He rubs his temples tiredly, a sharp clap on his back jolting him forward.
"You look like shit, Jackie."
"Could say the same about you, Robby." Jack bites back, waving half-heartedly at Dana as she walks by with her coffee and about five different interns trailing after her.
"Go home," Dana calls over her shoulder without breaking stride. "You're scaring the medical students."
"They're supposed to be scared."
"They're supposed to be inspired."
"They'll learn." She snorts.
"They'll learn therapy." Jack manages a tired smile. His shoulders ache. His prosthetic has been screaming at him for the last three hours. His coffee went cold sometime around four in the morning. And all he can think about is you.
Probably asleep on the couch.
Probably stubborn enough to have waited until midnight before finally giving up and going to bed.
He pulls his phone from his pocket. One unread message from five minutes ago.
4:42 AM
I love you. ❤️
His thumb lingers over the tiny heart. He smiles despite himself. Then types back.
Sorry, baby. Crazy night. Coming home now. Love you too.
He slips the phone back into his pocket.
"Finally listening to your girlfriend?" Robby asks. Jack doesn't bother correcting the title.
"…Yeah."
"Good." Robby claps him on the shoulder again.
"Go home before she comes down here and drags your old ass out herself." A quiet chuckle escapes him.
"Wouldn't put it past her."
"Neither would I." Jack reaches for his coat hanging over the back of the chair. Almost home. A shower. Pasta reheated in the microwave. Your feet in his lap while you complained about residents and he pretended not to fall asleep halfway through the story. His favorite part of every day. The pager on his belt shrieks. Everyone in the department freezes instinctively. The overhead speakers crackle.
"Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision. ETA four minutes. Repeat, Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision." Jack closes his eyes.
"…Of course." His coat slips back onto the chair. Around him, the emergency department explodes into motion. Nurses rush toward Trauma One and Two. Respiratory is already wheeling ventilators into place. Blood coolers arrive. Dana spins on her heel.
"Let's move!" Robby is already pulling on gloves. Jack doesn't think. Years of instinct take over. He's halfway to the trauma bay before he remembers he'd promised you I'm coming home. The ambulance bay doors burst open. Rain lashes sideways through the entrance. Sirens scream.
One ambulance. Then another. Then a third. Paramedics spill out, shouting reports over one another.
"We've got minor wounds to passengers of cars involved, one major trauma on the way, eta two minutes." People start piling out of the ambulances, all minor head wounds and scrapes - minor enough for Jack and Robby to motion for them to head inside towards Santos, Mel, Langdon, Mohan, Whittaker and Javadi to take care of them.
Another set of sirens cuts through the rain.
Louder.
Closer.
A trauma nurse looks toward the ambulance bay doors.
"That'll be the major." The radio clipped to one of the paramedics crackles with static.
"Medic Seven inbound. Single critical patient. High-speed MVC. Driver trapped for approximately seven minutes after crash. Prolonged extrication. ETA sixty seconds." Jack is already pulling gloves over his hands.
"What've we got?" The paramedic barely glances up from the radio.
"Female. Late twenties to early thirties." Jack nods once.
"Mechanism?"
"Pickup crossed the center line. T-boned on the driver's side. Car rolled." His stomach sinks.
"Vitals?"
"Unstable."
"Airway?"
"Compromised."
"BP?"
"Eighty systolic and dropping." Robby whistles under his breath.
"Damn." Dana is already assigning stations. "Jack, you're leading." He nods automatically. "Robby, airway."
"Got it."
"Dana, thoracotomy tray on standby." The room transforms into organized chaos. Nurses lay out chest tubes. Someone spikes blood. The ultrasound machine hums to life. Jack checks the laryngoscope without really seeing it.
Focus.
One patient.
One problem at a time.
That's what he'd taught every resident who'd ever worked under him.
The ambulance backs into the bay with a squeal of brakes. Its doors fly open before it's fully stopped.
Rain explodes inside. The paramedics are shouting before the stretcher even touches the ground.
The patient is covered almost entirely by blankets, cervical collar, oxygen tubing and blood-soaked dressings.
Jack can't see her face. Good. He doesn't need to. She's his patient. She's just another trauma. Just another life to save.
The wheels slam through the trauma room doors.
"One, two, three!" They transfer her onto the hospital bed. Blankets peel away. Trauma shears slice through soaked clothing.
Blood. Too much blood.
Jack's eyes scan automatically.
Pelvis. Chest. Airway. Hands.
His gaze catches on a silver ring wrapped around one finger.
Simple. Thin.
He knows that ring. His heartbeat stutters.
No. There are thousands like it. He reaches for the patient's wrist to assess perfusion. A woven bracelet slides free from beneath the bloodied sleeve.
Blue thread. Fraying near the knot.
You'd made him the matching one six months ago during a rare weekend away. His hand freezes.
"…Jack?" Robby's voice sounds strangely far away. He stares at the bracelet.
No. No.
His eyes finally lift. The paramedic pulls away the oxygen mask that had been resting loosely over the endotracheal tube while the respiratory therapist reconnects the ventilator. Blood-matted hair spills across the pillow. A bruised cheek. A familiar scar just beneath your jaw from the time you cut yourself opening an ampoule as an intern. Everything inside him stops.
"…No." It's barely audible. Dana looks up.
"Jack?" He doesn't answer. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him. Not you.
Please. Not you. One of the nurses glances at the chart clipped to the end of the bed.
"No ID found at scene." Another nurse holds up a shattered phone sealed inside an evidence bag. "It was locked." Jack finally sees the necklace lying against your throat. The tiny silver stethoscope charm. His birthday gift. His own hands had fastened it around your neck. His gloves tremble.
"…Baby?" Silence. The monitor shrieks. Heart rate plummeting.
"Eighty over palp!"
"We're losing pressure!" Dana snaps her fingers in front of him.
"Jack!" His head jerks up. Every eye in Trauma One is on him. For one impossible second, he is not an attending physician. Not a trauma surgeon. Not a teacher.
He's just a man staring at the love of his life on a trauma table.
Robby sees his face. Looks at you. Looks back at Jack. And all the color drains from his own.
"…Oh, God." The room falls silent for exactly one heartbeat.
Seven minutes, you were in that car.
Five minutes before you texted him.
You were on your phone behind the wheel.
Just to tell him you loved him.
This is his fault.
Oh god.
Oh god, he's going to be sick.
Jack backs out of the room, nausea crawling up his spine as he stumbles through the ER, staring at the door.
"Dr Abbot ?" Langdon calls as he's cleaning up a surface level cut on a child's head.
And Jack doubles over.
And throws upon the ER floor just as Robby barrels out of the room.
"Jack." Robby is at his side in an instant, one hand catching his shoulder before he can hit the floor. Jack doesn't even realize he's vomiting until his throat burns. His stomach empties violently onto the polished ER tile.
Again. Again.
His entire body convulses.
"Oh, Jesus," Langdon breathes, automatically guiding the child's mother a few steps away. Dana appears beside him so fast it seems impossible.
"Get Environmental Services—"
"No." Robby cuts her off sharply. "Not yet." He keeps one hand firm between Jack's shoulder blades as another wave hits him.
Jack can't breathe. He can't— You'd texted him.
Love you.
He'd answered.
Coming home now.
Seven minutes. Seven goddamn minutes.
If he'd just left when he'd promised… If he'd just gone home… If he hadn't stayed to finish charts… If he hadn't spent the whole afternoon trying to convince himself to leave you… His hands begin to shake so violently he can't control them.
"I…" His voice disappears. "I…" He swallows hard against another wave of nausea. "I'm supposed to go first." He gasps against the prickling in his eyes, the pressure in his skull. He can see Dr Shen and Dr Ellis trying to bring your pulse back in the room, your small frame crushed beneath Ellis as he breaks your ribs over and over.
Jack feels sick all over again.
"They're hurting her." Jack rasps, sidestepping around his own sick and trying to reach you. "Robby, they're-"
"Jack, no. They're saving her." Robby says, stopping him. Jack stares at you, the way your rest caves beneath Shen's hands, the way your hand hangs limp off the bed, the way your lips part to give way for the tube that was unceremoniously shoved down your throat.
You were texting and driving.
Just to tell him you loved him.
Jack has always knows fate was a tricky thing.
He didn't think she had a dark sense of humor.
"Robby, you- You have to help her. She's in her twenties, she's- She's too young. She has to live. Robby, you have to save her." Robby grabs him by both shoulders. Hard.
"Jack." His voice cuts clean through the panic. "Look at me." Jack doesn't. He can't. His eyes are locked on the trauma bay.
On you.
Ellis's elbows lock as he continues compressions.
One. Two. Three.
Each one lifts your slight frame off the mattress.
Jack flinches with every compression as if they're landing on his own chest.
"They're hurting her," he whispers again, horrified.
"Jack, no."
"They're breaking her ribs."
"They have to."
"No—"
"They have to." Robby steps directly into his line of sight. "You taught me that." Jack's eyes finally flicker toward him. "You taught every one of us that." Another crash cart alarm shrieks from inside. Shen's voice rings out.
"Epinephrine's in."
Dana: "Continue CPR." Jack shakes his head frantically.
"She's scared of hospitals when she's the patient." His voice is barely coherent now. "She always jokes she'd make the worst patient…" A broken laugh escapes him. "…She hates IVs." Robby feels his own throat tighten.
"I know."
"She pretends she doesn't…" Jack's eyes fill. "…but she squeezes my hand every time somebody sticks a needle in her." He looks back toward the room. "…Who's holding her hand?" Silence. That question hurts more than anything else. Robby glances through the glass. No one. Every hand is occupied.
Airway.
Chest.
Blood.
Ultrasound.
Nobody has a free hand. Jack makes to move again.
"I need—"
"No."
"I just need to—"
"You cannot go in there."
"They don't know—"
"They know."
"They don't know she gets cold." His breathing hitches. "They don't know she…" He swallows. "…she likes somebody talking to her." His voice breaks. "…She doesn't like silence." Robby's heart splinters. Because he's right. Everyone in that room knows you as a doctor. The brilliant resident. The relentless physician. Only Jack knows that you hum while making coffee.
That you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. That you steal his fries and pretend you don't. That when you're frightened…you reach for his hand.
A nurse rushes past them carrying another cooler of blood.
"Four units O negative!" Dana doesn't even look up.
"Hang all four." Jack's knees buckle. This time Robby catches him completely.
"I can't lose her." The words are tiny. Childlike. Robby eases him onto a nearby chair before he falls outright. "I can't."
"I know."
"I've already buried one wife." His hands cover his face. "I can't bury her too." Robby crouches in front of him.
"You aren't."
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't." Honesty. "But I know who's in that room." Jack looks up. "Dana." A nod. "Ellis." Another. "Shen." Another. "Your whole night shift crew and hjalf my day-shift. And every single one of them has heard you say the same thing for twenty years." Jack blinks. "'One patient,'" Robby says quietly. "'One problem at a time.'" A beat. "They're fighting for her the way you taught them to fight." Inside the trauma bay, another voice cuts through the noise.
"We've got electrical activity." Dana reaches for the ultrasound probe.
"Come on…" Jack grips Robby's forearm so tightly his knuckles turn white.
"You save her." His voice is almost gone."Please." It isn't an order. It isn't attending to attending. It's just a man begging his oldest friend.
"Robby…" His eyes overflow. "…Please save my girl." Robby's own vision blurs. He squeezes Jack's shoulder once. Firm. Certain.
"I am going to do everything medicine allows." He stands. "And when I'm out of medicine…" He looks through the glass at you. "…I'll start borrowing miracles." Without another word, he pulls a fresh pair of gloves over his hands, turns, and runs back into Trauma One, leaving Jack standing alone outside the doors, one trembling hand pressed against the glass, watching the team fight with everything they have to bring you back to him.
------
Jack throws up at least three times before they finally tell him you're stabilised.
His head in the toilet bowl, fingers gripping the porcelain, a shy Mel King waiting for him outside the door with a piece of gum and a bottle of water every time.
The first time, it's violent.
The second, there's almost nothing left.
By the third, it's just dry heaves that leave his ribs aching and his throat raw.
He stays kneeling in front of the staff bathroom toilet long after his stomach is empty, forehead resting against the cool porcelain.
His hands won't stop shaking.
A timid knock sounds against the door.
"…Dr. Abbott?" Mel. He doesn't answer. The door opens just enough for her to peek her head through. She's still in scrubs. There's dried blood on one sleeve that isn't hers. She quietly sets a bottle of water and a packet of mint gum on the floor beside him.
"I thought…" she says softly. "…you might want these." Jack stares blankly at the bottle.
"…Thank you." She doesn't leave immediately. She just stands there awkwardly. Hands clasped together.
"I've never…" Her voice catches. "…I've never seen you scared before." Jack lets out a laugh that sounds more like another sob.
"I have." Mel's eyes sting.
"You always look like you know exactly what to do." He shakes his head.
"Not today." Silence settles between them. "…Is she…" He can't finish. Mel swallows.
"Last time I check they were still working on her.." His shoulders shake. "But she's stable enough." A nod. "They were taking her for CT." Another nod. "They thought…" Mel hesitates. "…they were thinking the bleeding's slower now." Jack closes his eyes.
"Good." His voice is barely audible. "Good." Mel watches him for another moment before clearing her throat.
"Dr Robby is asking to see you." Jack nods once. It takes him three attempts to stand. His knees don't seem to remember how. Mel instinctively reaches out, steadying his elbow without a word. He's the one who's always caught everyone else. Today, she catches him.
"...Sorry," he mutters automatically. She looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"You don't have to apologize." He can't even find the strength to argue. The walk back to Trauma is only thirty yards. It feels like miles. Every step echoes. Every monitor sounds too loud. Every white coat reminds him of yours. He passes nurses who suddenly find something fascinating to look at on clipboards. Residents lower their voices. Nobody knows what to say to the attending who just watched the woman he loves arrive dying in his own emergency department.
Outside Trauma One, Robby is stripping off bloody gloves. There are streaks of crimson across his gown. Across his forearms. Across the bridge of his nose where he'd pushed his glasses back without thinking.
He looks exhausted. He looks twenty years older.
"Robby." Jack gasps. "Please- Please tell me she-"
"She's alive, Jack. They wheeled her up to Gen surgery about an hour ago. Neuro thinks they can manage her without opening her skull since the bleeding slowed." Jack doesn't move. The words don't register. They hit him like a language he's forgotten how to speak.
"…Alive?" Robby nods.
"Alive." Jack stares at him.
"…Alive." Another nod.
"Yeah." The breath leaves Jack all at once. His legs give out. He doesn't collapse dramatically. He just… folds. Like someone cut the strings holding him upright. He sinks into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face. A sound escapes him. Not crying. Not laughing. Something raw. Something that had been trapped inside his chest since he'd recognized your bracelet.
"Oh…" His shoulders shake. "…Thank God." The words dissolve into another ragged breath. For nearly a minute, neither of them speaks. Robby simply stands there. Waiting. Finally— "Talk to me." Robby nods.
"She arrested once." Jack's head snaps up.
"…How long?"
"Just under eight minutes before we got sustained circulation back." Jack visibly pales.
"Jesus…"
"We've got her back."
"What's broken?" Robby takes a slow breath.
"Left femur." A nod. "Pelvis." Another. "Six ribs." Jack closes his eyes. "Pulmonary contusion." His jaw tightens. "Liver laceration."
"Grade?"
"Three."
"…Spleen?"
"Bruised."
"Head?"
"Small subdural."
"And…" Robby hesitates. Jack notices immediately.
"What?"
"They're worried about swelling."
"Brain?"
"No."
"Then what?" Robby exhales slowly.
"Her abdomen." Jack nods automatically.
"Compartment syndrome ?"
"Not exactly." Robby huffs. "Ten week old fetus. Lost in the trauma of the crash." Jack frowns. For a moment, the words don't make sense.
"…What?" Robby's face changes. The practiced mask every trauma surgeon wears slips just enough to reveal the man underneath.
"They found it on FAST." His voice is quiet. Gentle. "We didn't know until we got her clothes off." Jack just stares at him.
"No…"
"They estimate around ten weeks."
"No."
"Jack—"
"No." The word comes out harsher this time. Because it isn't denial. It's disbelief. His mind races backward. Ten weeks. The nausea you'd laughed off. The coffee you'd suddenly stopped drinking. The way you'd pushed the wine he'd poured one Friday night toward him instead. The afternoon you'd stood in the grocery store staring at baby carrots for almost five full minutes because they were "the only thing that sounded good."
He'd teased you relentlessly. You'd just rolled your eyes.
God.
"Oh…" His hand flies to his mouth. "…Oh, sweetheart." He hears himself whisper it. Not to Robby. To you.
"She knew…" Robby nods once.
"We think so. Police found a box full of pregnancy tests and baby clothes in the trunk. They think she was on her way to tell you." Jack's eyes begin to shine again.
"She…" He laughs weakly through the tears. "She was gonna tell me." He can see it now. The strange little smile you'd worn all week. The way you'd kept saying,
"Can we make sure we're both home Thursday night?" He'd assumed you wanted a date night.
God. You'd probably bought a tiny pair of socks.
Or one of those ridiculous mugs. World's Okayest Dad. You always liked making him groan at terrible jokes. His chest caves in.
"I almost…" His voice disappears. "I almost left her." Robby doesn't interrupt. "I spent yesterday convincing myself she'd be happier without me…" Jack's eyes squeeze shut. "…while she was carrying our baby." The words break him. Not loudly. Quietly. His shoulders fold inward. His face crumples. A single sob escapes before he can stop it.
"Oh, God." Robby kneels in front of him again.
"Jack."
"I would've never known." His voice shakes uncontrollably. "If she'd…" He can't finish. He can't say died. "I would've buried them both." Silence. Heavy. Awful. Jack rubs both hands over his face.
"Was…" He swallows painfully. "…was there anything…" Robby already knows what he's asking.
"No." Jack nods. Not because it hurts less. Because he needed the answer. "There wasn't anything anybody could've done." Another nod. "The impact…" Robby exhales slowly. "It was catastrophic." Jack's gaze falls to the floor. He pictures you driving. One hand on the wheel. The other holding your phone. Smiling. Typing three simple words.
I love you.
Maybe wondering how to tell him. Maybe rehearsing it. Maybe laughing to yourself because you'd always said he'd faint if you ever got pregnant. A broken smile flickers across his face through the tears.
"I would've." Robby blinks.
"What?"
"I would've fainted." Another watery laugh. "You would've had to catch me."
"I know."
"I would've built that damn garden." His voice is almost absent now. "We would've argued over paint colors."
Jack wipes his face. His hands are finally beginning to steady. Only a little.
"Does…" He clears his throat. "…does she know?"
"That she lost the pregnancy?" Jack nods. Robby shakes his head.
"No." Jack closes his eyes.
"When she wakes up…" The sentence hangs unfinished. Because there is no good way to finish it. No right time. No right words. Robby puts a hand on his shoulder.
"One thing at a time."
Jack looks at him.
"First…" Robby says quietly, "…we get her through surgery." Another beat. "Then we get her home." Jack nods. A nurse pushes through the double doors.
"Dr. Abbott?" Both men look over. "The OR called." Jack is on his feet before she finishes speaking. "The surgery went great. They're asking if you'd like to sit with her as they wean her off the anesthesia." His face crumples all over again.
"…Can I?"
"They said she'd probably like a familiar voice." His throat closes. Because of course she would. She'd always said she hated silence. He nods once. Unable to trust himself to speak as he starts toward the elevator.
The elevator ride is only three floors.
It feels like an eternity.
Jack stands alone inside the polished steel box, one hand braced against the rail as if the floor keeps threatening to disappear beneath him. His scrubs are still stained. Not with your blood. Someone else's. He can't stop looking at them. The doors slide open with a soft chime. The intensive care floor is quiet.
Painfully quiet. No trauma alarms. No shouted orders. Just the distant hiss of ventilators and the muted beeping of cardiac monitors.
A recovery nurse is waiting outside your room. She offers him a small, sympathetic smile.
"They're just finishing up." Jack nods. His throat is too tight for words. She opens the door. "…You can go in." He hesitates. For the first time in nearly thirty years of medicine…
Jack Abbott is afraid to walk into a patient's room. Not because of what he'll find.
Because of who he'll find.
He finally forces his feet to move. The room is dim. Morning light filters through partially opened blinds. Machines hum quietly around the bed.
You look… Small.
Smaller than you've ever looked before. The ventilator is gone now. Only a nasal cannula rests beneath your nose. Bruises bloom across the left side of your face in deep purples and blues. Your hair has been gently brushed away from your forehead by somebody kind enough to think about things like that. One arm is wrapped in thick bandages. Your left leg disappears beneath blankets, suspended slightly from traction.
IV pumps blink steadily beside you. Monitor. Blood pressure. Pulse oximeter. So many machines. Too many. Jack stops beside the bed. His knees almost buckle again.
"…Hi, baby." The words barely exist. He reaches for your hand. Carefully. As though you're made of spun glass. Your fingers are warm.
Thank God.
Warm.
He folds both of his hands around yours and bows his head until his forehead rests lightly against your knuckles. For a long moment… He just breathes.
He remembers the text.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that nearly became the last thing you'd ever said to him.
His eyes squeeze shut.
"I love you too." The words come easier now. "I love you so much it scares me."
His thumb brushes over your wedding-ring finger.Empty.
Because you weren't married. Not yet. He'd convinced himself there wasn't enough time.
God. He'd been such a fool. His voice grows quieter.
Silence answers him.
Only the rhythmic beeping of your heart.
Steady. Strong. Alive.
He reaches out with trembling fingers and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your bruised forehead.
"You scared me." A tiny smile appears through the tears. His thumb strokes your temple. "…you've always been dramatic." Nothing. "So if you could wake up…" He leans closer. "…I'd appreciate it." Still nothing.
Another stroke through your hair. The monitor continues its patient rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Jack closes his eyes.
"I don't care if we never have another child." His voice is barely audible now.
"I don't care if we never get the house. I don't care if we eat burnt pasta every Thursday for the rest of our lives." He presses a gentle kiss against your bandaged hand. "I just want you." A tiny movement. So small he thinks he imagined it. His head jerks up. Your fingers. They twitch.
Once.
Against his palm. Jack freezes.
"…Baby?" Another tiny movement. Your brow furrows. Almost imperceptibly. Your lips part around a shallow breath.
The monitor speeds up by a few beats.
Jack shoots to his feet so quickly his chair skids backward across the floor.
"Nurse?" His voice cracks.
"Nurse!" The recovery nurse rushes through the doorway.
"What happened?"
"I—" He looks back at you. Your eyelashes flutter. Just once. Like you're trying very hard to swim toward the surface. Jack's heart climbs into his throat. He rushes back to your bedside, taking your hand again. "Baby ? God- Baby, can you hear me ?" His fingers rake through your hair, his lips ghosting over your temple.
Your eyelids flutter once more. A tiny crease forms between your brows. Like you're trying to remember how to wake up. The recovery nurse is already at your bedside, checking the monitor, shining a small penlight across your pupils.
"Easy," she murmurs, though she's not sure whether she's talking to you or Jack. "She's coming up."Jack doesn't take his eyes off your face.
"C'mon," he whispers. "You always were stubborn."
Another flutter.
Your fingers tighten— Barely. Just enough for him to feel it. His breath catches so violently it almost hurts.
"There you are." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "There you are…" Your lips move. No sound. Just the ghost of a word. Jack leans in immediately until his ear is almost against your mouth.
"What?" Nothing. Your breathing hitches. Your brow pinches tighter. You try again.
"…Jack…"
His heart stops.
"I'm here." He swallows hard. "I'm right here." Your eyelashes tremble before finally lifting. Only a sliver. The room is nothing but blurred light and indistinct shapes. You blink slowly. Everything hurts. Your head. Your chest. Your leg. Even breathing feels wrong. The ceiling swims above you.
"…Mm…" Jack is crying openly now. He doesn't even notice.
"Hi." His smile is trembling so hard it barely looks like one. "Hi, my love." Your eyes drift toward the sound of his voice. It takes enormous effort. When they finally find him… You frown.
"…You…" Your voice is little more than dry air. "…crying?" A broken laugh escapes him.
"You notice that first?" Another slow blink.
"…Ugly." He laughs again, louder this time, the sound cracking in the middle.
"Yeah?"
"…Mm."
"So are you." Your lips twitch. The tiniest hint of a smile.
"There she is," he whispers. "There she is." He can't stop touching you. One hand holds yours. The other cups your cheek with impossible gentleness, careful to avoid the bruising.
"I thought…" His voice disappears. He tries again. "I thought I lost you."
Confusion clouds your face.
Lost?
You try to move. Pain explodes through your pelvis. A strangled gasp tears from your throat. Immediately, Jack's hand steadies your shoulder.
"Hey. Take it easy. Don't move, baby."He adjusts the blanket around you before liftingt he back of your mechanical bed to help you sit up a little. "I know you want to. But don't." You squeeze your eyes shut until the wave passes.
"…Truck." The word is barely understandable. "I remember…" Your breathing grows faster "…Lights." Jack nods.
"I know."
"…Rain."
"I know."
"…Home." His heart shatters. "You were coming home. And i- I was coming to you." You look at him again. Really look at him this time. His exhausted face. The dried tears. The blood still staining his scrubs.
"…You…" Your brow furrows. "…Didn't…" He knows what you're asking before you finish.
"I stayed." The admission is quiet. "I'm sorry." You stare at him.
"…Charts?" A humorless laugh escapes him.
"Yeah. I stayed for charts." Your eyes close for a moment. Not in anger. Just exhaustion.
"…Idiot." Jack lets out something between a sob and a laugh.
"I know. I know." You manage the weakest squeeze of his hand.
"…Still…" Another shallow breath. "…Love you." The words are slurred by pain medication.
Sleepy. Honest. Jack's eyes overflow all over again.
"I love you too." He bends carefully, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. "So much." Your gaze drifts over him lazily.
"…You…" A pause. "…Need…"
"What do I need?"
"…Sleep." Despite everything… He smiles.
"Bossing me around already?" A tiny nod.
"…Doctor's…" You pause to gather enough air. "…Orders." He laughs softly, shaking his head.
"Yes, ma'am." The nurse quietly checks your IV, giving the two of you as much privacy as a hospital room can offer. Your eyes begin to drift shut again. Jack feels your fingers loosening in his hand. Fear flashes across his face.
"Hey." Immediately, your eyes crack back open.
"…M'here."
"I know." He strokes your hair again. "You can sleep now."
"You sure?"
"So sure. I'm not leaving." He brings your hand to his lips. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Your expression softens.
"…Promise?" This time… There isn't a second of hesitation.
Content: michael robinavitch x f reader x jack abbot / unprotected sex (p in v) / non-consensual / established relationship / MDNI (+18)
Summary: Reader is in a relationship with Robby and Jack. Jack used the last condom and Robby doesn’t want to stop so he continues even though reader says no. Jack says he’ll get Plan B so it’ll be fine.
Robby has you on all fours as he pushes his cock into you. It’s a stretch, but he has you so worked up that you’re dripping for him. After a while, Robby flips you to your back and continues to drive into you.
Robby notices Jack get of the shower and walk into the bedroom to grab his clothes.
“Hand me a condom.”
“Used the last one earlier.” Jack says as he puts his underwear on and steps into his pants.
“Fuck me.” Robby looks at you as he continues to thrust into you. “Guess we’re going without.”
“R-Robby stop. I’m not on the pill.” You try to wiggle away but Robby puts more of his weight on you to keep you there.
“You can’t cum inside me. Robby, please!” You try to push at his chest but he grabs your hands and pins them to the mattress.
“Doesn’t it feel better though? Having nothing between us. I can feel all of you.” He puts your wrists above your head and holds it there using one of his hands. His thrusts are getting deeper. He wipes at a tear that has fallen towards your hairline.
Jack gets closer to the bed and brushes a piece of hair from your face. “I’ll pick up Plan B, don’t worry.”
“Write her a script for the pill while you’re at it.”
You’re so overwhelmed by everything at the moment, it feels like Robby is everywhere. You feel the warmth from his release inside you. “You feel me inside you, sweetheart?” His hand goes to your stomach. “Feel me fill you up?” Between Robby’s words and his unrelenting battering of your pussy, you cum with such intensity that it takes a moment to come to.
Robby spreads your thighs apart and looks at the mess you both created. He sees that some of his cum dripped out. He takes his thumb and pushes it back in. You go to sit up and as you do it forces a little more out.
“Lay back down.” He tells you.
“What are you doing?”
He takes his thumb and pushes the cum back into you. “Just playing with my girl. Jack will get you Plan B so putting it back in doesn’t hurt. Just want to get her used to being full.” He gives a quick kiss to your clit before getting up from his spot and moving next to you.
He moves to sit behind you with his back to the headboard. Robby pulls you against his chest and spreads your legs to drape over each of his. He traces over your thighs and occasionally circles your clit. You’re sensitive and every time he does you let out a whine.
“Oh. I know, baby. I know she’s all tender, but I want to make sure she’s ready for when Jack gets back.”
Jack walks into the room a bit later, holding up the pharmacy bag and a glass of water. He opens up the pill bottle and shakes a pill out. “Open your mouth.” He places the pill on your tongue and hands you some water. “Now, what we do today won’t matter baby.”
“Go ahead and see what we did so far brother.” Robby says as he brushes some hair off your neck.
Jack leans down to inspect, seeing the mess between your legs, he lets out a whistle. “God, you’re beautiful.” He starts to undress before he climbs on the bed and settles between your legs. “Let’s clean you up before we make another mess.”
Jack flattens his tongue and licks a strip up your center. Your heads falls back against Robby’s shoulder, his hands kneading your breasts. You’re so worked up from Robby teasing you that it doesn’t take long for you to cum on Jack’s tongue.
Jack moves to lay down on the bed and both men adjust you so that you’re sitting on his cock.
“It feels amazing bare, doesn’t it brother?” Robby asks, as he lays on his side to watch.
Jack looks up to you as he guides your hips. “You feel like heaven, angel.”
For the rest of the morning, both men make sure they get their use out of that Plan B pill.
CONTENTS: farmer! cowboy! jack abbot x pregnant! wife! f! reader, cowboy! jack abbot au, farmer! jack abbot au, fluff, cute toddler moments, smut, fingering, somnophilia, pregnancy fetish
Word Count: 2.3k+
SUMMARY: after becoming pregnant, jack becomes obsessed with your body. once you give birth, he takes control of his life by the reins
lamb divider by @/neosprites
a/n: @meetmeatyourworst asked for a part two to cowgirl so here you go! hope y’all enjoy!
You rubbed at your swollen tummy while you waddled around the garden, you basket in tow as you picked at the plentiful harvest. Your sundress danced in the slight breeze, the fabric gently hugging your soft curves.
Jack would be out in the pasture, checking on his cattle. His eyes would land on you. You struggling to bend down as you plucked tomatoes off the vine. His heart twinged slightly. He was happy that you were carrying his kin, but seeing how you were constantly exhausted made his heart shatter.
He remembers the day you announced the big news.
You held up the pregnancy test, Jackie's eyes studying the two pink little lines. You squealing the minute Jack Abbot hoisted you into the air with his arms wrapped below your butt.
"We're having a baby!" he cheered. "We're having a fucking baby!"
He'd spin you around before setting you back down. Holding your head in your hands, his lips seeking yours. His tongue grazing across yours, spit being exchanged between your warm mouths.
"We're having a fuckin' baby," he whispered against your lips.
His hands gripped along the reins that dragged along the neck of his horse, him tensing as he watched you trudge through the plowed dirt decorated with your plants. He wanted to lift your belly, freeing yourself of the weight. Yet, he leaned across the back of his mare, sighing as he adjusted his cowboy hat.
You'd peek up from the garden, slightly waving to him underneath the sun. His hand would just raise in response, totally enamored by your pregnant self in the fabric of your dress. He watched you for a while as you plucked the fruit of your garden. Your rooster crowing in the background while the sun hung heavy along the horizon.
The sky would grow dark, Jack's hand always encircling your plush stomach. He would feel how his kiddo would squirm and kick along the walls of your womb. The ever growing child pulsing beneath your belly.
"Hey, sweetie," Jack cooed, hush whispers against the skin. You both knowing it was a girl. "You're always moving when you hear daddy’s voice, yeah?"
Jack, who would have his most intimate moments with his daughter while you slept. Always kissing your stretchmarks while the flesh would bend and fold beneath his touch.
"Do y'know how much mommy and I love you?"
Your skin would project with your baby's feet kicking into your side. Jack seeing the constant movements resting below your belly. You'd wince in pain suddenly at the contractions, him afraid to wake the stirring baby.
He'd rub your tummy for a while, feeling how your womb would settle beneath his touch. Just a subtle hand resting on your belly while you slept. Little breaths puffing from your mouth, totally wiped from waddling around in the hot sun. Kisses graced your collar and plump breasts, your boobs being way bigger than usual.
His kisses lacing the hairs on your crotch and trailing to your center, practically begging for him while you slept. You'd be wet, your folds sparkling in the moonlight. His constant licks lapping at your center, digging into your filled cunt. It was great, your womb swollen with his child, the birth coming in the following days.
He couldn't help it, seeking below the barrier of your underwear, sliding the fabric to the side. His tongue dancing along your slick folds and your bud. You'd slightly squirm under him, your large belly swaying from side to side. Your puffy ankles resting on top of his back. He'd watch you, how you moaned in between breaths. It was beautiful, his mama all cute and needy in her sleep. He'd also notice the glint of your wedding ring, the large rock sitting large and present on your finger.
A few hours later, you'd stir awake, always having to pee since becoming pregnant. You'd return from the bathroom, hardly prodding Jack's shoulder. He'd groan, his body stretching under your touch, a low hum spilling from his chest.
"Jackie, why is my underwear all wet?"
"Mmpf—," he growled with his eyes still closed. "M'sorry, you just looked so pretty."
You just smiled, pressing a cute kiss to his forehead.
The next morning, you'd be cracking eggs in the pan while the farmhands chatted at the table. You wearing one of your t-shirts that allowed your big stomach to poke through. Flipping the pancakes and heating the bacon, a shirtless Jackie graced your presence. The constant affection normal for the farmhands to see. Jack's arms settled on your sides, the fingers slowly making their way to smooth over the harsh skin of your stomach. His palms slightly lifting the muscle, you sighing with relief.
"Thank you, Jackie," you said, relaxing into his bare chest and placing a kiss along the expanse of his neck.
"Anytime, sweetheart."
Jokes and stories would be passed back and forth between Jack and the farmhands. Sometimes you laughing so hard your womb shook. Jack's rough hand would settle on your thigh under the table, smirking when he turned to you for your reaction to the most recent prank that was told. The boys consumed the hearty breakfast, praising you for your hard work even while you were pregnant.
Now, you were wobbling towards the goats, their constant bleating filling your ears.
"Yeah? Y'all excited to meet the little one? Our little farmhand?" you asked, sprinkling the feed across the grass. They would all squeal in response.
You were sat there, propped up against the fence. A bottle in your one hand and the other kneading into your warm belly. The kid suckling at the nipple of the bottle, little horns peaking from the hairs resting on the little one's head.
"That's it, I bet you miss your mama, don't you?"
Jack's horse would trail to you, him not even leading, his horse always following, being drawn to you. The horse stood there above you, Jack sitting on her backside. She'd slightly nuzzle you, you chuckling as you palmed her cheek. Standing up, your finger nails scratched further into the horse's fur, him admiring while you watched.
"Just thought we'd check in on you, sweetheart," Jack piped up. "You doing okay?"
"More than okay, Jackie."
You'd pet the horse for a while, patting Jack's thigh when you passed him to go to the chicken coop. He'd steer the horse to follow, obsessed with your unsteady gait as you walked.
"Just gonna watch me now?" you asked, picking up the eggs that nestled in the cubbies.
"Yeah," he laughed, his mouth curving. "Like watching you work.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
It wasn't until he came in while you stirred the brownie batter in the bowl. Him placing kisses along the nape of your neck while he once again hoisted your stomach up.
"Jackie, you gotta stop doing that!"
"Can't help it, doll," he rasped. "You get to feel my daughter all the time. God forbid I wanna hold her too."
Once the men all ate, you would be relaxing in bed, reading another baby book. Jack felt like you and him read a million, almost creating a book club, discussing the contents consistently. You wanted to be prepared, always ready for what you were getting yourself into. Jack plucked the book from your hands, kissing along the thin fabric that settled upon your sternum.
You moaned under his lips, kisses laced upon your shoulders and neck. His hand steady on top of your tummy, the stretchmarks glowing red on your skin. He'd slurp at your neck for a while, and then your swole stomach. Adorning your expanded flesh in hot kisses, his tongue swirling along the marks that rippled through your skin.
He would briefly pull away, shrugging off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. He returned to you, a smile gracing his lips as he kissed you.
You'd sit there, petting at the silver curls, little gasps leaking from your lips. He jerked your hips suddenly, your pregnant body slightly wavering as you settled on top of him. Your belly bare and present in front of him, his hips slightly lifting to shrug off his boxers. Once his cock was free, he drew the inches across your folds. Your clit beckoning for the feel of his length. He teased you for a bit, pumping along your slick center.
The minute he pressed himself into your needy hole, he groaned. Your plump womb bouncing over him, hoping to induce labor with his constant thrusts.
Both nurseries, one in his apartment and one at the farm, were decorated with monograms of the baby's name, little furniture in every part of the room for the tiny creature. Onesies were hanging in the closet, everyone spoiling you with the clothing during your baby shower. Diapers piled high along the walls, the two hospital bags always ready. Once again, one in his apartment, one in the farmhouse.
The bag sitting in the corner of the room at the ready, all while you were riding on top of him. Your hips drawing him further into you.
"Oh, Jackie," you moaned, your stomach slightly tensing. Your hands were placed on the stretched skin while his thick cock rammed into you.
"Yeah? You okay, sweetheart?"
"Mhm, ah—" you hiss, him shifting his hips to meet your spot. "Fuck, baby."
His torso would rise to kiss your plump breasts and your large belly.
"M'sorry, doll," Jack whispered, his breath crossing your skin. "You just look so beautiful, all pregnant and needy like this."
Your hips, moving up and down, your insides encircling and hugging his cock so nicely. The movements were slow, your body so worn that you couldn't keep up.
Slow draws around his cock would Jack to groan, his member jerking inside you.
"Oh, baby, I love seeing you like this," his voice rough with pleasure. "You're so hot, carrying our child— ah—, and— fuck!"
He could hardly keep up as well, just seeing your curvey large body. Fuck, it was too much.
"Jackie, gonna cum—. Oh, fuck!"
"Fuck that's it, sweetheart," Jack heaved. "Just keep riding me, yeah? Keep riding this ole' bull."
The slight roll of your hips did him in, hot spurts lacing your insides. Your own leaking around his cock. He'd hold you for a minute, balancing your soft figure on top of him.
In the coming days, he found himself holding your daughter. His shirt off, meeting the baby skin to skin, slightly bouncing his bicep while she rested in his arms.
You, dark circles decorating your under eyes. Your tummy still swollen from birth. An exhausted smile plastered on your face as you watched your husband hold your little one.
"God, she's so beautiful, sweetheart. You did a good job with her," Jack cooed.
You reached across the arm of the hospital bed, your hand placed along his forearm.
"We did a good job, couldn't have been pregnant without you after all."
The moment the doctor mentioned that you both couldn't have intercourse for six weeks, Jack sighed heavily. He knew he couldn't, he was a doctor of course! However, the minute the words came from the doctor's mouth, reality set in. All Jack wanted was to fuck his brand new mama the minute they put their baby to sleep.
So in that time, you kept busy. You gave your little one a tour of the farm. Jack holding the swaddled child in his arms while you listed off all the names of your animals.
Or even how she'd grow restless, little squeals and cries coming from her mouth. Jack would saddle up, having you hop on while he tried to hush his daughter. The minute you got settled, he'd pass her to you. You both would ride together as the slight bob of the horses gait calmed her down.
"Yeah? You like riding our horsey? I knew you would, my little equestrian."
The minute those six weeks were up, Jack would climb into bed with you. You, all insecure with your flabby belly. Him, constantly placing kisses on the recovering flesh.
"Jackie," you pouted. "M'all ugly now."
"Now you're not, sweetheart," he whispered, placing another kiss. "You did so well, carrying our kid n' all."
As time passed, beyond the moment your daughter took her first steps, said her first word, she became reckless. Always running around wanting to explore everything.
You and Jack would be sat in the grass while she explored the field around the chicken coop.
Jack pulling down the brim of his cowboy hat to shield from the sun, your skirt splayed on the greenery below.
"Mama!" your daughter cheered. "Wook! Chickie!"
You just chuckled, watching as she fumbled with the fluffy feathered chick. Running up to you, showing the little bird off.
"Beautiful, sweetie," you smiled as she placed the chick in your hands.
"Mama, I love chickie."
"I know you do."
She'd take off, sprinting to the coop. You started to get up until Jack placed a hand on your shoulder.
"I got it."
You watched him, slightly faltering while trying to stand on his bum leg. The moment he got up, he took off. Jogging to meet your little one. She was peeking into the little cubbies when Jack's eyes finally landed on her.
"Dada, wook!" She held up an egg to him. "Got an eggy!"
"You do," Jack smirked. "Mighty fine one at that."
In the days ahead, you would return to his apartment in the city. Bouncing your toddler on your hip while you scrambled some eggs on the stove, waiting for Jack to return from his shift.
He'd return, an odd smile on his face after a long shift. You turned to him the minute he crossed into the threshold. Him kissing you and then your toddler, beaming with joy.
"Something happen?" you asked, a nervous feeling bubbling in your stomach.
"I'm retiring," he admitted. "…and we're moving to the farm."
Your shocked look slowly turned into a bright grin.
"Jackie, that's amazing!"
"Can't stand being away from my girls," he said in between sweet kisses on your lips. "I'm finally starting my life with you."
