#the pit

[kanakori]

been thinking about this for a couple of days and needed to get it out of my system

[cvfeaulait]

soap suds | jack abbot

pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader summary: After a long and exhausting night shift, Jack comes home needing the comfort of his wife. tags/warnings: mentions of PTSD, non sexual intimacy, hurt?/comfort (he really needs a break), jack abbot urgently needs some PTO. word count: 1.2k note:  helloooo, i'm back !! took so long, i got obsessed with a new character lmao. i fell in love with jack abbot and the pitt, so i would so love to hear your opinions and what you think season 3 has in store for us. i know it's really short, but i didn't want it rotting away in my google docs, also bc looking at dr abbot makes me want to comfort him #icanfixhim

There were mornings Jack came softly into the house, fitting in like a puzzle piece. His sneakers kicked off and arranged beside the entryway table, his keys in the bowl mixed in with hers, his backpack resting in the chair closest to the front door. 

She was usually awake by the time he came home, stirring eggs or preparing toast for herself before getting ready for work, while his breakfast was already packed for reheating in case he came in late. As soon as he saw her, his shoulders loosened, and the pain in his lower back began to dull.

He greeted her with warm lips on soft skin, breathing her in.

She was intoxicating. 

He rested his forehead against her temple, listening to her hum absently. When she killed the heat of the stove, she turned, nudging his nose with hers. A gentle smile graced her lips as she traced the freckles in Jack’s face with her eyes.

He stared back, taking in the beauty of her so early in the morning. He feels a swell in his chest when he remembers that only he gets to witness her in her most intimate and bare moments as she starts her day. He slowly brings his lips to hers, savoring with reverence her taste.

If he were religious, he’d lay a cult in her name.

He begrudgingly peels away from her as he remembers he should take a shower and wash away the work day. He pecks her pillow-soft lips one last time and pinches her cheek softly. He takes time to take her in as he rounds the small kitchen table.

She sports a large shirt, the bottom of her ass peaking from under the edge of his shirt. Her legs seem to glow in the light sun of the morning, and he helps himself to a nice, long stare.

When he comes home from work, this type of morning serves as a soft reset. Work wasn’t as stressful, his mind was at ease, and he could come home to his wife and sleep for a few hours peacefully.

There are other mornings, though, where he comes into the house lost. His mind, a mess of memories, his body tightly coiled and tension seeping out of his pores. He hates coming home like this, feeling like he’s adding to her stress and overall dampening the comforting feeling of their home.  

His sneakers are strewn beside the door with his backpack, and his keys are a jumble of metal on the kitchen table. Jack runs a hand into his hair, breathing in the smell of the candle she always has on.

Today, his head decided to replay the memories of his fellow soldiers dying under his hands while he attempted to sleep before his shift. Today, three kids died in the Trauma Bay after being hit by a drunk driver. Today, he placed the liner on the prosthetic wrong, causing a sharp, seemingly never-ending pain in his residual limb during his thirteen-hour and twenty-six-minute shift.

He sweeps his eyes around and walks further into the house. There’s a glass bowl on top of the counter with hash browns, eggs, and untoasted bread inside it, and a Post-it with a giant smiley face. Below it, a message is scribbled in: in the shower feel free 2 join me love u

Jack stares at the pink paper, the dread sitting in his chest like a boulder lightens a little bit. This person, whom he met in such an unusual way, had found a way to make him feel better by just existing. He, whose whole career centers around helping others, had found someone who helps him in ways he never thought possible.

A rogue tear streaks down his cheek, and he breathes in slowly. He walks around the kitchen table, down the hallway, and into their room, stopping in front of the bathroom door.

“Baby?”

“You can come in if you want to.” She says through the thunder of water splashing on the tile.

Jack nudges the door open to find her silhouette blurred by the foggy glass door. She stretches her arms up, lathering her body with her scented soap: Rainbath. He watches her move for a few beats of his heart and sits down on the toilet to pull off his prosthetic. Another stab of pain climbs up his leg, and he fights the groan threatening to spill out of his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and massages the residual limb until the pain starts to ebb. He peels off the scrubs that are stuck to him like a second skin. 

He grabs onto the bar beside the toilet and shuffles towards the shower. She pushes open the door, and it’s like he’s watching a saint come into view, his salvation.

It takes everything in him not to crumble at the sight of her smile. 

He climbs into the shower using the bar and slides into the wooden bench, letting the water pelt onto his rigid shoulders. His eyes flutter shut, and the world around him dissolves until all his senses become dull. 

She’s staring at him. He can feel her paused movements and her warmth hovering just a few inches away.

“Can I wash your hair?” Softly over the patter of the water, she asks. His eyes snap open.

She walks towards him and presses her lips softly on the edge of his mouth, then on the bridge of his nose, and lastly on the crown of his head. Her hands glide smoothly across his broad shoulders.

“You’re so tense,” She murmurs. Jack never really answers her question, but her hands lull him into a malleable state. He’d say yes to anything she’d propose right now. She pecks his nose and moves away, the shower cruelly biting at his skin. 

He feels her come closer again, a shiver crawling up his back when her hands rake through his hair. She scrubs his scalp gently. The bathroom smells like her, but now it’s mixed with a new scent. His. It’s nice, so nice, he slowly grows slack in her grip. A long and low groan rumbles in his throat. He can’t stop himself.

“Jack?” The noise he was making, almost too low to hear over the shower, stirs something within her. She smiles tenderly at his closed eyes and freckled face.

“Am I going to get shampoo in my eyes if I open them?”

“Yeah, actually. Let me wash it off.” She moves the shower head over the wooden bench, tangles her fingers in his hair to get rid of the mint-scented shampoo, and moves it back.

His eyes open slowly, his pupils dilating as they focus on her. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you. I’m almost done.” She squeezes a glob of conditioner into her hand. She smooths the cream into his hair, being extra careful with his curls. They begin to bounce into form as she twirls her fingers absently around locks of hair. 

He stares up at her, eyes shining, and she pecks him on the lips. Her chest still tightens like it's the first time he’s done it. A fond smile finds its way onto her lips. “I hate you,”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“You’re so irresistible." She continues to form the last of his curls.

“So are you.”

[alexandritte80]

Hula Hoop Code - Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: In the middle of a night shift, a hula hoop code changes everything.

Warnings: weapons, hostages, hula hoop code, feelings, angst with fluff, happy ending. (I dreamed this, so I wrote it in a hurry, so it might not be that good, sorry)

The night shift was something difficult to describe.

The chaos of the day was nothing compared to the chaos of the night.

As if during the day, people were a little more sensible, had a little more patience. But the night? The night was an abomination. It was as if every night was a night of crime, of despair, of bad choices and just the right amount of bad luck.

Who better to deal with that than Jack Abbott?

Jack Abbot, ex-military, SWAT volunteer, terrible at golf and (for some reason he refused to explain) had a flight attendant costume in his closet.

He was the best on the night shift.

And every best person needs a helper as good as they are. In Jack's case, it was Nurse yn.

They met recently, about six months ago, when she started working there.

And as if written by someone up there, the two simply… clicked.

They met amidst trauma. Literally.

Jack was assessing a patient when a new face appeared in his peripheral vision. Hair hastily tied back, eyes already scanning the room as if looking for something to do.

"I don't know you yet," he commented, without taking his eyes off what he was doing on the stretcher.

"Same here," she replied, handing him the intubation cannula before he could even reach out. "Yn. It's my first day… night, actually."

"Welcome, Yn. Jack."

"Just don't make me yell 'HUU-AAH' every night, okay?" she teased, placing the IV in the patient's arm while he checked the intubation.

Jack paused for a second. He raised his head.

"What? Why not? It's fun!"

She laughed, a low, dry sound that somehow echoed in his chest.

"Jesus… I must have been practicing medicine longer than you've been alive."

" It's okay" she shrugged, still smiling. "I like older guys."

This time, it was he who laughed. It had been a while.

On her second shift, a forty-year-old man was admitted with a stab wound to the abdomen. Internal bleeding. Jack went into autopilot: firm voice command, hands busy, eyes scanning the room for anything that could go wrong.

"I need a 14-gauge IV. Now."

She was already there. No need to repeat. The needle went into the patient's vein as if it had been born there.

"Norepinephrine."

The syringe was already in her hand.

"Two liters of Ringer's solution."

The IV tubing was already connected.

When he finally looked up from the wound, she already had the next step ready. As if she could read his mind.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped her.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

She shrugged.

"Training."

"No. That's not training. That's…" he searched for the word. "Intuition."

"Or maybe you're just very predictable, Dr. Abbot."

He laughed. A light laugh. A laugh he hadn't given in years.

But all synchronicity had its price.

Jack's price was a burden too heavy for any relationship to carry.

Depression came like a tide, ebb and flow. The nightmares of PTSD woke him sweating, screaming, confused. On bad nights, he relived the explosion that took part of his leg. On worse nights, he relived his wife in his arms, cold skin, glazed eyes.

Therapy. Medication. Support groups. He tried everything. He was still trying. But some mornings, putting on his prosthesis, he looked in the mirror and saw a man too broken for someone like her.

She's young. She has her whole life ahead of her. She doesn't deserve to carry his baggage crate.

That's why his flirtations never went beyond that.

Even though his feelings, those had already crossed all boundaries.

"You know I can see you looking at me, right?" she said one night, while they were restocking the gauze in the trauma room. It wasn't a job he was supposed to do, but he did it. Because it kept him close to her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, feeling her hip bump against his in a teasing gesture.

He responded with another bump.

Outside, technician Mateo whispered to nurse Lena:

"How long until they take over?"

Lena smiled without taking her eyes off the monitor.

"Want to bet?"

That shift started like any other. Three low-complexity calls, an elderly man with shortness of breath, two cases of alcohol poisoning. Jack was already in his fourth hour of work when the phone rang.

"Arriving in five minutes. Car accident, female victim, thirty-something, conscious but with multiple traumas. The police are on the scene," Lena said, looking at Jack.

"Where's Yn?"

Lena could barely contain her smile.

"Attending to a little boy in central station four. When she's finished, I'll have her meet you, Romeo."

Jack rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it.

The victim was a woman with glazed, shocked eyes, her right leg at an impossible angle. Jack plunged into the work. Chest, abdomen, pelvis. Primary assessment. Gasping for breath. Weak pulse. He ordered tests, blood, CT scan. The team moved like gears.

But it felt wrong.

Without Yn by his side, the gears turned slower.

Central Four

"Hi, dear. My name is Yn. What's yours?"

The dark-haired boy in superhero pajamas answered with a hoarse, wheezing voice.

"Thiago," he replied grumpy.

"Thiago? What a nice name. You know I have a nephew with that name? He's not as grumpy as you."

The boy almost smiled. Almost.

"He has asthma," the man by his side interrupted, his voice gruff and impatient. "We should have started the procedure already."

She looked up at the man. Thirty-something, sweat on his brow, stained shirt, messy hair. The tension on his face was familiar, she had seen that desperation in thousands of caregivers. But there, in that desperation, there was something more. As if a piece was missing.

"I'll start right now," she said, turning on the nebulizer. "Thiago, this is going to release a magic cloud, okay? You just need to breathe deeply."

The boy obeyed. While the device hissed, she quickly took his vital signs. Saturation 89%. Heart rate 120. Altered auscultation, but expected.

"How long will this take?" the man asked, now pacing back and forth.

"About ten more minutes. Then we'll assess again."

"Ten minutes? And we can go home after that?"

"Let's see how he responds to the treatment. If you want, I can ask the doctor to come talk to you."

She smiled at Thiago.

"Relax, warrior. You're in the best place." The man didn't relax.

He stopped beside the door, looking at the glass, the hallway, the ceiling. She noticed he kept one hand on his hip, under his shirt. Style, she thought. Many people dress like that.

"You can sit down," she offered. "It'll be a little while longer. Would you like some coffee?"

"I don't want coffee. I want to know when my son is leaving here."

My son. So it was the father.

"As soon as he's better, we'll let him go. I promise."

The man grunted.

She turned her attention back to Thiago, humming a children's song softly. The boy began to relax. His oxygen saturation rose to 92%. The wheezing subsided.

That's when the two police officers passed through the glass door.

The man saw them.

His face changed. It wasn't fright. It was recognition, as if a piece he'd been waiting for hours had finally fallen into place.

He pulled the gun from his waist.

"DID YOU CALL THEM?" The black barrel pointed at her face. "ANSWER ME!"

Yn's world stopped.

The revolver trembled against her head. The man's voice echoed like thunder in the small room.

"I didn't call anyone!" Her voice came out strangely, as if it were someone else's. Her hands trembled above her head. She didn't even realize when she raised them.

"Liar! I saw them! They passed by and looked this way! You gave them away!"

"I swear I didn't, Thiago needs the treatment, I just—"

He hit her forehead with the gun.

"SHUT UP!"

Thiago started to cry. The sound of his crying mixed with the beeping of the nebulizer, creating a cacophony of terror.

Mateo saw it first.

He was taking medication to another patient when, through the glass door, he saw the man with the gun. He saw Yn recoiling with nothing but panic in his eyes.

He dropped everything.

"CODE HOOP! CODE HOOP! CENTRAL FOUR!"

The entire corridor exploded. Nurses retreated. Security guards ran. The two police officers, who had just come through the door, turned, drew their weapons, and retreated for cover.

Inside the trauma room, Jack heard the scream.

He had his hands buried in the accident victim's abdomen, stopping a hemorrhage. The scream came from afar, but the name "Yn" traveled down the corridor like a trail of gunpowder.

Jack raised his head. He saw the police officers running. He saw the movement.

"Shen, take over" he removed his blood-soaked gloves. "Now."

Shen didn't ask anything. He just stepped into Jack's place.

Jack left the room, following the crowd that was gathering in front of Central Four. Lena was pale. The police officers had their weapons drawn, but no one moved.

"What's happening?"

"Code hoop," Lena replied.

"Aren't you going to do anything? Help her!" Mateo shouted, but before Jack could turn around, Lena grabbed his arm.

"It's Yn, Jack. She's in there."

Jack's blood ran cold.

He had felt that temperature once before. In Afghanistan, when they saw the ambush. When he lost his leg. When he held his wife's body in his arms and felt the weight of a life that would never return.

It was the coldness of someone who knows the worst is yet to come, but needs to act before feeling it.

"We can't go in," one of the police officers replied to Mateo. "There's a child and a hostage."

"Bullshit!" Mateo spat.

Then Jack saw.

Through the tinted glass of the door, the room was almost dark; Yn had probably turned off the light to make the boy more comfortable. Thiago was curled up in bed, the nebulizer mask still on his face, thick tears streaming down his face.

The man had Yn in front of him, facing the door. A clean shot was impossible. The gun pressed against her temple. A trickle of blood ran from her eyebrow to her cheek.

Her eyes met his through the glass.

She was terrified. He could see the panic growing every second.

Jack made a decision.

"I'm going to talk to him."

"No. It's too risky," the policeman said in a tone that didn't allow for a reply.

"He's with one of my nurses. I'm going to talk to him."

Now it was Jack's tone that didn't allow for a reply.

He heard one of the policemen whisper to the other: "Leave him alone, he'll buy time."

So he went. Jack approached the door with his hands raised.

The man saw immediately. He pressed the gun harder against Yn's head. She groaned.

"NO ONE COMES NEAR!" the man shouted. "I SWEAR I'LL KILL HER!"

Jack stopped.

He looked at Yn. Tears streaming down her face. Her hands trembling. Her body frozen.

He was going to save her. Even if it was the last thing he did.

"I'm not going to come any closer," his voice came out calm. Calm. Inside, his heart pounded like a jackhammer. "My name is Jack. I'm a doctor here. I just want to talk."

"I don't want to talk! I want to get out of here!"

"And you will get out. But nobody's going to get hurt, right? Look at me. We'll figure this out."

The man hesitated. The gun trembled.

Jack noticed his eyes shift to his son. Take advantage of this, he thought. Use the boy.

"Your son needs to finish his treatment," Jack continued, taking a microscopic step into the room. "He's still wheezing. We can't interrupt now."

"I don't care!"

"You care. Of course you care. You brought him here. You want him to get better." One more step. "Let the nurse leave. I'll take her place. I'm a doctor. I'm worth more."

"JACK, NO!" she screamed, and her voice shattered his chest.

"Shut up!" The man pressed the barrel against her head. She sobbed.

"It's okay," Jack said, raising a hand. "It's okay. Nobody's going to scream. We'll talk calmly." One more step. Now about two and a half meters from the gun. "Tell me your name. What can I call you?"

"Why do you want to know my name?"

"Because I like to know who I'm talking to. My name is Jack. She's Yn. The boy is Thiago. And you?"

The man hesitated. His eyes blinked rapidly, nervously.

"Jefferson."

"Jefferson. Right. So, Jefferson, listen to me. The police aren't here for you. There was a car accident a little while ago. They came to talk to the victim. That's all. Nobody called anyone."

"LIE! She called! I saw them looking this way!" “They look everywhere, Jefferson. It’s their job. But it wasn’t because of you. Look at me.” Jack waited until the man’s eyes met his. “She didn’t call anyone.”

Jefferson took a deep breath. The gun still trembled, but now the tremor seemed like doubt, not certainty.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“To save your bitch over there!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Yn closed her eyes. Jack felt his chest tighten. All he wanted was to get her out of there. To take her away from that madman and take care of her. To take her far away. To protect her.

“Let me take care of your boy, Jefferson. Let her go. I’ll stay. We’ll finish the nebulization, and then we’ll talk about how you’re going to get out of here. Without violence. Without anyone getting hurt.”

“And her?”

“She’ll get out. And I’ll take care of her too.”

Jefferson looked at Jack, then at the woman held in his arms.

"You like her, don't you?"

The question caught Jack off guard.

But he didn't hesitate.

"Very much. Very much indeed."

She made a sound—a choked sob, almost a laugh.

"You're dating, is that it?" Jefferson asked, strangely interested.

"Not yet," Jack replied, because now there was no reason to hide it. "But I was hoping that would change soon. I like everything about her. The way she works. The way she laughs. The way she takes care of each patient as if they were family." He took the last step. He was an arm's length away. "She's intelligent, kind, and the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And she deserves to keep living. You deserve it too. And your son deserves a living father."

Jefferson blinked.

The gun barrel wavered.

Just a second. But enough.

Jack moved.

His right hand rose, twisting Jefferson's wrist outward. His left hand gripped the barrel and forced it upward.

The gun fired.

The bang was deafening. The shot went into the ceiling. Plaster fell like snow.

Jack spun Jefferson's body, using the momentum to throw him against the wall. The prosthesis creaked with the effort, but held. He locked the man's arm behind his back, immobilizing it with his knee.

"DROPP THE GUN!" he yelled.

Jefferson obeyed.

On the floor, yn crawled to Thiago, hugging the boy, hiding his face against her shoulder so he wouldn't see.

The police entered. Handcuffs. Confused voices. Jack released Jefferson and stepped back, breathless.

Nurses burst into the room, surrounded Yn, and pulled her away. Someone took Thiago from the bed. Someone called pediatrics.

Jack stayed there.

On his knees on the plaster-covered floor. Breathing as if he'd run a marathon. His heart pounding. His hands trembling.

She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.

He repeated that like a mantra until he managed to stand up.

Yn was sitting on a bed in an observation room. A blanket over her shoulders. A glass of water in her hand. Her forehead was still bleeding, but she didn't seem to notice.

She trembled. She couldn't stop.

The door opened.

Jack entered, and she was startled by the noise. He hated seeing that.

He looked more serious than usual. Disheveled hair. His right hand was bruised, probably from punching Jefferson after the police handcuffed him. Jack couldn't quite remember.

"May I?" he asked, pointing to her forehead.

yn nodded.

He pulled up the stool, calmly put on his gloves, and began cleaning the wound. Yn didn't react. Her eyes fixed on some distant point. In shock. Jack didn't know if it was better this way or if it was better for her to react.

He was more careful than usual. Each movement slow, controlled. As if she were going to break.

Two false stitches. Nothing deep. Relief.

When he finished, he started to step away.

Her hand gripped his scrub. Her knuckles were white from the force.

"I…" her voice faltered. She tried again. "I thought I was going to die."

Finally, she looked at him.

Jack saw the change. Those eyes that always had light, always had life, were now dark. Empty. Tears came before she could stop them.

"I thought I was going to die, Jack."

He pulled her into a hug. Her body molded to his, and he felt every tremor.

"I wasn't going to let this happen."

"He was so angry… I don't know what I did wrong…"

"You didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right. Everything as you should."

"I thought he was just worried about his son. I didn't know he was armed. I didn't know, Jack."

"There was no way to know, darling. There was no way."

"I was panicking."

"I know. Me too."

She lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes were red, swollen, tears streamed down her face. Somehow, still beautiful.

"You were? You seemed so calm…"

"Calm? Darling, I was panicking. Every second that gun pressed against your head, I felt the ground disappearing beneath me."

"But you seemed calm…"

"I was trained to appear calm" he reminded her, carefully running his fingers through her hair. "Doesn't mean I was."

She was silent for a moment. Then:

"What you said in there… about me… was a good idea."

"Was it?"

"It distracted him. It worked."

Jack felt his heart clench.

"That was the goal, wasn't it?" she continued, her voice small and fragile. "To lie and distract?"

"The goal was to get you out of there" He cupped her face in his hands, making her look into his eyes. "And I didn't lie."

She blinked.

" Not a word " he said. "Not one"

"Why…?"

"Why didn't you ever say anything before?" He finished. He took a deep breath. "Because I thought you deserved someone better. Someone without so much baggage. Someone who doesn't wake up screaming at night. Someone who doesn't have to put on a prosthetic leg every morning and pretend they're whole."

She fell silent.

"You're not the one who decides that," she said finally.

Jack let out a short, wet laugh.

"No. I'm not."

"I was so scared," she confessed, as if it were a secret. "So scared, Jack."

"I know. I know, darling." He hugged her tighter. "But it's over. You're here. You're alive."

"I heard the gunshot. I thought it hit me."

"No. It hit the ceiling. I wasn't going to let it hurt you."

"You saved me."

"I did. And I'll save you again if I need to. Always. I won't let anything hurt you."

He placed a kiss on her forehead. Long. Warm. A promise.

She lifted her head.

For a second, Jack thought he had gone too far.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn't a kiss of panic. It wasn't a kiss of relief. It was a kiss of finally. Her lips met his with an urgency that had been building up for months, in the glances in the hallway, in the hands that brushed against each other, in the unspoken jokes, in the almosts and the whats. Jack reciprocated in kind. One hand rose to her face. The other held her firmly against him.

When they separated, both were breathless.

"I like you too, Jack," she said, her forehead resting against his. "Very much."

He smiled. The first genuine smile of the night.

"Good. Because I was starting to think I'd have to repeat that whole declaration in front of the entire shift."

She laughed a trembling, wet, but real sound.

She kissed him again.

And again.

And when they finally stopped, still embraced, still trembling, the noise of the hospital outside no longer seemed so threatening.

Outside, through the glass of the room, Mateo looked at Lena.

"Finally," he whispered.

Lena smiled.

"I accept my payment in cash."

[novatheory]

— brendon park & pediatric surgeon!reader

⚕️ | the pitt | fem!reader |

Pediatric surgeon!Reader, who met Park before he was The Shark. Their paths bumped sometime before the end of residency, and sometime before fellowships. She goes to the West Coast. He stays in the East.

Pediatric surgeon!Reader, who interviews at PTMC. She doesn't take the job. But she sees Park again, who's settled into his space in ortho surgery. They catch up. He takes her to dinner. She extends her stay in Pittsburgh.

Pediatric surgeon!Reader, who finds an opening at hospital in the region that's more suited for her specialty. The money is good, the position gives her respect and opportunity, and she's missed Pittsburgh—and Park. Things are good. She trusts fate.

Pediatric surgeon!Reader, who visits PTMC as needed for consulting on cases. Even though she and Park work in separate hospitals, she'll still stop by his floor, if she has time. His colleagues are concerned - she's normal. Plesant, even.

Pediatric surgeon!Reader, who brings magic to her patients. Wears bright colors every day. Who takes her coffee too sweet, and an energy drink as needed. She has one scrub cap printed with sharks that she wears when she needs to smile - like an inside joke.

[comingaback]

my sad beautiful pathetic boy.

[narliee]

TRINITY SANTOS in THE PITT (2025-) 2.11, "5:00. P.M."

[ghostofhiim]