Summary: All you wanted was one calm, non-violent night out. As fate–or habit–would have it, Frank has other plans.
Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader
Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual harassment, Descriptions of blood, Sensuality, Angst and Fluff.
Wordcount: 4.4k
A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, lovers
How you’ve managed to secure a table for two at one of the city’s finest dining establishments on Valentine’s day is nothing short of a miracle. In fact, if you’d held out until you were sure that the date would actually happen, it would have been far too late. You’d just had to make the reservation and hold out hope that Frank would come around sometime before the big night. Fortunately, he had.
cw: so it's casual but not at all. all i'm saying is undertones (but they're not all that subtle)
it doesn't matter where you are, as long as jack is with you, his hands are on you somehow. whether his palm rests on the small of your back or his fingers curl into the nape of your neck, he guides you through the crowd with a stern look on his face.
to jack, the sidewalk rule might as well be holy scripture. when you cross the street, he immediately switches sides with you. his girl is not walking right where the cars speed past, not when he has seen how quickly an accident can happen.
when it gets dark, jack’s chest puffs out a little more the moment you walk past a group of people, especially if it’s a group of men. he’ll step in front of you like a human shield. should anyone dare to look at you the wrong way, he'll let go of your hand, and instead he'll wrap an arm around you, flexing the muscles beneath his shirt purposefully
food groups—jack makes sure your meals are up to his standard. while he can get away with drinking coffee for breakfast, you best believe he won’t let you out of the house without getting some protein and fiber in you. he even cuts your food for you if you’re too tired, no matter how much you complain about being treated like a kid. (maybe a part of you secretly likes it.)
he doesn’t say anything about the length of your skirts or shorts, but he keeps an eye on them when you’re out together. he’ll pull the fabric down when it rides up or step behind you, should you bend over to pick something up. he glares at anyone whose eyes linger a little too long on your exposed skin, even if it’s “just” your thighs.
when you can’t decide what to wear, he’ll pick for you.
“the purple top looks good, sweet pea. wear that with the black skirt. no, no, the silk one.”
he’ll nod approvingly, hands wandering immediately. his fingers will dig into the flesh of your hips, holding what is his while he takes you in.
“such a pretty girl, mhm?”
jack plans. he organizes dates, makes reservations and picks out the perfect spots for you. he’ll tell you to be ready at seven and then makes sure you are actually ready.
“attagirl”
“good job, baby”
“you’re doing so good”
he likes using those phrases against you because he knows how much they mess with your praise-starved mind. you’ll hear him whisper one of them to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, when you do even the simplest task.
jack sometimes picks you up randomly. just to show you that he can. he doesn’t grunt or struggle but makes it seem like the easiest thing in the world—because to him, it is.
placing you on the kitchen counter while you cook together, throwing you on the bed (gently, of course), or carrying you over a big puddle so you don't get your shoes soaked--he loves the startled shriek he manages to pull from you every time.
when you watch a movie together, he’ll scratch your head until you practically purr.
“you like that, baby?”
“just relax. but don’t fall asleep, sweet pea. keep those eyes open f’me.”
it’s your weak spot. the second his fingers thread through your hair, you’re jelly in his hands. his husky voice doesn't help keep your mind focused on the movie at all.
Warnings: diabetic reader, hypoglycemia, tachycardia, dissociation, brief angst, established relationship, fluff and comfort ending.
Summary: Pre-bolusing for a late caramel latte lands you in a hypoglycemic fog, forcing Jack to switch from attending to protective boyfriend.
Based on this request 🎀
The trauma bay was finally clearing out, but your heart was still putting on a hard performance.
Just anxiety, you reasoned. We almost lost the kid. Anyone’s heart would be racing.
You checked your glucose monitor.
70 mg/dl ↘
Maybe I just need a little sugar on my system after a 12 hours shift.
Your shift was almost over.
You messaged Dana, who was about to start the day shift, asking her to grab you a caramel latte on her way in.
You: good morniiiiing queen of nurses, u coming today? Grab me a caramel latte on your way, please? Need some sugar :(
Dana: sure honey
Dana: be there in 10 minutes
So, doing the math, you had already proactively administered a dose of insulin. The insulin was actively circulating in your body, perfectly calculated to counteract the sugar spike from the coffee you were about to drink. You knew that a coffee like that would raise your blood sugar significantly, so you injected the exact dose to keep your glucose within range.
The only problem? Dana was late.
30 minutes late.
You were sitting at the main desk, trying to quickly update the latest data before you could leave. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but your mind was elsewhere.
Without the caramel latte to balance the insulin, your blood sugar was actively plummeting. Fast.
Dr. Jack Abbot, your attending, your boss and, for the last year, your boyfriend, was waiting for you.
He was already signed out, leaning against the counter with his jacket over his arm, ready to walk out to the parking lot together.
But as he watched you, his medical instincts kicked in. You had typed the same single sentence three times, deleted it, and were now just staring blankly at the monitor.
"Hey," Jack said. "You've been on that same line for ten minutes. Let's go, doll. Shift’s over."
You didn't answer. The world was rapidly losing its edges. The lights of the ER seemed to stretch into blurry halos, and the chatter of the nurses sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. You were dissociating hard, fading into an unresponsive silence.
Jack’s posture shifted instantly with intensity, one of a man who knew your medical history by heart.
He moved around the desk, dropping into the empty chair right next to you. He reached out, grabbing your hand.
"Hey, Dr, look at me," Jack commanded gently. He used his other hand to turn your chin toward him. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils wide and slow to react. "What's going on? How is your blood sugar?"
"I- I think.. Dana..." you mumbled, your tongue feeling heavy, as you looked at your watch. "Oh, she's late."
"What does Dana have to do with this?" Jack's eyes narrowed as he scanned your pale face.
"I took insulin," you whispered, the realization finally breaking through your own fog, bringing panic. "For a caramel latte. From Dana. But she isn't here. My glucose was dropping a little."
"Jesus Christ, you prebolused for a coffee that isn't even in the building? I told you to do not take insulin until food is in front of you during shifts."
He didn't waste another second.
He checked your app.
40 mg/dl
Jack stood up, grabbed your arms, and guided you up from the desk chair. You stumbled, your knees buckling, but his strong arm caught you around the waist, hauling you into the break room.
"Sit. Do not move," he ordered, his authority absolute.
Jack went over to the break room fridge, pulling out a carton of juice. He grabbed three sugar packets from the coffee station, tearing them open and dumping them straight into the juice to supercharge the fast acting carbs.
He sat in front of you, placing one hand behind your neck to support your head while holding the straw to your lips.
"Drink. All of it," he murmured.
You took a sip, the overwhelming sweetness hitting your tongue.
Your brain, starved of glucose, screamed for it; so you drank half the carton before Jack gently pulled it back so you wouldn't choke.
"Slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."
He watched you, keeping his hand wrapped tightly around yours, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.
"Good girl. Let it hit your system."
For a few minutes, the break room was quiet except for your heavy breathing.
Gradually, the fog began to lift. The edges of the room sharpened. The distant underwater feeling receded, and the warmth returned to your cheeks.
"There you are," Jack breathed, a visible wave of relief washing over him. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, leaning into his touch as the last of the haze cleared. "I thought I had the timing right."
Jack sighed, his hand moving from your forehead to cup your cheek.
"You are a terrible patient," Jack said, his voice was entirely serious. "You're a brilliant R4, but you know as well as I do that if you want to be a doctor here, you have to take care of yourself first. You can't save anyone out there if you're collapsing at the charting desk."
You swallowed hard, nodding against his palm, feeling thoroughly cared for. "I know. You're right."
"Damned right I am," he murmured, his gaze softening as he handed you the rest of the juice. "We're checking your glucose again in twenty minutes. Then, I'm taking you home."
𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖 ꣖ JACK ꣓ him randomly pausing in aisles to decide what he wants to grab. lowkey standing in ppls way, holding out a hand nd a smile w an apology, u giggling every time. his hand steepled on his chin, picking his snack of the week. he grabs one, pulling his readers from his pocket to get a closer look at the description. asking u “have u tried this before? are they any good?” rocking back nd forth on ur feet, playing w the buggy, humming to urself. ud never rush him. him finally making his decision after five minutes, placing it in the buggy with a raised eyebrow like hes still not sure abt his choice.
following closely behind u as u pitter over to the hygiene section. sniffing two body washes, holding them up for jack to pick. him just pointing at the ones that have cool colors on the packaging “that one looks interesting” furrowing a brow when u toss smth in the buggy he doesnt recognize. picking it up, skimming the description “whats this, baby? whats it do?” explaining s a body scrub, helps ur skin feel smooth. he nods tentatively, quietly murmuring “should i get one? feel like i might need that..” looking at options for himself, but he wimps out on buying it :c
he prefers u keep the list on ur phone bc hes hesitisnt hell forget something, trusts u to make sure u guys grab everything. asking u “where to now?” after u grab the next item. hes a big self check out fan, but doesnt let u help. u just organize the bags, making everything nice nd tidy! smiling big at the ppl at the door, biding them a farewell. he puts everything in the trunk while u hop in the passenger, turning on the air conditioning, picking a song on aux. he gets in the driver seat, asking what u want for dinner. u only think for a sec “ooh! we could order in!” jacks eyes going wide “baby, we just..?”
summary : frank coming home from deployment calls for the most extreme tap-out and sweetest surprise.
warnings : none rlly- just tooth rotting fluff, frank can't keep his hands to himself, frank has a potty mouth, fluffffffffff, mentions of pregnancy.
word count : 6.1 k
a/n : not proofread and based off of this rq ! ( also yes i know "tapping out" a soldier happens usually after a graduation from basic training but for the sake of the fic were gonna pretend it's a regular thing kay ? kay.)
The phone rings on the dinner table just as you turn the stove top off, cursing under your breath as the pasta water flows over the top of the pot. You scramble for a dish rag, burning yourself on the water as it soaks through the flimsy material.
Usually, you'd be screaming for Frank- whining in pain as he runs over to you, holding a gun, thinking someone broke in or something.
But you can't do that.
You haven't been able to do that for seven months. Not since he went to Afghanistan.
"Shit," you hiss, dropping the rag. The phone keeps ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Your heart immediately starts racing. Because nobody calls anymore. Not really. Most people text. Calls mean something happened. Calls mean news. Good or bad. And when your husband is halfway across the world in a combat zone and you're pregnant to your teeth with a baby he has no idea exists - every unexpected phone call feels like a loaded gun pointed directly at your chest. The phone rings again. You stare at it.
Afraid to answer. Afraid not to. Finally, you force yourself forward and grab it.
"Hello?" Silence. Then—
"Sweetheart?" The entire world stops. Your knees nearly give out. You know that voice. You'd know it anywhere.
Even through static. Even half-asleep. Even after months.
"Frank?" You press your hand to your bump, feeling your daughter kick at your ribs at the mention of the name.
You found out you were pregnant a week after he left. It didn't make sense to tell him. Not that soon. A laugh crackles through the line. Soft. Tired.
God, so tired.
"Yeah." You sink into the nearest chair so fast it almost topples over. "Yeah, it's me baby."
"Oh my God." Your eyes immediately burn. Frank hears it. Of course he does.
Your daughter kicks again.
Hard enough that you suck in a breath.
"You cryin' already?"
"No."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
"You sound like it." A tear slides down your cheek. Traitor. You wipe it away furiously.
"You haven't called in two weeks." The words come out sharper than you intended. Frank goes quiet.
"Yeah."
"Two weeks, Frank."
"I know."
"You said you'd call."
"I know." You hate how small his voice sounds. How exhausted. How guilty. The anger evaporates almost instantly. Because that's the problem. You miss him too much to stay mad. The silence stretches between you. You can hear his heavy breathing, the way it sounds like he's struggling to stay awake.
Can hear distant voices somewhere behind him.
Can hear the static.
And all you can think about is the secret sitting beneath your palm. The secret that has gotten bigger every single day he's been gone. The secret kicking your ribs like she's trying to join the conversation.
Seven months. Seven months of doctor's appointments. Seven months of ultrasounds. Seven months of talking to an empty side of the bed, or your bump and telling your little girl stories about her daddy. . Seven months of staring at pictures of Frank and wondering how the hell you were supposed to tell him. Not over the phone.
Not while bullets were flying around his head. Not while every call could've been the last one. So you waited.
And waited. And waited.
Until suddenly there wasn't a good way to explain why your husband had missed almost an entire pregnancy.
"Baby ?" He rasps. "Will you- Will you talk ? Just talk- about anything. Everything. I just want to hear your voice. Miss hearin' my pretty wife ramble about pointless things." You roll your eyes, and he chuckles, as if he nknows you're doing so. You bite on your bottom lip and look up at the stove top.
"I tried to make pasta." You mutter. Frank chortles.
"Tried ? What do you mean, tried, pretty girl ?" You glare at the pot like it's personally offended you.
"It boiled over." A pause. Then—
"Jesus Christ."
"Oh, shut up."
"You managed to lose a fight against noodles?"
"I burned my hand!" That wipes the amusement right out of his voice.
"You what?"
"It's fine."
"Sweetheart."
"It's barely a burn."
"Did you run it under cold water?" You blink.
"…Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"I got distracted."
"By what?"
"You called." The silence that follows is soft. Warm. The kind that only exists between two people who've loved each other for so long they can hear everything in the spaces between words. When Frank finally speaks, his voice is quieter.
"Lemme guess. You just stood there cryin' instead."
"I'm not crying."
"Sure." You sniff.
"Don't start." He laughs. God. You've missed that sound. For a while, you talk about everything and nothing. The neighbor's dog that keeps escaping. The grocery store cashier who keeps flirting with old ladies. The plant Frank swore was impossible to kill that's somehow still alive despite your complete neglect. Frank listens to every second of it. Like each stupid little detail is precious. Like he's starving for normal. Every now and then he hums or chuckles or asks a question. Mostly he just listens. Your hand moves across the curve of your stomach. Frank hums as you talk. The sound is warm. Comforting. Dangerous. Because it makes you want to tell him.
Right now. Immediately. Just blurt it out.
Hey, by the way, while you were fighting in Afghanistan, your daughter learned how to kick me in the bladder.
No big deal.
Instead, you swallow hard. And eventually, after nearly an hour, you glance toward the kitchen clock.
"What time is it over there? I don't want to keep you up if it's late. " There's a strange pause. A beat too long. "Frank?" Another pause.
Then a low laugh. You frown.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"Frank."
"Sweetheart…" Immediately suspicious.
"What." He exhales. And suddenly he sounds nervous. Which is terrifying because Frank Castle isn't nervous about anything.
"Don't get mad."
"Oh my God."
"Just hear me out."
"Frank."
"I'm not in Afghanistan." The world stops. You stare at the wall.
"…What?"
"I'm not there anymore." Fear hits your chest so hard you grab the table for stability, afraid you'll fall over.
"What do you mean you're not there anymore?" You gulp, biting back tears. "Did they move you ? Oh my god, Frank, did they extend your deployment ?" Your heart is hammering and you let out a sob. "I can't do another year of this, Frank." The words break apart on a sob. Immediately, Frank makes a sound you've only heard a handful of times in your life. Panic.
"Whoa. Hey. Hey, sweetheart. No." Your breathing is getting worse. Because your brain has already filled in the blanks. Transferred. Extended deployment. Another combat zone. Another year of sleeping alone. Another year of staring at an empty side of the bed. "Baby, listen to me."
"You said you're not in Afghanistan."
"I'm not."
"Then where are you?"
"Sweetheart—"
"Frank, where are you?" The silence lasts exactly one second. Then—
"I'm in New York." You freeze.
"…What?" Frank laughs. Actually laughs. A little helplessly. A little nervously.
"Ain't in Afghanistan." You stare at the wall. Your brain refusing to process the information.
"What."
"New York."
"What."
"New York."
"What."
"Sweetheart."
"Frank."
"New York." The silence stretches. Then—
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"Frank Castle."
"I'm lookin' at our pizza place right now." Your mouth falls open.
"You—"
"Pretty sure Johnny is outside's sellin' fake watches again."
"Frank."
"And somebody just yelled at a taxi."
"Frank." His laugh crackles through the phone. God. God. Your husband.
Your husband is home.
You press a hand over your mouth. And suddenly you're crying harder than before.
"Hey." The amusement disappears instantly. "Hey, baby."
"You're home?"
"Yeah." The answer is quiet. Gentle. Like he knows exactly what those words mean. You squeeze your eyes shut.
"You're really home?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Yesterday." Your eyes snap open.
"Yesterday?"
"Okay, see, now in my defense—"
"Yesterday ?"
"I was gonna surprise you."
"Frank!"
"I know!"
"You let me think you were still overseas!"
"I was trying to be romantic!"
"You're an idiot!"
"That's fair." You laugh through your tears. Half hysterical. Half relieved. All emotional. Frank just listens. Probably smiling. Definitely smiling. The bastard.
"You suck."
"I know."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"No, I really don't." A soft sound leaves him. The kind of sound people make when they're smiling so hard it hurts. Then his voice lowers.
"Missed you." And just like that, every bit of anger evaporates. Your throat tightens.
"Missed you too." For a moment neither of you says anything.
Just breathing. Just existing. Together. Finally, Frank clears his throat.
"So."
"So?"
"There's one problem." You immediately narrow your eyes.
"Frank."
"It ain't a big problem."
"Frank."
"It's actually a very small problem."
"Frank." He sighs dramatically.
"I was gonna come home tinight but- They got a ceremony tomorrow morning."
"Oh."
"Yeah." You understand immediately. His unit. His team. The deployment. Everything they survived together. "They wanna recognize everybody before they release us."
"Of course they do."
"Means I gotta stay overnight." You nod despite him not being able to see it.
"Okay."
"But." The way he says it immediately makes you suspicious.
"But?" Another pause. You can practically hear the grin spreading across his face.
"They need somebody to tap me out afterwards." Your heart skips.
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"Mhm."
"So."
"Frank."
"What?"
"You planned this."
"I absolutely planned this." You laugh. The first real laugh you've had in months. And Frank immediately laughs too. Like he'd been waiting to hear it.
"So," he says softly. "You wanna come get your husband tomorrow?" Your eyes fill with tears all over again. Happy ones this time.
"Try and stop me, Castle." You chuckle, choking on a sob.
---------
The next morning, you wake up before your alarm. Before the sun. Before your brain can even fully catch up.
For one glorious second, you're confused. Then it hits you.
Frank. Frank is home. Almost home.
Your eyes fly open.
And your daughter immediately kicks you in the ribs.
"Ow." Another kick. "Yeah, yeah, I know." You press a hand over your stomach. She answers with another violent little jab.
Apparently she's excited too. The thought makes your chest ache. Because in a few hours, she's going to meet her father.
Well. Not really meet. But he'll know. Finally.
After seven months of secrets and ultrasounds and doctor's appointments and baby clothes hidden in closets. After seven months of staring at sonogram pictures and wondering how the hell you'd explain all of this. You sit up slowly. Immediately regretting it. At eight months pregnant, nothing is graceful anymore. Everything feels like a coordinated military operation.
Ironically. The thought almost makes you laugh.
By eight o'clock, you're dressed. Or as dressed as you're capable of being. The maternity dress is beautiful - but it barely fits anymore. Your shoes are a lost cause. And no matter what you wear, you're carrying what looks like an entire basketball team beneath your ribs. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Then at your stomach. Then back at yourself.
"He's gonna kill me." The baby kicks. "You're not helping." Another kick. Definitely Frank's daughter. The ceremony is being held on base. And by the time you arrive, your palms are sweating so badly you're worried you'll crash the car.
Not because of the crowd. Not because of the military officers. Not because of the ceremony.
Because of him. You haven't seen him in seven months. Seven months. Longer than you've ever gone without seeing Frank Castle.
You park. Sit in the driver's seat. And suddenly can't breathe.
What if he's different? What if you're different? What if—
A sharp kick lands directly on your bladder. You yelp. And immediately start laughing.
"Okay." Another kick. "Okay." One more. "Message received." You climb out of the car. Slowly. Carefully. And waddle. There's no dignified word for it.
You waddle toward the crowd. The ceremony is already underway. Rows of soldiers. Families. Friends.Children sitting on shoulders.
And then— You see him. Your breath leaves your body.
Frank. God. He's bulkier. His hair is shorter. There's a fresh scar on his jaw you don't recognize.
But it's him. It's still him. Standing straight. Hands clasped behind his back. Listening to somebody give a speech he absolutely doesn't care about. Your eyes burn instantly. Like they always do.
Like they probably always will. As if sensing it, Frank turns his head just as you sit down.
His gaze sweeps across the crowd. Past dozens of people. Then finds you. Everything stops. His face changes immediately. The exhausted military professionalism disappears. The soldier disappears. The tough guy disappears. And suddenly he just looks… Happy.
God. So happy.
The corner of his mouth lifts. Tiny. Private. Just for you. You smile back. You bite your lip. Wave awkwardly. Gather your jacket in front of your belly so that it looks inconspicuous. And thank god, he doesn't notice.
His eyes snap back to attention when his name is called, and he walks up to get his medal. Frank accepts the medal without a flicker of expression. At least, that's what everyone else sees. You know him too well. You see the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. The way his shoulders settle a fraction when he spots you in the crowd again. The way his eyes keep trying to drift back toward where you're sitting before snapping forward. The ceremony drags. Speech after speech. Recognition after recognition.
Until finally the commanding officer steps forward.
"At this time, personnel will remain at attention until tapped out by their designated family members." A ripple moves through the crowd.
People start standing. Parents. Spouses.
Children.
Everyone moving toward the rows of soldiers waiting to be released. Frank doesn't move. Can't move. Hands behind his back. Eyes forward. Completely still.
You rise from your chair, fiddling with your wedding band. Your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest. The baby chooses that exact moment to kick.
Hard.
"Please don't start," you whisper. Another kick. You swear she's laughing at you. Slowly, you make your way through the crowd.
One step. Then another. Frank is staring straight ahead. Military bearing locked firmly into place. He hasn't seen you stand. Hasn't seen you walking toward him.
And because you've been hiding behind chairs and people and your jacket all morning— He still has absolutely no idea. Your palms are sweating. Your throat feels tight.
Seven months. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of secrets. Seven months of wondering how you'd tell him. And somehow you've ended up here.
In front of half the military. With nowhere to run.
You stop a few feet away. Frank's eyes stay forward. The rules are the rules. No moving. No talking. No breaking attention. You bite your lip.
And wait. Just because you can.
Because after seven months? You deserve at least a little revenge. A few seconds pass. Frank remains perfectly still. You can practically feel the tension radiating off him.
Then— Very slowly— You take a step closer. His jaw tightens. He knows you're there. Of course he knows. He could probably identify you blindfolded from across a football field. Another step. Still no touch. The muscle in his cheek twitches. You almost laugh. Another step. Now you're directly in front of him.
Close enough to see the new scar on his jaw. Close enough to see the faint shadows beneath his eyes. Close enough to smell his cologne beneath the starch and uniform. His eyes remain fixed straight ahead. But they're starting to narrow. Suspicious. Impatient. You can practically hear him thinking:
Sweetheart, tap me out before I lose my damn mind. Instead— You slowly unzip your jacket. Just a little. Frank doesn't react. Then a little more. Nothing. Then you pull it completely open. The movement draws his gaze downward automatically. Just for a second. Just long enough. His eyes hit your stomach. And stop. Everything about him freezes.
Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you do. Because you've spent years learning every tiny thing about this man.
The breath leaves his lungs. His eyes widen. Just barely. The color drains from his face.
He stares. At your stomach. Then your stomach. Then your stomach again. Like maybe he's hallucinating. Like maybe Afghanistan finally broke his brain. You feel tears burning behind your eyes. Frank looks up. Straight into your face. And the expression there almost destroys you. Shock. Wonder. Disbelief. Pure, overwhelming emotion. You smile. A tiny, watery smile. Then your daughter picks that exact moment to kick. A visible movement beneath the fabric. Frank sees it.
Oh God. He sees it.
His entire face breaks. Not outwardly. Not enough to abandon attention. But enough. Enough that you see it. Enough that his eyes go glassy. Enough that he looks like someone just handed him the entire world.
You let him stare for another second. Then another. Drawing it out. Because you've waited seven months.
He can wait five more seconds. Frank looks moments away from committing several military violations simultaneously.
Finally— Finally— You lift your hand. Your hand finds home on his chest, and his whole body lurches forward. His arms come flying around you, trapping you against his chest. One hand at the small of your back, the other tangled in your hair, keeping you close. Your arms loop around his neck as you sob, breathing him in, feeling the rabid heartbeat in his chest against yours. He's holding you so tight you're afraid you'll stop breathing, so you push away from him, chuckling through your tears as he cups your cheeks, his mouth parted. You brush your thumb over the scar on his jaw.
"Are you real ?" You manage. Frank licks his lips, his chest rising and falling so hard his dog tags are clinking.
For a second, he just stares at you. Not the crowd. Not the officers. Not the ceremony.
You.
Like he's trying to memorize every inch of your face all over again. Then his gaze drops.
Slowly. Deliberately. To your stomach. Back up to your eyes. Then down again. His hands are shaking. Actually shaking.
You don't think you've ever seen that before. Not Frank. Not your Frank.
His throat works.
Once. Twice.
When he finally speaks, his voice comes out rough enough to scrape bark off a tree.
"Baby, what…" His eyes flick back to your stomach. Then back to you. "What the fuck ?" Fear hits your chest so fast you try to take a tiny step back, but you're stopped by Frank gripping your waist, thumbs digging softly into the side of the curve of your belly - the curve that wasn't then when he left. You stammer helplessly, horrified that he might be angry with you. His thumb strokes against your stomach again.
"Is this- Is this a fucking joke ?" He rasps. You shake your head.
"Frank-"
"Because if this is your way of getting back at me for lying to you about coming home it's sick, baby. Sick and so fucking twisted." You stare at him. For a second, you can't even process what he just said. Then your jaw drops.
"Frank." His hands tighten on your waist.
"Baby, I'm serious."
"It's not a joke."
"You're telling me you're- " His eyes dart back to your stomach again, looking completely wrecked. "You're havin' my baby ?" You let out a wet, disbelieving laugh.
"No, i just got fat while you were gone." You sniffle. "Yes, you idiot. I' having your baby." Frank just stares. The crowd around you keeps moving. Families hugging soldiers. Children crying. People laughing. Cameras flashing.
It all feels a million miles away. Because Frank Castle is looking at you like the entire universe has narrowed down to one thing.
You.
And the baby beneath your heart. His mouth opens. Closes.
Opens again. Nothing comes out.
"Frank?" you whisper. His eyes immediately snap to yours.
"How long?" You swallow.
"I found out a week after you left. I'm seven months along." The words hit him like a freight train. You physically watch it happen. His eyes close. His head drops forward. One huge hand comes up and drags down his face.
"A week…" he repeats hoarsely. You nod. His shoulders shake once. Not a laugh. Not a sob. Something in between.
"A week," he says again, like maybe if he repeats it enough times it'll start making sense. "Jesus Christ."
"Frank—"
"A week."
"I wanted to tell you." His eyes open. And God. The guilt hits you all over again. Because there's hurt there. Not anger. Hurt.
"I missed everything." The words nearly break your heart. You reach for him immediately.
"Frank—"
"I missed everything." His hand tightens on your waist before his other comes up to brush hair away from your face. His voice cracks. Actually cracks.
You don't think you've ever heard that before. Not once. Not in all the years you've known him. His gaze drops to your stomach again. To the life that kept growing while he was thousands of miles away.
"I missed it's first heartbeat." Your throat tightens.
"Frank—"
"I missed the ultrasounds." Your eyes start burning.
"I know."
"I missed…" His voice catches. "I missed all of it." You grab both sides of his face.
"Hey." His eyes find yours. "Hey." He goes silent. "I wanted to tell you every day." And that's the truth. Every single day. Every appointment. Every kick. Every sleepless night. Every tiny outfit. Every sonogram picture. Every moment. "I just couldn't." Frank watches you. You can see him trying to understand. Trying to put himself back into those months. "You were over there," you whisper. "Every phone call could've been the last one." His jaw tightens. "I wasn't gonna tell you something that huge and then hang up and spend the next two weeks wondering if you were alive." You choke on a sob. "God, Frankie. For the first three months i cried whenever anyone knocked on the door. I thought i'd open it to see soldiers and a folded flag, carrying a solemn look on their faces about to tell me my husband was shot to death or-or blown up or-"
"Baby.." Frank rasps. His hands come up so fast you barely see them move. One cups the back of your head. The other settles over the curve of your stomach.
Protective. Instinctive.
Like he's already trying to shield both of you from things that already happened.
"Hey." His forehead presses against yours. "Hey, look at me." You can't. Because now you're crying too hard. The words have been sitting in your chest for seven months. Every fear. Every nightmare. Every terrible possibility. And now that he's here, standing in front of you, alive and breathing and warm, they all come pouring out.
"I was terrified," you choke out. Frank closes his eyes.
"I know."
"No, you don't." His jaw clenches.
"I know enough."
"I'd hear the phone ring and think something happened." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I'd see military officers in public and I'd panic." His breathing shudders. "And every time she kicked—" Your voice breaks. "Every time she kicked I wanted to tell you." Frank's eyes squeeze shut. Hard. Like he's physically hurting. "I wanted to show you the ultrasounds." You laugh wetly. "I bought this stupid little pair of baby shoes and I cried for an hour because you weren't there." Frank lets out a sound. A broken sound. One you've never heard from him before.
"Sweetheart…"
"And I kept thinking if something happened to you…" Your voice cracks completely. "How was I supposed to tell her about you if she never got to meet you?" That does it. Frank's face crumples. Actually crumples. The big scary soldier who survived Afghanistan looks like he's about two seconds from falling apart right here in front of God and everybody.
"Don't." The word comes out rough. Barely audible. "Don't say that."
"But I thought it."
"I know."
"I thought it every day." Frank swallows hard. Then he pulls you closer. Careful now. One hand on your back. One hand still resting on your stomach. Like he can't stop touching it. Like he's afraid it'll disappear if he does. For a long moment he just stands there breathing.
Trying to collect himself. Trying and failing. Then he looks down.
At your stomach. Again. And again. Like he still can't believe it.
"You really kept a whole baby secret from me." Despite everything, a laugh escapes you.
"Technically." His eyes narrow.
"Technically?" A sharp kick answers him. Your eyes widen. Frank freezes. Completely freezes.
"Oh my God." Another kick. Right beneath his hand. Frank makes the strangest noise you've ever heard. Half laugh. Half sob. His knees almost buckle.
"Oh my God."
"Yeah."
"Oh my God." You start laughing through your tears. His hand spreads wider over your stomach. Careful. Reverent. Like he's touching something sacred. Another kick lands. And Frank's entire face lights up. Not a smile. Something bigger. Something brighter. Pure wonder. The kind you only get once. Maybe twice. In an entire lifetime.
"That's my kid." You choke on another laugh.
"Pretty sure."
"That's my kid." Frank sounds stunned. Like he just discovered fire. Like nobody has ever had a baby before and this is a completely new concept. Another kick. Frank immediately looks offended.
"She's kickin' you that hard?"
"Constantly." Then he looks down at your stomach one more time. And his expression softens. Completely.
"She's a girl?" Your heart squeezes. You nod. Frank just stands there. Silent. Processing. Then his eyes fill again. Frank's hand trembles against your stomach. And when he finally smiles, it looks almost disbelieving. Like he's still waiting for someone to wake him up.
"Our little girl." Then he looks at you. At the woman he thought he was coming home to. And the family he didn't know he'd already started. And his voice breaks all over again.
"You went through all this shit alone."He rasps, shaking his head. And the the thought sours in his head. Frank's face goes completely blank.
Which, somehow, is worse. You know that look. It's the look he gets when he's furious and trying very hard not to show it. Not at you.
At himself. His eyes travel down again. Your swollen ankles. The way you're unconsciously rubbing your lower back. The way one hand keeps supporting the underside of your stomach. The exhaustion hiding beneath the excitement.
And suddenly you can practically see the last seven months playing through his head.
You trying to carry groceries. You assembling nursery furniture. You standing on chairs to reach shelves. You driving yourself to doctor's appointments. You getting sick. Scared.
Alone.
Without him.
"You carried a whole human bein' by yourself for seven months?"
"I mean, technically she's still in there—"
"Sweetheart."
"Frank."
"No." You stare at him. He stares right back.
"That's not an answer."
"It is an answer."
"It's literally not."
"It means you're done."
"Done with what?"
"Everything." You bark out a laugh.
"Oh, absolutely not."
"Oh, absolutely yes."
"Frank." He points at your stomach.
"You are eight months pregnant."
"Seven."
"Eight."
"Seven."
"Close enough." You roll your eyes. Frank immediately notices. "I saw that."
"You don't get to come home after seven months and start bossing me around."
"I absolutely do."
"You absolutely don't."
"I fought a war."
"And?"
"And you built a baby." The words hit you so unexpectedly you actually stop talking. Frank seems surprised he said it too. But then his expression softens. "You built our little girl." Your eyes sting instantly.
"Frank…" His hand slides over your stomach again. Gentle. Careful. Almost disbelieving.
"We're going home. Now." By the time he gets you into the passenger seat, he's still muttering apologies. The second you reach for the seatbelt, his hand appears.
"I got it."
"Frank." Click. Buckled. You stare at him. He closes the door. Walks around the driver's side. Gets in. Starts the engine. Then reaches over and adjusts the air conditioning vent so it isn't blowing directly on you. Then adjusts your seat. Then hands you a bottle of water. Then asks if you're hungry. Then asks if you're tired. Then asks if your back hurts. Then asks if your feet hurt. Then asks if the baby kicks a lot. Then asks if you've been sleeping okay.
Then asks approximately fourteen thousand more questions.
Finally you hold up a hand.
"Frank."
"What?"
"Take a breath." He looks at you. Looks at your stomach. Looks back at you. And says, completely serious: "I leave for seven months and come back to find out there's a whole person in there." You start laughing. He doesn't.
"Frank."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"There's a tiny person."
"Yes."
"Our tiny person." You smile.
"Yeah." Frank's eyes immediately get shiny again. Frank shakes his head. Then reaches over. Grabs your hand. And doesn't let go for the entire drive home.As if seven months apart used up every second he's willing to spend without touching you.
The second the front door opens, Frank stops. Just stops. You nearly walk into his back.
"Frank?" He doesn't answer. He's staring into the apartment. At the laundry basket overflowing beside the couch. At the stack of unopened mail on the counter. At the half-finished nursery visible down the hallway. At all the little signs of a life that kept moving while he was gone. A life you carried alone.
His jaw clenches.
Then he reaches back without looking and grabs your hand.
"Come here."
"Frank, I'm literally right here."
"Closer." You roll your eyes. But step closer. Immediately his arm wraps around your shoulders. Like he's making up for lost time. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. The moment you're inside, he starts fussing. Relentlessly.
"Take your shoes off."
"I just sat in a car for forty minutes."
"Shoes."
"Frank."
"Shoes." Five minutes later he's helping you onto the couch. Ten minutes later there's a blanket over your legs. Fifteen minutes later he's somehow produced a glass of water, a pillow, a snack, and approximately seventeen questions about whether you're comfortable. You stare at him. He stares right back.
"What?"
"You're hovering."
"I'm supervisin'."
"That's the same thing."
"It ain't."
"It literally is."
"Nope." You open your mouth. A yawn immediately escapes instead. Frank's entire face softens.
"You're exhausted. You been on y'a feet too long."
"I'm not." Another yawn. Frank looks smug.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." You try to argue. You really do. But the couch is soft. The apartment smells like home. Frank is finally here. And the second he sits beside you, one hand resting automatically on your stomach, you feel yourself melting. The last thing you remember is his thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.And his voice.Low.
Warm.
Safe.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart." When you wake up, sunlight is pouring through the windows. For one disorienting second, you panic. Then you feel the blanket tucked around you. And hear the faint sound of tools clinking somewhere down the hall.
Your eyes blink open. The apartment feels… different. Cleaner. You sit up slowly.
Immediately noticing the laundry basket. Or rather— The lack of one.
Your brow furrows. You look around. The living room is spotless. The dishes that were sitting in the sink are gone. The counters are clean. Something smells amazing.
Food. Actual food. Not whatever sad collection of snacks you've been surviving on for the last few months.
"Frank?" No answer. You push yourself to your feet.
Follow the sounds. And stop dead in the hallway. The nursery door is open.
Inside, Frank is sitting on the floor. Building the crib. Your crib.
The one that's been sitting half-finished in a box for weeks because you couldn't figure out the instructions and eventually got frustrated enough to threaten it with violence.
Frank has one knee up.
Instruction manual spread beside him.
Sleeves rolled to his elbows.
And a tiny pink onesie hanging from one of the crib rails because apparently he found those too.
For a moment you just stand there. Watching. Something in your chest aches. Because he looks so unbelievably at home. Like he belongs here. Like he was always supposed to be here.
Like he never left.
Not overseas.
Not fighting wars. Here.
Building a crib for his daughter.
Frank glances up. Immediately catches you staring. His entire face lights up.
"Hey, goregous." You don't answer. Your eyes are already burning. Frank notices instantly. "Oh no."
"You did laundry."
"Yeah."
"You cleaned."
"Yeah."
"You made food."
"Yeah."
"You built half the crib."
"Workin' on it."
"Frank." His expression shifts. Softens. You shake your head. "You're supposed to be resting." Frank actually laughs. A full laugh. Like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.
"Sweetheart."
"I'm serious. You need to sleep. You got back from Afghanistan yesterday."
"And?"
"And you're exhausted." Frank snorts. Then points the screwdriver at you.
"Counterpoint." You narrow your eyes.
"What counterpoint?" He gestures around the nursery.
"You built a whole human." Your mouth falls open.
"Frank. You were in a war zone. You need a shower and a- a meal ! A good night's sleep ! Not to be fussing over me and building a crib-"
"Baby." Frank just stares at you. Then he slowly sets the screwdriver down. Which is never a good sign. Because it means he's about to make a point. A very annoying point.
"No."
"I ain't even said nothin' yet."
"I know where this is going."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"You don't." You point accusingly at him.
"You're gonna say something noble and stupid." Frank looks offended.
"I don't say noble things."
"You absolutely do."
"I really don't."You groan. Frank looks entirely too pleased with himself. Then his expression softens. A little.
"C'mere." You walk over to him, arms crossed. His hand finds yours.
Big. Warm. Familiar. He squeezes gently.
"You think I spent seven months over there dreamin' about sleep?" You open your mouth. Then close it.
Because honestly? No.
You know exactly what he dreamed about. Home. You. The life waiting for him.
Frank's thumb brushes across your knuckles.
"I slept in dirt."
"Frank."
"I ate food that tasted like cardboard."
"Frank."
"I showered when I got lucky." His eyes crinkle slightly. "But every night?" You swallow. Every trace of amusement disappears. "I thought about comin' home." Your throat tightens. Frank glances around the nursery. At the half-built crib. At the tiny clothes folded neatly on the shelves. At the stuffed rabbit sitting in the corner. Things he never got to see happen. Things he missed. Then he looks back at you. "And now I'm here." His voice is quiet. Steady. Like he's reminding himself. "I'm home. And i'm never leaving you again." You blink rapidly.
"Frank…"
"So no." He shakes his head. "I don't wanna sleep."
"You need sleep."
"I wanna do this." He gestures around the room. The nursery. The crib. The tiny pink blanket folded nearby. "I wanna know where you keep the diapers." You laugh through the tears gathering in your eyes. Frank keeps going. "I wanna know which drawer her clothes are in." Your lips wobble. "I wanna know what doctor you've been seein' or where your to-go bag is. I wanna know your cravings, what side y'like to sleep on."
"Frank…"
"I wanna know which stuffed animals she likes."
"She isn't born yet."
"Don't matter." A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I still wanna know." A tear escapes. Frank immediately reaches up and wipes it away.
"Hey." You shake your head.
"I just…" Your voice breaks. "You should be taking care of yourself." His expression softens completely. The teasing disappears. The grumbling disappears. Everything disappears. Until it's just Frank. Just your husband. Looking at you like you're something precious. Something he almost lost.
"Sweetheart." Your eyes meet his. "I spent seven months takin' care of myself." The words land softly. "But I ain't spent any time takin' care of my girls." You laugh.
"I still think you need rest." You say. Frank kisses your forehead.
"Trust me, baby. Being here with you, at home, and not in a place where I'm getting shot at every six seconds qualifies as rest." He pulls away from you and ducks down to grab the screwdriver. You groan.
"God, Frank- At least take a nap. Please ?" Frank looks up at you like you just asked him to sell you drugs.
pre-shift rituals
or: jack takes to semi-motorboating you before taking on the night.
Instead of simply clocking into the night shift like the very competent medical professionals you and he are, you're perched in Jack's lap in the driver's seat of his truck. The heat's cranked high, just to egg on the way you two sloppily make out with each other.
Jack gets even sloppier when you begin to grind on him, a wetter, swirling tongue as he mashes his lips into yours while your ass moves with your scrubbed-clothed cunt.
But somehow, what started as tongue dancing softens into something worse. Less filthy. Just as?
Even more so, with how serious your old man boy takes it.
"You're a good man, Jackie."
Jack buries his face in your tits with his arms locked around you.
You feel his breath smothered against your chest. You wonder if he takes your praises just as seriously. He damn well should! This is the pre-game ritual, what you and Jack do before the ER sinks its nails into him.
"You're gonna be good tonight."
You cup the back of his head as he scoffs. His mouth purses against the top of your tit when he does.
God, you love this in a way that's too horny for how routine and calming this is for him.
...Not that there haven't been moments where the ritual ends with him trying to find his way up inside your cunt, forcing you to moan quietly as you bounce between his belly and the wheel. But tonight, you think he just needs you settling him before the battle of the Pitt.
"M'good, baby."
You smile at the smushed, gruff assurance. It tickles. You smooth your hand over his curls.
"You’re gonna be gentle. You're gonna drink water. You’re gonna take your meds when your alarm goes off."
Jack just sits there, taking your praises like he's been starving for your voice all day...even though you've been with him all day. And you're about to spend a 12-hour shift with him. Funny doctor.
My Jackie.
He rubs his cheek against your breasts, pressing down further.
"Okay. I'll do that. I always do that."
He does whatever the hell you want him to, kiddo. With how many times he's engulfed you in the seat of his truck with his face nuzzled in your tits, you should know by now.
Jack gets pretty mad at you when he notices you're losing weight and not eating enough. He uses this entitlement to the way you take care of yourself as an excuse to bring you to a diner after a shift.
Well...he basically forces you to join him for breakfast, but you're endeared enough by his intensity that you just have to accept his coercive invitation.
“You’re coming with me. You’re going to sit down. You’re going to eat something that didn’t come out of a wrapper or a vending machine. Maybe I'll think about stopping the assholery."
The food arrives with steam rising off it. You spear a pancake, syrup dripping. You bring it to your lips.
Jack watches unblinking. He barely touches his own meal, watching you take advantage of the dinner he's bought you.
Good girl. Swallow it down. Fill up for me.
"Tastes good?"
"Mhm! It's delicious. But you're---you're paying, right?"
"Didn't I say I was going to? Why would you ask that?"
Summary: Jack returns home and finds his girlfriend making him breakfast. It all leads to some emotional confessions and passionate sex.
Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide attempt, bad mental health, grief, explicit sexual content.
a/n: perfect mix of fluff and smut lol
If you're currently struggling or have struggled with bad mental health in the past. I see you, you're not alone and I'm proud of you for fighting. <3
Likes & reblogs are appreciated. Don't be shy to comment because I love hearing from you!!
Hope you enjoy reading,
kisses.
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The house is filling up with the smell of eggs and bacon as you’re preparing breakfast.
Jack is about to return home from his night shift and you know he likes to eat something before going to bed. The coffee machine is pouring and the fresh orange juice you squeezed out is already in a jug on the kitchen island.
While preparing the food, you’re dancing along to some music that’s playing through your phone. It’s become this little ritual of yours, making breakfast while dancing throughout the kitchen. A great way to start your day, it’s like a serotonin boost.
Jack Abbot arrives home after fourteen hours on the job, he’s exhausted and absolutely worn out. However, when he walks inside the apartment and catches you dancing around the kitchen.. a smile grows onto his lips. He quietly places his bag down at the front door, taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes while his eyes never leave you.
It’s not the first time he has caught you like this when he got home from work, yet.. the sight still makes his heart melt.
Never in his wildest dreams he imagined he would have this again. Something so domestic.. a partner waiting for him to get home, cooking him a meal. After the passing of his wife, he thought he’d never find happiness again. It took him a few years but then he found it, in the shape of you.
“You should’ve become a dancer instead of a social worker.” Jack speaks up, making you jump a little as you turn around to face him.
“Damn it,” you give him a playful glare. “You always do this.. sneak up on me.”
“It’s fun,” Jack smirks softly as he walks closer towards you. “I like watching you when you think nobody’s watching.” he says.
“Creep,” you throw the kitchen towel his way.
A chuckle escapes Jack’s lips as he catches the towel with ease, eyes glimmering with affection as he approaches you. Before you know it, he has made a loop with the towel so he could throw it over your shoulders and pull you closer to him that way.
“Who you callin’ a creep, huh?” he teases, face hovering over yours.
A smile grows on your lips as you look up into his eyes, arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him close. “Hi baby,” you mumble before moving up on your tip toes so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.
Abbot’s quick to chase your lips for another kiss, eyes closing as he takes his time with it. A soft hum escapes you as you move your arms up to wrap around his neck, head tilting to deepen the kiss some more.
“Careful,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re gonna make a man want to forget all about the food you made him and take you back to the room.” he says.
“Hey.. no way,” you say as you pull back and look into his eyes. “I worked hard on that breakfast.”
“Hmm..” Jack takes a look at what you made and he can feel his stomach grumble, he hasn’t eaten in a while and is awfully hungry. “Looks good.”
“Sit,” you instruct him before walking over to the stove to retreat the pan you made your scrambled eggs in.
Abbot gives your ass a quick pat before he moves to sit himself down at the kitchen island, facing you. His eyes roam over the way you’re moving through the kitchen, one of his shirts hanging on your body and your hair up in a messy bun. He loves you in the mornings before you get yourself ready for the day, something about your face without make-up makes him all warm inside.
“Here you go,” you say as you place a plate in front of Jack. Some eggs, bacon and a few slices of an orange lay on it.
A soft smile tugs on Abbot’s lips as he turns his head to look at you. “Thank you..” he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “You’re the best, y’know that?”
“Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.” you playfully send him a wink which makes him chuckle as he watches you move back into the kitchen.
After pouring Jack and yourself a glass of orange juice, you take your plate and move to sit down beside him. You feel how he moves his hand and lays it to rest on your thigh as you have a piece of bacon.
“So.. how was your shift?” you ask Jack after swallowing your bite.
“Draining.. long, some awfully weird cases again to prove how chaotic the night shift truly is.” he tells you between eating some of his eggs.
“But that’s what you like about it.” you say after having a sip of your orange juice. “The day shift would just bore you now.”
Jack turns his head to look into your eyes as he hums in agreement. “Yeah.. you’re right.” he nods, squeezing your thigh before pulling back his hand so he could pick up his glass of orange juice. “How about you? Busy day today?” he asks.
“I need to be in at nine,” you tell him. “I have a few cases I need to follow up on and that meeting with management about those free health classes I want to provide for our street program.”
“Hmm.. busy woman,” Abbot says after having a sip. “If they don’t want to go on board with your idea that’s just because they’re idiots. Don’t let them make you think your ideas are not good enough.” he tells you, making a chuckle leave your lips before nodding. He truly is your biggest supporter.
“I’ll catch some sleep and then I’ll go get groceries. I’m gonna make dinner so you’ll have something to eat when you come back home.” he tells you, a smile growing on his lips as he catches your eyes.
“Sounds good.” you give him a smile back before leaning in and resting your head against his shoulder.
Jack’s heart flutters as he leans down and presses a kiss onto your head. He really likes the life he has going on with you.. which is something he used to dream of having but would’ve never admitted to anyone. Not until now. He’s not ashamed, he’s proud to have this, to have you. Which is something his co-workers can attest to as he isn’t able to shut up about you at work.
“Why are you smiling like that?” you ask as you catch the look on his face.
Abbot wakes up out of his day dreaming and looks down at you, noticing that he was indeed smiling while sunken into thought. He shrugs softly but then catches sight of your curious eyes and knows you won’t let this go.
“Just.. I really like the life we have.” he admits, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Never thought I’d have this again.” he says as he looks into your eyes, heart overflowing with love for you. “You make me excited to live again.” Jack says. “I can never thank you enough for that.”
A soft smile tugs on your lips as you hear his words, they make you emotional so you bury your face into his chest some more so he wouldn’t see the tears burn in your eyes. It pains you to know how much he’s struggled in the past.
“Can’t help but think.. you know, that she had something to do with it.” Jack tells you which makes you look back up into his eyes. "At least that’s what I like to think.” he chuckles softly. “Comforts me in some way.”
“M’sure she’d be extremely proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his late wife. “It hasn’t been easy for you, you’ve found joy in living again and that’s hard work. You can’t give me all the praise.”
A smile tugs on Jack’s lips as his eyes turn glossy, your words tugging on his heart strings. “For a long time.. I thought that if she was looking down at me, she’d hate what she’d see.” he says, the expression on his face falling as he tries to hold back tears. “I was so lost in myself.. in hatred for the world, drinking or working was all I did.” he explains.
“No.. she’s wouldn’t-”
“She would though.” Jack cuts you off. “Told me so herself when she was still alive.” he says before a smile grows on his lips as the memory replays in his head. “Told me that she loathed those types of men.. ones that hate the world and therefore destroy themselves with booze and everyone around them with how they act.”
A sympathetic smile tugs on your lips as you listen to his words, allowing him to speak. You’ve always given him the space to talk about his late wife, you realize it’s how he keeps the memory of her alive and that’s something you don’t want to take away from him.
“One night.. I was so lost and I just-” he chokes up for a moment, tears pooling in his eyes. “I didn’t see a way out anymore.” he admits softly. “I had made my way up to the roof of my apartment building.. self-determined that the only way I was going down was by jumping."
Hearing his words is like a blow to the chest. It hurts you to know that this man who you love so dearly, almost killed himself because he was in so much pain.
While his tear filled eyes and heavy words make you want to sob, you stay strong. Because you want to be there for Jack. You want him to know that he can share his darkest moments with you, that they don’t scare you off.
“Before I could jump-” Jack’s voice fills up the space between you again. “My phone made a noise as a text came in.” he says, eyes tracing over the features of your face. “It was you.” he smiles as tears pool in his eyes. “Explaining how you got my number from Dana and wanted to thank me for the great job I did on that foster kid case with you.”
You nod at his words, still able to recollect how nervous you were to send him that text. You had not had many chances to work with Abbot at the time, considering he’s on the night shift and you’re there during the day, but.. that didn’t mean you didn’t know who he was.
After you had the chance to work together with him on the case of the foster kid that was his patient and showed signs of abuse, something shifted within you. He was no longer just the handsome attending, he was the guy you wanted.
“I was actually pacing in my living room, like a teenager who just sent her crush a text and was awaiting an answer.” you chuckle which makes Abbot laugh through his tears as well. “You made me even more nervous by not replying instantly.”
“I was rereading your text like a hundred times. I couldn’t believe you thanked me for something that in my mind was just my job.” Jack tells you.
“Trust me.. after working with many doctors on cases, I can tell you that it’s not just because it’s your job that you actually care.” you say. “I remembered being really impressed on how you handled the situation with so much care, even before I got called to it.”
Jack smiles softly at your words, hearing your praise does something to him. He values you so much as a person, that the thought of you thinking about him like that is enough to make his heart melt.
“That night.. I like to believe that it was her who saved me by sending you into my life.” Jack explains, that smile resting on his lips.
“I like that theory.” you smile back at him.
Jack leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead, eyes closing as he silently thanks his late wife once more. He knows that there will never be real evidence about his theory, but believing in it is enough for him.
“I appreciate how you allow me to talk about her. Means a lot.” he tells you, chin resting on your head.
“Ofcourse..” you answer and lean in some more as you hold onto him. “She was a big part of your life, that’s not changing just because she’s gone.”
“Yeah.. s’just,” he mumbles. “I was somehow afraid that a new partner would be jealous or not keen on me talking about her.” Jack admits.
“Hmm.. I get it.” you nod softly.
“M’happy you’re not like that,” Jack tells you, pressing another kiss on the top of your head.
His words make a smile grow onto your lips, you lean back a bit so you could look at him and let your eyes trace over his face. The story he told you earlier comes back to mind and you find it weird how you never heard it before, the two of you have been together for some time now.
“Why have you never told me that story of the roof before?” you ask him, breaking the silence.
“It’s not something m’really proud of.” he mumbles back at you, looking down to avoid eye contact.
“Hey,” you move a hand to cup his cheek and make him look back into your eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” you tell him. “You fought for a long time and you were tired, it’s normal that the thought of giving up crossed your mind.” your thumb brushes against his skin and you feel him leaning into your touch some more. “But I’m so fucking proud off you that you didn’t give up.”
A bashful smile covers his lips as he hears your words, they make tears burn back into his eyes. Being this open and vulnerable with you isn’t easy, if it wasn’t for all that therapy.. he probably never would’ve been able to open up to you like this.
“I love you,” Jack says before he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “So.. so.. much.” he mumbles between kisses.
“I love you too.” you smile against his lips.
Once he pulls back, a pleasant silence falls over the two of you as you get back to having breakfast. The scraping of forks against plates, food being swallowed and the music that is still leaving your phone is all that is able to be heard.
“That was a heavy ass conversation for this early in the morning.” you are the first to break the silence.
A chuckle leaves Abbot’s mouth as he nods at your words. “Sorry ‘bout that.” he tells you.
“No need to be sorry,” you say as you stand up to put your empty plate in the sink. “Susan is going to be so proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his therapist.
“She will,” Jack chuckles as you mention the middle aged woman who has been his therapist for more than four years now.
You check the time on your phone and realize you’re gonna need to get yourself ready or you’ll be late to work. After picking up your phone, you rush past Jack but he’s quick to snatch you by wrapping an arm around your waist.
“No..” you pout as you realize what’s about to happen, it’s something he always does.. it’s the reason why you’ve stopped telling him you’re going to get yourself ready.
“Haven’t even said anything yet,” Jack chuckles as he pulls you closer to him.
“But I know what you’re about to do,” you tell him while looking into his eyes. “You’re going to seduce me because you want to get laid before I go.”
“Hey,” a smirk tugs on his lips. “I’d never force you, m’just suggesting a little get together in the bedroom before you head off to work.”
“Yeah.. exactly,” you frown. “I can never say no when you look at me like that.” you say as you watch him stare at you through hooded eyes, clearly giving you ‘the look’. He knows it makes you weak. “Your little get togethers makes me late to work every damn time.”
“I mean.. is that a no?” he arches a brow as the smirk stays present on his lips.
“Oh.. you know it’s a yes.” you give him another glare before moving over towards the bedroom.
Jack can only smirk wider as he moves up from the stool he was sitting on, he puts some pep in his step and quickly catches up to you. A soft shriek leaves you as you feel him pick you up with ease, a giggle following as he lays you over his shoulder.
“I hate you..” you tell him with a smirk on your face.
“Sure you do,” Jack gives your ass a smack as he moves further into the bedroom. “But you won’t after I make you come twice before nine a.m.” he says before slamming the door shut behind him.
Another giggle leaves you as Jack lays you down on the bed, quick to take off his own shirt which gives you a view of his broad chest and shoulders.
“Hmm.. sexy,” you say as your eyes travel over his torso.
Jack chuckles at that before motioning towards the shirt you’re wearing. “Don’t be shy now, take it off.”
You sit up so you can take off the shirt that was on your body, the cool air makes goosebumps grow on your skin as your nipples harden. Jack takes in your bare chest, the sight going straight to his cock that is already getting hard.
“Fuck me..” he mutters under his breath. “You’re so beautiful.”
A blush forms on your cheeks at his compliment, no matter how many times you heard him tell you that.. it still makes you all giddy inside. You watch as Jack proceeds by sitting on the side of the bed, that way he can take off his prosthetic before going any further.
You wait patiently, crawling up behind him and placing some kisses on the back of his neck and down to his shoulder. Your sweet touches make Jack shiver, he loves how gentle you are with him, even more how you give him time to handle his prosthetic.
You know he’s uncomfortable being intimate with it on, he told you once and ever since then.. you never rush him, you always give him the space to take it off before you get on with being intimate.
Jack turns a bit, after removing his prosthetic, capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a soft hum against his mouth as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close to you.
You let him push you back onto the bed, watching as he moves to place kisses up your legs and on your thighs. His fingers slowly travel towards your hips and curl around the lining of your panties. Every touch of him wakes even more desire for him in your body.
“My pretty girl,” Jack tells you as he watches how your back arches into his touch.
Once your underwear is off and discarded on the floor, he presses a few kisses onto your lower stomach and hip bones. You bite down on your lip, looking down and watching how close he is to where you want him most.
“You gonna be good for me?” Jack asks, mouth hovering over your core, the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you shiver.
“Yes-” you answer him, looking at him with nothing other than need for his touch.
“You always are..” Jack smiles softly before leaning down and pressing a kiss against your pussy. “Such a good girl for me, huh?”
The only answer you can give him is a nod because once you want to open your mouth to say something, he dives in with his tongue and makes a whimper escape you.
Jack holds onto your hips, keeping you close and right where he wants you. He’s sucking down on your clit, sometimes his tongue comes into play as well which makes you moan out. He’s feasting on you like a starving man.
“Fuck-” you moan out, moving a hand down into his curls.
One thing about Jack is that he knows how to please. Whenever he goes down on you, he gives it his all. In your past relationships you sometimes had to beg your partner to eat you out, but not with Jack.. no, the man loves nothing more than pleasuring you.
“Oh god-” you moan out, squirming beneath his touch but he’s quick to take better hold of you so you can’t move your hips anymore.
“Does that feel good, baby?” Jack asks, taking a breather to look up at you.
“Yes,” you give him a nod.
“Want my fingers as well?" he questions, already knowing the answer he’s going to get.
“Please-” you beg, which goes straight to his cock.
Jack moves back in, sucking down on your clit while two fingers curl up inside of you. A moan leaves you as your back arches into his touch, head thrown back on the pillow.
It doesn’t take that long for you to feel that bubble of pleasure building up inside of your gut, his fingers keep hitting that sweet spot as he’s sucking down on your clit. You let out a soft whine, tugging on his curls as you feel yourself getting close to tipping over the edge.
“M’gonna-”
“I know, baby..” Jack mumbles against you, eyes looking up at the expression on your face. “Come for me.”
It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers before you reach your high. Your body tightens up and once that bubble bursts inside of you, soft cries leave your lips as your body trembles.
“Atta girl,” Jack keeps his fingers moving, guiding you through it.
“Ugh,” you let your body relax on the mattress again as you feel the waves of pleasure slowly washing away. “Fuck.. that was good,”
Jack smiles at your words, he loves whenever he’s able to pleasure you. He takes pride in it. He moves up so he could press his lips against yours, you are quick to kiss him back as you hold him close to your body.
“I need to thank the universe more for sending me an eater like you,” you mumble against his lips which makes Jack laugh.
“All real men are eaters,” he tells you, brushing some strands of hair out of your face. “But out of all those men, I sure am the best.” Jack says, which makes it your turn to chuckle now before nodding your head.
“You sure are..” you say before pressing your lips back against his.
The two of you share a passionate kiss which doesn’t help Jack with wanting you any less. You can feel his erection straining against his boxers as his hips brush into yours.
“Is there enough time left for me to fuck you..” Jack mutters against your lips, making you turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your nightstand.
“If you can get me to come in ten minutes, yeah.” you answer him.
“Pfft.. easy,” Jack scoffs as he moves his boxers down his hips. “I only need five max.”
You chuckle at that before feeling him kiss you again, it makes you wrap your arms around his neck to hold him close. Jack hums against your mouth, enjoying the feeling of your body against his.
After you helped him with removing his boxers completely, he settled back between your thighs. Jack takes hold of himself and traces his tip against your entrance, his eyes lock with yours before he slowly makes his way inside of you.
Your lips part in a silent gasp as you feel his cock spreading you open. “God.. you feel good-” Jack grunts out as he feels how wet you are.
“Mhmm..” your hands travel over the muscles on his back as your legs hook around his waist.
Jack presses another kiss on your lips before resting his head in the crook of your neck. He’s moving inside of you with controlled strokes, balls deep each time.
“Hmm yes,” you moan out, nails digging in his shoulders where you’re holding onto him.
“Yeah.. use your nails on me,” Jack whispers, he loves whenever you do that.
You drag your nails down his back, the feeling of you leaving soft scratches on his skin is enough to make him come. However, he holds back. Jack’s determined to get you there first.
“Fuck yes,” you whimper out as you feel him move his hips, changing the angle in a way he hits that sweet spot inside of you. “Right there.”
“Yeah?” Jack loves seeing the pleasure in your expression as he finds the right spot, knowing it’s usually a done job whenever he’s found it.. only a few more strokes before he has you coming.
Your moaning is echoing through the room as Jack lets out a groan from time to time. He has pushed your legs up to your chest, allowing him to move even deeper inside of you. That pit in your gut forms again and you know you’re close to tipping over the edge.
“M’so close..” you whine out, making Jack even more determined.
“Come on my cock, baby.” he tells you, while his hips keep moving inside of you with the same intensity.
Your body tightens up, back arching of the bed as you grip onto his arms. “Yes.. oh god, Jack..” you cry out before you come, feeling pleasure burst inside of your gut and traveling all throughout your body.
As soon as you reach your orgasm and Jack feels you clench your walls around his cock, he’s done for. Grunts escape him as he comes, coating your insides before his body goes limp and falls down onto yours.
“Mhmm that was fucking good..” you tell him, enjoying the bliss of your orgasm that’s still washing over you.
“It really was,” Jack says with trembling breath, moving up so he could look you into your eyes as a lazy smile tugs on his lips.
You smile at him and plant a soft kiss on his mouth before turning your head and catching a glimpse of your alarm clock. Those ten minutes are more than past by now.
“Shit!” you curse out before pushing against Jack’s chest so he’d roll off of you. “M’gonna be fucking late again.” you say as you realize that you still need to get yourself ready and drive over to the hospital.
Jack can only chuckle as he watches you nearly trip over a pair of shoes on your way towards the bathroom. He won’t ever tell you, because he knows you’ll get mad, but Jack thinks you’re adorable whenever you’re pissed off and in a hurry because he made you late for work.
“Ugh, damn you Abbot!” you call out, hearing the soft sounds of his laughter. “Asshole!”
“Love you too!” Jack calls out before letting his head fall down on the pillow beneath him, a satisfied smile resting on his lips.
a little jack abbot piece for my semi-hiatus he’s kinda freaked in this one but not really at the same time, bro just loves his gf … work really has been taking it out of me
Jack loves your night time routine when you’re both home for him to witness it.
Usually, you take your time making a really cozy, hearty dinner: sometimes a chicken noodle soup, sometimes Irish stew; tonight you’ve chosen soup- while he cleans the entire house top to bottom and when everything is all done you rush to the showers.
It’s always scalding and Jack usually finishes before you lest he burns off the sensitive skin on his legs.
He likes it this way to be honest; at least now he can watch you go about your post shower routine fully dressed in his boxers.
He watches you reach for your lotion, and like a dog trained solely by the Pavlovian theory, his pupils dilate and he blushes.
You smell immediately like a cool summer night, fresh coconuts and something sweet underneath. He can never figure out if it’s a flower or if it’s caramel. Not an inch of your body is left neglected by the lotion and soon the entire bedroom smells of you.
He wants to smell of you too and doesn’t hesitate to call you over.
“C’mere, pretty lady.” He’s pushing himself to the edge of your bed, his prosthetic leg off to the side making him move just a tiny bit slower as he makes sure he’s balanced where he sits.
You grin and shake your head like every night but make your way over to him in just a pair of boy shorts.
“You’re like a dog.” You giggle as he sticks his nose to your collarbone, inhaling you deeply. He rubs his scruffy nose across your collarbone and up to your neck, and when he groans against your skin you can’t help the goosebumps that break out.
“You always smell so fucking good,” his voice has gone a bit lower and his hands grab onto your hips and pull you closer when you try to move away. “What is it?” He asks greedily, just before he starts sucking at the hollow of your throat.
“Coconut honey lotion.” You respond breathlessly and he grunts, his hands falling to your ass. “Such a fucking caveman.”
“I could live wrapped up in you after a shower.”
“Jack,” you laugh outright when he nips at your skin, making a sticky line of kisses from your collarbone to the top of your breasts.
He looks up, green eyes nearly black. “I love you,” your skin heats under his touch.
“I love you too,” you lean down and kiss his nose. “Can we go have dinner now? Or do you want to sniff me some more?”
You squeal when he swats at your ass and pulls one of his shirts over your head. “Dinner first,” he kisses your chin when your head pops out. “And maybe I’ll sniff you some more if you’re good.”
summary: a collection of their first times together. connected to my other shy!reader fic, but can be read as a standalone!
content: explicit 18+ MDNI. smut, oral (f receiving), tad of dry humping, unprotected p in v. brief mention of sexual assault (a patient, not reader), reader is a SANE.
wc: 8.9k
notes: thank u for the love on my first fic!! i thought id write a lil extra fic of this dynamic bc i also adore them.
masterlists
First Date
Jack is a traditional man, you’ve come to realise.
After the kiss, the invisible boundary stopping him from taking care of you the way he wanted had been broken, and he promises to care for you to the fullest extent, for as long as you’d let him.
Your schedules never seemed to align to both have a day off, and Jack was getting antsy at the prospect that he had kissed you days ago, but couldn’t take his girl out for a date.
A particularly stressful case one evening broke his patience.
An MVC trauma case had rolled in just before his shift was about to end, the man was in his late-thirties and the crash seemed to have paralysed his lower limbs. He worked to treat the most imminent problems, but Jack could tell the man knew what had happened to his legs, and was grieving silently.
Not long after he’s finished treating the man, a tall, blonde woman rushes into the trauma room just as Jack was about to exit, and the look on her face was fear followed by complete devastation. He watches her sob as she rounds the table to sit next to her partner, moving strands of hair away from his face so she can lean in and press her forehead against his.
Jack stands off to the side watching the scene unfolds, and his breath hitches as he hears the couples’ cries, their pleas of love for one another, the fear that she had almost lost him; lost him before they could finally get married, he overhears.
The woman promises that nothing could ever change the love she has for him, begging to scrap the big, fancy wedding they’d planned, wanting to elope, not bearing to waste another day of not being married to him.
Something twists low in his chest, patience wearing thin and excuses himself from the room, desperately needing to find you.
He couldn’t wait.
Jack’s shoulders are tight when he exits the trauma room, shaking his head and searching for you, hoping you hadn’t left for the day.
───
You’re zipping your bag up where it rests on your chair, when a low, familiar voice startles you from behind.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, going home and sleeping. You should try it sometime, y’know–” You begin to tease back, turning to look at him, but his face is serious, tight, making you falter. You’re about to ask what had happened, never having seen him so disturbed.
He speaks before you can ask, shaking his head and commanding,
“No. C’mon, we’re grabbing food.” His voice is gravelly as he grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before picking up your coat holding it out for you to slip into it. Your heart warms at the sweet, domestic gesture. Nervously, and heavily blushing, you turn, and let him drape you in the coat. You move to take the bag from Jack, but he shakes his head, holding it tighter.
“Let’s go.” His voice is low, and you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding you to the exit. You almost just let yourself fall into the comfort of allowing Jack to take over, enjoying not having to think for once.
“Jack– hold on.” You say a little flabbergasted. Shen and Lena give you both an amused look as you pass, clearly they seem to know what’s going on whilst you’re left in the dark.
“We’re exhausted, I look a mess right now– we just finished a 12 hour shift!” You try and reason with him as he hurriedly leads you to his truck.
“So?” He gives you a look that implies what you said has no grounds for protest, whatsoever.
You scoff, completely taken aback, and swivel to face him once you reach his truck, searching his face for an inkling of an idea as to what’s up with him.
“Jack–” You try, but he just leans past you, and opens the truck door for you, nodding his head signalling for you to hop in.
“First of all. You ain’t a mess, sweetheart.” He says, almost offended by the notion.
Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you watch as he reaches for the seatbelt and buckles you in, and before pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours and whispers, “You looking fuckin’ amazing all the time.”
You can't help but let out a flustered whine at his praise, blush covering your face as you meet his intense stare. His expression begins to soften once he looks you over, realising you’re finally here with him. He softly brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
“Diner food okay, doll?”
───
You feel the car come to a stop across the street from a 24/7 diner downtown, it’s cutesy, it has a retro feel to it. You go to open the door, but his hand gently catches your wrist mid-movement.
“Ah ah. Stay.” He commands with a soft-but-stern tone, willing you to obey.
You smile to yourself as you watch him round the hood of the truck, you’ve never received this kind of princess treatment, and your heart clenches. You thrum with anxiety as you wait for him to open your door, begging yourself to not make a fool of yourself and somehow faceplanting out of the truck.
Checking that no cars are passing, he opens the door and holds his hand out for you to take. You can’t stop your smile from growing or the heat covering your face, utterly touched by his gentlemanly gestures.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Your voice is quiet, but slightly teasing as you hop out of the truck, holding his hand. “I already like you.”
Jack sighs when looks down at you, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your hip before moving you to the inner side of the sidewalk, away from the road.
“I ain’t doing this to impress ya.” He grumbles out, bringing his lips to your temple. “It’s how you deserve to be treated, honey.”
You’re speechless.
He needs to stop making you blush, you’re already flustered and overwhelmed by all of his actions within the short span of time you’ve left the ER, and the date has barely begun.
You’re barely able to focus or think straight, which is why when you reach the doors to the diner, you mistakenly make a move to open the door, and Jack almost hangs his head in soft frustration
“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He says in disbelief. You look up at him with a confused expression, watching as he enters your space, and opens the door for you. God, he’s so traditional. Your grin is wide as you stare at him, unable to keep it off your face as you enter the Diner.
You let him order first, as you stare up at the menu above the counter. You’d heard him order a savory dish, something with eggs. It’s healthy, and though you’d wanted something sweet like pancakes you start overthinking, not wanting to look unhealthy or childish in front of Jack, completely baseless worries.
He turns to look at you, seeing your brows are furrowed and a worried look paints your face as you’re trying to decide. He reaches back, squeezing your hand tilting his head. “Honey, get whatever ya want, yeah?”
Your smile is tight and shy again when you order the pancakes, nerves wracking your body for no good reason, just another moment anxiety seems to spike randomly.
“Will that be separate or together?” The cashier asks about payment whilst finishing up the order, and both you and Jack speak at the same time.
“Separate–”
“Together.”
His tone is final as he looks at you with an incredulous expression that you even tried to offer to pay on your first date. You begin to shake your head, feeling guilty about making him pay for you, but he taps his card and gives you a stern look.
While you’re waiting for the food he wraps you in his arms and whispers into your hair.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” His voice is gentle but pleading.
Your heart clenches as you look up at him from where you’re wrapped around him, face touching his chest. Vulnerability flickers in your eyes, unsure if you should admit to Jack just yet, how hard it is for you to let go and be cared for.
But he just smiles, patting your hair, and silently, you think he already knows.
Grabbing your food, you look for a place to sit, but you notice Jack is… walking out? You frown again, catching up to him with confusion painting your face. Did he not want to eat together? Had you completely misinterpreted this as a date? Maybe he just wanted to grab food before going home.
He snorts at the confusion, back tracking a little and cupping your face with one hand, a thumb stroking back and forth across your cheek.
“You think I was gonna take ya to a diner for our first date?” He croons, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Jesus, kid, who have you been hanging around with before me?”
───
What you hadn’t expected was for him to bring you to a remote spot that overlooked the city. It was still early in the morning, a fresh spring fog coating the city from above as you sat on a bench and had breakfast.
You’re too in your own head, you know this. But you can’t stop. You’re painfully aware that this is a date, you want to act the right way, say the right things, be charming, be funny. But it inevitably leads to complete silence from you and jumpy eyes darting around focusing on anywhere but him.
Sighing, he sets his takeout container on the bench beside him, before scooting closer to you.
“Hey, what’cha worrying about over there?” He nudges his knee with yours. He meets your eyes and finds insecurity and so much shyness. He tilts your head up using his fingers on your chin, making sure you really hear him when he speaks.
“You still get me so nervous.” You breathe out shakily, laughing a little at the prospect knowing he’d already kissed you stupid days ago.
“You got no one to impress, yeah? S’just me.” He teases a little, recalling your words from earlier.
“Plus, I already got a taste of those lips, doll.” This raises a shy laugh from you and you groan while you nudge his knee back playfully, clearly calming down. He has a way of easing you, making you comfortable around him like no one ever has. You lean your head down against his shoulder, bringing your hand to trace patterns on his scrubs.
In the comfortable lull between you both, you break the silence.
“What happened today? Why were you so… worked up?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment by bringing up negative emotions.
Jack pauses, you feel him tense beside you. But he places a hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly, searching for the right words.
“I just… didn’t wanna waste any time.” He admits softly, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“I know what I want, and we’ll go as slow as you want– but I’m not waiting around to miss key moments with you.” He leans down to where you rest on his shoulder and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment after his admission.
Your breath hitches at his intensity, realising how serious he is, that he really wants this, wants you.
“Now,” he pauses, using his hand to lift your head off his shoulder. “I’ve been dreamin’ about kissing you again for days.” His rough voice whispers, searching your eyes for permission, any indication you want this as much as he does.
You don’t give him time to find it.
Immediately, you lean in and crash your lips to his, faster and passionate than your first.
Jack is genuinely taken aback by your little show of confidence, and he makes a surprised whine at feeling your lips again.
You pull back, wide eyed and shocked at what you had done. “Fuck–”
He growls at you having broken the kiss. You don’t get time to sit with embarrassment at how desperately you’d kissed him, you notice how blown out his pupils are and he immediately cups your face bringing you back in.
He had so effortlessly taken over, comforting you and pleasing you with one kiss that your worries dissipate, your body relaxes into him, and you let yourself feel it.
For the second time, Jack had kissed you stupid.
First Personality Shifts
Slowly, but surely, Jack was getting you to come out of your shell. He was discovering parts of you he hadn’t known existed, and loved it.
He was encouraging you to grow, to flourish, which is how he discovered how sassy you could get.
The night shift were working overtime, wrapping up cases here and there, during a particularly brutal shift. You’d been working around 15 hours now, exhausted but powering through.
You and Emma, a day shift nurse, were assisting a trauma case led by Jack and Dr. Robby, much to the dismay of Shen and Ellis. It was a particularly tricky case, you’d all been in that room for ages, holding your breath during a risky procedure as the room stays silent.
After a while, you watch Jack and Robby step back from the patient, letting out a breath of relief before Robby raises his thumbs, signalling everything went perfectly. You see them smile, their eyes crinkling from under the mask.
Small cheers and laughs filter through the room, the tension easing out.
“You’ve still got it, man.” Jack praises Robby.
Robby almost looks reluctant to accept the approval.
“Nah man, that’s all you.” Robby retorts, his hand patting Jack’s back whilst Robby went to leave the room.
“Take the compliment, Robby.” Jack raises his voice to reach where Robby was leaving the room, knowing how his friend gets. Robby pauses in the doorway turning to face Jack.
“No, seriously, brother. Everyone could learn a thing or two from you.” Robby says loudly enough so his residents can hear, making it a point.
You hear them go back and forth for a while, your brain is finally slowing down from exhaustion, they do this all the goddamn time, which is why you don’t even process it when you blurt out your next sentence.
“Careful, Jack’s ego is inflated enough as is.” Your voice is somewhat quiet, you really meant it for just Robby and Jack.
The room erupts in small giggles, Robby’s eyebrows lifting in surprise and smirking at Jack. He can’t help but let out a laugh.
“Oof, damn girl.” You hear Ellis joke from behind you.
Your wide eyes shoot up to meet Jack’s, your tired brain catching up and afraid you’d offended him. But he’s stood there, completely still, and grinning so hard. He almost looks proud.
Jack didn’t think he could fall for you any harder.
He was wrong.
───
You had finally gotten comfortable enough to ask for his comfort.
Before you met Jack, you couldn’t imagine asking for help for the littlest of things, afraid of inconveniencing people. Jack had reassured you, time and again, that he wants to be the person you go to when you need help.
So you do.
At first, it was adorable for Jack trying to get you to ask for help. Being a slight tease about it, encouraging you to use your words.
You’d had a rough shift, you weren’t meant to be going to Jack’s place after work, but god did you need him today more than ever.
You’d been in the room for a few trauma cases, neither of which had ended with the patients pulling through, one being a pediatric case. You’d also opted to do an evidence collection for a sexual assault patient, knowing how busy Lena had been tonight, the floor needing her more than ever, so you’d taken over for her.
Safe to say, by the end of the night, you were a wreck. You felt on the verge of tears for hours, like the littlest thing could set you off. You were emotionally depleted, you wanted to just switch off, and you knew Jack could help.
So you approached him quietly, anxiously, your hands fidgeting. He was grabbing his bag out of his locker, so you slid in next to him, your back against the lockers next to him searching his face, checking if he’s too tired, because you wouldn’t want to be a burden.
“Hey, baby.” He smiles at your appearance next to him, glancing over at you.
“Everything okay?” He says gently after noticing your stature. He can tell you’re anxious. He pauses from where he’s gathering his stuff in his lockers, turning to face you fully now. You’re staring into his eyes, you’re hesitant.
“Talk to me.” He commands gently, his hand coming to yours to break apart your nervous fidgeting.
You swallow the lump in your throat, asking for help always ended with tears for you and you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now.
“Jack.” You just whine, silently begging that he’d understand what you need without you having to vocalise it. Your eyes water slightly, needing his comfort desperately.
“C’mon, baby, use your words.” He coaxes, his hand cupping your cheek. “You can do it.” His thumb brushes back and forth across the apple of your cheek, catching any tears if they fell.
“I need you.” Your voice is shaky, broken. It’s all you can manage without completely breaking down at work.
“Yeah?” His voice is so gentle, like he’s trying not to spook you, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Atta girl.” His praise causes an involuntary, but quiet whine to leave you.
He’ll stop the teasing for tonight, he sees how much you need him and the fact you had even verbalised your need for him was progress. He’s so proud of you.
“You need me, baby? C’mere.” He opens his arms for you, beckoning you into his hold. You’re a little embarrassed as you hug him, worried someone will find you like this, all vulnerable and mushy.
“You did so good, baby, asking me for help.” He strokes your hair, comforting you. “C’mon. I’ll bring you home.”
A protesting whine escapes you before you realise, the idea of him dropping you home alone upsetting you. You had just said you needed him, hadn’t you?
“Hey, hey.” He says quickly, needing to settle you down before you get more upset. “I meant home. Our home. You’re mine, baby. Imma take care of you now.”
───
However, one particular night, he uncovered an unexpected, but one of his favourite sides of you.
It’d been a rare evening where most of the night shift were off for the day, well at least those fun enough to drink with.
You and Jack hadn’t even bothered to try and hide your relationship around your coworkers, they knew too much. It wasn’t much of a problem anyways, not that either of you were overly affectionate at work.
Lena supported you, but continued to encourage you to err on the side of caution, worried you’ll get hurt. Shen, however, lived for teasing you both.
With a few drinks in your bloodstream, you had shuffled closer to Jack within the booth, searching for his touch. Shen, sitting opposite you both kept giving you knowing looks. It’d started with your thigh against his under the table, a gentle, grounding presence. But drink after drink, it hadn’t been enough. You wrap your arms around his forearm, your head on his shoulder now.
You’re definitely feeling the drinks, tipsy if not drunk, and you’re practically all over Jack. It's like you wanted to crawl into his skin. He’s definitely enjoying how clingy you’re being tonight. He leaves soft kisses in your hair from time-to-time, not trying to go full on PDA in front of his friends. But you were making it very hard for him to keep his cool.
The drinks get to your head, making you both loose-lipped and a little sleepy.
Your eyes fall to his hands. His fingers idly trace around the condensation on his glass as he politely listens to a story Ellis is telling. Truthfully, you hadn’t been clocked into the conversation for a while now, Jack occupying so much space in your mind. Jack. Jack. Jack.
His hands just looked so good. They were so big and veiny, and his fingers were so thick. You don’t know what had gotten into you, but you were so incredibly entranced by his hands.
Without thinking, you slide your hand that rested on his bicep, down his arm until it landed on his hand, gently pulling it away from his glass. He lets you, doesn’t even look down to see what you’re doing, assuming you wanna hold his hand. But you just turn his hand over, palm facing up, and reject his attempt at intertwining your hands together.
You let out a small, short whine in protest. Keeping his hand laying flat on the table while you take your nails and gently trace your fingers in his palm, up his fingers and back down. They were so worn, tough. Nothing like your soft hands.
This touch from you makes him shiver, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. He glances down at your face, your eyes are glazed over and you seem completely infatuated by his hand. He watches you turn over his hand again, and you begin to trace his veins, like you’re completely hypnotised.
His breath comes out shakily, now completely zoned out of Ellis’ conversation.
“What’ya doing, honey?” He whispers quietly into your hair, ensuring no one else can hear him.
You peek up at him from where you rest on his shoulder. God, you’re drunk. He’s so beautiful.
“Your hands are realllyyyy hot.” You blurt out, drunkenly as you continue to toy with his hands. By the power of the universe, the table had erupted into laughter at Ellis’ story at the same time you’d blurted that out, such that no one heard.
He stills at your comment and almost barks out a laugh. He holds it in, not wanting you to get all shy on him. Not when his shy girl has gotten so confident.
“Is that so, baby?” He practically growls into your ear, lifting a drink to hide his smirk.
“Mhmmm.” You hum in affirmation. Your focus shifts from his arm to wrapping both hands around his bicep, it flexes slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. “Y’r arms too. Soooo big. Wanna bite ‘em.”
He genuinely chokes on his drink at that, something possessive stirring in his chest. His shy, sweet girl, completely fawning over Jack.
He blinks around, making sure no one heard what you said, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else hearing your desired rambles for him. Looking up, he notices Shen’s cocky smirk as he glances between the two of you. Jack’s about to tell him to mind his own business, but you beat him to it, by doubling down.
“Like it's unfairrrrr.” You mumble into his bicep.
“Unfair?” Jack asks, confused.
“How are you sooo– ugh!”
He tilts your chin to look at him, wanting to know where all this flattery is coming from, and you have a lovestruck tired expression.
You pout as you take him in, his curls, his scruff, his face.
Oh.
Something more present and aware flashes in your eyes the longer you stare at him, like you’re realising you spoke the words out loud. Your eyes widen slowly, mortified, and heat rushes to your face as you stare at him silently, replaying everything you just said. In public.
You dart your face around the table and make eye contact with Shen who's laughing under his breath. Oh fuck. You probably just embarrassed Jack and yourself.
You detach from him so quickly it gives him whiplash.
“Oh my god, I’m so–” Your voice is incredibly apologetic, horrified, and you won't even look at him in the face.
“No, hey. none of that.” Jack’s voice is firm. He brings his hands to cup your face, making you look into his eyes. “I like you like this, cheeky, confident.”
You want to be happy at his words, but you can’t help but feel guilt and nausea stir in your stomach. Your drunk brain is making it very hard to think straight. You bite your lip anxiously.
“Do you…” You hesitate, looking into his eyes. “Do you wish I was more like that?” You have to ask. Maybe sober you wouldn’t feel so insecure, but you’re tired and your mouth is still feeling braver than your brain.
“God, no, honey–” He pauses trying to find the right words, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. “I mean– Don’t apologise for this. I want you, every version of you.” His tone is pleading. You calm down a little at his words, feeling silly at how quick your mind jumped to the worst case.
“Want you even when you’re drunk outta your mind and thirsting over me like this–” He teases which gets cut off by a groan from you. You can’t help but smile as you hide your face into his neck again.
First Time
You’d been dating Jack for a little while now, but you still hadn’t had your first time together. Jack waited for your signal, he wouldn’t push, he’d wait until you were comfortable enough to be with him.
Which you were. You wanted to be intimate with Jack for so long, but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your brain, stopping you from initiating.
Your past relationships, as Jack had slowly realised, weren’t exactly the best. You weren’t ever cared for like you are with Jack, which extended to sex. Sex had never really been about you and your partner, it’d always been about his pleasure, his needs.
And now you’re with the most perfect guy, you don’t know how to navigate being intimate in a way that isn’t focused only on him.
This thought was really getting to you one evening. You and Jack were at his place, just having finished dinner, and now you sit on the couch with your legs in his lap as you absentmindedly watch TV. His hand is giving you gentle strokes up and down your leg, and you can’t stop thinking about needing to warn him about your relationship with sex.
“Jack?” You ask gently. He doesn’t look over, he continues stroking your leg whilst humming in response.
You bite your lip anxiously.
“Um– I need to tell you something.” Jack’s hand falters his motions on your leg and he turns his head quickly, concern flashing on his features. Your tone, so nervous and anxious, had worried him, his chest twisting.
“Baby, what’s going on?” He coos, but he’s definitely on edge.
“It’s nothing, really. Um–” You pause, realising you hadn’t thought about a way to approach this with him. “I just really wanna have sex with you–” You blurt out.
Oh for fuck’s sake. You wince and close your eyes in embarrassment. That’s definitely not the right way to do this
Jack’s face is even more confused, amusement flashing his features.
“Right. Baby, I’ve been waiting for you…” He reminds you gently.
“No, no, I know.” You huff frustrated. “I– it’s about that. I just– fuck.” Your frustration builds at yourself for not being able to articulate your words well.
Jack sits up now, sensing your discomfort. He brings you closer to him, leaning on his shoulder now.
“Honey, focus, you’re okay. You can tell me anything.” His voice is immediately grounding. You breathe out shakily.
Silence hangs between you both, before you finally admit it.
“I can’t finish during sex.”
Silence continues to permeate the room. You’re so mortified. You don’t turn to look at his face. You can’t.
“You mean– you haven’t or you can’t?” His voice is gentle, a hand coming to stroke your hair. He’s definitely suspicious of your confession.
“I dunno… both, I guess. I’m not saying this to make it a challenge– people have done that before and it just makes it worse. I’m just warning you beforehand my body is wired differently and I don’t want you to feel bad if you can’t make it happen–”
“Oh, honey, is this why you’ve been hesitant to have sex?” He asks softly, interrupting your rambling.
You just hum in affirmation, embarrassed.
Jack mulls over your words, he won’t argue and tell you he will make you finish but he seriously thinks this is a product of your previous boyfriends being inattentive and careless with you. Anger twists in his chest thinking about you thinking you’re somehow inadequate when it was your boyfriends who just took and took.
“Listen to me, baby.” He tilts your face to look at him now. “I don’t care about that y’hear me?” He watches your expression falter, eyes full of vulnerability.
“If you can’t? Fine. I don’t want you any less, I just wanna make you feel loved, baby.” He can tell you’re still hesitant, but you nod.
You smile shyly and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.
The days following your conversation you think over his words more, and a few days later, you tell him you wanna do it– be with him.
He checks in multiple times throughout the day, making sure you’re okay, that you’re absolutely sure. But you also notice how much more often his touches linger. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but you can’t stop thinking about him. Everything about him that day is so much more gentle and careful with you.
That evening, when he leads you onto the couch your body is thrumming with anxiety. You know what's about to happen, he knows. Why are you so scared? You’ve never been more tense, more afraid of something going wrong. This is the man you love.
When you both sit on the couch, cuddling like you always do, he doesn’t make a move. Maybe he’s waiting for you. Your leg shakes as you try to figure out what’s meant to happen, what you’re supposed to do.
Before you can overthink it, you drape yourself over his lap and crash your lips to kiss, a hungry desperate kiss.
He returns it, a grunt of surprise before melting into it. Hands coming to gently rest on your face. The kiss is almost rough, your tongue intertwining with his. You can do this, you can make him feel good. Your brain already slips into making sure he’s pleased, unable to shake the habit from the past.
You move against his lap, and he groans in pleasure. The noise he makes thrills you, wanting to hear it again, you’ve never heard him like this. You try to grind again but he pulls away breathless, shaking his head.
“Baby, slow down.” He practically laughs caressing your cheek. He can’t lose his cool already, not when he plans to make you feel good.
Fuck.
Shame floods your chest and your cheeks heat, climbing off of him and curl up next to him. You somehow messed this up, you want the couch to open and swallow you up.
“Oh, my sweet girl. C’mere.” He coos, turning to face you. He realises how his words may have come across like a rejection, and that’s the last thing he wants you to think.
“I don’t wanna rush this” He places a hand on your thigh, dipping his head trying to find your eyes. He can tell how nervous you are, how much you’re overthinking this. “Lemme take over, yeah?” He asks softly.
You meekly lift your head to meet his eyes before nodding. His eyes are blown out, he looks hungry. But there's an edge of restraint, he's holding back.
You don’t even have time to feel guilty before he cups your face and brings your lips to his again, slow, passionate.
He leans forward, crowding you back against the couch until he’s lying over you. Your heart jumps at the closeness, the position you’re in.
You become breathless, almost gasping for air between each kiss.
Jack moves from your lips, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. Your body erupts in goosebumps, you’re practically shivering at the contact. You don’t even register your hand lifting to comb through his hair, pulling him down onto your jaw for more.
You feel his lips twitch into a smirk.
“That feel good, baby?” He rasps. The low grumble of his voice has you bucking your hips into him, desperate for him. You get completely lost in his kisses–
“Words, baby.” He commands pulling away to look into your eyes. He smirks smugly as he sees how wrecked he’s made you with just his kisses.
You blink processing his request, breathless and annoyed he’s stopped kissing you.
“Yeah– please, Jack. Don’t st– ah!” You’re cut off by his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck, just below your ear. You whine as he sucks on your skin, for sure leaving a mark. Your body shivers again with the thought of him marking you that you involuntarily tug at his hair, which provokes a growl from Jack.
He detaches from your neck breathlessly dipping his head like you’ve just wrecked him with a simple tug.
“Do that again.” He commands low, before hungrily returning to your neck sucking more spots over and over.
A surge of confidence fills you knowing you have the capacity to make him feel just as wrecked as he does you. You continue to rake your hands through his curls, tugging occasionally loving his whines, as he sucks spots lower and lower down your collarbone and chest.
His hand trails under your shirt, his cold hand making contact with your tummy and you tense involuntarily. He pauses looking up from where his head rests on your chest.
“You need to slow down?” His tone is so soft, gentle, it almost makes you cry.
“Nononon– please keep going,” you almost beg “Your hand was just cold.” You laugh embarrassed while stroking his hair.
He smirks at your neediness trying not to tease you more.
He holds eye contact while his hands trail up your torso, goosebumps erupting throughout your body once again. You get flustered as he stares so intensely and you try to look away.
“Eyes on me.” He coos, bringing his fingers to tilt your head back to face him. Heat rushes in your face, your body practically shakes with anticipation.
He lifts your top off so slowly, that you almost just beg for him to hurry up, for him to touch you. His hand slowly slides up from your hips up to your breasts, a hand coming to cup you over your bra as he returns to sucking spots at your collarbone. You get lost in the sensation once more, not noticing his other hand working at removing your bra. Once you peel it off he just stares. You almost go to hide, feeling self-conscious under his stare.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans before directly leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Your hands grip the couch roughly and your back arches into him involuntarily.
“Fuck– ohmygod–” you whine at the sensation of his tongue swirling your nipples. You feel jack smirk against your breast, cocky fucker, before returning to suck on them hard.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good, you had no idea kisses and touches like this could wreck you.
His teeth unexpectedly grazes your nipple and you moan. Your body shakes with overwhelm, you bring your hands to cup jacks face needing him to pause.
His lips detach from your nipple and his pupils are black. He looks like a man starved. He tries to go back to sucking but you hold his face steady.
“Need– fuck– need a break, feels too good.” You pant.
Jack blinks and his cocky smirk returns.
“Oh yeah?” He rasps, with a mock condescending tone.
You want to even the playing field a bit so you paw at his shirt, needing him to take it off, which he complies by ripping it clean off so quickly you barely register it. He leans down to capture your lips again, but you push your body upwards into his to manoeuvre you both into sitting position. You’re on top of him now, your turn to wreck him.
His eyes narrow and smiles at your little show of dominance, and he’ll let you think you have the upper hand, for now.
You lean down to return the kisses he gave you. You test out his sensitive spots, kissing and sucking spots along his neck whilst raking your nails along his biceps, his back, his chest.
His breathing is shallow and you hear him whine.
Bingo.
You continue sucking in that spot on his neck, one hand tugging in his hair and another raking nails on his bicep. You love the sound of him falling apart.
You feel his hips involuntarily buck into your and you know you have him under your finger. It’s your turn to smirk against his neck, peppering small kisses up his jaw before locking eyes with him and grinding down straight into his lap.
His hands jolt to your waist, not roughly, but a firm presence. He holds you down as he groans loudly, coming to rest his head on your chest. You try to move again but his hands on your waists prevent it, and he sounds destroyed.
Your smug, cocky victory is short lived.
His hands are on your thighs in an instant and you’re suddenly jolted upwards, your legs wrap around his torso as you let out a startled yelp. He’s carrying you.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, baby.” He murmurs into your neck as he carries you towards his bedroom.
You’re plopped down onto his bed and you bounce a little. You don’t even get time to speak before he’s on you again, his kisses desperate.
His hands paw at your bottoms, sliding them off in one quick go before he cups your panties.
“You enjoy almost getting me to blow my load in my pants, hmmm?” He teases feeling how wet you are already. “Making me feel like a fucking teenager again–” He growls before latching onto your breast again.
His hand slides your panties off as he sucks you, and it all feels too good you whine as you paw at his belt, wanting him to take his pants off too, to be on equal playing ground.
Groaning, he reluctantly detaches again before quickly working at his belt. The sound of the clink and him sliding it through the loops has your stomach flipping as you breathlessly stare at him from the bed.
As soon as they’re off he’s on you again, his fingers coming to your clit, spreading the wetness from your folds up and making small circles. You jolt a little at the feeling, not expecting his touch there.
“Jack– fuck– what’r you doing? You don’t have to–” You begin to tell him to not waste his time on you, you already know you won't be able to cum.
“M’working you up, baby.” He coos, not slowing his motions. “No pressure to finish, yeah? Just wanna make sure it doesn’t hurt.”
You hesitate, staring into his eyes and you realise he’s being sincere. You swallow a lump in your throat, feeling extra vulnerable at the lengths of care you feel he’s taking for you. You nod before falling back against the bed, just letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his touches.
You feel the way his fingers move slow circles against your clit, how they adjust every time your breath hitches, as he’s searching for the right tempo and pressure to make you feel good.
You can hear how wet you are, you almost feel embarrassed how his fingers glide through your folds so easily. He continues to pepper gentle kisses down your neck as his fingers stroke you, they move lower and lower until they reach your entrance.
You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside you, feeling full.
You let out small whines of pleasure as he thrusts his fingers inside you. He shushes you by placing his soft lips to yours, continuing to mumble sweet words.
“Just let go for me, baby.”
“Thaaaats it.”
“Rub your clit for me.”
You reach down to add pressure to your clit and immediately jolt at the feeling. It feels different. The pressure from his fingers inside you, curling upwards and continuously thrusting at a consistent pace is getting to you.
Your lower stomach twists, he sucks on your neck as he rubs against the spongy spot inside you, you realise the pressure feels good. That the way you’re rubbing yourself as he thrusts into you while whispering is working. You try so hard to keep it there. Keep rubbing. Keep focused on the feeling. Focusing on his words–
It disappears.
“Fuck!” You huff frustrated, tears welling in your eyes. He pulls his fingers out immediately, worried he’s hurt you and you curl up into yourself. “I can’t do it.” Your voice is wobbly as you berate yourself, wiping a tear off your face.
“Hey, easy, baby.” He soothes by rubbing a hand on your back. His heart clenches at the sight of your teary eyes.
“M’sorry, Jack,” you sniffle. “You spent so much time on me and I couldn’t–”
“No. Hey.” He stops you, firmly. “No apologies. M’not mad, not upset.” He coos, moving your hair away from your face.
“I did all of that because I wanted to. You didn’t ruin anything, y’hear me?” He cups your face making you look into his eyes.
You nod shyly, but you’re still feeling low about it, he can tell.
“Jack– It’s okay if you wanna just fuck me now. M’ready. I want it too.” You whisper looking up into his eyes, still on the verge of tears.
He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence.
“No.” His tone is final.
He has an inkling that you’re in your own head too much, putting too much pressure on yourself to perform even when he told you there’s no expectations. He can feel your frustration, just wanting to fix this for you. An idea lands in his head.
“I’m not done with you.” He says gently whilst moving down your body again. “If you’ll let me, I wanna try something else, yeah?”
“But–” You begin to protest, feeling guilty he has to try so hard on you.
“It’s for me. Not for you. Humour me, okay?” He asks so politely, you don’t wanna deprive him of something he enjoys. So you nod.
“Lay back for me completely, baby.” You oblige, breathing heavily.
You feel his fingers in your folds again, they linger on your clit before he gently thrusts them back inside you. You lie back, continuing to feel the pressure but you can’t shake the guilt.
You feel his hot breath ghost over your mound. You jerk your head up, he’s staring directly at you before he places his lips directly on your clit and sucks.
Your body jolts, arching your back off the bed, your hand landing in his hair once more. You were not expecting this.
“Jack– ohgod.” You breathe as he simultaneously works his fingers inside you and tongues your clit. He smirks at your reaction.
“That feel good?” He’s cocky, but he’s also checking in on you. You nod fervently and guide his head back down. He obliges wordlessly and gets back to working your clit. You’ve never been made to finish with someone else's fingers, but no one has ever tried this.
He hears your small whines and it takes all the restraint in his body to keep focused on you, as much as he wants to just take his cock and slide it inside you, to watch your eyes widen as he fills you up, he wants you to feel good.
You feel the familiar pressure build in your lower stomach.
You start squirming, your lower half somehow both chasing his mouth but trying to get away from it. You’re getting overwhelmed, your body experiencing too much at once, and this is where you usually tap out, where it dissipates.
Jack senses it. He feels you clenching around his fingers. Feels your whines becoming more high pitched and breathless. He doesn’t want you to think too much about finishing, can’t have you waiting for the build because it’s gonna drive it away.
He doesn’t change his pace, his fingers continue thrusting, and his tongue doesn’t speed up on your clit, he keeps everything consistent.
“Jack–” You whine, feeling overwhelmed but knowing it’s not going to work, edging towards overstimulation.
He glances up to meet your eyes but doesn’t stop his motions, searching your face. He can see you’re wrecked. He’s desperate for you to fall off the edge, you’re right there.
So he distracts you.
In one smooth motion, he removes his mouth. You almost whine in sadness before he replaces them with his fingers, eliciting a stronger reaction from you, and he says, in the most casual tone:
“You finish your charting?”
What?
“My– Jack– what?” You huff out breathlessly but he doesn’t slow his fingers from toying with your clit and thrusting inside you
You try to answer his question, racking your brain.
But you can’t think.
It feels too good.
Your mind goes completely blank.
And you let go.
You fall apart completely. You clench around his fingers and your legs shake involuntarily.
“Fuck–!” You moan loudly. Jack continues to work you through your orgasm, not stopping for a minute.
He pulls the pleasure from your body, the only thing you register is the waves of pleasure crashing down on your body. Your back is arched off the bed and your eyes are squeezed shut as Jack manages the impossible.
You didn’t know it could feel this good.
You finally start squirming trying to get away, and he eases his fingers out of you. You’re practically shaking, breaths coming out heavily as you lay on the bed completely destroyed.
You feel him slide up the bed, tucking himself under you so your head rests in his lap and he just strokes your head, moving strands of hair out of your face from where they’ve stuck to you as you’ve gotten sweaty.
You slowly calm down, coming back to yourself and shyly open your eyes. He’s already staring down at you, smiling so wide.
Despite yourself, you blush. Like he hadn’t just made you completely fall apart.
“My sweet girl.” He coos, stroking your cheek.
You try to hide your face in your arms, feeling impossibly shy at his words.
“Oh, c’mere, baby.” He coaxes you out of hiding. “Y’getting all shy? After I just made you cum so hard?” He teases gently and you groan, turning around to sit in his lap, resting your head in his neck.
“Jaaaaack.” You whine.
“Okay, I hear ya, baby. No more teasin’,” he rubs a hand down your back, then his tone gets impossible quiet, like you’ve never heard before. “That was okay, right, sweetheart?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours.
You can’t help but laugh.
“Okay?” You scoff.
“Jack, that was– everything.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.
He settles down a little after that, the brief shyness leaving him.
“My turn, please.” You beg whilst reaching down to his crotch where you can feel the erection poking through from where you’re sat above him.
He grabs your wrists as you touch the waist band of his shorts, stopping you, you frown.
“Darlin’, believe me. Any other night, absolutely,” He pauses stroking your cheek. “But I need you so bad right now, need to be inside you.”
“Oh.” You whisper, a shy smile coating your face as you realise how wrecked he is. Rising from his lap and allowing him to remove his boxers, you settle back down onto the bed. He’s on top of you in an instant. “Jack– I can get on top, wanna ride you.” You say shyly.
“Fucccck,” he groans. “Baby, I want that, but I’m not gonna last. Next time. Let me feel you this way. Please.” He begs while positioning himself between your legs.
You wrap your legs around him as the tip of his cock slides through your folds. Your breath hitches when it nudges against your clit, the feel of your wet folds sliding against his cock makes it twitch against you, and he lets out a low groan at the feeling. Jack repeats the motion a few times before bringing the tip to your entrance.
You instinctively brace, knowing how painful it always is. Jack sees this, leaning down to kiss your neck and calming you down, relaxing you.
“S’okay, relax.” He coos before dipping his head into your neck, and pushing in.
He pushes in slowly, so slowly he’s losing his restraint.
But it doesn’t hurt.
He’d worked you open so well, kept you so relaxed, you just feel full.
You moan as he bottoms out, a hand tugging at his curls and the other gripping his bicep. You nod fervently,
“You can move, please, move–” You don’t even finish your begs, your permission is all he needs to start letting go and thrusting into you.
You swear you’ve never felt so good in your life, the level of intimacy is unmatched.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He whines
His eyes meet yours as he thrusts, and as always his stare is intense. His pupils are blown and he looks destroyed.
He fits so perfectly inside you, you’re so full, you can’t help but moan.
You’re clenching around him so perfectly, your breasts bouncing with every thrust and he can’t take his eyes off you.
“You’re doing so good f’me.” He praises even though he looks like he’s on the edge.
Holding himself up on one arm to continue his movements, he brings a second to your clit.
You don’t expect his touch once more, so lost in how full you feel, how heavenly it all is, that you hadn’t realised how close you were again, and his simple touch pulls a second orgasm from you.
You fall apart even more, gripping his hair, nails leaving marks on his bicep as you shake around him, clenching.
That’s all he needs to finish.
Your beautiful moans, the way you don’t break eye contact, the feel of you coming undone on his cock, he’s gone.
His thrusts stagger, becoming more desperate and frantic, his hold on your waist tightens as he grips onto you bringing you down onto his cock. His head lulls next to your head, hot breath in your ear as he groans, his seed spilling inside you.
He’s completely wrecked, his last few after-orgasm thrusts jolt you, overstimulating. He lets his body go and completely crashes down onto you like a weighted blanket, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.
You’re both breathing so heavily, he’s still inside you as your aftershocks move through you, clenching involuntarily, but he seems to enjoy the feeling even as sensitive as he is.
“Y’were perfect for me, baby.” He whispers into your ear.
Your heart clenches at his words, how soft he’d been with you the whole time. He was so caring, so focused on you, praising you throughout the whole thing, he never took, he just kept giving and giving. He made sure it didn’t hurt. You realise that you’ve been accepting subpar treatment your whole life and just brushing it off.
In your post-orgasmic blank brain, you can’t process the emotions and a few silent tears spill from your eyes at the complete overwhelm of emotions.
Your sniffles are what alert Jack, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach, panic flooding him.
“Hey, hey, talk to me.” His tone is so soft you feel guilty for worrying him. He moves to pull out, but you’re not thinking straight and you lock your legs around him, not wanting him to leave.
You just reach around and koala-bear hug him. He settles a little knowing he hasn’t hurt you, that you still wanted him touching you.
“Gotta talk to me, baby.” He pleads, cupping your face.
You’re not silent for much longer, calming down enough to stop his worry.
“You– felt so good.” Your voice is high pitched, almost shy. “You cared for me.” You sniffle.
Jack’s heart practically breaks.
“Oh, baby.” He coos, bringing you into his chest. Peppering many kisses into your hair. “M’always gonna take care of you.” He says so gently you can’t help but let out another tear, but you’re smiling now.
“I love you.” You whisper, eyes full of tears, him still inside you.
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Baby you got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” He kisses you, soft, passionately.
I wish all Black girls a clear shot at this world. I wish all Black girls a full belly. I wish all Black girls a respite from their many troubles. I wish all Black girls nothing but grace, prosperity, and ease. Black girls I am hoping for your continued safety and success every single day.
Jack does noooot like the young ho movement😭😭😭. “but that’s mean to say. you’re not a ho. you’re a smart, confident young lady” omg yawninggggg watch me bounce these titties bro
summary : you and jack get caught steaming up some car windows
word count : 4.6 k
warnings : workplace romance, secret relationship, SMUT, MDNI, p in v, semi-public sex, hung!jack abbot, dirty talk, praise
a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq !!
The automatic doors of the Pitt slide open and closed as shift change tears through the emergency department.
You are exhausted. Twelve hours on your feet. More charting than should be legally allowed. Three trauma activations. A headache brewing behind your eyes. And somehow, despite all of that, your attention keeps drifting toward the ambulance bay entrance.
Toward Jack Abbott.
Night shift is arriving in waves. Nurses exchange reports. Residents rush between stations. Monitors beep endlessly in the background. Then Jack walks through the doors. The second you spot him, your stomach flips.
Six months.
Six months of secret dates, late-night phone calls, and carefully planned schedules. Six months of pretending there is absolutely nothing going on whenever anyone from work is around.
Usually you're good at it. Usually.
Jack makes his way toward the nurses' station, coffee in one hand. His eyes find yours immediately. Of course they do.
"Long day?" he asks. You let out a tired laugh.
"Catastrophic." His mouth twitches.
"Sounds about right." Nobody notices the way his gaze lingers. Nobody notices the tiny smile you fight to suppress. At least, you hope they don't.
Jack reaches for a chart you're holding. Your fingers brush. The contact lasts less than a second. It shouldn't mean anything. Instead, it feels like striking a match.
You glance up.
Jack is already looking at you. His jaw tightens. A dangerous look.
One you know very, very well. You should let go. Instead, your thumb drags lightly across his knuckles. A terrible decision. His eyes narrow immediately.
"Really?" he mutters. You blink innocently.
"What?"
"You know exactly what." You grin. Unfortunately, a nurse appears beside him before he can say anything else. The moment breaks. The tension doesn't. For the next twenty minutes, every glance feels loaded. Every accidental brush of shoulders feels deliberate. Every second spent near him becomes its own form of torture. By the time you finish charting, your shift is officially over. You are gathering your things when a familiar voice speaks beside you.
"Come with me." You look up. Jack is standing there. His expression is calm. Too calm. Which is exactly how you know you're in trouble.
"Jack—"
"Now." Your heart skips. You follow him through the employee exit and into the cool evening air. The hospital noise fades behind you. The parking lot is mostly empty. Jack keeps walking. You keep following. Only when he reaches his truck does he stop and turn toward you.
"I've wanted to see you all day." He hums, his eyes softening. Your chest clenches and you look around fearfully.
"Jack.." You mutter, smiling softly. His hand reaches out and he drags you towards him, your bodies pressed tight against each other as he leans on his truck. His expression shifts immediately. That look. The one reserved only for you. Not the one he gives patients. Not the one he gives coworkers. Not even the one he gives friends. This one is different. Warmer. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way. A laugh escapes you as you plant your hands on his chest to try to push him away.
"You know we're standing in the hospital parking lot, right?"
Jack glances around.
"Pretty sure."
"Anyone could walk out here." He shrugs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips trail down your cheek, to your jaw. His hands slide down to softly grasp at your ass through your scrubs, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as his hand cups up to cup the side of your face.
"I missed you today.." He hums against your skin. "Bed was too empty. Couldn't sleep." He says, his voice rough. You hum, nodding softly. Your whole body is on high alert.
Your boss could walk out. Your boss, aka Jack's best-friend.
Your friends could walk out. God, Trinity would never let you live this down. Dana would probab;y burn you at the stake.
But the feeling of Jack's lips on your skin sends you reeling.
He spins you around pressing you against his truck, groaning against your skin. His body cages you against the cool metal of his truck. The hard surface at your back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his chest. Jack's hands move with purpose, one sliding up your side while the other remains firmly on your hip, holding you in place. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as his lips find that sensitive spot below your ear.
"We have to stop." You rasp. "You have to work. I have to- I have to go home." Jack chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. Jack's mouth crashes against yours then—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss tastes of coffee and exhaustion and something that is uniquely Jack. One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Jack rests his forehead against yours.
"Get in the truck."
"Jack—"
"Just for a little while," he interrupts softly. "I need to hold you properly, not like this." You glance around the parking lot again, your professional warring with your personal desires.
"If someone sees—"
"They won't," he promises, though you both know it's a risk. "Everyone's busy inside. We'll be quiet." His thumb traces your bottom lip. "Please?" You stare at him for a long moment. Then you groan.
"You're impossible." A grin immediately breaks across his face.
"That's not a no."
"It should be."
"But it isn't." You roll your eyes. Unfortunately, he's right. Again. Jack opens the passenger-side door before you can change your mind.
"Five minutes." You point a finger at him. "Five."
"Five."
"Jack."
"Five." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. He places a hand over his heart.
"I am deeply offended by your lack of trust." You laugh despite yourself.
"Get in the truck."
"You are the worst."
"Get in the fucking truck, baby." The inside of the truck is blessedly quiet. Away from the bright lights of the emergency department. Away from the endless noise. Away from the constant demands of the day. The moment the doors close, the world seems to exhale. Jack settles into the driver's seat. Then immediately reaches over and drags you int his lap, making you climb over the console. Like he's been waiting all day to do exactly that. Maybe he has. His head buries itself in your neck, one hand crawling on the small of your back, pushing you into hik. For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn't awkward. It never is. It's comfortable. Easy. The kind that comes from knowing someone inside and out.
"Tired?" he asks quietly into your neck. You laugh weakly.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Fair."
"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around hour nine." Jack snorts.
"You should go home."
"I know."
"You need sleep."
"I know."
"You need food." You open one eye.
"Okay, rude."
"I've known you long enough." Unfortunately, he's right. Again. A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, hospital staff move in and out of the building. Ambulances come and go. The Pitt keeps running. It always does. Inside the truck, though, everything feels still. Jack leans back slightly to look at you. His expression softens.
"You know what sucks?"
"What?"
"I get here right when you're leaving." You smile.
"The tragedy."
"I'm serious."
"I know." His gaze drops to your joined hands. "I don't like missing you." He tugs you closer, closer still, until your knees straddle either side of his lap. He's smiling with a softness that undoes you completely, a patient, stubborn smile that says he always knew you'd cave.
"You could always switch to nights," Jack offers, his voice gentler than it has any right to be at this hour. His knuckles graze your thigh, just barely, but it's enough. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps.
"You can't just— Jack, we're in the middle—"
"Of the parking lot. Yeah." Despite the steady, reasonable words, his hands are mapped out under your scrubs, palms broad and certain, heating the bare skin of your waist. For one long moment, he just looks at you—really looks, the way you never let anyone see. It's a miracle you haven't combusted yet. "Hey," he murmurs, thumb brushing circles over your ribs, "you're safe here. I'm not letting anyone see you like this. Just me." You want to tell him it's a bad idea but the words tangle behind your teeth, undone by the gravity of him, the rare silence, the rare privacy. Instead you groan as he kisses you with bruising finality. Jack’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, detouring up your back, unhooking your bra one-handed like he’s done it a thousand times before. You shiver as callused fingertips graze your spine, the low drag of his mouth setting your every nerve alight. You rock unconsciously forward, desperate to erase every inch of distance between you. He moans like it’s church, like you’re something sacred. You barely keep up as he lifts your shirt, stripping it over your head, stashing it behind you with one arm never leaving your waist. He maps your skin with his mouth, trailing kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts. Each brush of his lips makes the heat coalesce low inside you, makes your thighs tense around his hips. You scrabble at his scrub top, yanking at it until he laughs—deep, unapologetic, full of mischief—and helps you peel it off, leaving his chest bare and golden beneath the tinted dome light.
“Greedy,” Jack teases, voice taut. The word stokes something reckless in you. You dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down against him, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Gonna tease me, or are you gonna let me ride you?” you whisper, nose brushing his. Jack’s eyes go black. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, kneading bruises into your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “please.” He scrambles for his fly, cursing a little when your hands get there first and help, and the two of you manage, in a mutual chaos of limbs and laughter, to free him. You shuck your own pants and underwear, grateful for the cover of rain-smeared windows and the blanket he keeps stashed in the cab. You climb back onto him, legs shaking as you nestle knees on either side, your bare ass sliding against cool vinyl. Jack’s attention is molten, fixed on your mouth, your throat, your chest, his palms guiding you as you lower onto him slow, so fucking slow, fighting the urge to rush. He leans his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You’re so tight, baby. Christ.” His words stroke pleasure up your spine, make you arch into him. You stretch around him, pulse thumping muggy-hot. The fullness burns, but you keep sinking, inch by inch, until your bodies lock together just right. Jack’s hands hold you steady, fingers shameless where they spread your thighs wider.
“Just like that,” he says, voice barely more than a gasp. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good.” You hide a whimper in the base of his throat, teeth scraping gentle. He bucks up, just barely, testing you, and you flinch at the jolt of feeling. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s the promise of relief, the bright pressure of him inside you, desperate and thick. He rocks you up and down, slow at first. You find the rhythm, bracing your arms on his shoulders, riding the push and give of his hips. Every time you lift and slide down, he groans, low and open, like he planned to worship you right here under the sterile hospital floodlights.
“That’s it, angel. Good girl. You like that?” he pants, lips grazing your ear, and you nearly sob at the endearment. No one has ever made you feel anything like this. Like the world is distilled to the backseat of a Chevy, and your body is the only urgent matter left on Earth.
“Yes,” you choke, clinging to him, heart hammering. “Yes, Jack, yes—” He leverages you up, thrusts in a little sharper. “Say it again. Want to hear you.” You do. You say it for him, say it for yourself, every word punched out on the ride of his cock. It gets easier, the wet glide, the pulse of want. He slides one hand to your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, his eyes so honest you struggle to hold his stare.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jack croons. “Best thing I’ve ever had.” Praise hits you raw, makes the ache inside impossible to control. You ride him harder, abandon the need for quiet. The truck starts to rock, subtle at first, then not—suspension groaning, windows fogging, metal biting at your back as you get lost together. Jack’s face dissolves to soft around the edges, pleasure making his lashes flutter. He helps you, of course he does, thumb finding the spot at the top of your clit, circling it in time with the pace of your hips.Every stroke is dizzy, electric. Jack’s too big for you, always has been, and he knows it—knows how you love being pressed full, stretched open, helpless to the pace he sets. He talks you through every second of it.
“That’s it, babe—” One palm on your hip, the other splayed wide across the small of your back. “You look so fucking pretty dripping on my cock.” He bites your shoulder, playful but sharp. You gasp and grind down, greedy for more, and Jack steadies you, hips working a small circle that makes your toes curl. He pets your hair, voice low and deeply satisfied.
“You’re taking it so well. God, I missed this. Missed you.” You dig in and move faster, head thrown back. His hands frame your face, thumbing away the sweat, stroking your cheek like you’re something deserving of reverence or maybe just up-close study. “There she is. Perfect. Perfect for me.” You’re losing yourself, deliciously so, chasing the high he has always offered so easily. Jack’s words tumble over your skin, a feverish litany of praise: good girl; baby, you feel like heaven; can’t get enough of you. The truck rocks harder beneath you, the air thick with sweat and rain and skin. You’re sure you’ll leave the cab smelling like fuck, and the thought of it almost unspools you completely.Jack’s face goes slack with pleasure, the line of his jaw working as he watches you fuck down onto him. You match his rhythm, making the truck bounce on its shocks, the whole world boiling down to the heat where you’re joined, the sweat running from your hairline, the feral edge of your pulse. You want to be quiet—god, you want to—but every time he hits the end of you, a raw little sound tears from your throat, and Jack answers with a grunt, more helpless each time. Your hands dig into the damp muscle of his shoulders, sinking your balance there. He lets you set the pace—the depth, the pressure, the angle—like he knows exactly how much you need to take control. His own body barely stays contained, all of him trembling under the thin veil of restraint.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groans, nipping at your neck. His praise unravels you, makes you whine as you bounce on his cock, thighs burning. “Atta girl,” he says, “just like that, Jesus, just like that.” He meets you on the upstroke and it hits perfect, a whiteout, and you clench around him like you might never let go. Jack is nothing if not strong; he lifts you to change the angle, guiding your hips so you crash down harder, deeper, again and again. The stretch is sharp, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks you slow and full, savoring every inch.
"Shh," he soothes, running his thumb down your spine. "You’re almost there. Let me hear you, angel." You can't quite control the desperate little noises that escape. He kisses your ear. "You can take it. Doing so good for me." You’re moving fast now, wild, Jack’s hips rising just enough to punch deeper every time you take him. Every inch of skin is electric, a live wire zapping your brain blank. Your orgasm builds dizzy and tight, faster and meaner than you expect. Jack catches your jaw, turning your head so you have to meet his eyes. You shudder, a hot burst of light behind your eyelids. He keeps you steady as you come, clenching tight around him. Jack groans, curses, and thrusts up into you as you milk the finish out of him, swallowing every shiver, every desperate noise. He holds you there, buried deep, for a long moment after, greedy for the afterglow. You collapse forward, boneless. Breathing each other in, foreheads pressed tight. He doesn’t let go—won’t, can’t. The whole ER could be on fire and you think he’d still have you sealed up in his lap, heartbeat sync’d to yours.
“There she is.” His voice is a blanket, the gentle drag of his hands up and down your back more soothing than the best sedative. “You okay?” You nod, unwilling to move.
“Gonna pass out,” you mumble. He laughs, wiping the hair from your face.
“We’ll just stay here,” he promises, amused. “I’m good with that.”
You shake your head.
“Jack, your shift-”
“I can be a few minutes late. Lemme hold you for a sec.” You do just that, sprawling across his chest with your pants around one ankle, everything sticky and sweet. Jack pets you absently, tracing lazy circles over your spine as you drift through the delicious aftershocks. The world is a muffled, infinite cotton ball. If time stopped, you might thank it. Maybe you even pray, a little, in the hush that follows, your heart finally un-clenching for the first time in twelve hours. The windows are fogged so thick you could sneak a corpse out of a hospital and no one would clock it, but you're not here to think about bodies or work, only Jack's hand splaying gentle wide over your ribs, the low hush of him in your ear. You almost fall asleep. And then there’s an unmistakable staccato rap on the passenger window. You freeze. For a second your brain decides it’s a hallucination, some ghost of a Code Blue haunting the concrete outside. But it happens again—a sharp, rhythmically certain knock, followed by a muffled cough. Beneath you, Jack tenses, but his laugh—muted and helpless—vibrates through your cheek and into your bones.
"Don’t look," he whispers, which of course makes you look. You squirm upright but can’t find your top, can’t find shame either; you’re still impaled on Jack, legs numb and boneless and absolutely not prepared to deal with social reality. Jack finds your shirt one-handed and holds it out, the other locked across your hips. You squirm to pull it on, body full of glowing aches. His cock softens inside you as you wriggle, but you know he’s still hard as hell everywhere else: his eyes, his voice, the way he grins as if it’s all a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. He rolls down the window a crack, like maybe it’s just a pizza delivery or one of his patients looking for their missing nurse. Rain pings the outside in fitful spatter.
Standing in the parking lot, arms crossed, is Dana.
And right behind her- Trinity. Dennis. Robby. Mateo. Princess. Perlah. Mel. Langdon.
Oh god.
Every single one of them. For one horrifying second, nobody moves.
Nobody speaks. The entire parking lot seems to fall into stunned silence. Dana's expression is completely blank. Which is somehow worse than if she were angry.
Trinity, meanwhile, looks like Christmas came early. Dennis is staring at the truck like he's trying to decide whether this is actually happening or if he's suffered some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Mateo's mouth is hanging open.
Princess looks deeply entertained.
Perlah looks seconds away from bursting into laughter.
Mel has both hands over her face.
And Robby—Robby looks directly at Jack.
Then at you. Then back at Jack.
"Oh." The single word somehow carries the weight of six months of secrets. Beside you, Jack closes his eyes. Slowly. Like a man accepting his fate.
"Jack," you whisper.
"I know."
"Jack."
"I know." Trinity immediately points.
"I knew it." The parking lot explodes.
"I told you."
"You absolutely did not," Dana shoots back.
"I literally did."
"You guessed every person in this hospital."
"And I was right eventually."
"Oh my God," you groan. You bury your face in your hands. You may never recover from this.
Ever.
Jack, apparently, has reached the same conclusion. Because he simply leans back against his seat and sighs. The sigh of a man whose life is about to become significantly more difficult. Robby rubs both hands over his face."For how long?"
Neither of you answers. Robby points.
"That silence is making me nervous."
"Six months," Jack says. The entire group erupts.
"What?"
"Six months?!"
"Six months?" Dana looks personally offended.
"Six months and nobody told me?"
"To be fair," Princess says, "that is objectively hilarious."
"It is not hilarious."
"It is a little hilarious."
"It is not." Trinity is practically vibrating.
"I need everyone to understand how validated I feel right now."
"You accused Jack of dating three different people."
"Details." You risk a glance toward Jack. To your surprise, he's smiling. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Smiling. The soft kind. The one that's been directed at you all evening. Robby notices immediately.
"Oh, that's disgusting." Jack laughs. Actually laughs. And suddenly everyone starts talking at once. Questions. Accusations. Celebrations.
A truly unreasonable amount of yelling.
The secret is officially dead. Gone. Destroyed. Burned to ashes in the employee parking lot. You should be mortified. You should be panicking. Instead, as Jack's hand finds yours beneath the chaos, a strange sense of relief settles over you. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more carefully timed exits and secret glances. Just the truth. Finally. Dana points at both of you.
"We are discussing this later." Trinity immediately points too.
"I have approximately four hundred questions." Mateo raises a hand.
"I also have questions."
---------
The first morning back at The Pitt after the parking lot incident feels different.
Not quieter.
Never quieter.
Just… louder in a very specific way. You don’t even make it past the locker room before it starts.
“Ohhh, it’s her,” Dana calls the second you walk in. You freeze.
“Please don’t start.” Trinity appears behind her like she’s been summoned by gossip itself.
“Oh, we’re starting.” You groan and shut your locker a little too hard.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Trinity says cheerfully. “You’ve just been promoted.”
“To what?”
“Main character.” Dana points at you with zero hesitation.
“Six months.” You bury your face in your hands.
“Can we not say that out loud in public areas?” Robby walks past and doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“I, for one, support this development,” he says.
“You would,” you mutter. Down the hall, you hear it before you see it. Jack’s laugh. Low. Amused. Infuriatingly calm. He rounds the corner holding a chart, coffee in hand like nothing in your entire life has been fundamentally altered. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts. Softens. Like it always does. But now everyone sees it.
“Oh my God,” Dana whispers immediately.
“Stop,” you hiss.
“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m observing science.” Trinity leans in.
“He’s looking at you like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Like he wants to fuck you in his truck again.” You make a strangled noise. Jack walks over without hesitation. Of course he does.
“Morning,” he says, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like six months of secrets didn’t explode into chaos. Like the entire hospital didn’t witness your downfall.
“Morning,” you manage. His gaze flicks over your face.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Did you sleep?” You narrow your eyes.
“You’re not my attending.” He smiles slightly.
“I can still ask.” Behind you, Dana makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choking. Trinity is absolutely vibrating. Jack leans just a little closer.
“Did you eat?” You sigh.
“Yes.” A pause.
“Liar,” he says immediately. You glare at him.
“You don’t even know that.”
“I do.”
“How?” He glances at your locker. Then back at you.
“You didn’t pack anything.” You hate him. Deeply. Fiercely. Romantically. All at once.
“Go away,” you mutter. His mouth twitches.
“Not yet.” That does it. Dana slams a chart onto the counter.
“I cannot do this.”
“You’re not involved,” you say.
“I am emotionally involved,” she snaps. “I was lied to for six months.” Trinity raises a hand.
“I was correct for six months.”
“That’s not a personality trait,” you say.
“It is now.” Jack finally steps back, but not far. Never far. Just close enough that his presence is still there. Still grounding. Still impossible to ignore. As the shift starts, it only gets worse. Because now everyone watches. Every brush of your shoulders in the hallway. Every time he hands you a chart a second too long. Every quiet check-in that sounds suspiciously like affection disguised as medicine.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take trauma bay?” Jack asks during rounds.
“I’ve taken worse,” you reply automatically.
“I know,” he says. Too soft. Too familiar. Behind you, someone drops a pen. Hard.
By midday, it’s unbearable.
You’re charting when Robby leans over your shoulder.
“So,” he says casually, “how’s domestic life?”
“I will transfer departments.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“You absolutely will not,” Dana calls from across the desk. Trinity slides into the seat beside you.
“So do you two argue? Or is it just intense staring and violation of hospital policy?" You slowly turn your head.
“I’m going to start requesting new coworkers.”
“You’d miss us,” Trinity says confidently. You open your mouth. Then Jack appears behind her.
“Stop harassing her,” he says mildly. Trinity spins around immediately.
“Oh, now you’re protective?”
“Yes,” he says simply. That shuts everyone up for exactly half a second. Then Dana goes,
“Oh my God.” And everything falls apart again. By the end of the week, it’s official. You are no longer a person at The Pitt. You are a storyline. If you walk into a room, conversations stop mid-sentence. If Jack walks in after you, someone says “Aww” at least once. If you so much as stand near each other for more than ten seconds, Trinity starts narrating it like a documentary.
“You see here,” she whispers loudly, “the couple in their natural habitat. Dangerous. Unsupervised.”
“I’m going to file a complaint,” you say.
“To who?” Dana asks. “HR? About you dating your attending? Be serious.” Jack, of course, makes it worse. He starts showing up with your coffee without being asked. He fixes your ID badge when it flips backward. He quietly takes over your charts when you look like you’re about to pass out. Every single time, someone sees. Every single time, someone comments. And every single time, Jack just shrugs like he doesn’t care.
Which is almost worse.
One afternoon, as you’re escaping to the supply closet for exactly thirty seconds of peace, the door shuts behind you. Jack is already inside. You stare at him. He stares back.
“You followed me into a closet,” you say.
“I missed you,” he replies.
“It has been twelve minutes.”
“Exactly.” You groan.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” He steps closer.
“No,” he says simply. Then, softer— “But I’m not really trying to.”
based on this request
wc: 1.2k
pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader
summary: jack has always liked privacy, but one of his biggest secrets is revealed one random afternoon.
c.warning: established relationship (married); mentions of minor injury and minor car accident; reader is a mother; no other warnings i think but if i missed something let me know!
a/n: gooooood it's been so long since i last wrote for jack. i missed him so much! i hope you liked this!
masterlist | requests
for years, jack’s personal life has been locked inside a vault. of course he’d mention you, his wife, from time to time. but always in passing and never waiting too long for his coworkers to asks any personal questions. and it’s not because he doesn’t love you, god knows he’s obsessed with you. but a small, overprotective part of him thinks that by distancing himself from you and your kids when he’s at work he manages to keep you away from the hospital.
he has spent a decade building a wall between his grueling work and the life he cherishes waiting for him back home.
but tonight, the universe has different plans for him.
you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.
"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."
"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."
outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals.
“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”
jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional.
that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.
the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.
jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4.
he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.
"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.
but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"
"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."
your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."
"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.
jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"
"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.
only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "and you? your neck?"
"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."
speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.
you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.
the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.
jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.
"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."
shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”
“i do,” he says, smiling softly.
“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”
"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."
"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."
"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.
as jack helps you down from the table and gathers your son into his arms, you know his quiet, mysterious reputation at the hospital is officially over, but seeing the proud, contented smile on his face as he walks his family out, it’s clear he doesn't mind one bit.
