fanfic archive

still in my shawn hatosy era

[toomanyinterests98]

organizing the fanfics i've read from my likes into a separate sideblog because my main account is a mess 💔

[barnesdreamcatcher]

As long as you’re with me

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: you sleep with jack for the first time and discover what it means to be loved gently

cw: smut (mdni, 18+), gentle sex, oral (f rec), referenced p in v, reader uses sex as a coping mechanism and has low self-esteem, light intoxication

wc: 3k

a/n: listen, I do not think that rough sex is necessarily a bad thing, but it can be. I don’t feel like expanding on this 

now playing: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby – Cigarettes After Sex

Jack can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you look the way you do right now: skin glowing, eyes sparkling, and a truly sincere smile on your face. 

The wine bottle shared between the two of you stands at your feet as his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer. He tastes the grapes on your tongue when his own slips between your parted lips, mapping out the inside of your mouth slowly. His palm wanders from your side to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. 

You only pull away when you start to get lightheaded—too little oxygen, too much love. 

Love. 

Neither one of you has said it yet. It’s much too early for that four-letter word, but the idea of it hangs over you as he kisses your cheek instead of your mouth to let you catch your breath. 

Jack tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles softly. His eyes drift over your face like he’s memorizing every inch. He’s close enough that he could count each individual lash if he wanted to. 

When he lifts his hands to cup your face between his palms, you melt into his touch. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

Your skin heats under his hands, blood rushing to your face. The timid smile on your face tugs at Jack’s heartstrings.

“So beautiful,” he repeats tenderly. 

He means it. 

You misinterpret it. 

When you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, there’s more heat to it—the kind that leads to places you haven’t been to with him yet.  He keeps you steady, your face still held by him.  His lips fit against yours like two puzzle pieces.

The weight of him leads you towards the couch naturally. He doesn’t guide or force but simply leans in until you sink onto the cushions, him braced above you. 

Your hand drifts down from his chest to his stomach. Through his shirt, you still feel the way his muscles flex under your touch.  He breaks the kiss to look at you, an almost dopey curve to his mouth. 

“You’re ticklin’ me,” he mumbles. 

“That’s on purpose,” you reply. 

He grins, then catches your hands in his own.  “Is that so?” he whispers. “Anything else you want to confess?”

You let a few seconds pass, just for dramatic effect, before you nod.  “Yeah,” you mumble, “I’m also trying to take your shirt off right now.”

Jack chuckles softly.  “You don’t say,” he teases. “Any reason for that?”

You roll your eyes fondly.  “Take a guess.”

A gentle laugh spills from him, originating deep from his chest. You feel the vibration travel through him until it reaches your hand, too. 

“I think I can help out with that.”

He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, then over his head. Your eyes are glued to every inch of sun-kissed skin that’s slowly exposed. For a moment, you hesitate before you reach out to rest your hand on his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. 

When you’ve had your fill of touching him—though you’re not sure you’ll ever get enough of him—you take off your own shirt. You had planned in advance and worn a black lace bralette, but you hadn’t told Jack, so you could trick him into thinking that you’re always this put together.  The matching panties waited for him under the skirt, which you were eager for him to pull off of you. 

Jack can’t look away—and doesn’t want to. You’re surprised that for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re being ogled. 

No, Jack admires. 

His fingers drift over your breasts up to your neck, then rest on your face. 

“Like I said,” he whispers. “Beautiful.”

Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss him again. As your lips press against his, you reach for his belt buckle and open it. Jack hums into your mouth, a small roll of his hips encouraging you. 

He helps you take off his jeans. Jack talked to you about not wearing his prosthetic at home around you a few days ago, but right now, he still has it on. He seems a little nervous as his pants fall away, and you get a full glance at it for the first time.

You don’t mind at all. 

The next barrier that falls is your skirt. Jack undoes the zipper at the side carefully, then slides the fabric down your legs. He makes a sound you can’t quite categorize when he sees the thin lace panties you picked out for tonight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “How are you this perfect?”

Again, you forgo an answer with another kiss. 

Jack notices. He cups your face, then pulls away a little just to look at you. His brows knit together slightly. 

“Hey,” he mumbles.

You haven’t been together that long yet, but he knows you well enough to see that you don’t feel like talking about this right now.  Still, for a moment, he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation before he asks, “Wouldn’t you rather take this to the bedroom?”

You shrug softly. “I don’t mind the couch. Whatever you want.”

The divot between his brows deepens.  “But I’m asking you what you want,” he counters. “If… if we’re doing this right now, I want you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” you reply. 

He nods reluctantly.  “Alright,” he mumbles.

The next kiss feels a little different—not in a bad way, just more careful. Jack waits, lets you chase him instead of taking the lead. So you do. 

You reach behind you to unfasten the clasps of your bra. As the lace falls away, Jack watches with amazement. He almost manages to throw in another compliment for you, but you don’t give him the chance. You stand up from the couch and hook your fingers into your panties, then slowly slip them off.  Jack’s breath hitches. He leans into the back of the couch to watch as you step out of the fabric that fell to your ankles. This time, he truly stares. 

When you step closer, he pulls you in by your hips until you’re seated on his lap. Your bare cunt brushes over the bulge in his boxers, causing both of you to moan. 

You roll against him once, then twice, then kiss him again. The heat between the two of you is unbearable. You don’t understand why he hasn’t taken off his underpants yet and wonder if he maybe just needs a little bit more encouragement, so you grind down against him again. 

Jack hisses at the contact, his fingers tightening on your sides. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Then let me help you,” you chuckle and reach for the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help you slip them off—and you swallow hard when you see what you’re working with. The grey happy trail you’ve been eyeing since his shirt came off leads down to his thick cock. The size of the bulge makes more sense now. He’s veiny and flushed a dark red, almost a little purple at the tip. 

“Jesus,” you whisper.

Jack chuckles, maybe even a little self-consciously so. 

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s been a while for me,” he admits. 

Your mouth falls open—you hadn’t expected that. A man with his looks, a doctor at that, too?

“Really?” you ask. “I mean… that’s okay. I don’t mind. Just… tell me what you like.”

He shrugs softly. 

“I like you.” 

His answer is so sappy that it makes you grin. 

“Shut up. No, really, tell me what you like.”

Jack looks at you and pulls you closer again. 

“I’m serious,” he mumbles. “I just want you, however you want. Why? What kinda stuff do the kids like these days?”

Your face warms a little.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. A total lie.  “We can try some stuff, you know?”

“Like what?” he asks. “You want me to tie you up?”  He chuckles like the idea is absurd to him. 

“Would you want to tie me up?” you counter. 

Jack’s brows furrow again. 

“I don’t think that’s my thing,” he says quietly. 

You nod slowly.  “What about…”

Saying it out loud feels, for lack of a better word, cringe, so you take his hand and place it on the base of your throat. 

Jack doesn’t pull away immediately, but his fingers don’t wrap around your neck either. He looks up at you, his jaw set tightly.  Then he shakes his head and cups your face instead. 

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “How about… we just take things slow and figure it out as we go?”

When you nod, Jack kisses you, and it tastes like relief.  He surprises you when he switches positions with you—you’d have thought he would want you to stay on top.  

Jack braces his weight on his forearms as he hovers above you, his face just inches away from you. Then he lowers his head, but his lips don’t meet yours—they trail down over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipple, making you gasp as the sensation tingles through you. 

He cups your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh gently, then places a kiss on the valley between your breasts before he descends further.  To your ribs… then your navel… then your hipbone. 

Your breath stills completely when his fingers come to rest on your thighs. He doesn’t push them open yet.

“May I?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

He parts your legs gently, his eyes still focused on you until he lowers his head and—

Your world tilts a little. 

When his tongue drags through your drenched slit, and Jack moans out loud, you arch towards him. He holds your hips in place, fingers digging into the flesh—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you feel him. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking upwards until you see stars.

“Jack-“ you moan, trying… you don’t know what you’re trying to say. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly at the grey curls.  He sucks your clit into his mouth, causing you to cry out in pleasure. 

He laps at your cunt like a starved dog, and you can’t believe that “it’s been a while” for him, not when he’s eating you out like that.

“I—oh God,” you sigh dreamily.

Your legs quiver, your hips twitch—your entire body is shaking with pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jack murmurs, his words muffled. “Fuck—please, just let me make you feel good.”

The sounds of your arousal mixing with his saliva are unholy—a wet overflow of moisture between your thighs. Jack seems to be right where he wants to be. He moans into your flesh, his hips bucking and pressing into the couch below like he is trying to alleviate the ache, the buildup of his own need. 

When you come apart, he guides you through it, not stopping until your brain is overflowing with oxytocin and your thighs won’t stop shaking. 

Both of you are panting when he comes up.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles devilishly. 

“God… we’re so doing this again,” he declares softly. 

You’re at a loss for words. You haven’t come like that ever. All you can do is nod and reach for him. 

Jack plants his arms on either side of your head and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet, tangy flavor erupting in your mouth. 

His leaking cock presses against your tummy as his lips graze yours.

You reach between you and stroke him, making him groan into your mouth. 

“Jesus,” he mutters when he pulls away to look at you. “You—”

He thrusts into your hand instinctively, and you realize just how pent up he is. 

“Your turn,” you whisper. 

Jack tsks softly, half amused, half… something else.  He cups your face and kisses your jaw tenderly. 

“Believe me, that was my turn,” he says lowly. “But if you want to keep going, I’m sure as hell not saying no.”

--

The bliss afterwards is indescribable. But it’s also foreign.

You still sense every press of his hands on your body without feeling tender, every brush of his lips without a single mark on your skin, and every thrust of his hips without that residual feeling of having been used. 

Jack was nothing but gentle. 

And god, it was incredible. 

The sheets underneath you are crumpled and slightly damp with sweat and sex, but you don’t mind. Not when Jack’s arm is wrapped around you, your back pressing against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck where your pulse still flutters with excitement. 

“You were incredible,” he whispers.

It must be so obvious that his words fluster you because he smirks when you hide your face in the sheets. 

“Barely even did anything,” you mumble. 

Jack makes a sound you can’t quite discern. 

“Right,” he chuckles. “Except that thing where you got really tight when you were about to come again or—”

You whip around and press your hand over his mouth, your eyes wide and embarrassed.

“Jack,” you complain, half-serious, half-playful. 

He kisses your palm and smiles. 

“Hey, I’m just teasin’,” he retorts. “But I really meant it. It was really great for me.”

“Yeah, for me, too,” you mumble. 

You’re not used to any kind of pillow talk, so the words feel thick, like they don’t quite want to leave your mouth. 

Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He just pulls you closer against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. 

As the minutes pass, he tells you to go pee and promises more cuddles later on. 

In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. The haphazardly buttoned-up shirt you’re wearing belongs to Jack and falls to your mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. A few hickeys begin to gain color and paint your neck a soft purple.

You can’t help but smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jack calls out. “Your phone keeps vibrating. I think someone really wants to talk to you!”

“Yeah, just a sec,” you reply. 

When you return to his bedroom, Jack is sitting up, his brows drawn together slightly. Your phone is in his hand, the screen facing up. 

“Sorry,” he says as he passes it to you. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, just wanted to bring it to you.”

You take your phone and glance at the messages—and feel your face heat up.

“Oh.” Your laugh comes out stiff as you quickly shut off your phone. “Sorry, um—they’re joking, of course. Like, uh…”

Jack looks at you quietly, watching as you fumble nervously with the edge of your phone case. There was a light flush to his cheeks now, too. 

“No, no, don’t worry, I shouldn’t have read it anyway, I just looked at it ‘cause it kept… vibrating,” he explains. 

The awkward silence that follows feels detrimental. 

You wonder if you should explain more, or if maybe stammering another apology would make it worse, but then Jack breaks the quiet first. 

“Not to sound my age, but… I assume cracking means… uh… hooking up?”

You press your lips together uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Like, um… yes.”

He nods once. Then he tilts his head to catch your eyes. 

“It’s not the… nicest word, is it?” he asks. 

“It’s just, like, a TikTok thing,” you answer. 

“Hm,” is all he replies. 

Then he takes your hand and guides you back onto the mattress. You meet his gaze hesitantly. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper, just like the furrow between his brows. He doesn’t seem angry, just serious.

“I… I kind of would prefer it if you didn’t think of what we just did as… “cracking”. It’s not the word I would use,” he says slowly.

“It’s just a word,” you mutter. 

“Not to me,” he argues softly. “It’s… words have meanings. And cracking sounds like… like I’m doing something to you, not with you. I don’t mean to be… all old man and, like, police your language. But… I don’t want you to think of sex with me that way. Or… with anyone else for that matter, even though, ideally, I would like this to be a long-term thing.”

His hazel eyes don’t leave your face for even a single moment, and it’s almost overwhelming—if it weren’t for the sincerity in them. 

“I’m sorry—" you begin, but Jack shushes you.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t- I don’t want you to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable with me. I wanna make sure you… you feel respected by me,” he explains. 

“I do,” you reply quickly. “Really. Like, no one else has ever… been this kind to me.”

Jack’s face falls. 

“Oh, no, I mean, like… you’re a gentleman,” you elaborate.

He shakes his head softly. 

“No, baby, I’m… this is… this is the bare minimum. Christ.”

Jack’s hands find yours, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. Then he wraps his arms around you. 

“At the risk of sounding like your father, I think you kids need to put down your phones and go out in the real world.”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[sole-jpeg]

Wherever You Go - Jack Abbot

pairing : jack abbot / f!reader

words count : 5k

summary : After another exhausting night shift, Jack comes home completely drained. You’ve taken the day off to surprise him with a warm breakfast and a slow, quiet morning together.

contains : FLUFF, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, soft romance, communication, very soft domestic intimacy.

a/n : TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS ! Here’s a little FLUFF one shot for you, it’s all cute and kind for you <33

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ MASTERLIST ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The apartment was still half asleep.

Outside, Pittsburgh slowly shifted from deep blue night into the pale gold of early morning, the first traces of sunlight slipping between buildings and filtering softly through the kitchen windows. The city sounded quieter at this hour—muted traffic in the distance, the occasional rumble of a bus, the cold winter air still clinging to the streets below.

Inside, though, warmth had already settled everywhere. The stove crackled softly beneath a pan of butter, the smell rich and comforting as you moved around the kitchen in thick socks and one of your oldest hoodies, sleeves pushed messily to your elbows. The clock on the microwave blinked 7:13 AM in pale green numbers.

Normally, nobody should be making dinner-sized breakfasts at seven in the morning. But then again, most people weren’t dating an emergency doctor whose sense of time had been completely destroyed by twelve-hour shifts. Especially not Jack Abbott.

You flipped the eggs carefully, watching the edges crisp slightly in the pan before reaching for the toast already stacked beside plates warming near the stove. Bacon rested on paper towels nearby, alongside hash browns you’d probably put too much effort into.

There was also coffee. A dangerous amount of coffee.

Strong enough that Jack once jokingly told you:

“I think this could restart a heart in the ER.”

And then, the weird part. Sitting slightly off to the side on a smaller plate was the thing that absolutely nobody but Jack would request at breakfast: toasted cinnamon raisin bread with peanut butter spread over it while it was still warm.

The first time you saw him eat it, you’d stared at him in genuine horror. He’d defended himself immediately.

“Don’t judge it before trying it.”

You tried it. Unfortunately, he’d been right. Now you made it automatically whenever his shifts got particularly bad.

The smell of breakfast filled the apartment completely now—butter, coffee, toast, syrup warming slowly on the stove—and combined with the soft amber light beginning to stretch across the kitchen floor, the whole apartment felt impossibly warm compared to the frozen world outside.

You glanced toward the clock again. 7:18 AM. He should be home soon. Probably exhausted. Probably pretending he wasn’t exhausted. The thought alone softened something in your chest as you reached for another plate, quietly arranging everything the way you knew he liked it without even needing to think anymore.

And somewhere between the sunlight creeping across the counter and the smell of coffee settling into the apartment, it suddenly felt dangerously close to domestic.

Nine months ago, if someone had told you that you’d be standing in a shared kitchen at seven in the morning making heart-attack-level breakfasts for Jack, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

Mostly because nine months ago, you met him under deeply humiliating circumstances. Not romantic ones. Humiliating ones. You’d been carrying two coffees and trying to answer a work email on your phone while rushing out of a small café downtown during one of Pittsburgh’s first icy mornings of winter. Which naturally resulted in you slipping immediately on black ice.

Directly in front of him. Not a graceful stumble either. A full, catastrophic collapse. Coffee everywhere. Phone gone. Dignity deceased. And somehow, somehow, the first thing you said while laying on the frozen sidewalk staring at the sky was:

“Please tell me nobody attractive saw that.”

A voice above you answered almost instantly:

“Depends how attractive you think I am.”

You still remembered the absolute horror of turning your head and seeing him standing there holding one surviving coffee cup with the calmest expression imaginable.

You wanted to die. He helped you up anyway. Bought you another coffee too. Then somehow the conversation lasted almost an hour. After that, you kept seeing each other accidentally. Then intentionally.

And before you realized it, late-night dinners, exhausted conversations after shifts, and quiet moments on couches had slowly become something constant. Something important.

Officially, you’d been together for seven months now. Though even the way he asked you to be his girlfriend had been painfully, unmistakably Jack. No grand speech. No dramatic setup.

You’d both been sitting on his couch after one of his night shifts, half asleep under the same blanket while some terrible reality TV show played in the background. And completely out of nowhere, he’d looked over at you and said:

“So… are we doing this officially?”

You blinked at him.

“Doing what officially?”

He looked almost annoyed at having to explain himself.

“This.”

One hand vaguely gesturing between the two of you.

“The sleeping in my apartment four nights a week. Stealing my hoodies. Knowing my coffee order. Acting like you live here already.”

You stared at him for a second before laughing.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

A pause. Then, with complete seriousness:

“I thought I just did.”

You kissed him before he could get embarrassed about it. And now, somehow, seven months later, you actually did live here. Officially for only a month. Unofficially… much longer.

Your toothbrush sat beside his in the bathroom. Your clothes had slowly invaded his closet. The fridge now contained actual food instead of energy drinks and hospital leftovers. The apartment itself felt softer these days. Warmer. More alive.

You knew Jack still struggled after difficult shifts. Sometimes he came home so exhausted he barely spoke before collapsing into bed. Sometimes he carried the hospital home with him in silence, tension still locked in his shoulders hours later.

And even though your schedules rarely aligned perfectly—you working during the day while he survived endless nights at the hospital—you still tried. Small things mostly. Warm food waiting for him. Coffee ready. Clean clothes folded. Your hand in his hair when he looked especially tired. Nothing dramatic. Just quiet reminders that when he came home, he didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.

The sound comes right on time. Keys against the front door. A faint metallic jingle followed by the quiet scrape of the lock turning.

You immediately glance toward the hallway as the door opens slowly, cold winter air slipping briefly into the apartment before disappearing again. He’s home. Without even realizing it, you hurry a little faster. You reach for the last plate near the stove, adjusting the toast quickly before carrying everything to the table while listening to him move through the apartment without actually seeing him yet.

The familiar sounds unfold one after another. The soft thud of the door closing. Shoes being kicked off near the entrance with the kind of exhaustion that means he probably stopped feeling his feet three hours ago. Keys dropped onto the little entry shelf. Then the heavier sound of his coat landing somewhere near the couch instead of the coat rack you specifically bought because:

“Normal people hang their coats up, Jack.” He still ignored it completely. You can practically picture him already, slightly slouched posture, tired eyes, hospital fatigue still clinging to him like a second skin.

The apartment stays quiet for another second. Then you hear him inhale. A pause. Long enough that you know exactly what happened. He smelled the food. And somehow that thought alone makes you smile to yourself as you place the final plate onto the table just as slow footsteps finally start making their way toward the kitchen.

You’re still adjusting the plates when he finally appears in the kitchen doorway. Slowly. Like he used the last of his remaining energy just getting here.

Jack leans lightly against the doorframe for a second, still in dark scrubs, hair slightly messy from a shift that clearly lasted too long. There are faint marks beneath his eyes, exhaustion written into every part of him now that he’s no longer forcing himself to stay in “work mode.”

And yet the second he looks up, he stops. His eyes move across the kitchen table.The food. The coffee. The warm light spilling through the apartment. Then finally to you.

You straighten immediately, taking a small dramatic step backward before presenting the whole thing with both arms. “Ta-da.”

The word comes out brighter than the sleepy quiet of the apartment, and for the first time since walking through the door, something visibly softens in him. A smile. Small at first. Then real. You can’t help smiling back immediately, proud despite yourself as you gesture toward the table like some sort of exhausted breakfast waitress.

But then you really look at him. And the pride in your expression softens around the edges. Because he looks tired. Not ordinary tired. The kind of tired that settles deep into someone after too many hours under fluorescent hospital lights, too many decisions, too many people needing pieces of him all night long.

His shoulders look heavy. His eyes slower. And suddenly your chest aches a little with affection and compassion all at once.

Your smile fades into something gentler. Softer. “Rough shift?” you ask quietly. For a second he just looks at you. Then at the food again. And the smallest breath leaves him, almost disbelieving. “You made all this?”

You smile a little at his reaction, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing now that he’s actually standing there looking at it. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I asked for today off.”

That catches his attention immediately. His tired eyes lift back to yours. “You did?” You nod, already walking toward him before you even finish speaking. “I figured,” you murmur, “you’d probably come home exhausted, and we never really get actual time together unless one of us is half dead.” That earns the faintest huff of laughter from him. Tiny. Sleepy. Real.

“And technically,” you continue with mock seriousness as you finally reach him, “we do have the whole day together now.” Your arms slide naturally around his waist. “Even if we’re probably going to spend most of it unconscious.”

That finally pulls a proper smile from him. Not huge. But enough that you visibly watch the exhaustion crack for a second beneath it. His hands settle instinctively at your sides, warm and heavy, like touching you allows his body to finally understand the shift is over.

And god, up close he looks even more tired. There’s still that distant look lingering in his eyes doctors get after difficult nights, like part of him is mentally still under fluorescent hospital lights somewhere. But slowly, as he looks down at you standing there in oversized clothes smelling like coffee and butter and home, he starts coming back. “You did all this just so we could sleep all day?” he asks quietly.

You grin. “Exactly.” A pause. Then, “I’m incredibly romantic.” His head lowers slightly, and suddenly you feel his forehead rest briefly against yours. Not dramatic. Just instinctive. Like he needed one second to breathe. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “You’re gonna ruin me doing things like this.”

He just stays there. Forehead against yours. Hands resting heavily at your waist. And slowly, almost unconsciously, you feel him sag a little more into you. Like the simple act of being home is finally allowing his body to stop holding itself together.

Your expression softens immediately. Without thinking about it, your arms slide higher around his shoulders, fingers brushing lightly against the back of his neck as you pull him closer.

And this time, he lets you. Completely. Jack lowers his head until it rests against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as his arms tighten around your waist in something quieter than a hug.

Something more exhausted. You go still instantly. Because now you understand. This isn’t just physical tiredness. It’s deeper than that. Mental exhaustion. Emotional exhaustion. The kind that builds slowly over weeks of impossible shifts and fluorescent lights and carrying too much for too long.

And suddenly the way he walked through the door makes sense. The silence. The heavy shoulders. The way he melted into you the second you touched him.

Your heart aches softly. So you don’t speak. You don’t ask questions yet. You simply hold him. Warmly. Patiently. One hand moves slowly through his hair while the other rests steady between his shoulders, grounding him gently while the smell of breakfast and coffee still fills the apartment around you. The morning sunlight continues creeping quietly across the kitchen floor, brushing gold against the walls as the city slowly wakes outside.

But here, everything feels still. Safe. You feel him exhale against your neck after a long moment, deeper this time, like his body is finally remembering how to rest now that someone else is carrying a little of the weight with him. And you stay exactly like that, holding him in the middle of the kitchen while the food slowly gets cold, because right now, he clearly needs this more.

After a long moment, you finally pull back just enough to look at him properly. His face is still close to yours, exhaustion written softly into every detail now that he’s stopped trying to hide it. You brush your thumb lightly near his jaw before speaking gently.

“Go take a warm shower before eating.” Your voice stays quiet, careful. “It’ll help you relax a little more.”

For a second, Jack just looks at you. Really looks at you. His tired eyes move slowly across your face like he’s trying to absorb the sight of you completely, the messy morning hair, the oversized hoodie, the concern you’re trying not to show too obviously. Then, almost invisibly, something softens at the corner of his mouth. A tiny smile. Small enough most people probably wouldn’t notice it. But you do. Always.

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly. A pause. Then, even softer, “Thank you.” The words themselves are simple. But the way he says them isn’t. There’s something heavier underneath them. Something full of everything he’s too exhausted to explain out loud right now. Before you can answer, he leans down and kisses you gently.

Slowly. Not hungry. Not rushed. Just warm. His hand briefly cups the side of your face while the kiss lingers for a few quiet seconds, carrying entire conversations inside it, gratitude, relief, affection, exhaustion. Things he doesn’t always know how to say directly.

Then he pulls away reluctantly. You watch him disappear down the hallway toward the bathroom, his movements visibly heavier now that he’s home and no longer forcing himself to stay upright for everyone else.

And suddenly, seeing him like this from behind, the limp slightly more pronounced today, the exhaustion impossible to miss, something tightens painfully in your chest.

The apartment falls quiet except for distant pipes shifting somewhere in the building. You stay standing alone in the kitchen for another second before slowly letting out a deep breath. And just like that, the worry creeps back in. Quiet. Persistent.

Because no matter how many times he says he’s “fine” after shifts like these, you’re starting to realize that sometimes fine simply means…still standing.

You try to busy your hands on the dishes. Hot water, soap, clinking plates—anything to keep your thoughts from spiraling too far. But it doesn’t really work. Because your mind keeps replaying the way he looked when he walked in. The weight in his shoulders. The silence behind his eyes.

You’re halfway through rinsing a plate when you hear him again. Soft footsteps. Then the familiar presence of someone finally out of “hospital mode.”

When you glance up, Jack is standing in the kitchen doorway again, but this time in loose pyjamas, hair slightly damp, looking… better. Not fully rested. Not magically cured of exhaustion. But softer. Less sharp around the edges. Like the shower washed off just enough of the night to let him breathe again.

Your chest loosens a little without you meaning it to. You quickly wipe your hands on a towel and force a smile. “There he is,” you say lightly. “I was starting to think you went back to the hospital.”

That earns you a faint look—half amused, half tired—but he actually walks over this time instead of just standing there. You both end up at the table again, like gravity naturally pulls you back together. He sits down slowly, stretching his shoulders out with a quiet exhale while you take the seat across from him.

For a second, it’s quiet. Then you tilt your head. “So,” you continue, trying to keep your tone playful, “how was your glamorous night of saving lives and making questionable decisions?”

A corner of his mouth twitches. “You say that like it’s not exactly what it was.”

“Ouch,” you gasp. “No glamour? No dramatic hospital slow-motion hallway walk?” That actually gets a real, low laugh out of him. Small. Raspy. But real.

And something in your chest unclenches a little at the sound.

He leans back in his chair slightly, watching you now instead of the table. “You’re doing that thing again,” he says.

You blink. “What thing?”

“Trying to distract me.” You pause. Caught. Then you shrug, leaning forward on your elbows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyes narrow slightly—but there’s no real accusation in it. Just understanding. You sigh dramatically. “Fine. Maybe I am. But only because I prefer my boyfriend in a semi-functioning state, thank you very much.”

That gets another small smile out of him. This one softer. Longer-lasting. And for the first time since he walked through the door, he looks properly present again—sitting here with you, coffee still waiting on the table, the morning light warming the edges of the room. Not gone. Just slowly coming back.

You both finally start eating. The kind of eating that feels slow and overdue, like neither of you is in a hurry anymore now that the morning has properly caught up with you.

The clink of cutlery fills the kitchen, mixing with the soft light pouring in through the windows. Then, after his first bite, he just stops. Fully. Jack leans back in his chair like his entire nervous system just gave up trying to function properly. His eyes close for half a second.

And when he opens them again, there’s a faint, almost offended expression on his face. “…Okay,” he says slowly.

You pause mid-bite. “What?”

He gestures vaguely at the plate in front of him. “This is unfair.”

That makes you laugh immediately. “Unfair?”

He nods once, still clearly processing the fact that he is, in fact, eating something that doesn’t taste like hospital vending machine regret. “I leave for twelve hours,” he continues, “and you come back with culinary warfare.” You snort. “Culinary warfare?”

“Yes,” he says seriously, pointing his fork at you. “This is strategic emotional manipulation.” That sends you fully into laughter now, shaking your head as you set your fork down. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

“Not dramatic,” he corrects, taking another bite like he’s confirming evidence in a case. “Just accurate.” But despite the sarcasm, there’s something noticeably lighter in him now. Less tension in his shoulders. Less distance in his eyes. He actually looks like he’s enjoying this. And that does something warm and quiet to your chest.

You take a sip of your coffee, watching him for a second before speaking again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say softer, more honest now. He glances up at you briefly, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. Then, a small nod. “I do.”

And just like that, the conversation drifts. Not into anything heavy. Not into hospitals or exhaustion or anything that might pull him back into the night he just survived.

Instead you complain about something mildly stupid from work, he tells you about a patient story that somehow becomes funny in hindsight, you argue about whether pineapple belongs on anything ever, he calls you “impossible” at least twice, affectionately.

The kitchen slowly fills with something different again. Not urgency.Not fatigue. Just life. And every so often, when you look at him between sentences, you’re reminded of the same thing : he’s still tired. But he’s here, with you.

The conversation naturally tapers off after that, like neither of you wants to force it when the moment already feels full enough. Cutlery slows. The kitchen quiets again.

You’re picking at the last few bites on your plate when you notice him go a little still across from you.

Jack is looking down at his food now, movements smaller, more automatic again, like the warmth from earlier is starting to settle into something heavier. Not bad. Just… tired again. The kind that returns once the talking stops.

You watch him for a few seconds longer than you mean to. The worry you’ve been trying to tuck away all morning slowly starts to push back up again. His shoulders. The way he’s holding himself. The silence creeping in around him.

Eventually, you set your fork down. “Hey,” you say softly. He looks up at you. You hesitate—just for a second—then your voice comes out a little more certain. “Maybe we should leave.”

A pause. His brows knit slightly. “Leave?” His brow furrows slightly, like he’s trying to catch up with your thought before it slips away. “Where?”

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know what you mean, but because saying it out loud makes it feel real in a different way. You glance down at the table for a second, then back up at him. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. A small breath. “Far.”

That gets his attention fully now. Not alarmed, just focused. You push your chair back slightly, fingers resting on the edge of the table. “Far from Pittsburgh,” you continue. “Far from the hospital. From shifts and alarms and…” your voice softens, “…everything that keeps you half somewhere else even when you’re here.”

His expression shifts subtly at that. Not defensive. Just quieter. You swallow once, then add: “Just for a while. A few weeks… maybe months. Just you and me.”

The words hang in the kitchen like warm air after steam. For a second, he doesn’t respond. He looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. But you’re not. His eyes drop briefly to the table, then back to you. “…You mean like a vacation,” he says slowly.

“Like… disappearing,” you correct softly, almost wry. “In a healthy way.” You stop then add, “I don’t know, let’s go to Paris, or Italy, why not Mexico ?”

That earns the faintest huff of disbelief from him. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, clearly processing it. “You do realize I have a job,” he says, not unkindly.

“I know,” you answer immediately.

“And patients.”

“I know.” A beat.

“And people who will probably call me every twenty minutes if I disappear for ‘a few months.’” That makes you tilt your head slightly. “Let them panic,” you say lightly. “We’ll be busy not answering phones.”

That actually gets a real reaction out of him, something between a laugh and exhaustion. He looks at you more directly now, studying your face again. “And this idea of yours,” he says carefully, “came from where exactly?”

You shrug. “From watching you come home like this,” you admit, softer now. “From realizing you don’t really stop. You just… switch locations.”

The room quiets again. No joking now. Just honesty sitting between you. Then you add, gently, “I just want you somewhere where you can actually rest. Just…think about it…” you say lightly, like you didn’t just suggest upending both your lives for a while.

His expression changes at that. Subtle. But real. And for the first time in a while, he doesn’t respond right away—not because he’s dismissing it, but because he’s actually considering it.

There’s a short silence after you finish speaking. Not heavy. Just thoughtful. You can almost see it in the way Jack sits there, still, eyes slightly unfocused, like your words have settled somewhere deeper than conversation usually reaches him.

Then you grab the plates. One by one. Stacking them carefully, avoiding his gaze as you move toward the sink, trying very hard to act normal. Trying very hard not to let your worry show too clearly in your hands.

Water runs. Ceramic clinks. The kitchen fills with small, busy sounds again. But behind you, you hear him move. Chair shifting. Footsteps. He’s standing too now. You don’t turn around fast enough.

Because the next thing you know, he’s right there—gathering the remaining plates and cups, silent but steady, automatically slipping into “helping mode” even when he clearly should not be in “doing anything” mode.

Your chest tightens a little. “No,” you say immediately, turning around. He pauses. You step forward and gently—but firmly—take the dishes out of his hands. “I’ve got it,” you insist softly. His brows lift slightly. “It’s just plates.” “I know,” you answer, a little sharper than intended, then soften immediately. “It’s not about the plates.”

A beat. You look up at him properly now. “You need to go sleep.” He exhales through his nose, like he’s already preparing a counterargument. But you don’t let him get there.

“You’re exhausted,” you continue, quieter again. “Like… actually exhausted. Not ‘doctor exhausted.’ The other kind.” For a second, he just looks at you.

And you can tell he’s weighing it, the instinct to stay useful versus the fact that his body is very clearly done negotiating today. Finally, his shoulders drop a fraction. “…You’re bossy in the mornings,” he mutters. Despite everything, your lips twitch. “I know.” A pause. Then, softer, “Go.” You nod slightly toward the hallway. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just watches you for another second, like he’s making sure you’re actually okay with this idea of him stopping. Then, finally, he turns. Slowly.

Heading toward the bedroom with heavier steps than before, while you stay in the kitchen a moment longer, hands still wet, heart still a little tight. Because even when he listens…it still feels like teaching someone how to rest.

A few minutes later, the apartment has shifted again. The kitchen is quiet now, dishes left half-finished in the sink, sunlight growing stronger as it rises higher over Pittsburgh. The morning has properly arrived, bright and gold and almost too gentle for how tired everything still feels inside you.

You stand in the doorway of the bedroom for a second. The curtains are half open, letting in soft light that cuts across the room in warm stripes. The bed is slightly messy from where he’d pulled the covers down earlier.

And there he is. Jack is already lying on his side, facing away from the door, one arm tucked loosely under the pillow. Even now, even in rest, there’s still a trace of exhaustion in the way his body has settled, like he only just allowed himself to stop holding tension.

For a moment, you just watch him. Then you step inside. Quietly. The floor doesn’t creak. The room feels softer than before, like it’s been waiting for this exact moment to finally exhale.

You don’t say anything. You simply climb into bed behind him, careful not to disturb him too much, slipping under the covers until you’re close enough that there’s no space left for cold air between you.

Slowly, instinctively, you shift forward. Your arm wraps around his waist. Your forehead comes to rest gently against the back of his neck.

And just like that, he responds. Not with words. But with a small, unconscious movement. His shoulders ease further into the mattress. His breathing changes slightly, deepening, slowing, like his body recognizes you even in sleep and decides it’s safe enough to finally let go completely.

The sunlight spills across the room while you stay like that—held against him, holding him back—both of you suspended somewhere between exhaustion and peace.

He stays like that for a moment.

Breathing still uneven, like he’s trying to hold himself together just a little longer. Then, quietly, “Okay.”

A pause. His voice comes softer the second time. “Let’s leave somewhere.” You don’t move at first. Not because you don’t want to. Because something in the way he says it feels heavier than just a plan. Like it’s been sitting inside him for a while, waiting for the right moment to finally come out.

Slowly, he turn around and you shift back just enough to look at him. And that’s when your chest tightens. His eyes are wet. Not tears falling—he’s holding them back, stubbornly, instinctively—but they’re there. Shimmering at the edges of exhaustion and something deeper he’s clearly been carrying for too long.

He doesn’t look away. He forces himself not to. “I mean it,” he says quietly. “Wherever you go… I go.” The words hit you harder than you expect. Because it’s not dramatic. It’s not impulsive. It’s just… honest. Bare. Unarmored.

And seeing him like this—so controlled and still somehow cracking at the edges—makes something in you break softly right along with him.

But it also makes you certain. Certain that this isn’t wrong. That this isn’t “too much.” That maybe this is exactly the moment where things are supposed to shift. Your throat tightens.

You don’t try to fix it with words. You just nod. Once. Enough for him to see. And that’s all it takes. You open your arms, and he leans in immediately, like the decision alone loosened something in him he didn’t even realize he was holding.

His face presses into your neck. And you hold him. Both arms around him now, steady and warm, anchoring him there as he finally lets his weight fully fall into you without hesitation. The room stays quiet around you. Sunlight slowly filling the edges of the bed. And for a long moment, neither of you moves.

Because sometimes love doesn’t feel like a declaration. Sometimes it feels like this :

choosing the same place to land.

[aerispilled]

jack abbot, fem, 0.5k — previous

“Abbot, you’re staring again.”

He purses his lips, his eyes following you from across the ED while you move through patient rooms. Something about you seems off. “‘S it just me or does she look different?”

Parker rolls her eyes. “You’re staring,” she repeats, swiping around on the iPad in her hands. “It’s getting painfully obvious, you know that, right?”

He drags out a sigh. Ever since you left his apartment in tears the other week, you haven’t talked or even looked at him at all during your shared shifts—and during that time, he’s been sulking, mulling over how to make it up to you. He’s not entirely confident he can.

What he’s realizing is—he misses you. Your indifference is killing him, and he imagines this is what you felt like when he met your confession with nonchalance. He’s the desperate one now. 

When Jack sees your hands shaking while trying to open a granola bar, he jumps at the opportunity to be close to you. He comes over to you, offering, “Let me,” while deft hands try to replace yours.

You flinch and try the plastic again. “It’s fine.”

He exhales through his nose, reaching another time. He tries to keep his hands guided toward the snack in your hands and not you. “I can—”

“I said it’s fine, Jack,” you snap, finally meeting his eye after a long while. You look exhausted and wrung out, and he knows it’s his fault. To Jack, you still look as beautiful as the day you walked out on him, leaving your heart in pieces for him to pick up. 

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he concedes, but he doesn’t walk away yet.

You manage to tear the plastic and take a bite, but now you’re annoyed, angry, sad, or a combination of three from Jack’s insistence. He broke your heart weeks ago, and now he has the gall to show up? 

You try to push back the thought that insists it means he cares. 

He keeps staring, and you huff. Chewing impatiently, you grumble, “What?”

Jack clears his throat and ghosts a hand over your back. “You just look tired—you're doing okay, right?”

Your spine straightens. “Nothing for you to worry about, Abbot.”

Abbot. Not Jack, or Jackie, or any other of the lovely names you call him. The sudden change paralyzes him, and he’s dumbfounded as you saunter off. 

Watching you walk away, a piece of him goes with you. The aching, burning feeling in his chest roars, and while Jack is realizing he misses you, he’s also realizing that he needs you, too. He’s restless because you’re not in his apartment with him, laughing life into his kitchen and kissing him sweetly. That you’re not giving him knowing looks across the ER or brushing against his shoulder to ground him after hard traumas. He feels equally the fool for not grasping his feelings earlier, and now you’re slipping out of his hands like sand. 

Jack rubs at his chest with a fist, trying to relieve the feeling before his next patient.

[yearsarewatchingyou]

BOMBPOP: JACK ABBOT X READER

Summary: 4th of July with your dad's best friend (and secret lover) Jack Abbot! 18+

Tags: jack abbot x reader, age gap (mid 20s and early 50s), temperature play, making out, oral sex (m!recieving), outdoors sex, semi public sex, no penetration, porn with little plot

WC: 2k

Notes: Happy 4th of July people! Hope you enjoy this little blurb

Banner by @feldiesgraphics <3

☆☆☆

"Hey sweetie bear, good to see you finally made it outside," your dad called as you slid out the patio door.

The backyard, decked out with an in-ground pool, trampoline, and a large gazebo, was completely packed with people. Friends, family, neighbors from around the block. All with beers in hand and the American flag plastered over them. Music shook the whole street, and sounds of laughter and water splash became the backdrop of your afternoon.

You were busy fixing your hair and putting on your 4th of July bathing suit (the straps gave you a headache). Your dad, ex-veteran now SWAT consultant, was frying hot dogs over the grill. All of his friends came too. Most notable was Jack Abbot, ex-veteran and now SWAT medic, since your dad offered him the job per diem—and also your most recent love affair.

After graduating college, getting back on your feet has been difficult. Veteran discounts can only get you so far in life, and the pot of gold had run out. Debt. You were in a lot of it and you were stressed out. You went to a bar one night, alone, planning to drink away your problems. You met a handsome older man. That should be the end of the story.

You didn't know that he was your dad's best friend, or, really that he knew your dad at all. You did know that the sex in the back of that bar was the best you ever had...until, that is, when you were formally introduced to him the next day by your father, ecstatic to see his old buddy for the first time since they were in basic training in 96' — 4 years before you were even born.

Now, here he is again. Grey t-shirt with an american flag in top right corner, shorts, and jeans. Black wedding band still on his finger, condensation dripping off them from the cold beer he's holding. Grey hairs, trimmed stubble around chiseled jaw, and that annoyingly handsome smile he flashed at everyone.

And you're staring, and your dad notices that you're staring, and so do your friends. Shit. You clear your throat and decide to say hi, and make it seem like you *don't* know what Dr. Jack Abbot looks like under his shorts and metal dog tags.

"Happy fourth of July" you grin, shielding your eyes from the sweltering sun.

Jack gives you that smile, arms folded, his eyes are not discreet as they linger on the plump curve of your breasts in your skimpy bikini, "Happy 4th," he nudges your fathers shoulder, "she's all grown up now. I remember when you sent me that post card all those years ago about you leaving for the kid"

Your dad nods, flipping burgers over the flaming grill "That was 2 decades ago, brother"

"God, you're making me feel old," he claps him on the back before walking past you to sit under the shade. He stops momentarily to whisper in your ear, "stay outta trouble?"

You nod, and by the time you do, he's already sitting cracking jokes with all his other buddies and their kids. Yet, the warmth of his hand lingered longer than the heat of the sun. You shake it off and put on sunscreen at the edge of the pool, putting the creamy liquid all over your tanned thighs and smearing the rest on your neck and hands.

Jack watched, discreetly, between sips of beer and weak laughs. He was fucked; he knew that. He tells himself if he would've known it was his best friend's daughter he wouldn't have had that midnight rendezvous, but now he's not so sure that argument still stands. All these years have passed and he didn't know what you looked like. You look irresistible like the forbidden fruit in the garden...all he wanted to do was reach out and eat you.

The afternoon soon bled into evening. The second the sun dipped below the horizon the fireworks started. Some of the older vets left due to the PTSD, while others stayed but clenched their bottles a little harder with each rattle. Jack wandered around the backyard, mingled anywhere he could, manned the rest of the meat on the grill while your dad helped your little cousins with the sparklers.

"You should never do dumb shit like that," Jack scoffed as teenagers fumbled with the packaged fireworks, "they're gonna blow their fingers off"

"Good thing we have a doctor here to help us"

"All I can do is put what's left on ice and pray for ortho"

You laugh along with him, "Why so grim?"

"I've worked too many 4th of July holidays. Every year it happens. Just common knowledge"

"Why aren't you working this year?" You lean against the table holding the aluminum foil trays of hot dogs and burgers. Your bikini was now covered by a light sweater, a little oversized.

"I just needed a break from all the crazy," he shrugged.

You smirk, "and I'm supposed to believe that? You're an ER doctor and SWAT medic. You live for crazy"

He closes the hood of the grill and faces you, arms folded, "well I don't think you'd like the real answer"

"And what's the real answer?"

Before he could say, another firework exploded in the air, creating streams of color and aftershocks of bright flickers. 10 more followed. Jack turns his head back toward the group of hyped teenagers.

"Well it seemed they got the fireworks working," he huffed with amusement, "with no missing fingers"

Your father comes back to check on the meat, pulling him away to look at something in the house. Great.

You sit by the pool. Small children, probably cousins or cousins of cousins or neighbor kids, splash in the water with glow sticks and american flag floaties. They swim over to you, pestering you with your name over and over again, asking you for freeze pops.

"Fine," you say, "bombpops?"

They all scream, "yes!!"

You groan as you get up from the side of the pool and get a case of red, white, and blue bombpops from the freezer. You decide to take one too for the hell of it. They all scramble out the pool and greedily dig into the sweet treats, an occasional thank you passing by you.

The ice of the bombpop was refreshing compared to the east coast heatwave that had taken over the state for the 4th of July weekend. The patio door slides open and this time you see Jack come out in a pair of scrubs. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion.

You overhear what he's saying to your dad, broken fragments of conversation "clocking in" "needed me" "something to distract" "help out".

In your head, that's bullshit code for not wanting to deal with your little incident.

Bombpop still in hand, you beckon him over to the corner of the yard where the bushes grew tall.

"Wha—" Jack started

"I thought you said you wanted a break from all the crazy"

"Well—"

You interrogate "What's the real reason?"

"Sweethear—"

You kiss him, hard and impulsive. He pulls away. He's out of breath.

"What are you doing? Everyone is out here! And you're my friend's daughter and god—" you cut him off for the final time.

"It's me isn't it? I'm the real reason?"

He sighs, his eyes diverting from your face before coming to face you again, "it's wrong...the whole morality of it all"

"You like crazy, don't you?"

"You're trouble" he says. He fights with himself before giving in.

"Come on, it'll be quick. Really quick" you bite your lip as you pull him behind the bushes, in the secluded undecorated part of the yard.

He feebly tries to steady himself as you drop to your knees in front of him, undoing his black scrub pants. He was already hard in his boxers. He's been hard since he saw your ass in that stupid star spangled bikini. It does not make him feel any more patriotic, nor does it make him feel any more patriotic as he watches you go down on him with fucking bombpop in your hand.

He is too old for this, he thinks as he watches the explosion of fireworks.

Until you decided to get fun and suck on the freezepop and then on him. The change in temperature sent a pleasurable shock through his cock and up his spine as your tongue slowly warmed around him. And he hated to admit it, but you had skill. After a few more bobs of your head he was already grasping at your hair and nearly hunched over.

You were both grateful for the fireworks and music masking the obscene noise of you gagging on his cock. When he got close you'd pull off of him and run the melting popsicle over the angry red tip of his cock before following up with a gentle swirl of your tongue, causing pitiful spurts of precum to spray on your lips.

"Fuck—c-can you stop?" He grunts as you lick the bright blue drippings off his cock.

"Admit it" you smile as you graze your teeth over the sensitive flesh.

He jerks before pulling at your hair. He growls, "admit what, dammit?"

"You know what, but I don't think you'll like the real answer"

He rolls his eyes. You're a brat.

You continue to suck him off, taking him to the back of your throat and teasing him there. You take what's left of the bombpop and place it in your mouth along his cock. He hisses, letting out a string of expletives.

"Fuckkk, fuck. Fine," he groans as the cold clashes with your hot tight mouth, "I want you. I came here for you and- fuck— I've thought about you every night since the bar. Every night on my fucking shift. Alright? Happy no—"

His voice gets punched out of him with you hollowing your cheeks and massaging the rest of his shaft with your hand. He doesn't last very long. He cums hard, it was hot and thick like the culmination of too many horny thoughts with no release. His moans were muffled by the onslaught of fireworks as the clock hit midnight. You swallow and drop the bombpop stick beside you.

You look a mess: your neck and sweater collar stained with syrup and streaks of cum, lips puffy and red from the pop, and your hair messy from his rough fingers.

Jack quickly collects himself, "C'mere"

He pulls you into another kiss, this time reciprocated. It was heavy and desperate like he'd been waiting his whole life to kiss you, to see what his cum tastes like on your lips. He huffs into your mouth with each bruising kiss before he hears his name called...by your dad.

"Shit," he groans, "look, sweetheart, I gotta go in. I'll call you alright?"

"Promise?" You ask as you smooth your hair down.

He nods with a shrug of his shoulders, hastily tying up his pants again "More or less, yes"

"Wrong answer"

"Yes, I promise. I'm a vet. Man of my word"

"Mhm.." you kiss him again before he whispers in your ear again.

"Stay out of trouble"

But you both know that's impossible.

[astarlinggirl]

First off, I’m obsessed with your vibes. I love me some Mitski and Ethel Cain. I’m also a huge lover of unhinged women in media (I crave more of it). I adored your alt reader and Jack Abbot head cannons. Imagine him letting you dye a matching strip in his hair to whatever color you have at the moment. Everyone at the Pitt would tease him but he wouldn’t care. 🫦

jack abbot x alt!reader

summary: jack practically begs you to dye his hair so you can match.

wc: 1k words (holy yap)

a/n: firstly tysm twin, may we be blessed with more insane women in film, and thank you for this adorable ask. i quite like this dynamic where jack's sort of the softer, silly one, and reader is the more reserved one (but they still love each other bad). enjoy <33

You're touching up your roots, sitting in front of the bathroom mirror in one of Jack's old shirts, the faded cotton hanging off one shoulder, when he comes home from his shift.

Jack leans against the doorway silently watching you, a soft smile on his face before he asks you if you need help.

You shake your head, “Go rest, baby. I’m nearly done anyways.”

He comes in anyways, washing his hands and taking the brush from you.  

You click your tongue, despite the fact that your cheeks are warming.  

There’s a comfortable silence then, as you admire Jack through the mirror, watching his brows knit together and pursed lips as he evenly spreads the cherry red dye all over your scalp. One hand sections your hair while the other paints each section carefully. 

Once he’s done, he crosses his arms, his lips tugging into a smug smirk. 

“Think ‘m getting better than you at this.”

“Shut up.”

You turn to snatch the brush from his hands but he lifts it high above his head. You sigh. 

“What?”

“So I just had this great idea–”

You groan immediately. 

“No.”

“Stop, listen to me.”

You roll your eyes but look up expectantly, knowing he’s going to spit some corny dad joke like he always does.

“What if… we had matching hair?”

What the fuck?

You still, biting your lip to stop you from breaking into laughter. 

“Hear me out, what if we– fuck, stop laughing!” He whines. 

Your shoulders shake as you giggle, endeared.

“Okay sorry, I’m just a bit… Confused. But go on.”

He grunts, then gestures vaguely between the two of you.

“I think it'd be kinda sweet. And the colour you’ve got on is similar to what my hair used to look like back then.”

“Jack, that was auburn. This is a dark red.”

He groans. 

“It’s the same. And I wasn't thinkin' all of it,” he says, pinching a tiny section of curls near his temple. “Just one little streak.”

You sigh, the corners of your mouth already twitching again despite yourself.

“You are unbelievable.”

Jack only grins, his eyes crinkling more around the edges, and your chest aches a little. 

This is the same man who learned all the acupuncture points for your feet after you returned exhausted from work or uni too many nights in a row. The same man who somehow bought you a little silver ring almost every week because “this one had felt like you”. The same man who gently rubbed tattoo balm into your skin every time you came home with fresh ink, his rough hands impossibly gentle as he made sure every inch was covered before reminding you, for the hundredth time, not to scratch it.

You knew you were going to fold anyway. Maybe because you could never really say no to him.

Or maybe because, buried somewhere beneath your amused disbelief, there was something quietly possessive that unfurled in your chest at the thought of it. A tiny streak of your colour woven through his silver curls. Something only the two of you would understand. Something that would make him unmistakably yours, something he’d have to declare when people asked him, because they would.

And he knew you well enough to know that - it's why he asked in the first place.

So, after a moment, you simply sigh.

“Fine.”

You reach for the brush.

“Come here.”

His grin widens immediately, so soft and boyish that you can’t help but smile back. He leans down to softly peck your lips, mumbling a “thank you”.

“You are such a dork.”

“I know.”

You swap positions on the chair, but this time, he sits facing you. His hands rest loosely on your hips as you comb through his silver curls, finding the perfect little section.

Carefully, you twist the grey strand between your fingers before loading the brush with dye, and paint it from root to tip with slow, deliberate strokes, your tongue peeking between your teeth in concentration.

Jack doesn't say anything, just smiles and looks up at you all softly. 

Once you’re done wrapping it in foil, you peel your gloves off and gently wipe away the tiny smear of cherry-red dye that had stained the skin near his temple.

You tilt your head, admiring your handiwork.

“Perfect. You're gonna have to leave it on for thirty minutes."

He nods obediently.

“And then?”

“Then we'll both go have a shower.”

Before you can step away, his hands suddenly wrap around your waist.

You barely have time to protest before he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap.

“Jack!” You laugh, instinctively putting your hands on his shoulders.

His arms tighten around your waist, chin tipping up so he can look at you.

A slow Cheshire grin spreads across his face.

“Thirty minutes,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips brush yours. “Lot we could do in thirty minutes.”

The next night, Jack walks in through the doors of PTMC, and heads straight to the nurses station to Dana, who's there, managing the entire team like she always does. She glances up and stills as soon as Jack comes into view.

“What the hell’s in your hair?”

Jack blinks innocently.

“My hair?”

By now, Santos has looked up from where she was sitting and charting.

“No fucking way.”

He ignores them, squinting at the board.

“What've you got for me tonight, Dana?”

Dana folds her arms, peering up at him over her glasses. 

“Did you dye your damn hair?” she asks again. 

Jack just shrugs, instinctively reaching up, absent-mindedly touching the little streak before a small, private smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I did. So?”

Santos continues staring at him from behind the screen.

“You really let her do that?”

Jack shakes his head then. 

“Asked her to.”

Dana and Santos share a look, before Dana shakes her head, grinning, and Santos lets out a low whistle. 

“You're whipped, old man.”

A few snickers ripple around the nurses' station. Jack doesn't even flinch. 

Yeah, Jack thinks, smiling into his coffee. They asked, and now everyone knows who put it there.

lmao me shoving in at least one paragraph filled with yearning sorry i'm genuinely a hopeless romantic.

[aerispilled]

jack abbot, fem, suggestive, 0.5k

You love your nighttime routines; you love putting on a nightie after a shower and doing your skincare; you love looking like a shiny donut once you leave the bathroom; you love laying on Jack’s chest and quietly reading together until you both fall asleep. Other nights, the you both watch a movie (your pick, always) and one of you always dozes off. 

Sometimes, Jack has other urges. Tonight, you look nothing short of the evening beauty he always sees you as, nightie on or not. Your skin is shiny with whatever moisturizer you’ve put on, and as you tuck in for bed and pull out your E-reader, all he wants is to devour you. You can feel his eyes on you as you pull back the duvet and scoot onto your side of the bed.

An arm slings around your shoulder to pull you closer into his broad chest. Of course, he’s shirtless because of the Pittsburgh summers; humid and hot, even at night. You cuddle closer to him and open your E-book to the last chapter you left off. 

His blunt nails draw up and down your arm, giving you goosebumps. He presses his thigh closer to yours and dips down his head to brush his nose against your earlobe. You squirm, feeling his breath against your skin. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he breathes, seeking out your neck. You smell like soap and fresh laundry after your shower, and it does nothing except stir him. 

You shift and he pulls your thighs closer together with his free hand while he kisses down your neck. “Jack.”

“Yeah.” He grunts, gently guiding you down onto the pillows and forcing the E-reader out of your hand. He presses you against the mattress, caging you in with his body. There's a hand tangling in your hair and another arching you into him.

“Jack.” You groan, trying to push him off. “I was reading. I’m on the last chapters!”

“Mm,” is all he replies with. He’s too busy kissing your face and sucking at your neck to coherently respond. Too full of his want for you. You’d welcome it if you didn’t have other matters at hand, say, your murder mystery that you’ve been itching to get to the bottom of. 

“Jack!” You try again, trying your best to push off his full body weight on you. You grumble, asking, “Can we compromise? Please?”

At that, he finally lifts his head. You see hazel pupils swallowed by darkness, a flush on his face, and glossy, swollen lips. He murmurs, “Like what?” in his roughened voice before kissing you once.

You giggle, “Give me fifteen minutes. Okay?” Putting a finger to his lips, you repeat, “Fifteen minutes to finish my book.”

“Fifteen?” Jack’s panting like a dog by now, a stray hand still squeezing at your hips. “You’re gonna make your old man wait?”

“Oh, shush.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve lived 50 years, you can survive 15 minutes.”

Appeased, he rolls off you. You scoot yourself up to sit against the headboard again, and he lays his head in your lap, eager. Now unbothered, you grab your E-reader and start reading again.

You feel him huff and puff against your thigh. “What if I have a heart attack within these fifteen minutes?”

“You work in an ER.”

But he gets what he wants, because it takes fourteen minutes for you to put your E-reader away and finally kiss Jack. 

[bluetimeombre]

DADS BEST FRIEND

── Jack Abbot x Robbydaughter! reader

synopsis Jack was just looking for an easy night, a quiet drink, but what he finds is so much better. You, sat in a seat that's his, fresh, new and young to the area, starting a new job with your dad. Jack just didn't think to ask the right questions... (5.2k words)

warning Smut MDNI! younger reader, older jack! Robby's daughter reader! oral (f receiving!) making out, language, protected p in v, dirty talk, praise king, reader is described to have longish hair, reader calls jack solider, peep the quin audio hints

authornotei locked tf in with this if i do say so myself. had this idea sitting in my drafts had to write it, if you like i would love to do a part two, the idea of dads best friend has me with a chokehold. i made up a small, tiny backstory for jack as we know so little. the beautiful jack gif credits go to @lovebugism (her fics are so good !!!!!)

pitt masterlist! another Jack fic!

Jack didn't have a specific place at the bar, but everyone knew where he sat. He got half way across the bar, dragging himself across the sticky floor before he realised there was someone else sitting in his seat. He could tell it was his stool from the slight wobble it gave side to side, and he could tell it was a young woman sitting in his seat from the sound of her laugh.

Terry, his favourite bar tender who'd seen him at his worst and best, caught a look at him and grinned.

“Hey! Just the guy I was talking about!”

Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.

“You got it, boss!”

A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.

But then he spotted you.

You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.

You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.

You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.

Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.

Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”

“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”

Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”

“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.

You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”

“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”

“Thanks,” you said.

There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.

You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”

Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”

You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.

“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.

Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”

“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.

“And now you got a job here?”

“Now I'm here.”

You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.

“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.

Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”

You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.

There was an opening.

Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?

You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”

“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.

“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.

He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”

“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”

“You moved alone?”

You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”

Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.

Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.

“I guess so, yeah.”

A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”

Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”

“He cheated on me.”

“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”

You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”

“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.

It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.

That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.

Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.

“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.

“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”

Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.

“You close with him?”

You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”

Jack made a wince and an O face.

Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.

He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.

He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.

When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.

Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.

The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.

The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.

“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.

Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”

“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”

You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.

The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.

“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.

You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”

Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.

“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.

It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”

“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”

“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”

You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”

You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.

He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”

Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.

You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.

He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.

Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.

He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.

Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.

Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.

Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.

He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.

He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.

Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”

If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.

He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.

Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.

He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.

You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.

He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.

You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.

Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.

He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.

“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”

“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.

Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.

He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.

Your lips promised more, more, more.

Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.

He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.

You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.

He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”

He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.

“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.

You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.

“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”

Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.

He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.

Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

You nodded and leant into kiss him.

Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.

“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”

He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.

“Can I... I want to be on top.”

Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.

When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.

“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”

Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”

He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.

“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.

Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”

And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.

Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.

When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.

Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”

“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”

You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.

Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.

Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”

He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.

At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.

Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”

With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.

Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.

The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.

“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.

You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”

He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”

The both of you laughed.

Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.

You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.

Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”

Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.

His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.

He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.

Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.

Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”

“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.

“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”

“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”

Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”

You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.

He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.

“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”

Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.

He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.

He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.

“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.

“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”

You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”

Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?

He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.

“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”

Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You handed it to him, un-locking it first.

Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.

You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.

Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”

“Really.”

He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.

“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.

He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.

Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.

The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.

However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.

I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.

He smirked down at his phone, tutting.

Only a nine?

Your reply came almost instantly.

Well, there's always room for improvement.

I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?

Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)

The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.

Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.

By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.

“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.

Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”

Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Nobody die today?”

“No, two people dead.”

Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”

Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.

Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?

“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”

Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.

And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.

You looked at Robby then found Jack.

Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.

Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.

And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.

Oh, god no.

“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”

Oh fuck, no.

taglist: @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu

[venussflytrapped]

Come a Little Closer

All images/gif are from Pinterest!

summary! After an embarrassing moment of reprimanding from one Dr. Robby during a tough case, an even sweeter Dr. Jack Abbot comes to f!reader's rescue…and he tells her what he really thinks about her. word count! 1,434 (short little blurb for my first) content warnings! slight angst/fluff, hurt/comfort, Robby being Robby (not in a good way), medical inaccuracies, talks/descriptions of broken bones, r4 reader, Jack and reader have an understanding of each other, but nothing has happened between them prior to this! Reader is lowkey oblivious until told outright...sorryyyy notes! I’ve actually never written anything that I planned on posting, so please please leave any tips or ways I can improve! I hope you enjoy it. (also if I missed anything in content warnings) Not proofread!!

It had already been an excruciating shift. That wasn’t a surprise. A multi-vehicle pileup that had only flooded your way since PTMC was the closest and really the only available trauma center that wasn’t still backed up from the last multi-vehicle pileup that had happened around 4. 

It was all hands on deck. You knew that, and every other resident/intern/med-student knew that as well. When patients started rolling through the bay doors, you had no choice but the rush in as you did every other time those same doors had slid in. 

Yet somehow, tonight seemed different. You’d seen dozens of patients since you started at the Pitt. This was the most you’d seen of humans you couldn’t even recognize as humans. There were elderly, woman–pregnant women, children, and babies. It was a flush of horror that had seeped into your body like nothing else. 

It was the fifth child that had really gotten to you. Five years old, unresponsive in the field, woke up in the ambulance to see her leg bent in a way even a little girl of her age knew it wasn’t supposed to be bent. She ended up passing out right as she was brought into the hospital. You were the lead on it. 

You’d tried to subtly tell Robby that you couldn’t, but Robby was Robby. He’d only give in when it was too late, and only when you broke down completely. It seemed like he assumed everyone lived like him. You didn’t like Robby very much. 

Dr. Abbot. Jack, he was the complete opposite. He tended to step in before irreparable damage was done, but tonight his hands were as full as yours were. His weren’t shaking like yours were. His hands were steady, composed. He always was, it seemed. You admired it. How could someone keep their cool 24/7? How, in this field?

“Damnnit!” Robby had shouted for what felt like the thousandth time. “What the hell is up with you today?”

You could feel the embarrassment creep up your neck and the stinging feel of tears flooding your bottom lash line. 

“Oh, we’re crying now?” He laughed dryly and ran a hand over his mouth. “Jesus. Are you sure you’re even cut out for this? You think that little girl gives a damn about whether you can handle this or not?” 

Everyone was staring. You avoided every eye like your life depended on it. There was a mix of pity, embarrassment for you, and about ten other emotions on everyone else’s face. 

“Robby,” Dana’s voice filtered through the murmurs. “The patient is stable. She stabilized her.” 

It seemed like he hadn’t even bothered to check on that before berating you for a task that had already been completed despite the heavy emotions.  

“Go take a break,” a hand was placed flat on the middle of your back. Calm, reassuring. “I’ll take the case.” 

You didn’t even trust yourself to say thank you without breaking down so you just did as he said. There weren’t many quiet areas of the hospital, so you opted for the roof. It was only when the metal door shut that you finally let the emotions boil over. 

You bowed your head as your shoulders shook with every sob and breath that escaped your body. It felt good. It felt like the release you needed. 

The concrete was cold when you sat down against the railing. You brought a hand up to block the sharp chill of the wind that only appeared at night. Well, you could only assume. This was only the second time you’d been up here since discovering the solace. 

The sound of the same metal door you had just emerged from opening made you jump. Not a noticeable movement, but enough for you to cringe internally when you saw who it was. 

“Feel better?” Jack didn’t stare at you, just shoved his hands into his pockets and stared over the night skyline of Pittsburg. 

“Almost,” you admitted, glancing up at him before returning your gaze to your folded hands resting in your lap. You thought about just going quiet after that, but you had never thanked him. “Th–” 

“You’re cut out for this,” he’d gotten to it quicker. 

“What?” You looked up at him finally. He was already looking down at you with that same look that you could never figure out. “Sorry– what are you…” 

“What Robby said,” he clarified. “It isn’t remotely true. I love the guy. I mean, he’s my best friend, but he has a habit of kicking people when they’re already down.” 

“He’s an asshole,” you blurted out and immediately went to apologize.

“We can keep this between us,” he reassured. “I need you to know that it’s not true. You’ve been here since your internship. You’re a senior resident. I’ve had the opportunity to teach you and watch you grow as a doctor and person throughout those years. You’re more than cut out for this shit. You’ve got a heart. You’re gonna be one of the greatest doctors this world will see.”

You hadn’t even realized you started ugly crying until he kneeled down and brought his thumb to your cheek to wipe the tears. His skin was rough. You’d figured as much because 1) you saw his hands every day and 2) he seemed like the type to have rough hands from years of hard work. It was hard to explain. He just seemed like the type. 

“No more crying,” he whispered. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly. “Too pretty for all that.” 

“Dr. Abbot,” you mumbled softly. He wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been maybe three inches from your face. 

“Let’s get up, Doll?” He hummed. “My knee is a little tender. Been on my feet all day. Damn prosthetic’s been digging into my skin.” 

“Oh. Oh my God!” You gasped, rushing to get up. “I’m so sorry. You had to come all the way up here. I’m sorry, Dr. Abbot–” 

A quiet chuckle filled the night air. It forced you to stop stammering. He was just staring at you with this look of amazement, like he was finally seeing you for the first time. 

“Doctor-” 

“Jack,” he corrected swiftly. “Jack is fine. I am fine. I wouldn’t have come all the way up here if I wasn’t. It’s just sore. I’m used to it.” 

“You shouldn’t have had to come up here,” there was a guilty look spread across your face. 

Jack shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

Now you were stumped. Had you missed something when you were crying? Had he given you some sort of hint when you were having your mental breakdown?

“I probably wouldn’t have come up here if it wasn’t you,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Jus’ something about you, I guess.” 

“Jack, I’m not–” 

“I have feelings for you,” he cut you off with a shake of his head and those three words. “Jesus, it sounds ridiculous coming from my mouth. I’m 50 years old. You’re almost half my age and I’ve got a crush on you.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

“On me?” You pointed to yourself before the same hand came to tug at your earlobe. He’s picked up on your signs of distress a long time ago. 

“I’m not meaning to corner you while you’re…uh, vulnerable,” he took a step forward and wrapped his hand around your wrist to stop the tugging. “Ignore what I just said if you want. No hard feelings.”

“Jack…” You swallowed. You weren’t sure what to say. He liked you. Romantically. Your attending. Your boss. Your teacher. The man you look to when you need help. The man you look for regardless, had feelings for you that weren’t platonic. 

“I’m an old man,” he smiled softly and kissed the inside of your wrist. “You’re…you. Young, beautiful, smart, so damn smart.” 

“I’m a crybaby,” you shook your head quickly. “I take things too personally. I’m emotional over the smallest things. I’m inexperienced. You’ve lived life. Why…why would you even…?” 

“I told you,” he brushed a piece of hair away from your eyes. “You’ve got a heart. That’s what makes you–you.” 

“You're my boss.” 

“I’m your boss, yeah. That’s just during work hours.” 

You laughed softly and looked away for maybe a second before meeting his eyes. “I don’t think you’re old, by the way. You’re…older, yeah, but I would consider you geriatric just yet.” 

“I’m flattered,” he snorted. “You feel better now?” 

“Almost. Only one thing will make me really feel better.” 

“Yeah, what’s that?” 

“Come a little closer, Jack.”

[oxalaia-quilombensis]

Hello hello knocking on your door with a Jack Abbot idea. Pretty cliche, but I would love for you to elaborate on wedding night with him. Make it as smutty as you like lolol. Also wanted to say that I fucking lovedddd Give it to me, baby 💜

this is lowkey the wedding night smut for give it to me, baby in my head. it's not super specific but in my head, the couple from that series had a courthouse wedding and then went home and fucked like rabbits

18+

“Seriously Jack?”

“Yes, seriously,” his arms were crossed over his chest as he stood in the doorway. You were fighting back laughter as he blocked your way, leaving you out on the front porch, but you still couldn’t help sweeping your eyes over him. This was one of a handful of times you had seen him wear slacks and a button down and you were greatly enjoying the view. His thick thighs filled out the black pants beautifully and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just a hint of his chest. It was downright slutty.

“This is a bad idea,” dragging your eyes away from ogling him took momentous effort.

“This is a great idea,” he didn’t budge, even as a breeze ruffled the skirt of your dress.

“How drunk are you?”

Jack looked affronted by your question. “I had less to drink than you did, sweetheart. And I’m certainly sober enough to know this is a good idea.”

“You’re gonna break a hip.”

“My hips are gonna be just fine,” he winked at you. “Now are you going to let me do this? It’s tradition.”

“Tradition my ass,” you rolled your eyes, but sighed. “Fine, but just over the threshold.”

His smile was wide as he stepped towards you out of the doorway. Those strong hands with the brand new black band on his left ring finger came to rest on your hips. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your lips.

You couldn’t fight your own smile as his arm came behind your knees, sweeping you up into the air and cradling you against his chest. 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Abbot,” Jack walked through the door, pushing it shut with his foot.

“Let me down, Mr. Abbot,” you were laughing, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you despite your protests.

“It’s Dr. Abbot to you,” Jack adjusted his grip before he was marching down the hallway. “And not a chance.”

“Fuck!”

Your thighs were trembling, nails scratching at the headboard as you fought to keep yourself upright despite Jack’s best efforts. He’d had you sitting on his face for what felt like an eternity, but could have been only a few minutes. You didn’t know. All you knew was that he’d pulled two orgasms out of you so far and was well on his way to coaxing you into the third. 

“One more, baby,” he parted from you just long enough to take a deep breath before diving back in. His tongue was ruthless, circling and flicking your clit while two of his thick fingers dove in and out of your channel. The minimal stubble on his face scraped against your inner thighs when your hips rocked back and forth across his tongue.

“I - Jack!” Your words caught in your throat as it washed over you. Your fingers tightened against the headboard, digging into the wood to give you some sort of stability as Jack didn’t relent.

He didn’t let you pull away, the hand not buried deep inside you was holding you down on his face, not allowing you to run away from the waves of pleasure that were threatening to drown you.

When you were shaking, fighting to get air into your lungs and twitching away from him, he finally let go. He guided you up and off of him, laying you back against the sheets.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rolled over onto you, kissing up your neck until his lips connected with yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as it pushed between your lips, tangling with yours. 

His hips settled between your open legs, the hard and hot length of his cock pressed against your lower stomach as he held you close.

“Can I fuck you now?”

A string of saliva connected your lips to his as he pulled back. He rutted against you, shifting so his head was dragging through your soaking folds.

“Please,” your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his lips back to yours. The kiss was slow and filthy, more tongues and teeth as he lined himself up.

You parted again to gasp out his name as he pushed inside. He’d always filled you so perfectly, but now that you were having sex with your husband, he felt even more perfect.

“God, Jack!”

Both of you moaned when he bottomed out, balls against your ass and your legs locked tightly around his waist. You squeezed around him, savoring the feeling of his twitching length pressed against the deepest parts of you.

“You feel so good,” his face was buried in your neck, his panting breaths heating your skin. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you were barely coherent as he settled into a slow, deep rhythm that had the full length of him dragging through your core and the close cropped hair of his pubic bone grinding against your clit. 

Noises leaked of you, both of you lost in the sensations and intimacy of your first night as husband and wife. 

Your hands were clutching at his back, heels pressing at his ass and drawing him even deeper into you. His hands were braced on the bed, the entire length of his body pressing yours into the mattress as you moved against either other.

Both of you were rapidly approaching your endings. His hips were rutting into you harder and faster, chasing his own release while pushing you even closer to yours.

“Cum with me,” Jack’s forehead was pressed to yours, both of you breathing the same air, panting into each other's mouth. “C’mon, baby, I’m close.”

The twitching of his length inside you and the groans falling from his lips as he neared his peak pushed you over the edge. You spasmed around him, walls pulling him in deeper.

His lips crashed onto yours, swallowing your moans and whines as he came. The flood of heat inside you propelled you further, your back arching and your eyes rolling back. The orgasm rattled through you, shaking you to your core as the two of you clung to each other, riding out the waves.

Jack stayed inside you as he softened, neither of you willing to part from the kiss or separate your bodies until the stickiness of the drying sweat and fluids became too much to handle.

“Time to get cleaned up, Mrs. Abbot,” Jack slowly pulled out, both of you hissing at the sensation. After having been so full for so long, you felt empty as soon as he was gone.

“Why don’t you clean me up then, Mr. Abbot,” you followed him up and towards the bathroom, not letting him get out of arms reach. You felt clingy, but you could easily blame that on the few glasses of champagne and the emotional high of your wedding. You needed him close.

“Then get in the shower and I’ll make sure you are squeaky clean,” he drew you into a brief kiss before he was patting your ass and pushing you towards the walk in shower.

He was right behind you, unfastening his prosthetic and hopping into his shower chair. You restrained yourself for just a moment before sliding into his lap. His cock was soft, but as you straddled him and ran your hands through his hair, he started to harden.

“How about you get me dirty again first,” you rolled your hips against him.

“My wife is insatiable,” his hands found your ass as he grinned up at you.

“You have no idea.”

[queen-of-naboo14]

Doctor Supernatural - Jack Abbot x Attending female!Reader

Summary: You are the newest night shift attending at PTMC. Unknown to most people, you have a gift where you can see the ghosts of people who have died. One day, Jack, who is also falling in love with you, is confronted by his past.

Tags: fluff, angst, grief, references to ghosts/spirits, blood, reference to car accidents, deceased spouse, mental health, very brief mention of pregnancy loss (not the reader), possible medical inaccuracies, reader is a woman (afab) and is early in her early 30s, no use of Y/N, age gap, some description of reader but it's very little.

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is the first fic I've written and even posted in a decade so please be kind; based off a thought I had after a seeing a Barantos AU. Posted for funsies because why not. Inspired by my post here and the tv show Ghost Whisperer.

Also, @prettysurethatsakidney thank you for getting me back into posting my first fic in a decade.

At seven years old, you realized that you had inherited the Gift from your mother and grandmother. Since childhood, you had been able to see the spirits of people who had died but still had unfinished business with the living. It had first happened while at school after your second grade teacher returned after the death of their mother. Soon enough, you began to see more and more spirits linger, asking you for help. Your mother had explained to you that the Gift ran in your family and there wasn't anything really you could do to stop it. The only thing you could do to live a normal life was to pretend that you never saw the spirits. Don't acknowledge them, don't look into their eyes. You were raised to always help people with your Gift but you were also a woman of science which made your career choice of being a doctor complicated to say the least. People died in hospitals all the time especially without having their final last words. You learned to live with the spirits that haunted the hospital, the ones who never quite got the chance to make peace at the end.

When you had interviewed for the night shift ER attending position at PTMC, you noticed an older man hovering in the corner of the office staring at the back of Robby's head with a concerned look. You clocked that for a later time. There was also a teenage girl that hung around Dr. Santos, the day shift resident you had met a handful of times during hand off. Dr. King, an older couple would watch her from a distance with melancholy written across their faces.

And finally, there was Jack Abbot, your fellow night shift attending. You assumed that a man like Jack who served as a trauma medic would have many ghosts of the soldiers he couldn't save but they never came around. Maybe they were respectful enough to not bother him at work? That's what you thought until one night before hand offs. You watched Jack enter the ED exactly 30 minutes before shift, and trailing behind him was a younger woman, perhaps mid to late 30s, in what appeared to be a very simple floor length wedding dress and a matching ring on her left hand. Jack's very much deceased wife, Mrs. Abbot. She looked at him annoyed, probably because you knew that nobody else but yourself could hear her. You noticed just how effortlessly beautiful she looked in her present state with dark chestnut hair and dark brown eyes with freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose and top of her cheekbones. Any man, not just Jack, would fall for her in a heartbeat.

You, however, with your green eyes and hair currently dyed burgundy, had to admit that you had a growing crush on Jack. He was handsome in the silver fox type of way but he was also charming and competent. The bar had been low but Jack exceeded them by miles. Despite your ever growing feelings for the doctor, you would never ask him out as he seemed devoted to the memory of Mrs. Abbot. Staring half a second too long, she realized that you could in fact see and hear her and stared back at you with wide eyes full of hope. This was going to be a long night.

Jack Abbot was a man that led with his head and not his heart until he met his wife, Maria. He was still in the army when they met and didn't date as long as typical couples would. Before he went on his third deployment, he had proposed and married Maria. He remembered returning home and seeing her at 2am waiting at the airport arrivals for him in her pyjamas. His fourth deployment was cut short after the explosion that cost him part of his right leg. Maria was there for his rehab, prosthesis fittings, driving him to support groups when he was relearning how to walk with a prosthetic leg and therapy appointments.

It was a normal Thursday evening when the accident happened. Their SUV was t-boned on the drivers side in the middle of an intersection when Maria was driving them home from his physical therapy appointment. The vehicle was damaged beyond repair and Maria severely injured. He himself was dizzy, concussed, and bleeding from a superficial head wound- they had spun and hit another oncoming vehicle. Jack could see shards of glass piercing his wife's side and upper chest. The airbags deployed and his seatbelt stuck, he tried to spring free while helplessly watching blood pour out of Maria's mouth as she choked on it while also trying to breathe- punctured lung causing hemopneumothorax (that would be the official cause of death by the medical examiner). Restrained by the seat belt and his dislocated shoulder, he had painstakingly grabbed her hand watching the life leave her eyes before the paramedics could get to save her. The person who caused the accident was charged with vehicular manslaughter and Jack refused to go to the trial afraid that he would break down reliving that moment.

Since then, he had sworn off ever having a relationship with someone again for fear of losing them in such a devastating way. That was until you. You were not only beautiful but smart as a whip and not afraid to call Jack out on his bullshit despite only knowing him for 6 months. He was smitten with you and it filled him with guilt to feel things about another woman that wasn't Maria. His rooftop contemplations became more frequent as his feelings for you grew more intense.

That was where you found him after a particularly hard trauma case where a couple and their young child barely survived a head-on car crash.

"If you're going to jump, can you at least wait until my shift is over?" You joked half heartedly from behind him letting the heavy metal door to the stairs close. The sun was just yet to rise over Pittsburg and the wind a cool breeze for a summer morning.

"Can't make any promises." Replied Jack not bothering to look back at you as you made your way to the railing which he stood with his back against.

"That was a hard case. They're still in surgery but Walsh told me the mother's out of the woods. Not sure about the father and son."

You heard Jack grunt in acknowledgement as you gingerly climbed over the rail to stand next to him. It was a comfortable silence but from the corner of your eye, you saw her again staring as if she wanted to say something but didn't know where to start.

"The case, it hit too close to home." Jack offered, "Maria, my wife, and I were in a car accident that took her life. Since there was an investigation, they had to do an autopsy and they found out she was pregnant. We had no idea, and some further testing revealed that it was a boy. We weren't trying, we didn't think it would ever happen for us. I keep thinking that could've been us before it happened."

You looked at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry Jack." There were no other words of sympathy you could offer, not for what he had gone through. The sacrifices he made only to end up in broken pieces struggling to glue himself back together alone.

"I'm trying to move forward but the guilt of it being her and not me just keeps holding me back. I can get over missing my leg but it's like being haunted by the memory wherever I go. I had to sell our house because it was too hard being there."

From the corner of your eye, on the other side of Jack, stood Maria looking intensely at you. "I need to talk to him. I need him to stop feeling sorry for himself. That it's not his fault."

You nodded hesitantly unsure how this conversation would pan out. "Jack, what would you say if I told you that you could speak to her, to Maria, one last time?"

Jack barked out a sarcastic laugh, "don't fucking joke with me. What do you think you are, a-a psychic?"

"Hmm not quite. More like a medium but I can actually see them and communicate with them. Runs in the family." You said more casually than anticipated, easily forgetting how ridiculous you sound when talking about your Gift.

"I always figured you were a bit weird but I never took you as a quack."

Maria let out an exasperated sigh of frustration on your behalf. Men.

You scoffed indignantly, "Maria doesn't think so. She’s not very impressed with you right now."

"You're making shit up."

You and Maria both rolled your eyes. "Mention my butterfly tattoo with our initials hidden in the wings. He picked out the colour- blue is his favourite." She said turning to her left exposing her shoulder. "He'll have to believe you then. If he doesn't, I'll make sure to break his favourite mugs."

You shrugged willing to take her advice, "I didn't know that your favourite colour was blue, Jack. You picked out a really pretty shade for your wife's butterfly tattoo."

Jack's eyes widened and spine straightened simultaneously with your comment.

"And the initials hidden in the wings, I didn't take you for such a sentimental person."

"How do you know that?" He sputtered.

"Maria told me, like I said, I can see, hear, and talk to spirits. She's right next to you."

Jack stayed silent, his mind reeling with every word you said.

"Tell him he's been an idiot for thinking he can't be happy after me. That he can let people in; that he doesn't have to be alone."

"She says that you're being an idiot for thinking you can't be happy after she died. And that you don't have to be alone, to let the people who care about you into your life."

Jack chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head, "But what if I don't deserve it? When so many people I knew- I cared about died yet I keep getting second chances?"

"He does deserve happiness. What happened to me wasn't his fault. He needs to stop blaming himself... his physical therapy appointment was rescheduled for that evening. We weren't supposed to be out and he thinks he should've been the one driving but he was still getting used to the prosthesis."

"Maria says that she doesn't blame you for what happened. It wasn't your fault that your appointment had to be rescheduled for that night. But more importantly, you do deserve to be happy."

Jack sighed blinking away at what you assumed were the start of tears, "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"How about stop getting shot and quit the swat team? Join a bowling league with Robby or start wood working?"

You burst out laughing at her suggestion while Jack continued to simply stare at the horizon over the city. "She says stop getting shot and instead you and Robby join a bowling league. I'm sure they have one for seniors, or you could start wood working. A bird house is always an easy start."

"What have I gotten myself into?" Jack questioned rhetorically, rubbing his hands along his face. "Fine. I'll find a more productive and less life threatening hobby."

He turned to look at you. "If Maria's really here like you said, where is she?"

"She's standing right next to Jack. All you have to do is turn your head and you'll be facing her."

Jack nods at you before turning his head to an empty space. "I'm sorry that we never got the ending we wanted but I'll never stop loving you."

"I love you too Jack, forever and always." Smiling Maria glanced at you mischievously, "Now go take him out and romance him a bit. And make sure he buys you a nice ring."

You feel your cheeks tinge pink at Maria's suggestion. "She says that she loves you, always."

Jack nodded quietly letting out a breath he'd been holding. "Thanks."

You glanced to look at Maria but she was gone without a trace. "Come on, shift's almost over and Robby should be here soon for hand off. After, I'll take you out for breakfast, my treat."

Extending your hand, you offered it to Jack looking at him like he had no choice in the matter.

"You're lucky that I like you so much." Jack shook his head in exasperation placing his hand in yours.

You smile at Jack, dragging him along the roof away from the edge he had been teetering on for so long.

BONUS:

"So this magic you have,"

"Gift."

"Okay then, so this Gift you have, you can see and communicate with the dead, right?"

"Right."

"So why medicine? It can't be easy with death everywhere."

"I like helping people. And sometimes, there are good things that happen in a hospital but it can also be a lot. The first mass casualty event I ever dealt with during my residency, I nearly quit afterwards. I disappeared for days to protect my own sanity."

"That's a hard burden to bear."

"I manage it. I create boundaries and focus on the work. I focus on the people I care about and the things I enjoy. I mean, I helped you. That's what matters to me."

Jack didn't respond, letting your words sink in silence while you sipped your coffee. "I think you need to talk to Robby. He's going down a slippery slope."

"Ah, yes. Adamson. He's crossed my path several times. I don't imagine he'll be as receptive as you."

Jack blinked as you had never discussed Robby's late mentor. "You could try. I can be there as support- emotionally, or restraining him as needed."

"Hmmm, no roof."

"No roof." He agreed. "But it has to be soon not later. I don't think he's coming back once he leaves for that sabbatical."

"Yeah, I think he's starting to spiral. I'll talk to him before he leaves. Not just about Adamson though. Samira as well- she's too good of a doctor to get pushed out the door by him."

"Thank you." Said Jack gratefully glancing down at his now empty cup.

"Oh no problem, I mean I chose the place. Besides, I said breakfast was on me."

"No, I mean Maria."

You met his eyes which you couldn't quite read, but that was Jack for you, always a bit restrained when it came to expressing difficult emotions to others. "Oh, right, well, you're welcome. I'm happy that I could help."

Shuffling in his seat, Jack leaned forward almost uncomfortably, "I know this seems a bit forward but would you like to go out, like on a date, on our next night off?"

Leaning forward yourself, you smiled and took his calloused hands in yours for the second time that day. "I'd really like that Jack. Just let me know the details and I'll be there."

Reaching further over the booth you were sitting in, you tentatively kissed Jack on the lips before he reciprocated said kiss with much fervour.

Twelve months later on that same day you sat across from Jack in that same booth, except now you had a very new engagement ring sitting on your finger and Jack looking like the weight of the world had finally come off his shoulders.

[lovaeir]

making out with jack and he has to keep reminding you to slow down…

MDNI 18+

based of this perfect ask from my sexy hot mootie 🫶🏽

Jacks got you perched on his lap on his couch, his big hands resting on your hips, slowly guiding them back and forth on his bulky thighs. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, tangling in the curls that rest at the nape of his neck.

You’ve been making out on his couch for about a half hour now, and it’s agonizing. You’re sure if you were to get up there’d be a wet splotch on his jeans from how wet you are.

But every time you try to speed things up he’s slowing you down again. Both of your chins slick with saliva, you move your lips quicker against his, pushing your head forward to get impossibly closer.

But he’s raising a big rough hand to your chin, pinching it between his fingers and manually slowing down your movements. You can feel the sleazy smirk he’s wearing as you whine and your hips buck up once more, his hand finally sliding off your face back down your body.

“Stop whinin’” he’s growling roughly from the time his voice has been idle it’s gone a little raspy, “got all the time we want, promise I’m gonna make you feel good, just wanna kiss on you a little” he’s whispering against your mouth before sloppily licking his own saliva off your chin and shoving it back into your mouth with his tongue.

Every time you speed up, even if you don’t notice it, he’s grabbing you and easing your jaw, pulling it down as he licks into your mouth, and slowly pushing it back up to connect with his own lips to yours, setting a speed, a rhythm. He’s nodding when you finally catch onto the speed he’s content with “theeree ya’ go” you can feel his teeth against your lips when he smiles and lets out a little “you’re learning now hm?”

And you’re just nodding and whimpering, hips grinding harder against his jeans.

[abbotslop]

ISN’T SHE LOVELY – pope cody x strange!reader (fem)

your sister drags you to a party, abandoning you to do god knows what with her latest boy-toy. left alone, you’re reminded of the self-imposed loneliness that your aloof demeanor creates. that is, until an equally odd man runs into you. (req) | 3.3k+

MDNI/18+

!! cw … implied age gap (reader 20s, pope 30/40s), light stalker pope (oops), reader has low self esteem, not beta read

a/n ... may or may not be planning a pt 2 to this...if there's anything else within this dynamic you guys would want to see lmk...

You would rather be anywhere but here right now. The scene around you was wild and untamed. You were surrounded by strangers who were showing too much skin, reeking of bitter alcohol as they stumbled past you. Music blared through speakers, the dials turned so high it distorted the rhythm. When people got too rowdy in the pool, water splashed onto your feet, sometimes up to your knees. You merely grumbled, taking a step back. Couples lingered in the corner, groping and heavily petting one another. You tore your eyes away from them, from everyone, focusing on the plastic cup in your hands.

Your sister had given it to you, patting your shoulder as she walked off, “Loosen up.” You hadn’t taken a single sip, the beer now lukewarm between your sweaty palms. You also hadn’t seen her since then, which was minorly irritating considering she was the reason you were here in the first place. She had claimed she didn’t want to look lame, showing up solo to a party. You had argued that bringing you as her plus one wasn’t any better.

Being the youngest of four, it was easy to be overshadowed. Your sisters were devastatingly charming. What with their sunkissed skin and easy laughs. Their intelligence, demonstrated through various awards and degrees. Halter tops and cute little pumps that click-clacked down the hallways. All throughout high school your peers had slid up to you, voices sweet and coy as they tried to swindle one of your sisters’ numbers. You had simply stared, a frown etched onto your features as cold disappointment washed over you. Each time, you wondered when it would be your turn. When someone would ask for your number. Or maybe if you wanted to walk along the pier together. Even just stopping for some ice cream after school. Years later, and not much had changed. Only now, people ignored you all together, approaching your sisters themselves while you waited to the side.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be upset with them. You loved your sisters to bits and pieces, and you knew they would back you up in a heartbeat. But it was tiresome being second-best to them all your life. But that wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their fault that you stiffened when anyone talked to you. That your words were clipped and blunt. Your expression just as blank, and your rigid posture off putting. That you found trashy reality tv shows to be just that–trashy. That music past a certain volume made your skin crawl, meaning you hated most parties or any social event. Or how you would stand by the window, motionless as you watched the waves crash against the shoreline in complete silence. It wasn’t their fault that you were like this.

You were startled from your spiraling thoughts when a large body knocked into yours, spilling your beer over the both of you. You stumbled back a little, clutching the cup to stop yourself from looking like an even bigger fool by dropping it.

You grumbled to yourself, looking down at the dark splotch quickly spreading through the fabric of your tank top. Shit.

Glancing up, you were met by a man with a twin stain on his shirt, looking straight at you. His brows were furrowed, pinching the freckled skin of his forehead together. The two of you stared at each other, stuck in a stale mate with blank faces.

You fumbled for something to say. You should probably apologize. Maybe just walk away. But the weight of his gaze had you pinned in place, the rest of the world fading away as you zeroed in on the intensity of his hazel eyes. Your words were caught in your throat—a common phenomenon—as your hands clenched into fists at your sides. His own, you realized, were gripping your shoulders and keeping you steady.

You were both pulled from the moment when another man approached, your sister slung around his arms. You recognized his face—images flashed of a screen being shoved in front of you as your sister showed off the new guy she was hooking up with. The guy who invited her to this party. Craig, your brain so helpfully supplied.

“Think this one belongs to you.”

You reached out as he maneuvered her loose body into your hold, wrapping her arms around yours. She giggled, head tipping forward before swinging back up. Jesus Christ, she was out of it. You were just thankful that Craig had returned her to you. From the looks of his red-rimmed eyes, he wasn’t too far off from blacking out himself.

You mustered a short thanks to him, sparing the other man with the freckled face one last glance before seeing yourself out.

“What w’you doin’ w’Pope?”

You were trying to buckle your sister into the passenger seat as her words slurred together. Keyword being trying. She was attempting to be ‘helpful’, clumsy hands blocking your path.

“Pope?”

“Mhmm, that guy y’were with. Pope. He’s Craig’s brother.”

The seatbelt finally clicked into place, and you rounded the other side of the car as your sister prattled on.

“—‘s quiet. Kinda weird.”

Her head lolled to the side, looking at your profile. “Kinda reminds m’of you.”

“Thanks.”

She shook her head, hands waving animatedly, “No, no, no, not a bad thing! Swear.”

“You called him a creep and compared him to me.”

She paused, “Meant you two would get along.”

You shook your head and she slumped in her seat. The rest of the drive was silent, your sister passing out about a third of the way home. You were left with your thoughts for the remaining stretch of the road, strong hands ghosting the nape of your neck.

The party had been over for a while now, only a few lingering bodies remained, draped over lounge chairs or curled up in a bath tub. Pope could deal with them later.

He was scrubbing dishes, suds running down the yellow latex of his gloves. Craig was braced against the counter beside him, just barely lucid.

“Hey, what was up with you and, uh, what’s her face—“ he snapped his fingers together, recalling your name.

Pope remained focused on his task, “Who?”

He repeated your name, “That girl you were lookin’ at—which is a kind way of phrasing it, by the way—the one who got beer all over you.”

“What about her?” His jaw ticked, recognition creeping in.

He remembered you standing by the pool, clutching a red solo cup. There was something intriguing about the way you were so still, almost like a statue compared to the parade of zoo animals around you. His feet had carried him over as he traced your features. The rigid stance of someone entirely too sober at a Cody party. Despite your stony face, there was almost something contemplative in your eyes that drew him in. Your skin looked soft. One of your tank top straps had started to fall off and he wanted nothing more than to fix it for you.

Before he realized in, he was crowding your space, tipping you over. His hands shot out, grabbing you by the shoulders. His suspicions were confirmed—soft—his thumbs digging into the flesh there. 

And then Craig had waltzed over, his latest fling hanging off his arm. Your sister, apparently.

“She matches your freak.”

Pope scowled at him, 

“Just sayin’.” He shrugged his shoulders, pushing off the counter, “I could probably get her number for you. Or you could take her sister for a spin once I’m done.” Craig snickered, slapping Pope on the back as he walked way.

Only once his brother’s footsteps faded down the hall, did Pope dare utter your name, testing the way it sounded on his tongue. 

About a week later, your sisters were holding a social gathering of sorts. They invited all their sorority sisters and a few other friends. They were huddled around a grill and cooler, laid out on towels with an umbrella hanging over them.

You had lurked around the edges of the crowd, exchanging basic pleasantries. One of them had extended her hand and you glared at her open palm. She had laughed—nervously—glancing at one of your sisters before turning away to talk to someone else. You stood in place, swallowing roughly as embarrassment burned your cheeks. You stalked away after that, leaving them behind to sit down at the very edge of the shoreline. You dug your heels into the wet sand, ocean lapping at your ankles. 

You mulled over the interaction, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You risked a glance over your shoulder, watching how seamlessly their conversations flowed. How someone could jump right in with a joke that would send the whole group into laughter. 

You slouched, returning to your personal bubble of gloom. Often at night you would lay awake, staring at the rough edges of your ceiling, unblinking. You wondered what had made you so obsolete compared to your peers. It wasn’t like you grew up in an unloving household. Sure, you parents worked long hours and often had to take business trips up to Long Beach. But they always took time off when it mattered. They were always patient with your…quirks. Meanwhile, the rest of their daughters had turned out just fine. 

There was just something fundamentally wrong with you, and that was your burden to bear. Alone.

There were loud cheers from behind you, and you instinctively whipped around to see what the commotion was about. Your second oldest sister was bounding up to you before kneeling on your level.

“You remember that Craig guy?”

“The one that—“

“Yeah. She invited him and his brothers.”

You frowned, “Why?”

“Hell if I know. I thought they were just messing around. No harm no foul, I guess. Besides, they brought the good stuff,” she waggled her eyebrows.

You nodded.

“You hungry? Hot dogs are ready. They’re firing up some hamburgers. I can bring you a plate after if you want.”

“No.”

Your sister sighed a little, tilting her head in the way you hated. “Okay. Well, we’ll be right over there if you need anything.”

You didn’t bother responding, facing the ocean once more.

Moments later, you heard footsteps from behind.

“I’m not hungry,” you reminded her.

“Not what I was told.”

The unexpected timber startled you, originally anticipating the sweet cadence of your sister’s voice.

A hand reached down—the same one that had been plaguing your thoughts since the party—setting a paper plate beside you. It was double stacked, ensuring the wet sand wouldn’t soil its contents.

You remained fixed on the waves, oh so aware of the you were being watched. He made no movement to back away, and you didn’t gesture for him either.

Most would’ve found it unsettling—the way he practically loomed over you. But you weren’t most people. Instead it was almost comforting. His presence was a steady one, grounding. You bet he had that same sharp look in his eyes. You wondered what they looked like now, in the golden rays of the afternoon.

You finally turned back to meet his gaze, pupils blowing wide at the sight. In the lowlight of the moon, it highlighted the angular features of his face. His sharp jaw and creased brow was just as you remembered. Only now, illuminated by the sun could you make out the finer details. His entire face was smattered with freckles, running down even the hollows of his cheeks and slope of his nose. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, quirked down ever so slightly. He had a head full of auburn curls, a little unkempt in the salty breeze, making him look almost boyish. It was cute. Handsome, if you were being honest.

“Anything interesting?” He jutted his chin towards the ocean.

“No.” 

“Thought so.”

“Come here often?” The corner of his mouth twitched, seemingly pleased with his quip. The only evidence of your amusement was a short exhale of air.

‘Meant you two would get along.’ Your sister’s voice rang in your head.

“Your name’s Pope?”

“Andrew,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

He must have sensed your confusion, waving you off, “Story for another time,” he muttered, finally sitting down.

You turned back towards the waters, calmed by its gentle motions and the soft breath tickling your neck.

Since the beach, your encounters with Andrew became more and more frequent. You would drop your sister off and he would be in the driveway. Long after your sister disappeared into the house, you would observe one another through the car window before you eventually drove off. You went to the bank and saw him lurking around, making himself busy and never quite making it to a window. You’d be running errands around town, the same truck parked outside the store. The driver had a cap on, but you recognized the curls peaking out.

Any conversation you had were fleeting, much like these moments. You quietly learned he was anticipating the annual airing of Shark Week on Discovery channel. He was the eldest of four boys. He liked to take strolls on the beach. Or maybe that was just him following you.

It was another evening, an hour far from reasonable, when your phone buzzed. Opening the notification, you saw it was a text from an unknown number.

Party tomorrow. You should come. 

You squinted at the screen in confusion. You almost told them they had the wrong person, before another message appeared.

This is Andrew.

You sat up, looking around the dark corners of your room as if someone was watching, peering over your shoulder. You brought your phone close to your face, reading the short sentences over and over again. Why would he possibly want you there? You weren’t exactly the life of a party. Well, neither was he.

You noticed the way he lingered. Walking the perimeter, but never quite breaching that distance. You supposed that’s why he followed you around. 

For the next few minutes, you cycled between typing out a response and deleting it. You were sure you were driving him mad with your frantic text bubbles. In the end, you hearted his message, slamming your phone face down onto the bed.

You had spent agonizing hours getting yourself ready. You raided your sisters’ bathrooms for perfumes, gagging at their sharp candy scents. You grabbed the most mild fragrance you could find; something fresh and almost salty that reminded you of the beach. All of your closet was laid out on your bed, tossing dresses and jeans around your room as you tried them on. You settled on the first outfit you had pulled out: a lace-trimmed tank top in your favorite color, paired with denim shorts and tights. You hunched over the sink, applying makeup. It was nothing special, just enough to make you feel less dull and more put together. Something that would bring life to your otherwise blank face.

Despite being a grown woman, you snuck out through your window. You didn’t think you could bear the embarrassment of your sisters’ teasing if they saw you like this—all for some guy you saw on occasion.

The door had been wide open, letting yourself in. You quietly padded through the house, the inside was silent compared to the raging party happening in the backyard. You peered through the sliding door, trying to spot the broad figure you’d become familiar with.

Your searching was cut short, heavy footsteps thudding behind you. 

You spun around, face growing warm. Andrew was dressed in a simple black shirt. It was unfair the way the fabric stretched across his chest. The sleeves were struggling to wrap around his bicep, accentuating the muscle there. You didn’t even want to think about how his jeans were holding up.

“Hi.”

“That for us?” His eyes flicked down the six-pack you held, the one you almost forgot you had. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some Coronas. You didn’t want to show up empty handed, but if you had to guess, they probably already had a taste of everything the corner store you stopped at had to offer.

In an instant you were awkwardly shoving the beers towards him. He grabbed them from you, calloused hand brushing against yours. The contact was electric and you repressed a shiver. You would have thought that you were successful, if not for the way his jaw clenched. It seemed Andrew couldn’t contain himself either.

He started toward the kitchen and you followed after him. While he put away the beers, you caught a glimpse of the fridge. You noticed how everything inside was perfectly lined up and stocked. But that wasn't all. As you spotted the dish rag along the sink, and the cereal boxes on top of the shelves, you put together another piece of the puzzle that was Andrew Cody.

He closed the fridge, stalking towards you. Your heart began to race in a way that wasn’t familiar.

Save for your family, others would simply gloss over you. They’d see your stern expression and hear your deadpanned answers, deciding you weren’t worth their time. It’s not like they could bear to be around you for more than five minutes. People grew antsy under your piercing eyes and detached demeanor.

Boys didn’t pay you any attention, aside from cruel jokes and bets. Throughout adolescence, you observed how your peers danced around one another. It started in kindergarten, chasing each other at recess. Notes passed in class. Homecoming proposals. There was always someone in the driveway, asking your sisters out with a large cardboard sign. You would watch from your bedroom window, an ache blooming in your chest. 

You didn’t inherit the magnetic genome that your sisters possessed. No, yours had mutated into something completely else.

Not that Andrew seemed to mind. If he was bothered by it, he wouldn’t be caging you against the counter.

For weeks, he had been restraining himself. He’d been circling you, a predator inching towards its prey. He learned the cadence of your days, attuning his circadian rhythm to match yours. He shadowed you across town, keeping tabs of all your favorite stops. He made a mental receipt of your groceries, the wrappers you absently tossed into the trash, what tune he heard floating from your car, all of it.

At some point your pace began to slow, purposeful, as if waiting for something. Or maybe someone. Him.

Andrew caught your chin between his thumb, tilting your head up to look at him. He whispered your name, his voice low and gruff but full of reverence. 

A lifetime full of deceit and isolation, he’d spent so long molding himself into someone else’s desires. Frankensteining himself into something he didn’t recognize, something he despised. Grief and passion and rage woven so tightly together that he couldn’t tell them apart. His tough exterior was the last of his defense, keeping him from wanting more, and frightening others offhis dark path.

The first time he saw you, standing all by yourself by the pool, he recognized that look on your face. To others you might have seemed passive, but he recognized the uncertainty behind your eyes. The question of what you were doing there. He’d seen it at the beach, too. You had glanced past his shoulder, envy flashing briefly across your face as you watched your sisters and their friends. But when you held his gaze, familiarity had settled deep inside the both of you. 

“Andrew,” you murmured back.

His hand slid up, so slowly that you could feel every wrinkle of his palm. He cupped your cheek, his other hand brushing away any stray hairs from your face. Your breath came out in shallow puffs, heart hammering against your chest. 

“What do you want?” He was blunt, straight to the point.

But so were you.

“Kiss me.”

[cryptic-doe]

summertime sadness

synopsis: robby suggests that you come with him to a fourth of july barbecue hosted by one of his work friends. fresh out of college and recently single, you really don't have any other choice but to comply. it's there that you meet jack abbot, a man who seems to be as smitten with you as you are with him. weeks later, the two of you end up sharing a night full of passion. and neither of you are seemingly ready to let the other go 8.4 wc

warnings: dad's bsf so obvi age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is mid 20s), reader is mentioned to be robby's goddaughter but she calls him dad, robby calls reader bug, a couple uses of y/n sorry :/, cursing, smoking/vaping, jack is flirty asf and whipped, but it's ok bc reader wants that old man dih BAD, mention of mother and wife passing away from cancer, shotgunning smoke into each others mouths, smut (mdni), oral (f receiving), jack is a dirty talker but also a soft dom, unprotected piv but reader is on the pill

a/n: my smut is mediocre at best, so if it sucks pls don't tell me bc i'll cry

a month has gone by since you've moved to pittsburgh. it's nothing like the small town in oregon you grew up in, but you're grateful that robby was kind enough to offer you a room free of charge. he took a whole week off during your first week back so that he could show you around town. even taking you to his place of work so he could introduce you to everyone on his crew.

most of them were shocked to discover that robby had a daughter, all except dana, who already knew of you and your existence. and you had to explain that long story about robby technically being your godfather, but it's easier to just say he's your dad. besides, it wasn't like your actual dad was always the most stable figure in your life.

speaking of him, he calls you one night as you begin plating the table for you and robby. he starts spouting the same bullshit about you being such a terrible daughter for leaving him and oregon behind to pursue a career that'll never take off. you just let him talk, not really caring anymore to defend yourself. already knowing that it'll go nowhere and only escalate the argument. just as you finish setting up is when robby comes home, discarding his shoes and jacket, dropping his backpack beside the front door.

the volume of your dad's voice is so loud over the phone that you have to hold it away from your ear, making robby tilt a brow in confusion. 'your dad?' he mouths, which you nod. "listen, i gotta go and make dinner. goodnight," you say, ignoring the flew of curse words he spills as you hang up.

"what lovely things did he have to say to you tonight?" robby questions, wasting no time to dig into the spaghetti you made. "oh, you know, how much he hates me for leaving. how he thinks my acting career will go nowhere. and how disappointed mom would be in me if she was still here. so the usual," you reply, harshly stabbing at the salad you made as a side. he lets out a soft huff, shaking his head. "that's not true, you know. your mother would be very proud to see the woman you've become," he assures softly. "yeah, i know that. you would think he'd know that."

"how's the job hunting going?" robby questions, changing the topic. "there were a few listings for some roles that seem interesting. but in the meantime i got an interview tomorrow for a local record store down the street."

"that's good, bug. you've been so stuck in the house this past month. i'm glad you're getting out. speaking of getting out, though, one of my friends from work is throwing a fourth of july barbecue this weekend with some of his old army buddies."

"and you're thinking of going?" you ask with a chuckle. "wow, i never thought i'd see the day when michael robinavitch would willingly take a day off."

"haha, very funny," robby replies sarcastically. "with al-hashimi around, i don't feel as conflicted taking days off. but just for that, you're coming along with me."

"are you serious? what am i supposed to do around a bunch of old guys drinking and sharing their war stories?"

robby shrugs. "gets you out of the house. besides, one of them is bound to have a son around your age. maybe you can get yourself a boyfriend."

"i think i'm okay with no boyfriend for a while." he stares at you with a look combined of pity and understanding. he knows why you've come to the decision of steering clear of men. mainly due to the fact that your now ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you with your now ex-best friend for more than half the time you two had been together. so, you know, not the best relationship ever.

"alright, well, just think about coming with me, okay? jack is a good friend of mine. nice, too. i think the two of you would get along."

"i'll think about it," you promise. "that's all i ask, bug. now you go ahead and get ready for bed. i'll clean up." you nod, handing over your empty plate to him. "night, dad."

"night, bug. love you," he says, pulling you into a side hug and kissing the crown of your head. "love you too."

saturday comes by a lot sooner than expected. robby parks the car on the edge of the curb, just near the driveway. he looks over at you before exiting the car. "just try and have a good time, yeah? if it gets too boring, there's a balcony on the second floor that you can hang out on. i'm sure jack won't mind." you give him a small smile. "don't worry me about me, dad. just focus on enjoying your night off. he mirrors your smile, rubbing his palm over the top of your head. you groan, trying to slap his hand away, making him laugh. "c'mon, bug, let's head inside."

jack's house is huge compared to the apartment that robby lives in. it's two floors with a spacious kitchen and dining room. hell, there's even a living room and a tv room. no way he was able to afford all this while having the same pay as robby. "they must be outside," robby infers, guiding you towards the large french doors that lead to the backyard. you didn't expect the outside to be just as huge as the interior, but you were quickly proven wrong.

just like he told you, there's nothing but guys at this party. most are just sitting around and drinking. and a few of them are hanging in the pool. a couple of them greet robby, eyeing you as you walk past them and to the long table near the grill that holds all the food. he drops a couple beers in the cooler while you set down the brownies he requested you to make. one guy comes up to robby, grabbing a beer from him and making friendly conversation.

"hey, man. it's good to see you. we weren't sure if you'd take the day off to come see us," the man says, slapping robby on the back. "yeah, i'm just as surprised as you. but i decided that a day off could be good for me," robby replies.

"tell me about it. work has been kicking my ass recently. obviously nothing compared to yours and jack's, of course." the man's barely glances at you before doing a double take. "who's this?" he asks, a smirk making its way on his face. "don't even try it, adam," robby warns. "this is my daughter, y/n."

"it's nice to meet you," you greet with a tight lipped smile. the man, adam apparently, puts out his hand for you to shake. you don't. not because you're trying to be rude. you just don't do well with physical touch. especially from strangers. "don't sweat it, sweetheart. it's a pleasure to see a pretty face at one of these things instead of a bunch of old guys." his words make you grimace. they also have an affect on robby, who stands a bit taller and shifts his body in front of yours. but before he can say anything, an unknown voice cuts in.

"adam, back off it. don't harass the girl." even though it's masked as a joke, you can hear the underlying warning. it's enough that adam backs off with his hands held in surrender, before walking away to another part of the backyard. robby turns around to the new man. "thanks, brother," robby says, dabbing him up before pulling him into a quick hug. "don't worry about it. adam can be a piece of work at times." you turn around as well, coming face to face with probably the hottest guy you've ever seen.

he stands a couple inches shorter than robby, but he's larger in size. his biceps strain against the black tee that he wears. and the slightly baggy jeans he has on does nothing to hide that his thighs are fucking huge. his hair is gorgeous, the salt and pepper curls sitting perfectly atop his head.

okay. you need to stop staring before you start drooling. get a grip. like seriously.

thankfully, mystery man doesn't notice you ogling him. if he does, he's kind enough not to mention it. "you must be y/n, i'm jack. robby talks highly of you." he doesn't put his hand out for you to shake. he must've noticed that you didn't shake adam's. "uh, you have like, a crazy nice house," you say awkwardly. but it makes him laugh. "i appreciate that. you let me know if there's anything you need, okay?" he's just being a good host, you tell yourself. "yeah, thanks." he nods once at you, a gentle smile on his face, before slapping robby on the back and heading towards the grill. "told you he'd be nice," robby mutters, bumping your shoulder once with his.

the barbecue ends up not being bad as you thought it would be. most of your time is spent sitting beside robby and eating. some of the guys ask you questions, but other than that, you're mainly silent. not like you mind it, though. you hate pointless small talk with others. by now, the sun has set, and people are starting to shoot off some fireworks. the guys have also gotten a little more drunk as the night goes on, making the environment louder than before. so it's no surprise to robby when you politely excuse yourself to a quieter area.

when entering back into the house, you remember what robby had told you earlier about there being a balcony you could escape to. you walk up the stairs and down the hallway. you're cautious when looking for said balcony. the last thing you want is for jack to assume you're some weirdo trying to snoop in his house. as if fate is on your side, there's a bedroom door cracked open at the end of the hall. and when you peek inside, you can see the balcony door open across the room.

there's two chairs placed on the small surface, both of which are facing towards the skyline. minutes go by of silence and the occasional firework. jack's neighborhood is relatively quiet. you take a hit of your vape when you hear a familiar voice. "those things aren't good for you, you know," jack scolds playfully, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. you can't help it when your eyes drop down to forearms. "even on your day off, you're still giving doctor's advice?" you tease. he shrugs, moving to the chair beside you. a soft groan escapes him as he sits down. "what can i say, i'm just a caring individual."

you chuckle softly. "it's just a bad habit i picked up in college. i hope you don't mind me being up here. dad said that it was a good place for me if it got too loud."

"don't worry about it. robby had mentioned that loud and crowded spaces get you nervous at times, so i set up the chairs out here just in case you needed to get away."

jack's words take you by surprise. he did that for you? before tonight, he'd just heard stories about you from robby. yet he's singlehandedly done the most thoughtful act anyone has ever done for you. "that's really nice of you. thank you." you start to feel how warm your cheeks are, so you look away before he notices the soft blush on them. "it's beautiful tonight," you murmur, admiring the night sky. "yeah, it is," he agrees. but you're too focused on the fireworks to notice he's looking at you. "how are you liking pittsburgh so far?"

"slowly but surely i'm getting used to it. it's definitely different than roseburg, but overall, i like it here. it's more lively and has more opportunities."

"robby told me you were a drama major, is that right?"

"i am, yeah. i know it's not the most useful degree, but..." you just shrug, unsure of what to say. "hey, a degree is a degree. from what i've heard, you're pretty talented. you been in anything?"

"nothing major, no. a few local commercials and i was a background character in a horror movie a couple years ago."

"well, i'm sure any agency would be glad to have you." god, could jack be anymore perfect? you've only known him for what, a couple hours? and somehow he's raised the bar for you by miles.

a gust of wind blows by, making you shiver. maybe wearing shorts and a tank top with no jacket wasn't the best idea. "you cold?" jack asks. "a little, but i'm okay. you don't have to-" halfway through your sentence he stands up and goes into the room connected to the balcony. now that you're looking at it, you realize that it's his bedroom. oh my god. he comes back out with a navy blue blanket in hand, draping it over your legs that you pulled up to your chets. "there you go." the blanket itself is soft and warm, like it recently came out of the dryer.

"you know, you don't have to feel inclined to stay. i'm sure being down there is a lot more fun than up here with me," you suggest. "nah, i like it up here. besides, you are a lot more fun than those guys, believe me, sweetheart. a lot less drunk too." you like the way he calls you sweetheart. it feels less icky than when adam called you it. you barely notice how much times passes by.

unlike most people, jack doesn't attempt to fill the silence with forced conversation. the questions he asks are sincere, like he actually wants to know about you. and your responses come out so naturally that it doesn't feel like jack was a complete stranger until tonight. you only know that it's gotten late when robby comes searching for you. "bug? there you are," he says, walking out on the balcony. "hey, brother, what are you doing up here?"

"just getting to know the little movie star. you planning on heading out?" jack asks. "yeah, it's getting late and i promised dana that i would come in tomorrow to make up for missing today. you ready to head out, bug?" you nod, stretching as you stand up. "thanks for the blanket, jack," you say, folding it and setting it down on the chair. "you're welcome. c'mon, let me walk the two you of out."

robby leaves the balcony first, then you, and then jack. as you walk downstairs, you nearly miss the last step. but just before you take a tumble, jack catches you with a hand on the small of your back. "careful there. that step is rickety," he mutters. you can feel how warm his breath is on the back of your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

once outside, jack pulls robby into a quick hug. "thanks for coming tonight, it was good seeing you outside of work."

"i appreciated the invite. you coming in tomorrow?"

jack shrugs. "we'll see how my leg is feeling. it's been killing me all day." robby claps him on the shoulder, the closest thing to comfort that he'll give. "well, just let me know. i'll see you around, brother."

"see ya, brother." robby waves, before hopping inside the car. "and you," jack points at you, "don't be a stranger, yeah? it's nice having a new and pretty face around."

"you got it..." you're unsure of what to call him. you know that his last name is abbot from the small background robby gave you on the drive here. calling him dr. abbot would be too formal. but would jack be too casual? you just met him, so you don't know. "jack. you can call me jack, sweetheart," he assures.

there it is again. sweetheart. and that smile... god, you're gonna need a cold shower when you get home. "alright, you got it, jack. might have to take you up on the offer and try out that pool of yours," you say jokingly. "it's open to you anytime you want it," he retorts. but he means it. "have a good night."

"you too," you reply, waving goodbye. now in the car, robby looks over at you. "you feeling okay? you're looking a little warm."

"huh? oh, yeah, i'm fine. i must've got heat exhaustion or something." sure, heat exhaustion. it looks like he almost doesn't believe you, but chooses not to argue. "alright, well, drink some water and electrolytes when we get home. and put a cold towel around your neck."

"you got it, dad." robby then pulls off of the curb, making a u-turn and driving away. the whole drive home, your thoughts are stuck on jack. you're not sure what will cure whatever it is that jack is making you feel.

you end up not seeing jack for almost two weeks since that night. in those two weeks, you've done everything in your power to get him off your mind. you ended up getting the job at the record store, taking shifts pretty much whenever possible so you could rake in money for yourself. you did a few auditions here and there, but had no luck in getting callbacks. hell, you've even rearranged your room more times than you could count whenever thoughts of him flooded your mind at night.

by this point, you believed that luck was not on your side. until robby called you on your way home from work. "hey, bug, i hope i'm not bothering you while you're at work, but i'm gonna have to pull a double tonight."

"everything okay?"

"as okay as it can be, i guess. there was a pretty big pileup and the closest hospital is ours so we're gonna need all hands on deck basically," robby explains.

"okay, well, i can bring you dinner if you want."

"you don't have to if you can't, bug."

"dad, really it's fine. besides, i just left work so i don't mind it," you insist.

robby sighs over the phone, knowing how stubborn you are. "alright. you can come in through the ambulance bay, it'll be faster. i'll let ahmad know you're stopping by."

"sounds good. love you."

"love you too, stay safe."

due to the aftermath of the pileup, it takes you longer than expected to pickup the food and get to the hospital. thankfully, though you don't run into any complications when arriving through the ambulance bay. a man in a security uniform waves you in and politely nods. that must be ahmad. you head towards the nurses station, looking for dana. but you instead find an unfamiliar, older woman.

"hello," you greet with a soft smile. "can you please tell me where dr. robby is?" she's not nearly as friendly with you as you were with her. "are you a patient?"

"no, ma'am, i'm not."

"are you the family member of a patient?"

"no-"

"then why are you here? matter of fact, how did you get in here? so leave, before i call security on you."

you're grateful for the familar voice that cuts in. "monica! this is robby's daughter, y/n, that's why she's here. how about you go take a smoke break, huh?" dana suggets. monica eyes you up and down with clear disdain, especially at your outfit. she mumbles something about 'this generation nowadays' before walking outside to the ambulance bay. "sorry about her, honey, monica can be a real piece of work sometimes," dana apologizes once she's gone.

"it's alright, i'm fine," you reply. "can you tell me where dad is?"

"he's in trauma room one right now. why? something wrong?" dana puts on her glasses, ready to examine whatever injury you might have. "no, nothing's wrong. i just brought him some dinner since he's pulling a double. do you think he'll be out anytime soon?"

"i don't think so, hun. the patient he got was in a pretty rough state when they came in." you nod, understanding. "okay, well, can you give it to him when he's done? i know that if anyone else does it he won't listen and actually eat the food." she laughs, tapping you on the arm. "you got it. come back and visit more often, yeah?"

"yes, ma'am, see ya!" she waves goodbye, you do the same. as you walk out, you glance down at your phone for maybe a second, before running into a brick wall. no, it's definitely not a brick wall. because a brick wall doean't smell like sandalwood. also because two large hands grab you by your biceps to steady you. "jack," you breathe out.

"gotta be more careful, sweetheart. i can't always stop you from falling," he teases. "what brings you around here?"

"i brought dad some dinner for tonight."

he hums softly. "it's good to see you again. you doing alright?"

"i am, yeah. how about you?"

"better now that you're here." jesus christ, if you weren't surrounded by ambulances and complete strangers, you probably would've jumped his bones right here and now. "hey, are you free this weekend?" he suddenly asks.

"uh, i should be. why?" please be a date, you think over and over. "i was thinking about inviting you and robby over for dinner. it would be nice to get to know you more," he instead says. hopefully, you mask your disappointment well. "that would be great, yeah. i'll let him know."

"alright, well, i need to give you my number so we can smooth out the details." you put your phone in his outstretched hand, watching as he punches in his number. "well, i should probably head in there soon. but hopefully i'll see you this weekend?"

"yeah, this weekend," you echo.

"cute shirt, by the way," jack says, fingers lightly brushing the thin strap of your flowery top as he passes. it doesn't occur to you until you get home that robby already has jack's number.

jack never needed to give you his.

friday night, you receive a text from jack's contact who saved himself in your phone as 'jack 😎'. the single emoji makes you laugh softly.

the next day, you spend all morning trying to figure out what to wear. you know that it technically isn't a date, but you still want to look nice. but nothing too forward. god, this is hard. you land on something basic, but reason that it'll be good enough. jack offers to pick you up, but you insist that you can drive yourself. so he texts you his address.

jack greets you at the door with a gentle smile. "i'm glad you could make it, sweetheart. dinner's already made. i set it out on the patio if that's okay."

"that's perfect," you assure.

"alright, follow me then."

you're surprised by how all out jack has gone for this dinner. a fresh bouquet of flowers sit in a glass vase right in the middle of the table, with small candles lit around it. "you did all of this?"

"yeah, i did," he responds. like it's no big deal. "why? you don't like it?"

"huh? no, i do. it looks amazing. i just wish i would've known you were going all out. i would've worn something a little more nicer than this," you say, gesturing towards your outfit. he looks at it up and down. "i think you look beautiful the way you're dressed now," he replies without a second thought. "now let's eat before it gets cold." he moves over to the atble, pulling out your chair for you. even pushing you in once you're sitting down.

jack takes his place across from you, plating your food first before his. "i wasn't sure what you liked to eat, but i figured that you can't really go wrong with pasta. and i also assumed that you don't drink alcohol because i didn't see you drink during the party. but i noticed you drinking diet coke. is that fine?" it makes you smile to see how attentive he is. he cares so much to impress you at the moment that you're almost taken aback. "everything is perfect. like, seriously. the food is amazing too," you praise.

jack's shoulders drop just a bit, like the praise you've just given him was exactly what he needed to hear. he hasn't done something like this in years. not since the passing of his wife. so it feels good to hear that he's doing this right. "robby told me you got a new job?"

"yeah, i did. i work at the record store down 5th."

"how are you liking it?"

"it's good so far. it's close to the house, and the owner and all the staff is really nice. but i don't see it as like, a forever career, obviously. i'm mainly just working there so i can save away money to move out of dad's place. i just feel bad for free loading or whatever," you ramble, a little embarrassed when you realize that you added on a lot more details than needed. but jack doesn't seem to care. he doesn't even seem to notice. he's just sitting there and listening. "you know, your dad doesn't see it that way. he loves you a lot," he reassures.

"yeah, i know. but dad has already done so much for me, you know? he's always been there for me since i can remember."

"was he friends with your birth dad?"

you shake your head. "no, he was friends with my mom. they grew up together, actually. same neighborhood, same school. they were really close. apparently, everyone used to say that they wouldn't be surprised if the two of them ended up marrying each other. it obviously never happened because he went away to new orleans to do his residency. when he came back, my mom was already married with a little girl. i remember being so young and telling people i couldn't wait to become a doctor like my uncle robby." you recall the memory with a small laugh. for your seventh birthday, he even bought you one of those play doctor kits.

"why didn't you?" jack asks softly.

"my mom got diagnosed with stage four breast cancer when i was sixteen. it was just really hard, you know? to see her so weak and sick when i so used to seeing her lively. she passed a few months after the diagnosis. after that, i just couldn't see myself being surrounded by sickness and death."

you had never told anyone that before. besides robby, no one knew about your old dreams of being a doctor. you're not sure why you tell jack all of that. but there's just something about him that seems so trustworthy. but you appreciate that he doesn't look at you with pity like everyone else does. instead he almost looks... understanding of you and your pain.

"i, uh, i lost my wife to breast cancer. about ten years ago now," he admits quietly. "it's good to talk about them, the people you've lost. just because they're gone doesn't mean the relationship is done."

"amen to that," you say, tipping your soda towards him. the small gesture makes him laugh. and the previously solemn air feels lighter. like maybe two people have just felt a little less lonely than before.

dinner unsurprisingly continues to go well after that. jack asks you all kinds of questions, and you answer them all with enthusiasm. you notice that he doesn't really talk much himself. not for a lack of trying, though. whenever you would attempt to let him chime in or change the conversation topic, he would turn it back around on you. "i feel bad. i'm doing all the talking," you say. "good thing for you, sweetheart, i like listening," he retorts.

once dinner is over, you try to help him out by washing the dishes. but he comes up from behind, grabbing your hips as he moves to the side. "jack, c'mon, i'm trying to help out," you argue, but he clicks his tongue, shaking his head while rinsing the utensils. "you're my guest, meaning you don't do the cleaning up."

"are you sure? i don't mind helping."

"positive. go ahead and hop in the pool if you want. there's a bathroom down the hall for you to change in."

you nod, knowing that no amount of convincing will change his mind. grabbing your purse off of one of the chairs in the dining room, you head down the hall and towards one of the doors. "uh uh, to your left, sweetheart. there you go," he says, leading you to the correct door. thank god your back is turned so he can't see how warm your face gets. you shouldn't feel so aroused at what he said. they're normal, everyday words! but it's just how he said it... you throw some cold water on your face to snap out of it.

jack is robby's best friend. and whether blood related or not, you still see robby as your dad. it would probably give him a heart attack to see his surrogate daughter all over his best friend. besides, jack doesn't see you that way. he's just being nice. he had mentioned he was born in south carolina. it's just that southern hospitality or whatever. he definitely has southern charm, that's for sure.

quickly, you realize that the bikini you packed is probably not the most appropriate. it's not scandalous, and even if it was who gives a fuck, but it's also not the best to wear around a man that you barely know. not that jack would do anything, at least you hope not. but it was the only one you had unpacked. you peek your head out of the bathroom to look towards the kitchen and see if jack is still there. oddly, he's not. fully stepping out, you realize that he's nowhere to be seen. he's probably outside. but when you go out there, his presence can't be found. must be upstairs, then.

slowly, you sink into the shallow end of the pool. inch by inch since it's so cold, causing goosebumps to rise in your skin. to be honest, pools were never really your thing. being an only child and only having older cousins meant never getting to experience playing mermaids with someone your age. but you enjoy the calming effect that water has on you. so most of the time, you just end up awkwardly floating around until your fingers prune.

the sound of a chair being scraped across the concrete breaks you out of your thoughts.

looking behind you, you see jack sitting down, rubbing at his right knee. "you're not coming in?" you ask and he shakes his head. "can't," he replies. just as you're about to question why, he tugs up his right pant leg, displaying the metal prosethtic. "sometimes the chlorine really messes with it."

"oh, i'm sorry," you apologize, a bit sheepish now after not knowing about his disability. "no need to say sorry, sweetheart. you didn't know," he says, shrugging it off. "people have said and reacted a lot worse when seeing it."

you let a few seconds pass before asking, "does it hurt?"

"sometimes it can, yeah. if i keep the prosthetic on for long periods of time, it'll put pressure and dig into my skin. and once in a while, i'll get phantom pain where my leg once was," he explains. he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it too long before changing the topic. "you liking the pool?"

"it's really nice. wish i had my own on days when it gets unbearably hot."

"then come over whenever you want. not like anyone else is using it," he simply says, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. you smirk softly. "those things aren't good for you, you know," you say, mocking his words from the other night. he mirrors your smirk. "you gonna stop me from smoking it, sweetheart?" jack asks, smoke spilling out the side of his mouth as he talks.

you hold up your hands in fake surrender. "let me have a hit?" and he nods, holding it out to you. "i don't wanna accidentally drop it or something." playfully he rolls his eyes. "forgot how clumsy you are," he teases. "c'mere then." you push yourself up, forearms resting on the edge of the pool. it takes all the restraint in him to not look down at the way your cleavage is pushed up in this position.

jack takes one long drag of the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth. he beckons with his pointer and middle finger to come closer, which you do. his nose brushes yours as he leans in to let the smoke travel from his mouth to yours. your lips touch, just barely, but it's enough for him to groan at the feeling. once the smoke is gone, you move away. but only slightly.

jack glances down at your bikini. just this once, he reasons. red, white, and blue. cute. "did you buy it for the fourth?" you shake your head. "not for this one. i bought it a couple years ago for a pool party with my boyfriend."

"you still got one?"

"got what? a boyfriend?"

"yeah, a boyfriend," he confirms. "a pretty girl like you must have one."

"no, i don't. not since i found out that he was cheating on me for three out of the five years we were dating."

jack tsks, flicking some of the ash off the cigarette. "it's his loss then. should've known that he had the best he's ever gonna get." you snort softly. "you're just saying that," you say, but he shakes his head. "no, i mean it. he wouldn't know how to handle you, anyways."

you raise an eyebrow. this is definitely getting interesting now. "oh, really? what, and you do?" you wonder if jack knows what you're doing. which, of course he does. he's not blind. and much to your luck, he taks the bait. "yeah, sweetheart, i do."

seconds, minutes, maybe even hours pass as the two of you just stare. you're not sure who, but someone leans in first, closing the distance between you. the second your lips touch his, jack doesn't hold back. he lets the cigarette fall from between his fingers, stomping it out beneath his shoe. his hands come up to hold the sides of your face, pulling you as close as possible. one of your hands reach out towards the edge of the pool to stabilize yourself.

you tilt your head to the side, deepening the kiss. jack's tongue swipes across your bottom lip, silently requesting access. and you give it to him, obviously. you moan softly, which makes him smirk against your lips. the kiss continues for a few seconds more, with quiet sounds escaping the both of you. he pulls away first. a soft whine slips from your mouth. his thumb bumps your bottom lip, wiping away the single strand of spit connecting your lips to his.

"don't be like that, baby. i'll take care of you. want me to do that?" he asks and you nod, but that's not enough for him. "use your words, c'mon."

"i want you to take care of me, jack. please," you breathe out. ever the gentleman, jack helps you out of the pool, careful not to let you slip. he's now given a better view of you in your bikini. the wet cloth sticks to your skin, water droplets dripping down your smooth thighs. but that's not what intrigues him. well, correction, everything about you intrigues him. but there's a belly button piercing that catches his eye. it has a silver bar and jewel, with the little playboy bunny logo dangling.

"when did you get this?" jack asks, brushing at the piercing. "when i was seventeen. after my mom's passing, i kinda went through this rebellious phase. getting this piercing was one of the first things i did," you explain. "why? you like it?"

he nods. "yeah, i do," he rasps, "let's take this upstairs, okay, baby?" you let out a small 'okay', letting him gently drag you into the house.

you can't believe it. you really can't believe it. no way did you ever think that coming to jack's house tonight was gonna result in you two hooking up. not that you're really complaining, though.

you smile to yourself. he likes my piercing, you think as you walk up the stairs. your ex hated your piercing. always claimed that it was a poor excuse to slut yourself out. yeah, well, he was a fucking dick so who cares now.

once in the room, jack shuts the door behind you two before pulling you into another breath stealing kiss. it's shorter than the first, but not any less passionate. he grabs at your hips, moving you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bedframe and you fall onto the bed. his body cages yours, forearms resting on either side of your head. pulling away from your lips, he begins to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. he bites you on your pulse point before sticking out his tongue to soothe the aching spot. you moan, bucking up your hips to meet his, feeling his growing bulge.

you hope that he leaves a mark. selfishly, jack does too. one of his hands sneaks into your bikini bottoms, swiping at your entrance. a soft groan escapes him when he feels how wet you are. "fuck, baby. all this f'me?" you nod rapidly. "yes, jack, it's all for you. just, please," you beg, pushing up against his hand for anything. any kind of friction to soothe this aching feeling. "please what, huh? use your big girl words again."

you let out a soft huff. it's almost humiliating to admit how needy you are right now. but you know won't get what you want, what you need, if you don't speak up. "i want you to fuck me, jack. please, jackie, please," you admit, breathing heavily.

jack smiles against your neck. licking a long stripe from the base of your neck to behind your ear. he then presses a small kiss there. "that's it, sweetheart. that's what i wanna hear." he pulls away to look at you. "but not yet, okay? i gotta ease you into it." he slides down to the floor in a prayer position, ignoring the way his leg starts aching. instead, grabbing at your thighs to pull you closer. "hand me that pillow beside you," he softly commands, gesturing to the light gray one to your left. you do as he says, tossing it to him so he can place it beneath his prosthetic.

slowly, jack starts to tug down your bikini bottoms, inch by inch, before your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. "what are you doing?" you ask hesitantly. "i told you. let me ease you into it. but if you don't wanna do this, that's okay too, baby," he replies, already moving to stand up, but you pull him back in. "no, i want this, please. i just didn't expect you to, you know, eat me out," you admit. truth be told, your ex never did that. always said it was gross, despite the multiple times he would make you go down on him. his form of 'foreplay' was roughly fingering you for like five seconds before putting it in.

jack is able to pick up on what you don't say. this is your first time getting this kind of treatment. "i'll go slow with you, okay? if it gets too much for you, tap on my shoulder twice."

"okay, i trust you," you whisper, nodding once as a sign for him to continue. jack finishes tugging your bikini bottoms down, letting them fall onto the ground beneath him. he begins to kiss up the insides of your thighs. the light stubble on his jaw rubs against your skin, making you shiver. he starts with short kitten licks on your cunt. the sensation is nothing like you've ever felt before. he goes slow, but in the best way possible. it keeps you right on the edge.

jack keeps his left hand on your thigh, pinning it down to the bed. but his right ends up between your legs. he starts with his pointer, slowly sliding it in. his fingers are longer, thicker. reaching places that you never could when by yourself. a soft moan slips from your lips. "you like that?" he asks, voice muffled.

"yes! yes, jack. more please." and how can he deny you when you ask so nicely? he pumps his finger in and out faster, simultaneously speeding up his tongue. he slips a second finger in. this one hits you just right. another moan from you. this one louder than before. there it is, he thinks to himself. he starts to lick at your clit. the two sensations combined feel like heaven on earth. he keeps the same pace. only slowing down when he feels you getting close. he hopes that you know he's not trying to be mean. he wants this to last for you.

it all feels so good that your legs start to shake. he forces one of your legs open with his free hand. a coil in your belly starts to tighten when he keeps hitting your g-spot over and over and over. "jack, 'm so close. please, right there. just- ugh, fuck, keep going," you whine, fingers digging into his sheets. you're fisting the sheets so tightly that you might rip them. jack lets go of your thigh to grab that hand. he squeezes it once. a silent 'i got you'. he brushes against your g-spot one last time, sucking on your clit, before you come. it rushes out of you so hard that you almost see stars. without meaning to, your thighs clamp around his head as a multitude of moans escape you. not like he minds it, though. he's happy right where he is.

finally, jack pulls away, moving to hover over you again. "you doing okay, sweet girl?" he notices your eyes are shut. when you don't respond, he lightly slaps your thigh. your eyes open. "i'm sorry. it's just... i haven't come like that in a really long time. kinda took me out for a sec," you reply. "do you think you can keep going?" he questions. he's not gonna push you if you don't want to. you nod. "i can. besides, i can't just leave you hanging." your eyes flick down to the bulge straining against his jeans.

fuck, even in his pants he looks huge.

"c'mere," you mutter, pulling him in by his chin to makeout with him. your sudden burst of dominance makes jack groan into your mouth. your hands tug at the hem of his shirt with a soft whimper. a silent plea that you need this stupid fabric off of him. he obliges. breaking away from the kiss for just a second. the sight of him shirtless distracts you. with the farmers tan on his thick arms, the freckles across the expanse of his chest, and his soft belly. "like what you see, sweetheart?" he asks. "fuck, yeah, i do," you reply, before pulling him back in for a kiss.

his large fingers tangle into the wet strands of your hair. you blindly fumble with his belt, unable to get a firm grasp on it. he reaches down with his right hand, though, undoing the button and zipper easily.

pulling down his boxers and jeans in one go, jack's cock springs free, slapping against the ridge of his soft abs. your ex was average, only around five inches. but jack? he's huge, just like you expected. seven, maybe even pushing seven and a half inches. but not only that, he's girthy as shit. now you understand why he couldn't just fuck you right away. you swallow nervously, eyes darting between his face and cock. "will it even fit?" you ask soflty. he presses a quick kiss on your forehead. "i'll be gentle. i won't rush you, promise."

jack leans over to search through his nightstand for a condom. when he doesn't see the familiar gold foil, he mutters a quiet expletive. "shit, baby, i'm sorry. i don't have any condoms-" he begins to say, but you cut him off, blurting, "that's fine! i mean, i'm on the pill," you correct yourself. "so i'm okay with it if you are." he nods once. "only since you're said it's okay, yeah? but if it gets too much, you let me know," he reminds. he grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. then, slowly, he begins to push himself in.

the initial push takes your breath away. he then adds another inch, then another. by this point, he's barely halfway in and still has you letting out soft mewls. the burn of his thick cock splitting you open is new, but not unpleasant. inch by inch, he enters in you before he's fully nestled inside of you. both of you let out similar moans of pleasure. he doesn't move for a few seconds, allowing you to get used to his size. you feel so full you almost can't breathe. it's like the tip sits right under your sternum, leaving you to feel nothing but him. gradually, he begins to move back and forth, cock dragging against the walls of your cunt.

it doesn't take long for him to find your g-spot once again. you let out a quiet whimper when he does. but this time, he doesn't move fast, like with his fingers. his movements are slow and calculated. right now isn't about him. it's about you and giving you the pleasure that you deserve. he won't allow himself to come until you do. he hits that gummy spot over and over.

you drag your nails down his back, before digging them into the skin between his shoulder blades. a quiet groan escapes him when you do. he likes it, you realize. as his cock pulses inside you. "you feel that, huh? got me all hard and pent up. that's what you've done to me. haven't been able to get you out of my mind since we first met. you and those little shorts. you're just so gorgeous, baby," he praises, which makes you moan and clench around him.

"fuck, jackie, 'm close. please, let me come, please," you beg.

"yeah? you wanna come, baby?" jack teases and you nod rapidly. "i bet your ex never fucked you like this, huh?" you shake your head. he lightly slaps you on your cheek, just enough to make you look at him. "come on, sweetheart, words. i bet your ex never fucked you like this," he repeats.

"no! no, he never did. not like you, jackie. mhm, shit, you feel so good."

"yeah, that's what i like to hear. come on, sweetheart, come on my cock. you got it, i know you do." he moves one of his hands back down to start thumbing at your clit, just enough to push you right over the edge. barely three seconds later, you come around him with a scream. thanking god that he doesn't live in an apartment complex. your cunt clenches around him as you come, giving him enough stimulation to follow suit. but he pulls out at the last second, coming on your stomach with a groan.

nobody moves for minutes. both of you needing that time to catch your breath. jack start gets up first, tucking himself back into his jeans. "i'll be back, just lie down," he says, kissing you on your temple. he leaves into the bathroom, before coming back out, a wet rag in hand. he cleans off his release from your stomach, moving down to wipe at your cunt. the cold rag makes you shiver and whine, attempting to close your legs. "shh, it's okay, baby. let me clean you up first," he coos, wiping you down as gentle as he can. once done, he tosses the rag in the same corner of the room as his shirt. "can you stand up?"

you grumble, attempting to roll over. "i'm too tired."

"i know, but you gotta go pee first. then we can go to bed." jack pulls you into his arms bridal style, quietly hissing at the ache in his back and leg. he carries you all the way into the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet. leaving you to do your business as he finds you something to sleep in. a pair of boxers and old army shirt will do. just as you're finishing up washing your hands is when he returns. "you can sleep in these for tonight." you mutter a quiet 'thanks.'

jack turns around, giving you some privacy to change. it makes you giggle softly. the man just rearranged your guts and fucked you so well less than ten minutes ago, yet he's still not watching you as you change. "i'm done," you say, and he turns back around. the dark green shirt falls just above your knees, slipping off one of shoulder. the ends of your hair slightly curl from getting wet earlier, and you have that after sex glow. you look beautiful right now. he must realize that he's staring, because he clears his throat and steps to the side. "uh, you can lie down. i'll finish cleaning myself up," he says, to which you nod.

the second your head hits the pillow you're knocked out. from swimming to fucking, you're body is completely drained. about thirty minutes later, jack comes back out. grey hair wet with water dripping down his chest. he's careful to not make any noise on his crutches as he moves towards the bed. sitting down on his side, he leans the crutches on the wall, before rubbing some moisturizer on his stump. he slides under the covers, instinctively wrapping his arms around your waist. even in your sleep you lean into him. head on his chest, right above his heart. "sweet dreams, baby," he murmurs into your hair, kissing the top of your head.

it hits jack in this exact moment that he just slept with the goddaughter of his best friend. he should probably stop it before it happens again. before feelings arise and emotions get in the way. but it's too late. now that he's had you, he doesn't think he can let go.

a/n: this was originally supposed to be wayy longer but i wanted to get it out for the 4th of july, so if u would like a part two pls lmk if u wanna be tagged in that >⩊<

[mariposium]

❀ : HIGHER STANDARDS — jack abbot

summary — everyone has an ex that they’d rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, it’s time for you to shut it down once and for all—and to show that you have standards now. (based on this request)

featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!nurse!reader, nurse lena handzo, dr. john shen, ahmad zidan

content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, fluff and angst, talk of drug abuse (not by reader or jack), past emotional abuse/manipulation, your ex is a possessive asshole, you and jack stand on business, dr. shen being iconic as per usual

(cross-posted on ao3) (the pitt masterlist)

The first call comes as you are walking into the PTMC that morning, your bag slung over your shoulder and one hand in the pocket of your jeans.

The frown comes with immediacy across your face as you realize you are unsure of who would be calling so early in the morning. You step to the side of the emergency room floor and brandish the vibrating mobile from your pocket. It is not a saved number in your phone, so you silence it without thinking twice about it. Spam calls these days have become so common that you average at least one a shift.

Crisis averted, you head to the nurse’s station and get changed into your scrubs. Even at three in the morning, the ER is already buzzing with life. You greet a few of the frequent fliers you pass on the way, an unshakable grin on your cheeks.

Once you’re dressed, the day officially begins. Despite yourself, you find your eyes jumping from person to person, eagerly looking for one doctor in particular. 

But he finds you before you do him. You jolt when his arm brushes against yours as you stand near the charge station. You angle your head in his direction and you feel your heart skip a beat as you focus fully on him.

“Hey,” you say to Jack, trying—and failing—to refocus on the schedule in front of you. 

He doesn’t even try to look busy as he drags a hand through his silver curls, eyes twinkling despite their exhaustion. “You’re starting early.”

You half-shrug, flipping the page over, scanning quickly through the patient list. “Lena needed another nurse on deck… something about Jacob’s paternity leave. So, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

You look at him fully then, an affectionate smile creeping across your face. “How’s the shift been? Chaotic?”

Jack shakes his head. He rubs his temple as if doing so would release every worry from his head. “Uh, it’s been about the same. So, catastrophic on every level. I had—“

Your Apple Watch suddenly buzzes twice in quick succession and your attention is unintentionally diverted. You frown, again confused why you were receiving nonessential notifications. When you open the screen, two text messages are there from an unknown number. You can’t preview the messages from your watch before the screen goes black, so you have no idea what they might contain.

“Everything okay?” Jack reminds you of his presence when he asks this, and you briefly look up at him to let him know you heard his question.

“Yeah, not sure what’s going on today.” You push and hold to silence the watch. “Spam callers are having a field day, I guess. Bet they just texted to let me know I have to click this sketchy link to prevent my nonexistent car from being repossessed.”

“Better get on that,” your boyfriend says with a light chuckle, “you know the United States government has an invested interest in your nonexistent car and those nonexistent toll fees.”

You grin at his sarcasm. Finally dissuaded from checking your notifications, you look up at him. “Now if only they could adjust their pitch to match Pittsburgh public transportation.”

“—Yo, lovebirds,” Lena’s voice commands attention from every corner of the room, and you feel your spine immediately go ramrod from her tone. “I got patients back here that would love an ounce of your undivided attention.”

Despite her tone, you know she’s not truly angry. You place a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek, then head over to your charge nurse. The text messages, phone call, and even Jack migrate to the back of your head as you get sucked into work.

You haven’t thought about your ex in a long ass time. It’s hard to reconcile that at one point in your life, he’d been all you thought about.

You had met in nursing school. He was the sweet, handsome, charismatic guy who sat next to you in pharmacology. It was hard to see in your young, 20-something-year-old brain the glaring red flags. Or perhaps you had ignored them in favor of the relationship.

You had the habit of focusing on the positives more than you did the negatives of any situation, especially regarding relationships. You focused on the fact that he always brought you a coffee when he got himself one, the fact that he would wrap his arm around you and tug you to his side when talking with friends, how he’d always make up for arguments with gifts and affection.

But as time wore on, his negatives only became more pronounced. He was not used to working hard for his degree in college—that is what happens when daddy pays for you to have good grades in undergrad—and flunked out. He blamed you for being a distraction to his schooling, but never dared breaking up with you. He started getting too adventurous with his drug usage, to the point finding his next fix took priority over everything else.

You broke up with him a year ago. Six months ago, you started dating Jack.

Jack is everything that he wasn’t. He’s responsible. Everything he has he’s had to work for. He loves you, and does not put you on the back burner when life gets messy, instead, he tries to make it work. Most importantly, though? He doesn’t fucking blame you for all his problems.

You stare at the phone in a stunned silence.

All it takes was two texts for you to remember why you hated being single those six months you were. The audacity of some men was truly astounding.

???: did you really just ignore my call? who the hell do you think you are?

And then, literally, seconds later:

???: are you in town, babe? maybe we could grab some drinks?

One might wonder how you knew it was him, but it’s just so obvious. No one else would be texting at five in the fucking morning looking to get drinks after a year no-contact. It’s the kind of insane behavior one could only expect from him. 

You shake your head after a few moments of staring blankly at your phone and stand. You throw the last bits of your meal away and drop your phone back off into your locker. As you step out of the nurse’s area, you notice Lena waving you over from across the room.

You make it over to her in two quick strides, eager to get your mind the hell away from whatever those texts were. 

Those dreams are dashed the second you notice Lena giving you a concerned look.

“Hey hon.” Hon? She never calls you that. “We have a man in North 2 asking for you by name. Want to take it?”

You cock a brow, mind moving a mile a minute as you try to quickly go through who that could be. But the texts still linger in your mind from moments before and you get stuck on one thought. Would he really be so stupid… so deplorable… to get himself admitted to your ER?

You sigh and nod, straightening your scrub top nervously as you approach the patient room door. You pause for a moment, trying to will yourself to just knock on the door. When you finally do, a smiling brunette answers it—not exactly what you’d been expecting.

“Are you the doctor?” she says, entirely too caffeinated and hyper for being in a hospital at five in the morning.

“I’m the nurse,” you tell her, smiling tightly. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, right.” She lets out a laugh. “Sorry, I see that on your badge now.”

She steps aside and you take at most two steps before your stomach drops to your feet. There he is, in all his glory. Considering the fact that you haven’t seen him in a year and he’s gained at least thirty pounds, you applaud yourself for recognizing him so quickly. He’s got one arm covered in gauze, and blood seems to have already soaked through.

The woman who’s with him goes to his side, stroking his unhurt arm gently. Poor girl, you think, if only she knew what she was getting herself into.

“I’m just going to take your vitals.” Strict professionalism. That is your aim for working with him. You grab the blood pressure cuff and loop it around his upper arm.

“Babe, how about you go get me a coke?” His voice is just as dry and grumbly as you remember. Once upon a time, you’d found it attractive. Now it was just grating.

You squeeze the cuff as the girl nods cheerily and practically skips out of the room. He lets out a quick breath through his teeth when you maybe squeeze it one time too hard. An honest mistake, really. You type down his blood pressure dutifully in his patient chart.

You gesture toward the door where the woman just slipped out. “Where’d you pick a girl like that up at?” 

“Eh, she’s just some squeeze.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ compared to you, babe.”

“I see your limitless assholery has remained the same.” You type a few more numbers into his chart, refusing to give him the eye contact he so desperately searched for. “So, what? You just so happened to cut yourself after texting me for the first time in a year?”

He winces as you reach over to pull back the bandage. It’s not too bad. You probe the edges of skin once, twice, then pull the bandage back over it. It looks like it might need stitches, which means, unfortunately, he will have to stay longer.

“Would you respond to me otherwise?” He makes a good point. You would never answer the phone if you knew he was on the other line. However, faking an injury and taking the bed of a person who might actually need it? Now that’s just wrong.

You snap your gloves off and go to add one more note to his file. Do not administer Oxycodone-based medications. That last bit of information comes from personal experience.

“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?” you ask, leaning up against the door of the room.

He doesn’t have to think on it for long. “Good.”

“The good news is that you will not be seeing me much more for the rest of your stay here. The bad news is you will have to stay a little longer. A doctor will need to come assess your wound.”

“How’s the good news good? I came here specifically to see you,” he says, his tone annoyed.

You give him your best attempt at a smile. “Oh right–that’s good news for me, not you. Have a good day.”

You leave the room quickly after that, ignoring his protests as you do. You pass the brunette on your way to the charge station, and you offer her a pitying smile. Poor girl really has no idea who she’s getting involved with, does she?

Leaning across the charge desk, you pinch your nose bridge in between your fingers and attempt to take several deep breaths.

Of all the things you’d seen in this profession; all the people that had been lost along the way… somehow, the hardest struggle was having to face your ex. How ridiculous was that?

“You good?” The sudden question is punctuated by a loud slurp of a drink, and you know who it is before you even turn your head.

“Hey Shen,” you greet him curtly. He shakes around the Dunkin’ drink in his hand, the ice cubes clinking together.

“You and Jack having some trouble in paradise?” Shen says before taking another loud sip of his drink. 

You can’t help the short laugh from snorting out of your nostrils. “No, no,” you tell him, “if only it were that.”

Shen narrows his eyes. He looks you up and down as if trying to discern the issue.

You sigh. “My ex. He’s in North 2. He faked an injury to see me.”

“No way.” Shen laughs. “Listen, I have some pretty crazy exes, but even they haven’t done anything that crazy.” His tone shifts when he realizes you aren’t in the same jovial mood. He steps forward, expression drawn tight. “You need help?”

You look off to the side, pondering. It would suck if Jack had to meet him. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want Jack to know as it was that you didn’t want to have to deal with the embarrassment of having dated that thing for a brief point in your life. 

“You free? Think you could inspect his wound? Maybe put in some stitches?” 

Shen cocks a brow. “You sure you don’t want Jack to do that? Need him to go all macho on him?”

“I’d rather Jack not be involved.” You shift uneasily on your feet. “Not because he’s possessive, but because I worry my ex might get… unruly.”

Shen nods, then puts his drink down on the counter, even though Lena had explicitly requested he not do that. “Give me fifteen. I’ll meet you back here for consult.”

You watch for a few seconds as he strides away, then you avert your eyes to your hands. They’re shaking, but you’re not sure why. You aren’t scared of your ex—but that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset by his reappearance in your life.

You hadn’t been one of those couples that said “let’s just be friends!” even once they broke up. You’d been more so the type that you blocked each other’s numbers and you moved your entire career and livelihood to get away from him. It felt like two worlds colliding, him being here, where you were now a successful nurse and not his overly-reliant girlfriend.

As you continue to stand by the desks, you notice Jack stepping out of a patient’s room down the hall. You turn your back and attempt to look busy in sorting paperwork, but you know he’s seen you.

His voice breaks through your thoughts just as you begin to think he’s not coming over. “Working hard or hardly working?”

You smile despite yourself. “Hey,” you say, turning your head. 

His eyebrows furrow as he gets closer to you, able to see you more clearly. He leans beside you on the counter, chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s worried about you—he always does that when he is. “You alright?” 

You knew he was going to ask this, but it still catches you off-guard.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you don’t want to tell him the truth either. Subjecting Jack to your ex was not high on your to-do list. If all went well, no one would have to deal with him other than Shen. Besides, you don’t need a man to stick up for you. You could handle him just fine on your own.

You shrug. “Sometimes I forget how chaotic the night shift can be.”

He leans forward, voice soft. “If you’re struggling, I’m sure Lena will be understanding…”

You put your hand on his bicep and give it a squeeze. “I’m okay, Jack. I promise. Besides, your shift is over in, what, an hour and a half? Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll try,” he tells you, “but you have a way of making it into my head whether I want you to or not.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“—You ready to go, my favorite nurse?” you hear Shen say from behind you. He reaches between you and Jack to grab his drink, taking a long sip. The seriousness of the conversation he just interrupted is completely lost on him. He turns to Jack. “Oh, hey man. Didn’t see you there.”

Your boyfriend cocks a brow at you. “What’s going on?”

“A consult,” Shen replies simply.

Jack looks at you like he’s expecting a more in-depth explanation. You smile teasingly and pat his arm. “Back to work, doc. Patients won’t save themselves.”

Jack rolls his eyes affectionately as you step away, but once your back is turned, the expression falls away.

You clutch the suture kit cart as Shen knocks on the patient door then uses his hip to push it open. He stands to the side as you enter. Your ex’s new girlfriend shoots to her feet as you push the cart in, her eyes wide. You offer her what you hope is a comforting smile.

“Hello, hello,” Shen says as he takes a seat on a rolling stool next to his bed. “I’m Dr. Shen and I’m going to be taking care of you today. I hear you have a cut on your arm?”

Your ex doesn’t look at him as he replies, his eyes on you and the suture kit. “I slipped.” He reaches over to remove the gauze on his arm.

“Is it going to need stitches?” The girlfriend asks from behind you.

Shen inspects the wound carefully, eyes moving slowly across the ripped skin. He pulls away and nods. “Yeah, I think a few stitches. It’s pretty deep and jagged along the edges. What was it you slipped on?”

He moves out of the way so you can begin flushing the wound. You ignore the fact that your ex is flexing his muscles as you grab the cleanser, completely locked into your work.

“My damn hunting knife,” he says, “it’ll leave a pretty nice scar though, huh?”

You roll your eyes without even really meaning to, and you feel your ex’s glare on you.

“Go ahead and put some lidocaine in,” Shen tells you. He turns to your ex. “Don’t want you to feel your skin being pulled together with a needle, do we?”

Your ex goes pale as you grab the syringe and fill it with the liquid. “Uh, could I… does it have to have stitches?”

“Trust me, honey, you do not want sepsis,” his girlfriend says, “my cousin got it and—“

“—Just be quiet,” your ex snaps at her. You flinch at the tone, and accidentally spill a little bit of the liquid on the table.

Shen steps up behind you, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You know he wants to comfort you, but you’re glad he keeps his distance. “Your girlfriend is right,” he says, “lots of nasty things can happen if you let a cut like that not heal properly.”

You gently guide the needle into the skin above his wound and push the liquid inside. You turn to your ex as you pull the needle away. “It should be completely numb in a few minutes.”

You step back to let Shen take the seat again. You turn to look out the window of the room only to lock eyes with Jack. He’s talking to Lena, but his eyes are on you. You look away. You nervously shift on your feet, clutching your hands across your front.

“So, uh.” Your ex’s eyes are on you as he starts to speak. Your lips draw into a thin line. “You guys get out much? Have boyfriends, girlfriends?”

Shen knows who the question is aimed at, yet he answers anyway. “Eh, it’s kind of difficult,” he says, poking and prodding the arm. “I’m not much for commitment.”

You refuse to reply. 

“Okay, I think it’s numbed up, I’m going to go ahead and start,” Shen tells him. “Maybe try not to look at it. I find my patients who don’t usually have the best time with this.”

You hand Shen the threaded needle and help clamp the skin together with forceps. 

“And you?” His fucking mouth. 

You barely look up from his wound as your ex says this. “What?” 

“Are you dating anyone?” 

“Honey, I think they’re concentrating right now,” his girlfriend butts in. You shoot her an appreciative smile and keep your hands steady as Shen guides the needle through the first point.

“Surely she can answer a question,” he huffs, “I mean she’s just holding a clamp. I can do that.”

You shake your head and barely murmur, “I’m not doing this here. Not now.”

Shen goes through the third point, drawing the skin together tightly.

A few moments pass and you think he’s given up. Then, he says, “I just don’t understand what the big deal is. Why can’t you answer the question?”

You clench your jaw, barely able to conceal your irritation. Shen shoots you a look, but then goes back to sewing.

“Cmon, really?” he continues. 

“I have a boyfriend—is that what you so desperately want to hear?!” your voice is unexpectedly loud, and you immediately regret the outburst after it leaves your lips.

The girlfriend looks shocked—hurt, probably realizing that your connection with her boyfriend goes beyond a normal patient-nurse relationship. Your ex looks equal parts annoyed as he does satisfied with your outburst. Like he’d just proved some point in his head about how you weren’t all perfect.

Shen turns his head and says, “scissors.”

You hand him the utensil and he pulls the thread taut before snipping it. 

Your ex lets out a short laugh. You cock a brow, worried that someone had slipped him something.

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Good thing I don’t care if you do or don’t.”

Shen turns to you. “I can wrap up here if you need to step out.”

You’re already halfway out the door by the time he says this. You move quickly to the stairwell, passing concerned nurses and doctors as you do. Once you are out the door, you have to bend over to catch your breath. Pressing the palms of your hands hard against your eyes, you will yourself not to get upset.

Only he could get you that flustered with hardly a word. And you fell for his bait every single time. You lean against the wall and try to steady your breathing.

A few minutes pass. More than you are sure that Lena would allow. The doors to the stairwell open and you turn to the side, hoping the person there can take a hint.

Unfortunately, Jack is persistent.

He gently grabs your arm and pulls you to his side. You allow him, and the stress of the day flows out of you with your muffled tears. You cushion your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He strokes the top of your head while the other arm holds you just as tightly.

Once you’ve released all the emotion you can handle, you pull back a little, wiping your eyes. Jack doesn’t let you get far, keeping you close to his chest.

“Shen told me you were upset,” he says, “what’s going on?”

You sniffle, trying to look away. He gently guides your head back to meet his eyes with his thumb on your chin. His fingers slide up to cup your cheek and you melt into his grip. “Talk to me, love.”

A fresh set of tears escape your eyes at the sweetness of his voice. The caring, affectionate man in front of you was so much better than anyone you’d ever been with. It makes you feel silly for crying, silly for complaining.

“This morning, when my watch buzzed.” You hiccup. “It wasn’t a spam number. It was my ex-boyfriend.”

You watch Jack’s face carefully as you say this, trying to predict his next words before he says them. You thread your fingers in his scrubs, anchoring yourself to him.

“Then, he showed up as a patient. He intentionally hurt himself to see me. And he’s been rude and crass, sure, but that’s not even what bothers me the most.” You wipe your eyes with the palm of your hand, knowing you must look a mess. “I don’t want him back in my life. Never. He… just doesn’t belong here. It makes me sick thinking he’s trying to worm himself into my perfect life that I’ve built without him.”

You pause, taking a panicky breath in. “I don’t want him to come between us. I don’t want you to think… I don’t want you to think less of me because of him. I mean, I can’t believe I ever dated him. He’s awful.”

Jack strokes your cheek, letting you get it all out. When he’s sure you’re finished, he speaks.

“First of all,” he says, “I’m never going to judge you for people you no longer have in your life. If you chose to get rid of them, I know there’s a hell of a good reason. And, personally, I think you’re a great judge of character. I don’t want to hang out with someone you don’t like.” You avert your eyes bashfully, but Jack angles your head so you’re still looking at him.

“Secondly, don’t blame yourself for the choices of stupid people. Just because you once associated with him, doesn’t mean you still stand by his choices today,” he says. “I love you. I mean that. And that means I trust you, implicitly. I wouldn’t have tried to get in the way—well, let me rephrase that. If you weren’t in imminent trouble and I thought you had it handled, I wouldn’t intervene with your issues.”

You let out a soft laugh at that last part. 

For a moment longer, the two of you stand there. He strokes your hair, you clutch his scrubs. Finally, you release him.

“I’ve got thirty more minutes left before the day shift inevitably arrives,” he says, “so, what do you want to do?”

You shake your head. “Honestly? I hope he disappears.” You push open the door with your hip. “But if he doesn’t, then I’ll let you know.”

You step into the buzzing ER and let out a deep breath. You start to head to the bathroom, when your eye gets caught on a figure quickly headed in the other direction. Her dark hair bounces against her back as she jogs away, her hand covering her face. The girlfriend. You imagine that their conversation didn’t go over well.

Your ex steps out after her, clutching his now-bandaged arm. He looks at her retreating back for a moment before he rolls his neck back, peeved. As he turns to go back in the room, he halts. Then his eyes lift and immediately lock onto yours.

A rehearsed grin spreads across his mouth. You turn your back, but he reaches you before you can push open the door to the bathroom.

He grabs your shoulder and you spin around, pushing him away disgustedly.

“Don’t ever touch me,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Woah, woah,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Easy there, tiger.”

He jumps in front of you when you go to push open the bathroom door.

“Hey, just listen to me.” His eyes are like a weasel’s, predatory and conniving. “Just let me say my piece.”

“I’m not interested,” you tell him. “What part of that can’t you get through your thick skull?”

“Is this about the cheating thing? Are you really still mad about that?” 

“You really are oblivious, aren’t you?” You roll your eyes. “You can stick your dick in any hole you like. It’s none of my business. Why? Because we aren’t dating.”

You turn your back when you remember you have makeup wipes in your bag. But you can’t get far before a hand wraps around your wrist like steel. You don’t have a moment to think, your body reacts before your mind can. You turn and punch him squarely in the jaw.

He releases you immediately and lets out a loud groan, falling back against the bathroom door. He clutches his jaw with a fury in his eyes unlike you’ve ever seen.

“I said, don’t touch me, asswipe.”

He comes toward you, as if to retaliate, but then you feel an arm pushing you behind a sturdy body and your view is cut off.

“Who the hell are you?” your ex says, gesturing to Jack with a foul expression.

You look down at your hand and realize it’s bleeding. Your thumb might be sprained—you aren’t sure. It throbs painfully, but you can move it at least.

“I’m her boyfriend.” You peer around Jack’s shoulder and realize that your ex looks about ready to piss himself. “But that doesn’t matter. When someone asks for space, that’s when you back the fuck off.”

“—What’s going on here?” A voice cuts in. You turn your head to see Ahmad there, his hand resting on his holster.

You step forward. “Ahmad. Could you escort this patient out? He should be ready for discharge. I’ll fill out all the proper HR paperwork—this is all just a big mistake.”

“Hey, hey,” your ex says, waving his hand toward Ahmad,  “I’m not taking the fall for this.”

Ahmad grabs your ex’s shoulder before he can reach out and grab you. You look back and see Jack and Shen are there, both willing to corroborate.

You look back at your ex. “It’s time to go. And don’t come back.”

“Unless you get seriously injured in the vicinity of our hospital, then you can—“ Shen starts to say, but Jack elbows him in the side.

Your ex stares at you for a full second. Then he turns his head. You think he’s given up, then he mutters a very clear, resounding bitch underneath his breath and Jack is stepping forward before you can stop him.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jack,” you call out.

Your ex looks at him square on. “She heard me.”

Jack clenches his fists. You reach forward to grab his shoulder. You look over at Ahmad, who then forcefully turns your ex around and leads him away.

“Jack, it’s okay,” you say. “I’ve heard worse, believe it or not.”

“He can’t just…” he starts to say, then shakes his head. 

“I love you,” you tell him softly. “And I’m okay.”

Shen gets drawn into an incoming trauma and hurries away. You clutch your still-bleeding hand to your chest, which draws Jack’s attention.

“Shit,” he curses. “Why didn’t you say you’ve never punched someone before? I could’ve done it.”

Your hand is still shaking as you follow him to an empty exam room. He opens the door and you shuffle in.

“It’s really not that bad,” you say, “it’s mostly the adrenaline making me shake.”

Jack keeps his back to you in the room, looking through cabinets quickly. You sigh.

“Really, Jack, I needed to punch him. For my own mental well-being. I’d be kicking myself later if I hadn’t,” you say with a soft laugh.

Jack retrieves some bandages and disinfectant. He takes a seat on a rolling stool in front of where you sit perched on an exam bed, swinging your feet back and forth. Jack gently grabs your hand and looks over your injuries.

“How are you so calm right now?” he asks, unfolding a disinfectant swab. “Your ex just verbally assaulted you in front of the entire ER floor.”

You hiss through your teeth as he dabs the swab against your torn knuckles. He gives you an apologetic look, but doesn’t let up. 

“I’m sure I’ll start panicking later, once everything settles in.” You wince again as he wraps your knuckles. 

“Can you move your thumb?”

You move it side to side, then up and down. Confusion washes over you as he inspects it. “How’d you know I hurt my thumb?”

He laughs. “I haven’t seen a fist that bad since I was sixteen. You can’t tuck your thumb inside your fist when you punch—you’re lucky you didn’t break it.”

You pout. “I thought I did good.”

He lets go of your thumb to cup your cheeks together in his palms. “I didn’t say it was terrible. You still packed a pretty mean hook.”

You can’t resist. You lean forward to give him a kiss. He returns it wholeheartedly, angling your head with his palm. 

You pull away before it can devolve into something inappropriate for a hospital setting. He strokes the back of your neck even as you pull apart, his eyes soft and heavy-lidded.

“You better go brief the day shift,” you tell him, “I’m sure they’ve already heard plenty about your eventful night. You know Shen loves to gossip.”

He bites his lip and throws his head back with a groan. “God, all I want to do right now is go to sleep.”

“At least you don’t have to do HR paperwork with a hurt hand.”

“You got me there,” he says, gently tugging you to his side as he heads to the door. “You’re off tomorrow, right? Want to come over to my place?”

You grin at him. “I’d love nothing more.”

© mariposium ; do not copy, feed into ai, redistribute, reupload, edit, translate, or otherwise steal my works, thanks!

[docrobinavitch]

as someone with 300+ unanswered asks in my inbox, i would love to see any “oops only one bed” uwu xoxo @rr-after-dark

james!! thank you so much for the request (: i decided to do this one with jack. i reallllyy hope you like it!! <3 content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, a conference, a blizzard, and a single bed what could go wrong?? (: dr abbot x f!reader

Jack frustratedly tapped his credit card against the front desk, "I don't understand, I reserved two rooms."

"I'm really sorry, sir," A flustered receptionist in her early twenties said emphatically, "With the rush because of the storm, we overbooked and—"

"Hey, I got the rest of the stuff," You said, materializing next to him with your bags. When you looked up to see his face, you frowned, "What's the matter?"

"Uh," Jack nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, "With the, uh, storm… The hotel seems to have… Overbooked the rooms—"

"Again," The nervous receptionist interrupted, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh no," You frowned, "There's no rooms?"

"No, no," The receptionist said quickly, "No it's just, you booked two rooms, but we only have one."

You visibly brightened, "Oh! That's a relief."

Jack could feel his blood pressure steadily rising. He knew coming to this conference with only you for company was a mistake. Robby had teased him about it when he realized, with horror, it would just be the two of you.

The entire trip he was overly conscious of his proximity to you, the heat of your body, your knee knocking into his. And you, by all accounts, seemed painfully oblivious to his internal warring. He had to fight himself not to touch you, not to look at you too long, not to imagine what it would be like to kiss and touch you the way he really wanted to.

Robby had encouraged him ages ago to just ask you out, but he felt so out of practice after his wife he couldn't deal with the possibility of rejection. It was much easier to just use the idea of you as a fantasy. What if he finally worked up the courage and you said yes?

But this entire trip, his anxiety had been at an all time high with no one else for him to buffer his nerves.

He cleared his throat, "The room only has one bed," He said lowly.

"Hm," You hummed and turned back to the receptionist, "Could we get a cot in the room?"

She shook her head ruefully, "I'm so sorry, all of them are in use. If you want I can cancel the reservation and fully refund—"

"No!" You said quickly, "No, no, it's um…" You turned back to Jack, "I'm totally fine with sharing a bed for one night if you are. I mean, everywhere has to be booked up because of the storm. We might not find anywhere else."

You were right, of course. Despite the fact that kill bill sirens were on a loop in his brain at the idea of having to be so close to you all night when he desperately needed to let off some steam in private after being so close to you all goddamn day— It seemed he didn't have much choice.

He forced a smile, "If it's good with you, it's good with me."

And with that, you took the room key from the receptionist and Jack Abbot willingly followed you down the hall into his own personal hell.

You showered first as he carefully removed his prosthesis and sighed in relief as he sat at the edge of the bed. Turning on the TV, he watched the weather report as a man went on and on about the severe blizzard conditions that were expected to start in a few hours. About ten minutes later, you came out of the bathroom in a robe and sat down next to him, the scent of coconut and vanilla wafting off you.

"Oh, shit," You murmured as you took in the report, "This is worse than they were saying a few hours ago."

Jack nodded. Although he was distracted with thoughts of you, he was also running over emergency contingency plans in his head. But really, besides having emergency supplies in his duffle (warming blanket, non perishable foods, flashlight, batteries, first aid kit) it seemed likely that they might be stuck here for more than just one night.

He tried not to think about that. Went to shower and fucked his fist in his shower chair, biting on his arm to keep himself quiet while his mind raced with thoughts of you, imagining himself peeling you out of that robe, kissing gently down your neck and color bone, licking up stray water droplets from the shower. He tried to imagine what you might sound like moaning his name in pleasure. He longed to worship you the way you deserved, if only he had the fucking nerve to tell you how he felt.

It was most on his mind this trip since you'd been forced to be alone together for so long. You'd traveled here together on the same flight, spent the entire conference side by side cracking jokes and mingling with other doctors. He saved you a seat at every table, listened intently when you rambled on about how nervous you were about presenting at a big conference for the first time.

"I've always been shit at oral presentations." You said, fingers twisting nervously in front of you as the two of you waited in the wings. You were up next.

"Don't put so much pressure on yourself," He said, "I'll be there the whole time. I'll jump in if you need me to.

You'd grabbed his hand, squeezed it gently, and smiled at him, "Thank you."

He'd nodded and pretended the softness of your hand in his didn't feel transformative, didn't make him feel like they were made for him to hold.

Now he made his way out of the shower, in just a pair of briefs as he used his crutches to maneuver back into the bedroom. You were sat up in the bed, eReader in hand, the blue light of the TV flickered over the plains of your face. Your eyes widened just slightly at the sight of him, shirtless and still dripping from the shower, but then swallowed and averted your eyes.

"Um, do you—" You cleared your throat and Jack stifled a smirk, "Do you need help with anything?"

Jack shook his head as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed again, "No, I got it. Thanks."

After some time, he made his way into the bed next to you and the two of you sat in companionable silence as the weather man continued to give play by play updates as the blizzard got ever closer. Jack was trying not to think about the warmth your body might provide in the night when you yawned and placed the eReader on your nightstand.

"Think I'm gonna try to get some sleep," You said, settling beneath the covers.

"Oh, let me turn off—" Jack started, reaching for the remote, but you cut him off.

"No, it's okay. Turn it off whenever. I can sleep through anything."

Jack sat awake for what felt like hours, unable to sleep for fear of reaching for you in his sleep. Somewhere in his subconscious was a level of desire he was hardly able to keep in check when he was awake. He had no idea what his body would do once his brain was offline.

He was listening to you snoring softly and had flipped the channel to M*A*S*H reruns when the room suddenly went dark. The whir of the heater creaked to silence until the only sound in the room was the wind rattling against the windows.

Fuck. He thought.

"Jack?" Your voice was bleary with sleep.

"Power went out," He said in response, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and fumbling around for his crutches.

"Well—Don't—It might come back in a second—"

"It's not coming back on. They can't send crews out in this weather."

"Well the hotel must have a generator."

"Maybe," Jack said, now ruffling through his duffel for a flashlight, "But it might be a while."

He clicked on the switch on the flashlight and immediately felt relief as light flooded the room. Pointing it towards your spot on the bed, you squinted and covered your eyes with your forearm at the sudden brightness.

"Sorry," He said and pointed it away from you.

"Why don't we just get some sleep," You said through a yawn, "The power'll probably be back up by the time we wake up."

You were likely right, but the more time passed the more he felt like the possibility of him being able to sleep while you were right next to him was slim to none.

He reached for his prosthesis, "I'm just gonna take a walk to the front desk to see—"

"No!" You said quickly, and it came out almost like a whine, "Please, don't. I just, um, I don't wanna be alone."

He almost laughed, "Are you… Afraid of the dark?"

You sighed, "Don't make fun."

"I'm not," He said quickly, schooling his features, "I'm just surprised. I won't leave if you don't want me to."

"Thank you," You said, the relief in your tone palpable.

He climbed back into the bed, leaving the flashlight on the nightstand and pointing towards the ceiling so that it bathed most of the room in a warm glow. He saw you shiver after a moment and frowned, "You're cold?"

You sank deeper into the duvet, "I can already tell the heat is out."

"Well I have an emergency warming blanket—"

You laughed, "You really are prepared for everything, huh?"

Not everything. He thought. Not you.

Instead, he only shrugged.

"I don't want some weird foil blanket, I'd have to be close to hypothermic before I'd use it."

He chuckled, "Suit yourself."

But after almost twenty minutes without the heat, you were nearly vibrating the whole mattress with your shivering.

"Could I, um…" You sounded shy and when he looked over at you, you were staring at the ceiling, "Could I move a little closer to you? Just…For warmth. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

He fingers itched to pull you to him, envelop you entirely in his warmth, but he resisted.

"Yeah, of course." He said instead, carefully camouflaging the want from his voice.

You scooted your body over until your hips were touching his. He wanted to resist, really, he did. But you were so cold.

"Well, that's not gonna help you much," He said softly and turned on his side toward you, "Can I?" He asked, reaching his arms toward you.

You barely hesitated before nodding and he pulled you into his arms. Once settled, you sighed in contentment, running your hands along his arms as they held you flush to his chest.

"This okay?" He asked softly.

You nodded, "Yeah, you?"

He closed his eyes, "I'm good."

He relished in the feel of you in his arms, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. With you so close to him, his mind wandered to thoughts of kissing your neck and allowing his hands to wander beneath your shirt, knead and toy with the soft flesh of your breasts—

Shit. He felt it when the blood rushed between his legs, his cock swelling and prodding at your ass. He felt the flush crawl up his neck, "Fuck, sorry, I—"

"It's okay," You said quickly, sounding a bit breathless, "It a normal reaction, but…"

He hung on your every word, "But…?"

"Well, I just, if—If it were more than that. That would be okay, too."

He thought his heart might have skipped a beat. He swallowed thickly, "Yeah?"

You nodded, "But it's okay if… if you don't feel the same."

He laughed, "You have no idea just how desperately I want you."

"Really?"

He nodded and used his hands to gently tilt your face to the side so he had access to your neck where he laid gentle kisses all the way up to your ear. You sighed and turned your head so you could meet his kisses. The taste of you, finally on his tongue, it was addicting. The sounds you made, better than anything he could have imagined.

His hands roamed up your shirt and as he teased and twisted your nipples, you squirmed against him, creating friction against his cock, "Jesus Christ." He hissed.

So quickly, you were putty in his hands, unable to string a sentence together. Drunk on his touch.

He slipped a hand down your belly and into your panties. Slowly, he ran his fingers over your lips and then circled your clit. Repeated the motion, ghosting over your entrance, but never quite penetrating. Until you were writhing against him, rutting your hips into his palm, whining for more.

"That feel good, baby? You want more?"

You hiccuped, nodding helplessly.

"You want me to fuck you with my fingers?"

"Please, Jack." You managed finally and he smiled, pressed a kiss just below your ear.

"Good girl, so good for me." He murmured and slowly pushed his middle finger inside you.

Already wet and aching, you accommodated the stretch with ease and he began prodding, finding where it was that most drove you crazy. Then he pushed his ring finger inside you, used his thumb to continue rubbing your clit.

In moments, you were falling apart in his arms. He cooed sweet words in your ear as you came down and then slowly slipped his fingers out of you once you settled again. Unable to help himself, he sucked your juices off his fingers. The taste of you riled him so thoroughly, his cock twitched, aching and full against his thigh as he considered splaying you open to feast properly.

But before he could do anything, the TV came back on and the heater hummed back to life. You turned in his arms to face him, the blue light casting shadows across your face. But it didn't matter, he saw the giddiness you tried to hide. You swallowed, "Looks like the generator kicked in."

He nodded and ran his thumb over your lower lip, "It's a shame, I was looking forward to keeping you warm all night."

Finally, a smile split across your face and you closed the inches between you to kiss him, "I'm still pretty cold," You said softly into his mouth, "If the offer still stands."

A wolfish grin spread across Jack's face as you began tugging at his boxers.

[nostarfights]

congrats! i might have a request!

jack abbott x reader, angsty and smutty with reader maybe being robby’s sister, and he doesn’t like the idea of jack with his much younger sister

You're A Big Girl Now

Pairing: Jack Abbot X fem!Robinavitch!Reader

Summary: When Robby finds out that you’ve been secretly dating his best friend, he has a hard time accepting that you’re not a little girl anymore.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, a little choking, aftercare, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Jack is in his late 40s), cursing, a few uses of y/n, Robby’s probably a little ooc and crying.

Word Count: 2.1K

read on ao3

the gif below does not belong to me

my 700 follower celebration!

Jack’s fingers slowly came up to rest just below the waistband of your panties and he remained behind you, holding you in his arms, his lips pressing kiss after kiss to your neck that slowly woke you up. You looked at him over your shoulder a little, “Hmm? What’s going on?” you sleepily mumbled, still waking up from the nap you and Jack had taken together this afternoon on his day off.

He pressed a light kiss to your cheek, shamelessly rubbing his boner against your ass, making you softly gasp. “I need you so bad, baby. Let me fuck you, please.” he begged, his breathing heavy and his eyebrows tightly furrowed while his hands gripped your waist.

You nodded, “Yeah, go ahead, Jackie.” you told him, now fully awake and extremely horny, grinding your ass into his cock. When you first started dating him, you secretly worried that he wouldn't be able to keep up with your libido considering your age difference but you soon found out that he was just as insatiable as you were, if not more.

Not wasting any time, he quickly pulled down the pair of his boxers you’d fallen asleep in, threw them aside and slipped his fingers into your already weeping hole. “Love how wet you get for me.” he muttered, nipping at your neck.

“Please, Jack,” you said, hating when he teased you like this. You grinded your ass against him again, grinning at the way his cock twitched against you. “Stop holding back.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his free hand lining his painfully hard cock up with your entrance, “Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.” he murmured, causing goosebumps to litter your skin, and slid into you with a low, loud groan.

He gripped your hips in one hand while the other drifted up to one of your tits, rolling your nipple in between his fingers. His pace was slow, much slower than the quick, brutal pace you were used to. And as if he had somehow read your mind, he addressed this difference, “I wanna take my time, just let yourself feel it.” he told you and you nodded, turning your head as much as you could to face him, your lips meeting his in one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever given you.

Your ass softly slapped his wide thighs, “Feels so good, go faster please. I can’t take it, Jack.” you pleaded, your eyebrows furrowed in unbridled agony.

Obeying your request, Jack wrapped one arm around your neck and the other around your waist, fucking into you at that rapid, ruthless pace you adored. He briefly pressed his forehead to the back of your head, “Fuck, she’s suckin’ me in. You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. I could fuck this pretty pussy all day.” he muttered through gritted teeth right into your ear, his words bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

You loved it when he talked to you like this, you never wanted it to end.

He suddenly spoke once more, interrupting your thoughts the second he felt your pussy fluttering around him, “You close? You gonna cum on my cock?” he said, roughly kissing your neck, and you weakly nodded. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel how good I make you feel.”

Obeying his request, you let yourself fall apart on his cock, your vision briefly going black while you moaned, “Feels so good, Jackie.” you babbled, completely lost in your orgasm, accidentally sinking your teeth into his bicep.

He groaned at this, “Shit, she’s squeezing me so tight.” he muttered, barely able to speak before his own orgasm soon washed over him, and spilled his seed inside you.

The two of you continued to lay there, his cock still inside you, for almost twenty minutes, slowly coming down from both of your highs. Jack then slowly pulled himself out of you, “I know, I know, baby.” he cooed when you sharply gasped at the feeling, leaving you with a kiss to the top of your head before he sat up, slipping his arms into his crutches to get a wet cloth from his bathroom.

When he returned, he rolled you onto your back and gently wiped you in between your legs, earning another gasp from you as he tossed the rag into his laundry bin. He leaned over you, gently kissing you and cupping your face in his hand, “I’m gonna go shower, wanna join me?” he asked, a look of pure love for you in his eyes. He was truly down bad.

You softly smiled up at him and shook your head, “No, I’m okay. I'm gonna lay here for a little longer.” you answer and he nodded, mirroring the smile on your lips, leaving you to rest. You rolled over, grabbing your phone from where you’d left it on the bedside table next to it, planning to scroll through Tiktok until Jack was done.

When suddenly, you heard the sound of someone unlocking the front door to his apartment. Your eyes widened at this, ”Fuck.” you whispered to yourself. 

It was Michael, it had to be. After all, he was the only other person with keys to Jack’s apartment. You’d been hiding your relationship from him the whole eight months you had been together so far, knowing he wouldn’t approve. But there was no going back now. Your body froze up in fear, not allowing you to quickly get up and put Jack’s boxers back on and hide. So you just stayed put.

He quietly closed the door behind him, “Hey, you home? I think I left my backpack here the other day!” he called out, his eyes landing on you in Jack’s bed as he finished speaking. He easily crossed the space in less than ten strides, now standing in the doorway, making you want to crawl out of your skin. “What the fuck? What’re you doing here, (y/n)?”, a look of anger filling his eyes.

A scared look filled yours, “Surprise?” you said with a shrug, not knowing what else you could possibly say right now.

He shot you a disappointed look and stormed over to the bathroom connected to Jack’s bedroom, “Abbot! Out now!” he yelled, turning away for a minute while his best friend scrambled to put on the robe he kept hung up next to his shower. Once he was decent, Michael turned back around and balled his hands into fists for a moment before releasing them, “When the fuck were you going to tell me you were fucking my sister? My sister who’s twenty years younger than you might I add.”

A panicked look appeared on Jack’s face and he sighed, trying to collect himself, his wet curls dripping onto his shoulders, “Listen, I never meant you to find out that we’re dating like this but you gotta accept that she’s an adult, man. You can’t boss her around anymore. She can make her own decisions.” he replied, referencing the time you’d told him about how Michael was so overprotective of you when you were a kid that it often came off as controlling.

He ran a hand over his tired face, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, brother. You’re just too old for her.” he quietly said, subtly shaking his head with disapproval.

Leaving the bathroom before Jack had the chance to say anything else, Michael practically stomped back over to you, looking as if steam was about to shoot out of his ears. “Get dressed, now. I’m taking you home.” he sternly commanded and you shook a little, startled by how angry he was. You hadn’t seen him like this in years.

You angrily furrowed your eyebrows at this, ignoring your fear, “No! I’m not some little girl anymore, Michael! You can’t tell me what to do!” you fired back, eliciting a worried look from Jack.

He picked your clothes up off of the floor and threw them at you, “I’m not going to repeat myself.” he said.

You nodded, “Okay.” you replied, tears filling your eyes as you became as obedient as you once were as a child, and he left the room.

Jack frowned at you, watching you put your clothes back on. He hated seeing what this was doing to you. He placed his hand on your bicep as you started to walk toward the closed door, stopping you, “Hey, you don’t have to listen to him. You’re a grown woman.” he said, tears pricking at his eyes.

You took a shaky breath in and out, refusing to meet his gaze, your shoulders stiff, “I know, it’s just that…he’s the only family I have left and I don’t wanna lose him. Let’s talk about this another time.” you told him and he nodded in understanding, hesitantly letting you go without properly saying goodbye.

—--------------------------------------

A day later

—--------------------------------------

You were sitting on your couch hopelessly trying to distract yourself from your feelings with one of the books you owned, your eyes reading the same paragraph again and again, when someone knocked on your front door. You set the book aside and wiped your remaining tears away, it felt like all you had done today was cry. 

“Just a second!” you called out, your voice sounding more shaky then you meant it to.

You opened it to reveal Michael standing behind it, clearly having come straight here after his shift today. You frowned at him and defensively crossed your arms over your chest, “What do you want, Michael? Are you here to yell at me again or something?” you asked, begrudgingly moving to the side to allow him to enter your home and closing the door behind him.

He remained quiet, walked over to your couch and took a seat, wordlessly encouraging to sit next to him, “I’m just trying to understand you and Jack’s relationship. I don’t get what you could possibly see in a man that much older than you.” he sighed, frustrating you a little.

Your shoulders relaxed a little, glad that he was calmly speaking to you instead of yelling again, “I know we have a big age gap but I love him because of how he treats me. He’s one of the kindest, loving and gentlest men I’ve ever met and he makes me feel seen. With Jack by my side, I’ve been a lot happier than I have in a very long time. And I know you don’t approve but please, at least try to get used to us being together. I don’t wanna lose you, Mikey. I need you in my life.” you explained.

He nodded, raking a hand through his thinning hair, “Okay, I’ll try. I’m just going to need some time,” he agreed and you softly smiled at him, feeling extremely relieved. He wrapped his long arms around you and pressed a light kiss to the side of your head, “But if he ever fucks up, just let me know and I’ll go beat him up for you, okay?”

You laughed at this, “Okay.” you replied, getting his own tense shoulders to finally relax.

After Michael left, you retrieved your phone from where you left it on your coffee table and sent Jack a quick text telling him to call you as soon as he had a moment. Within a few minutes, your phone rang and his contact appeared on the screen, making you chuckle at how quickly he’d called you. You picked up on the third ring, “Hey, baby, what’d Robby say? He told me he was gonna talk to you after work.” he greeted, a hopeful tone to his voice.

You grinned at how rapidly he’d spoken, “He’s not completely on board with us yet but he said he’ll try.” you said, barely able to get through what you wanted to say without a giddy giggle or two leaving your lips.

A relieved laugh left Jack’s own lips, “Yes!” he said, the sound of his badge jingling in the background as if he had just fist pumped the air. “I’m coming over right after work and taking you out for breakfast.”

You smiled at how happy and excited this news had made him, he no longer had to hide you and your relationship. “Okay, Jackie, I’ll see you then. I love you, handsome.” you replied.

“I love you too, baby. Goodnight, sweet dreams.” he said before he hung up and you excitedly kicked your feet, your heart bursting with happiness knowing that you weren’t going to lose Jack or your brother.

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