After the birth of your beautiful baby that Jack put inside you, your old body is gone. Sorely missed, really. But Jack? He has no interest in helping you find it again.
He has you sprawled out across the bed. You're beautifully marked by the journey of mommyhood. And Jack doesn't just love your new body. That'd be very unlike him.
"Look at you, Mommy."
...Yeah. Jack's obsessed with the mommy he made. All the changes she's undergone for him.
"If you wanna get rid of the evidence that I filled you...fine. Can't stop you. But if it matters, I didn't know how much I needed you like this."
He moves his weight over you, his eyes of every color blown in a way you can only call predatory. Maybe wanting. Unblinking want.
"Jackie..."
Jack stares down at the stretch marks, the jagged lines tracing your hips and your belly. The map of his ownership, your growth...but that would be if he were feeling poetic. Again. He hasn't read a poem since high school.
Right now, though, he's just feeling hungry as shit.
"Jack...Daddy---"
Jack doesn't answer you with words. He takes to leaning down instead.
His tongue darts out to taste you.
"Mm."
His spit tickles you in a way that makes you squirm as he begins to lick your stretch marks with a focused, rhythmic swirl. He laps and circles over your skin. It's when he closes his eyes shut.
Just need to savor Kiddo. Take in the scent of Mommy.
"Little too corny to say you're a delicacy. Not that you're delicate. You've proven you're durable. Just..."
Jack's tongue is its way when his tongue trails the length of a particularly long mark that curves around your hip. He slurps. Just to clean up what he's left behind.
"You taste so fucking sweet, Sleepy."
He could suck on you all day. You should take it as a compliment by now. How he coats your stomach in his spit, as if he could taste every bit of stretch and strain your body took to growing a baby.
You whimper, twitching beneath him.
It's the way Jack's looking at you, too, that doesn't help. You feel like the most prized, favored piece of meat.
...You feel like a beautiful mommy.
"Please, Jack…I want you inside."
Your voice breaks. Jack pauses, his chin glistening with his saliva and your sweat.
He smiles thinly. A smirk, more so.
"Not yet. Just because you're a mommy now doesn't mean you get to boss me around."
Jack gives one last, dragging lick from your navel all the way down to where your hip meets your thigh. His eyes keep themselves staring into yours.
He does whatever you want all the time. He'll do whatever you want forever.
━━ ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . jack abbot x morgue tech!reader ; after your shift, you go upstairs to the er looking for jack and you run into a few of your boyfriend's coworkers, they bring to your attention just how large jack abbot really is ━ 4.2k
field trip ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . to THE MORGUE
By the time you finished shift change down downstairs, the hospital had already begun its slow transition from night to morning. The morgue never changed much regardless of the hour.
The fluorescent lights still hummed overhead with the same dull persistence they had at midnight. The air stilled smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold metal and the industrial cleaner the day shift janitors liked to use too heavily.
The prep tables remained clean and pristine despite the three autopsies that you had preformed. It was peaceful for lack of a better word. But upstairs, however, the hospital would be just beginning to wake up.
The emergency department at six in the morning was an entirely different beast than the morgue tucked neatly beneath it. This place moved fast even when exhausted.
The whole floor pulsed with motion and noise and overstimulation.
You hated it.
Don't mistake your dislike for the environment for the dislike of the people inhabiting it. You wouldn't say you were friends with the ER staff, but you were on chit chatting terms with a lot of them since beginning dating Jack. But the sheer amount of everything put you especially at unease.
Too many voices, too many bodies darting from one side of the ER to the other, and that meant too many opportunities for someone to accidentally touch you in passing.
Which is why you usually stayed downstairs until Jack came to get you. That had become your routine somewhere along the line. Most mornings, by the time you clocked out and gathered your things, Jack was already leaning against your desk in the morgue office with that perpetually exhausted look on his face and a coffee in his hand.
Then the two of you would leave together before either of your brains fully registered another twelve hour shift had passed.
This morning, however, he hadn't shown. You were a little disappointed but you weren't outrageously upset about it. You knew that Jack got held up all the time and while this meant you would have to brave the ER again, it wasn't his fault.
Trauma cases sometimes came in unexpectedly, shift hand off lasted longer when it was busier than usual, and you knew that Robby had a tendency to trap Jack into talking about things that didn't have anything to do with the hospital. Like his new on again, off again situationship with Noelle Hastings from social work.
So after a few minutes, you simply slung your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way upstairs. The elevator ride alone nearly convinced you to turn around.
By the time the doors opened onto the ER floor, the department was already in full swing. Phones rang somewhere in the distance. Someone laughed too loudly near the nurses’ station. A monitor beeped insistently from one of the trauma bays, while an exhausted nurse muttered something under her breath about needing a Red Bull.
You immediately regretted coming up here.
Keeping your head down, you slipped towards the break room near the back hallway, careful not to drift into anybody's path. The last thing you wanted after twelve hours underground was to become collateral damage in the organized chaos of emergency medicine.
You set your things down carefully on the small table inside the break room before leaning your head just barely out the doorway. To the left sat the employee lockers and a supply alcove. To the right was the command desk, where everyone eventually flocked and housed the patient boards.
Jack stood there with Robby and Dana, one hand braced against the edge of the counter while the other rested loosely on his hip.
Even from across the department, you could easily see the exhaustion that sat heavily across his shoulders.
The dark scrub top stretched across his back whenever he shifted slightly, and the dark wash cargo pants he wore instead of scrub bottoms sat low on his hips beneath the hem of his shirt.
You couldn't hear from where you were, but you could see Robby's mouth moving and Dana's wholly unimpressed look. You can only imagine what they were talking about. Jack, meanwhile, looked like a man mentally calculating how quickly he could escape the conversation.
Whether he saw you immediately when you entered the ER or simply felts your stare, you didn't know, but his head turned after a moment.
His eyes landed on you instantly and his whole expression changed, annoyance discarded and replaced with pure unadulterated affection. The change was small enough that most people wouldn't have noticed it. But you spent more time staring at Jack Abbot's face than most, so it was easy for you to spot.
Jack's brows lifted slightly before he brought his hands together in a quick apologetic and his mouth formed the word sorry from across the room. You smiled at him despite yourself. He glanced down at his watch before holding up five fingers.
You nodded once. His mouth curved with something guilty and fond all at once before his expression returned to what it was before he saw you and he turned back towards Robby. It was almost comical how fast the stoicism settled over his face again like armor sliding back into place.
You watched him for another moment longer than you probably should've. Long enough to notice the slight tension around his jaw. Long enough that you begun to wonder if his prosthetic was bothering him after being on it all night and then forced to stand there while Robby prodded him for dating advice.
Long enough that the clap against your back caught you completely off guard and nearly sent your soul directly out of your body. You startled violently. "Oh my god—"
"Morning, Morgie."
You turned to find Trinity grinning at you like she'd just caught you with your pants down and your hand in the cookie jar. Dennis lingered behind her with the distinct energy of a man who already regretted participating in whatever conversation was about to occur.
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your pulse. "Hi, Dr. Santos."
"You headed out?" she asked, a mischievous look in her eye.
"Trying to," you answered honestly.
Trinity barely acknowledged the response. She leaned casually against the doorway beside you like the two of you were old friends instead of occasional workplace acquaintances who primarily exchanged polite nods in passing.
You had known people like Trinity your entire life. Loud people, you mean. People who filled silence immediately and naturally. People endlessly willing to push boundaries just to see what would happen. That wasn't to say you didn't like her.
If anything, you suspected under different circumstances you could probably even be friends. Unfortunately, friendship required social energy you often did not possess after working nights in basement with dead people.
Still, you tried. If not for your sake, then for Jack's. These were his coworkers and you were his girlfriend, you were bound to run into them more often than not, so a good relationship was paramount in your opinion.
"How are you doing?" you asked politely. She had ignored the question entirely, opting for her own line of questioning. "So," she started, eye bright with mischief already, "you and Abbot are like a thing, right?"
You stomach dropped. "What?" Never in a million years did you think that was going to be her question.
Dennis looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him whole. Trinity, meanwhile, looked absolutely delighted with herself. "Oh, come one," she said. "You guys are not subtle."
You blinked at her.
You genuinely had not realized that people knew. You and Jack were not actively hiding your relationship persay. The two of you just simply hadn't announced it. You didn't exactly have a social circle to update, and Jack was not the type to stand in the middle of the ER making declarations about his personal life.
But apparently none of that really mattered.
Apparently the entire hospital had functioning eyeballs. Before you could figure out how to respond to that, Trinity continued. "But I gotta ask," she said lowering her voice slightly despite the wicked grin still pulling at her mouth, "is he packing? Because that man walks like it's heavy."
Your brain stalled completely.
Packing? Walks like it, what? Those were only some of the thoughts running through your head. You frowned in confusion. "What?"
Trinity stared at you, disbelieving. "You know," she waved her hands slightly as if that would suddenly make you understand what she was referring to.
"No," you admitted slowly, "I actually don't."
For one horrifying second, you genuinely thought she was talkng about his prosthetic. You eyes flicked instinctively toward Jack again. He shifted slightly near the desk, probably trying to relieve pressure from standing too long.
Concern immediately sparked in your chest. Was his leg hurting him?
"Santos," Dennis whisper hissed, scandalized, "you cannot ask people stuff like that."
"What?" she asked. "I've been catching print for the last hour. I'm curious!"
Now you were even more confused. What did that even mean, catching print? Surely she wasn't referring to his prosthetic. You didn't have the greatest view of his leg as it was obscured by the other, but even so it was very difficult to notice it under his cargo pants even under the right circumstances.
"Catching what?" you asked.
She blinked at you incredulously. Dennis covered his face with one hand. "You don't know what that means?" she asked.
"Should I?"
In hindsight, the grin that spread across Trinity's face then should have terrified you, but all you felt was embarrassment beginning to creep up your neck. "Oh my god," she breathed. "Okay. Wait."
Before you could react, she stepped closer beside you and pointed subtly towards the command desk. You followed her gaze automatically. Jack still stood talking with Robby and Dana, completely unaware he was currently the subject of discussion.
"I'm confus—"
"Wait for it," Trinity interrupted.
Jack shifted his weight to his good leg, trying to relieve some of the pressure. You noticed immediately because you always noticed when he was compensating with his good leg after a long shift. You eyes dropped instinctively toward the prosthetic, mentally cataloguing the stiffness in his posture and the slight adjustment of his hips.
Beside you, she groaned dramatically. "Higher," she muttered.
Your brows furrowed but you did as you were told and slowly your gaze dragged upward. Past the heavy line of his thigh. Past the dark wash cargo pants that stretched tighter from the weight shift. You finally understood as your gaze landed on his crotch.
Oh.
Oh.
Your entire body stilled because now that you saw, there was no way for you to unsee it. The fabric across the front of his pants had pulled taut enough to reveal the unmistakable outline of him beneath.
It wasn't obscene or at all intentional. But it was incredibly, horribly noticeable once pointed out. Your stomach dropped directly into hell. Which is exactly where you felt you were. Was it getting hot in here?
It wasn't like this was new information to you. It wasn't like you hadn't seen him naked plenty of times before. It was quite the contrary. You knew exact what Jack looked like beneath his clothes.
You knew the weight of him in your palm, the way his hands gripped your hips when he lost control, you knew the vulgar things that came out of his mouth when he got worked up enough.
This was different. This was public.
This was your boyfriend standing in the middle of the emergency department discussing hospital operations while his coworkers apparently conducted active investigations into the outline of his dick.
Another reason you hated the ER, pointless conversation about topics that were better left unspoken.
And to make matters worse, Jack clearly had no idea. Because you knew that had Jack been turned on right now, his neck would be flushed under his stubble, his fists would flex unconsciously, his shoulders would tense.
Instead he remained entirely relaxed, still focused on whatever Robby was saying. Meaning that it was simply him. Your face went hot enough to physically hurt. Beside you, Trinity looked seconds away from tears from how hard she was trying not to laugh.
You couldn't speak.
You couldn't breath.
Trinity watched your expression transform in real time and absolutely lit up with satisfaction. Because not only had she succeeded in getting her answer, she had effectively embarrassed the life out of you.
"There it is."
Your eyes remained locked on Jack against your will. Because now that you noticed, your brain seemed insistent on replaying memory after memory. Dear God.
Had it always been that noticeable?
You felt mildly sick and somehow even sicker knowing Trinity was watching you realize it. "I, um, have nothing to say on the matter." She finally broke and a loud laugh burst out of her before she slapped Dennis on the shoulder.
"Come on, Huckleberry," she cackled, still grinning wildly. "We've ruined Morgie's morning enough." Then she simply walked away. Leaving you standing there in the break room doorway, staring at your boyfriend across the ER.
You almost didn't answer the door.
The thought had crossed your mind somewhere between your bed and the kitchen island, sometime after you'd buried yourself beneath your comforter and convinced yourself that if you ignored the problem it would eventually disappear.
Unfortunately, simply not answering the door wouldn't make everything alright again, because Jack wasn't actually the problem.
The problem was you.
It was how Jack made you feel.
Jack was thoughtful and kind.
The sort of man who noticed when you skipped meals, remembered your favorite takeout order and worried when you took the bus home when he was supposed to drive you.
The sort of man currently standing in your apartment hallway balancing enough food to feed a small family. You chewed nervously on your lip for a moment as you stared through the peephole.
You hesitated opening the door but ultimately unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the heavy door. "Jack?" you questioned.
The second the door opened, his attention settled on you. "Hey, pretty girl."
The greeting came naturally as if it had been your name forever rather than just for the last few months. His gaze moved over you quickly but it didn't feel invasive or scrutinizing. You could tell he was looking for signs of the sickness you had told him you'd suddenly come down with.
"Can I come in?"
You didn't really understand why but with those four words, your guilt doubled. Your stomach lurched as you stepped aside without argument. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Yeah, I did," he muttered.
He leaned his crutches against the kitchen island as he began to pull out the various food items.
The apartment suddenly felt smaller with him inside it, and it wasn't because his large frame took up most of your kitchen. His broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than physically possible. But more importantly, when he was here, it felt warmer and homey. Jack made your tiny studio feel different simply by existing in it.
"You look better than I expected."
You could tell the statement was carefully curated. Meant to reassure himself of your state but not as to blatantly say I knew you were lying when you said you were sick.
So you did what you do best in these situations. You doubled down. "I told you it wasn't serious," you explained.
"Mhm." The hum could have meant absolutely anything and the different possibilities were making your head spin.
You watched him continue unpacking the food. Container after container appeared. Then you also noticed the drink carrier and the large water bottle he pulled out from under his arm.
"I didn't know what sounded good," he explained. "So I got options."
You stared. "Jack . . ," you trailed.
"Breakfast sandwich. Turkey club, incase you were thinking lunch and chicken noodle, if you're feeling nauseous." Another container joined the lineup. "Hash browns, too."
"Jack, thats too much."
"I know you forget to eat sometimes and I am almost ninety nine percent sure that's what's making you feel sick." He finally glances over at you. "So please. Eat."
Your chest tightened because there it was again. That awful problem. The caring and the concern. The complete inability to stop looking after people.
You had spent the entire bus ride home feeling ridiculous. Now you felt ridiculous and guilty. A terrible combination, especially when it came to you.
"You sure your head's the only thing bothering you?" Your eyes snapped upward.
Jack had settled on to the couch now, crutches leaned against the coffee table as he pulled off his prosthetic. Then leaned back against the cushions with the exhausted posture of a man who had spent twelve hours standing.
He tilted his head back and rolled his neck. His legs spread as he shifted further into the couch. Your eyes gravitated towards his thighs and for the first time, you noticed he was wearing gray sweatpants. You immediately looked elsewhere.
"I'm just tired," you said quickly, averting your eyes by any means necessary.
"Baby, you've been tired before." His voice remained calm, very matter-of-fact. "This is different," he continued.
You cursed yourself for letting this silly situation spiral like this. You cursed yourself for letting him in the door and most of all, you cursed yourself for being so damn readable.
He had been in your apartment for all of ten minutes and he had already noticed the change in your behavior. Very Jack Abbot of him and very much the bane of your existence.
You groaned loudly, "Oh my god, I'm acting weird."
"A little." You hadn't expected him to agree with you so outright, so your face fell a little when you heard his words. Jack immediately softened. "Not bad weird. Just a little off."
The apartment fell quiet. You looked away. Suddenly finding everything else more interesting. The outside city noises. A dog barking somewhere down the street. The soft hum of your ancient refrigerator.
"Honey?"
"Hm?" You respond but you definitely don't look towards him.
"Tell me what's going on."
You continued to stare stubbornly at the floor. If you didn't answer maybe he'd forget. At least that's what your were foolish enough to think. Unfortunately for you, Jack Abbot possessed the patience of a man who spent his life talking terrified patients through terrible situations.
Silence didn't scare him. It merely encouraged him to wait longer. When you sill didn't answer, he sighed. A change in tactics was in store for you. "C'mere."
You blinked, confused, "What?"
"Your shoulders are practically touching your ears." He tipped his chin towards the couch. "Sit down," he ordered.
"I don't think—"
"Sit."
His command wasn't malicious or harsh. It wasn't even particularly forceful. Yet somehow you found yourself crossing the room anyway. He shifted immediately to make space for you. The moment you sat down, he maneuvered you until your back was facing him and his hands settled on your shoulders. You nearly folded in half at the feeling.
"Oh my god."
"I told you." His thumbs worked slowly through the knots gathered at the base of your neck. You hadn't noticed how tense you'd gotten until this moment. How every muscle in your body had tightened up in your fucked up sense of self preservation.
But as his hands continued to work over the area, the more you relaxed and in more ways than one. The problem was that Jack's hands felt entirely too good. The problem was also that Jack himself felt entirely too good. The problem was definitely not helped by the gray sweatpants and the fact that you were still very much in the proverbial doghouse you had put yourself in.
"You're tight as hell," he mumbled and a strangled sound escaped before you could stop it. Jack froze, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, seriously. What is going on?"
You immediately covered your face as heat flooded your cheeks. "Hey." A hand squeezed your shoulder. "Come on, baby. We talked about communicating, it's important to me."
You groaned into your hands. "Ugh, it's so embarrassing. I don't wanna tell you."
"Well, now you have to," he teased. "It's just me."
"Exactly my point. It's you." You swear if he lifted his eyebrows any further they'd brush his hairline. "Alright, now I'm definitely confused."
You debated lying again. Considered a different excuse, something wholly more believable. But again, Jack had that way about him, which somehow made honesty inevitable.
"While I was waiting for you," you finally muttered, "Santos came up to me and she said—"
Jack straightened immediately. "What? If she crossed a line, I'll have a talk with her."
"No." You sat upright and turned to him so fast his hands slipped from your shoulders. "No. That would definitely not help."
"Okay," he conceded, though suspicion still laced his voice. "Can you tell me what she said?"
You sighed. "She was just being . . ." You searched for the appropriate description. "Being Santos."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No, I know." You looked down at your hands. "She asked if we were together."
Jack frowned. "Does that make you upset? That people know?"
"No." You almost shout, the answer coming immediately. You softened slightly. "I mean, I know we weren't necessarily hiding it. I just didn't realize how many people knew."
Understanding flickered across his face. Then disappeared almost as quick as it had appeared. "Alright," his voice gentled. "Then what's got you so twisted up?"
And there it was.
This was the moment. The point of no return.
You stared at the wall. Then the floor. Then your hands. Anywhere except Jack. Finally, mortified beyond belief, you mumbled, "she asked if you were 'packing.'"
The silence that followed was immediate.
"What?"
You squeezed your eyes shut, mentally preparing for your next words. "And then she said—and I quote—'he walks like it's heavy.'"
For one glorious second, Jack looked too stunned to react. Then he laughed.
It wasn't a cruel laugh or mocking. Just genuinely surprised. Which somehow made it worse. "Oh my god." You buried your face in your hands. "You're laughing at me. I knew this was stupid."
"No, baby." He was still smiling but he was shaking his head and waving his hands. "I'm not laughing at you."
"You literally are," you said bluntly because he really was still laughing.
"It's just kinda silly," he confessed.
"Silly?" you repeated. "What about this is silly?"
Jack shook his head. "So what if people noticed?"
"You don't understand."
"No. I do."
The corners of his mouth twitched. "So what if you noticed? Ain't nothing you haven't seen before."
"Jack."
"What?"
His expression remained entirely too innocent. "It's the truth."
"Jack!" Your panicked voice earned another laugh. You groaned dramatically. "Stop laughing."
"I'm trying." He absolutely was not. The smile gave him away.
"C'mere." His hand found your wrist before you could retreat again. The gesture was gentle and familiar. "Baby." The amusement faded slightly and he continued, "you're acting like this is some terrible thing."
"It is terrible."
"Why?"
"You weren't there."
"No." His thumb brushed across your skin."Sounds like I missed a hell of a conversation though," he joked.
You glared. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he looked unbearably fond. “I just—" you exhaled. "I know what you look like, okay? Obviously. But that's private."
Your hand waved vaguely between the two of you. "That's ours."
For the first time since arriving, Jack's smile softened completely. "Then suddenly she points it out and now I'm standing there staring at your pants in the middle of the ER like some kind of pervert."
"Oh."
You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean oh?”
The grin returned instantly. "Are you jealous other people noticed?"
"No!"
You stood without really thinking it through. This was how it was with you. Your instinct was always flight over fight. Unfortunately, Jack caught your wrist. "Nope." The grin widened. "You started this conversation. You're finishing it."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
His eyes lingered on your face. "You're embarrassed because Dr. Santos pointed out something you already spend a lotta time thinkin' about."
Your mouth dropped open.
"I do not."
One eyebrow lifted. You immediately looked away. Which told him everything he needed to know.
His laugh returned. "Hey." Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the opposite wall. "Pretty girl."
"Jack, that's not helping."
"You know I like knowing you think about me like that, right?"
Your face somehow became hotter. "Stop."
"What?" His expression remained shameless. "Sweetheart, we've slept together. More than once."
"Please stop talking."
"There is nothin' embarrassing about bein' attracted to me." You stared. Jack shrugged. "Frankly, I'd be a little concerned if you weren't."
Despite everything. Despite the embarrassment. Despite Trinity Santos. Despite spending over two hours making yourself miserable, a laugh escaped.
The moment it did, Jack's expression softened.
"There she is."
You rolled your eyes. The words settled somewhere warm despite your best efforts to resist them.
And the knot that had been sitting in your chest since sunrise finally began to loosen.
your older boyfriend jack teaches you how to suck him off...
you could feel your jaw getting wet from the saliva that was lazily trickling down your chin, and slowly coating your fingers that were wrapped around the thick shaft of jack’s cock. your tongue massaged his tip, while your tear-filled, doe eyes watched his reactions, unknowingly forcing jack to physically restrain himself from thrusting his hips upward, repeating to himself like a mantra that this was your first time, and that he had to do everything he could not to scare you away.
but how could he have resisted when you tested him so much?
your face was the very image of sin—sin wrapped in sweet innocence, which you radiated from head to toe, giving him the impression that what he was letting you do was wrong, immoral. yet how could he say no to you when you were so eager to learn, so eager to please him?
his hand found its place on your flushed cheek. his thumb caressed your soft skin, giving you a sense of praise, when in reality it was a sick urge to feel his cock filling your sweet mouth.
“take your time, okay?” he hoarsely whispered, his voice vibrating through your body, leaving your nerves on edge and trembling “you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. daddy’s proud of you.”
that singular compliment had an embarrassingly quick effect on you; your thighs clenched, a quiet, muffled moan escaped your throat, and your gaze filled with a need that was impossible to miss.
although you were still unsure of what you were doing, you took him deeper into your mouth, choking almost immediately, but you stubbornly kept going, even as your jaw grew sore and your eyes began to water. yet you didn’t stop, wanting—no, needing—to hear once more how good you were for jack.
and he knew just how hard you were pushing yourself, how desperately you were trying to please him, and that’s why the only thing that came out of his mouth were groans of pleasure, which only served to fuel a fire that was already burning inside you.
after all, he was your teacher—how could he not appreciate your effort?
I also think that the strength gap is at least partially manufactured women would in fact be stronger overall if little girls were encouraged to do physically taxing games and activities and eat their fill while they’re growing vs having to constantly diet and be sedentary indoors (or god forbid do intense cardio while under-eating). The amount of adult women honestly afraid to lift weights bc they think they’ll get bulky as though bulking isn’t a full time job that athletes have to spend all their time on and anyone on earth gets shredded from just using their adult muscles for their intended purpose, girl your bone density 🥀
if you say women are intentionally nerfed from birth in 2026 people look at you like you’re insane and start condescendingly telling you about how women are just better at different things (but not during their periods haha) but this was a completely basic feminist talking point I grew up with like “girls can do it too! [shot of little girls climbing and running with boys]” nickelodeon commercial tier base level I hate it how is everyone suddenly dumber than the average 7 year old
blah blah i know sammy bryant is just a total and utter sweetheart baby but i want to see him manhandle reader.
i was scrolling through twitter or x (whateva you wanna call it) saw this tweet about wives asking their cop husbands to try to take them down in 30 seconds and now just imagining asking husband!sammy to do it.
he doesn't want to hurt his sweet girl but they way you're looking at him doe eyed, pleading and tugging at his arm has him chubbing up in his jeans. he had come home, still in uniform when you blocked his way to the shower, shoving your phone to show him the video. "sammy, c'mon please? just once, i wanna what all these bad guys get when my husband is takin em down" your chin on his chest as your looking up at him.
"let me just go shower first and then–" "no, baby you gotta do it uniform! how am i gonna take you serious when you're trying to pin me down in some sweats huh?"
now standing in the living room giggling like a school girl as he tries to size you up, trying to play serious cop now. "you know how fast you were going?" "mmm nope!" "i don't like your attitude, little lady. c'mon gonna take you down to the station for some more questions." sammy's reaching to grab your wrist but you're pulling away giggling, it's cute but now he's too into it. he's got you by the waist hoisting you up and taking you down onto the carpet. the sudden force has you gasping, squealing when he's managed to get both your wrist behind your back, his foot already hooked around your knee as he's pinned you down.
your giggling and squealing like a mad woman but he's rock hard now as he presses himself into. your giggling is cut short when you finally feel his hard length pressed against you through his uniform. his work belt was laid out on the couch beside you so there was no mistaking this for his gun. he's panting and pressing his lips against your ear, one hand is holding both wrists and his other hand has snaked between your legs toying with your slick panties.
"and here i thought my pretty little wife was a good girl... no, good girls don't get this soaked from having an officer man handle em like this. so what are we gonna do about that huh?" he's taunting you as you hear his pants begin to unzip, already pulling out his cock to rub his leaking tip over the wet mess between your legs.
summary: Jack doesn't feel "jealous" after watching you complain about another first date gone wrong.
pairings: younger resident!reader x jack abbot
contains: jealous, possessive and borderline toxic jack (if you squint?), fluff, medical inaccuracies, lots of flirting + romantic/sexual tension, dennis catching strays (im sorry king i had to sacrifice you as a plot device)
word count: 2.5k
notes: JEALOUS AND POSSESSIVE JACK ABBOT RAHHHHHHH!!!!! not the best thing ive ever written but idgaf . also a little Yes, Chef easter egg towards the end :3
Jack Abbot is many things. a military veteran turned swat physician and an adrenaline junkie to name a few things. another thing about Jack Abbot is that he is not a possessive, jealous man. at least that's what he tries to convince himself when he sees you come into work early with a full face of makeup, a short skirt and a pretty blouse,
“Woah! Where’d you come from?” Lena exclaims. you walk over and throw your arms over the desk, leaning down till your forehead hits the surface,
“I just came back from the worst fucking date of my life, like I genuinely think I’m done with boys and dating.” you lift yourself back up to face Lena. you don’t notice Jack standing nearby looking up at the board, pretending to look for a patient,
“And get this, Lena, not only is he late, but all he did was talk about himself. Like I actually don’t think I said anything about myself until the bill came.”
“Did he at least pay?” Lena asks. you groan and put your head back onto the desk. “And you didn’t walk out?” you shake your head, still face down on the surface,
“No! Please remind me to never waste my time on a stupid date before my shift.”
Jack raises his eyebrows in curiosity as he eavesdrops in on the conversation. Lena turns her head towards Jack, finally noticing that he’s been lingering around for longer than he should,
“Doctor Abbot, did you need something?”
“Nope. All good.” Jack walks away once he’s been caught.
Jack doesn’ t get jealous, especially not over his younger resident’s dating life. he thinks you could do much better though, rather than wasting your time over stupid, immature boys. if it were him, he would be sure to pick you up a few minutes early with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, wine and dine you at some expensive spot, then if everything goes right, he’d kiss you sweetly as he dropped you home. it’s not something he thinks about often though, except maybe on his drive home after seeing you for over 12 hours and sometimes right before he falls asleep. there was also that time he thought about it when he saw a bouquet of pink flowers at the grocery store; he knew you’d love them. other than that though, he’s never really thought about it,
“You good?” Doctor Ellis snaps Jack out of his daydream.
“Yeah, go ahead and page the OR again and let’s move her up as soon as a bed opens.” Jack says. the night shift has barely started and Ellis can tell he’s off his game tonight. she doesn’t try to pry and lets Jack excuse himself from the conversation. he takes a deep breath as he pulls the rubber gloves off, throwing them out. Jack enters the break room to grab another coffee when he suddenly hears,
“Seriously? I love that movie!” you say excitedly nearby in north one.
“Yeah? Here lemme show you.” a male voice replies. Jack puts his mug down and decides to stroll past to check on you. he was overdue for a quick check up on all his residents anyways. he walks over to north one to see you leaning over to look at the phone of your patient. you’re practically cheek to cheek with him, smiling in awe of whatever he’s showing you. Jack lets out a fake cough, breaking up the moment.
“Doctor Abbot, sorry. This is Joshua Harris, he’s got a left fibula fracture, currently waiting on x-rays to come back,” Jack nods, waiting for a further explanation on what he walked in on. “Joshua works in the film industry and was just showing me a picture of him and Harrison Ford!” your patient turns his phone to show Jack.
“Wow…” Jack tries to come off as interested but anyone can tell he really couldn’t care less, “You mind if I steal her for a minute?” you stand up to follow your attending out but Joshua is quick to intervene,
“Maybe, we could see that new Harrison Ford movie sometime? I’ll have a lot of time now that I’ve got this thing on.” he says gesturing to the boot you put on his leg. you exchange a glance with Jack and awkwardly laugh, “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were…” Josh waits for one of you to complete his sentence. neither you or Jack say anything. you stare at each other waiting for the other to define what this is. he could easily shut down the accusation by saying that he was your attending, but Jack lets the idea of you two dating linger in the air,
“Sorry, I legally can’t accept since you’re my patient. Plus I’m just not really looking for anything anyways.” your words come out in an awkward tone, desperate for the conversation to end.
you consider Jack as your coworker, your boss practically, but you always fantasized that there could be something more between the two of you. there was no denying that he is incredibly handsome and that you’ve always had a little crush on him, but who didn’t? Jack puts his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the room and back into the break room,
“Everything okay? Is this about my GSW victim in South 18?” Jack picks up his previously discarded coffee mug and takes a casual sip,
“She’s fine, she just went up to surgery. You just didn’t need that conversation.” Jack says nonchalantly as if he’s not boiling with jealousy. your eyebrows raise,
“I’m perfectly capable of handling my patients if that’s what you’re implying.” Jack takes a small step forward. it’s small but enough to make your breath shallow, enough to make you avoid eye contact with him.
“I know you’re capable. More than anything, anyone here.” Jack says lowly, “I just think if you’re gonna go out with someone that it should be with someone who isn’t gonna waste your time.” your eyes finally look up to his, realizing that he overheard your conversation with Lena.
“Do private conversations not exist in this hospital?” you say as your heartbeat quickens. You swear Jack can hear it as it thumps hard against your chest.
“Not when they involve my favourite resident.” Jack is quick to answer.
“Oh, so I’m your favourite?” the sudden praise brings back a bit of confidence in you. “So, if I’m your favourite then you’d know what’s best for me right?” Jack tilts his head up slightly, smirk slowly growing on his face. Doctor Shen casually walks into the break room, stopping in his tracks when he sees you both,
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Nope. Was just grabbing a coffee.” you say taking Jack’s coffee mug from his hands. you take a small sip of his coffee, keeping eye contact with him.
“Alright…” Shen says throwing his Dunkin’ cup in the garbage. he leaves quickly hearing his name come from a nearby room. you put the mug back on the counter,
“Well, if you’ll excuse me Doctor Abbot, I have a patient with a broken leg waiting on me to push some painkillers.” you say walking back out towards north one.
Jack walks around the ER with pride after his encounter with you. damn right he knows what’s best for you. it’s selfish of him to be greedy with your attention, but he didn’t care. he felt like you were his, even if it wasn’t explicitly said yet. you’re charting your latest patient’s info when Doctor Ellis rolls her chair next to you,
“Hey, so what’s up with you and Abbot?” your eyes keep focused on the screen ahead,
“What do you mean?”
“I mean like, why is he being so….” Parker can’t find the words to describe whatever the hell has been going on tonight. you look over at her as she tilts her head quickly, pointing towards Jack’s direction. you follow Parker’s tiling head to see Jack already staring right at you. he smiles at you before continuing his conversation with one of the nurses.heat floods your cheeks suddenly as you look back down at your screen quickly.
“Shen thinks you guys are fucking.”
“What!” you say louder than expected, grabbing the attention of Jack and surrounding patients. you dip your head back down making yourself small, “We are not… fucking.” you whisper.
“Might as well be with the way he’s been looking at you. Seriously, he looks like he wants to eat you alive.” she stands up, grabbing a tablet and walks away to her next patient.
he looks like he wants to eat you alive replays in your head a few times. you gnaw on your lip at the thought, oblivious to the sight of Jack approaching behind you. he bends down and looks over your shoulder reading your charts,
“31-year old male complaining of lower right abdominal pain, diagnosis appendicitis, patient admitted to surgery,” Jack mumbles close to your ear.
“Very good.” Jack stands back up straight as you spin your chair around to face him,
“You’ve been very distracting tonight.” you say pointing at him.
“Just doing my job.” your eyes widen in disbelief at his response. despite being annoyed at him, he thinks he might die if he looks at your big, doe eyes for any longer.
“If doing your job includes being on my ass tonight, Abbot, I would say you’re doing great at it.” you say spinning back around to face the screen. Jack pulls up a chair sitting close to you.
“Didn’t I tell you that you were my favourite earlier?” he says.
“If being your favourite means you’re looking over my shoulder for every patient and chart, I don’t wanna be.” you say with your focus still locked on your charts.
“Way too late for that.” Jack mumbles. you stop typing to meet his satisfied smile.
“Incoming trauma, cardiac arrest, 5 minutes out!” Lena calls from the desk. Jack stands up and heads towards the ambulance bay.
𝜗ৎ
you’re dragging your feet when the morning shift starts to roll in. the regret of getting up early for that date yesterday is really taking a toll on your body and you’re ready to head home,
“For someone who just worked 12 hours, you look great!” Doctor Whittaker starts as you walk together to your patient.
“Really? Thanks, I had an awful date right before my shift. Never doing that again.” Dennis lets out a small empathetic laugh.
“Dating or getting up early before your shift?” he asks.
“Both.” Dennis laughs a bit harder at your response.
“If you ever wanna talk about it, we could get coffee? Bond over bad first dates or something.”
from a distance, Jack watches your face change from casual into a surprised expression at Whittaker. he turns to Santos who’s also observing,
“What’s going on over there?”
“Huckleberry’s asking her out. I think he’s had a little crush on her for a while since Amy dumped his ass.” Santos replies amused at the sight. you’ve gotta be kidding me Jack thinks.
“Do you think she’s gonna say yes?” he asks. Santos shrugs,
“What’s it to you anyways, Abbot?” he rolls his eyes at the comment. to Trinity, it’s just Jack trying to pry and gossip, when in reality, he’s spent all night showing you that you deserve better and Jack was better. sure, maybe Dennis was closer in age to you, but Jack knows he can’t take care of you the way he can. before he can think, his legs start walking towards you and Dennis. he’s so blinded by jealously that he doesn’t even realize his body is in autopilot,
“Dennis, I think you’re great, but I don't think-” Dennis jumps as a pair of hands grab his shoulders,
“Whittaker! I've got a special patient to introduce you to. You're with me.” Jack's grip tightens on Dennis and pulls him away from you. you stare and watch as Jack takes him away towards the ambulance bay. your eyes lock with Trinity’s from afar, staring at each other in confusion. Trinity shrugs and carries on with her rounds.
slowly, you’re starting to puzzle the pieces together. all the sudden flirting, fleeting touches, always showing up right in the middle of an awkward disaster, Jack was jealous. he wanted your attention all to himself and you liked it. you enjoyed watching him have his way and not letting anyone stop him. doubt crosses your mind for a split second, there's also a possibility you could be wrong about all of this. surely he’s just been looking out for you tonight and all the alleged flirting was you mistaking it for something more than just kindness.
whatever, you’d have to deal with it tomorrow night.
Jack is finally free from the last handoff of the night. his leg is sore, head pounding, and all he wants is to see you one last time before he heads out for the day. he circles the ER one last time and doesn’t see you anywhere. Jack swears he just saw you at the workstation desk a second ago, did you leave without saying bye?
“She left a few minutes ago.” Santos says as she passes by with an amused expression. Jack glares at her, too exhausted to ask why she knew who he was looking for. Jack knows that he’ll see you tomorrow night but he was hoping to see you before you left so he could savor the way you looked at him for a bit longer.
the elevator dings to the top floor of the parking lot. the sun is just about fully risen and the soft sunrays peek through the clouds. as Jack walks down the lot, he sees you putting your bags in the trunk of your car, letting out a deep sigh as you shut it,
“Was looking for you.” you spin around hearing his familiar voice.
“You were?” Jack nods in response. he doesn’t want to leave. he’s exactly where he wants to be, even after being in the ER for twelve hours. you give Jack a tired smile as you both stand silently, lingering in each other's presence,
“I’m gonna head home in a minute, but here's what I think should happen,” Jack starts. there’s a bit of raspiness to his voice that catches your attention.
“On Friday, I’m gonna pick you up a little before seven and I’m taking you to North and Vine.” you tilt your head, brows furrowing in confusion,
“I’m working Friday.”
“You’re not anymore, and neither am I. I’ll take care of it.” Jack is quick to respond, like he was expecting your reaction. a smile slowly forms on your face,
“Was a little jealousy all it took for you to ask me out?” you say with aching cheeks.
“I don’t get jealous.” Jack replies with an unamused expression. your smile still big, finally proving your jealousy theory,
“Right… I’ll see you Friday night, Jack.” you lean up to press your lips to his cheek lightly, finally breaking his straight face.
Brendon Park the shark playing the board game operation with his kids…and he sucks at it….how does he suck at this??? He grumbles He does real operations for Christ’s sake Reader has to remind him to lose with some grace….teach their kids good sportsmanship…..but the game totally has to be rigged right…there’s gotta be a lose wire connected to the stupid buzzer or something. There’s no way Park’s steady surgically trained hands aren’t grasping the little butterfly and pulling it from the stomach without setting off the dumb buzzer…dumb broken board game…they’re gonna play scrabble next time…the kids can’t spell perfectly yet…yeah scrabble…no Park the Shark isn’t competitive why do you ask???
Abbot going out in shorts because its peak heatwave and the air outside is like the inside of a fucking active furnace and about half an hour later the plastic part of his prosthetic starts getting loose
𓏵 ┊ jack abbot spanks your clit whenever you cum without permission . 18+
it’s hard to hold your orgasm with jack. he’s too experienced, too knowledgeable when it comes to your own body. he knows exactly where to touch you and how to — and on days like these when he’s feeling a little mean. rough-housing your body around and contorting your limbs into all kinds of positions to fit his cock deeper inside of you.
the head of his length nuzzled sweet against your g-spot — the spot that made you whine to jack, telling him to stop thrusting there because it pushed you closer and closer near the edge. “jack… please, it’s too deep— i can’t hold it!” the pitch in your voice shakes, it almost sounds like you’re trying to latch on anything to keep you from hitting the brink of
your toes curling into the muscle of jack’s traps. he has you in missionary, in the most meanest way possible as your back arches off the bed while he bullies against that spongy barrier inside of you.
“mm, c’mon sweetheart.” jack coaxes in that gruff voice with his crooked smile. he knows that request is too much to ask of you, yet he asked anyway. “you can hold it, i know you can.” he reaches a hand out to cradle the side of your face in the center of his rough palm.
his eyes on you, fixated on that little pout of your lips. “f—fuck, i’m trying— i can’t.” you stammer, hands clutching onto whatever is there for moral support as your soft walls choke around jack’s cock.
“fuck… you gotta at least try, baby.” he groans at the pressure overwhelming his length, his hips never halting as he feeds you thrusts after thrusts. “mmph— i am!” you break into a moan, feeling yourself unravel as a knot of pleasure builds near your pussy.
“yeah?” jack breathes quietly, watching you break underneath him before ducking down to peck at your lips. his damp, short-curly locks sprinkled with silver and brown brushing against your forehead gently as he whispers against your plush lips, “‘m sorry…” he says, rising up, and parting your thighs wider as his eyes flicker down to where you two are one.
your bud is plump and swollen, completely on display as the breeze hits your clit which makes you twitch a bit. jack releases one of your thighs and runs the flat side of his hand down your pelvis to your clit, slightly lingering on it with his thumb to hear the noises you make.
“gotta give this, pretty pussy a few love taps.” he fauxes a disheartened look as if he didn’t want to — though the way he’s swelling inside your pussy, and the absent twitches say otherwise before he’s raising a free hand. causing your pulse to race at the quick anticipation before he’s cracking a palm flush against your swollen clit with a wet whack.
“mmgh— j—jack!” you yelp, hands flying around his forearms when you jolt at the sting spreading in between your legs. “i know, baby ‘m sorry.” he apologizes before going for another blow making your spine arch further from the bed.
“please…” your fingers digging into his skin, and biting your lip with teary eyes. “shh— just one more.” he murmurs softly, but you’re one away from cumming for the second time. “you liar.” you bite, voice all trembly it makes jack’s cock jump.
jack lets out an amused, breathless chuckle at you labeling him as a liar because those hits were everything, but love taps.
“promise you won’t hate me?” he rasps, giving your abused clit a second to recover before showing her some more love.
She likes rules, order, and properly documented differential diagnoses. She keeps her patients well charted, her area regulated, and her hair neatly pinned into its braided bun. She has absolutely earned her nickname: Queenie. Unfortunately, she also likes arguing with her attending far more than is probably healthy.
Jack, meanwhile, is slowly discovering that “work wife” jokes stop being funny when you start thinking about actual rings....
Dr. Michael Robinavitch explained medicine the way some people explained religion. Carefully. Thoroughly. With the sincere belief that understanding something made it less frightening. The few times she’d worked with him had been very enlightening. They’d gotten on well, and the shifts had all gone smoothly.
Unfortunately for her, she didn’t usually work the day shift. She worked nights. And the night shift required a different kind of doctor. The people stumbling through the ED doors at two in the morning were often drunk, bleeding, high, screaming, handcuffed, naked, or some dazzling combination thereof. The staff had to be able to handle that. And so it followed that the night shift’s head attending would be just a tad less reverent. She’d expect that at any ED.
But Jack Abbot taught medicine like an asshole wizard guarding a bridge.
The problem with Dr. Abbot was that he refused to explain anything in a linear fashion. He tossed out fragments. Clues. Weird little clinical riddles delivered while walking away at high speed, apparently expecting his residents to either keep up or perish.
“Why’s his calcium low?”
Queenie looked up from the chart. “Because his kidneys are failing?”
Abbot kept walking. “Why are his kidneys failing?”
“…because he’s septic?” she offered, trying to match his stride.
“Why’s he septic?”
“That’s not one question, that’s a biological hostage situation.”
He just pointed at her with his coffee cup. “Think broader.”
And then he disappeared into trauma three like a gremlin with hospital privileges.
It was infuriating.
Not because he was wrong - which honestly would’ve been easier - but because six hours later she’d realize he’d been pointing her toward a diagnosis before the labs had even finished processing.
Abbott practiced medicine the way conspiracy theorists assembled murder boards. Half instinct. Half pattern recognition. Entirely impossible to explain to another human being. And every time she almost caught up, he’d skip three steps ahead again.
“You keep missing the connective tissue, Hart.”
“You keep refusing to provide the connective tissue.”
“That’s because one day I won’t be there to spoon feed you.”
Queenie stared at him. “Well now I just feel weirdly threatened.”
That earned a flicker of amusement from him. “Hm.”
She wanted to hit him with her car.
Not seriously.
(Mostly.)
The issue was that he seemed fundamentally opposed to answering a direct question. Not incapable. Opposed.
Queenie had been on nights for three weeks now, which was just long enough to develop the unsettling suspicion that the man might actually enjoy watching residents psychologically deteriorate in real time.
Not maliciously. Academically.
“Chest pain, dizzy, hypotensive,” Abbot said, scrolling through the chart while striding down the hall at a pace suggesting either urgency or a deep personal hatred of standing still. “What’re you thinking?”
Queenie adjusted to keep up beside him. “Cardiac tamponade, PE, sepsis, occult bleed-”
“Mm.”
“I hate when you make that sound.”
“What sound?”
“That one. The ‘you missed something obvious’ sound.”
Abbot pushed through the trauma bay doors. “I don’t have a sound, Hart.”
“You absolutely do.”
The patient was a man in his sixties sweating through the gown while the monitor screamed intermittent tachycardia at everyone in the room. Queenie moved automatically, gloves snapping on. “Sir, I’m Dr. Hart-”
“Queenie!” Dana yelled from the desk outside. “Your guy in four is trying to vape through his oxygen mask again!”
“Tell him I said no!”
“I did!”
“What’d he say?”
“He said freedom isn’t free!”
Abbot didn’t even look up from palpating the patient’s abdomen. “Patriotism’s a disease.”
Queenie bit back a laugh.
Unfortunately, Abbot noticed. His mouth twitched. Then he pointed at the monitor. “Why’s he compensating?”
Queenie blinked. “For low pressure.”
“Why’s the pressure low?”
“...Because something’s wrong with his circulation?”
Abbot looked at her. Just looked at her. It was incredible how much judgment that man could fit into complete silence.
“Oh, come on,” she snapped quietly. “You cannot keep asking increasingly philosophical versions of the same question.”
“You’re thinking in boxes again.”
“You’re speaking in riddles again.”
The patient groaned. Their attention snapped back instantly.
“What changed?”
Queenie looked at the monitor. Heart rate climbing. Pressure dropping further.
Her eyes narrowed. “Wait.”
Abbott said nothing. Which, with him, was either encouragement or a threat.
“His lungs are clear,” she muttered, half to herself now. “No JVD… no fever… pressure’s tanking but he’s not presenting septic…”
Abbot leaned back, arms folded, just watching.
Wizard. Bridge.
Her gaze dropped to the man’s abdomen again. Distended, tender…
“Oh, you asshole,” she breathed.
Abbot grinned instantly. The horrible little spark of delight he always got whenever somebody caught up.
“AAA?” she said sharply.
“Look at that,” Abbot said. “Medical school wasn’t a scam after all.”
Queenie glared at him. “You could’ve just said abdominal aortic aneurysm.”
“And deprive you of personal growth?”
“I’m going to run you over in the parking garage.”
“Get vascular on the phone.”
And the infuriating part - the truly infuriating part - was that she’d never miss that diagnosis again.
Abbot never stopped moving.
He taught in motion, diagnosed in motion, drank coffee in motion. Conversations with him felt less like discussions and more like accidentally boarding a moving train.
Queenie spent most of her shifts half a step behind him, carrying charts and resentment in roughly equal measure.
“Why’re his pressures narrowing?”
“I don’t know yet because unlike some people I’m still bound by the laws of linear time.”
Abbot pushed through another set of double doors without breaking stride. “Hart.”
“Abbot.”
“You’re looking at the monitor. Stop looking at the monitor.”
“Then what am I supposed to look at?”
“The patient.”
Queenie stared at the back of his head in genuine outrage. Because, yes, obviously, of course she should be doing that. She is doing that. But the monitors mean things - data that she’s pretty sure hasn’t stopped being important just because he can apparently divine what they're trying to tell him.
The worst part was that she was almost certain he did it on purpose now. Not the teaching, the impossible pace he set. The long stride that forced everyone around him to either move faster or accept being left behind entirely. And every once in a while, when she did keep up or when she caught the diagnosis before he handed it to her, matched him question for question, anticipated where he was going next, she’d catch that brief flicker of approval in his expression.
Tiny. Gone in a second. But definitely there.
Like she’d proven she was capable of meeting him toe to toe on that bridge.
“Hart.”
Queenie looked up from the chart she was trying to finish. “Abbot.”
“You missed the potassium trend.”
“I’ve had fourteen patients in six hours.”
“And?”
“And I’m developing a rich inner life and a stress ulcer.”
Abbot held out a hand for the chart. She slapped it into his palm harder than strictly necessary.
He scanned it once. “Tunnel vision.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Queenie snapped, losing what was left of her patience after four months and a brutal shift. “I forgot you emerged fully formed from the forehead of Zeus already knowing internal medicine.”
A nurse at Central made a tiny choking sound.
Abbot looked up slowly from the chart and she immediately felt the full, horrible realization of what had just come out of her mouth.
Well. Career ending. Fantastic.
Then…
One corner of Abbot’s mouth twitched. “Hm,” he said.
And walked away.
The unfortunate thing about Dr. Abbot was that every once in a while he’d say something genuinely funny. Not intentionally jokey, either. That would’ve been manageable. No, his humor arrived completely deadpan, usually while someone was actively bleeding. Which meant laughter snuck up on you before you had time to defend yourself.
It was deeply unprofessional of him, frankly, but she hadn’t figured out how to word a formal complaint.
“We need urine sample.”
The patient squinted at him. “For what?”
“Lets preserve a little mystery.”
Queenie had made the mistake of laughing at that one loud enough for him to hear. The flicker of satisfaction on his face afterward had been deeply concerning.
After that, she started noticing things.
For the first few months, Queenie had assumed Dr. Abbot treated every resident like an underperforming cryptography student. The constant questions. The impossible pace. The clinical riddles delivered with all the warmth and clarity of a medieval curse.
Then she snapped at him. Not angrily, exactly. More…philosophically hostile. And instead of shutting her down like an attending with normal human reactions, Abbot had looked at her for one long second with something almost resembling interest.
Because apparently Dr. Abbot enjoyed resistance.
Not incompetence - he had very little patience for incompetence. But pushback? A challenge? Somebody willing to argue a differential diagnosis instead of nodding along reverently?
That, apparently, amused him.
Worse, he knew she knew. So he started baiting her on purpose.
“Hart.”
“Abbot.”
“You’re pouting.”
“I’m charting.”
“Hm. Aggressively.”
“Some of us process emotion through documentation.”
One corner of his mouth twitched.
---
“You missed a symptom.”
“No, I ignored a symptom. Different skillset.”
“Hart.”
“Abbot.”
“That attitude’s gonna get you in trouble.”
“That attitude’s why your residents keep emotionally unionizing.”
Lena nearly fell out of her chair laughing. Abbot just took a sip of coffee with unmistakable satisfaction. “Oh, puppy bites.”
Queenie blinked. “…excuse me?”
But he was already walking away again, coffee in hand.
At some point, without her noticing exactly when it had happened, Queenie stopped needing as much time to get there. The logic leaps stopped feeling impossible.
That didn’t mean they became easy; Dr. Abbot’s brain still moved like it had access to occult tomes running on unauthorized software. But she started being able to take the turns faster, started anticipating the questions before he asked them. Seeing the shape of things sooner.
Annoyingly, this seemed to delight him.
“Cause of death?”
“Electrolyte imbalance secondary to alcoholism.”
“Specific.”
“Hypomagnesemia.”
“Why?”
“Because God hates me personally and wants me to suffer.”
He paused. “Hm.”
Queenie blinked as he walked away wearing that face that said she’d amused him. That had been fast. Too fast. The answers to his questions had surfaced almost automatically, her thoughts jumping tracks before she’d consciously sorted through them.
Later that night, Abbot watched her for a second longer than usual from across the charge. There was that look again. That brief flicker she’d started recognizing over the past few months. Not surprise. Not exactly pride, either. Something sharper. Like he’d thrown a knife and she’d caught it by the handle.
And how unbearably frustrating it was to realize that his teaching methods were working.
The thing was, Queenie did not like ambiguity by nature. She was her generation’s eldest daughter and eldest cousin in her sprawling family, which meant she’d functionally been middle management since the age of nine. She liked processes. Lists. Clear instructions. She color coded things recreationally. The existence of unanswered questions made her skin itch.
And yet, somewhere in the last few months, her brain had started adapting to him anyway.
Not abandoning structure entirely. Just… loosening around the edges. Learning to pivot faster. Trust instinct sooner. Start moving before she had all the answers. The whole thing made her teeth itch. Medicine - science in general - was meant to be repeatable. Cause and effect. If this, then that. Instead, Dr. Abbot kept walking up to her with a puzzle, assembling half the edge pieces with her, and then speeding off with no further assistance - and taking the image with him.
It was horrifying.
Worse, it was effective.
“Thirty-eight year old female, altered mental status, tachycardic, pressure’s soft,” Abbot said, skimming the chart as they walked. “Thoughts?”
“Tox screen pending?”
“Hm.”
Queenie rolled her eyes. “So yes.”
Abbot shot her a look over the coffee cup. She ignored him.
“No fever. Glucose normal. Pupils uneven but reactive…” Her brow furrowed for half a second. “Ah, hell.”
“What?”
“She’s not altered.” Queenie sped up suddenly, cutting around him toward the room. “She’s compensating.”
Abbot went still behind her for exactly one beat. Then he followed.
The patient was sitting upright now, breathing too fast, fingers twitching against the blanket.
Queenie reached for the woman’s hand automatically.
“Hello Melanie, I’m Dr. Hart. Can you tell me the last time you drank water?”
The woman blinked at her sluggishly. “…yesterday?”
“Mhm,” Queenie nodded, already reaching for a bag of fluids. Severe dehydration. Electrolytes crashing hard enough to mimic neuro symptoms.
Queenie glanced over as the silence behind her stretched.
Abbot was watching her again with that same sharp, assessing look. That tiny pause. That knife-catching look. And instead of feeling pleased, something smug and feral curled warm in her chest.
Yeah, say something now, wizard.
Abbot took a slow sip of coffee. “Hm.”
Queenie narrowed her eyes immediately. “Oh, absolutely not. You don’t get to ‘hm’ me right now.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Good catch, Hart.”
Vindication.
Petty, deeply satisfying vindication.
Queenie tried very hard not to look as triumphant as she felt.
Two years into her residency, Queenie no longer had to chase Dr. Abbot across the emergency department. Mostly because she’d finally learned to start walking before he had a chance to.
“Your GI bleed in seven’s circling the drain,” Abbot called from three beds down.
“Already transfusing.”
“Good.”
Lena glanced between them. “Do either of you actually sleep anymore, or have you both ascended into some kind of weird shared consciousness?”
“HIPAA prevents me from discussing my hauntings,” Queenie replied, signing a chart.
Abbot didn’t even bother to look up. “She’s lying. She’s just trying to fly under HR’s radar.”
“See, this is why HR fears you.”
“No, HR fears me because I keep winning arguments.”
“That cannot possibly be true.”
Abbot finally looked up from the chart in his hands. “Hart, I once got written up for telling a surgeon he had the bedside manner of a medieval tax collector.”
Lena choked on coffee.
Queenie blinked once. “…which surgeon?”
“That’s not the important part of the story.”
“I feel like it is.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “Hey, Abbot, Costello - do your jobs, would ya?”
“I’m trying-” Abbot began.
Queenie cut in before he could finish. “I’m succeeding.”
Morning handoff was always slightly chaotic. Too many charts left to type, too much caffeine in her system, and the vague feeling that everyone there had technically survived the night shift but were still spiritually slaughtered.
Queenie was halfway through updating the board when psych finally came to collect the woman from room twelve. The patient twisted around on the gurney as they wheeled her past the desk, still spitting vitriol from her soft restraints.
“You’re all fucking fascists!”
“Appreciate the feedback,” Abbot said without looking up.
“And you!” the guy snapped, pointing aggressively at him. “Asshole! You’re nothing but a jackboot thug! A-a stooge for the system-!”
Abbot finally glanced over. “Well, what can I say? I’m a good soldier, lady,” Abbot replied dryly as the psych team hauled the woman toward the elevator.
Robby, halfway through pouring stale coffee into a paper cup, snorted quietly.
Queenie, still looking up at the board, opened her mouth with all the self-preservation instincts of a raccoon in a trench coat. “A good soldier to a lady,” she quipped.
Abbot turned his head toward her with dangerous calm. “I could throttle you,” he informed her.
“You’re not tall enough.”
Abbot stared at her for one long second. “…is that a crack about my leg?”
Queenie saw it happen in real time. The opening. The deliberate little toss of bait designed to make her panic and apologize so he could watch her squirm.
Unfortunately for Dr. Abbot, two years of verbal combat had trained her not to flinch.
Her eyes widened with faux innocence as she reached for a chart beside him with a theatrical gasp. “Did I put my foot in it?”
Behind them Robby made a sound somewhere between a cough and a gunshot as coffee went down the wrong pipe.
Abbot laughed. Not the quiet little ‘hm’ of amusement she usually got out of him. A real laugh. Low and startled and entirely unguarded.
Robby coughed hard into the back of his wrist, still trying to recover from aspirating hospital issued mud masquerading as coffee. He looked over at Jack, who was still watching Queenie disappear down the hall with the unmistakable expression of a man who’d just been mugged in public and liked it.
Slowly, carefully, Robby set his cup down. “…you know,” he said hoarsely, “most attendings would shut that down.”
Jack took a sip of his own coffee, eyes still fixed down the corridor. “Hm.”
Robby pointed after Queenie. “That one’s gonna become a problem.”
“She’s not a problem,” he said, still somewhat smiling. “She’s adapting.”
“Brother, to what? Bullying you professionally?”
Jack glanced down the hall. “Thinking faster.”
They were standing closer than usual.
Not in any intentional way. The nurses’ station was just crowded at four in the morning, forcing everyone into each other’s orbit while they reviewed the board between traumas.
You know,” Queenie muttered, skimming the chart in her hands, “I do think it’s brave of you to still practice medicine after they retired leeches.”
“I’m serious. Did Hippocrates mentor you personally or-”
“Hart.”
“What? I just think it’s important to respect my elders.”
Abbot took a sip of coffee. “You’re getting mouthy again.”
“You made me this way.”
“Hm.”
Queenie smirked down at the chart.
“Careful, old man. We can’t have your blood pressure-”
“Watch it, little girl.”
The words left his mouth with the same dry amusement as every other piece of banter they’d exchanged for the last two years. But this…this landed between them with catastrophic effect.
Queenie’s brain short-circuited so violently she felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. Suddenly she was acutely aware of the low rasp of his voice, the fact that he was standing half a step too close, the sleepy amusement still lingering around his mouth, the angle he had to tilt his head down to look at her…
And judging by the way Abbot went very still immediately after the words left his mouth, he was having roughly the same catastrophic realization.
His eyes flicked down to her face.
Then they very quickly flicked away again.
Queenie cleared her throat with the dignity of a woman actively losing a fistfight with her own nervous system.
Oh no.
She knew he’d heard it too. Not just the words themselves, but the way they’d sounded. She watched the exact moment realization hit him right back.
Oh no no no…
For one terrible second they just looked at each other, both wearing identical expressions of startled alarm.
“I should check on-”
“I need to-”
They stopped, looking at each other with wide eyes.
Abbot picked up his coffee like it had personally betrayed him.
Queenie grabbed the nearest chart despite not actually reading the name on it.
Then both of them turned and walked in opposite directions across the ED with the rigid speed of people fleeing the scene of a mutual crime.
Halfway to trauma two, Queenie pressed the cold chart against her face for one brief, horrific second.
Oh, this was a disaster…
By the time Queenie got home, the sun was decisively up.
She parked in front of her apartment, turned the car off, and then just… sat there for a minute with both hands still gripping the steering wheel.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she informed the windshield.
The windshield declined to participate.
Because the problem was that there were approximately nine thousand reasons you did not sleep with your attending.
Professional reasons.
Ethical reasons.
Career-ending reasons.
It would wreck her reputation before she even finished residency. Best case scenario, people would assume she’d slept her way through the program. Worst case, they’d think he was predatory. The hospital would lose its collective mind. HR would probably materialize out of thin air like a vengeful spirit summoned by workplace liability-
And that was before she even considered the emotional catastrophe of it.
Jack Abbot was more than a decade older than her. Almost two decades, actually. More experienced than her in several deeply irritating ways. Technically her boss. A deeply respected attending. Former military, intensely private, professionally terrifying.
And, apparently, capable of saying little girl in a tone that short circuited higher brain function.
Queenie dropped her forehead against the steering wheel with a quiet groan. “No,” she told herself firmly. “Bad.”
It would’ve carried more authority if her stomach hadn’t flipped a little remembering the exact look on his face afterward.
He’d heard it too.
That split second of eye contact afterward had contained the exact same horrified realization she’d been having ever since. Recognition, not embarrassment.
“Oh, this is a disaster,” Queenie whispered into the empty car. She looked at her self in the rearview mirror. “…a really hot disaster.”
She closed her eyes.
“God damn it, Gwen, you cannot fuck your attending. You can’t. It’s entirely out of the question.”
(Still she’s…she’s probably going to.)
The next shift was strange.
Not dramatically offputting. Nobody forgot how to do their jobs. She and Abbot didn’t avoid each other like children. The department still moved with the same practiced rhythm it always had.
Still…something in the cadence had changed. A fractional hesitation here and there. Half-seconds where neither of them seemed entirely sure where to put their eyes. The occasional conversational opening left conspicuously untouched.
It felt less like fighting after an argument and more like two people discovering there was suddenly a live wire running through a room they’d walked through safely for years. By the end of the shift, Queenie’s nerves were worn down to exposed copper.
Morning sunlight spilled weakly across the parking garage as they walked out together in exhausted silence, footsteps echoing off concrete.
Abbot had his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
Queenie was pretending very hard not to remember exactly how his voice had sounded roughly twenty four hours ago.
“You could move to days,” he said eventually.
She looked over immediately.
His expression stayed fixed forward. He’d said it matter of fact. Like he was discussing staffing ratios instead of offering to remove himself from her life for the crime of accidentally being sexy at her.
Queenie looked away again. “I like nights.”
“Hart.”
“Abbot.”
“It’d solve the problem.”
Queenie was quiet for a long moment. “I’d rather deal with it and still see you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Abbot’s stride faltered almost imperceptibly. When she finally looked over, he was already watching her. That same sharp, unreadable focus. “...Yeah,” he agreed carefully. “Me too.”
Queenie swallowed once.
“It would be a nightmare ethically.”
She nodded. “While I’m a resident,” she quietly added.
Another stretch of silence. Longer this time. Neither of them stopped walking. Neither of them looked away, either. And for one impossible second, standing there in the washed-out gray light of morning after another endless night shift, the entire shape of the future seemed to unfold silently between them.
Two years until she graduated the program. A long stretch of Not Now, But Later.
