Never Not Mine | Dr. Jack Abbot
okay hear me out… a jack abbott inspired by imgonnagetyouback… the angst? the lust? i fear you would eat this up
never not mine | dr. jack abbot
pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), reader slaps a man hehe (not jack), power imbalance (reader is a resident and jack is her attending), drug use (weed), sexual content (brief but there), jack absolutely grovels and it's a vibe word count: 3.2k summary: jack attempts to walk away. you attempt to reel him back in. it leaves you both raw and vulnerable. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. imgonnagetyouback, back to me by the marias, and honeymoon by lana all helped inspire this fic! i'm a little worried i wrote jack ooc, but then i remembered that man is a canonized yapper. this exists within the ring of fire universe, but that does not have to be read first. it is linked here if you would like to, though! i took some liberties with this so i apologize if it's not exactly how you imagined it! but i had a great time writing this! i hope you enjoy it <3 not proofread, apologies for errors!
you know exactly what it is that you’re doing. and if jack feels tortured– fine. let him. this is all his fault, anyway.
the whole time you’d been with him, whatever that even meant, you’ve felt this sense of… waiting for the other shoe to drop. you tried to tell yourself that you were crazy, that jack was good and honest and that he wasn’t going to get cold feet. that the fact that you were his resident and he was your attending didn’t bother him. that he wasn’t irrevocably haunted by demons from his past, a dead wife and an endless war that runs on a replay in his head, pain in a limb that he doesn’t even have anymore.
it’s not that you expect him to forget all of that. you just want him to be real with you.
and when he falls right into the trope, the trap that was laid by fate, you decide that you’re not going to be resentful. you’re just going to prove to him– and maybe yourself– that you’re not so easily forgotten. that you can’t be left.
it sounds both arrogant and pathetic when you think about it like that. but you don’t care. you’re going to get him back.
maybe it is cruel that you started flirting with donnie in front of him. maybe it’s evil, the way that when you all gather for your post-shift beer, it’s donnie’s bench that you settle at. when you meet abbot’s gaze from across the walkway, his eyes are always at a level of stony that make you a little bit nervous. but then you remember that he iced you out and you lift your chin up and turn your face back to donnie.
he’ll pick his poison, you decide.
when you enter lefty’s at 11pm after getting wind that the day shift– which was jack, conveniently, since he uttered the words this is a bad idea, kid. god, you want to shake his shoulders, you want to call him a coward and scream from the top of your lungs: do you need see how good it could be if you let it?
a delicate lilac top clings to your skin. you push your hair over your shoulder as santos crosses the bar to greet you with a big hug, laughter on her lips. “jesus christ, who are you trying to give a heart attack?”
your hand splays on her back and you find abbot looking at you from across the bar. you shrug your shoulders and pull back, pushing back pieces of santos’s hair. “i don’t know. maybe someone new?”
trinity’s eyebrows shoot up. “wow. spicy. i like it.”
you don’t know how much time passes. you feel a bit silly: overdressed, a beer in your hand, nothing on your mind except the man that you want to lure back in to you. your outfit is a siren song and all you can wonder is if abbot is a sailor who is as desperate as you’ve pinned him as.
if he’s as desperate as you are.
every time you look at him, he’s either already looking, or feels your gaze on him. there will be a beat of eye contact before you look away and laugh at something garcia said or engage, rapt, in a conversation with samira about the first date that she went on last week. suddenly, it’s been hours, and you’re closing out your tab when you feel a presence beside you.
it’s not the presence that you want. it’s one that’s unknown and makes you feel uncertain. it’s not abbot’s easy, calm, present demeanor beside you. the one that tells you don’t worry, i’m here, i got this. the one that washes over you like a delicious wave. the one that smells woody and warm and delicious. the man next to you is a little too clean cut, a little too polished– he smells like laundry and looks like he’s never been through a bad thing in his life.
he takes a drink of the last of his beer. “i’ve been watching you all night.”
you didn’t notice. faintly, you think that if you were twenty three, this man next to you would have been the apple of your eye, instantly. you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off of him. but when you look at him and you see deep dimples and dark hair, all you see are dimples that are a little too deep, and hair that isn’t streaked with silver.
that pick up line strikes you as unimpressive. your finger tip circles your glass. “oh, am i supposed to say thank you?” you ask, but you manage what you try to play off as a coy smirk. absentmindedly, you look around, instinctively looking for jack. and not even because you want to see if he’s jealous. not because you want to see the look on his face, to feel that sick sense of satisfaction at the fact that you’re getting to him.
no. you want your friend. you want to give a bleak eye roll and make him smirk. you want to go back to him and say what a prick and carry on with your life. you want to go back to the normal that you’ve gotten used to– the one that, maybe, you took for granted.
if you can’t have jack as your whatever he was, you’d take him as your friend. any day.
but when your eyes scan the bar… he’s not there. the spot that he occupied next to robby is vacant. and all you’re left with is this sick sense of shame, embarrassment, and something else that you can’t quite articulate. longing, if someone put a gun to your head and forced you to put a name to it.
the man next to you says something. you don’t hear it. static rattles in your ears and suddenly all you want to do is go home, tear those lilac clothes off, wash your face, and cry. in bed.
and maybe smoke a joint on your patio, too.
he says something again. you, once again, don’t respond. you look at the bartender and answer their questions with one word answers. yes, you want to close. no, you don’t want a copy of your receipt.
“are you ignoring me, or are you just a stupid fucking bitch who can’t hear?”
at the level of shut down you’re at already, you don’t even care what he’s said. but he’s gotten the attention of the others. robby is already on his feet.
and abbot is walking down the hall from the restroom.
“i’m ignoring you,” you turn to him, spitting the words out, loud and clear. “but if calling me a stupid fucking bitch makes the rejection hurt less, knock yourself out.”
he screws his entire face up, and abbot is approaching quicker now, with that lethal anger on his face. robby isn’t far behind… or santos, either, for that matter.
“you are a stupid fucking bitch,” he says, taking a step closer to you, shrinking himself in size to be on your level. “and you’re not pretty enough to get away with an attitude like–”
abbot makes a move to lunge, and robby has to physically pull him back. the man lets out an ugly laugh and all you see is red, bright red. “oh, what’s your fuckin’ grandpa going to do?”
the crack that rings out when your palm hits his cheek could be heard around the world. it opens up a cacophony of mayhem– between you and him, the bartenders, abbot, robby, santos getting ready to throw in a punch of her own… but it all culminates with the lot of you being told to get the fuck out, this isn’t philly.
with your jaw set and your head held high, you are the first one to storm out of the bar. and maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that a stranger just called you a bitch, but all you feel is an unsettled sort of anger.
you hear abbot say your name behind you.
you stop. the pittsburgh early spring still has a bite to it, especially when it’s nearing midnight. the wind makes your eyes sting, tears trailing down your cheeks. it’s the wind. it’s just the wind. “no,” you say lowly, pointing a finger in his direction. “fuck you.”
“fuck me?”
“yeah. fuck you.” you tug your jacket closer to yourself and wipe the tears away with the back of your hand. “you ignore me, you tell me this isn’t going to work, and then want to play protective… yeah. fuck you.” you go quiet, go to turn, but you can’t. you’re frozen in place. “no, it’s not even that. not really. i shouldn’t be mad at you. i should be mad at myself. i’ve been doing things, this whole time, trying to earn your affection back. trying to get you to see what you were missing, see why it was so silly to pretend that we’re not good. but… i’ve felt like shit every day, doing that. i’ve felt small.”
jack doesn’t say anything. robby has ushered all of your coworkers down the street and far away, bless him. when you assess jack’s face, there’s a myriad of things you see. you think you see regret. you know you see hurt. you want to believe you see love.
“and i don’t want to feel small,” you sniffle and wipe a fat, real tear away. “i don’t want to wear a cute outfit because you might see it. i don’t want to flirt with donnie to watch your knuckles go white. i want– i want to sit on your fucking couch. i want to watch some stupid show with you. i want to lay in bed and listen to the police scanner after sex. i want you to want me. and if you don’t, if this is all too much for you, then…” you look him up and down. the body you know intimately, the person you’d be with forever if he let you.
“then no hard feelings.”
you don’t give jack the opportunity to respond. maybe that’s its own special brand of self preservation. you turn, and you walk away from him, towards an empty apartment.
–
when you get home, you do exactly as you cited. you rid yourself of your clothes. you furiously wash your face and then go through the rest of your skin care. you roll yourself a joint, and you bring it out to your patio, and the small table, chair, and ashtray that sit out there.
your apartment isn’t as high up as jack’s. you live in an old building on the third floor, one of the world war two types, with the radiators and beautiful hardwood floors and all of the character in the world. in exchange, you get no dishwasher and a patio that probably isn’t up to city code.
lighting the joint with one hand, you take in a long, nice, inhale. you lean your head back against the wall. you grab your phone and put the marias on and let those big tears roll down your cheeks freely.
the low rumble of a truck pulling up gets your attention. you lift your head up and watch as the vehicle that you’d sat in countless times goes into park. you hear the door open. you watch jack round it, and his eyes are instantly drawn to your patio. he holds his hand up in a wave.
you flip him off.
the chuckle that gets out of him should infuriate you. but it doesn’t.
“yeah, i deserve that.”
“you’re a dick,” you reply, marijuana leaving you honest. you stand up and lean on the railing, looking down at him.
“i am.”
his hands are in his pockets and you can see a war going on in his mind, but then he starts talking. “i’m not good at this part. the… communication, part. i’m not good at this part at all.”
you raise your eyebrows. he continues. “when annie died, i was content to not be with anyone. ever again. a random fuck there and again, just to get it out of my system, sure. but i was content with not opening myself up to that. i always just thought… i thought i was already so fucked up, and since annie knew me before i was so fucked up. i told myself that she was the only one that was going to get it. get me.” he stares up at you. “now, i know that i was wrong in that. obviously.”
you give a slow nod of your head. “but i lived in that reality for so long. that i wasn’t going to be open to that again. and then we started hanging out, and at first, i was able to convince myself it was innocent. i’m your mentor. no lines would get blurred. and then, obviously, they did. but i told myself it was all casual. and when i told myself that, i felt like… yeah, i could do that. i could be good to someone in that capacity. but then,i felt greedy with you. i felt like i wasn’t going to be able to let myself walk away if i stayed any longer. so i forced myself. thought i was doing you a favor.” he rubs the back of his neck. “thought i was doing right by myself. like, the safest option. and then i talked to my therapist.”
you smirk. “the age old solution.”
“yeah, right?” he smirks back at you. “and i told him all of this, yesterday. and you know what he said?” he waits a beat. “he told me i’m a fucking idiot. and i responded, and said that i know i was. because deep down… deep down, i knew it was all bullshit. a defense mechanism.”
he walks closer and puts his hands on the railing of the first floor patio, staring right up at you, you staring down at him. “i should never have made you feel small. and all i want is to show you that i mean it.”
nodding your head slowly, you mull over his every word. you open and close your mouth a couple of times. “i want to tell you to fuck off,” you say honestly. “i want to think you’re just bullshitting me. but…” you meet his eyes. “that’s probably my defense mechanism.”
the quiet overtakes the two of you. all there is is the lull of traffic and the faint whistle of the wind. “it wasn’t about you,” you say. “i knew why you were pushing me away. i understood. i just wanted you to see why those things weren’t real. and i thought that i could control that. and then i just left myself feeling disappointed, and desperate, and messy.”
the two of you watch each other like feral cats, unblinking and unwavering. maybe that’s what you are.
“i’m sorry,” he says, voice softened. “i was a dick. and you were right.”
you nod your head. “come inside before you catch a cold.”
most of the time, you went over to his place. when he steps over the threshold into your apartment, you think that it feels good to have him in your space. to watch him set his shoes by the door, hang his coat up on the little rack. there’s this awkward sort of tension that simmers between the two of you. he must sense it, because he gives you a sideways look. “that wasn’t all i had to say.”
“yeah?” you ask with a playful smile, filling up a glass of water and taking a big gulp from it.
his hands pin you in at your kitchen counter. all of the air is sucked right out of the room. “you told me that you wanted me to want you. right?” you give a nod of your head. “i wanted to be face to face with you when i said this part.” he ghosts his fingertips over your cheeks. “i want every fucking part of you. your wild, messy parts included. especially, even.” his eyes darken a shade. “do you know how crazy you’ve made me? flirting with donnie, that purple you wore tonight?”
you roll your eyes, mostly at yourself. “that was sort of the plan.”
“it worked.” his thumbs brush your hipbones. “every day, i went home to an apartment that had you all over it. a coffee mug on the counter with a lipgloss mark. the blanket that you love and curl into almost every single night. your book on my coffee table. i felt stupid. i felt small, too. i felt like a coward. i was a coward. and i just–”
you raise up your hand, pressing it against his chest. not pressing him away, just… there. his brows furrow. you say, “you ramble when you’re nervous and when you want someone to feel better.” your hand slides up his chest. “i forgive you.”
the relief that washes over him is a visible, tangible thing. you feel it in the way he grips your hips as a result, the way his face falls into the crook of your neck. you close your eyes and run your hand through the silver streak you love so much. he pulls back and there’s a little tear shining in his eye. and he says three words that are simple but profound, that strike you where you stand. “i love you.” he nods. that steady, stable, self-assured version of himself is there again. “i know that now. i knew it then, too.”
you nod your head slowly. “i know you do,” you say, because you do, you really do. “and i love you too.”
those dimples shine at you. not too deep. just right. he pulls your body in flush with his and it’s like you melt away into nothing but a glowing ball of light. fuzzy and warm.
a switch is flipped. your hands go hungry and your lips find his. jack leads you to your bedroom. he lays you down and he spreads you out. he takes off each article of clothing, slowly. he lowers himself until his head is between your thighs and apologizes with his tongue, until you arch off your bed. he climbs up and he sinks inside of you in one satisfying motion. you’re all nails down his back and relentless eye contact, and you’re the kind of desperate and messy that you want to be. he’s just the same– his pace is consistent, deep, and each thrust tells you just how sorry he really is.
you finish with an explosion behind your eyes, and he tumbles over off that cliff after you. he rolls off of you and you lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling. your hand goes to rest on his chest. he takes it and presses a kiss to it before he raises, comes back with a damp cloth and cleans you up with care. love. he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, tender and right.
he starts messing with the covers, brows all screwed up. “what could you possibly be looking for right now?” you ask, chest still heaving.
“this,” he says, locating his phone. he stares down at it until he puts it between you. a faint static emits from it.
“what the hell is–”
“3B60, the subject is fleeing on foot.”
you between him and his phone, police scanner coming from the speaker, incredulously. he just grunts as he settles back into bed, pulling you into him. “i’m just listening to what you want, kid.”
More Posts from M14mags and Others
Story 12: Chibs/Juice
Summary: Summary: Part of the Three: The Magic Number Series. Reader/OC x 2 of the Sons/Mayans. Purely smut with occasional plot/humor. 18+. Smut below the cut!
Chibs sat sipping whiskey with his eyes closed as he stroked his cock. The sounds of your whines and moans teasing him through the gag in your mouth. He smiled as he heard the sharp sound of a smack and a strangled sob come from you. Opening one eye he took in the sight on the bed. Your expression was one of cock drunkness as drool pooled around the gag and dripped down your chin and neck. Glistening in the light as your head was pulled back farther making you moan. Tears mixed with your makeup running down your face.
You were bound in an intricate display of ropes. Tits bouncing with each powerful thrust of the man behind you. Skin littered with love bites. Ass bouncing back and turning red and blue from Juices hand. Juices breathing was ragged and his thrust were getting sloppy as his release built up. “Chibs” he grunted as the men made eye contact.
“Aye Laddie. I’m ready for my next go” replied Chibs as he stood up and moved towards the bed. Juice came with another deep thrust and smack to your ass that triggered your own release.
“Kitten is soaked” laughed Chibs as he watched a mix of your arousal and their cum flow down your thighs as Juice pulled out of you. Juice planted a kiss to your forehead as he moved to sit in the chair that Chibs had just vacated.
You squirmed trying to get away as you let out desperate please as Chibs slid the tip of his cock through your messy folds. It was too much. Your body couldn’t take anymore.
“Shh, its okay kitten.” Soothed Chibs as he pressed kisses to your back as his hands kneaded your bruised ass cheeks while his cock rested between them. “Been so good for me and Juice. Such a good girl” he cooed as he kept up his gentle kisses and kneading. Feeling your body relax underneath him. “Going to let her rest a bit yeah.” He stated as he rose back up and raised your hip slightly before spreading your ass cheeks open.
“You have another hole we can use” he murmured before spitting on your ass hole and using one of his thumbs to work it in. You whined and you’re back arched at the intrusion. After a few minutes of Chibs loosening you up you felt his cock head start to push in slowly. “Shits just as tight as her pussy” grunted Chibs to Juice who was watching intently as his cock bobbed up and down. He barely gave you a moment once he was completely in before he was fucking you with abandon. His hands keeping you pressed firmly down in the bed as he used you.
Later
“Did so good” whispered Juice as he sat behind you in the tub washing your hair as Chibs fed you pieces of cheese and grapes from the side of it. “Very good love. Just like always” agreed Chibs as you smiled at him.
Return to Masterlist
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Dr Dad
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader
AN: This was requested by anon and I struggled towards the end but I hope y'all enjoy. Also, I wrote a second part to chocolate bars and injuries but hated it completly, so i'm gonna have to rewrite it.
Also also, I had an idea of a mortician!reader but idk who to pair it with, i was thinking Dr Shen but i'd love suggestions.
TW!!: drugging, implied attempted r@pe, assualt , regular medical misinformation
Synopsis: Jack Abbot's worst nightmare comes true when he daughter arrives in the ED unconscious.
Jack Abbot's brows furrowed in confusion as his call to his daughter went to voicemail for the fifth time that evening, something extremely out of the ordinary. It had been just him and his daughter for years, ever since his wife had passed away years ago and they had an extremely strong bond, constant texting with at least one phone call a day.
When you went to college, you stayed close by, choosing a college in the city so you could remain at home and commute daily despite your fathers protests. He wanted you to experience dorm life and the typical college experience but you were steadfast in your choice. You liked living at home, it meant you didn't have to have a roommate or share a bathroom and even though he'll deny it, your dad was a very decent cook and you loved sharing meals with him, whether it be something either of you cooked or a takeaway. Besides you had a solid group of friends on campus, occasionally staying at theirs if you had gone to a party or an event and it was too late to come back home, so it wasn't as if you were missing out.
Whenever Jack did work nights, you usually called to check up around nine p.m but when no call buzzed his phone, Jack became worried but he couldn't dwell on it as an emergency came through the door, occupying his time for a few hours. So when he tried to call you the next free moment he got and it rang unanswered until it reached your voicemail, a pit forms in his stomach.
"What's wrong?" Bridget, the night shift charge nurse asked, noticing Jack's expression.
Jack updates her with what has happened, "She hasn't called me and she's not answering her phone…this never happens."
"It's friday night, maybe she went out?" Bridget offers.
Jack shakes his head, "She would tell me, she always does and her friends have my number in case of emergencies, if she can't message me then they will."
Bridget gives him a comforting pat on his shoulder knowing how protective and how worried he gets about his doubt and no words she could say would ease his stress and the only person who could, is his daughter.
Then the phone goes off and Bridget answers it, taking the information with experienced ease before she hangs up and relays the information to everyone around, preparing them for the incoming patient.
"We've got a young woman, early twenties, found unconscious on the street with a head lac. ETA is three minutes."
Dr Shen looks over at Jack and notices how he's still worried about his daughter and so offers to take the new patient which Jack gratefully accepts before he seeks privacy by the lockers.
After another failed phone call to you, Jack is one press away from calling one of your friends when he hears Bridget yelling his name and he quickly returns to doctor mode and rushes over to her, snapping a pair of gloves on.
"What's wrong?" He asks.
"The new patient," Bridget is almost breathless, "It's your daughter. She's in South seven."
Jack is gone in a blink of an eye, stethoscope bouncing on his chest as he rushes to the room and bursting into the room with a bang, startling Dr Shen and the nurses but he pays them no attention as he makes his way to your bedside, gentle hands cradling your face.
"What the hell happened?" Jack looks around for answers.
"We've ordered scans and tests but the head lac seems straightforward enough, it'll need staples." Dr Shen informs him but it doesn't ease the weight on his chest.
"I'll get a rush on it" Jack nods as he reaches for the phone in the room.
Jack stewed in anger as he sat by your bedside, waiting for you to finally wake up. The results of the tests they sent for had him shaking in anger and demanding for the police.
You had been drugged.
All Jack could do is clench his jaw and fist as he waited for you to finally wake. He wanted the name of the person who had done this to his daughter and he became even more incensed when he realised that the legal punishment for this would never be enough.
Shuffling from your bed brings Jack out of his head and he stands up, leaning over the rail watching as you slowly wake up, blinking confusedly at your surroundings.
"Wha…"
Jack reaches over and takes your hand in his, "Hey honey, it's me. You're at the hospital but you're fine, you're safe here. I'm taking care of you, don't worry."
"...Dad?"
"Yeah it's me honey"
You grip your father's hand tightly as you try to arrange your scattered thoughts, "What happened? Why am I here?"
"That's what I want to know honey." Jack soothes you, "They found drugs in your system, they made you unconscious. Did you go out to a bar? Maybe someone spiked your drink? Are you not using those test strips I gave you?"
"I didn't go to the bar." You blinked at the rapid set of questions your dad threw at you, "I was at the library, someone from one of my classes asked to study together."
Jack's frown deepens, "What happened?"
"He came up to me after class and asked to study together-"
"And you agreed?! You can't just hang out with strangers." Jack's fierce overprotectiveness reared its head.
"It's finals week soon and this course is hard, having study partners isn't out of the ordinary" You huff at your dad, not liking the blaming tone.
"Honey, I've told you-"
"It's not my fault!" You snap, tears in your eyes, "He offered to grab us coffee and what did you expect me to do huh?"
"Oh fuck-" Jack closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, kid. Of course it wasn't your fault, I just want to find this fucker"
"How was I supposed to know?" You sob, your emotions hitting you all at once, "I wasn't planning on staying late, I told him that and he said he'll get me a coffee as a thank you. Once I felt the effects, I tried to leave but I was so dizzy, I think I fell somewhere, that's what gave me the head injury."
"He must have run once he saw you, but it's okay, the cops will be here soon and you can tell them when they arrive," Jack wipes your tears, "What's the guy's name?"
You furrow your brows as you try to remember the name, "Chris…Chris something. I can't remember but it's on my phone."
Your phone had been in your pocket when you had been found and placed with your clothes to the side after you had been changed into a hospital gown. Your father quickly passed it to you, watching closely as you unlocked it and brought up your text messages, quickly finding Chris' details.
"Chris Baker." Jack murmurs, reading the phone before turning to you and locking your phone, "You've gone through alot tonight, you should get some more rest."
You're reluctant to let go of his hand, squeezing tightly,"Can…can you stay?"
Dr Shen steps in at that moment, overhearing your question and before Jack can answer, he does.
"You can stay, we'll just yell when we need your help" Dr Shen laughs.
You laugh as well, easing Jack's worried frown but man still sends a glare at the younger doctor.
"You can't shirk your attending duties dad," You laugh again, taking a jab at your father, waving goodbye as Dr Shen left after noting your vitals.
"Alright," Jack presses a kiss to the top of your head, "Get some rest. I love you honey-bun."
You settle back into the hospital bed, eyes fluttering close "I love you too dad."
been loving the jack abbott fics soooo much!!!
A request for a potential fic about Jack. I was thinking something along the lines of his wife is maybe in the Peds/Psych department and comes to consult in the ER sometimes. The newbies don't know her as Jack's wife, but just the kind peds/Psych doc and then something something they discover she's Jack's wife and they're all like "how did that happen?"
thank uuu!!! this is a good one!!
The Other Dr Abbott
Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader
“Vitals are stable but he’s swinging between psychosis and charm like a damn metronome,” Santos muttered, watching the patient over the rim of her coffee cup.
Jack Abbott stood by the trauma bed, expression unreadable, arms crossed, as their patient—a shirtless man in his 30s with wild eyes and blood still drying under his nails—grinned up at the fluorescent lights like they were divine.
Dr. Whitaker explained the patient's history to Dr. Abbott, “He assaulted a pedestrian, bit a paramedic, and started quoting Shakespeare to the defibrillator. I think we’re out of our depth here.”
“Page psych,” Jack said without looking up.
“Already did,” Santos replied. “They said Dr. Abbot’s on call.”
Javadi looked up sharply. “But he’s standing right here.”
Jack sighed. “No. The other Dr. Abbot.”
Santos blinked. “There’s... two?”
Whitaker’s brows furrowed. “Is she your sister or something?”
But before they could interrogate further, the doors swung open.
In walked her—the hospital’s most requested psychiatrist. Elegant. Kind. Intimidating in the quietest way possible. She had a pen behind her ear, a folder under one arm, and a calm confidence that silenced the room the moment she entered.
“Hi,” she said gently. “I heard you needed psych?”
The patient lit up. “Ohhhh. There she is. Finally. Someone beautiful around here.”
Jack’s jaw ticked. “Watch it.”
The patient smirked. “What? Just saying. You all bring me the mean doctor with the wavey hair, but then this goddess walks in? Tell me you see it. She's the moon and you’re... I dunno. A pencil.”
Javadi bit her lip. Santos turned away, grinning.
The psychiatrist pulled on gloves with practiced grace. “I’m here to help, Mr. Reed. Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”
“Like I’ve seen heaven,” he said smoothly. “And heaven is you. Are you single?”
Jack stepped forward. “She’s married.”
The patient cocked his head, eyes narrowing like he suddenly understood something far more interesting. “Wait a second... no way.”
“What?” Santos asked.
The patient pointed at Jack, then her. “You’re married. You two. I see it now. That stare. The way you hovered when I called her beautiful? You’re totally married.”
Silence.
Then:
“She’s your wife?” Whitaker all but gasped, looking at Jack like he’d just revealed he was an alien.
Jack didn’t blink. “Yeah.”
Santos’s mouth dropped open. “Hold on—how long has that been a thing?”
“Seven years,” she answered calmly, scribbling notes onto her chart.
Javadi stared. “You mean to tell me we’ve been working beside both of you this whole time and never knew?”
“We keep it professional,” she said, glancing at Jack, who was clearly trying to sink through the floor.
The patient beamed, delighted. “This is way better than when I saw a guy get tasered in the cafeteria.”
“Please sedate him,” Jack muttered.
His wife smirked. “Not yet. He’s lucid enough to spill tea.”
Santos laughed so hard she had to turn around. Whitaker looked like he was trying to solve an algebra problem with no numbers.
“But—but she’s so nice,” he mumbled.
“She is,” Jack said flatly. “And she married me anyway. Try not to think too hard about it.”
As she moved to the side of the bed, the patient winked at her. “I’m just saying... you could’ve done better.”
Jack leaned down, eyeing him coldly. “Say that again and I will intubate you awake.”
Everyone blinked.
The patient raised both hands. “Okay damn. The wave’s kinda hot now that I get the context.”
Javadi crossed her arms. “Well, now I get why he punched that radiologist last year for calling her sweetheart.”
Jack didn’t deny it.
pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader
pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader
word count: 2.1k
a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3
warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)
---
“Hi love.”
Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes.
He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.
Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.
You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.
If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.
“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.
“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”
“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”
You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.
“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”
You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.
“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”
He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.
“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”
You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.
“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”
Jamie winces.
“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”
You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.
“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“
“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”
You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.
“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”
“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”
“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”
He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.
“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”
Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.
---
He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.
After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.
You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.
“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”
Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.
“Kit room.”
It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.
Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.
“Y/N? Love?”
“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”
Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.
“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”
He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.
“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”
Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.
Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.
“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.
“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”
“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.
“You’re alright, though?”
You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.
“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”
No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.
Tell her, you prick.
He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.
This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.
“What’s it say?”
You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.
“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”
You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.
“On the ceiling?”
He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.
It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.
“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”
“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.
“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”
The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.
“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”
You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.
“I spy with my little eye…”
---
It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.
No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.
He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.
“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.
“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.
He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.
Tell him, you silly shit.
It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.
“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”
“What?”
He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.
“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”
He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.
You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.
"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."
He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.
Maybe again.
"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."
He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.
"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."
You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.
"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.
(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)
Twenty-year-old Y/N returns to the ruins of District 12, seeking something—anything—of the life she lost. Grieving, self-contained, and carrying the weight of a brutal past, she finds herself quietly drawn into the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch. As unexpected friendships form and long-buried parts of herself begin to resurface, Y/N starts to wonder if it’s still possible for something soft to survive the wreckage.
Pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader (romantic), Katniss Everdeen x Female!Reader (platonic), Peeta Mellark x Female!Reader (platonic)
Warnings: themes of grief, past emotional and verbal abuse from a parent, past self-harm (cutting), past alcoholism (Y/N) / ongoing alcoholism (Haymitch), references to non-consensual sexual experiences (no explicit scenes), PTSD, mental health struggles, age gap romance between adults (20s and 40s), eventual suggestive scenes, death, descriptions of death/gore, mentions of bombing, descriptions of district 12 after the bombing, might be slightly divergent from canon, peeta was not hijacked
All heavy topics are treated with care, but reader discretion is advised.
this is basically just a suuuuper long slow burn friends to lovers. Y/N’s backstory is very detailed but i have not and will not describe her appearance. the first 5 or 6 chapters are basically just providing Y/N’s background and building a foundation for the rest of the story.
Shadows of the Past - Six months after the Second Rebellion, you return to the ruins of District 12. Haunted by memories and loss, you wander through the wreckage—until a flicker of light draws you toward something, or someone, unexpected.
Fragments of Home - In the unfamiliar stillness of Victor’s Village, you find yourself cared for by an old friend and a stranger. As wounds are tended to, new connections begin to take root—quiet, cautious, and strange in their kindness.
The Space Between - You move through the stillness of what remains, caught between memory and reality. In the space left by loss, something quieter begins to grow—unspoken understanding, and the first fragile steps toward connection.
The Club - A nightmare drives you outside in the dead of night—and you’re not the only one who couldn’t sleep. An unexpected conversation beneath the stars begins to chip away at the walls you’ve built.
The Quiet Shift - You wake to a new day and begin to settle into your new reality. A simple visit turns into something more, as laughter and conversation spark the beginnings of something long forgotten: friendship.
Porchlight - Three months into your return, you’ve slipped into a quiet routine—baking with Peeta, trading late-night banter with Haymitch. But comfort doesn’t come easy, and even the smallest moments of ease shine like a porchlight in the dark.
The Shape of Warmth - You spend the day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—what begins with a truth leads into something softer, steadier. Something that feels almost like belonging.
more to come! :)
No one as sweet as you
Stucky/Fem!Reader
Explicit | ~9.4k
When you’re hurt by your boyfriend you go to the two people you can depend on for anything, Steve and Bucky, your best friends.
This is set while they were living together in college. It focuses on their relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend.
Steve's break-up
Teen | ~1k
Bucky's break-up
Mature | ~1.7k
Reader's break-up
Teen | 1.9k
Realization
Stucky
Explicit | 1.6k
Steve/Sweets | Explicit
Moodboard and banners done by me.
on the line
interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic
pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.
warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language
word count: 5.0k
“What are you wearing?”
You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.
“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?”
“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.
This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked.
Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually.
Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.
This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?
But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.
Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him.
After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.
The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier.
Oh, how wrong you were.
The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister.
Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.
FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel.
“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.
“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”
“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh.
Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.
“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow.
“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.
With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.
“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”
You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured.
Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.
The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.
“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”
“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”
“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”
He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.
“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.”
You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.”
Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting.
Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.
He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”
But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten.
You didn’t just look tired.
You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.
Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.
And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear.
You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.
But you didn’t.
He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.
Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?”
Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.”
You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.”
He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.”
You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.”
You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.
You looked so peaceful.
He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.
Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.
Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days.
The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles.
“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen.
“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.
This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him.
And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime.
Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.
Jack stayed silent, watching.
He could tell something was bothering you.
Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.
“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.
“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh.
Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.
You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?”
Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”
“Oh?”
You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.”
Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”
“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”
Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”
You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.”
“You’re not a problem.”
His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.
You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.
“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering.
“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.
“I just… I miss you.”
There it was.
You’d finally said it.
And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.
“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?”
The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it.
Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice.
He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.”
You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.
If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?
Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.”
His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.
And he didn’t push back either.
The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.
After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.
“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.
You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.
“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”
You blinked.
That wasn't what you expected at all.
Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.
“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.”
That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.
Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.
You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.
He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.
Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.
“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ”
That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.
Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.”
You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?”
He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.”
That conversation changed things – in the best way.
It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.
“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.
He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.
Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights.
The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.
“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.”
You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”
You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?”
Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?”
He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.
“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.
Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.”
“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you miss it.”
“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.
You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon.
You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?”
Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.”
“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!”
He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.”
You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.”
“I regret telling you anything about that case.”
You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while.
Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.
“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?”
Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.”
“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”
He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.
Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.
“You changed the bedroom.”
You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.”
He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.
“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”
You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.”
“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.
“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.
“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.”
You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.”
Jack laughed.
The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.
“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.
You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.”
Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?”
“What?”
“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”
You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.”
“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.”
You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.
“In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.
He quirked a brow. “Is that so?”
You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.”
Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.”
And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.
“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.
Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation.
“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”
You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”
Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.”
“But, I sent a good backup, huh?”
Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.”
“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.
“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.
Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.
You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you.
“How was your flight?” you asked.
“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”
From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?”
“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”
“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”
You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”
Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?”
“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”
“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”
“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.
“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat.
“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.
Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.
“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?”
“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.
Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?”
You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”
She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.”
Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.
You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”
You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack.
In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering.
“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,” you teased.
“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”
The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream.
Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door –
There he was.
Jack.
Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.
“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.”
Jack froze, then turned.
And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person.
“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.
You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.
And then you were in his arms.
Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.
His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in.
“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.”
He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.
“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.”
He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.”
“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”
He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.
When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.
“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.”
You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?”
He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?”
You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.”
His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?”
He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.”
But neither of you moved. Not yet.
You’d waited this long.
What was one more minute in each other’s arms?
bitter/sweet
a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)
pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader
summary: when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…
warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, fainting/medical emergency, mild language
word count: 5.5k
a/n: my new hyperfixation i guess ???
“Fuck,” you grumbled, clutching your thumb in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, the fibers more crimson than cotton. The pain throbbed in pulses, each step sending a sharp reminder up your arm. You kept your eyes on the linoleum floors, following the resident as he led you deeper into the chaos of the emergency department and into an exam room.
“Oh,” the resident, Student Doctor Whittaker, said, his voice pitchy as he glanced at the kitchen towel. He quickly averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah, maybe we should keep that wrapped.”
You arched a brow at him, settling onto the exam table as the paper crinkled beneath you. The air in the room smelled sterile – alcohol wipes, latex gloves, and that faint antiseptic sting. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you? Because hate to be the one to tell you – you might be in the wrong profession.”
He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no – just… been a rough day,” he said, the humor dropping from his voice. “Can’t really handle another loss.”
You paused, tone softening. “Oh. Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You glanced down at the towel, now visibly seeping. “Did you get a hold of my sister?”
He shook his head, eyes already shifting toward the door. “I tried, but she’s in the OR; still scrubbed in. But, don’t worry; Dr. Abbot is the attending on call tonight. He’s one of the best – ”
You frowned. “Abbot? Where’s Robby?”
Before he could answer, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves with a practiced snap. His scrubs were black, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his expression was carved from stone. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but wavy; he easily had fifteen or twenty years on you… Still, he was cute.
“Well,” he began, his voice low and even, “It’s almost nine, and contrary to popular belief, even Robby needs to go home and rest. So, lucky you – you get me.”
You blinked. “Wow, smart and pretty. Lucky me indeed.”
He gave a subtle eye roll before his gaze met yours – steady, unreadable, deeply hazel. “So, what’ve we got?”
Whittaker stumbled to present. “Uh – female, 27. Has a deep laceration on her thumb. Cut it open on a grater – ”
“Mandoline slicer,” you corrected.
Abbot moved toward you, taking a seat on the wheeled stool. As he unwrapped your hand, you couldn’t help but ask, “Careful – you’re not gonna get queasy, too, are you?”
Without missing a beat, he stoically answered, “Only if this turns into something worse than a hand injury… like small talk.”
You let out a surprised laugh, half from the pain, half from how dryly he delivered the line.
“You’re funny,” you grinned. “I like you.”
He said nothing in response, merely peeled the cloth away, sticky and crimson, revealing the deep gash across the side of your thumb. Cold air kissed the open skin, and you hissed. He examined it without a flinch, gently turning your hand between his fingers.
“So, what were you doing with the mandoline slicer?”
“I’m a chef,” you answered. “The prep rush was insane today – guess my hand just slipped.”
He pressed carefully at the space between your thumb and index finger. You flinched, instinctively pulling back, but his other hand caught yours firmly, anchoring it.
“What?” you asked, watching his expression shift as he looked up.
“Stitches,” he decided.
“Fuck that.”
He arched his brow. “It’s a deep cut; can’t just put a bandaid on it and kiss it better.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” you flirted, finding it to be an easy distraction from the pain. Still, his face remained unchanged. “Come on, are you serious? You really can’t just wrap it up and call it a day? I have to get back before the dinner rush.”
“It’s not optional,” he informed. “It’s not gonna heal if it’s not stitched up.”
“Don’t worry,” Whittaker piped up again, voice chipper. “Dr. Abbot could do this in his sleep.”
“I could,” Abbot said, already reaching for gauze. “But Whittaker’s going to do it instead.”
“What?” You both asked, heads whipping to him.
“It’s a good learning opportunity,” he replied casually. “And Robby’s always goin’ on about how we’re a teaching hospital. Besides, it’s just a few stitches – a teenager could do it.”
“A teenager is about to do it,” you muttered.
“He’s older than you,” Abbot pointed out, making your frown set on him.
“I want you to do it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he got queasy just looking at the kitchen towel,” you explained. You and Abbot both turned to Whittaker, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s either you, or I wait for my sister to finish surgery,” you stubbornly gave him an ultimatum. “And she told me about those patient satisfaction scores.” You let out a low whistle.
Abbot stared at you for a beat, then turned to the student doctor. “Whittaker.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Go get me the lidocaine.”
You grinned in victory before offering your hand back out to Abbot.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” he muttered, arms crossing.
“You and my sister should start a support group,” you shot back.
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we will.”
When Whittaker returned, Abbot explained the procedure before getting to work: numbing first, then the sutures, probably six or seven. His voice was calm, precise. You clenched your other hand into a fist, eyes fixed anywhere but the needle. The sting of the lidocaine made your jaw tense.
“Ready?” Abbot asked. You nodded silently, lips pressed tight.
His hands were rough but skilled, careful – you could sense it.
As your eyes gazed over the room, they settled on the chain tucked beneath the neck of Abbot’s scrubs.
“Military?” you asked, voice quieter now as your free hand reached out to pull at the dog tags.
Without looking up, Abbot momentarily halted his work to swat your hand away. When your hand settled back by your side, he replied, “Used to be a medic. Liked the chaos so much, I went to med school for emergency medicine.”
You winced as one of the stitches tugged. “You good?” he asked, glancing up.
You gave him a wry look. “If I cry, will you hold my hand?”
“I’m already holding your hand,” he deadpanned.
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Then, buy me dinner? Or, let me buy you dinner, at Francesca.”
“Francesca?” Whittaker perked up. “Wait – you work there?” You nodded, smiling. “That’s cool. I’ve heard some of the other residents talking about it. They really love the food.”
You turned back to Abbot with a pointed smile. “See? Good food, good company – what more could you ask for?”
“Probably some peace and quiet,” he muttered. But, before you could press, he was already tying off the sutures and wrapping your hand with fresh gauze.
“So,” you said eventually, “what’s the damage?”
“You’re a rightie?” he asked; you nodded. “It’s your dominant hand. That, and the fact that restaurants have a high risk of infection – wet, hot, high-contact. It’s gonna take a minute to heal. Probably five days off work to initially heal and reduce strain; another five until you’re back to full-duty – and when you are, make sure you wear some sort of splint or gloves. Come back then and I’ll take ‘em out. Sound good?”
A week off work.
You already knew you weren’t waiting that long.
Still, you grinned up at him. “Whatever you say, handsome.”
Two weeks later––four days after you were meant to get your stitches out––you finally found yourself back in the hospital. You couldn’t say you missed the bright fluorescent lights or the constant beeping of machines – you weren’t sure how your sister did it every day.
You did, however, miss Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody.
That’s what you’d started calling Dr. Abbot in all your conversations with your sister. She’d blinked at you, been less amused, and professionally corrected you every time you brought him up.
“You mean ‘Jack’?” She’d say, and you’d grinned at that, ready to use this ammunition against him.
And, even though you had every intention to return earlier so you could see Jack sooner, work at the restaurant had gotten busy. Between a busted oven and two line cooks calling out, you’d been elbow-deep in chaos. You’d barely been convinced by Eleni, your sous, to come back even now. She had to practically push you out the front door.
Taylor, the charge nurse who brought you in, gave a smile as she informed you, “Dr. Whittaker will be in in just a few minutes.”
Your spine straightened immediately. “Actually, can you get Dr. Abbot? Tall one with the storm cloud for a personality. You know the one.”
Taylor nearly dropped her tablet laughing. “Oh, I like you,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Let me see what I can do.”
Luckily, it seemed like a slow night in the ED––well, slower than usual––and in a few minutes, your request had been granted.
“You know,” Abbot said by way of greeting when he entered the room, “you don’t get to request a specific doctor in the ED. That’s not how it works.”
You tilted your head. “Yeah? Then how come you showed up?”
He ignored that. “Why didn’t you let Whittaker take them out?” He already sounded annoyed, and it brought you much more glee than it should’ve. “You know he’s perfectly capable of removing stitches. And putting them in.”
“And pass up another moment of your stellar bedside manner? Now, why would I do that… Jack?” You smiled sweetly.
His eyes flicked up fast at the sound of his first name. “I hate your sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
“She’s the best and you know it.”
Instead of arguing, Jack gently pulled the wrap from your hand. His fingertips were warm through the gloves, deliberate in their movements as he examined the injury.
“You didn’t wait the five days before going back to work,” he said flatly, frown setting in.
Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course I did – In fact I – ”
You cut yourself off when you saw the look he gave you. All stern disapproval and low-simmering frustration – hot. And in a moment, you crumbled.
“Okay, okay, fine – but I took three days off! That has to count for something! I was going stir-crazy in my apartment, Jack.” You squirmed under his gaze.
He let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled, brows pinched slightly as he prepped the suture scissors in that deliberate, quiet way of his.
You couldn’t watch as he moved with steady practiced precision. Instead, your eyes settled back on his dog tags and after a moment of silence, you asked in a soft voice, “How could you tell? That I went back to work early?”
He met your eyes then, frowning. After a beat, he answered. “The skin around is red, irritated. The inflammation just started going down. You should’ve come in early if you were gonna go back to work. I said day 10.”
“I know.”
Dryly, he continued, “This is day fourteen.”
“I know, Jack.” You frowned now too. “You know, if you keep on like this, you’re not getting your present.”
That was when he noticed the light pink bag that sat on the chair by the exam table.
“I brought you something. As a thank you for stitching me up.”
Jack tilted his head to the side. “Not a bribe to soften the blow because you knew I’d know you went back to work early?”
You smiled up at him, this time in a way that asked for his forgiveness. “Why can’t it be both?”
Jack rolled his eyes, then began removing your stitches. “It’s healing,” he noted, “but slower than it should be. You pushed it too hard.”
“I was careful,” you defended. “I let Eleni do all the chopping and lifting heavy pans – I just ran the line… and plated.”
Jack hummed, observing. “You’re holding tension through your whole arm. That’s not careful.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but just then, he snipped one of the sutures and you flinched with a hiss of discomfort. His hands paused immediately, and his expression shifted – not annoyed this time, but concerned.
“Still hurts?” he asked, quieter.
You tried to play it off, half-laughing. “Hurts less than not being in the kitchen.”
Jack sighed again, shaking his head. “You think I’m impressed by your stubbornness?”
You gave a crooked grin. “No, but I think you like it.”
He didn’t answer, just focused on removing the next stitch. Silence stretched between you, the only sound the soft snip of scissors. When he finally leaned back, he said, “Okay, that’s the last one. Take it easy, okay? I mean it. Just plating for now – carefully.”
You lifted your head. “And if I don’t? You going to come hold my hand through the dinner rush?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll come by the kitchen if I have to.”
You watched him, smile growing. “Still thinking about saying yes to that dinner I offered?”
Just as quick, he quipped, “I’m thinking about you not landing in my ER again.”
Your brow rose. “Keep it up and you’re not getting the tiramisu.”
As he was wrapping your hand in new gauze, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. “Tiramisu?”
“My sister said you wouldn’t stop talking about it a few days ago. Got a craving.”
“Yeah, for DiAnoia’s,” Jack corrected.
When he was done wrapping your hand, you hopped off the exam table and offered him the light pink bag, with a tiramisu boxed inside.
“It’s better than DiAnoia’s,” you promised, already halfway to the door.
He snorted at that, not believing you. “But, be careful, it's sweet. Might clash with the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.”
“I don’t brood,” he called after you.
You turned at the doorway, walking backward as you smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to your face.”
Then, you spun on your heel, feeling his gaze on you as you let the door swing closed behind you.
You couldn’t tell if the emergency room was changing or if you were just getting used to it. The fluorescent lights felt ambient now, the loud chatter muffled, and the beep of vital machines now felt distant.
“Miss me?” You grinned up at Jack as he strolled towards the nurse’s station. You leaned casually against the counter, trying not to let your excitement show too much.
Without looking up from the chart in his hands, he replied, “Still haven’t recovered from the last time.”
You glanced over at Taylor, who sat typing behind the station, and dropped her a wink. “That’s not a no,” you stage-whispered, giggling.
Jack finally looked at you then, eyes tired but alert, like your voice had stirred him awake. “What are you doing here?” he asked, handing off the chart to Taylor.
“What, can’t a girl visit her local cute, broody doctor?”
“I already told you I’m not that,” he frowned.
You tilted your head. “Cute?” you asked, pretending to be confused.
He narrowed his eyes on you. “Broody.”
“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “Of course not.”
The silence between you lingered a second longer than expected – long enough for you to catch the faint circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. His scrubs looked wrinkled, like he’d been running nonstop since the start of shift. Your smile softened.
“I’m dropping some food off.”
His brows furrowed now. “For me?”
Your smile only widened, but faltered just a touch as you took in just how off he looked, a little out of rhythm. That bone-deep kind of tired. You wondered if he’d eaten at all tonight.
“For my sister,” you said lightly, though your feet were already carrying you toward the break room. You grabbed a paper plate and plastic fork, and returned just as quickly. You set the plate down and began undoing the takeaway box you’d packed.
“Wait,” Jack started, a note of warning in his voice – he already knew where this was going. You ignored him, and scooped a generous portion of pasta onto the plate before sliding it his way. The steam curled up toward Jack’s face.
“Try some.”
He sighed, saying your name like it was both a complaint and a surrender.
“Come on,” you coaxed. “Just a bite. And if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”
He gave you a long-suffering look – but brought the fork to his mouth anyway. The first bite had his eyes fluttering closed, just for a second. A soft sound escaped him – barely audible, but unmistakable. You caught it.
“That was a compliment,” you accused, pointing at him with a victorious grin. “I heard it! Everyone heard it!” You turned dramatically to Taylor, who watched with a dry amusement before shuffling over to a patient’s room.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Ok, hotshot, relax. It’s just pasta. Hard to mess it up.”
You scoffed. “You’d be surprised.” He shrugged, and you took it as a challenge. “Okay, then what? What can I make to convince you it’s not just luck – it’s these magic hands.” To make a point, you wiggled your fingers.
To your surprise, he actually gave it some thought. A flicker of memory seemed to pass through him. His voice was quieter when he spoke.
“There was this dish we used to get when I was in the military – in this little town outside Kabul. Locals made it in the market stalls. It was kind of like a lamb stew, over some flatbread. Spicy. Kinda messy to eat. But damn good.”
You blinked, surprised he’d offered to share something so personal. You cleared your throat, softly asking, “You were stationed in Afghanistan?”
Realizing the slip-up, Jack shrugged it off like he regretted saying anything. His eyes drifted to a fixed point behind you.
“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his, which rested on the counter of the nurse’s station. The gentle tone of your voice kept him from pulling his hand out from underneath yours. If anything, that, alongside the glint in your big eyes, made him want to spill everything.
“It was the 68W program – for combat medics,” he revealed, using his free hand to pull the dog tags from under his scrub top. “Standard issue accessory.”
“I disagree,” you murmured, playful but sincere. “I’ve heard medics are some of the toughest ones in the room.”
Jack let out a tiny almost-smile. “We were just the ones who didn’t get to shoot back.”
You paused, then asked, “What was it called? The dish.”
He thought for a second. “I don’t remember. I think maybe – palau something – or – I don’t know. Doesn't matter.”
You shook your head, heart melting. “If it stuck with you… it matters.”
Jack didn’t say anything to that, but his gaze found yours again – direct. You caught him staring. He didn’t look away.
“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you like me,” you teased, tone light.
He didn’t even deny it, just shook his head – either in denial or disbelief, you couldn’t tell.
“That’s okay. I like you enough for the both of us.”
That brought a pink tinge to his cheeks.
Instead of bringing attention to it, you simply offered a half-smile. “Okay. Challenge accepted. One mystery lamb dish, coming up.”
At that, Jack raised a skeptical brow. “You’re gonna recreate something I haven’t eaten in ten years, from a place you’ve never been, with no recipe?”
You shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally convince you to come to the restaurant.”
And there it was – just for a second. The edge of a smile. Maybe even the beginning of a laugh. You nudged his side with your elbow.
“Admit it. You’re rooting for me.”
Jack just shook his head, but didn’t speak. Didn’t stop smiling either. Didn’t even say no.
The next time Jack saw you in the hospital, the occasion was less momentous. You didn’t have a light pink box with the Francesca logo on it and a sweet treat––or Afghani dish––inside. You weren’t your happy, bubbly self jumping around the place. Forget jumping, you weren’t even on your feet.
You were in a hospital bed, fluids pumping steadily through an IV line taped to your arm. into your veins through IVs. Your sister, elbows resting on the edge of the bed, was scrolling through her phone with the ease of someone used to hospitals – until Jack stumbled in.
His eyes immediately found yours, and whatever breath he’d been holding on the way in came out sharp.
“Every day you’re here – you come and find me. Every day,” he said, voice low and urgent. “So, what changed today? Why was Robby the one to tell me you fainted?”
You and your sister exchanged a glance. She was already putting her phone down, her expression turning serious.
“Because it literally happened an hour ago…?” you offered, wincing a little. “And that’s still day shift.”
Jack raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every sharp movement.
“Robby had it covered,” your sister said, trying to calm Jack.
It didn’t help.
“Did he do an ECG?”
“Yes.”
“Echocardiogram?”
“Yes, Jack,” she sighed.
“What about a head CT?
You frowned. “Why would he do a CT?”
“Because you probably hit your head when you fell.”
You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t hit my head.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Eleni caught me.”
Jack’s eyes bounced between you and your sister. “This happened at work?” You nodded, slowly. “Did this happen because of work?”
Suddenly, you were having a hard time meeting his eye.
To make matters worse, your sister answered for you. “She was covering for one of the other line chefs, stressed about a critic visit – Eleni said she was barely sleeping – ”
“The critic’s a big deal!” you defended, “and Luca was getting burnt out. He needed a break.”
“No, babe,” your sister cut in, not unkindly, “You need a break.”
Jack stepped closer to the bed, scanning the IV bag. His fingers brushed against your arm, checking the line, then pressing gently against your wrist. “Did Robby hook her up to saline?”
Your sister nodded.
“What about electrolytes? She’s dehydrated.”
“He – ” Your sister paused, then asked, a little surprised, “How did you know that?”
“Her lips are dry,” Jack responded, as if it was obvious. “She squints every time she looks up at the lights. And her leg is tense – probably cramping earlier.”
You and your sister shared another look, then you grinned up at him, pushing his hand away from your arm to grab it in yours, warm and steady. “What?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“You were worried about me,” you grinned, all grin and no apology.
He exhaled deeply, rubbing his free hand defeatedly over his face. “Oh, my God. You fainted and this is what you’re focused on?”
You gave him a small shrug. “I’m fine.”
And, truthfully, you were starting to feel better. Color was returning to your cheeks, and the constant throb behind your eyes had dulled to a whisper. The IVs were helping; the rest, too.
A voice crackled over the intercom, paging your sister to OR 3. She stood, hesitating.
“Go,” you said, waving her off. “I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”
“Fine, but tell someone to page me when they discharge you. I’ll get someone to drive you home.”
You rolled your eyes but nevertheless nodded. As she stepped out, Jack moved to sit on the edge of the chair beside your bed, one hand running along the railing.
“How mad do you think she’s gonna be when I tell her you’re not going anywhere? I’m keeping you overnight.”
Your head whipped toward him. “What? Why?”
“For observation. I want to make sure it really was stress-related and not some underlying medical condition.”
You groaned, tilting your head back against your pillow. “Jack,” you groaned, frustrated by this decision.
“Oh, I know,” he mocked gently. “How could I do this to you? Keeping you overnight to make sure you’re healthy? I’m the worst.”
You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as dramatically as you could manage while tethered to an IV.
“Don’t be like that,” he tried, his hand uncrossing yours. Then, the same hand lifted to gently cup your cheek. “You know, you didn’t have to faint just to get my attention. Could’ve just called.”
The blush that crept to your cheeks was immediate, and you cleared your throat, looking away. “Dr. Abbot with the jokes – never thought the day would come.”
“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m a complex guy.”
He tugged your blanket higher, gently tucking it around you like it was second nature. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”
You nodded, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. As Jack slipped out, he left the curtain half-open so he could keep an eye on you from the nurse’s station or while he was passing by to other patient rooms.
Instead, you found your eyes drifting to him. Even through the haze of sleep, you watched him move through the ED like a controlled current – swift, focused, unshakable. He was in full command, teaching, managing, healing. Something about how intense yet calm he was eventually lulled you to sleep.
When you woke again, sunlight was peeking through the slats of the blinds, and Jack was beside your bed, carefully unhooking the IV line.
“Morning,” he greeted, voice soft as it pulled you from your deep slumber. “How are you feeling?”
You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and let out a groggy sigh “Wow, thought I died and went to broody heaven.”
“I’ll take that as ‘fine,’” he said dryly, grabbing a paper cup of water he’d filled for you and maneuvering the straw toward your lips like it was muscle memory.
“Can I go home now?”
He nodded, his eyes still scanning your vitals, “Soon. Just gotta fill out your discharge paperwork and then shift’s over. I’ll drive you home.”
“Drive me home? I’m wearing you down, old man,” you grinned sleepily up at him.
He rolled his eyes, raising a hand to press the back of it to your forehead. “You feel okay? No headache? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Good as new,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Must be these magic hands.”
He smiled at that, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before letting go.
“So,” you began as he signed off on your chart, “does being injured get me privileges?”
He arched a brow. “What kind of privileges?”
“Favors,” you said with a shrug. “Like you finally coming to the restaurant.”
Jack let out a low groan, head shaking. “It’s too early for this – you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Not till you say yes. And, as you know, I’m very persistent.”
“Oh, I do know,” he said, then held his hand out. “Let me see your thumb.”
You blinked. “Why?”
Still, you offered it up. He examined it gently, brushing his fingers over the healing skin.
“When this heals completely, I’ll come to Francesca.”
You beamed. “In that case, let’s speed up the process…” You wiggled your thumb closer to his face. “Never did try that technique of kissing it better, huh?”
He gave you a look – but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb.
When he set it back down in your lap, your stomach fluttered.
“Now, can I take you home or are you going to make me do a blood oath first?”
“You’ve been burying the lede, Abbot,” you teased, making your presence known as you walked across the hospital rooftop and joined him on the concrete ledge. Your shoes scraped lightly against the gravel as you sat, legs swinging just off the edge.
He glanced over, brows furrowed in confusion. No one but Robby ever came up here.
“Taylor told me where you were,” you informed. “How many conversations have we had – and you never mentioned this place? Or the crazy views it has?”
The city was sprawled out below you, glittering the dark earth. A breeze tugged at your jacket, crisp with late night chill.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. 2:56am glowed dimly in the moonlight.
You shrugged, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.”
His concern was immediate, instinctual. “Is it the stitches? Are you feeling dehydrated?” He was already reaching for you, fingertips brushing your wrist as if searching for a pulse.
“No, Jack,” you laughed, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine. I just… woke up with a thought.”
He stilled, waiting for you to explain what thought could’ve roused you out of bed in the middle of the night and forced you here.
You reached behind you and retrieved a familiar pink Francesca bag, the paper crinkling softly in your hands. In thick Sharpie ink, you’d scrawled his name with a lopsided heart beside it. His brows lifted in disbelief.
“No fucking way,” he murmured, greedy fingers snatching the food container out of the bag and tossing the lid aside like it might disappear if he wasn’t fast enough.
Inside sat the Afghani dish Jack had told you about that one day at the nurse’s station. The rich, spiced aroma was carried through the night air – saffron, cumin, caramelized carrots.
“It’s called qabili palau,” you offered, watching him tear a piece of naan, scoop up a mouthful, and take a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes immediately rolled to the back of his head and he exhaled a quiet sound that was half-groan, half-moan.
“If you’re making those kinds of noises at my cooking, just imagine my skill in the bedroom,” you teased, flashing him a grin.
That earned you a look – but not one you expected. Quiet, intense. His mouth twitched at the corner like he was trying not to smile, and then he went back for another bite. And another. You watched him eat in silence, the wind occasionally rustling his curls, and you couldn’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment, on this quiet rooftop, and this ridiculous hour.
He quietly finished the food, sharing it with you. And, when the food was gone, his eyes drifted out across the skyline. He looked… lighter somehow. And it reminded you why you loved being a chef – because food had the power to take people home, even when they were miles and years away.
You nudged him. “Oh – I almost forgot!” You excitedly held your hand up like a prize, thumb out. The skin had healed cleanly, leaving not even a scar behind. “All better.”
His eyes found yours, amusement dancing in them. “I’m pretty sure I said when it’s healed, not the exact moment it is.”
You scooted closer to him, shoulders brushing, as you accused, “Oh, no. You’re not gonna get out of this.”
He shook his head at you, like he had countless times before, but this time… this time the look in his eyes changed. Slowed. Softened. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting here, choosing him.
His smile faded as he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a windblown strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to,” he said softly.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed – not some messy, passionate crush. It was slow, intentional. The kind of kiss that people waited a long, long time for. His lips were warm, and soft, and they fit perfectly against yours.
You melted into it, one hand curling around the front of his scrubs as the city disappeared beneath your closed eyelids. The hospital lights, the stars, the hum of distant traffic – it all faded until it was just the two of you. Just Jack.
When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far – just rested his forehead against yours, his breath brushing across your skin as he murmured, “You know, you scare the hell out of me. Make it hard to stay behind the lines I drew.”
You smiled softly at that, brushing your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “Good. Means it’s real.”
There was a beat of quiet. Then, he gently took your hand again, turning it over to inspect your healed thumb. You rested your head against his shoulder, grinning – you both knew exactly what this meant.
He sighed dramatically, mocking defeat. “What’s the dress code?”
“No scrubs,” you teased.
“Button-up?”
“Only if it’s black. Very broody.”
“Deal,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.
.
.
.
read part 2 here !!
Just In Case (Dr Jack Abbot x FemaleResident!Reader)
Summary: He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?" Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.
Warning: all my content is considered 18+ only, smut, age gap unspecified, reader is one of Jacks resident, fluff, smut, angst, happy ending, as always barely proofread or edited plz forgive me
A quick note: I know I promised this forever ago, but I'll be completely honest, this is NOT the story I started out to write! But holy fuck it took over with a mind of it's own and I really love the way it turned out so I hope y'll do too!! also, again, shout-out to the gif creater above because this one's still my fav
ENJOY!
~~~~~
He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?"
Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.
Jack liked you from the jump. Smart, witty, a little dark like he was and not afraid to jump into the chaos with no need to know how deep. You had fit right in on his shift and for a long time you were just his best resident. His BEST, fucking resident, because God you were good. Every trauma, every code, every shitty shift you were right there doing the work and it was clear you loved all of it.
Jack had asked Robby one morning, "So, what's the deal? Why'd you let her go? You usually like to keep the star pupils to yourself."
Robby had just made that face at him, that annoying one with the shrug. "Thought I'd make her your problem for awhile."
Then the next night Jack had to split up you and the R4 in the middle of the hub. "What in the actual fuck are you two doing?" His presence had been enough to put some distance between the both of you, but you were pissed and the R4 was not letting it go.
"She walked all over my case."
"Because you were fucking it up! That girl did not have time to wait, and I told you that three times."
"And I told you to stay in your lane, I'm your senior resident."
"You are a dipshit, that was going to kill that girl by lack of action."
"Enough." Jack didn't yell. He didn't need to. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, face hard and waited.
"Dr. Abbot, she has authority issues, and it's interfering with her patient care and everyone elses."
"I don't have an issue with authority," If looks could kill the R4 would have dropped dead. Then you turned that look on him and it didn't have the venom in it, but the fight was there, that unwavering confidence, "I have a problem with misplaced authority."
Jack had held your gaze as you'd said it then nodded. He'd sent you both on your separate ways and excused himself to the bathroom where he took a leak and then stood with his hands braced on the sink as he stared himself down in the mirror. "What the fuck?" He whispered to himself as he rocked side to side and shook his head at his own reflection. He should've been annoyed at you two, not himself, but something about that look you had given him. It was like it had flipped some sort of switch. Like suddenly you weren't just his best resident, you were also…
The bathroom door swung open, "Dr. Abbot, we have a code blue coming in, ETA 5 minutes."
He nodded, "Set up trauma two."
Every shift after that he caught himself thinking things he should not be thinking about his resident. Yes you were his best resident, talented and dedicated, but you were also gorgeous. Not that he had never noticed, but now it was something he couldn't help but pay attention to. In between patients, when you passed by him or stood a little too close, he felt his pulse quicken. He couldn't help but watch you a little closer, the way you were so soft and calm with nervous patients, the way you didn't take shit from the combative ones. The confidence you had in your abilities and the drive you had to be better.
Your eyes. Those beautiful fucking eyes that never shied away from him. Your smile. Not big and bright or soft or sweet. No, the one that drove him fucking crazy? That was the tiny one, the barely there tick of your lips, up to one side before you could fight it back. That one was his favorite, because it felt like he had to earn that one. Like he had done something, just enough, to get you to crack. Like there was something you were trying to keep to yourself and if he said the right thing, did the right thing, you'd show him what it was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a long night. A long week. Jack had gone up for some air and some quiet. He had his back leaned against the railing and hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the horizon.
The access door opened and he furrowed his brow. Robby wasn't working today.
When he looked over his shoulder the last person he had expected to see was you, just standing there with one of your easy smiles. "Need me, you could have called."
You just shrugged as you came closer. "Don't need anything, Day shift is trickling in." You came to lean next to him. Close enough to touch. "You good boss?"
Jack glanced sideways at you. Your hair was falling down, eyes tired, smile careful. He had to fight the urge to lean towards you, close that distance just to touch, even if it was just your shoulder against his. He shook his head, "Just one of those nights. You good?"
You nodded, leaned over the railing carefully to look down, "Do you actually think about it? When you come up here or is it just... a thing you do?"
He's not sure he would have been more surpised if you had slapped him. He looked at you long and hard. When you didn't flinch, didn't shy away, he shrugged. "Depends on the day." Jack cracks a little smirk for you, to ease the tension.
You smile back at him, unphased, as you stood up a little straighter. His eyes track your every move as you lean across the railing.
Jack had been wrong when he thought he couldn't be more surprised if you'd slapped him. Becuase the last thing he would have ever expected was that you would lean across the railing and kiss him.
It wasn't anything crazy. A quick brush of your lips over his. Not long enough. When you didn't pull back all the way he watched you close. Studied you. "Just in case." You shrugged as you finally stepped back.
You were about to turn and leave when he asked, "In case what?"
You gave him another smile, this time with something in your eyes that you didn't try to hide from him as the sun crept up over the skyline. "In case tonight was one of those nights."
It wasn't. It was one of those nights, but not one of THOSE nights. Jack liked that it hadn't been some big thing. Quick and light. He liked that you hadn't hesitated. He liked that if it had been one of those nights, you thought a kiss would have changed something. It changed everything.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You know, the park beers is really more of a day shift thing."
You turned to the side and inwardly scolded yourself for not hearing him approach. "No beer." You shrugged but didn't offer up anything else.
Jack took another step closer, "Thinkin' about that kid?" He shrugged his backpack up higher and waited for your response.
You looked him over and even after the night you'd had, you had to fight back a smile because he looked good. This was your favorite version of Dr. Jack Abbot. Cargo pants, hair a mess and he'd pulled his scrub top off at some point and had worked the last couple hours in just atight, black t-shirt. You took a deep breath, "You goin' to tell me I did everything I could?"
He shook his head, "You already know that."
You nodded, "Yep."
"C'mon, I'll give you a ride home."
"Why?" You looked up at him, skeptical.
The grin he gave you washed all that away, "Just in case."
You thought maybe it would be awkward, letting Jack drive you home after what you'd done on the roof four shifts ago. It wasn't. Then when he had pulled up in front of your building, you thought for sure it would be awkward, but it wasn't. He just put the truck in park and tipped his head to catch your eye, "Go get some sleep okay." When you didn't move right away, he gave you a little nod, "I'll see you tomorrow."
You felt sick to your stomach suddenly, like you had been very wrong. "Jack…If I…"
He draped his wrist over the steering wheel and his eyes were soft, "Tomorrows a new day."
"Get that from Robby?" you tried to swallow down the bile in your throat, force a smile.
Jack shrugged, gave you a smirk. "Maybe. I mean it, get some sleep."
You had started to climb out of the truck, but your hand paused on the handle. You were always something of a go big or go home kind of girl. So, you turned back, leaned across the console and didn't give yourself or Jack the chance to think twice. You kissed him again. More than a quick peck this time and the air rushed out of your lungs when his lips moved with yours, slow and steady.
You were about to pull back when you felt the hand that had been draped over the steering wheel cradle the back of your head and keep you there.
When Jack did eventually let you pull away his eyes locked onto yours. "What was that for?"
You whispered, scared to get your hopes up, "Just in case I don't get another chance."
He dropped his head back against the headrest and held your gaze, "If I promise you'll get another chance, will you go upstairs and get some rest?" When you nodded he cracked a little smile, "I'll see you tomorrow."
~~~~~~
Giving you a ride home became a thing, not after every shift but more and more.
It felt like you both just craved that little bit of time alone, together. It wasn't even something seedy or scandalous, he would just... drive you home.
Sometimes you'd kiss him, sometimes he'd reach out for your hand and hold it the whole way to your apartment. At some point it turned into drive thru coffee. He didn't just pull up out front anymore, he'd park in a spot and you would talk.
Jack told you about his wife first. The broken part of him figured; get the rough stuff out of the way first. If you were going to change your mind that would do it, and he'd rather deal with it sooner than later. He told you and you had just held his hand, your thumb working circles over his palm with tears in your eyes. "I don't have the words Jack, God I wish I did..."
He didn't need you to have the words. The look in your eyes unwavering and the grip on his hand was enough. He had just shaken his head, throat still hoarse and had lifted the back of your hands to his lips. That was enough.
He told you about his leg. You never flinched once and this time it was him that stroked his thumb over your palm. Back and forth, where they rested together on the console. You had just leaned forward, held his gaze and told him it made him more of a man.
He told you about his PTSD, explained his little visits to the roof, told you about his therapist. You said you were proud of him, and leaned over to kiss him and steal the last bagel bite out of his lap. Jack had grinned, watched the way your face lit up to see it, even if your eyes were a little misty. "I want to tell him about you..." Jack waited, watched you like his life depended on it. Because, even then he knew this couldn't be casual, not for him, and if it was real he was going to do it right.
You had laughed and he panicked for half a second before you leaned in to kiss him again. "You mean, we've been working together this long and you haven't already complained about me to your therapist?"
He laughed, and God it felt like a gulp of air. He sank his hand into your hair and slammed your mouth to his. Kissed you like you'd never been kissed before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning you had whispered, "Come upstairs?" He'd thought he might combust then and there. He had searched your eyes. Those gorgeous fucking eyes that never wavered under his. He'd never forget the pretty way you bit your lip, or the way your eyes flashed with something he hadn't seen yet when he gave you one more quick kiss and turned off his truck.
Any lingering thought or rationalization that you could be something casual went out the fucking window the moment you let him press you up against the inside of your apartment door and kiss you the way he'd been wanting to for months.
The way you gasped and moaned so pretty for him when he pinned your wrists over your head with one hand and slipped the other inside your scrub pants. "Jesus Christ sweetheart..." He murmured into your ear when he felt how hot and wet you were for him.
"Jack," Your eyes fluttered closed as he eased the first, thick finger inside you, "Shit." You fidgeted, tried to chase his hand with your hips, but you didn't fight his hold on your wrists or the way he pressed you into the hard surface. You groaned, showed your teeth in something between a smile and a snarl as he gave you a second finger, but did not change his rythym.
He kept his strokes slow, steady, deep. Kissed every part of you he could reach at this angle. Your neck, the hollow of your throat the shell of your ear, before always returning to your mouth. "Feel good?"
You nodded, frantic, gave him an airy, 'Mhmm."
"Yeah?" He mouthed at the soft spot just below your ear as he finally sped up his movements and felt the way your pussy quivered and clenched around his fingers. Jack smiled as he moved up to rest his forhead against yours, "Yeah..." He answered himself as he studied your face, felt the warm puffs of air as you panted and gasped, his palm resting over your clit as he drove his fingers deeper.
"Oh shit, shit," Your words cut off with a groan as he pressed against the little bundle of nerves harder.
"Yeah?" He licked his lips and fought back a smirk as he kissed you softly, pulled his fingers out and circled them over your clit. Firmer, faster. "Going to cum for me already, aren't you sweetheart?"
"Yeah." You chased after his kiss like you needed it to breathe, your weight sinking into his hand begging for more.
Eyes locked on yours, foreheads together he gave you a little nod, "Yeah, go ahead," He sped up the circling of his fingers until both of you were breathing heavy, "Go ahead, sweetheart, go ahead."
When your eyes fluttered and rolled back Jack didn't stop, only pressed you harder into the door and kissed you in the most unholy way as you came apart for him.
Slowly as you can back down he eased off the pressure of his fingers, slipped them back inside of you and relished in the little convulsions he felt as he gave you long, slow, steady strokes. He teased at your lips, kissing and nipping until you giggled and he finally released your hands from above your head. "Good girl." He whispered as he gave you a final kiss and pulled back.
The look in your eyes told him this probably couldn't be casual for you either.
You laughed when he ducked, lifted you up by the thighs and carried you towards your bedroom.
"Don't laugh, I'm not that old." He chuckled with you into the hollow of your throat. A chuckle that turned into a groan when you carded your fingers into his already messy curls and tugged.
He had laid you down on the bed and stripped you naked as fast as possible. Desperate to get his hands, his mouth on every inch of you until you whined his name and fisted your hand in the back of his scrub top.
Jack smiled against your hip, "What?"
"Off."
"What?" He asked again as he sucked a little bruise into the smooth skin before him.
You groaned, half annoyed and half giddy, and shoved at him until he looked you in the eyes, "Take your fucking shirt off."
He chuckled, gave you a grin and rose up to his knees so he could reach behind him and pull his scrub top and undershirt off in one go. Jack couldn't help but take that half a second, to watch you hum happily and chew on your lip, to let it stroke his ego, before he buried his face between your legs.
~~~~~~
He had put it off as long as he could, shoved the thought aside and focused all of his attention on you. But, eventually, you had pulled and clawed at him until he crawled over you to cover your body with his and kiss you properly again. Jack let you take some of his weight as he kissed you, soaked in the warmth and the feel of you under him.
He knew he'd have to take his pants off, that the prosthesis would be some sort of jarring reminder and this would all be over.
He focused on your hands and how fucking good if felt as you stroked up the muscles of his back, hooked your fingers over his shoulders and pulled him closer. The way your fingertips skimmed over his arms, squeezing his biceps and smiling under his kisses like you enjoyed the way he felt. It had almost been involuntary. The jerk of his hips when you had skated your nails low over his sides, too low, too close to the waistband of his boxers where the band peeked up over the top of his pants. The way he had rolled his hips against yours and gave you a hint of just how badly he wanted you.
You made that happy little humming sound again and stroked your hands up over his back and down again. FIngertips leaving little divots under them as they moved. "Jack," Your voice was soft, airy and tight, "Am I gonna have to tell you to take your pants off too?" You fought for his eye contact and for the first time he couldn't give it to you.
Jack buried his face in your neck and kissed over your pulse, whispered his answer there instead, "Sweetheart," He breathed deep and Jesus you smelled like sex and sweat and soap and everything good in this world. "Only way this really works, is if I take the leg off." He waited. Expected the worst.
When you tugged on his hair he caved, lifted his head and looked you in the eye. You held his gaze and opened your eyes wide like you were about to make a point and wanted it to land, "Then take the fucking leg off," You cracked a smile, "Or I'm going to do it, and I have no clue how it works so..."
Jack fucking loved you. He knew he loved you, because he had said the first thing that came to mind, "Want me to show you?" With a chuckle and a nod you kissed him and with no hesitation answered, "Yeah, kinda."
So, as awkward and unsexy as it was, he showed you.
He showed you how the mechanism worked, grinned at you and shook his head as you tried to pull it off the first time. He'd turned an embarrassing shade of pink when he'd warned you, "It's not going to smell good. You know that right?"
You had scoffed, rolled your eyes at him. "I'm a doctor. I'm sure I can handle it."
Jack couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard. Especially not in bed, with a sexy, young woman, where ten minutes ago the only thing on his mind had been fucking your brains out. Now, you were collapsed on his chest and cackling uncontrollably with his prosthetic leg in one hand dangling off the side of the bed. All he could do was cradle the back of your head and try to catch his breath, because even as you were laughing, you were peppering kisses over his chest and he swore that if this didn't scare you away he would never let you go.
When you caught your breath and sat up, you set his prosthesis down by the nightstand and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "Now, take your pants off."
His eyes followed you as you crawled off the bed and walked naked to the bathroom. He tried to fight down the nerves as he did shuck his other shoe, sock and his scrub pants off, then pushed himself up to lean against your headboard. He listened to a cupboard open and close, water run. When you reentered the room and tossed a bath towel on the bed and crawled back to him with a warm, soapy rag in your hand he furrowed his brow.
"I fucking dare you to make one sponge bath joke. I swear to God." You didn't hesitate as you knelt in front of him and began to run the rag over what remained of his lower leg. Your fingers massaging the aching muscles as you went.
All Jack could do was shake his head side to side as he let his eyes fall closed and his body sink deeper into your pillows.
~~~~~
Jack hadn't meant to zone out, but Christ it had felt too good. Your soft, capable hands working over the tension in his leg after a long shift. The relief it brought, physical and mental, was unbelievable. He barely noticed you had stopped until you had moved to straddle his lap and kiss up the side of his neck.
"Fall asleep on me?"
He chuckled, "Almost." and wrapped his arms around your waist to drag you closer.
"Feel good?" You copied his question from earlier, whispered it against throat.
"Too fucking good." His cock had softened some from the relaxation, but when he pulled you down to settle against him fully he could feel himself harden by the second. "You're too fucking good for me." He caressed from your knees, over your thighs, up your waist and ribcage, until his fingers traced over the line of your arms where they had wrapped around his neck.
"Don't say that." You kissed him, deep, and rolled your hips over him. Whined a little that his boxer briefs still kept you seperated from what you both wanted. The whine turned into a squeal as he flipped you over without warning, Put you on your back like you had started.
Jack hovered over you braced on strong arms. "You still want this?" He rocked his hips into yours and searched your eyes. He could see that you knew what he meant. Not just this, not just the moment, not just sex. Him. HIs past, his baggage, all the complications that a relationship with your attending would bring.
"Yes. All of it." You looked him in the eye and smiled. Cute and sweet. Drastically at odds with the way your hands were shoving his underwear down over his hips.
Then he watched those pretty eyes roll back in your head, because he wasn't going to waste another second not knowing what it felt like to be inside you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack had panicked the first time he'd said he loved you.
He'd thought it from the start, but it had always felt to soon, too real, too say it out loud. To risk it.
Then he had woken up late one afternoon, after a restless few hours of sleep and you weren't in bed beside him. His mind, already primed for the worst case scenario after a long week, worried that you'd finally had enough. That he'd scared you away and you'd snuck off while he was asleep but, then he'd found you in the kitchen.
He paused at the corner and breathed deep as he watched you. Your back turned to him, in some t-shirt of his you'd dug out of a drawer to sleep in, hair tosseled from sleep. You were glaring at the coffee maker, arms crossed and swaying side to side, as if you could force the machine into expedience. He could feel the anxiety seep out of him as he watched you. Made his way to you.
"Where are your crutches?" Was how you greeted him, your voice rough and exhausted like him.
Jack just slid his arms around you waist and kissed the back of your head. Relished the feel of you sinking more of your weight back into him. "Bedroom." He shifted to place a kiss closer to your neck.
"Ja-ack"
"Wha-at?" He copied your tone and squeezed you tighter. He liked that you worried. With one hand he swept your hair to the side so he could kiss your neck and chuckled against it when you groaned. Annoyed, not aroused. "Been gettin' around just fine for over a decade baby."
You had grumbled, rolled your eyes, but leaned into him and smoothed your hands over his forearms, your thumbs traced the furrows in the muscle. "I know."
The coffee maker beeped, but you made no move to reach for a cup. Jack liked that you worried. He liked that you took up space in his home, in his life. He liked that you'd taken over half his bathroom, that his sheets smelled like you, that your car had a spot in his garage. He liked that you'd started teasing him about trying to get out of your lease as much time as you spent at his house. Hell, he'd pay off your fucking lease if it meant he could have you here, with him, all the time.
He wrapped his arms around you impossibly tighter and squeezed, smiled at the content little hum you let you and the way your head dropped back against his shoulder. His lips pressed against your temple, barely a kiss, "I love you."
There was no shocked expression on your face, no teary eyes, or fumbling words. Just that little smile, that ticked up in one corner, the one that he'd loved from the start. "I've been patiently waiting, but you were starting to make me nervous." You stood up and turned around in his arms. Smile wider as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your eyes flickered when he tightened his grip on your waist again. Locked you against him, arms flexing the way you always liked. Your lips brushed his briefly and then you pulled back to look him in the eye, "I love you too."
Saying it, finally, felt amazing. Like a weight off of his chest.
Hearing you say it, knowing that you meant it... felt like CPR, something bringing a piece of him back to life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The two of you had mismatched shifts all week because you had covered some days for Cassie while she had court. So, if you saw eachother it was only in passing, at home or at the hospital. This would be your last shift on days before a weekend off and you would be back on nights, with Jack. Where you belonged.
Jack caught a glimpse of you as he walked in, but continued towards the hub where Robby was already packing up his bag like he was in a hurry.
"Hey brother, sorry but I got a thing, I got to run." Robby picked up his bag and met Jack at the corner of the station. "Your girl is goin' to do the handoff." He gave his friend a smug look as he held his fist out.
Jack scoffed, gave Robby the first bump, but gave him a shove with it. "Don't do that, and don't act like I don't know what your 'thing' is." Jack stared him down, "Let me know how it goes."
Robby nodded, "Yeah, I will. Have a good night man."
Lena and Dana looked up at Jack in unison as he dropped his bag into the chair and together they said, "She's in fifteen."
Jack scowled at the two of them, "Why are you all like this?"
Lena just chuckled and ducked out to get to work. Dana grabbed her jacket and wrapped her hand around Jacks arm, "Just a heads up, someone, I won't name names, has been hounding her all day. Playin' twenty questions about Dr. Abbot, so… she might be a little salty."
With a deep breath he shook his head and draped his stethoscope around his neck.
Dana chuckled, "She doesn't know… so, it's harmless. Just watch your step with your girl. she's had a long one." She grabbed her bag and paused as she moved to step around him, "For what it's worth, the sooner you start wearing a wedding around here again the better for all of us I think." She gave him a wink.
Jack leaned down just enough they were eye to eye. "Dana… go home."
She gave him a smile and a wink, smiled a little wider when his scowl cracked, "Fifteen."
Which is exactly where he found you, right outside the room typing on one of the portable stations.
Work had always been work and honestly he loved you even more for that, because there was something sexy about the fact that you had the self control to keep home and work seperate. Most of the time. You were still his best resident, by far, and now his senior resident. It was fun for him to see you thrive with that responsibility. It was also fun for him to occasionally toe that line, get that little rise out of you that he'd pay for later.
Today, he felt like pushing that boundary. So, he took a quick glance around before he stepped up close, bumped your shoulder with his and tipped his head to whisper.
"Think carefully about what you're about to say, Dr. Abbot."
He bit back a smirk, definitly feisty tonight. "Ready to come back to nights?" He leaned a little closer than necessary and dropped his voice, "Where you belong."
You continued to type, never even looked at him, "What's it worth to you?"
"How about you finish up here, go get some rest, and I'll show you when I get home?"
That got you a little, he could tell by the way you bit the inside of your cheek and a little color appeared on your neck.
Jack bumped your shoulder with his again as he turned to leave, "Come on," His voice back to normal, "GIve me the rundown so we can get you out of here."
~~~~~
When he got home he heard his police scanner going and smirked to himself. You had given him shit about it at first, but now you used it like a white noise machine.
He moved quietly through the house until he found you asleep on the couch in the living room in your comfy clothes. Jack knew that meant you had tried to stay up as late as possible, get your sleep schedule back on track. He leaned his right knee on the couch next to you and braced his hands on either side of you, one against the back of the couch the other on the cushion. Carefully he leaned in and kissed your cheek, "Hey sweetheart." Something in him loved that you didn't flinch, didn't jump awake, only grumbled slightly and then smirked as you awoke.
"Hey." Your voice was raspy with sleep and Jack couldn't help but move to kiss the side of your neck. You hummed and shifted to your back as you cracked your eyes open, "How was your night?"
Lips never leaving your neck he gave a simple answer, "Fine." His kisses moved, higher up towards the hinge of your jaw, "Ready to have my best girl back."
You chuckled, stretched under him and let your head roll to one side to give him more access, "Oh yeah?"
"Mhmm." his kisses became more and more involved, mouthing and sucking at your neck until he left a mark.
Wide awake under his attentions your eyes focused, "Ugh, no fair."
Jack chuckled as he pushed himself up, hovering over you at arms length. "What's not fair?"
Shifting to get comfortable you pouted, unconciously letting your legs fall open for him, as you tugged at the front of his tight, dark t-shirt. "I missed a sexy Dr Abbot night."
He couldn't help the wide smile as he shook his head, still not fully comprehending what it was about wearing cargo pants and a Tshirt instead of scrubs that did it for you. Jack was, however, man enough to admit that you liking it did something for him. "Sexy Dr Abbot night huh?" He shifted his weight, hIs left hand settling on the strip of skin that appeared just above your waistband as your shirt rode up.
You rolled your eyes but smiled, tugged on the shirt again, "Mhmm."
Jack caved, still smiling as he moved to lay down over the top of you, his smile widening as your hands moved under the t-shirt and stroked over his back, "Did you miss your sexy Dr. Abbot?" He teased as he kissed you, slipped his knee between your legs and pressed it against your core as he settled into you.
A little groan escaped between chuckles as your fingers dug into the muscles of his back, on either side of his spine. "Stop it."
"You're the one that said it." Jack chuckled with you as he shifted his weight slightly, drug his right hand the length of your body. From your throat, over a breast where he paused for a moment, palming it through your shirt in time with the way his tongue slid against yours. Then your hips began to move, of their own accord, grinding against his thigh ellictiing a moan, your lips separating from his as you threw your head back.
"Mhmm," Jack murmerd into your exposed throat, "Sure seems like you missed me." He smiled against your pulse as your hands scrambled with the bottom of his shirt. He let you drag it up over his head and then before you could pull him back into a kiss he peeled your bottoms off. Taking his time to toss them aside and then slowly caress his way from the arch of your foot, over the back of your knee and higher. "God you are gorgeous." His grip on you changed, hardened as he moved back over you. "Tell me you missed me baby." He mumbled into your mouth, groaning as he felt your hands move to unbotton his pants.
"You know I did." You smiled, nipped his top lip and watched him as your fingers wrapped around his cock.
"Oh, fuck..." His forehead dropped to yours, eyes closed and breath coming out in warm pants. "Fuck." He repeated as you stroked him, hand firm and confident, from base to tip and back. The muscles in his arms bulged and flexed as he held himself over you, fists clenching and unchlenching against the couch cushion as his cock hardened to your touch. "Baby..."
"What did you say earlier? Something you were going to show me?" You giggled, closed the short distance to brush your lips over his.
Jack smiled, ducked his head to kiss you properly and moved your hand aside so he could shove his pants and boxers down. Just far enough for him to enter you without preamble. Guiding his now achingly hard cock where it belonged. "God you feel too good sweetheart." He breathed the words into your mouth as he bottomed out, lowered the rest of his weight into you. "Too good."
Your whole body trembled underneath him as you moved to wrap your arms around his neck and keep him as close as possible. You dug your fingers into his hair, into the muscles of his shoulders and back, your legs wrapped around his hips as they moved against yours. "Jack..."
"Yeah baby?" Jack asked as he dropped a hand to your thigh, thick fingers digging into your flesh as he held you closer, fucked you just a little harder. "What's wrong?"
You let out a half chuckle half groan, your nails digging into the back of his shoulder blade, "Absolutely nothing." Your chuckle turned into something like a breathy giggle as he rewarded you with a particularly deep thrust. "Just, shit," you writhed under him as he moved the hand at your thigh between your bodies. His thumb working slow, teasing circles over your clit in time with his thrusts. "Just, you don't wanna take your prostthetic off?"
He smirked against your clavicle as he mouthed his way across to the opposite side of your neck. "Don't need to be comfortable right now baby," He picked up his pace, his thrusts and his thumb over your clit, moved harder, faster, "I need to feel you cum for me." Jack wasn't taking it slow after that, and the sounds you were making for him only motivated him to fuck you harder, faster, like he hadn't had you in a month not just a week. "So be a good girl and cum for me," The hand not playing with you slid under the back of your neck, grabbing it from behind, cradling you and applying pressure in a way that had your eyes rolling back and your back arching up off the couch. Lips against your ear, his own breathing ragged, "Need to feel it baby."
"So close, i'm so close, please, shit, Jack, I'm so close." You scrambled, tried everything in your power to drag him into you.
Jack just grinned, "I know, I know." He dropped a kiss against the shell of your ear, "Trust me," His voice was strained but his tone still steady, still soft and clinging to control. "You know I'm gonna take care of you baby, you know." When you nodded enthustically his grin widened, "Take a deep breath." When you didn't respond, he slowed his thrusts down, short and shallow, and when you whined, jack repeated himself, "Breathe. Relax and breathe."
As soon as you shuddered underneath him and took a long, deep breath, eyes slipping closed as you tried to do as he said, Jack whispered, "Good girl." HIs thumb stroked up the line of your carotid once and then settled over it, applied the perfect amount of pressure that made your head swim.
"Oh fuck...." Your mouth hung open and you moaned out his name.
Slowly Jack picked up his pace again, "Another deep breath baby."
You sucked in the air through your nose and moaned because you knew what came next. Because there was a timer running in Jacks head from the moment his thumb pressed down, and once that timer started there was no more teasing or playing, only fucking you as hard and as fast as he could. The whole time murmering every dirty thought that had ever crossed his mind. How you were his good girl, his best girl, all the depraved things he wanted to do to you, how you took his cock so well, and felt so fucking good. How you moaned his name so pretty, how he wanted to fucking ruin you, fill you up and never let you go.
When that timer in his head hit zero, he'd lift his thumb, let the blood rush back to your head and drive his cock into you as hard and as fast as he could, rubbing your clit furiously until you would shatter.
Your nails would dig into his back and you'd gasp for air, and for more. Then he'd snap, his ears would ring with your highpitched whines and his back would ache and he would empty himself inside of you. His hips never stopping until his vision cleared and he could feel the scratch of your fingertips through his hair, the hammering of your heart against his own.
"Jesus Christ," You whispered it, a sexy, satisfied giggle behind it, "I still don't understand how..." You paused for a deep breath and your pussy shuddered around him, "It happens so fast when you do that." You smile as he mouths at the side of your neck.
"Which is why," He tips your face to his so he can kiss you properly before he manhandles you around, swapping places with you so he's on his back and your draped over top of him, "I only do it when I know i'm not going to fucking last." He laughs at himself, drags you down into a vulgar kiss as he reached down to shift your hips and settle you properly. His softening dick still inside you and mess between you.
Jack laid there for a moment and closed his eyes, listened to you breathing slow to match his, a wave of comfort washed over him as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. You settled into his grasp and hummed, a happy little sound in the back of your throat as you curled around him. Both of you half naked and spent on his living room couch. He smiled, kissed the top of your head, nowhere else he'd rather be in in that moment than right there.
~~~~~~~
His fingertips stroked slowly over your back, under your shirt, when you break the post-coital silence. "Can we talk about something?"
Swallowing down the fear rapidly rising in his throat Jack nods and kisses the top of your head, "What's up?"
"My residency is almost over."
He nods, lays the hand flat and wide over the small of your back like his subconcious is trying to keep you where he felt you belonged. "Thought about what you're going to do?"
"That's sort of what I want to talk to you about." You sit up and the both of you make a face at the way your bodies shifted together. You watch as Jack settles a hand on your thigh and you reach for the other. You take his hand in both of yours and started to massage away the stiffness you knew would be there after a long shift. "There's no guarantee I get the open attending spot here, and if I don't… I just… I guess I just want to know what you think I should do."
Jack took a deep breath and studied your face intently, held your gaze. "I'm hesitant to tell you what I think because, I don't think I can be impartial, not really. I want you to make the best decision for yourself and not let me… being selfish… affect your decision."
That made you take a moment, consider as you watched him. Your thumbs still moved in soothing circles over the knuckles and palm of his hand. "I'm not asking you to be impartial. I'm asking you, someone whose opinion matters to me deeply, to discuss a very important decision I might have to make."
It hits him in the gut to hear you say that, because he knows what he wants. He knows he could tell you. He doesn't know with certainty what you want though. "Okay, well, as your attending. You are an incredibly talented and valuable emergency physician and there's plenty of hospitals that would fight to have you. I think we would be idiots to not fight to keep you here, because you are good, you're steady and fast and you're a leader, but also because we have poured a shit ton of time and resources into developing you. It would be irresponsible to let you go, but you could go anywhere you wanted and be extremely successful."
You had to fight back tears at his praise and he must have seen it because Jack stroked his hand over your thigh with a little extra pressure and a tight grin.
"As the man that loves you…because God I fucking love you and I love working with you, but either way that's going to change soon, I want you here with me. Even if that means something other than the Pitt. And… I acknowledge, as much as it sucks, that might not be what's best for you, or even be what you want."
You're chewing on your lip hard, trying to keep your own emotions in check. You love Jack, but he is also your mentor and you value his opinion and he is honestly the only one you could imagine having this conversation with. "I don't want to go anywhere else, I want to stay where I am… I'm just terrified I … What if I put in for the open spot at PTMC and don't get it?"
Jack gives you the most encouraging smile he can without giving himself away and moves to sit up. Taking you with him as he twists around to sit on the couch properly and wrap his arms around you. "Sweetheart that's fine, if you don't work for us you'll go somewhere else. There's six trauma centers in Pittsburgh, there's 52 in the state. Hell there's over 200 level ones in the country and baby you could run any of them. I know you could." He fidgets for a moment and seems to look everywhere but you before he can get locked in. He looks you in the eye, "If you want my opinion you could go anywhere, but I want you here. I just don't want to be the reason you settle for less."
Your breath caught in your throat, "Jack…"
He can't help the thought that he's going to have to talk to his therapist about the look on your face, the weight in his chest as he sits with you on his lap, dick still just a little hard inside you, the mess you made together sticky between you and every fiber of his being is fighting the urge to beg you to stay because he needs you.
"On what planet is being here with you considered less? Don't say that." You kiss him hard, then pull back, "If I apply for the slot… they're going to look sideways at both of us."
"Let 'em. Baby, that's goin' to come down on me not you."
You scoff, "We both know it doesn't work that way. If they want to raise hell about me being in a relationship with my attending that shit could follow me."
Jack hates that that's true, even if it happens in every fucking teaching hospital in the country. "To be fair, I'm tenured and I make enough for both of us. Worse comes to worse. Fuck 'em."
"Not helpful." You smack him on the chest, but chuckle despite the tension.
He shrugs, "There's ways to go about it, so maybe we haven't made it obvious, but not like we've been keeping it a state secret either, and it's not some abuse of power, hasn't affected either of our performance. I'm still going to be with you when you're an attending, or hell, when you're the chief for that matter. If i'm still around that long. Honestly… if you want to be shady about it between me and Shen, Robby is the chief, I'm willing to bet we can rig it in your favor."
"Also not helpful!" You kiss him though, "I do find it oddly attractive that you're so willing to bend the rules though."
"I know you do." He kissed you back. "Promise to play by the rules for a change."
You smile, "So, what If I told you I wanted to stay here after my residency? What if I want the attending spot at the Pitt and to stay with you?"
Jack shook his head, squeezed you tighter, "Don't ask me baby, tell me. Is that what you want?"
"I want you. If I can have you and the Pitt, perfect. If not, I'd work anywhere if it means we are together." You kiss him again, trying to get your point across, "That doesn't feel like settling to me Jack. Not even close."
How he felt in that moment was something he couldn't name, because no matter how ecstatic it makes him to hear you say you want him a piece of him is drowning in the guilt that you could be giving up something so much better.
You run your hands over his bare chest, his shoulders and then slide them up the side of his neck to hold him in place. "Is that… Is that okay?"
Like so many times before Jack shoves that doubt aside and figures, fuck it. He thinks about that first fleeting kiss on the roof, the one in his truck, all the rides home, the coffee and conversations, the morning you had asked him to come upstairs. All the times you were the one that took that leap of faith, because he couldn't. He'd been trying not to jump for years.
He kissed you, long and slow as he thinks and then whispers against your lips. "Sweetheart," He kisses you again, "Do me a favor and go grab my bag?"
You look confused, rightfully so, but smirk and duck your head to nip at the meat of one of his pecs. "You know, I'm not supposed to be able to walk after you fuck me like that."
Jack groans and feels fucking ancient, but can't help the need to swat you on the ass and give you a little push, "Love to watch you try though."
Because, yeah, you are still a little unsteady and you both trembled as you had raised up and his semi hard dick had slipped out of you. He watched you walk out of the living room and tucked himself back into his boxers before he did up the fly of his pants. The conversation you were about to have was one he couldn't have with his dick inside you, no matter how good it felt.
When you came back his eyes drank you in, shirt askew and hair a mess, a sheen between your legs that made the blood in his veins rush south again.
"Here you go." You hold out the camo backpack as you round the end of the couch.
"Need you to grab something for me, out of the liner pocket on the inside." He smirked at the way you arch your brow at him, but still come back to sit on his lap. He holds his breath as you set the bag on the couch next to you and pulled at the zipper. Jack had to try not to stare at the patch velcroed to the front. Abbot. He lets his hands settle on your thighs while he waits, thumb stroking over your femoral artery.
"What exactly am I…"
"You'll know." He cuts you off.
You stop.
He feels your heart rate skyrocket under his thumb, every muscle in your body goes rigid and he watches as your eyes blink rapidly like you're trying to clear your vision. "That's what I want sweetheart."
Your eyes are the only part of you that moves. They jump from what you found in the pocket, to his face and back. "How long have you had this?" Because what you're holding, it's not something bought on a whim.
Jack can't help but laugh at himself, "Awhile." Is all he'll tell you right now. He fights for your eye contact, but for one of the only times he can remember, it's like you can't quite hold it. Your eyes keep flicking to him and away again.
"Why?"
"Just in case."
You look at him then, really look at him, and don't look away. Give him that eye contact he craves and he sucks in air like he can breath again, head above water for just a moment. You smirk at hearing him repeat your own words back to you from so long ago. Your voice shakes, "Just in case what?"
He smirks right back at you as he moves the backpack out of the way with one hand and then holds it out, palm up. You carefully put what you had found in his hand, unopened, because the simple presence of the small, shiny, sleek, perfectly square, black box had told you everything you needed to know. Jack makes sure to brush your fingers with his as he takes the box from you and pops it open. "Just in case you ever decided to go back to dayshift, thought I might have to bribe you."
You choke out a laugh and Jack smiles, but his throat is dry and the way you look like you're about to cry really isn't helping.
He repeats himself as he pulls out the ring, rolls it carefully between his thumb and forefiner, "This is what I want sweetheart. Then he chokes out a laugh of his own, "I don't give a shit where you work baby, wherever you want. Only thing I give a fuck about is that they call you Dr. Abbot." He cracks a smile when you laugh with him and he can feel you relax, your weight sinking into him as you lean in to kiss him. Clumsy and sloppy and with a smile.
"You're fucking ego sometimes."
"You can hyphenate if you want."
"Oh, I can, can I? So generous."
Every word between you is murmured between kisses. He diesn't have to hear you say it, he knows the answer.
He doesn't have to tell you he's had the ring your entire fourth year of residency. Just waiting for you to say you wanted to stay.
You're really shaking when he slips the ring on your finger and of course it fits perfectly and of course it's exactly what you would have picked, because it's Jack. Becasuse this has never been casual for either of you, not for one single moment.
You pull back from kissing him with a laugh and an evil grin, "You suppose I'd be more or less likely to get the attending position with your last name?"
Jack laughs with you and drags your hips closer, because as soon as this conversation is finished he's taking you to bed and doing terrible, filthy things to you the rest of the weekend. "Look me in the eye and tell me this is really what you want baby."
He can feel the metal of the ring on your finger as your hand presses against his jaw, "This is what I want Jack. This is exactly what I want."
Your noses bump together as he kisses you and nods, "Have something else I need to tell you then." He kissed you again, before you can panic. "You don't need to apply for the attending position."
You put some distance between you and for the first time in a long time Jack has to gently stop you, guide you away from putting too much pressure on his right knee at this angle. You murmur a little, "Sorry." as you scoot closer. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Arms locked tight around you Jack keeps a straight face, tells you something he's wanted to tell you since you started this conversation. "It's not going to come down to whether you get the job or not. Robby already tagged you for it."
You blink, "What?"
Jack rubbed his hands over your thighs, putting in the pressure and the warmth to keep you grounded, "It's going to come down to whether you want the job or not, because they're going to offer it to you once you complete your residency."
"You're fucking with me right now."
He chuckles, "I am not fucking with you right now. It's like I told you; we'd be stupid to let you go anywhere else."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!" He's almost laughing outright now, "They asked us for our recommendations, every single one of us said you. Obviously I'm not supposed to tell you, but…"
"So you were just letting me stress out about all of this!? About the fact that I might lose you, because I wasn't going to get the job, that I was going to have to leave and, and move to the opposite side of the country or something!"
"I was trying to stay out if it. In case being here isn't what you wanted." He left the 'if I wasn't what you wanted' out of it.
"Jack!, I mean Jesus, c'mon! We've been together for almost two fucking years. How would you even begin to think this isn't what I wanted!?" You're yelling at him, but you're laughing and crying and have a death grip on the back of his neck.
Jack takes a deep breath and deescalates. "My therapist says I plan for the worst case scenario as a coping mechanism, as a way to try and protect myself from the pain of unforseen loss."
Taking his lead you take a deep breath, lower your tone. "Yeah, he also says it's one thing to be prepared for emergencies and another to try and plan for the worst possible outcome to a conversation, that you haven't even initated, therefore running the risk of 'planning' that worst case outcome into existence." You scowl at him.
Sometimes he hates that you're so in tune, so invested and involved in his mental health, because it's annoying to hear his therapist come out of your mouth. He smirks though, because he also loves it a little and can't imagine anyone else holding him accountable the way you do.
"Since you brought your therapist into it, have you told him you've been carrying around my engagement ring in your backpack next to a three day supply of MREs?"
He doesn't answer you because you know he hasn't, you're just making a point. Jack smirks and smooths his hands up your back, "Sure you wanna marry me?" His chest hurts at the way you light up as he watches your eyes flick back to the ring he slipped on your finger.
"Very sure." You looked him in the eye like you were daring him to doubt you and gave him that little smirk. The one that had started this all, where it tipped up to one side like you were trying not to show him something.
Jack waited for you to lean in and kiss him, waited for your fingers to comb into his curls and your tongue to chase after his, and then he grabbed you tight and pushed to his feet. Chuckling at the way you still squeaked and giggled, no matter how many times he's carried you to bed that way. Or to the couch, the shower, the nearest wall or flat surface.
Later, when you're both exhausted and the blackout curtains are keeping the afternoon sun at bay, you're laying beside him with your head on his shoulder, one leg draped over his and your left hand on his chest. Neither of you can stop staring at the faint glint that is the ring in the dim light of the room.
"Are you sure?"
Jack chuckles, presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmers, "How many times you going to ask me that?"
You bite your lip and turn your face into his neck, "Just making sure."
He closes his eyes when he feels you trace his collar bone with your lips and he moves to cradle the back of her head, holding you close. Jack thinks again about those first two kisses, about the way you had explained yourself. 'Just in case.' He tips your head back so he can kiss you, deep and with emotion he still can't quite process out loud. "I'm sure sweetheart." He kissed you again.
There was something extremely appropriate about the phrase, 'just in case.' he thought and for the rest of his life, every time he kissed you, touched you, told you he loved you, in the back of his mind he'd think. 'Just in case.' Because he knew better than anyone, there was no way to know what time would be the last.
"Hey," Your voice was soft, half asleep when your hand rested against his jaw to pull him out of his thoughts, "I love you." You said it like you knew where his thoughts had gone.
Jack kissed you, holding you close like he'd never let you go. "Love you too."
~~~ The End~~~
SOA MASTERLIST!
In this list you´ll find all my stories. I'm currently working on four stories [you can find more on Wattpad], all of them Sons of Anarchy fanfictions called SKIN AND BONES, SUMMER NIGHTS, GONE WITH THE SIN and A LITTLE LOST. English is not my main language! So please, if you see any mistakes that bother you, just let me know. I'm not a proffesional author so my stories are far from perfect. I do this because it's fun and relaxing and because I love writing. You can also find my stories on Wattpad under the same username, there are a lot more fanfics of mine online than on here.
Disclaimer for SKIN AND BONES, SUMMER NIGHTS, GONE WITH THE SIN and A LITTLE LOST; I don't own any of the SOA characters nor the original storyline. All the rights go to Kurt Sutter and the other producers of the show. I do, however, own my original characters and the added storylines I come up with.
Warning⚠️; 18+ only! All stories will have mature content in it, which means that there will be detailed sexual content, violence, blood and gore, domestic violence, sensitive topics, mental health issues etc. If any of these topics will be mentioned or written out in detail, there will be an extra trigger warning in this particular chapter.
SKIN AND BONES
Happy Lowman x fem! oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
A LITTLE LOST
Happy Lowman x fem!oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
SUMMER NIGHTS
Happy Lowman x fem!oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
GONE WITH THE SIN
Happy Lowman x fem!oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
TRAIN WRECK
Happy Lowman x fem!oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS
Jax Teller x fem!oc
ALL CHAPTERS HERE!
SOA HALLOWEEN AND CHRISTMAS
Happy Lowman and Jax Teller One Shots
MASTERLIST HERE!
masterlist header and divider by; @saradika-graphics
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