#dr. jack abbot

[hardlyinteresting]

If you invited Michael "Robby" Robinavitch to do yoga with you he'd automatically say yes. As a health care worker he considers himself to be healthy. He can keep up with Jake on the basketball court without suffering too intensely. He's a little cocky about it actually.

He wears sweat pants and a T-shirt and socks. He wants to be comfortable (and you're not complaining about the view).

The yoga mat you lend him is a little to short for him to fit on. Only his toes touch the mat when you both stretch into downward dog. He manages to keep up for the first 15 minutes. You're in a flow of plank, downward dog, low lunge and into warrior one for the 3rd time when he starts to lose steam. His thighs shake transitioning to warrior two. He starts to mutter little exclamations of "fuck me" and "I'm not built for this" in the last ten minutes.

Finally in cool down he's sprawled out on his back, his head, shoulders, and the length of his legs extended past the mat. "Never again". Still, you could convince him to join you again once enough time had passed that he forgot his suffering.

Jack Abbot is a different story. I don't think it's about proving anything for Jack. And I think k it would take you a lot longer to convince him to join you.

He's confident with his prosthetic. He's more the proficient when it comes to doing the things he does every day. He goes for jogs fairly regularly. He goes to the gym. But yoga isn't something he's tried. He'd be hesitant.

He agrees to join you while you follow a 20 minute YouTube session in the comfort of your living room. You're patient while he gets settled on the mat. He sits with his legs outstretched because it's more comfortable. He learns to modify movements as you go along. You can motivate him when he starts to get frustrated with a playful "you can do it, old man".

Like with Robby he's a little cocky about his level of fitness and he isn't expecting to work up the sweat that he does. He's relieved when the video is over. "You do that everyday?" He asks. And he puffs when you remind him that your in person sessions are usually an hour.

You could convince him to do it again in the privacy of your home. He's now determined to get better at it. Secretly (or not so secretly) part of his motivation is getting to see you in your little yoga shorts, but that's okay.

[deeninadream]

love the look of this lol:

[blackwidownat2814]

Sometimes I feel like I say this too often about fic I read, but this was beautiful.

[More under the cut.]

Sometimes, when you're sick or hurt or recovering from whatever, you just can't help but feel this exact way...like a bother or a burden. When I was 22, I had a surgery that had the incision in an unreachable place on my back so my mother had to bathe me while I was at home recovering and when I went back to college, the nurses at the student health center had to be on hand after I showered to check on my incision (it was a whole thing).

ANYWAYS...being cared for by parents (for those fortunate to be, because I know not everyone has that) is one thing, they're your parents. Being cared for by a partner the way Jack is here? Your partner chose that, they chose to love you that much and do all that for you. You know what I mean? That's why it's beautiful to me.

That's what I want in my life. I'm lucky to have loving parents, but I'd love to have my own Jack one day.

. ᵒ .༄ JACK ABBOT x MORGUE TECH!READER CONCEPTS !  ࿔* ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🥼 possible trigger warnings .' sickness  ‧ 💉 ‧ ━━ WC 1.3k

series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request here!!! * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune and @uzmacchiato !!!

⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · .  FEVER DREAM || requested!!! ( anon )

he came down just to check on you.

one of his usual pop-ins. two minutes, tops. a quiet walk through the sliding basement doors, the faint hum of the refrigeration units, and the familiar sight of you hunched over the prep table in scrubs that didn’t match—your favorite hoodie zipped halfway up over your torso like armor.

except you’re not moving right.

jack watches from the doorway for a moment. your shoulders hitch slightly, the movement too shallow. your hands fumble a bit more than usual with the toe tags.

there’s a faint tremble to your fingers when you reach for your clipboard. and why are you even holding a clipboard? you always log digitally—unless your head’s too foggy to stare at a screen.

jack steps inside. “sweetheart?”

you flinch. too slow to hide the cough you bury into your shoulder.

his eyes narrow.

“i’m fine,” you say immediately. too quickly. voice hoarse and raspy beneath your mask. “just a little—just a cold.”

he walks to you. calm and measured. and gently places two fingers under your chin. you resist, weakly, but he tilts your face up anyway, brushing the side of your forehead with the back of his hand.

hot. burning. damp with fever-sweat.

“jesus fucking christ,” jack mutters. “you’re burning up.”

“i’m—”

“if you say fine, i swear to god, sweetheart.”

you blink at him. slowly. like it takes effort.

“why the hell didn’t you call in?”

“there were… three bodies leftover from day shift. dr. howell has—”

“i don’t care what howell has.” he’s not yelling. but the words are sharp enough to flay you where you stand. “you’re sick. you shouldn’t be within ten feet of this floor, let alone actively working.”

you try to turn away. “i didn’t want to bother anyone.”

"why didn't you tell me?"

"i didn't wanna bother—" you began to repeat as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

jack catches your elbow. gentle, but firm. his voice drops into something that makes your stomach flip. “you think checking on you is a bother to me?”

“i just thought—”

“you can't think when you’re burning up and half-delirious, sweetheart.” his thumb brushes your temple again. “you can't work like this, baby, you need to take care of yourself.”

you blink again—less a protest, more a surrender—and he sighs, softer now. “god, look at you.” you look flushed and foggy. “you’re sick as hell, and you’re still worried about letting people down.”

“i just wanted to finish the shift.”

“you made it halfway through a prep before nearly falling over.”

“i didn’t fall over.”

“not yet.”

jack doesn't give you a choice. one arm curls around your waist, the other hooks beneath your knees, and then you’re up—off your feet, pressed into his chest as he carries you toward the break room couch like you weigh nothing at all.

“i'm calling howell. then i'm calling robby, he'll cover my shift and then i can take you home.” his voice softens, dipping into that rare gravelly sweetness he reserves just for you. “just let me take care of you, yeah?”

you murmur something incoherent—maybe a yes, maybe just a whimper. but your head drops against his shoulder like you mean it.

and jack swears, right then and there, if you ever try to work sick again, he’s chaining you to his couch and spoon-feeding you dayquil with his own hands.

he brings you home. not yours—his.

the drive’s a blur. you’re dozing in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to the collar of his peacoat because he threw it over your shoulders like a blanket. he keeps one hand on the wheel and the other anchored on your thigh—gentle, grounding. you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

jack unlocks the front door then opens it with his foot and deposits you onto the couch like you’re breakable. he disappears into the kitchen with a mutter of “stay put, i mean it,” and returns ten minutes later with a steaming mug and two orange pill bottles.

you blink up at him. your voice is hoarse. “is that…?”

“antibiotics. and cough suppressant. don’t ask how i got them after hours.”

you blink again.

he sits on the coffee table in front of you and holds the mug out. “sip.” you do. he hums, satisfied. “good girl.”

you choke. not on the tea—on the praise. because it’s him, and he said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you’re pretty sure your fever just spiked for reasons unrelated to your immune system.

you mumble something incoherent. jack frowns and presses a hand to your cheek again. “you're still warm,” he mutters. “jesus, sweetheart. you should’ve told me.”

“i didn’t want you to worry.”

he stares at you. just stares. then he leans in—slow, deliberate—and says, voice low and rough. “i’m always gonna worry about you.”

you melt. fully. into the couch, into his coat, into the memory of his voice. you can’t help it. you’re sick and exhausted and soft in every way, and jack abbot is kneeling in front of you, brushing sweat-damp hair from your temple like you’re something precious.

he helps you change into clean clothes. one of his shirts. thick socks. you protest weakly about being gross and germy and not cute like this, and he just shoots you a look.

jack’s sheets smell like laundry and skin. warm cotton and cedar wood soap. there’s a book on the nightstand, spine cracked halfway through, and a heating pad already tucked beneath the comforter like he knew you’d need it.

you probably didn’t notice him setting it while you brushed your teeth with the extra toothbrush he handed you, grumbling that it was “from the unopened pack, alright? calm down.”

you’re half-asleep before your head hits the pillow. muscles aching, throat raw, fever still humming behind your eyes. but jack—jack’s there. sitting on the edge of the bed with one hand braced beside you, watching you with something far too tender in his eyes.

you squint up at him, bleary. “are you gonna yell at me again?” he huffs a laugh. “only if you try to sneak back to work.” you try for a grin. it doesn’t land. your lips just wobble. “sorry.”

that’s what finally makes him move. he climbs in behind you slowly, wrapping one arm around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll break apart in his hands. his body’s solid. steady. and so, so warm. you shiver once—then settle.

“you don’t have to be sorry,” he says into your shoulder. “you don’t have to be anything.” you’re too tired to cry. but your chest cracks open a little. “i just wanted to be useful,” you mumble.

his fingers slide beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—to press softly against your ribs. grounding.

“you are useful. you’re the best fucking tech in that whole morgue.” his voice is low, fierce. “but you’re not a machine. you’re not disposable. you don’t get discarded just ‘cause you need a goddamn nap.”

you hum something back. you’re not even sure what. but he hears you. you think he kisses your shoulder. you feel it—just a brush of his lips, barely there, then a whisper. “next time you’re sick, you tell me. no playing the tough guy. got it?”

you nod against the pillow. “yes, dr. abbot.”

“smartass,” he mutters.

and then he’s pulling you closer. hand splayed across your belly. chin tucked above your head. the world narrows to the rhythm of his breathing, the heat of his chest at your back, and the whisper of sheets between you.

he doesn’t say anything else.

he doesn’t have to.

🔖  .   @princesssunderworld  @mayabbot  @imherefordeanandbones  @arigoldsblog  @oldmanbunnylover  @i-mushi  @autumnleaves1991-blog  @lovelexi717  @peggyofoz  @qtmoonies  @nfwmb-gvf  @britt217  @babybatreads  @cheekym8s  @bitteroceanlove  @spooky-librarian-ghost  @dr-yapper  @yutasgem  @keseqna  @gardeniarose13  @witchbitchlovesdilfs  @sotragedynut  @robbyrosierobinavitch  @anglophileforlife @flyinglama  @reignbooks8506 @kmc1989  @sillymuffintrashflap @letstryagaintomorrow @caterpillarskimono @maiamore  @chuiisi  @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @imightbeinsanebutwtv  @Shadowfoxey @foolishseven @anxiousfuckupon  @Lumpypoll  @Coldmuffinbanditshoe  @blueliketheseaa  @Justfaefaeee  @sweetdayme4427  @404creep  @yourdaydreamerfan  @ddrawers96  @m14mags  @generalstarlightobject  @twiddledeedumsworld  @dlljdhsh  @jetless  @Thedamnqueenofhell  @Topnerd03  @misshoneypaper  @abllor @Loud-mouph @cannonindeez @nubecita040@Sabi127  @Coleground  @sevenberry   @idontcarenoughtonamethis  @beebeechaos  @cwzham  @homebytheharbor  @Sammiib444  @painment  @namgification  @Cherry_cosmos  @catmomstyles3 @livingavilaloca  @hello-lisa1026  @emma8895eb  @thesnugglingduck @134340-cm @amindfullofmonsters @FloofMC @moonriseoverkyoto @alldaysdreamers @karavt @beefbaby25 @cruelchants @kiwikitty13 @faerykingdom @i-get-obsessed-fast @badwolfvexa @laerrynseelie @violetswritingg @braindead-raccoon @timeofmadness @bmoplanet @high-functioning-deadgirl @silas-aeiou @BxdBxtxh @rosellerinfrost @saidinpassing @alldaysdreamers @kaiaspapayas @concentratedconcrete @blackirisesinthesunlight @JillB12 @Emmyfairy @notgothenough @timeofmadness @valkyreally @narcolepticduck @hiireadstuff @dlljdhsh @beltzboys2015 @tealcelery @madprincessinabox @fairygardensss @ahleecollaborations @pope-codys * ✷ ⊹ * ˚  want to join the morgue tech!reader taglist??? click here!!!!

[mercvry-glow]

Busy Bee

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

summary. you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband's working.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader is allergic to bees, overprotective!jack, boy-dad!jack, typical hospital setting, no death, hurt/comfort but mainly comfort, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther hopped into the pitt fandom, but this popped into my mind and I haven't been able to let it go. these will probably be a set of drabbles and one-shots if it gets enough traction, but please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated! also I am not a medical professional, but I tried my best to sound realistic.

wc. 2700+

side drabble of the aftermath

part two: where we fit

“We got a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, went into anaphylactic shock at the park due to a suspected bee sting. Vitals stabalized after we gave her Epi, but the swelling in her throat and the hives covering her chest, neck and arms is pretty extensive.” 

Just another normal day in the Pitt. 

“It is starting to be that season,” Dr. McKay said lightly as she did her own assessment while a few interns watched, “Did she have anyone with her? Who called?” 

The EMT gave a small gesture to her partner who was walking in behind them with a small boy, maybe five or six, who looked worried. “Couple of joggers passed them and found him with her failed EpiPen, they called after that.” 

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader   word count: 2k and i have so many other ideas, lmk if you want more parts! notes: this one goes out to the nonny in my inbox when i asked for ideas! i kinda blended both your ex!reader and babydaddy!jack ideas! hope you enjoy!

You ended things amicably — as amicably as two people can when love’s still there but the capacity to hold it isn’t. Jack didn’t have space for you, your kid, his job, and his trauma. Something had to give.

But you co-parent well enough. There are bumps, but the rhythm is there.

Usually, handoffs are easy. He comes over, eats dinner with you both like old times, then wrangles Beau back to his place. But today’s different — off-cycle. You’re headed to the airport for a work trip, and Jack’s just wrapping up a shift, so you agree to meet at the hospital.

It feels strange walking in. You haven’t been back since the two of you ended things. There are plenty of familiar faces… and a few new ones.

The second Beau sees Jack, he’s wriggling out of your hand.

“Beau—no running in the ER—” you start, but he’s already barreling toward his dad.

“Oof, kiddo, remember we said soft hugs?” Jack laughs, catching him easily, hoisting him up into his arms.

Dana and Robby round the corner just then.

“Hey, look who it is!” Dana says, but Beau clams up, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“Sorry, you know kids. He’s shy this early,” you say, brushing a hand down Beau’s back. “Be nice to Dana and Uncle Robby, baby.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen either of you around,” Dana says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I only get my Baby Beau fix from Instagram stories now.”

“Oh, I figured Jack would still be throwing his infamous backyard parties,” you say, trying to keep it light.

“Nope, those petered out. What’s it been—three years?” Robby glances at his watch, then at Jack with a pointed look.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s referencing.

Samira passes by next, lighting up at the sight of Beau. “Hi, Beau! Didn’t know I’d get to see you today!”

“Hi, ‘mira,” Beau murmurs, a soft smile still pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jack—could I get your opinion on something before you head out?”

Jack looks around. You jump in before he has to juggle.

“I’ve got a few minutes. I can set him up in the lounge?”

Jack nods, grateful. “That would be amazing. It’ll just be a minute.”

As you head down the hallway, you catch a whisper from a pair of interns behind you.

“Damn, didn’t know Abbot married a hottie.”

Dana’s voice cuts in, dry: “Not married. She’s smart enough to not sign a contract with a guy who’s half in love with his job.”

You finish laying out Beau’s coloring book when Jack slips into the lounge, pouring himself a coffee, rubbing at one eye. That tired, end-of-shift look still gets you.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were d-a-t-i-n-g,” you say.

“Huh?” he blinks. “Want a cup?”

“I’m running late,” you wave him off. “And I don’t mind — I just think maybe we should tell each other when new stuff like that comes up. For his sake.”

Jack straightens, confused. “I have no idea what you're talking about. And you didn’t give me a heads up about Carl or Craig or whatever his name was.”

“Chris. And yeah, I should’ve told you. I did tell you, eventually. I’m working on being better about communication, and I’d hope you’d want the same.”

He sighs, then pulls you just outside the lounge, out of earshot.

“Okay, I don’t want to make you even later, but if we’re going to talk, then talk. Don’t allude to stuff — just say it.”

You exhale. “I thought maybe you and Samira were… seeing each other. From the way she spoke to Beau. And the looks from Dana and Robby—”

Jack actually laughs. “She’s 29. I’m her attending. We grab coffee, I mentor her. Sometimes when I have Beau, yeah. If that bothers you, I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m trying to be a good doctor. A good mentor. A good… whatever to you. And it still feels like I’m messing it all up. So just—don’t assume. Talk to me.”

You flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

He twists a strand of your hair between his fingers, gently. “Y’know… would take a lot of stress off both of us if you moved back in. We could split the chores. Carpool. Coordinate pickups. Plus, I can think of a few stress relievers we used to be real good at…”

You swat his hand. “Okay, sure. Ha. Ha. I’m going to say bye to Beau. See you Saturday.”

On your way out, you pass Dana outside on her cigarette break.

“You know, a couple doctors I know say those things kill you.”

She exhales a laugh. “Not if this job kills me first. Life’s too short already to deprive yourself of the things — or people — you love.”

“Sure, Dana.”

“Any time, missy. And just so you know… he’s different. He’s been going through it, but he’s doing the work. Seeing that therapist. Doesn’t come in as much on his days off. There’s some… balance there now.”

“Sure, Dana. Bye, Dana.”

But the thought lingers.

Two days into your trip, you’re feeling a bit lonely. It always hits harder when Jack has him. You don’t usually FaceTime when they’re together — boundaries. But this feels like an exception.

you: how’s my boy? jack: i’m doing great. how’s my girl? you: 🙄 you: how’s Beaujack: see, you gotta be more direct. a man could get confused jack: he’s great. hit a double. got a popsicle. we’re watching transformers for the 80th time. classic boys night. you: bad time to try to facetime?

Incoming Call: Jack Abbot (ICE)

You swipe to answer, suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, still in the hotel bed after a full day of networking.

“Mooooommyyyy!” Beau’s voice shrieks through the phone. “I did so good at baseball and then got a treat and Daddy made pasta and we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“That sounds amazing, baby! Are you having a good time?”

“The best! When do you come back?”

“Three sleeps.”

“And then we have Mommy and Daddy time?”

“Of course. You think about what you want to eat, okay? I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Okay. And then we all sleep here?”

You pause. “No, baby. Remember? I sleep at my house, Daddy sleeps at his. You sleep at either.”

He gets quiet. Your chest aches.

“Alright, time for jammies and teeth. Go get ready, kiddo.” you hear shouted from the other room.

“Okay, bye Mom!” he says, dropping the phone.

Jack’s face replaces the ceiling. “I like hearing your voice in the living room again. Makes the house feel full.”

“Jack. You gotta stop.”

“Just saying. Beau’s not the only one who likes the sound of you here. My offer’s still on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Jack. Hey… would it be okay if I called again Friday? I know we don’t usually, but… I miss him.”

“You’re never a bother. I could strap the iPad to my chest, have you join us for the whole day.”

You laugh. “God, Jack. You really know how to make a girl’s night better.”

“Oh baby, don’t I always.”

“Bye, Jack.” you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when you hang up.

--

The weather turned halfway through your drive from the airport, and between the stop for food and the hike from the only available parking spot, it feels like you swam the last block.

Jack opens the door barefoot, in joggers and a hoodie, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down to your drenched clothes. “Jesus.” He reaches instinctively for your bag, handing you the towel, hand brushing yours. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You step inside. Beau’s already wrapped around your legs before you can shrug off your coat. Jack disappears into the kitchen, already dishing out dinner.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just eat,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “You’re freezing.”

You sit. The food’s still warm, garlicky, comforting. You glance up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

“Ordering takeout?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No… this.” You wave a hand vaguely at the house — the toys in the living room, the quiet rhythm of it all. “The parenting. The life stuff. You don’t seem rattled anymore.”

He gives a half-shrug. “Had to be better.”

You eat in companionable silence while Beau chatters from his spot at the table, recapping his week in half-sentences and excited tangents.

“Mom, can I watch a show while you finish?”

“Dad’s house, dad’s rules,” you say, looking to Jack.

“Sure thing, kiddo. But grab your gifts for Mom first — then one episode.”

Beau vanishes.

“Gifts?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just some stuff he made. He’s proud of it.”

The silence that follows stretches, not quite awkward, but thick with something unspoken.

Then Jack says, low and clear, “I miss you.”

You look up, startled. Heart catching in your chest.

“I know I don’t say it often. Or the right way. But I do. I miss you. Not just the idea of you being around — you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt, before things got hard. And… how lately, it’s been feeling like that again. When you’re here.”

You put your fork down, gently. “Jack…”

“I’m not asking to go back. Or to pretend the last few years didn’t happen. I’m just wondering if maybe we could try something new. Something more intentional.” He gestures faintly in the direction of Beau’s room. “We’ve already rebuilt the foundation, haven’t we?”

You study him. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet way he’s offering — not demanding.

Finally, you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d get another version of you.”

“I didn’t think I had another version to give,” he says softly.

“So… what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying I want you back,” he murmurs. “In the way that counts. I want to build this life with you — not just pass each other in it.”

You reach up, cup his cheek. “That’s a really nice speech.”

“I practiced,” he grins.

“You’re still kind of an idiot.”

His smile widens. He brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “I said I’ve grown, not become a completely new person.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Okay. So how do we do this?”

“What?”

“I’m not just moving back in and jumping into bed with you, Jack. You still have a lot to prove.”

“Of course,” he says, straightening a bit. “I was thinking… maybe a family movie night tomorrow? Something easy.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I like the sound of that.”

“And if that goes well, maybe a grown-up movie night? I’ll wine and dine you. And we can make out in the back row like teenagers.”

You laugh, big and genuine. “I think I like the sound of that too.”

“God, I missed your laugh.”

The silence that settles then feels different. Full, not tense.

Then Jack says, almost too casually, “Oh — I’m switching to days.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Robby and I talked. Figured I’d use this week off to reset my sleep schedule. I start the day shift officially tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Jack…”

“This isn’t about you. Well — a little. But it’s mostly about Beau. Nights just aren’t sustainable anymore, and I want a more stable schedule for him. It’s time.”

You reach up, fingers brushing the side of his hair. “Okay. But only if it’s right for you. I never wanted you to give up what you love.”

“I’m not giving up what I love,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I did that three years ago. I’m just rearranging things now — so I don’t lose it again.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just kiss him. Soft. Certain.

And when Beau comes racing back in with a construction-paper-wrapped something clutched in his hands, he skids to a stop and grins.

“Are you guys kissing?”

Jack smirks against your forehead. “Yeah, bud. I think we might be.”

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ synopsis: you help keep pittsburgh trauma orderly—until small, unsettling glitches hint at something ominous unraveling. whether the mystery—or your guarded heart—breaks first is the question that will decide everything.

⤿ warning(s): ⚠️ check chapters for individual warnings ⚠️

chapter one;

chapter two;

chapter three;

chapter four;

chapter five;

chapter six;

chapter seven;

chapter eight;

chapter nine;

chapter ten;

chapter eleven;

chapter twelve;

chapter thirteen;

chapter fourteen;

epilogue.

divider credit

[sebsbarnes]

go-bag || jack abbot

jack abbot x reader

summary: the secrecy of your relationship is left hidden behind closed doors and the corners of the emergency department, until your missing necklace appeared in jack's go-bag

warnings: none, improper grammar i'm sure, reader not designated to specific shift or stated if nurse or doctor, age and gender not implied

word count: 2k

other jack reading

a/n: luv this man.

"hey, have you seen a silver necklace? small flower on it?" you recited the questions like a mantra, every person that walked past you you pestered them, hell even the patients and medics in the bay.

robby called out to you, "do you even take it off for work? there's no need to, you can wear necklaces."

a groan resounded from the bottom of your throat, "it's on every day. i could count on one hand how many times i've taken it off in the last year."

robby fell in line with you as the both of you made a beeline to the echo of a flat line. his eyes peered at you from above his glasses, "seems like you may need to start counting on that second hand," he grinned.

the hours of the shift lulled on with distractions from angry patients in the waiting room, new med students bouncing about, myrna’s continued attempts to hit on anyone who breathed, and a bidding war over a stolen ambulance. there truly is no normalcy in the ED but for certain a mass casualty incident was far from normal.

it shouldn’t have surprised that the squeak of the sliding doors allowed for the entrance of abbot. his mouth morphed into a straight line, eyes quickly catching yours before offering robby a hug. robby and abbot ordered out commands completely transforming the structure and practice of the ED before the arrivals. every single doctor and nurse tended and moved to the injured allowing for the best possible care even with the tight restrictions in place.

“abbot!” robby yelled out, eyes and hands focused on his patient.

“what’s up?” his rough voice called back, moving to the next gurney.

“you got LMAs in your bag?”

with a confirmation, robby beckoned mckay to grab abbot’s go-bag. quickly, the blood-covered gloves came flying off and his hands fumbled around the open pocket. robby knew he grabbed the LMA but what he wasn’t expecting was the added bonus wrapped around the protective packet.

a silver chain with a flower gleaming at robby.

“is…is that…?”

mckay tried stifling a laugh as she shot a look towards an oblivious abbot. robby toyed with the silver chain for a brief moment before the chaos around him pulled him back to reality.

robby slid the necklace back into the backpack, “it has to be,” he replied with a smirk.

the mess of the MCI made it difficult for robby or mckay to question you or abbot about the necklace. abbot was laser-focused ordering out commands while you were cloaked in crimson darting around.

robby knew there was always something between you and abbot. abbot was devoted to his work despite his numerous roof visits, but what first raised suspicions was when he would come into a shift way too early a few weeks after you started. abbot was punctual by half an hour, maybe an hour, but suddenly that morphed into a full-length feature film early.

abbot would arrive and glance at your charts, silently admiring your thought process. though medical terminology can sometimes feel like its own language your documentation was effortlessly easy to follow and he often tried to mimic your work. abbots been in the field long enough but even he can learn something new. he was enamored by your drive and care for patients, you never wavered in your professionalism no matter how hard a patient may be. the kindness you exuded to your fellow co-workers had him taking note to have a bit more grace for others.

you could tell abbot had a heightened interest in you. his rough and tough exterior was a bit wobbly around you. you would find abbot following you throughout the last two hours of your shift, an invisible tether with a short leash and if you strayed too far he would come jerking towards you. abbot would situate himself beside you in the trauma rooms, not because he didn’t think you could do it, but because he knows you can do it and he wants a front-row seat to bear witness. his hand would brush against yours while you two did the tango passing equipment around. abbot thanked god he didn’t have a heart monitor on when you peered at him, eyes crinkled and smile hiding behind a mask.

it was a chilly evening and a couple stories in the air when abbot officially broke the ice. you had wandered up to the roof to watch the moon exchange places with the sun as abbot made his way to his shift, from the sidewalk outside he could see your figure above. it didn't take long for him to trudge up the stairs and onto the concrete roof. unbeknownst to abbot, he was greeted by your figure leaning against the metal bars, backside to him. god—he felt like he was back in high school blushing over his crush.

"how was your day?" he asked now by your side.

"easy going actually," you nodded, "how are you, how’ve you been sleeping?"

"could always be better, but y’know...thrilled to be here," abbot replied now looking towards you.

a small laugh left your nose, "we all know you love it here. it can be hell but we all seem to thrive."

abbot to this day doesn't know what possessed him to utter these next words. perhaps the moment just felt, right. the slight chill in the air signaling pittsburgh's looming winter, the laughter of the couples wandering the streets, or maybe it was the way the moonlight shone on your face. the white glow highlighting and contouring the plane and the way the light bounced off your eyes. god, what color even were they now? abbot swears he has never seen a shade so beautiful.

"nowhere is hell if you are around."

so here you are now, naive to the fact robby and mckay have discovered your little secret. that missing necklace of yours tangled in abbot's supplies. the silver chain abandoned and forgotten about after a weekend lake trip in which abbot insisted his go-bag needed to come "just in case". his fingers had danced around your neck and unlatched the tiny clasp, tucking the jewelry away in his bag before the two of you waded in the water.

mckay found herself assisting abbot with one of the victims and although it was not the time and place to ask questions, she was itching to.

"hey abbot, where do you bring this?" mckay inquired, head nodding towards the black bag.

abbot peered up from his protective glasses, "uh- usually don't need it. maybe take it camping sometimes, it's usually in my car. why?" he panned out, drilling a small hole into the patient's upper arm.

mckay grabbed a bag of blood, "just curious."

on the other side of the room, robby found himself gravitating towards you. maybe the venture was a way to keep himself from going mad over the horror surrounding him, a slight amusing distraction that he can later pester abbot about. robby waited until you and langdon finished assisting a patient until they were wheeled off into the green zone.

"hey," robby trailed suddenly feeling awkward, "what was that necklace you lost again? i uh- saw a necklace in the staff lounge."

you raised a brow at the question and robby's hands wringing together, "it's silver with a small flower."

"wrong necklace then."

robby drifted back to the red zone with a small smirk, one of his hands came up to rub the disbelief off his face. without missing a step he continued past mckay whispering 'bingo' on his way into a trauma room.

it was another hour before the chaos simmered, the blood-stained floors now vanished, the cries of those suffering gone but still reverberating in your ears. your palm found the hospital wall, head bowed to finally catch the breath you’ve been holding for the last three hours. a hand ghosted your shoulder.

“you okay?” abbot’s head tilted to meet your face, eyes locked.

it was rhetorical but he still meant it. if you strung together any vowels or consonants that suggested you were far from okay abbot would’ve swooped you into his arms and carried you to his house, ignoring the aching pain of his prosthetic.

a nod was all that was needed, silent confirmation that you were still standing. abbot’s eyes drifted towards the door, clear of anyone roaming, “i’m with you. always”, he whispered into your hair.

bags were gathered and goodbyes were muttered as everyone filed out for the night to their respective plans. the late-night beer in the park wasn’t a permanent solution to ease the troubles from the shift but it offered a temporary distraction. it was a small group tonight understandably so with some sitting and others rocking on their feet. keeping up with the secret you and abbot were situated on opposite benches. you nursed the same can of beer listening to the others go back and forth with a watchful eye from abbot.

this would turn into a routine for nights spent at the park. everyone would file out after they raised their blood alcohol level, just enough to make them feel warm. robby usually took a beer to go and donahue would load up the cooler as princess gushed about her new boo. unknowingly leaving the two love birds alone to whisper sweet nothings.

everyone began to scatter leaving you, robby, and abbot to rehash a story about gloria from a few weeks ago. robby stretched his legs which was a typical signal that he was heading out. the large backpack hung from his shoulder as he halted his steps, a click from his lips before he spoke,

"oh," robby started with a scratch of his head, "check abbot's bag for your necklace."

with bludging eyes, you sputtered out incoherent words in pure shock. robby's laughter echoed into the night paired with a quick 'zip!' from beside you. abbot was grateful the dark night masked his burning face.

"i didn't know i left it in there, fuck. jack--i am so sorry."

he gestured for you to finally join him on the bench beside him now alone and secret exposed in the empty park. the chain fell back into its rightful place with the delicate touch of abbot's fingers.

abbot let out a soft chuckle, eyes narrowing in happiness, "there is nothing to be sorry for.”

you fiddled with the chain as anxiety set in. nervous about the potential implications of the ED discovering the secret relationship. not only that, but a small part of you liked the secrecy. you weren’t embarrassed to be with abbot, you loved him even if those three words hadn’t been spoken yet. there was a daring aspect as the two of you navigated the ED pretending to be nothing more than professional acquaintances while simultaneously sneaking into a hidden corner to plant a kiss on the other's cheek or abbot slipping out an inside joke that would fall flat to others but caused you to hide a coy smile. after the shift, you would part ways but it wasn’t long until the familiar knocks echoed from your wooden front door, abbot’s face smiling at you and his curly hair disheveled. he would stumble forward, lips desperate to find yours after a long day, and cusp the side of your neck, his other hand pressed flat against your spine, and your feet edged backward to find a wall for support. abbot would whisper against the base of your throat how he couldn't wait to feel you in his hands and you would push against his firm chest, now guiding him backward till you reached the couch. laughter would bubble up your throat as he hastily ripped off your work clothes.

a hum left your throat, “how many people went into your bag and- and saw?”

abbot’s head leaned back against his neck, a smile itched into his lips and his gravelly voice stated, “damn near everyone."

[criminalamnesia]

idk just thinking about starting a thing with Jack after the two of you have been dancing around it for a while— stolen glances, lingering touches, slipping snacks into pockets and working so seamlessly together.

it’s not something you two have labeled yet, but everyone in the ED knows because god you two are so obvious and insufferably in love with one another.

but you want to take things slow, and Jack obliges because you’re more vulnerable in this position than he is (you’re his resident and he’s an attending) (and it’s actually killing him to take things slow but he does it for you).

you’re off on the day of pitt fest and so is jack but you know he just had a hellish night shift so you tell him to rest up and that you’ll see him tomorrow night when you both work again.

your friend surprises you with a plus-one ticket to pitt fest— and you hesitate but ultimately end up going, knowing that the exhaustion you’ll feel tomorrow will be worth it, even if you’re gonna need an extra energy drink or three to get through your shift.

you don’t tell jack. why would you? it’s last minute and you’re giddy and he’s off— probably sleeping, you assume— and you don’t want to bother him because this is new and you’re not his girlfriend.

then the worst happens. someone opens fire. you lose your friend in the ensuing chaos and you’re terrified, but you snap into resident mode and start trying to help. holding pressure on a wound here, checking a pulse on a body there, dodging and weaving through the masses as you try to save anyone you can.

everyone gets called into the ED. so when jack strides into the department, mind already racing in preparation of the madness to come, his eyebrows lift when he doesn’t spot you among the team briefing.

he asks dana if she’s heard from you, and the charge nurse shakes her head. “I’ll keep tryin’,” she tells him. he accepts that and moves forward.

he doesn’t have any reason to worry. you said you would see him tomorrow. he figured you were probably in bed already and your phone was on silent. no big deal. as much as he would love your expertise (and general calming, reassuring presence) in this scenario, he can push through. he did before you.

dana stays true to her word and calls you ten times in the span of two minutes, but it goes unbeknownst to you, as your phone is currently face down in a puddle of someone else’s blood. you were too busy worrying about others to even notice it had fallen out of your pocket.

when the variety of vehicles start rolling up to the ED, everyone is too busy saving lives to worry about who didn’t show up to help. no one cares about your absence.

and then ellis opens up a truck’s tailgate, and she pulls out a body— and when she gets it on the gurney, she looks at the face to quickly assess for head injuries and her heart nearly stops in her chest.

it’s you.

blood smattered on your face, a large gash running from your forehead to your cheek. your eyelids flutter, your breathing is shallow and coming in quick pants.

“shen!” ellis screams, and the attending rushes over, eyebrows furrowed before his gaze lands on you.

“shit,” he breathes, looking to ellis before back down at you.

along with an obviously broken leg and numerous cuts and already-blooming bruises, you’ve been shot. blood flows from a wound in your gut, and your hands twitch as they move towards it, trying to keep pressure on it.

“red, she’s a red—” ellis is saying, slapping a bracelet on you and commandeering your gurney. she rushes towards the doors, eyes wild as she enters the ER and looks for someone— anyone— that can help.

“robby!” she yells across the madness when she spots the attending. he’s finishing up with a patient and getting ready to move to another, but his head jerks up at the sound of his name.

“need you over here!” ellis calls, and robby’s brows furrow as he looks over his shoulder to say something to jack— fuck, jack— before he’s weaving towards her.

“what is it?” robby asks, eyes instantly going to the card tied around your wrist.

“it’s fucking y/n.”

and robby’s eyes dart up so fast he almost gets whiplash. he instantly recognizes you and he curses under his breath, anxiety clawing up from his gut and encircling his heart. beginning to squeeze as your eyes crack open and your chest heaves.

“don’t…” you gasp out, one of your hands blindly reaching for the attending. “let…him see.” each word comes painful and slow, and you don’t even notice that other faces have gathered around you as you speak.

your friends— your family— all gasp and cry and furiously begin to come to your aid but you don’t even realize it. because your eyes are locked on robby’s.

“you….need….him.”

and you don’t even have to say who you’re talking about, because everyone in the fucking PTMC knows that you and jack abbot are a thing. and robby exhales shakily, tears filling his eyes, but he has a job to do. and so he gets to work.

and he knows for a fact that he will lose someone tonight, regardless of you living or dying.

either way, he doesn’t know if jack will forgive him for this. for purposefully hiding your arrival and trying to save your life without him.

as much as it pains him at the thought, he knows that he has to do what’s best for the department. for the other hundred people that are coming through the doors tonight.

so he nods to himself. tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

and then he loses your pulse.

[lol-im-done]

Overactive Empathy

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A story of an ex-army doctor still haunted by his past who strives to maintain control of his emotions and a nurse with a sixth sense for the emotions of others that everyone has come to rely on- will a traumatic event force them to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?

Tags/Warnings: age gap, yearning, too scared to admit they're in love, empath!reader, angst, panic attacks, comfort, descriptions of blood and pittfest, trauma, happy ending

Word Count: 4.3K & AO3 link

Author’s Note: This may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I could not stop thinking about writing this. I also have absolutely no medical knowledge so enjoy! 

The Pitt - Night Shift

The faint beeping of monitors and clicks of the keyboard mesh with the sounds of patients and staff. The fluorescent lights aren’t the only thing landing on your skin, you feel his stare from chairs away. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, quite the opposite, it sends a warm feeling rushing through you and when you peek up you catch sight of his silver curls twinkling in the light. 

Dr. Jack Abbott can’t help it, after two years of working alongside you he doesn’t get tired of tracing the slope of your nose or watching the way you bite your lip in concentration. He stopped trying to be discreet a long time ago even after repeatedly being caught by Dr. Robby or Dr. Ellis. You’re both snapped out of your thoughts by the sirens approaching the ambulance bay. By the time the EMTs enter the Pitt you’re standing next to Jack at the ready. 

“Man in his late sixties- disoriented and aggressive. He was distributing patrons outside of a nightclub and eventually someone knocked him down,” the EMT summarized as they wheeled in the man who was strapped down to the gurney. He wasn’t saying anything comprehensible, only letting out grunts as he attempted to free himself. 

“Psych eval?” Jack tilts his head. 

“Yup, no ID or other identification found with him. Probably homeless and off his meds,” the EMT replied. 

“Give me a moment with him,” you step forward, not entirely convinced. Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the patient who began to twist in his restraints again. Unease grows in his gut but he learned a long time ago not to question you. 

“Don’t get too close to him yet, we may need sedation.” 

He stands at the door watching the interaction closely, his body taut in preparation to intervene. The soldier inside him never left him, those instincts embedded into his bones. 

Slowly you approach the older man, quietly assessing him. Jack watches your hand hover over the patient’s arm for a moment, but what you do is still a mystery to him. 

Eventually it becomes clear to you what he needs. “You must be very tired and thirsty. It’s been a long day,” you murmur softly. This made the man go still, eyes widening as he nodded urgently. He was mute, everything he wanted to say stuck inside him at this moment but his emotions were clear. 

“We’re here to help you,” you give him a reassuring smile as you back away towards the door. The moment you turn, you’re face to face with Jack. You force yourself to stay concentrated on your task and not on Jack’s handsome features. “He’s not homeless, he feels lost and he misses home. He’s also extremely thirsty, so he’s dehydrated which is why he was disoriented and acting out. He wasn’t able to ask for help because he’s mute,” you explain. 

“Not a Psych case then,” he concurs, impressed once more. 

“The usual tests will let us know how dehydrated he is and if there’s other underlying causes. This is a case for the night shift social worker to help with, they just need to find out who he is and where he lives. I think he has family,” you reach for the IV kit. 

“Thanks Sherlock Holmes.” 

There’s no malice or sarcasm in his tone, just his usual dry wit which you’ve come to love. You can see the wheels turning in his head and although he’s never asked questions, you know he keeps trying to figure out how you’re so good at reading patients. 

Intuition, your grandmother winked at you one day when you asked if she had what you had. A curse, your mother declared before she had left for good, not able to handle what she was born with. Overactive empathy was what you had come to call it. It had been overwhelming at first, discovering that as you got in close proximity to someone you could identify their emotions and feel them yourself, all of them. It took many years to build up your control to a point where you felt you could be around people. Out of nursing school you spent your first few years in hospice care, holding the hand of those making their way out of this world, watching the hazy colors around them fade into nothing. Soon the time came to try something new and you found yourself standing in the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Emergency Department, hoping to make a difference and make use of your ability in a new way. 

It was an open secret, the little trick you had up your sleeve. No one put a specific label on it and on one questioned it. Anytime you interacted with a patient who needed that extra level of support, with a simple glance or press of your hand to their shoulder you seemed to read their emotions to a tee. It had also helped de-escalate potentially dangerous situations, preventing many fights in the halls of the Pitt. In this world, it was all about the patient and being able to read them was an asset. Their feelings and experiences are half of the story when they walk in through the doors. 

Grabbing your backpack from your locker you take your time walking back to the nursing station to clock out. It gives you time to admire Jack who stands at the counter, his blue eyes flickering across the screen. Dr. Abbot - the broody, stalwart and incredibly selfless man who captured your heart. Not that you would ever admit it, you were years younger and convinced he could do much better. What catches your attention is his posture, he’s leaning heavily against the counter hoping no one can notice his discomfort. 

“Is it bothering you again?” you whisper as you stand next to him. Jack grimaces as he flexes the prosthetic foot under his khakis, internally kicking himself for showing a trace of weakness.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grits out. 

“Liar,” you muse, swiping your badge to clock out for the night. 

His face turns stoic as he stares you down, intimidating as hell to others but not to you. You stare right back, waiting until one of you inevitably cracks. His dimples pop out as he lets out a hearty laugh. Several people send you curious looks, an Abbot laugh was rare. 

“It's not fair if you use that trick on me,” he pretends to sound mad. Not that you would ever intentionally violate his privacy by delving further than his surface area emotions. 

“It’s not like I can read minds.”

“It’s close enough.”

“I don’t have to use anything on you Abbot. It's clear as day.”

He feels that familiar swoop in his stomach at your words, forcing himself to not say anything stupid. 

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here, just in case you pick up another shift,” you tease, finally starting to walk away. He winks at you and you feel like you’re floating on clouds all the way home. 

The Pitt - Day Shift

Today was a never ending roller coaster and it was going to give you whiplash. Angry patients, argumentative family members, interpersonal drama, fucking rats. Then Dana had gotten punched, which had rattled all of the nurses. It had brought you to tears seeing her bruised face and bloody nose, your mentor and dear friend. She had shushed you in a motherly fashion, assuring you and everyone else she would live long enough to finish the shift as long as she had another cigarette. 

It was also the first day for new residents and medical students, another layer to the never ending day. You took it in stride as always offering helpful advice and keeping an eye on them for Robby making sure they didn’t mess up too badly. Some had already latched onto you, King and Whittaker frequently asking you to join them on patient care. 

You could immediately sense that today was an off day for Robby, as you assisted with his difficult cases you could see the strain behind his eyes and his increasing use of the word fuck. He also kept asking you about what the patients were feeling long after they had died. It wasn’t a good sign. 

“Is he asking you about dead people again?” Dana hands you a cup of tea. You nod. 

“Christ Almighty he’s a morbid one,” she shakes her head with a sad smile. “Wish Collins hadn’t left early, she knows how to get him back on track.”

....

“Do you think he feels anything? Even if he’s brain dead?” Robby asked you as you stood side by side, about to enter to give the parents of the overdose victim the final verdict on their son. 

“No...he doesn’t feel anything. There’s nothing,” you replied truthfully.

“What do you think she felt while she drowned?” he asked as they wheeled the young girl's body out of the trauma room. You think back to when you had held onto her tiny cold hand as they worked to bring her back. 

“She felt scared and exhausted but she also felt certain. Certain that she had saved her sister.”

Robby finds comfort in your candidness to his morbid questions, you’ve always been honest with him and a shoulder for him to lean on. He knew he was being extra hard on you today and he would apologize with your favorite snack by the end of the shift. 

None of this compared to what came next. 

“What’s going on?” you can feel the anxiety spike in the room as phones and pagers go off. Gloria is talking to Robby and Dana on the side in a serious manner, their faces pinching with worry. Shooting, Pittfest, mass casualties, are words that fill the air. It seems to suck the oxygen out of the room, a sobering reminder of the world you lived in. Taking a deep breath you steady your nerves as instructions are being shared to the whole team. Suddenly a familiar warmth settles next to you, calloused hands brushing against yours. 

“You okay?” Jack asks quietly. 

“I’m fine...but all of those people that are going to come in-,” you shudder at the thought. 

“You don’t have to, you know, get too close to them if it gets too much,” he finally faces you as people start to rush around you. With his eyes trained on you it feels like you’re both in your own world for a moment. 

“I know, but I want to help them. Anyway I can,” you reply, eyes filling with determination. It reminds him why he does this job, why he comes back. 

Reality breaks apart your bubble as Dana calls out your name and Robby pulls Jack towards the team of doctors. Everything after that is a whirlwind, a mass casualty event hitting an already understaffed ED like a hurricane. Every ounce of training is in use as you work tirelessly alongside your colleagues to save every life that passed through those doors. It soon becomes clear there's not enough blood, medications or supplies. Only sheer willpower will get you all through this. 

“Everyone please use the sedatives and morphine sparingly! More is coming but it's minutes out!” Dana shouted from the nurses station. 

Following her announcement, a flurry of movement caught your attention in the Red Zone. The patient was thrashing on the gurney, arms flying around wildly as she shouted in pain, begging them to stop from pressing against her broken legs. Without hesitation you rushed over, hands slipping into the fray until they pressed against the woman’s face. Jack watched as you brought your head closely against hers, eyes scrunching tightly in concentration. 

“You feel tired, so tired,” you repeated softly over and over again.

Slowly her shouts became nothing but disgruntled murmurs, her eyes closing and arms falling sluggishly at her side. No one else seemed to notice what you had done, preoccupied with her impending blood loss and shattered bones. Jack could do nothing more than send you a grateful nod before you slipped away once more to assist on the next patient. 

Unfortunately she had not been the last patient you had helped calm down, dozens more streamed into the Pitt in various states of emotional distress and you did your best to keep them from overwhelming the rest of the staff. It was starting to wear you down, drain your energy reserves as you still ran from zone to zone, arms full of supplies and bags of blood. Dry blood mixed with your sweat caked your arms, and your lungs burned from the smell of antiseptic and alcohol in the air. Give me strength, you begged the universe. 

You had been standing by the ambulance bay doors, replenishing supplies for the Red Zone when another wave of gurneys and patients flooded in once more. You hadn’t even had a chance to set down the IV bags in your hands when a tall man stumbled straight into your body. Blood stained hands clasped onto your shoulders with such force you could feel the bruises start to form. His eyes were wild and he kept repeating someone's name over and over. Time seemed to slow around you as his emotions flowed into your body like a dam had broken- hair raising panic, paralyzing fear, and pain that brought you to your knees. Your vision swam, all you could see now was bodies piled upon each other and hear the cries of those hit by the spray of bullets. A high pitched ringing filled your ears and your throat was suddenly raw. 

Your ear splitting screams snapped Jack out of his concentration, his heart lurching at the scene before him. He barely had time to make sure Dr. Mohan had a handle on the patient before he was running full speed towards you, Robby at his side. The man was ripped away from you by Robby and one of the security guards who wrangled him onto a gurney. All you could do was cover your eyes as if that would stop the horrific visions in your head. 

“Look at me, you gotta breathe (Y/N),” Jack begged as he stood in front of you, hands hovering over your shoulders not wanting to make it worse. His heart was beating a million miles per minute and he felt as if he was staring in the mirror, the traumatized medic in the throes of a panic attack staring back at him. Except now it was you. 

You shook your head, stumbling backwards blindly into the wall. There was only one option he could think of at that moment. Without missing a beat, Jack grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you over his shoulder as you let out another desperate cry. The whole Pitt had frozen, shocked at the turn of events. 

“Get back to work dammit!” Jack roared, making everyone flinch as they rushed to return back to the task at hand, averting their eyes. 

In a few strides he made it to the end of the wing and into the empty on-call bathroom, slamming the door behind him with his foot. By this point you had gone limp over his shoulder, letting out the occasional whimper. He set you down lightly onto the shower floor, hand reaching up to the shower knob. 

“I’m sorry baby but it will help I promise,” Jack couldn’t stop the term of endearment from slipping out. 

You seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance, another agonizing scream slipping past your lips as you hunched over. Suddenly ice cold water flowed from the shower head hitting your body in a forceful gush. A high pitched gasp filled the air as your eyes flew open from the shock. Shivering hands immediately reached out to find Jack’s arms, needing something to ground you as the temperature of the water numbed your frayed nerves. 

“Jack.”

“You’re safe, you’re in the bathroom now. You’re not there,” he assured you, hand smoothing your drenched hair out of your face. Tears swam in your eyes and you nodded numbly, trying to reorient yourself. His hand settled on your cheek, watching the water pour down your red cheeks. Even now, he thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  He was only a few short seconds away from climbing into the shower with you when the door squeaked open. 

“Dr. Abbot, they need you out there,” Princess frowns as she takes in your state. He gives her his harshest stare, about to protest but you push his arms weakly. 

“Go,” you say. “Princess and I will handle it from here,” you look up at her. She gives a nod of affirmation. 

“I’ll get her cleaned up, Dr. Abbot,” she promises, reaching for towels. 

I need to stay with you and protect you, he wants to say to you. I can’t live another moment without you. 

So many unsaid words stuck in his throat. Jack wishes you would just look into him and decipher his emotions so he wouldn’t have to say them out loud. It wasn’t the right time, it never was. He couldn’t stand risking everything you had just to lose you if you didn’t feel the same way. Instead of staying as his heart begged him to, he stands, ignoring the pain in his leg as he walks out without a word feeling like a coward. 

Your heart squeezes painfully as you watch Jack go but you can’t stop him. By the time Princess helps you change into clean scrubs it feels like hours have passed. She stays silent the whole time, giving you space as you rebuild the mental blocks in your head. Eventually you walk out onto the floor which is still wet with blood, doctors and nurses running to and fro with urgency. Sirens blare in the distance without stopping. Smoothing your hands over your new scrubs you hoped you looked better than you felt. 

“Go home,” Robby’s baritone voice is the first thing you hear. 

“I don’t believe you can send me home Dr. Robby,” you glance up at him. He looks absolutely wrecked, likely the same as you. 

“Dana-,” he turns to Dana who is by your side next. Dana knows you well, knows you wouldn't be standing here if you couldn’t handle it. 

“I can’t force her to leave Robby. Trust that she knows her own limits,” Dana squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back in thanks. “We still have patients to help, let’s go kiddo,” she guides you back into the disaster zone, arm over your shoulder.  

It’s when the emergency protocol is finally at an end and the last Pittfest patient is stabilized that you spot Robby again. Robby had been walking on a tight line today, Leah’s death finally pushing him over the edge. You had heard the terrible things Jake had yelled at him moments ago. 

“Hard day yeah?” 

“For both of us I’d say,” he laughs dryly, tears beginning to leak once again from the corners of his eyes. 

“You’ve shouldered the burden of so much today Robby. Let me help you,” you extend your hand to him. 

“I can’t do that to you,” he shakes his head, knowing what you’re offering. 

“This may be the only time I offer this to you Robby. Trust me,” you say. He shifts uneasily in place before finally making his decision. He takes your hand. The colors around him darken, his frustration, grief, anger and disappointment swirling around him like a storm. 

“Go home soon and sleep. It will come easy tonight,” you say. Robby feels a warm sensation run up his arm, filling his chest with a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. The tension in his shoulders visibly eases and he feels like he can properly breathe again. Before he can thank you, you’re gone. 

You hand found a quiet space in the supply closet to unwind, taking advantage of the day shift and night shift switching places. Sitting in the dim room you allow the events of the day to wash over you, taking steadying breaths to settle your emotions. Then you would find Jack and hope he didn’t look at you differently like you were something that had been crushed into tiny pieces. 

You hadn’t left Jack’s mind since he had left you in the shower, your screams echoing in his mind. Compartmentalizing all of his emotions and stuffing them into the back of his mind was the only thing that kept him sane for the remaining shift. The moment he finally handed off the last patient to Shen and Ellis he was on the lookout for you. Unable to find you yet, Jack makes his way up to the roof as he does after most shifts, muscle memory taking over. He’s not surprised to see Robby staring at the city skyline from the ledge. 

“I think I finally understand why I keep coming back now,” Jack calls out to Robby. “It's in our DNA. It's what we do. We can't help it. Not everyone can do it, it takes a special type of person,” he says, thinking of you. 

“Maybe you, not me,” Robby shakes his head as he steps back onto the roof. 

“What are you talking about?” Jack’s tone is incredulous. 

“You know damn well what I'm talking about. I broke. I shut down. At the moment everybody needed me the most, I wasn't there. I couldn't do it. I choked,” Robby hangs his head.  

“Don’t say that you broke in there because if that was you breaking apart then that means (Y/N)-,” he stops himself, unable to finish the sentence. “You’re not broken, you’re just human. We all are.”

Robby sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“You’re stronger than you think. She’s stronger than she thinks. Just because you both got overwhelmed today doesn’t mean you’re broken, not even close,” Jack says. “I used to think there was a weakness in feeling too much. Never allowed myself to cry or grieve even when-,” he pauses thinking back to his time after he came back from the army, what had happened to his ex wife and her untimely death years ago. 

“This is starting to sound less like a pep talk and more like you need to go find her,” Robby crosses his arms. Jack remains silent, running his hand through his messy curls as he paces back and forth. 

“What are you going to do Jack? It’s been months of you pining after her. We all saw it on that karaoke night-.”

“Don’t even,” Jack scowls at the memory which makes Robby laugh for the first time tonight.  

You had been singing alongside Dana and McKay, your smile infectious as you swayed your hips to the beat. Jack had scoffed at the idea of karaoke night with the team but seeing you up there, he was entranced by the lights making your skin shimmer, your smudged lipstick and sweet voice. The only thing that snapped him out of it was watching a young guy approach you with a shot and a flirtatious grin. It had taken both Robby and Shen to hold him back, dragging him back to the booth by the scruff of his neck. 

There wasn’t anything more to say so they descended back down to reality, one step at a time. By the time he and Robby exit the Pitt doors, there was only one thing on Jack’s mind. 

“You gonna grab a beer with us?” Robby asks as they cross the street but he already knows the answer. 

“I have to do something first. Something long overdue,” Jack stations himself at the entrance of the park. 

“Fucking finally,” Robby claps his shoulder. “Tell her I said goodnight.”

“I heard you’ve been asking her about dead people again, not cool man!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll make an effort to stop that,” Robby throws his hands up before disappearing into the park. 

Jack steels himself in place, waiting and praying he hadn’t missed you. His instincts were correct as usual, you soon appeared before him with a tired smile gracing your lips, backpack hanging off your hand. For a moment the only sound is the wind rustling through the trees. Slowly he takes measured steps closer to you, until he can see the small scar on your top lip. You take the moment to admire the freckles that adorn his nose and cheeks. You were nervous seconds ago, but not anymore. 

Finally Jack speaks. “You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he whispers, his strong hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I see the woman that I love, who makes me want to live life, not just survive it. I see a woman with the endless capacity to help others, the strongest person I know.”

“I- you saw what happened to me today. It may not always be easy,” your voice is thick with emotion. 

“You know me better than anyone, it won’t be easy with me either, but we have each other.”

“That’s all I need - you.” 

Lifting yourself on your tiptoes you press your nose to his, your lips hovering over one another. Electricity crackles between you, months of yearning and unspoken tension threatening to break free. His muscular arm wraps around your waist, tethering you to him. 

“Come home with me, where you belong.” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you whisper. 

Then something blooms in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - hope. You can see the fuzzy color around him lighten into a beautiful blue color, like the sky on a sunny day. 

“Feel it with me?” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting the mental blocks down momentarily. The moments your lips touch bursts of colors fill your mind and you feel it all. His love encompasses you, his hope for the future with you and passion makes your skin tingle. 

“I love you Jack Abbot.”

“I love you more."

[hatussy]

starving | j.a

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], touch starved!jack, loneliness, slight sub!jack, clingy!jack, call girl!reader, male moans/whimpering, dry humping, making out like handsy/horny teenagers, jack's a mess and makes a mess of you, cowgirl, jack begs, dirty talk, desperation, squirting, word count: 5585

summary: in which jack's loneliness causes him to reach out to someone he's surprised is very understanding

author's note: further continuation of this piece. i took so long to write this because i didn't want it to be rushed. i wanted to do his character justice and i hope i achieved that. i hope y'all enjoy

oneshot | masterlist

It started with a phone call, like always. New clients had to be screened, they had to form a working relationship with you. 

You’d had your fair share of sketchy clients. Some who had tried to push you past your limits, others refusing to pay. You’d made a new rule that they always had to pay half upfront, and show they had the rest of the cash on them when you met them. If they wanted to extend the booking, they had that option, but the charge always varied depending on what they wanted to do. 

Some wanted to cuddle, engaging in pillow talk. Some wanted to prove they could make you finish again, if only to gloat. Some simply wanted the time to shower together, helping you to clean up. 

Nothing was ever free. 

There was one client you had who simply liked to talk. The company of watching a movie together, of talking about his day. 

Needless to say, Jack had become one of your favourite clients. You looked forward to his texts, asking for your availability. You always made sure to get a nice hotel. Somewhere with a comfy sofa, a huge bed, and a spectacular view. 

Jack always praised the view. 

At first, you’d assumed it was a compliment for you. He’d said it while staring out the window, watching the sun set over the city. Still, he’d looked at you—looked through you—in order to stand in front of the window. 

You stood alongside him. Muttering something about the city and the night, the peace it brought you, and the smile that had tugged the corners of his mouth had been worth it. 

One of the first things you’d noticed about Jack was that he wore a wedding band. Most of your clients weren’t as obvious with their cheating, opting to take it off, but the tan line was still there. Jack had seen you staring. Hell, he saw everything you did. He was always watching, always paying attention. He hadn’t mentioned it, but you had. 

“She passed away a few years ago,” he had confessed quietly, voice thick and gravelly like he wasn’t used to talking about her. “Can’t bring myself to take it off.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” you had assured him softly. 

Something about him told you everything you needed to know. The faraway look to his eyes, the weight he carried on his shoulders. From the initial phone call, you hadn’t been sure what to make of him. Now that he was in front of you, it looked like he needed a friend more than anything else. So you’d suggested a movie, something easy to watch, and he’d joined you on the bed. 

Jack had sat upright for most of the movie, and you’d made yourself comfortable lying beside him. Head near his lap, his hand aimlessly playing with your hair—like it was muscle memory. His fingertips had scratched your scalp and you’d sighed, enjoying the feeling. The comfort. The familiarity. 

Over the next few months, your meetings had been much the same. Sometimes he made a few comments, thinly veiled jokes to break the tension. Most of the time, he preferred the quiet. Knowing someone was there with him when he was stuck in his head. 

You never pushed for him to talk. Never made him feel guilty for needing a friend to sit with him, even if that friend was being paid to spend time with him. 

You enjoyed it. The break from the norm. The ease you settled into once he picked a movie to watch. 

One time he brought dinner. Something he’d made earlier in the day. He’d been chatty that day, something you noticed he did when he didn’t know how to process what was going on in his head. 

“It’s her birthday,” he’d told you. The weight of his words, the anxious fiddling with his wedding band, the meal. It all made sense. 

He’d watched you pick up the phone to call room service. You’d ordered a bottle of bubbles with three glasses, as well as three slices of cake. You did it so effortlessly that he got a little choked up. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just a patient understanding. Acknowledging the woman he was still in love with, with grace and poise. 

He’d seen you in a new light that day. Over the toast you’d made to his wife, and the care you’d shown him. The understanding that grief was a process. Healing was a process. That you saw him as a friend, not just a client. 

Jack started to talk a little more with each meeting. About his day—you’d learned he was a doctor. About his wife—his smile was always a little brighter each time. About your day—you tried not to reveal too much, but talking to him was easy. He didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Didn’t push for details like some men did. He let you tell him what you were comfortable revealing. 

Hell, you’d even told him how you got into your line of work. He’d never passed judgement, or made you feel like you deserved better. He never suggested a change in career, but you’d told him you were taking classes and hoped one day to become a licensed child psychologist. 

“You’d be good at that,” he’d said with a smile. “There’s something about you that puts me at ease. That’s not an easy thing. Those kids would thrive with your guidance.”

“You really think so?” You’d asked. 

“I do.”

There was no doubt in his voice. It was firm, assertive, reassuring. Something you’d needed to hear but didn’t know how to go about getting it. And the fact that it came from Jack meant a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

Your body ached as you lowered yourself into the bath, iPad sitting on the tray hooked over the sides, along with a large glass of wine and some snacks. You pressed play on the screen, the intro to your comfort show starting within seconds. 

You didn’t have much time for simple pleasures these days, so you basked in the opportunity. Bubble mixture and rose oil added to the tub, the hot water soaking your aching muscles. The wine going down a treat, and the snacks curbing your hunger. 

The second episode had just started when you got a message from Jack. 

I know this is late notice, but can I see you tomorrow morning when I finish my shift? I need something to look forward to. 

I don’t have anywhere booked. Is a café okay?

You’re comfortable with that?

Absolutely, are you?

I finish at 7am. Will you find us someplace nice? 

I’ll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you. 

You sent him the name of the café you liked to frequent. You knew he worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, and it was only two blocks away. It was also nearby your campus, and you had two classes tomorrow with the first one starting at 10. You didn’t think meeting Jack would be that long, but you’d at least be able to get some study done for a paper you had due. 

The bath worked wonders. You felt relaxed, a little tipsy, and had something to look forward to in the morning. Setting an alarm for six, to give yourself enough time to get ready and pack your study bag. 

By the time the morning came around, your alarm pulled you from your sleep, and you made an effort while getting ready. A little touch of makeup to feel put together, hair styled just the way you liked, and a comfy coat that tied your outfit together. You packed your bag, and then you were off. Making your way to the cafe with a few minutes to spare, knowing Jack sill hadn’t finished work yet, but that he would be there shortly.

Coffee and food was ordered, and you took up a seat at a comfortable little table near the back. Grabbing your phone to see if there were any new messages from Jack, and being delighted to see a text he’d sent half an hour ago.

Might be a little late. Had a rough night. Looking forward to seeing you.

Take your time, I’ll see you when I see you.

You sipped your coffee when it arrived, having put a hold on the food for the time being. Waiting until Jack said he was officially on his way to the cafe before you asked the staff to start on breakfast.

Jack walked through the doors a couple of minutes later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, still dressed in his dark scrubs from the hospital. He wore a soft smile when he saw you, one you easily reciprocated.

“Hey,” he greeted easily, looking like the night had tested him one too many times. Still, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat opposite you. 

“Hey,” you replied. “You’ve looked better.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting me, I know you don’t do this.”

“I had time,” you said simply. “You need a friend or a therapist today?”

Jack exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat and reaching for his coffee. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not about me,” he admitted. 

“You can be my sounding board for my research presentation later this week,” you decided, pulling your iPad out to flick through your notes. 

Jack looked more settled opposite you, and thanked the waitress for your meals. You gave her a polite smile, picking at a tomato before wasting no time starting your speech. 

You showed different graphs on slides to reiterate your point. Every now and then, Jack gestured to your plate, prompting you to pause and eat, but otherwise listened completely. He nodded along with facts and statistics, asked the odd question to continue along with your line of reasoning. 

When you were finished with your speech, he clapped politely, a smile gracing his face. 

“Any pointers?”

“Look more at whoever you’re giving the speech to,” he said. “Otherwise it was very good.”

You grinned as you packed your iPad away, reaching for your coffee and finishing it. Jack gestured to the empty mug. 

“Another?”

“Please.”

The remainder of your omelette had grown cold, but it was still good. When Jack rejoined you, you were finishing up your last bite. 

“So,” you started. “Bad night, huh?”

Jack sighed, scraping at the dusting off stubble along his jaw. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a half-smile.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He sighed. “No. We lost a vet. Young guy, did two tours overseas no problem, then gets hit by a drunk driver when he comes home. Just…hit a little too close to home.”

You nodded. He hadn’t told you much of his time with the army, but you knew that he had a history serving.

“Shit,” you cursed.  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been pretty early in your shift?”

Jack nodded. “Spent a few hours trying to contact the family. Eventually got in touch with his sister. It’s just…the worst news to receive over the phone, you know? It’s supposed to be done in person, but she won’t arrive until later today.”

“Will you be going back to speak to her?”

Jack shook his head. “I wrote a letter instead. Gave it to the dayshift to read on my behalf. That’s why I was running late; contemplating life and existence from the roof of the hospital.”

“Just don’t jump, yeah?”

He cracked a smile at that. “Would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“That, and I don’t really have time in my schedule for a funeral,” you said, earning a genuine laugh.

“Robby said something similar.” He wore a smile. “Dayshift attending.”

“A friend?”

“A brother.”

“I’m glad you have someone who gets it,” you told him. “Thank you,” you said to the waitress who brought your coffees over. “How’s everything else going? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s been a bit existential.”

You didn’t say anything, giving him the time to decide if he wanted to. Instead, you sipped your coffee and watched him spin his in the saucer.

“Had a breakthrough with my therapist,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little caught up in it.”

“You’re allowed to be,” you replied. “You look tired, Jack. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Just a crazy shift, is all,” he told you. “I’ll go home and sleep soon.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

“Are you free tonight?”

“For you, I can be.”

There was a slight tinge of colour that blossomed on Jack’s cheeks. “If you already have plans, I get it.”

“Jack, I don’t have any plans,” you assured him. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll book the usual room, but I’m not watching Mission Impossible again.”

“Understood,” he said, chuckling softly. 

Your day had been busy. Between your two classes, you’d attempted to record your presentation to see how long it actually was. You’d done some shopping for this evening, a little care package you’d decided to put together for Jack. 

It was what friends did, right? Something nice for each other when someone was feeling down? 

You hoped he’d appreciate it. Some nice skincare products, nothing too extraneous. Something soothing, for the days his leg hurt. Something hydrating, for the excessive hand-sanitising he does working at the hospital. Some nice chocolates from the bougie shop in town, since you knew he had a sweet tooth. A knife, because you could never have too many. Lastly, a set of cotton pyjamas. Something soft that wouldn’t irritate him, or get too hot in the warmer months. 

The basket sat on the bed of the hotel, all ready to give to him when he arrived, as you watched the news, waiting to hear back from Jack. He’d gone back to the hospital, despite it being his day off, to help with the shooting that the news was reporting. Several casualties had already been reported, with a lot of critical patients being routed to PTMC. 

From the coverage you knew it was bad. You knew he was doing the right thing by going in to help. His friends, his colleagues, would need the extra set of hands. 

So you waited anxiously, already a glass of wine deep amidst the devastation being reported, and hoped everyone who made it to the hospital survived. 

Sorry to make you wait. Have you eaten? I’ll grab something. On my way. 

Food is a good idea, grab anything you feel like. In our usual room. Did you think of a movie to watch?

No, but I need something lighthearted or funny. Your choice. I’ll see you soon. 

The School of Rock was waiting for you to press play by the time Jack arrived. For the second time today, he looked exhausted, and was still dressed in his dark scrubs. 

Surprisingly, he brought you in for a hug, holding you tightly, as if he needed to know you were real. You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Not thinking twice about the unexpected hug, or that he took a few shaky breaths. 

“Hey,” you greeted softly, only pulling back when he did. You didn’t notice he’d been balancing a pizza box in one hand, too wrapped up in the hug to register it. “Come in.”

Jack excused himself to the bathroom. He left the door open, splashing some water on his face, while you sat back on the bed and flipped the pizza box open. You were halfway through a slice when he joined you, dropping his backpack by the door and taking his shoes off. 

“Got you something,” you told him, gesturing to the basket you’d moved to the desk under the tv. Jack turned his attention to it, pulling it towards him. “Felt like you needed a pick me up, and that was before you went back into work.”

He chuckled softly. “Are those pyjamas?”

“Yeah. It was that or a teddy bear with some corny phrase embroidered onto the stomach,” you replied, earning another laugh. “You can shower if you want…change into them?”

“Later,” he promised, the smile still on his face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t judge the movie you picked. In fact, he’s grateful for the choice. Settling in beside you on the bed, the pizza box between you. Slices slowly disappeared while it was still hot, and silence washed over you as the movie played. 

Jack shuffled around to move the near-empty box, and you watched him remove his prosthetic and massage the stump as if it pained him. Brows drawn together, eyes closed, as if he did this all the time. 

Of course, it was the first time he’d done it in front of you. 

You reached for his free hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it—”

“Leave it off,” you told him. “If it’s bothering you, leave it off.”

He stared like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Like he was in over his head. Out of his depth. And maybe he was, just a little bit. It was you, after all. Always understanding. Always supportive, never judgemental. 

Maybe he did see you differently. Maybe the months of friendship had caused something to build—something real. He certainly felt like it, but the nagging voice in his head told him this was your job. That he was only a client to you. 

He hadn’t seen you for two months because the last meeting you’d had, you’d refused to take his money. 

“We’re friends, Jack. Friends don’t charge each other for their time,” you’d told him. 

There’d been no mention of money this morning. No talk of what tonight would cost him. You were throwing him off his rhythm. He felt uneasy, but not in a bad way. In a way that had his heart rate spike whenever he thought of you. 

The same way he felt when he first met his late wife. 

Jack swallowed thickly, trying to overcome the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

You smiled that sweet smile and patted the spot on the bed next to him. The spot that he shuffled towards, leaving no space between you. And still, you moved his arm to drape it around your shoulders, hand settling on his thigh, just above his knee. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he was looking at you. Still. Like you might disappear in front of him at any second. Like this was easy for you, comfortable, and yet you weren’t anywhere near as nervous as he was. 

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it had been too long since he’d held another person, that he was seeing signs that weren’t there. 

The thoughtful gift—he was a client after all. Maybe you did that for everyone when they were having a tough time of it. 

The ease you displayed physical affection—again, maybe he was still only a client to you. Maybe this was all just part of the services you offered. 

Jack was tense. He felt like he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy this for what it was. His brain was telling him to be reasonable, to not make this a bigger thing than it was, but his gut told him to take the leap. Even if it didn’t pay off, he would then have a definitive answer. 

The tapping on his leg was distracting, but it was working. You knew what he needed and did something to distract him. To pull him back to the present after getting lost in his head. 

“Is that Morse code telling me to breathe?”

Jack’s bewilderment was genuine and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Figured talking might spook you,” you replied. “You went all tense and stopped breathing for a second.”

“Really? Sorry,” he replied, making a point to exhale loudly. “Army brat?” 

You hummed. “High school wasn’t challenging enough, so I taught myself to read braille and communicate in Morse code.”

“Nerd,” he commented, earning a small laugh. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” you muttered, playfully pinching his leg. 

You saw his smile soften in the corner of your eye, but he didn’t immediately turn back to the tv. You tapped out w-e-i-r-d-o on his leg, only for him to tap back on your shoulder I-k-n-o-w. 

He only turned his attention back to the tv when you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, his fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your arm. It was comfortable. It felt good—natural. It made him feel warm inside. And that wasn’t something that happened often, so he allowed himself to enjoy it, if only for a moment. 

Jack’s hand found its way to your head, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll start panting,” you mumbled. “It feels good.”

He hummed, making no sign of stopping. You sighed softly, contently, and snuggled a little closer to him. Hand flexing against his leg as you shifted. 

He smiled at you cuddled into his side, and was pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he did it all the time. 

“You always smell so good,” he spoke softly, resisting the urge to take a huge, obvious whiff. 

“You smell like hospital.”

“What’s that smell like?”

“Sanitizer. And sandalwood, but I think that’s just your cologne.”

He tucked his chin, sniffing his chest. “That’s sandalwood?”

“That’s delicious,” you replied with a laugh. 

“Delicious, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tsk’d, fighting back a smile. 

Jack hummed. “Too late.”

He was tapping out a message on your arm before he lost the nerve. 

I-w-a-n-t-2-k-i-s-s-u

You were turning to look at him before he finished his message, hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards yours. Your gaze dropped to his lips, gasping as he cupped the back of your head and met your lips with his own. 

There was an urgency to his kiss, a desperation that leached into you. Your hand on his thigh gripped it a little tighter, your eyes closing at the rush that washed over you. The relief. 

You twisted a little more, trying to get a little more comfortable. Swinging your leg over his waist, his hand settled on your hip, aiding your movement as you straddled him. 

He groaned appreciatively, sinking deeper into the kiss. Into you, like you were a lifeline. You gasped as he tugged your hair, a sultry moan rumbling in your chest. His lips turned up, smiling against yours, only for him to gasp as you rolled your hips. 

Wicked, he thought. Struggling to gain composure as you did it again, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, parting his lips so his tongue could meet your own. 

You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you like this. Like the tension had built so much—grown so hot—that you felt frantic. Kissing Jack was as thrilling as you thought it would be. The way he cupped your head, tugged your hair. The way he gripped your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he guided your movements.

And he was just as into it as you were, his erection pressing against your core, straining against his scrubs.

You wanted him to be the one to initiate things further. He hadn’t mentioned any specifics, but from how raw his grief was about losing his wife, you assumed this was the first time he was even kissing another woman. You didn’t want to do anything to spook him—he deserved to be comfortable—to not be pushed, even if your body was begging your brain not to listen to itself.

“I want this to last,” Jack mumbled. “Fuck, it won’t if you keep this up.”

You giggled, cupping his face as you kissed him slowly. “We have all night, Jack.”

You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips, watching his eyes screw shut as he groaned. Both hands settled on your hips, anchoring you in place, stopping your oh-so-sweet torture.

“God, you’re the devil,” he said breathily.

You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest until you were tugging at the hem of your own shirt. You were more than comfortable being the only one naked—or semi-naked. Jack watched with hooked eyes and bated breath as you pulled the material over your head, throwing it somewhere across the room.

You’d find it later, or you wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would take it home as an excuse to see you again. That thought made you almost giddy.

Jack moaned your name, hands skimming up your sides. Thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Jack.” You sounded desperate even to yourself, but he looked at you so hungrily, so ready to devour, that you lost your train of thought. 

“Say my name again,” he pleaded.

You slowly rocked your hips, placing your hands on his and moving them to cup your breasts. “Jack,” you repeated, feeling your nipples harden under his palms. He looked like he was going to pass out, fingers squeezing your breasts, head dipping to capture a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Jack.”

He growled lowly, the vibration sending shivers to your core. You stilled, legs squeezing either side of his waist, hands flying to his hair to tug it as his teeth grazed your nipple.

You hissed as he lightly bit down, back arching your chest further towards him. He closed his eyes and hummed, lightly raking his nails down your back. You shivered, skin prickling at the sensation.

Jack smiled as you tugged his shirt, hitching up the black scrub tee, as well as his pale undershirt. Your fingers trailed over his abdomen, his lips seeking yours once more as you worked his shirts higher. Jack groaned, briefly breaking the kiss to tear the shirts over his head.

His chest was spotted with freckles, a mixture of dark and light. You trailed your fingers over his collarbones, fingertips tickled by the hair covering his pecs. He leant back against the pillows, watching you curiously explore every protrusion, every defect. Evidence of his time in the military was more than just the prosthetic leg, but also the shrapnel scars and muscles.

God, he was magnificent—so fucking beautiful.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hips flex, cock straining desperately against his scrubs.

“Tell me what you want, Jack.”

It was a simple request,  yet one you weren’t sure was going to be answered. You thought for sure this was all that would happen, that his mind would win out and put a stop to this. You desperately didn’t want that to happen, but the ball was in his court—it had to be.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to process your words. Your hands settled around his head, fingers twirling his hair, scratching his scalp.

“You,” he eventually breathed out, like he was afraid of his own answer. “I want you.”

He sought your lips, slower this time—more calculated, like he wasn’t afraid to want. The desire still burned beneath your skin, one that was more intense, yet every bit as frantic—as dangerous.

The temperature in the room felt like it had been dialled right up. Perspiration dotted at your temples, Jack’s body just as hot beneath your touch. You rocked your hips slowly, gasping as he pinched one of your nipples, his hips rocking up to meet yours. 

“Jack.” 

Sinful, that was the only way Jack could describe it. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him. God, he was in over his head and about to cum in his pants like a starving teenaged boy. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, watching you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m not,” you assured him, taking a second to tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m getting a condom.”

Jack felt stupid, laughing deliriously as you grabbed a condom from your bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, watching your tits sway with each step. How they hung when you bent over, and how good your ass looked in your pants. 

The foil packet was taunting him as you walked back to the bed. His cock strained agonisingly against his pants, desperate for relief. He lazily palmed himself, watching your eyes drop to his lap. 

You bit your lip and he groaned as he watched you tuck your thumbs into the side of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your body. 

“You’re killing me,” he panted. 

Jack watched you crawl towards him on the bed, hand roughly squeezing his cock as he took in your soft, supple body. Each dip, each mark, all signs of a life lived. 

You reached for his pants, untying the drawstring that kept them cinched tight at his waist. Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that this wasn’t something you wanted. 

He didn’t see it. 

He felt your soft touch ghosting over his pelvic bone. He lifted his hips, helping you remove his pants, before he was pulling you into his lap again. You grinned as you straddled his waist, nothing between you now as you rolled your hips. 

Jack was a goner. The heat of your cunt wrapped around him, the way you kissed along his jaw. His fingers flexed against your waist, digging into your flesh, as your arousal coated his hard length. 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed lowly, desperately trying to gain some self-control. He felt way too close to the edge, too far gone, but you were everywhere. You were everything. “Please.”

“Please what, Jack?” You asked softly, nipping at his ear. You hummed as he gripped your hips a little tighter, an arm snaking around your lower back and holding you still. Body flush against his own. 

“I need you.” 

His voice sounded foreign to him. So husky, so distraught, so wildly aroused, but you looked exactly how he felt. Horny, needy, desperate. God, and here you were, sitting in his lap, bare pussy sliding against his cock, and he couldn't think—couldn’t breathe. 

Your lips found his, frantic. Teeth clashing, mouths bruising, tongues tasting like there was no time left. Like this was the pinnacle—the crux—his be all or end all. 

You fumbled with the foil wrapper, Jack’s arm snaking around your waist to keep you still–pinned against him.

“God, listen to you,” he said. “So fucking wet.”

Sinful. Jack couldn’t even think straight. 

“Jack,” you whined. 

He took the condom from you. You shuffled back, drawing him in for a kiss as he rolled the rubber onto his length. 

His fingers sought the spot between your legs that was drenched. The sloppy wetness was like music to his ear, reiterating that this wasn’t just one-sided. That you were as far gone as he was. 

He raised you, hands firmly gripping your ass as he held your gaze. Your hands locked behind his head, bottom lip taken between your teeth as his tip nestled at your entrance. 

When you lowered yourself onto him, neither of you dared breathe. The air felt electric, your bodies anchored together. 

Jack’s groan rumbled in his chest, rippling up his throat. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head was swimming. You inhaled raggedly, pressing your lips to Jack’s in an effort to ground you. But he was moaning, a delicious sound that had you clenching down around him. 

“Fuck, move. God, please,” he begged, voice strained as he desperately tried to hold his orgasm at bay. “Baby.”

You rocked your hips, pushing him back further into the pillows so you could raise your hips and sink yourself down onto him again. Hand splayed against his throat, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. He cupped the back of your head, the other arm still wrapped tightly around your lower back. His own hips bucked, desperately seeking your thrusts. 

You gasped, cradling his head to your chest as you rose to your knees and he fucked up into you, the sound of his balls slapping your slick cunt flooding the room. 

“Ja-aa-aack,” you moaned, a desperate giggling falling past your lips. “I’m so close.”

“Shit,” he cursed, hips stilling as the hand that cupped your head slid between your bodies. Thick fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come for me, baby.”

You were there. You were seeing stars, and Jack was relentless. His fingers, his cock, his words. Your head swam as you moaned, as your body reached its breaking point and he pushed you over the edge. 

Your body was a cacophony of euphoria. The tightness in your abdomen that snapped. The moans rippling from your chest from the man you cradled in your arms. The way he held you, even with your tidal wave of arousal surged from you. Unprepared. Unrelenting. Unwavering. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he held you tight, bodies joined together. And still, you throbbed around him. Body overcome with aftershocks—convulsions. The way you squeezed him just right as he spilled inside the condom, clinging to you desperately like he could lose himself if he dared let you go. 

It took a minute, maybe a couple, before your breaths calmed. Synchronised. His hand tenderly stroking your hair, bodies completely spent. 

B-a-t-h you tapped on his shoulder. 

Y-e-s he tapped back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but neither of you making the effort to move just yet. 

[4-ln4]

I can’t with him 🫢😂 he’s like☝️uhm excuse me it’s intentional ☝️🤨

[weakling-grace]

My doctors during their free time:

[art-by-jas]

Mirror Sex

Jack Abbot x GN!Reader

Tags: Anal Sex, Slight!Choking, Face Slapping Once

Your eyes flutter open, taking in the sight before you. Jack’s got his arm snaked around your torso, holding you by your throat for leverage as he fucks into you. His other hand wrapped around your waist to keep you steady, sitting on his lap. The mirror reflects everything. You gasp for breath, the pressure on your throat increasing your arousal rather than scaring you. Your eyes widen as you watch your own face contort with pleasure. You've never felt so used, so claimed. It's a good feeling, one that makes your toes curl and your inner muscles clench around his hard cock.

“I said keep those pretty eyes open, baby.” You receive a light slap to your cheek, and then you hear his voice rumble, vibrating against your back.

"You like that, don't you?" Jack growls; his voice is deep and demanding. He doesn't wait for an answer; he knows you do. You can't even find the words to protest, not when he’s hitting all the right spots inside you. You nod frantically, your mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. His grip tightens just a fraction, and you feel his length pulse. You want to beg for more, to tell him how much you crave this rough treatment, but all that comes out is a strangled moan.

You can feel your orgasm building. It’s not long until you tip over the edge, moaning loudly while you come.

With a final, brutal thrust, Jack empties himself into you, his grip on your throat loosening as he groans in release. His cock twitches inside you, and you know he's filled you up completely. You're his, in every sense of the word.

He pulls out, and you collapse onto the bed, panting and trembling. The sticky mess of your juices and his cum coats your inner thighs, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride at being so thoroughly fucked.

"So fucking good, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair as he catches his breath. 

You smile over at him. Jack looks at you like that, as if you're the only thing that matters in the world. You're his, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Wanna Support Me In Writing New Stories? Buy Me A Coffee. <3

Jack Abbot Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[leviathanspain]

you know i’m no good

jack abbot x resident!reader

synopsis: after regretting what happened between you two, you come to realize that it’s not always all about you

it was an incredible kiss. granted, jack abbot was incredible at everything he did. it shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. under the cold exterior of a jaded war vet doctor, was tenderness.

his salt and pepper hair was gripped tightly between your fingers, his hands tugging at the drawstring of your scrub pants.

you halted his hands and laughed softly, “jack-“ you said his name to grab his attention, watching as his hands fumbled nervously at the strings. you had never seen him nervous, ever. not even in the thick of it in the pitt, he hardly broke a sweat.

jack looked up and parted his lips. you put a finger to them, and helped him undo the strings.

you couldn’t remember the last time that you had worked so late. it had been a few weeks or so since your request to switch from night to day shifts. you’ve been avoiding jack. as difficult as it was, dodging his calls and crossing all your fingers and toes that you don’t run into him during shift change- you realized that you couldn’t do this forever. switching shifts was only a temporary, if you even wanted to call it one, fix.

especially when you had days like today.

it was your day off, you had been sleeping off the last twelve hour shift when your phone started going off. you answered, unaware that you would be walking into a total shitshow. a shooting had occurred at pittfest, and they needed all hands on deck. being in your last year of residency, you valued your days off like the holy grail, but you never failed to show up when needed.

“oh thank god-“ your eyes started snapping mental pictures of all the chaos around you, only settling on robby when he spoke, “mass casualty protocol. red zone, go.” he barked his orders and you nodded, not even taking a second to blink before finding the dozens of injured patients with red tags.

“dr. l/n.” his voice dragged with surprise. his expression was unreadable, and you weren’t going to start dissecting it when you had work to do. you acknowledged him, “dr. abbot, nice to see you.” there was a stiffness in your voice and he took a second before blinking, “yeah.” jack was clearly upset now, and furrowed his brows before turning back to his patient.

you cursed mentally, and cringed. you couldn’t have caught a better break than hearing your name shouted from across the pit.

it was hours until you saw jack again. you hadn’t needed his assistance, as you had stayed with robby up until one of the med students pulled you away. now you were walking back to the pit, weariness heavy on your bones. the most critical patients were moved upstairs and into surgery.

dana saw you first, waving you down, “day shifts gotta go, wrap it up and head out.” she rubbed your arm, giving you a small smile. she had noticed your mood, but didn’t push it. you’d come to her when you were ready, they always did. you nodded, and started clacking away at the nearest keyboard, adding the final touches to your patients’ charts.

“we need to talk.” you saw his veiny forearm first, slung across the counter as he planted himself behind your monitor. you pursed your lips, to help you retain your composure but also because you felt stupid for thinking that he wouldn’t confront you.

“let me finish this first.” you continued to clack away and expected him to leave but he remained in his spot. you two were going to talk, no matter what.

jack opened the door to the rooftop for you. such a gentleman, always was. even going as far as to give you his jacket, knowing you never brought your own. there was a strange taste in your mouth, realizing that he still had this kindness for you.

“i-“ you didn’t even know where to begin, “im sorry.” you wanted to fade away into his jacket, his warm yet thick jacket that he never wore. it smelled like him regardless, of his soap, his aftershave, his cologne, him.

jack didn’t say anything, just moved closer to the edge of the roof, he remained still, “what happened?” he said it like he had spent weeks trying to figure out what he did wrong. you walked towards him, staying behind the rail, and hesitantly grabbing his hand. you half expected him to pull away, but he didn’t.

“it’s me, jack.” you felt the wind blow coolly at your face. how he was not freezing was beyond you, “i don’t know. i thought i could handle it but i can’t i- i just know im no good for you, jack.” your hand clutched tightly at his. you wanted to be close to him, your body yearned for his.

even with this rail separating you, you could feel his warmth radiating. as if he could feel your eyes on him, he turned, his hand falling from yours.

you stepped back as he swung his leg over the railing. he didn’t say anything as he reached for you, grabbing at your waist and kissing you roughly. you didn’t move as you kissed him, he was desperate, hungry for you.

you pulled away, putting your hands on his chest to catch your breath. he stared at you, eyes searching in yours, until he breathed in, “that was the dumbest fuckin’ thing i’ve ever heard you say.” the serious inflection to his voice surprised you.

he shook his head, “don’t ever say that to me again, it’s bullshit and even if it was the truth, it’s too late to start caring now.” jack abbot was hooked on you, you some resident who thought it would be cool to flirt with her attending, not knowing it would end up where it did.

you laughed, a dry laugh but a laugh nonetheless. you hit his chest with a gentle force. “so you’re just forgiving me for ignoring you for weeks?” you raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, “not after you switched shifts to get away from me.”

you couldn’t help but grin, “mm, that really was the cherry on top wasn’t it? at least i’ve been learning a lot from robby.” jack rolled his eyes and feigned jealousy, “as if that old man could teach you anything.” you scoffed, “yet somehow i continue to learn from you?” jack couldn’t help but laugh at that, grabbing you to kiss you once more.

[mercvry-glow]

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

 “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them. 

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand. 

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work. 

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

 You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss,  “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted  something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high. 

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight. 

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now. 

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?” 

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.” 

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.” 

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass. 

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right. 

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn. 

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already. 

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again. 

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone. 

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants. 

He’s aching, he’s so hard. 

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt. 

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you. 

He was going to fuck you like you needed it. 

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time. 

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state. 

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.” 

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard. 

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to. 

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second. 

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air. 

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello. 

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him. 

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist. 

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss. 

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different. 

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release. 

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs. 

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public. 

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…”  you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes. 

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,” 

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you. 

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!” 

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.” 

mercvry-glow 2025

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 1.8k notes: I saw this gif of Shawn from Chicago PD i think? and it made me think of Jack giving a lecture and then i kinda spiraled out idk!!!

You slip away mid-shift, all your patients stable, waiting on results or beds upstairs. You catch Dana’s eye as you peel off your gloves.

“Running upstairs for a sec—page me if anything changes.”

Dana arches a brow, glancing at her watch. “How convenient. A certain silver fox is about halfway through his presentation, if my sources are correct.”

You raise a brow. “I’m just going to support my colleagues. Totally normal.”

“Sure,” she says, deadpan. “Totally normal to reapply lip gloss before a lecture.”

You roll your eyes and make your escape.

You duck into the back of the auditorium, quiet as you can, but your entrance still catches Jack’s eye. He doesn’t miss a beat in his sentence, just tips the corner of his mouth up in a smile before continuing. You melt into a seat, pretending not to notice.

Jack and Samira were asked to give a presentation on their banana pants pigtail catheter procedure from the PittFest MCI, after it had been published by The Lancet.

The talk wraps. The crowd filters out. You linger.

Jack steps down from the podium, spotting you. “Didn’t realize they were letting the riff raff in these days.”

You raise a brow. “We’re a teaching hospital, are we not, Dr. Abbot?”

Before he can reply, Samira swoops in and wraps you in a quick hug. “You made it! You’re coming out tonight, right? Jack’ll give you the details.” She says over her shoulder as she follows someone out the door.

Jack watches her go, then looks back at you. “So… are we?”

You blink. “Are we what?”

“Being honored with your presence tonight.”

You turn toward the exit. “I’m considering it.”

“You do realize you’re walking the opposite way from the ED.”

“What, a girl can’t grab a coffee mid-shift?”

He follows you to the cafeteria, orders a black coffee, pays for both without asking.

“You always this generous?” you tease.

“Only with people who show up to my lectures uninvited.”

You shake your head and sip your drink, and he falls into step beside you. “Can I walk you back to the Pit?”

“You say that like it’s a romantic stroll and not a direct line to getting roped into seeing patients on your day off.”

He laughs. “You still didn’t answer me.”

“I’m walking,” you say innocently.

“Not that question.”

“Oh,” you say, glancing over. “Yeah. If the next few hours don’t implode, I’ll come.”

“Careful—don’t jinx it. And first round’s on me.”

You grin. “Shouldn’t we be buying for you, Dr. Published?”

He shrugs. “Not my first publication. Still not sure why everyone’s acting like I cured cancer.”

Robby suddenly appears beside you. “You done monopolizing my best resident, Dr. Abbot?”

You take that as your cue. “Back to it,” you say quickly, slipping away.

As you walk off, you hear Jack murmur, “Told you we need ten more like her.”

“You don’t need ten,” Robby replies dryly. “One’s already got you tied in knots.”

--

The bar’s dimly lit, a little too loud, crowded with scrubs and badge lanyards. Samira’s already holding court in a booth, waving wildly when she spots you walking in.

Jack’s at the bar, two beers in hand, scanning the crowd. His shoulders drop when he sees you.

“Told you I’d show,” you say, sliding up beside him.

“You cut it close,” he says, handing you one of the beers. “Was about to assume I got stood up.”

You raise a brow. “That why you were brooding into your IPA like a sad Hemingway character?”

He huffs a laugh. “Only a little.”

You clink glasses. “To your big debut.”

He groans. “It wasn’t a debut. I’ve done talks before.”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping. “But this one had fans in the audience.”

He glances down at his beer, then at you. “Just one.”

You feel that zing of heat at his words and have to look away for a second—too much eye contact and you might combust.

Across the room, Dana’s already watching like she’s got popcorn in hand. Robby leans over and says something to her, and she nods in the most obvious way possible.

Jack notices too. “Are they—?”

“Oh yeah. Full-on surveillance mode. Maybe we should go join the group, get them to stop gossiping behind our backs.”

“Knowing them, they’ll start gossiping to our faces,” he jokes as he follows you to the booth.

Conversation flows from how excited they are with being done with revisions and how they’re being invited to a couple conferences to give the same spiel to the craziness of the emergency department and their personal lives.

At one point, your knee bumps his under the table and he doesn’t move away.

After a beat, he murmurs, “You always this bold off shift?”

You tilt your head. “You always this soft-spoken after a beer?”

He chuckles. “Maybe.”

You smile, leaning in just enough to keep the banter between you and him. “I like it. The mysterious gruff thing works on the floor, but this? This is nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment—eyes soft, mouth curved like he’s fighting the instinct to say something he shouldn't.

Then: “You’re trouble” as his hand moves softly to your knee, hidden from the group by the table. 

You grin. 

Samira calls your name across the table, beckoning you over to take a photo. You stand reluctantly, then pause and turn back to Jack.

“You coming?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’m good here. I’ll hold your seat.”

You lean in, just close enough to tease, your voice low. “Try not to miss me too much.”

He watches you  go, fingers still resting on the spot where her knee had been. He tells himself to get a grip, but his smile betrays him.

As you walk away, you hear Robby slide into the seat next to Jack and say, loud enough for you to catch it: “So… that seems like a new development?”

Jack mutters something you can’t hear—but you see the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

The group’s thinned out. Laughter’s softened. Samira’s doing tequila shots with two interns and Dana’s deep in animated gossip with Robby at the end of the booth.

You and Jack are side by side, quiet again.

He’s got his hand back around your knee rubbing small thoughtless circles.

Jack nurses what’s probably his third beer, but it hasn’t touched him much. He’s too grounded. Steady.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He glances at you, brow raised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve just been…” you search for the word, “thoughtful.”

He smiles faintly. “Guess I’m not used to being the center of attention.”

“You handled it fine. Better than fine.”

He looks at you for a long moment.

“This thing with you… it’s not just in my head, is it?”

You blink. Heart stutters. “No,” you say. “It’s not.”

He nods once, like he needed the confirmation, like he’d been carrying that uncertainty all night.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits.

You reach for his hand under the table, wrap your fingers around his. He doesn’t flinch. Just holds on.

“You’re doing okay so far,” you say quietly.

And for a moment, everything else—the noise, the bar, the chaos of the hospital world—fades.

--

You’re halfway through rounds when you catch sight of him at the nurses’ station—coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower, reading through a chart.

He looks up. Sees you. Smiles. It’s different than before. Softer. Quieter. Like a secret just the two of you share.

Dana clocks it immediately.

“What the hell happened last night?” she hisses, falling into step beside you as you walk toward the trauma bay.

“Nothing,” you say too fast.

She gives you a look.

“Nothing… overt,” you amend.

Behind you, Jack appears. “Morning,” he says, voice low but warm.

“It’s 3:47 in the afternoon,” you reply, trying very hard to sound normal.

He shrugs “It’s morning for me” while he hands you a cup of coffee and keeps walking. Dana stares after him.

You sip. It’s exactly how you take it.

She turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, no. That is not normal behavior.”

You hid your smile behind the cup.

--

The ER is quiet. It's after 3 a.m.—that liminal, weightless hour when the world feels like it belongs only to the people still awake. The lights are dimmed. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps—steady, slow.

You’re at the counter, finishing notes on a patient you’re about to discharge, when Jack walks by, flipping through a chart. His scrubs are rumpled. He stifles a yawn.

“You’re still here?” he asks softly.

You glance up. “Working a double. I’m actually considering switching to nights—covering some shifts for Ellis to see how it feels.” You ramble a little, nerves showing.

He leans against the counter beside you, arms folded, close enough that your elbows nearly touch. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the quiet hum of fluorescent lights, the hush of a sleeping hospital.

“Hm. What can I do to help tip the scales?” he says at last. “You’re the best doctor I know. We’d be lucky to have you on nights.” He pauses, then adds with a grin, “Oh, fuck—does Robby know you’re leaving him?”

You chuckle. “Of course. He’s not thrilled, but he wants me to do what’s right for me. The cases are different overnight. I’ve always been a night owl. Still figuring it out.”

“I’m always here if you want a sounding board.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling—then shifting gears. “Have you eaten anything? Dana said she stashed some thank-you cookies earlier.”

“I’ll never say no to a 3 a.m. dessert. Lead the way.”

You end up side by side on the doctors’ lounge couch, coffee in hand, both of you still bone-tired but not ready to leave. There’s a comfort in the quiet.

After a while, he says, “You should go home.”

You glance at him. “I could say the same to you.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Just looks at you.

“Truth is,” he says quietly, “I’ve been finding reasons not to leave.”

You straighten a little, watching him.

“Not the hospital,” he adds. “Just… you. Every time we’re together, I almost go with you. And I keep trying not to. Because we work together. Because you… you get it.”

You don’t breathe for a second.

“Jack…”

He shakes his head, like he’s already regretting saying it—but then: “You make it hard. To keep the distance.”

Your heart kicks. Loud. Certain.

You turn toward him fully. “Then maybe stop trying.”

He doesn’t move—but something shifts in his expression. Softens. Opens.

You lean in.

He exhales. “This isn’t smart.”

“I’m not asking for smart.”

He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle—almost reverent. A sigh of a kiss. Like something long-held and long-denied.

When you part, foreheads pressed together, the silence between you feels full.

There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.