abbotjack

[abbotjack]

Anyway, college AU talk can wait... I’m about to go get my thigh absolutely wrecked at this tattoo appointment.

[abbotjack]

️₊˚‧︵‿꒰ The Art of Losing Control ꒱‿︵‧˚₊

♡ NOW PLAYING : LOVE INTERRUPTION BY JACK WHITE

NOTE : Updates every Thursday (unless I get swallowed by an engine rebuild or make an ill timed life choice). If there’s ever a delay, I’ll yell about it here. Chapter summaries may shift as the story takes shape. Want to be added to the tag list? Drop a reply below.

summary: It’s 1999. The dorms smell like mildew and cheap vodka. Everyone’s pretending not to fall apart.

Jack Abbot wakes before sunrise most days. Boots on, uniform pressed, ROTC drills by five. His world is narrow: biochem labs, field exercises, a fraternity that feels more like function than fun. He’s clean cut in a way that’s rigid. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it feels like it cost him something.

You meet him at a party he wasn’t supposed to be at. You’re drunk, glitter smudged, wearing your ex's shirt. Your laugh cuts through the room. He doesn’t look at you twice... which, of course, is exactly why you walk straight over.

You’re studying mechanical engineering but mostly show up hungover. You’ve got tattoos you don’t explain and a habit of breaking things just to fix them again. You live on instinct, thrive in havoc, and Jack Abbot, all posture, silence, and self control, looks like the perfect place to start a fire.

What starts as a dare turns into something slower, something that doesn’t make sense out loud. He becomes a constant. Riding shotgun with his knees pressed against the glove compartment of your rusted out car, waiting outside house shows where he doesn’t know anyone, pressing a water bottle into your palm like it means more than he’ll ever say. He steadies your hips when you sway too hard. Holds your waist like it might disappear.

Neither of you call it love.

status : coming soon (first chapter drops 07/31/2025)

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ chapters :

Chapter One — Strike Match [release date : 07/31/2025] : She meets him at a party he didn’t want to attend. Glitter smudged, drunk, bored... she walks over. She calls him “soldier boy.” It begins.

Chapter Two — Wrench Set Blues [tbd] : His radiator breaks. She shows up with a socket set and a hangover, drops to the floor, and mutters, “You’d think a future Army medic would know basic shit.” He doesn’t argue... just hands her a Gatorade and watches her fix it like he’s never seen anyone work.

Chapter Three — Something Loud [tbd] : She drags him to a dive bar to see her favorite local band. The kind of place with two working mics, three working amps, and no working toilets. He stands stiff in the back. She screams lyrics in his ear, steals a cigarette, and kisses him during the second encore like it’s nothing.

Chapter Four — Night Shift [tbd] : She needs a working outlet and a crash pad. His place has both. She rewires her senior project on his floor while he pretends to study. At 3AM, she falls asleep curled into his side, tangled in wires and his ROTC issued hoodie. He doesn’t move.

Chapter Five — Morning Formation [tbd] : She wakes up at his place the morning of his inspection. He’s pacing. She’s in his bed with mascara under her eyes and nothing to prove. His roommate stares. She flips him off. Jack hands her coffee without speaking. No one says the word girlfriend, but she drinks it anyway.

Chapter Six — Not That Kind of Thing [tbd] : She doesn’t do birthdays. Says it like it’s a boundary. But he finds out anyway... from AOL instant messenger, of all things. Shows up at her place with a six pack and gas station cake. She rolls her eyes, calls him an idiot, kisses him harder than she ever has. That night, he sleeps in her bed for the first time. She doesn’t ask him to stay. He doesn’t ask if he can.

Chapter Seven — Her First Breakdown [tbd] : Her car dies in the lot behind the machine shop. She slams the hood three times, sits on the curb, and lights a cigarette with shaky hands. He shows up twenty minutes later, says nothing, and sits beside her until she’s breathing steady again.

Chapter Eight — Family Weekend [tbd] : His parents are in town. She wasn’t supposed to meet them. She does anyway. Eyeliner sharp, black nail polish chipped, and wearing his hoodie like a middle finger. His mom calls her “something else.” His dad says nothing. She smiles like it doesn’t matter. Jack squeezes her hand under the table.

Chapter Nine — Fault Line [tbd] : It’s stupid. A comment. A missed text. A look. She snaps. He shuts down. They fight; loud, ugly, too honest. She says he doesn’t let her in. He says she never stays long enough to try. She leaves before he can ask her to stay.

Chapter Ten — Final Lap [tbd] : Graduation week. Her project’s late. His uniform’s pressed. She ends up on the roof with a beer and a scraped knee. He finds her there. They don’t talk about what happened. They just sit, pressed close, until morning.

Epilogue — Triage [tbd] : She’s only there to look at a busted compressor in the maintenance wing. Some favor for a friend's cousin, nothing serious. She smells like engine coolant and vending machine coffee, hair pulled back, sleeves shoved up. She rounds the corner too fast, trying to find someone with a keycard... and there he is.

[abbotjack]

Pope Cody: 3x07 “Low Man”

[abbotjack]

Do you think Jack would be into being mean during sex or is he too much of a softie

Okay, listen... Jack would play along.

You push him, roll your eyes, throw a smug little “That all you’ve got?” over your shoulder, and Jack doesn’t let it slide. He’s too proud for that. Too ready for challenge. You antagonize him on purpose, and he takes it with a stride, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you just enough time to think you’re in control… right before he flips the whole thing on you.

You would see it in his face first. That shift. That subtle, simmering 'okay, sweetheart, you wanna act cute?' kind of look. Then he’s got you beneath him, hands braced on either side of your head, voice low and biting... but not cruel!

He’ll say something low, just rough enough to make you squirm, “my little problem,” maybe, or “mouthy thing,” like he’s trying it out on his tongue, like he already knows exactly what it’ll do to you. And yeah, it gets to you. He knows it does. He says it just to watch your face grow hot, to feel you jolt a little under his hands. But it’s not careless. Not some detached dirty talk for the sake of playing a part.

Because Jack might talk like he’s got the upper hand... like he’s the one in control, but everything else about him says something softer. Something more present. The way his thumb keeps circling his favorite spot on your hip. The way his eyes don’t leave yours, even when things get messy. The way he listens to every shift in your breath like he’s making sure you’re still with him. Still okay. Still you.

He’s not trying to dominate. He’s trying to feel. Trying to stay grounded in something real. Something good.

So, he doesn’t do the full degradation thing. Not seriously. He couldn’t stomach that... not when he’s seen what real harm looks like. Not when he’s spent nights stitching up people who were used, who were discarded. That’s never been his line. Not even close. But a little roughness? A little edge when you provoke him? Yeah. He’ll go there. You ask for it with your eyes, with your teeth on him, and Jack, God help him, he can’t resist the challenge.

And it’s hot, because it’s him. Because he still kisses the breath out of you in between the dirty talk. Still murmurs your name when he’s close. Still says “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” even when he’s fucking you like he’s trying to erase the worst day of his life.

You’ll collapse into him after, both of you flushed and tangled, and he’ll press a kiss to your shoulder and say, quiet and a little smug: “Still think I’m too soft?”

And you’ll laugh, because you got what you wanted. You stirred him up. You got the heat, the grip, the you wanna keep running that mouth? energy. But you also got the man who holds you after.

So yeah, Jack can be mean. But only when you ask for it. And even then, it’s never mean mean. It’s Jack.

[abbotjack]

THE BEAR 4.10 "Goodbye"

[abbotjack]

THE BEAR (2022–) S04E07, Bears

[abbotjack]

It's okay to be nervous.

THE BEAR | 4.07: BEARS

[abbotjack]

all you do is write for Jack, please add more characters to your roster for more flavor...

you’re in my house, eating my food, critiquing the menu like you didn’t walk through a door labeled abbotjack.

what exactly did you think was on the menu?

[abbotjack]

Something, something inappropriate thoughts about the veins in his arms…

[abbotjack]

Supriya Ganesh as Dr. Samira Mohan The Pitt 1.13 "7:00 P.M."

[abbotjack]

need jack to pick me up from the bar drunk,,,so i can climb all over him and be annoying

Oh, you need Jack to pick you up from the bar drunk?

No. See, you need Jack to come find you in the bar, because there’s no waiting patiently out front for him, no leaning against the wall like some kind of well behaved intoxicated girl. You said you’d be by the door, you meant to be by the door, but you got distracted five seconds later by the girl in the bathroom line who told you she liked your top and now you’re doing shots with her friends like you’ve known them since college. You’re a mess. Loud, flushed, phone somewhere in the bottom of your purse... but you’re his mess.

And Jack? Jack walks into the bar in wrinkled black scrub pants and that old gray hoodie he keeps in the backseat of his truck. He’s exhausted, still smells like antiseptic and adrenaline, but his eyes are sharp, searching. He spots you from across the room, moving wildly with a drink in your hand, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. He doesn't wave. He just sighs.

You light up when you see him. Abandon your drink mid-conversation and practically stumble over your own shoes trying to get to him. You throw your arms around his neck like it hasn’t been that long since you saw him, like you didn’t text him fifteen times in a row and then disappear off the face of the earth.

“You came,” you mumble into his hoodie, burying your face into the fabric. He steadies you without thinking. “Where else would I be?” he mutters, not even mad. Just tired. Just Jack.

You poke at his jaw the whole walk back to the car, whining, “Why do you look like that? Did you miss me or are you just being dramatic again?” and he says nothing, just helps you into the passenger seat like it’s muscle memory. At the red light, his hand slides onto your thigh. Warm. Steady. Possessive without meaning to be. You lean your head against the window and smile to yourself like an idiot.

Because yeah, you’re too much. Too loud. Too drunk. Too stubborn to wait outside like you said you would.

But he always comes.

[abbotjack]

CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[abbotjack]

bunch of my favourite films: PRETTY WOMAN (1990)

[abbotjack]

Do you get a lot of homeless in Pittsburgh? We call them unhoused.

THE PITT 1.15 • 9:00 P.M.

[abbotjack]

I think I finally understand why I keep coming back now. THE PITT S01

[abbotjack]

what's it like celebrating a holiday with jack? <3

Oh, holidays with Jack are never quite on time, never quite by the book. But they always end up meaning more because of it.

Most years, he’s working. ER attending means he’s covering Christmas afternoon, or pulling a double on New Year’s Eve, or elbow deep in trauma while the rest of the world is slow dancing through Valentine’s day dinners. You’ve gotten used to it. You don’t plan holidays around the day anymore, you plan them around Jack.

On Christmas, you leave your parents’ house early with a thermos of coffee, your grandma's kołaczki wrapped in foil, and his name scribbled on the label like it’s some kind of gift tag. You know his break is short, but you sit with him anyway. Tucked in the back of the staff lounge, laughing through half whispered stories about your uncle’s latest drama. He’s tired. He smells like antiseptic and hospital air. But he always eats everything you bring. Always looks at you like you are the sun.

And then there are the rare ones, the holidays he does get off. Like that one Valentine’s Day, the year it fell on a Tuesday. You were buried in emails, halfway through a lukewarm cup of coffee, when he showed up at your office downtown, looking completely out of place in that ridiculous oversized winter coat he refuses to replace. He had a slightly crumpled paper bag in one hand, a half-wilted bouquet in the other, and a sheepish little smile. Inside the bag? Your favorite pie from that old diner you always end up at after late night grocery runs. Not fancy. Not even close. But it was yours. And he didn’t try to dress it up or make some big production out of it. He just said, “Thought I’d say hi,” like it wasn’t the most absurdly sweet thing in the world. And maybe it would’ve stayed casual. Just a quick hello, a kiss on the cheek, except he kissed you properly, right there in front of your desk, like he didn’t care who saw. And the truth is, neither did you.

Anyways, you celebrate. Just not always when the calendar says you should. Easter on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Thanksgiving on a Monday night, the two of you sitting on the kitchen floor in pajama pants, passing the dish of stuffing back and forth like it’s some holy relic. No table, no candles. Just him, you, and a fork.

Because when you love someone like Jack, someone whose time is borrowed, demanded, never fully his own, every stolen hour becomes something special. You learn not to waste them. You learn to make them count. And you never, ever take them for granted. And maybe the best part is that he gets it, too. He doesn’t just slot you in between shifts. He shows up. He notices. He remembers how your family does stockings. He learns your mom’s mashed potatoes. He kisses you goodbye on New Year’s Eve before heading to work and texts you at midnight from the trauma bay: Happy new year, honey. Be home soon. Can't believe I haven't kissed you since last year.

So, holidays with Jack Abbot aren’t traditional. They’re not always convenient. But they’re full of effort. Full of care. Full of love.

[abbotjack]

DAVID CORENSWET as CLARK KENT/SUPERMAN Superman (2025) dir. James Gunn