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nonsensical-nonsence · 3 days ago

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SPINNING OUT [part two]

Here it is! Part two!

Read part one here.

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~8k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, time jumps and flashbacks, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, SMUT, nipple worship (lol), death of a child mentioned, vaginal pain mentioned, p in v sex, oral sex, eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49 in present day). If I missed anything, let me know!

taglist (I only tagged you if you have your age in your bio!!! Sorry but I'm a stickler about it, especially when my work contains smut. If you wanna be tagged, add that age in your bio!).

@espressheauxs, @imherefordeanandbones, @ emma8895eb,

@bitters-n-sweets @absinthe-over-tea, @wowitsafemale, @sophreakingfunny, @abbotjack, @thatcorporategirlie, @grimpowrrs, @telepathay

PART 2

BEFORE

When you arrive to Jack’s place three evenings after your first date, your entire body is buzzing.

You’ve texted each other every day. Jack’s called you after all of his shifts, as the sun is cresting over the city skyline and you’re just waking up, loose-limbed and heavy-eyed. It’s been 72 hours since you kissed under the moonlight in front of your home and you itch to be back in his presence. You feel delirious and wild, and you cannot stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

You remind yourself there’s no expectation for tonight. You want to sleep with Jack, obviously, but you don’t want to rush him. You don’t even know if he wants that. You feel close to him but the reality is it’s only been three days, so you need to calm the fuck down.

Now you find yourself standing in Jack’s home, a glass of wine in your hand, taking in this man’s space while he fusses with dinner in the kitchen with a dish towel over his right shoulder. You glance at him as he throws garlic into the pan, lowering the heat as it sizzles in the oil. You thought you’d be nervous when he opened the door, but his crooked grin, his dimples, his entire energy calmed your fluttering heart.

His condo is simple and clean. There’s not much in the way of personality, but you figure that’s because he practically lives at the hospital. You wander over to the bookshelf in the living room and grin at his collection of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. You also see a few photos. Jack with his sisters and nieces and nephews; this makes you grin. There’s one in particular that you like; it’s Jack with a young (maybe nine or ten), curly-haired girl on his shoulders at what appears to be some sort of backyard birthday. It’s precious. There’s one of Jack from when he was in the army with a few military buddies, leaning against a combat vehicle in the desert. He looks skinny and haunted, and you have a hard time looking at it. Jack and Robby, from a fishing trip you remember vaguely hearing about a few years ago, though it’s funny now to think that the “buddy” Robby was heading to the cabin with was, in fact, this Jack Abbot.

And then there is a framed photo of Jack and his wife on their wedding day. They can’t be more than 25-years-old in the picture. Jack’s hair is auburn, and his freckles stand out even more with his youthful, round, clean-shaven face. They’re smiling at one another and they look so sweet it makes your heart clench. You’re shocked to find your eyes prickle as you gaze at this photo, but you cannot help it. It is so unfair that she isn’t here anymore and that Jack had to go through that.

You’re so grateful that this man has invited you into his space, that he hasn’t hid any parts of himself from you.

You turn to said man now and find him watching you from the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed (ridiculously sexy in his plain, blue t-shirt), and he has this little grin on his scruffy face. You feel yourself warm under his gaze and make your way to him, sipping your wine as you do so.

“You caught me snooping,” you say lightly, and his eyes light up.

“I explicitly told you to snoop while I finish this,” he says, uncrossing his arms and taking the dish towel from his shoulder. “Find anything interesting?”

You stop just a few feet from him in his kitchen and smile. “I like your pictures and book collection.”

He studies you and you feel like he’s trying to decipher whether or not you’re teasing him.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Also, it is hilarious to me that you and Robby go on fishing trips. Very sweet…and geriatric of you both.”

Jack’s eyes light up at the teasing, scoffing in mock-offense. “Hey now. Fishing trips are cool.”

You laugh. “I didn’t say they weren’t!” A beat. “Just a coupla peepaws catching trout. It’s cute.”

He grins, dimples showing through, and turns to the stove. “Maybe I won’t feed you after all.”

“Now that’s just rude. I’m famished.”

He shrugs, shoots you a mischievous glance over his shoulder, and it’s so fun and sweet that you can only smile like an idiot in return.

Jack does, in fact, feed you. And Jack Abbot, MD., is an amazing cook. It’s some sort of risotto with creamy mushrooms and lemon chicken and a ton of herbs and you’re so impressed you have to try and school your features into a poker-face lest you come off as desperate as you feel. Dinner is a relaxed affair, at his little table, and as you both eat you chat about your days, and work. By the time both of your plates are clean, your body is buzzing.

You sip your half-full glass of wine and Jack sips his and you both kinda just stare at each other for a moment. It’s loaded and you wonder how crazy it would be to crawl into his lap right now, to bracket his hips with both of your thighs, grind yourself on him—

Jesus, you need to get a hold of yourself. A string of bad dates and you’re ready to jump the bones of the first man you meet who’s competent, and handsome, and has a great job, and is in therapy, and can cook—

Jack clears his throat. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks, rubbing a hand along his scruff and breaking through your mile-a-minute thoughts.

You nod. Jack nods back, and your heart pounds.

You pick something mindless — an old 90s thriller, because those comfort you, and you sit on Jack’s couch which is shockingly cozy and comfortable (you make a mental note to ask him where he got it when your mind isn’t on a loop of Jack Jack Jack).

Jack sits next to you but not right against you, though you can feel his body heat. You both crack jokes about the movie, and about 30 minutes in you feel his arm go across the back of the couch behind you. Your heart thuds and you move a little closer to him, and then a few minutes later you feel his fingers graze your shoulder and you are now, finally, pressed against his side. You can smell his soap and his detergent and it smells clean and divine and Jesus, are you about to sniff him?

You really, really try to keep your breathing even but when his thumb grazes back and forth on your shoulder, you can’t help it. You both haven’t said anything in a while, and you can hear Jack’s breathing, can feel the heat of him. Your breath picks up just a little bit because you might explode from how badly you just want to touch him.

Your hand finds his thigh.

Jack’s sharp intake of breath spurs you on and you look up at him through your lashes and he’s already looking down at you, his jaw clenched and tight like he’s—like he’s holding himself back.

You bite your lip and Jack actually fucking groans and your hand moves just the slightest bit higher on his leg and Jack swallows.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“Hi,” he croaks, voice broken and sacred between you.

“Movie’s not over,” you whisper.

Jack’s eyes rove over your face. When he looks at you, it’s like he’s taking in every single feature and rather than make you feel exposed, it makes you feel fucking beautiful.

“I couldn’t care less about the movie,” Jack tells you and that’s all you need. Your chest rises and expands and Jack’s eyes flicker for a moment down to your chest and then quickly back to lock on your gaze.

His eyes make you feel bold.

You sit up, throw a leg over his lap and then you’re straddling him, your hands on his shoulders and Jack’s hands find your waist and you’re so close to him and it feels so fucking good.

“Kiss me,” you tell him. Jack bites his lip and you think I am going to fuck this man tonight.

“Yes ma’am,” he breathes before a hand finds the back of your head and he dips you down as he surges up and your lips meet.

It takes approximately two seconds before you’re licking into each other’s mouths, and it’s messy and so much hotter than the peck you shared when you arrived at his place. You can’t help your hips—they grind down into his lap and you can feel how hard he is, you think he must’ve been hard for the last few minutes at least and the thought drives you insane.

You’re a little shocked there’s no awkwardness here. It’s all so easy and it makes you feel grateful you met this man at this exact point in your life, when you feel fully formed and clear about what you are looking for, what you want.

One of his hands dips to get a palmful of your ass and you gasp into the kiss because it feels so good, everything about him feels so perfect.

He pulls back slightly, breathing heavy, lips spit-slick and red.

“This okay?” he husks, voice serrated and low. He goes to move his hand off your ass but you grab his wrist and keep it there. You lean forward and bite his bottom lip, tugging it gently between your teeth and Jack groans, the sound rumbling out of his chest. He looks wonderfully devastated.

“Yes,” you breathe, and suddenly both of Jack’s hands are gripping your ass through your jeans and your lips find his again. You break apart for air and he sucks the pulse point below your jaw. Your right hand finds his curls, your left grips his shoulder, and you grind against his hard, clothed cock and you think you might actually come from dry-humping Jack on his couch. You cannot remember the last time you dry-humped anyone, let anyone have been brought to orgasm from such a thing. You feel like a teenager, hormones raging and lighting you up from within.

“Jack,” you moan, your hips grinding faster. “I—I might—I think I’m gonna—fuck—”

Jack pulls away from where he’s sucking your neck and looks up at you, his eyes bright and dark at the same time, a look of wonder on his face.

“Shit, really?” He looks down between you, where you’re moving and he lets out a strangled groan. “You think you can come like this? Yeah?”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, moving faster, the rough fabric of his jeans against your own creating delicious friction. “It’s so good, Jack, you feel so good—”

Your hand grips his curls a little tighter, the couch begins to smack against the wall from the movement, and Jack moans, his eyes locking onto yours. He looks amazed and it makes you feel powerful.

“Jesus.” His voice practically breaks on the word. “You can’t be real. You were fuckin’ made from my dreams.”

You’re babbling now because the seam of your jeans against your clit and the feel of his hard cock have you so close.

“I’m there, I’m there, oh my fucking god—Jack—” You know you’re being loud but you can’t help it because all you can do is focus on coming on this man’s lap. “I’m coming—I’m coming—”

“Fuck, just like that, you look so pretty comin’ on me, take what you fuckin’ need.” Jack’s voice spurs you on and then you’re coming so hard you actually fucking squeal.

Jack leans his head against the back of the couch and watches you break apart and you can actually feel his cock twitch from under you. You come down from the high of your orgasm, practically melting into his lap, your arms looping around his neck. You lean your forehead against his and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

“Christ,” Jack croaks. He looks absolutely debauched.

You’re so warm, all over, but an insecurity rushes up inside of you as your breathing begins to slowly even out. You move your forehead away from his, look him in the eyes.

“Is it insane I want you to fuck me and this is only the second time we’ve hung out?”

Jack’s eyes flash for a moment, his jaw clenching, and then he places a tender hand around your face, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“I’m followin’ your lead here. I don’t need anything, I—” He swallows. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”

You smile because you can’t help it. “I’m really glad I’m here, too.” You lick your lips. “And I really, really need you to be inside me.”

“Fuck.” The word is torn from Jack’s lips, followed by a disbelieving laugh. “Hold on to me.”

Your arms around his neck tighten, and his hands move to hold you just under your ass and he—he picks you up from the couch, stands with you—and you cannot believe he is carrying you right now.

“M’too heavy,” you say shyly, burying your face in his neck. Jack barks out a laugh as he walks you down the hall and shoulders his way through what you assume is his bedroom door. You wish you had the brain power to look around but you can’t because this sexy motherfucker just carried you into his bedroom.

“No fuckin’ way,” he tells you lowly, and when he reaches his bed he gently sets you onto it. You fall back, breathing heavy as he leans over you, hands planted on either side of your head. Your hands skate up the thick, corded muscles of his arms and you look into his hazel eyes. You smile at him because you simply cannot help it.

Jack stares at you, seemingly cataloguing everything he sees.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you these last few days,” he rasps, a hand coming up to cradle our jaw. You bite your lip and his eyes grow dark as he watches the movement.

“Me too,” you whisper, and it’s tender between you. He leans down, presses his lips to yours and the kiss goes from sweet to fucking hot in seconds. You bite his bottom lip, pulling on it and Jack moans into your mouth. He pulls back, staring down at you.

“Need you to take your fuckin’ clothes off,” he croaks and you whimper. You nod, sitting up and he kneels on the bed and you both quickly—frantically—undress. Jack reaches behind his head with one hand, pulling off his t-shirt in a swift movement that you internally catalogue as very fucking sexy. You pull your own top over your head, toss it to god-knows-where, and quickly unclasp your bra. Before you can undo your jeans, Jack stills your hand, moving it away from the button. He crowds slowly into you, his eyes flicking up to yours before his lips find the nipple of your left breast. He massages your right one with a large hand and it has you leaning back on your elbows and arching your back so your tit is in his palm and you’re keening.

“You’re so sexy,” he groans out of the side of his mouth that is still around your nipple and your toes curl, your hands going into his gray curls and holding him to you, fucking latching him onto you—

You might come like this, and the realization has you huffing, “I need us to be naked. Now.”

Jeans are clumsily, messily shed, and then you are in your simple cotton panties and Jack is in his briefs and you look down—

The leg Jack has bent on the edge of the bed is prosthetic. You look up at Jack, who’s watching you closely.

“Uh, another thing I never know how to bring up,” he says and you’re taken aback when you notice he’s blushing. “Lost it overseas during my second tour.”

You feel insane because you are topless and in your underwear and this feels like an important moment. You sit up, cradle his face in your hands.

“You wanna take it off?” You ask, your thumbs brushing the apples of his cheeks. “Do whatever makes you more comfortable. I want you.”

Jack’s eyes go a little glassy before he kisses you roughly, pushing you back down onto your back. He pulls back enough to mutter, “After,” before he descends on you again.

The mattress and bedding is cool beneath you as Jack kisses and licks his way down your sternum. He pauses at your breasts, suckling at your nipples for a moment before licking his way down your stomach. He situates himself between your legs. His hands find the waistband of your underwear and he glances up at you, a question in his eyes.

“Please,” you answer, and Jack grins crookedly as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He gently drops them over the side of the bed and then Jack is pushing on your knees to open you up to him and your heart is beating so fast you’re pretty sure you can see it beneath your skin. His large hands grip your thighs as he maneuvers your legs over his freckled, broad shoulders and then he breathes you in, his entire face a breath away from your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, look at you,” he croaks. “Jesus.” His eyes flick up to you. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, yes—” your words break off when his tongue licks into you and oh, fuck. Fuck. When was the last time you even felt this good? You bizarrely think of the last time you slept with someone — some idiotic man a few months ago, who didn’t even go down on you — and you think this is so good, it’s so good—

“Jack,” you cry, your hands finding his hair and pulling him even closer into your pussy. He moans and you can feel the sound, can feel it down into your very core and you think you want him eating your pussy every single day for the rest of your life.

He pulls back and licks his lips, looking up at you. “Tell me what you need, I wanna get you there.”

You put a hand to your forehead and your thighs squeeze against his ears, caging him in.

“This—this, Jack, it’s so good—”

Suddenly Jack’s hands are under your ass and he’s pulling you even closer into his awaiting mouth and you can’t help it — you cry out so loudly you’re worried about Jack’s neighbors, but he doesn’t seem to care because he’s grinding into the mattress as he eats you. His head bobs up and down with how fervently he’s licking your pussy and you feel it but it’s — it’s not enough —

You lean up on your elbows. “Can—can you put a finger in me?”

Jack’s eyes flutter and he pulls back and you almost die when you see how wet his stubble is. He’s drenched in you.

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost reverently. “I can do that, baby.”

He takes the middle finger of his right hand and gently slides it into you, bites his lip as he watches it go in with little resistance.

You collapse onto your back again and the glide of his finger in and out of your pussy feels heavenly. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.

“Yes, yes,” you babble.

Jack kisses the inside of your thigh as he moves his finger in and out. He looks at you, eyes dark.

“Need another?”

You nod, your hands gripping into the top cover of Jack’s bed because it’s so good when Jack gently slides in his ring finger. It’s tighter than just one but you feel yourself relaxing into the feeling, feel yourself grow even wetter with a mix of Jack’s spit from his mouth and your juices.

“I’ve—fuck, yes like that—I’ve had some issues with pain in the past—so you—you need to get me—-fuck, Jack—get me ready—-to take you—”

You know you’re babbling but you need Jack to know this; you’ve had too many awful partners in the past who didn’t take their time, who just rammed their dick into you. That kind of pain doesn’t leave your body easily, and you’ve learned how to enjoy sex but you need to communicate this.

His fingers keep working you but he pats your knee with his free hand.

“Hey, look at me.”

Jack’s rasp catches your attention and you open your eyes and you look down at him. Your thighs frame his head, his gray curls are a wreck, he’s got two fingers buried deep in your pussy and you try and take a mental snapshot of the image because it’s…it’s lovely.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, and the hand that’s not between your legs holds onto your thigh, his thumb caressing the skin. “All I wanna do is make you feel good, okay? Don’t care if that means we take our time, or what. Yeah?”

You nod, feel your eyes prickle despite yourself. Jack kisses your knee.

“I’m here with you and you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous. You taste so good and if this is all we do, I’ll be a very fuckin’ happy man. You got that?”

You nod, your entire body trembling. Jack crooks his fingers and you gasp.

“Jack,” you whisper. Jack’s eyes crinkle at the edges, softening, and then his thumb starts strumming your clit in a way that sets you on literal fire and you cry out.

“Want you to come all over my fingers,” Jack grouses, and his tongue licks into you again, as his two fingers hook into you and his thumb hits just right.

“Oh my god,” you moan. You’re sweating properly now, feel it gather on the back of your neck and your hairline and you start to grind into Jack’s face, riding his hand and his tongue at the same damn time. Your tits jiggle with the movement and you feel worshipped in a way you’ve never felt with another man.

You break when Jack sucks onto your clit, your second orgasm of the night cresting over you with wave after wave of pleasure. You let out a sound that is downright animalistic, and you feel Jack’s own moan all the way to your toes.

You’re trembling, a sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, and Jack continues to lick and kiss you through it until you put a gentle hand in his curls and pull him off. He looks pussy drunk between your legs, panting and sweating himself. You stare at him.

“Holy fucking shit,” you articulate like the linguistic genius that you are. Jack’s eyes brighten, a crooked smile dimpling his cheeks as he keeps eye contact with you as he presses a few more kisses into your thighs.

“Yeah?” he croaks, lips hot on your skin.

You huff a laugh, light and breathy. You’re tingling.

“Yeah,” you reply, tugging on Jack’s hair. He makes his way up your body, lying next to you. You face each other, and you hook a leg around his waist, cupping his jaw with your hand.

“How do you make me feel so good?” You ask him because you’re genuinely curious. “Jesus, Jack.”

Jack’s hand finds your naked waist and he gently drags his fingers up and down the curve of your side. “I wanna make you feel good all the time,” he tells you and you believe him.

You push on his shoulder, getting him flat on his back and you sit up on your knees. He’s still in his briefs and that absolutely needs to change. Your hands find the waistband and you look at Jack, who’s watching you with his chest rising and falling.

“Can I?” you ask. He lets out a breath.

“Fuck yes.”

You peel his briefs off of his—his very muscular thighs—and his cock springs free, red and standing proud, already weeping from the tip. Without thinking you wrap a hand around the base of him, your tongue sliding up the side of his cock to lick the precrum that’s dribbled out.

“Fuck!” Jack punches the word out, harsh and from his chest. You hum around him, wanting to keep going, but he gently puts a hand on the back of your neck, gently urging you off.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ last if you do that,” he says, voice cracked and ruined. You lift off with a final lick over his tip. You really want to suck this man dry, but Jack’s breath is so shallow you think you need to go a little easy on him.

“Next time?” you ask, hopeful, and Jack barks out a surprised laugh, more of a huff of a breath, and nods.

“Yeah, next time. Right now I need to be inside you.”

You quickly sit up, hovering over him. You put your hands on his chest but hesitate.

“You don’t have any lube, do you?”

You know you’re wet but still, penetrative sex for you without lube is not that fun. You curse yourself for not bringing your mini bottle in your purse, but you didn’t want to be presumptuous —

“Of course,” Jack says and nods toward his nightstand. “In there. It’s water-based, if that’s okay.”

You stare down at Jack Abbot and you think where the fuck did you come from?

“I really shouldn’t find the sentence, ‘it’s water based, if that’s okay,’ as sexy as I do, but Jesus, who are you?” You ask, leaning over to his nightstand and taking out the bottle. Jack’s hands land on your waist, tightening and he laughs, his ears reddening.

“I’m 45-years-old,” he tells you, watching as you squirt some into your hand. He gasps when you spread it onto his cock, groans when you give him a squeeze. “And a doctor. I—I know to have lube—fuck, honey, you gotta stop doing that if you don’t want me to embarrass myself.”

You smirk, ceasing your stroking as you line him up at your entrance. “There’s no way you could embarrass yourself after the way you ate me out.”

Jack actually blushes, which is hilarious seeing as you’re both naked and your bare cunt is against his stomach and your hand is wrapped around his length.

Jack’s hands squeeze your waist once. “You feel good? Ready for me?”

“Yes,” you tell him, before you begin to sink down on his cock. You both gasp, your breaths coming quickly as you take him inch by inch. The stretch hurts a tiny bit at first but you go slowly.

Jack’s head flies back against his pillow and his jaw clenches. His hands make their way to palm your ass as he bottoms out inside you.

“Jesus, god,” he groans, and you place your hands on his chest, adjusting to the feel of him. “You’re so fuckin’ tight—fuck.”

“Gonna start slow,” you gasp, beginning to grind your hips and Jack’s eyes flick down to where you’re taking him.

“Do whatever you want, you feel so fuckin’ good—”

Your voice is breathy when you ask, “Yeah?”

Jack’s hands dimple the flesh of your ass, and he bites his lip, his eyes seemingly glued to the sight of his dick sliding in and out of your pussy. Your hips begin to move in earnest now.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

You begin to fuck each other like you mean it.

And you do. You mean it so much because you know this thing with Jack is special. You grind on his cock and he anchors his hands to your hips and his bedroom is a cacophony of the bed squeaking, and breathy moans, and grunts and yes, yes like that and oh fuck, fuck you feel like heaven.

Just as your legs start to cramp up, Jack tells you for the second time this evening to hold on, and he flips you so you’re underneath him. You let out a breath as he holds himself above you.

“Still good?” he asks.

“Yes, so good,” you moan. Jack grabs your right leg, hitches it around his waist and begins to fuck you like it’s what he was put on this earth to do. The angle hits so good, the headboard starts to slam against the wall, your tits bounce and you claw at his shoulders and his back.

“Fuck!” you cry when his thrusts begin to hit that sacred spot inside of you.

Jack’s lips find your shoulder, sucking on the flesh there before moving onto your neck. He turns his head where it rests against your collarbone, breathes breath onto your skin as his hips pound into you.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groans and your hand goes to the back of his head, fisting his gray curls. “You feel unreal—come on—fuck, look at you—”

“Give it to me, Jack,” you reply, and you wrap your other leg around his waist. Your arms grip his shoulders and one of Jack’s hands slams against the headboard, allowing himself to hover above you as he pounds into you.

“Fucking give it to me,” you moan, delirious with pleasure as his cock—slick with your wetness and the lube—hits deep inside of you over and over.

You snake a hand between you to play with your clit and Jack groans, watches your finger, mesmerized.

“God, that’s so hot,” he says, his voice breaking on the last word. “You’re so sexy.”

You strum your clit and feel yourself grow close. “M’gonna come,” you babble and Jack grits his teeth.

“Yeah? Jesus, me too baby, I’m so close.” His voice is broken. When he begins to falter in his rhythm, he rasps, “Tell me where you want it.”

You lock eyes with him as he fucks you to the near brink of delirium. “Inside.”

“Fuck, fuck—fuck.” The mantra falls from his lips as you strum your clit at the exact right moment and you come with a scream. Jack follows a second later with a moan of his own, his head buried in your neck as you feel him coat the inside of your pussy with his come. You keep your legs wrapped around him, both of you gasping for air. Your skin is sticky and wet and you feel on fire.

Jack gently raises himself up on his arms, looking down at you, and you both burst into laughter.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and his face is bright red.

“Wow,” you say back.

You breathe into each other’s mouths for a moment, letting the comedown wash over you both.

Your eyes grow a little wide at a realization.

“I’m on birth control. I—I’m sorry, I guess telling you to come inside of me in the heat of the moment wasn't the most responsible. No STIs either.”

Jack leans down, kisses you tenderly before slipping out of you. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to. I’m—I also recently got tested. Before our date, so—”

You sit up, still short on breath. You grin at him and he stares back at you like he cannot believe you’re here.

You wipe some sweat off of your brow. “Gonna pee.” Before you slip out of bed, Jack snakes a hand into your hair and pulls you to his mouth. He kisses you soft, and slow, and it feels like honey.

“You’re amazing,” Jack mutters against your mouth and you melt into him.

You are thoroughly fucked, both metaphorically and physcially.

And you truly believe you have never been happier.

***

Jack moves into your place six months later.

After your first night together, you both decide to be exclusive quickly. You become Jack’s girlfriend, and you fit and mold into each other’s lives in a surprisingly seamless way. Robby is thrilled, of course, and despite Jack’s horrific schedule, you make it work. Sometimes (the rare and blissful times), he will get a few days off in a row, so you make the most of that time together; farmer’s market strolls, going to see a movie, trying out a new recipe together, or simply existing next one another on the couch; you, deep in your latest novel, Jack reading an old medical journal from the ‘90s (“because there’s still good stuff in here!”).

You can’t help but feel taken aback at the easiness of it all, but you refuse to let it scare you. You have spent your entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you do not allow yourself to think that way now.

So when Jack’s lease is up on his condo, you both mutually come to the decision that it makes sense to meld your lives in this way. He’s practically living at your place anyway — much more than a toothbrush on your counter and a single drawer. He is everywhere in your home; his favorite mug sits on your kitchen shelf, his books have made their way onto your bookcase, and his toiletries are permanently in the shower. You even had a bench installed in there, so he could shower without his prosthetic and be comfortable.

It just makes sense.

That first night that Jack moves in, you find him in the kitchen, unpacking a few of his beloved stainless steel pots and pans. He looks up at you, hair disheveled, in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and your heart literally stutters in your chest. He grins, cheeks dimpling, and you walk over to him.

“We’re not rushing this, right?” You ask it before you can think about it too much; it’s an insecurity of yours that you’re trying to bat away. Six months and living together doesn’t feel rushed for you, but you know it’s different for Jack.

Jack, who had a marriage before you. Who had his person.

And he didn’t just lose that person. She was brutally ripped away from him in this life and it will never, ever be fair. And you just…you want to make sure that you aren’t overstepping. You would never fucking try to replace her and you love hearing about every single part of his life when he offers it to you, but you just…

You know there is baggage there. No matter how great Jack’s therapist is (and he’s fucking fantastic, you looked him up because duh), no matter how well his SSRI works, no matter how much healing he’s done, no matter how easy his smiles come to him, you can see it. Not just because you yourself are a therapist, but any human being with eyes can see it; when his nightmares wake you up at 3am; when he comes back from a harrowing shift and his eyes are dulled and he’s quiet.

He’s still haunted. Maybe he always will be.

You know Jack (like everyone) has got his shit.

But you just want to be…sure.

That Jack is choosing this.

This life. With you.

Jack sets the pan on the stove and turns to you, his expression calm and warm.

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. He cocks his head slightly, beckoning you over to him. You go easily into his arms, yours snaking around his waist. He kisses your forehead, pushes some of your hair back from your face.

“Do you?”

You shake your head. “No. I just wanted to…check.”

Jack grins his crooked grin. “I’m grown. And I know what I want.”

You huff a laugh, feeling some of the doubt and worry slip away. “Yeah? What’dya want, Abbot?”

Jack slides his hands to cradle your jaw, brings his lips to just hover above yours. A hot coil springs loose, low in your belly.

An ember catching fire.

You look up at him just before he says, “You.”

***

The reservation time has come and gone.

You walk back home in the quiet evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and you’re not mad. You’re just…sad.

You miss Jack and you know it’s not his fault. And you told him you didn’t need a big deal made out of a one year anniversary, that just being home with him would’ve been enough after two straight weeks of him working every single night.

You miss your boyfriend.

But Jack insisted on a nice dinner and he made the reservation. He switched shifts with Robby so he’d be out by 7pm (ha). He’d told you to be at the place by 7:30, that he couldn’t wait to see you, etc. etc.

The plan was to meet at the restaurant; he’d shower and change at PTMC and you’d walk home together.

You knew the night wasn’t going to go according to plan when a text came in at 6:55, but you were still hopeful.

Jack Abbot: May be 5 late.

You: no rush. ☺️

Jack Abbot: Love you.

You: Love you.

You didn’t expect to hear from Jack again, and at 7:15 you walked the short walk to the restaurant. They sat you down quickly and you decided to order a wine while you waited, looking over the menu. At 7:35, another text came in.

Jack Abbot: I’m so sorry, held up. Fucking brutal here. 20 mins, tops.

You valiantly kept your heart from sinking (seriously, you deserved an award), and took a hefty sip of your wine. You took a breath. Not his fault, you reminded yourself.

You: Want me to order you a drink to be ready when you get here?

You (foolishly) expected him to text you back immediately, but when the 20 minutes came and went without any text from Jack, you started to feel antsy. You could feel the waiter eying you from the corner but you ignored the stare, determined to just Be Chill.

You finished your wine at 8. You looked at your phone.

At 8:15, you asked the waiter for the check.

At 8:30, you left.

Not his fault, not his fault plays like a mantra over and over in your head. You chose Jack, and his horrible schedule, and his good fucking heart. You are in love with this man because of who he is at his core, which is a man who doesn’t half-ass things. Who sees things through. Who doesn’t let someone bleed out on his watch because he has something as trivial as a dinner date to get to.

It’s just that—

It hurts, sometimes.

To feel like the thing that he might not follow through with is you.

Your phone buzzes as you let yourself in the front door.

Jack Abbot: Leaving in 15. You order yet?

You scoff, toeing off your heels and hanging up your purse on the hook by the door. It is now 8:40pm. You stare at his text for a moment as you walk over to the kitchen, taking out your favorite wine glass and deciding you’re going to have your second drink in your PJs and on the couch.

You: I’m home now, so don’t rush or anything.

You see the three dots appear and then disappear quickly. You watch this happen a few times and you feel a ping of guilt; you’re not angry with Jack. You can’t be. You just wish he could be a little more realistic sometimes; if he hadn’t insisted on this dinner in the first place, you wouldn’t find yourself disappointed.

Jack Abbot: Baby, I’m so fucking sorry.

You steady your breath.

You: It’s okay! I completely understand. I’ll see you at home.

The three dots do their disappearing act again but he doesn’t respond. You sigh, have another drink, and settle in.

Jack does not, in fact, leave PTMC 15 minutes after he sent that text.

In fact, he doesn’t arrive home until after midnight, when you are curled up in bed, in that liminal space between conscious and unconscious. You feel the bed dip beside you, feel a hand graze your forehead. You smell the sharp scent of antiseptic and sweat and your eyes flutter open.

Jack…

Jack looks awful.

You blink sleepily at him and notice the dark circles under his eyes. Notice his pale, waxy complexion. The fatigue is deep in his bones and you hate it so much it feels like a physical ache.

“Hey,” he croaks.

“Hi,” you say as you sit up. Jack scoots over but he doesn’t break eye contact with you. This man will be at the absolute end of his rope but one thing about him? He’ll always look you square on and he won’t back down. He dips his head until he knows he’s got your gaze locked onto his.

“I’m so sorry.” It spills out of his mouth in the dark and lies on the bed between you. You shake your head, rub a hand down his back. You feel a little of the tension leave his shoulders but he’s still holding himself so tightly.

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fuckin’ not. I ruined your night, I ruined our anniversary. It ain’t okay.”

You don’t say anything. The silence stretches between you and Jack looks down at his hands, finally breaking some eye contact and taking a shaky breath.

You keep rubbing his back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Jack clenches his jaw and after a moment, he speaks. “Ten-year-old girl. Hit on her bike. Dad was too drunk to realize what happened. A neighbor brought her in. She—” his voice breaks and he rubs his eyes. “She um, she had this wild, curly hair. Like my niece.”

Your heart shatters and you scoot closer to Jack. You lie your head on his back, curling around him. He doesn't have to say that she didn’t make it. You see it and feel it in everything about him now.

You don’t say I’m sorry.

You say, “It’s so goddamn unfair. Hope that dad rots in fuckin’ hell.”

Jack looks up at you, his eyes glassy. You lift your head, run a hand through his curls. “Me too.”

You sit there in shared anger about a stranger. The night hums around you, quietly and softly and it’s a sacred, tender moment.

You’re no longer tired, so you stand up and offer your hand to Jack. He takes it like he’ll follow you anywhere. You lead him to the bathroom and turn the knobs for the shower. As steam curls around you, you quietly undress Jack and he quietly undresses you. You help him take off the prosthetic, allow him to lean on you as you both get into the shower.

He sits down with a groan on the bench under the spray and you don’t say anything for awhile. You simply wash each other in this small, warm place where the two of you are the only two people to exist. When you’ve both rinsed the bubbles from your hair, you go to turn off the water but Jack catches your hand. He pulls you over to where he sits on the bench, and he wraps his arms around your middle.

Your heart aches and you run your hands through his wet curls. Jack presses his lips to your stomach, makes his way gently to your breasts. Your breath hitches when he wraps his lips around your right nipple, sucking the pebbled flesh there. You feel your core throb and you let out a gasp as he sucks on your tit, like it’s soothing him.

He lets the nipple go with a scrape of his teeth and your fingers tighten in his hair. He moves to your other breast, kissing the flesh before sucking on that one too. You feel his hand gently trail to your core. When his fingers slip through your folds, you tug on his head.

“Jack,” you say, because you just want to make sure he’s okay.

His mouth is still sucking on your nipple when he croaks the word, “please” like it’s ripped from his very soul.

You bite your lip and nod and Jack keeps sucking, keeps fucking self-soothing around your nipple (and it’s so hot, he’s so perfect like this) as he slides a finger into your pussy. You cry out, the sound drowned out from the spray of the shower and Jack gently slides a second finger in and fucks you there under the spray of the water.

You lose your breath as his thumb strums your clit and he groans against your nipple and when you break, the orgasm rising slow and steady until you’re trembling, Jack finally lifts his mouth from your breast.

You stare down at him and reach for his aching cock but he shakes his head.

You understand.

Your pleasure is his penance. You allow him this for tonight.

When you’re both clean and cozy, back under the sheets, Jack draws you into his arms. You face each other and he cups your cheek, thumb stroking back and forth in a way that makes your eyes flutter. You’re drifting off, finally calm and relaxed and sated.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes fly open and Jack is staring at you, clear as if it’s a new day. You frown, your mouth falling open.

“What?”

Jack’s eyes flit back and forth between both of yours and at one in the morning after standing you up (albeit, not his fault!), he says it again.

“Marry me.”

You freeze and you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. “Jack, you’ve—it’s been a long night—”

Jack turns over, opens the nightstand, and when he comes back to you he’s holding a simple gold ring with a sparkling solitaire diamond. You gape and bolt up.

“What!”

Jack slowly sits up, still holding the ring between you. “Was gonna do it at dinner. Had a whole—a whole fuckin’ speech planned.”

Your hands go to your face and your heart won’t stop beating as fast as a damn hummingbird, and you cannot believe this is happening right now, right in this moment.

You look up at him and he’s staring at you. You feel your eyes prick.

“You sure?” You ask him.

Jack nods, lets out a breath. “Never been more sure about anything.”

You swallow. “It’s not—you don’t think?--we’re not—”

Jack shakes his head. His voice is raspy when he says, “It’s not too fast. I love you. Want you to be my wife.”

You slowly take your hands away from your cheeks, which are now wet, because you are crying. “Jack.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving little laugh. “Can’t believe I met you. Never…never thought I’d have this again. Can’t believe you’re…mine.” He pauses. “If—if you’ll have me. Forever.”

“Yes.”

Jack lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan. His eyes shine. “Yeah?”

You nod, smiling and crying and it’s one in the morning and Jack is asking you to marry him.

“Yeah, Abbot. I’ll have you. Forever.”

The smile Jack gives you puts the fuckin’ moon to shame.

***

NOW

You aren’t awake and they cut your engagement ring and wedding band off of your finger when you went in for surgery.

Both sit broken in a little plastic bag on a table beside your unconscious form.

Jack sits in a chair beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at you with bloodshot eyes and praying to a God he long stopped believing in.

He is trying to process the fact that you still wear your wedding rings, that you had them on when you were hit by that fucking drunk driver who he hopes didn’t make it and is flatlining somewhere in PTMC. He never takes his own wedding band off but he was sure you kept yours in a drawer somewhere and he doesn’t fucking know what to do if you don’t wake up.

You don’t look like yourself and he can’t equate the vibrant woman you are with this body in the bed before him.

Robby came in earlier, tried to get Jack to leave and take a shower, eat something, drink water instead of coffee. But Jack refused.

“I’ll watch over her, brother. You need a break.”

Jack had stared at Robby hard. “This is all my fuckin’ fault, man. I—”

Robby had stepped right up to Jack at that moment, putting a large hand on his friend’s shoulder and looking into his eyes, big brown meeting hazel. “You can’t fuckin’ think that way, Jack. It’s not true and it’s not your fault—”

“I let her go, man,” Jack croaks, eyes wet. “I pushed her away because I don’t deserve her, never did, and this—she shouldn’t—I should’ve been with her or, fuck, I don’t know—-”

Jack’s words had broken off and he’d buried his face in his hands.

“We’re not gonna let her go this time,” Robby said, his voice cracked with pain. “She’s like my fuckin’ sister and I’m not — we’re not letting her go. We protect the hive, remember?”

When Jack didn’t answer, Robby remained silent but there, a hand on his shoulder. A steady, constant weight in this fucking nightmare Jack found himself in.

Jack now sits alone. Robby had needed to close out his cases, promising he’d be up again as soon as he was done.

Jack doesn’t know what time it is. Can’t even remember the day of the week.

Jack aches and hurts and he deserves this pain and he just wants you to wake up.

“Please,” he croaks into the quiet room. “Please come back to me, baby. Please.”

The steady beeping in your cold hospital room is the only answer he gets.

It’s the only one he deserves.

#dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x f!reader #the pitt #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x reader #this is sooo good #fic rec #I’m so stressed for like everyone

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