#dr abbot drabble

[superhoeva]

it’s after jack abbot greets to you in the kitchen with his usual kisses to you nose and lips, plus a long, squeezing hug that he pauses.

there’s something about your eyes… beautiful as always, but a familiar haze just behind their usual sparkle that has him pausing to stare. you watch, blinking and gulping as his eyes scan your face.

the seconds that pass stretch over a thick silence, jack only ending it with a squinting sigh. "gimme your hand for a sec, doll."

you abide, hiding the way you bit at the inside of your cheek as you hand places into his. he squeezes it, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles with a warming fondness. the fuzz that fills your stomach zaps away into something that forces you to gasp when abbot plunges two of his fingers into his mouth.

jack recognizes the taste in an instant–you. the tang is still lingering happily. eyes connect with yours, he swirls his tongue once before popping them out of his mouth.

when he tilts his head, you can feel the dissatisfaction rolling off jack in waves. you don't dare look away from his stare–his slightly-annoyed, feverish stare–and give him your best puppy eyes.

"thought i told you to wait," he ignore your pout and steps to you in a long stalk, arms wrapping around your waist to cage you in. pinching at the skin, he sniffs. "how many?"

"just one."

"panties on?" the question comes with a squeeze to your ass.

"mmhm," you hum, "it was quick, i swear. and not even that good since you weren't here..."

he blinks. "it wasn't, huh?"

you shake your head just as jack leans traps you between himself and the counter. a rush of cold douses over you when he backs away with a cocked hip.

"gimme 'em, please," he commands, voice low and edging. the eyebrows he elevates by half an inch stop you from trying to reason with him. with a heavy stare, jack watches as you rid yourself of your shorts before peeling down your still dam panties with a bit lip.

you pass the garment–simple, thin briefs with a lace trim–to him on a single finger, and he's balling it up before you can blink.

"...open."

standing there, you open because what the fuck else would you do, and jack stuffs the underwear against your tongue. planting a kiss on your nose, he spins you gently and leans you against the counter elbows-first.

when you fold at the waist, jack has to smirk to himself because your slit is glistening–still or already, he isn't sure of, yet it doesn't matter. you'll be leaking by the time he's done with you tonight.

"how many you think i'm thinkin', baby?" jack asks, smoothing a palm across the skin of your cheeks. clenching around nothing, you turn to peek at him over your shoulder, words muffled. the man grins at you, winking.

"you said twenty?" eyes widening, you shake your head. you certainly did not say that. "hm. that does does like too many, huh? i'll be nice and bump it down to nineteen."

you huff through your nose and hang your head.

fuck.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[abbotsanatomy]

Can I request a Jack x reader where reader gets hurt while working and Abbot goes insane trying to make sure she’s okay 🤭

⨳ HEART IN YOUR THROAT

pairing: jack abbot x wife!doc!reader warnings: workplace romance, descriptions of injury, depiction of an erratic patient, assault of a healthcare provider. author's note: y'all i wrote this man stressed! (reasonably) he CANNOT lose another wife...

There's a tune stuck in your head, from the drive to work. You're humming it as you look over your most recent patient's labs. But you can't hear yourself anymore when someone yells from somewhere near the ER's ambulance entrance.

'Yell' isn't really the right word, it's more of a shrill screaming that chills you to the core. You're still leaning on the station counter, when you spot Jack running towards the screaming, followed by Ellis.

The computer's immediately abandoned, as you make your way through the ER in a sprint. You pick up a paper gown on the way out, and pull it on, tying it in the back. The emergency entrance's glass doors open automatically, as you make your way through them and onto the road.

It's chilly outside, as can be expected on a winter night in Pittsburgh. You can feel cold air making its way deep into your bones, but you know you have to move quick when you see the patient thrashing violently on a hospital gurney. You can tell Ellis and Jack have already gotten a few kicks to the face, trying to steady the patient's legs, where the blood is making it difficult to asses his injury.

You make for his arms, which are free and way too close to grasping Ellis by the hair. You're pulling him back onto the gurney as gently as possible, pulling both of his arms into yours. There's no way to be reassuring in this kind of situation, but you try anyway. He isn't taking any of it, though. His screaming directly at your face makes you flinch a few times. His wife shouting in the background isn't so comforting either.

Somewhere throughout the struggle, the patient gains on you. You can slowly feel your grip over him slip. With a rough shove from him, you're down on the floor, face planted directly onto the pavement. You can hear a sickening crack when you try to move your face across the concrete. An intense pain shoots up from your nose, and you swear you can feel it in your brain.

"Fuck!" you shout into the ground, and even that hurts.

You can hear John make his way out of the emergency entrance, he almost leans down to check on you, but you give him a thumbs up. You just want this idiot on the gurney out of your sight, then you might get up. He makes his way to help restrain the patient.

Jack's voice is distantly shouting a question at Shen that you can't quite make out. Then, he's right in front of you, pulling you up by your arms before you can protest. There's an almost alarming amount of blood on the pavement where your face was. When he pulls your face up to get a good look, you can taste your own blood making its way down your throat.

You wipe away the blood from your top lip. Any expression you make is so painful you regret ever even having a face. Jack's eyes are going back and forth, analyzing every part of you to make sure there's nothing else besides the glaringly obvious broken nose.

"I think it's..." you take a deep breath in through your mouth, "broken."

The gurney passes you two, crouched on the side of the road. Jack shoots the patient the nastiest glare you've ever seen. He looks ready to kill the man. You're pretty sure he would've at least put him in the hospital if he wasn't already here.

The moment he looks back into your eyes, his face twists into a more comforting expression.

"Yeah?" he smiles, but it barely reaches his eyes, "I think so too, honey. Let's get you up. I'll take care of it."

You let him pull you up to stand. He's still observing you for any signs there might be something else wrong.

"You hurt anywhere else?" he asks, his tone soft.

You shake your head.

Even if you were, you're pretty sure the burning sensation in your face is clouding your judgement. "Nope. Legs just a lil' sore."

"Alright. We'll get 'em looked at."

By that, he means he's going to move you into the ER and damn-near yell at anyone who even suggests he go assist with the patient and let someone else take care of you. You always knew Jack had a protective streak, but seeing it in action is entirely different. You're sure you'd be laughing and making fun of him for it, if speaking and smiling and breathing didn't hurt so bad.

He guides you to one of the ER chairs, and pulls the cubicle curtain closed. The first victim of his very thorough physical examination is your nose, which he packs to stop the bleeding and then gives you a local anesthetic injection in. It dulls the pain and makes the manual realignment feel like barely a gentle pull.

When he's done, he checks you everywhere else. He does a million tests you both know are incredibly excessive. You let him turn your limbs every which way, check your breathing a hundred times, and perform a neuro exam more than ten times, probably.

"I'm fine, Jack," you kindly inform him, for the fifth time since you've sat down, as he flashes a light into your eyes.

He puts the flashlight away and nods, finally acknowledging you. His arms come to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking the skin there. Your eyes meet. When you smile at him, he grimaces.

"Oh my god. Am I really that deformed?" you joke.

He shakes his head slowly, "You could never be anything short of gorgeous in my eyes."

You're about to make another joke, when you realize his eyes hold an intensity in them that's usually reserved for those terribly intimate moments you share, almost exclusively, at your apartment. He looks really fucking scared, too. It’s a proper notch down from how afraid he looked outside, so you’ll take it.

"Where doesn't hurt?" he asks.

You point to your cheek. It isn’t completely pain-free, but it's the only place you can tolerate any kind of pressure and actually feel it. He leans down and presses his lips gently there. It makes your eyes flutter shut instantly. Your hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, keeping him there.

"I think you'll need to perform an even more thorough examination. At home. In bed," you whisper into his ear.

When he laughs against your skin, you turn your face to the side, so you can press your mouth to the side of his jaw. You instantly regret it, though, because your freshly split lip burns.

"Ouch," you complain.

Jack presses one last kiss to your temple, before he pulls away. He grabs his phone out of his front pocket.

"We leave in an hour," he confirms.

"You can nap here. I'll make sure no one wakes you up until it's time to go," his voice is soothing, but you know he's not really asking.

Luckily, you can already feel your eyes droop, so you’re barely arguing anyway. Jack's footsteps are heavy, and when he pulls the curtain open you can tell he hesitates for a moment.

It sounds like he has a smug grin on his face, "And, uh, you're only slightly deformed."

Your eyes shoot open, but before you can grab something to throw at him he's already out of eyeshot.

"You can't say that to your patients, Doctor Abbot!" you yell after him.

The last thing you hear before passing out is his distant laugh.

[john-get-the-salt]

Rage (w/ Jack Abbott)

Imagine: An incident brings the rage out of Jack, but luckily you have the ability to calm him

Contains: Reader who works in the Pitt in unspecified role, angry/protective Jack

Warnings: brief violence towards reader

AN: you can’t convince me Jack wouldn’t BEAT someone’s ass for you. He totally would. And I would thank him

It all happened so fast you barely had time to comprehend what was going on.

One minute you were working in the Pitt, talking to a couple that came in with a DV related injury. You were trying to deescalate the situation and calm down the raging boyfriend-and the next minute you were on the ground, head pounding and vision swimming.

Had he just hit you? You could taste iron on your lips and your hands were stinging from catching yourself on the ground.

You heard someone yelling in the distance, or was that you? You couldn’t tell-and then someone very close to you was calling for security.

You blinked furiously, trying to clear the black spots and finally you focused as a face was coming into view. Robby.

“What-what happened?”

“Can you stand?”

You nodded, wincing when it made a spike of pain radiate through your skull.

Hands were on your forearms-Robby and Dana. They helped you up on wobbling knees, and with a few more blinks your vision was starting to improve again. But you did not like what you saw.

Jack had the man who had hit you pressed up against the wall with his hands pulled behind his back. Jack was hollering in his ear, threats that if he ever touched his girl again he-

“Jack!” You’d never heard Robby’s voice so loud and thundering before. It was enough to get Jack’s attention, and his eyes landed on you.

“Leave him,” Robby ordered. “I will stay with him until security gets here. She’s bleeding she needs you.”

That was enough to snap Jack out of it. He released the man and stalked over to you without another thought. As he reached for your arm your knees began to give out so instead he swept you up into his arms.

Your senses were all jumbled, sounds and sights and thoughts all messed up and nonlinear. You allowed your eyes to close as you were carried, the rocking motion soothing.

“Hey-don’t close your eyes. Not yet, just keep em open for me sweetheart, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and managed to open them and keep them open as Jack finally set you down in a room. Dana closed the door behind you both, leaving it just the 3 of you. She turned the lights lower, which immediately helped with your head.

“I’m ok I just need-what-I’m all jumbled. What happened?”

“He fucking hit you,” Jack seethed as he roughly put on gloves. “I could kill him.”

You winced at the loud voice, causing him to pause and then slow down.

“I got this Dana, just make sure that…fucker stays put until the cops get here.”

Dana didn’t argue, shooting you a look before pulling the curtain shut and leaving.

“The cops? Jack I’m ok you don’t-”

“Don’t.” His voice was calmer now, and that may have fooled other people but it didn’t fool you. You could hear the restrained anger, see it in his set jaw.

He ran you through the usual work up and concluded you most likely had a concussion, though he insisted you’d be getting a head CT just to be safe. You didn’t argue.

“I still don’t really understand what happened,” you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes. Jack, who’d been carefully wiping the blood away from your busted lip, was quiet for a moment.

He then took his gloves off before taking your hands in his, and it was then you realized that he was shaking. You looked up at him and his eyes were glassy.

“Hey-baby, talk to me.”

“I coulda fucking killed him.”

“But you didn’t-

“I wanted too. If Robby hadn’t stopped me I probably would have pummeled him for touching you.”

“Baby-“

“I won’t apologize for that. I’m supposed to protect you-and I didn’t.”

“You can’t be at my side every second of every day. Things are going to happen.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You shook your head. There was no use arguing with the man when he was all worked up like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I hope Robby doesn’t give you too much shit.”

Jack scoffed. “Robby looked like he wanted to sucker punch him too. And I thought Dana was gonna kick him in the dick.”

You laughed and Jack visibly relaxed at the sound.

“You sure you feel ok?”

You nodded, pulling his hands up to your cheeks so he would hold your face.

“I’m sure. Thank you for taking care of me, i love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned in and allowed himself to give you a few delicate kisses, still worried about your head.

“Now do you think the security cameras caught all of that?” You asked, a bit of playfulness back into your voice. “Cause I would like to see all angles of my hot boyfriend coming to my defense and kicking some ass.”

Jack smirked, helping you stand from the exam table.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

“We’re gonna be the talk of the town now,” you said with a sigh. You’d managed to keep your relationship on the down low for the most part, but that was going to be the case anymore.

“To be fair I would’ve gotten involved regardless of who got hurt.”

“Yeah, but that restraint was a bit much.”

“You liked it just fine the other night.”

You punched Jack’s shoulder while he gave you a cheeky grin.

“Shut up and take me to CT. I’m ready to go home.”

“Aye aye captain.”

[mercvry-glow]

Busy bee was so cute - just picturing Lucas drawing a picture for Mel as a thank you and Jack’s like ‘he really liked you - thanks for taking care of my kid’ It just has Mel beaming looking at the kids drawing

little continuation of busy bee

“He really liked you,” Jack said softly as he stood next to Dr. King while finishing some charting.

Mel looked over to him a bit confused, before realizing Dr. Abbot was talking about his son. “Oh yeah- uh… he was very sweet.” the blonde gave him a meek smile, now thinking of the young boy she had spent time with a few days prior.

Slipping a hand into the pocket of his cargos, Jack pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to the younger woman.

"It's supposed to be a thank you, I think. Lucas drew it for you and told me "I had to give it to Dr. King" so... there. He put a lot of work into it supposedly, no idea how it came out. though" He gave her a flat smile, his way of showing her respect for helping out with the incident that had occurred.

"Thank you for being him," and with that said, the two fell into a comfortable enough silence.

Mel walked away, feeling the urge to open the little piece of paper right away—though not in front of Dr. Abbot.

That felt too personal.

Stepping into the bathroom she took a moment before unfolding the parchment. Inside was a smattering of little colorful doodles, many of which were purple.

Flowers, the sun, a dog, and in the middle a drawing of a woman with a blonde braid and glasses.

It made her smile.

The lines were messy, as expected from a five-year-old, but the details were unmistakable—Lucas had really tried to capture her. The figure had a stethoscope around its neck and was standing beside a smaller stick-figure with curly hair, both of them holding hands. Above them, in all capital letters and some backward ones too, reading

"THANK YOU DR. KING 💜"

Mel’s throat tightened just a little. Not realizing how much the moment in the family room had affected her until now—how quiet and scared he had been, how tightly he held her hand.

And now, this.

She blinked a few times, pressing her lips together to keep the emotions at bay, then carefully refolded the picture and tucked it into the chest pocket of her scrubs.

She splashed a little cold water on her face, gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, and left the restroom with a clearer head.

Out on the floor again, things were picking up—alarms chiming, stretchers rolling past, voices rising in coordinated urgency. It was never still for long in the Pitt. But amid the chaos, Mel caught sight of Dr. Abbot at the end of the hall, already with a new patient, eyes locked in as he gave orders.

He hadn’t looked her way again. He didn’t need to.

She was starting to understand Jack Abbot now—how his gratitude was quiet but honest, how fiercely he cared beneath all that defensive sarcasm and night shift wit.

And somewhere in her pocket, a crayon-sketched thank-you from his son warmed her chest.

your honor I love them all

[riverbends]

something something pope cody spots broke single mom reader in a grocery store and he can’t help but watch from around the corner of an aisle as you regrettably tell your kid that you can’t afford to get whatever they’re asking for because you’ve already stocked up on necessities that have reached your budget. for pope, the pout on your kid’s face is only secondary to the anguish that’s written all over yours. the urge to aid, to assuage, is a driving force within him - one that he only recognises when he sees you frown in defeat. the way you comb your fingers through your baby’s hair, trying to comfort them, kinda has him feeling weak and gut-punched. is anybody taking care of you? someone has to. he’s already taken note of the prized item that you don’t have enough to pay for and he’s gone before you can even notice he was watching in the first place.

but then you’re in the parking lot with your kid who’s sighing and pouting as you’re loading the groceries into the trunk of your ancient, half-dead sedan when a strange man rocks up next to you with his own bag of groceries. looks like he’s never smiled a day in his life. doesn’t introduce himself, doesn’t really say anything at all, but he’s handing your kid whatever they were begging you for in the store and they beam up at him like he just gifted them the fucking world. you, on the other hand, are a little sceptical because how did he notice? where on earth did he come from? why is he so eerily quiet? you can only resort to smiling at him and, to your surprise (and your delight), the corner of his mouth just barely quirks up. a little crooked. it warms you. “what do you say to the nice man?” you ask your kid, and they promptly drag out a well-rehearsed ‘thaaaank youuu’. the man nods once. and then he’s on his way, disappearing from view. weeks later, you’ve only just recently caught onto the recurring appearance of a bulky black pickup with tinted windows parked opposite your neighbour’s house. hm. that’s odd.

(update: i decided to continue this here)

[angelltheninth]

Jack Abbot Fucks You in a Medical Closet

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, fucking in a closet, clit stimulation, secret relationship, keeping quiet, praise, kissing, age-gap

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Been in a mood lately where I'm into dilf characters. Who can relate?

This was a bad idea. Such a bad idea. You should have both waited until you got home. But you didn't, you couldn't. Instead you found and empty closet and as soon as the door closed Jack was already pushing his pants down and fishing out his hard cock. It made it so hard for him to walk and it was all your fault for looking at him while licking your lips and pretending like it was hot in the hospital so you had to unbutton a button or two, showing the top of your breasts.

"Think I'm gonna let you get away with teasing me all day, you little brat? You know what you do to me. You know I can't hold back around you." So why should he even try? He held you by the hips, his fingers pressing into warm skin, your back and shoulders against the cold wall, warm, hungry lips on your neck.

Jack thrust his cock in and out of your pussy, not carrying how much noise he made, or you made. And he really should have cared. He was supposed to be the older, more serious one in the relationship.

Not behaving like he was still in his mid.20s but here he was, doing just that. Fucking his pretty, younger girlfriend in the medical supply closet. Reckless. Wild. Lustful.

You hooked one leg around him and pushed him in further, making the normally in control doctor groan in pleasure. "Actually I don't expect you to let me get away with it. But also don't blame me if we get caught."

Jack moved faster, both enticed and scared of getting caught fucking the hot nurse. It was unprofessional on multiple levels.

As he fucked you deeper he moved one hand against your stomach, your front and back revealed to him as your shirt was now fully open. Moving even lower he pressed his thumb against your clit, the wetness making it easy to glide and press against the sensitive spot. He always enjoyed teasing that spot, sometimes under the table during long meetings and see how much you could take before you trapped his hand between your thighs. But what he craved more than anything was the feeling of his cock being squeezed when he flicked your clit.

The more he teased and tortured your clit the harder it became to keep your voice down. You pulled Jack into a kiss, not because of lust, but because you wanted to shut yourself up. He wasn't gonna do it. Jack enjoyed hearing you whimper because of him.

"Come on, my good girl. Stop holding back. We both know we need to finish this quickly. Or would you prefer to get transferred to a different hospital and reprimanded? I wouldn't. I'm fucking addicted to fucking your cunt." He wasn't normally this chatty but he knew that dirty talk and praise got you going when it was from him.

Your pussy fluttered and contracted around his cock, cursing the condom he wore because you wanted to feel his cum flood you. As a nurse you knew the risk of something like that, and yet you couldn't help but frown as you watched him slide out, take the full condom off and tie it before throwing it into the trash.

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[robbysreaders]

Getting Dr. Jack Abbot to go on vacation is virtually impossible. But you catch wind of a rare four-day break in his schedule and book an all-inclusive in the Caribbean before he can protest.

He agrees reluctantly. Or so it seems. Deep down, he’s ecstatic. Four uninterrupted days with you? He wouldn’t admit it, but it’s exactly what he needs.

He samples every signature cocktail at the resort and brings each one back for you to try, grinning like a teenager. In the pool, he never lets go of you. On the walk to dinner, his fingers brush yours constantly. Back in the room, sun-kissed and a little sunburned, you shower together—laughing, relaxed, blissed out.

A couple calls from work interrupt the spell, but you’re used to that. Mostly it’s Robby: pestering Jack about a new medical journal article, their fantasy league standings, and—of course—whether he’s proposed to you yet. (He hasn’t. Not on this trip. He wants to plan that moment right.)

On the flight home, he mopes like a kid leaving summer camp. “You enjoy your vacation, Dr. Abbot?” you tease. “Gonna make us wait another year before taking another four-day break?” He chuckles, already thumbing through bookmarked vacation spots on his phone.

Back at the hospital, he takes the team’s chirps in stride. He’s rested. Ready. And completely, undeniably in love with you.

[justanotherspine]

The Pitt x Supernatural AU

Back with more AU headcannons :)

Just my opinions on who’d be what creature

Abbot’s a vampire. Literally you cannot convince me that this man is anything else. He joined the army to become a medic bc he’s seen so much suffering and pain and he wanted to help others as much as he can

Samira’s a fairy. She’s one of the helpful ones who grants wishes and offers guidance. She also uses her powers for good, such as healing or curing illnesses. If she grants a wish, it has to be for good and if not, well she’ll make you rue the day you tricked her

Santos is a siren. You cannot tell me that this woman does not hate men (esp men who use their power over others for their own selfish gain) She’ll use her powers to hunt down men who have wronged others or hurt women. If you’ve never hurt anyone before (esp children and women) she’ll let you be

Mel would be a guardian angel. She’d protect those who cannot protect themselves. So this includes children, those who might be ill or weak, those who others prey on due to them having a disability or being on the spectrum.

Robby would be a ghost. He’s constantly being haunted by his past, never fully able to move on to the next realm. But he tries his best to help others not make the same mistakes he did

Frank would be a mischievous fairy. He’d be going around playing pranks or just screwing up people’s lives for the fun of it. He doesn’t do it out of malice but entertainment. He thrives off the chaos

I feel like Ellis would be a hellhound. She gives off soldier vibes who follows the rules to a T. So she keeps people in their place. The dead stay in the underworld and those who are not supposed to be there won’t get past her.

Dana would be a Druid, guiding others and teaching them about the supernatural. She’d oversee everything and also heal those who were harmed. She’d also play mediator between those who wouldn’t get along

Whittaker’s a werewolf. He was turned as a teenager. It’s why the poor boy always looks so tired and worn out. It takes him the majority of the month to recover from the one night he transforms. Plus he’s very lanky which is why no one suspects the boy’s a very powerful werewolf

Javadi’s a witch. She’s been studying spells and such since she could speak. Her family is part of a massive coven and her parents in particular are very powerful witches. She’s spends her whole life trying to get to their level and be just as respected as they are

Mateo would also be a werewolf, but born as one which is why he’s not as tired and worn out as Whittaker

I feel like McKay, Shen, Emory, Garcia, and Donnie would be hunters (but I’m not too sure if that’s the case for all of them)

Okay that’s all I got but would love to hear your takes on this! <3

[traumaone]

Immature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 1.8k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby loses his temper on you, and you're not quick to forgive, then tragedy strikes, and Robby's not answering his phone

note: some of you may notice that I took down the smut drabble I posted yesterday, I wasn't happy with it, so I took it down, but please accept this in its place. there will be a part two!!

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

Robby had spoken those words over a week ago.

It had been in the middle of a close to mass casualty event, a blood soaked emergency room crowded with victims from one of the worst car pile ups you’d ever seen.

You had never performed an emergency c-section before, especially not on someone who had been actively bleeding out. It would’ve taken too long to call an attending in for help, so OB walked you through it over the phone, Garcia assisted, and both the mother and the baby had made it through (relatively) safe and sound. It had been a victory, a save worthy of celebration in the form of too many cocktails, until Robby found out.

He’d given you the grace of scolding you away from prying ears, but that hadn’t lessened the burn. 

Robby had been too harsh, way too harsh.

You lacked discipline, didn’t respect the chain of command, didn’t respect him. When it came down to it, you were too much of a cowboy, too flexible with the rules of medicine. You were ‘too much like Abbot in the worst ways’.

Tears had threatened to spill, burning and insistent, but you’d blinked them back. 

You had avoided his eyes when you’d told him that you had saved more patients today than any other doctor, that you had been the one to pick up the slack when others had faltered, that he had no right to pick and choose when he thought you were qualified enough to handle things on your own.

You had successfully avoided him for the rest of your shift.

Day One

Meet me out front before your shift. Please.

The message comes through just as you leave your apartment building. 

You scare the living daylights out of a flock of pigeons with how hard you slam your door.

You don’t respond to his messages, but you do wait outside the doors to the ED, ten minutes early to your shift, pacing back and forth like a mad woman.

Robby walks up five minutes later, headphones in and sunglasses on. Usually that sight would make your heart flutter, but in this moment, it infuriates you.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” You keep your voice clip, painfully professional.

He flinches, but tucks his sunglasses into the front of his hoodie. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do.”

Robby sighs. “Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.”

It’s completely genuine, almost heartbreakingly sincere. Somehow, you still don’t completely forgive him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” Not really. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

You brush past him before he can get another word in.

Robby follows you through the ER, hot on your heels, but you don’t turn around. You ignore the strange look from Lupe, let the door almost smack him in the face on the way through, skip past your usual morning debrief with Dana and head right towards the nearest patient.

You should forgive him, you know you should. It’s not reasonable to stay so angry about something that had been spoken in the middle of a crisis, but in this moment, you don't care.

You were beyond capable, better than most that had come through this program. Abbot had known that the moment he’d met you, and you thought Robby knew, but maybe he didn’t. He deserved to be ignored, shown the error of his ways, at least for the rest of your shift.

Maybe it’s cruel, but you’re feeling cruel today.

Day Three

He walks through the door with two coffee’s. One completely black, his order, and one with two creams and two sugars, your order.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” It’s a casual lie, an excuse to talk. You never drink coffee before noon.

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” You don’t take the cup from his hand, don’t even look him in the eye.

Once again, it’s cruel. But you’re still feeling hurt, inadequate. 

Robby pushed his way between you and your desk, nudging your chair back just far enough to step between your knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” His eyes are unbelievably warm, and it’s almost enough to make you crack.

“You’re forgiven.” You shrug, reaching around him to grab your coffee. “I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

“Buttercup, I-”

“It’s Doctor,” You interrupt, pushing up from your chair till the two of you are almost nose to nose. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

Robby doesn’t back down, and neither do you. It’s tense, probably awkward for many of the nearby bystanders, but it’s the closest he’s been to you in days. He smells incredible, spices, leather, and the slightest hint of antiseptic . He always smells good, but something about being upset with him seems to elevate it.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana calls out, a phone pinned between her ear and shoulder. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby responds, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You all but stomp towards the ambulance bay, annoyance weighing down your shoulders.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby hands are harsh as they tie the back of your gown. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby, surprisingly, stays true to his word. He hovers by the door, hands behind his back, and doesn't question your decisions. You stabilize the patient in record time, handing them off to the nurses with a strange sense of satisfaction boiling in your stomach.

You turn towards Robby, a cocky smirk on your lips as you tear off your gloves. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

Robby laughs, rough and deep. 

“Believe me,” He whispers under his breath, his eyes locked on you as you practically strut out of the trauma room. “I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

Robby pauses. “And who’s going to be covering you?”

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.”

You frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” Robby agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” You do, really. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh. “Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Two days later, you’re somehow back where you started, covered in blood, surrounded by patients in need of treatment, but Robby’s not there, unreachable, actually, and it’s driving you insane.

Abbot tells you a transport crashed through a nearby cafe, decimated the entire building and grievously injured around thirty people. You ask the name of the cafe out of pure curiosity, and Abbot says The Filter. It’s ridiculously overpriced for drinks that aren’t even that good, but it’s Robby’s favorite.

Every sunday night since you met him, Robby has sat in one of the window seats of that cafe, drinking a cup of expensive tea, and decompressing before heading home. And tonight is sunday night, Robby  just handed his patients over to Abbot, and bid you both goodbye before heading for the same cafe that had just been taken out by a transport, and he’s not answering his phone.

You’ve been unbelievably immature all week, taken out your frustrations on him, and now he might be gone. He might’ve died thinking you hated him.

Medical work is done through deep breaths and the threat of tears. You check every patient's face for too long, hoping not to recognise his features beneath the blood and debrief. He doesn’t come through the ambulance bay, and he doesn’t call.

Once all the patients are stable, Abbot sends you out for air and you don’t fight him. You shed your gown and gloves, slipping your sweater back on, and wander through the maze of gurneys till the fresh air hits your face.

Your throat is so tight you can hardly breath, and still, the screen of your phone is blank. No missed calls, no texts, not even an email.

You can hear the sound of feet scuffing on pavement, but you don’t look up. It’s probably a paramedic returning to their rig, a nurse coming out for a smoke break, a-

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”

It’s Robby’s voice, rough, and warm, and so familiar it makes you want to cry, and you do.

“You’re…” Your voice breaks. He’s in front of you, standing tall and completely intact, his brows furrowed in concern and confusion when he catches sight of the tears streaming down your face.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You can only respond in sobs, your chest aching as the tears you’d been forcing back all night finally come free. Robby pulls you against him, his face buried in your hair as he whispers quiet hushes. You cling to him, press your head to his chest and cry even harder when you hear the steady beat of his heart.

“I thought you were dead.” Your words come out in a hoarse whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone.” You choke back another sob, desperate to get your words out. “I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

“Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.” He holds you tighter, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to calm you, but it only makes you worse.

“You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.” You pull away, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” Robby keeps his hands on your shoulders, reluctant to let go of you.

You look up at him, tears brimming your eyes, but you blink them away. “I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles, far too fondly for how you’re guessing you look right now. “I know.”

You stare at each other in a few seconds of comfortable silence before speaking again. “Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll come inside and help.” 

“You don’t need to.” You try to argue, but it’s half-hearted.

“I know,” Robby nods, his hand lifting to wipe a few stray tears from your cheek. “But I want to.”

[abbotsanatomy]

⨳ taking care of each other in the ER

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: age gap (28 and 49), resident/attending relationship, just fluff. author's note: this is purely inspired by the fact that i need someone to take care of this man.

As ER doctors, no one's really looking to take care of you. Not in the moment, anyway. Sure, they'll send their thanks in letters and buy you coffees and desserts later. But when you're in the midst of a grueling 12-hour night shift and you haven't eaten in nine hours, no one notices. So, you and Abbot learn to.

It's a habit born out of necessity. An attending can't have a starving chief resident, and a sleep-deprived teacher's no good for any student. It all begins long before any ideas of a romantic relationship ever popped into either of your heads.

Jack started it by buying your coffee most nights. He'd gradually come in with two cups of coffee more often than one. He always gets your order just right.

‘The usual’ at his favorite coffee shop becomes your coffee and his. He finds himself requesting it, even if you aren't even going to be at the ER that day. He isn't a wasteful man, but the ritual of holding two cups to work is one he cherishes. It tricks his brain into thinking you'll be there. Sometimes that's exactly what he needs.

On a Thursday in January, you notice the muscles of his shoulders are a little tighter, his walk is more tense. It worries you.

You desperately want to just get in there and rub the tension away with your fingers. You know it'd be wildly inappropriate, though. You try your hardest not to think about the suppressed noises you could pull out of your attending, as you give him the kneading of a lifetime.

It's all so unrealistic, you quickly realize. Instead, you look for the best rated masseur in town. They sound really nice on the phone, and that solidifies your decision. You find him at the hospital counter, with the proposal, an hour later.

“Hey, boss,” you joke.

He barely even looks up. You can tell he's suspicious of your tone already.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

You laugh it off, looking away. You pull your phone out. It’s immediately shoved into his face, because you know the only way you can get yourself to tell him is if you’re met with the possibility of ending this a lot more awkwardly.

Your voice comes out more happy than intended, “I know this great place for a massage.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but there's a tight smile on his lips. You throw the huge pitch you had planned out of the window, and just decide to be direct.

“I just... You've been a little slow on your feet lately. You look like you're in pain half of the time. I wanted to help,” you ramble.

Jack turns away from the computer he was typing on to face you fully. His arms are crossed in front of his chest. He's still smiling at you, nodding his head at every word. You're just trying to give him your best 'please don't fire me' smile.

“You think I'm getting too old? Is that it?” he whispers.

“What?!” you scream, “No! No. Of course not.”

“You're fine. You're great,” you insist, and his shoulders shake as he starts laughing quietly at you.

Your face is stuck in a grimace from the unimaginable embarrassment you’re feeling. When he starts laughing more openly, you find yourself doing the same.

He turns his head to the side, and leans in, “You know you're not my assistant, right?”

You nod quickly, “Of course I know that.”

This is serious. You're not going to let him derail the conversation like he usually does when it gets a little personal.

“Just...let me. Please,” you plead. “I'm trying to repay you for all of those coffees. I'm scared if I don't the universe is going to drop a piano on my head or something. I owe you, like, a lot of money.”

His eyes narrow, and his lips are set in a thin line. After a good minute of just staring at each other, he's called away by a nurse. He sighs and gives you a look that tells you he's giving in. Then, he just starts walking away wordlessly.

“Is that a yes?” you yell after him.

“Sure! Fine, whatever,” he yells back.

You grin victoriously, and confirm your booking on the day you know he isn't working.

The smile you have on your face when he finally comes in a lot more relaxed is much bigger.

Eventually, the massages become a monthly thing. You book him one whenever you notice he's a little more tense, and just text him a screenshot of the booking. He hasn't missed a single one.

Jack Abbot is very good at observing patterns, especially when it comes to his team's work ethic. He sees how you thrive on validation. His, specifically. And the man's more than happy to shower you with praises, if that's what you need.

He tries to tone down how it makes him feel when you get flustered at his compliments, when you're stumbling over your words to quip back every time he jokingly says something like your incision was "more clean than usual."

It gets to a point where it's almost like he's always on the lookout for a way to celebrate you. Always hovering, always prepared to tell you you're doing a good job.

Every single time you're trying something new, he's there. Mostly because he has to guide you through it, but also because he knows that if he's telling you you're doing fine, you'll be confident on your second, third, and fourth time. He tells himself the reason it brings him so much pride when he sees you doing well is because you're his resident. Your skill is reflective of his teaching, after all.

His, his, his. The word replays in his mind every single time.

You, on the other hand, can't exactly tell your attending he's so great all the time. He doesn't need a complex. Besides, you know it isn't what he wants. You focus on expressing your admiration when he isn't doing so good.

When he looks more tired than usual, you stand a little closer. When he reaches his tipping point, you tell him to take a break with a hand to pull him away by his arm. When he loses a patient and it hits him hard, you make sure no one's looking and put a hand on his shoulder to ground him.

The amount of respect and appreciation you have for him is hidden in all of these touches. Every time your skin comes into contact with his, you're pouring all of the things you feel for him into it. Hoping, begging, praying it all reaches him.

Even if it doesn't, you're glad to see him sigh in relief. You're happy, watching his breathing even out, and his eyes flit to yours in gratitude.

There are moments that give you both equal, sweet relief. They happen during those nights when it's quieter in the ER. Everyone's just getting through quick non-emergency emergencies. It makes you feel less guilty when you take a break for some lunch outside.

There's this unspoken pact, that whenever it's one of those nights, you both meet at the same bench. You share your food, you laugh, you talk about your lives outside of work.

It's new, completely undiscovered territory.

Sometimes, you'll let yourself drift off to sleep on his shoulder. It only ever lasts a few minutes, but it's always the best sleep you ever get.

Sometimes, he'll open up about his past. You try not to cry, every time. It's hard. When he tells you about how he lost his leg, you do. He ends up being the one to comfort you with a smile on his face.

Sometimes, you hold hands. It's the most either of you can manage without having to admit how you feel about each other.

One time, he asks to walk you back to your apartment after your shift. When you're at your front door, you beg him to come inside. You make breakfast together. You fall asleep on the couch.

When you wake up, it's time for another shift. For the first time, you're actually glad to be going. Because you know someone's looking out for you, and you have someone to look out for.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you have a one night stand with an extremely attractive older man, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll see him again. fate has other plans, it seems.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23) unexpected pregnancy, light smut, reader and jack have both been drinking but are very eager/consent is definitely there. MDNI

notes: i am still working on former stripper!reader, but this came to me and i had to get it out. i think this will be a series of smaller drabbles, instead of a full one shot, but idk, what do you guys think/prefer? unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, especially reblogs/asks!

wc: 1.3k

next

You meet Jack Abbot in a dark bar on a Thursday. You, drug out by your friends, begging you to just let loose for once. Him, alone, on his last night off for the week, mentally preparing to go back to work the next day.

You caught his eye from across the room, and feeling brave, and of course egged on by your friends, you make your way over to him.

The first thing he does is ask you how old you are, to which you give a cheeky response of old enough. At the unamused look you receive, you tell him you’re twenty-three.

Jack nearly choked on his drink at that, and nearly tells you that you’re too young for him. But the pretty and cheeky smile you give him makes a small smirk appear on his face, so he doesn’t.

The second thing he does is order you a sweet fruity drink and a double shot of whiskey for himself.

One round turns into two which turns into three. You laugh a lot, and he laughs at your laugh. Jack tells you briefly about his time in the army, and in turn you tell him about your evil boss that you just know is out to get you.

I’m an ED doctor, he mumbles in your ear after you ask what he does for work

An eating disorder doctor? He snorts at your question.

“No, emergency department, like an ER,” You blush as he laughs at you, nearly choking as he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go.

You don’t even realize that you had effectively abandoned your friends and had been talking to Jack the entire night until one of them comes to ask if you’re ready to go.

You look at Jack, sheepish smile on your face and a glint in your eyes.

You end up at his place, his mouth on yours and calloused hands pawing greedily at your tits under your shirt before he even gets the door closed.

“Your skin is so soft,” He mumbles as he leaves open mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck and back up again.

You moan, “I like the way your hands feel on my skin,”

Your hands tangle in his hair as you force his mouth back on yours, teeth clashing as his tongue fights yours for dominance, ultimately winning when you distract yourself trying to get his shirt off of him.

As quickly as his shirt comes off, he has you topless, your shirt and bra tossed somewhere in his living room.

The rest of the night is a blur, but you know he fucked you in some way, shape, or form on nearly every surface of his home, from eating you out on the couch, to fingering you until you managed to squirt all over his countertops as he made you drink water to stay hydrated, to fucking you dumb on his cock in at least six different positions on his bed, and once more pressed against the shower wall before putting his shirt on you and holding your body pressed up against his body while you slept the entire night.

The next morning the two of you chatted over breakfast. No awkwardness, he goes out of his way to make you laugh over his disgusting coffee, as so affectionately deemed it.

He doesn’t ask for your number, so you don’t ask for his. You kiss the side of his mouth as you leave him.

Jack goes to work, business as usual, but he thinks about you every day for the next eight weeks. Wondering if your boss ever let up on you or if you tried that new Italian place you were wanting to eat at.

You spend the next eight weeks stressed beyond belief. Work eating at your soul and consuming your entire life. You do think about Jack almost every day, contemplating going back to that bar just to see if he’s there.

But you don’t ever get the time, and your next meeting is an unexpected one to say the least.

Slipping on the wet floor in a grocery store was embarrassing, but hitting your head on the way down was mortifying. You were going to have to find a new grocery store.

The situation just keeps getting worse as the paramedics show up, telling you they have to take you to the emergency room since you show signs of a concussion and your nose is bleeding.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan. I hear you took a bit of a fall?” The doctor is pretty, and her smile seems genuine as she talks to you.

“Uh, you could say that. This all could’ve been avoided if they had a wet floor sign out at the grocery store, though,”

She laughs, “You would be surprised how often we see that here,”

She starts going through the usual string of questions you get at the ED. You answer them all until she gets to the last one, “And when was the date of your last period?”

All of a sudden, your mind is blank. Surely you’ve had it, right? You had to have.

“I-I guess I don’t remember,” It comes out a whisper, and your brow is furrowed as you try and try to remember. You know you had it.

Dr. Mohan senses your inner turmoil, “No worries, we can do a blood test,”

She takes your blood and tells you she’s going to go order a CT for your head, “just sit tight.” With a mind smile, she’s gone.

You sit there, trying to rack your brain. There is no way you’re pregnant. No fucking way.

It takes what feels like an hour for Dr. Mohan to come back, ultrasound machine in tow, “So, I have your test results, and it does appear that you are pregnant. We’ll have to do an ultrasound to confirm how far along you are, but after that we should be able to get you to CT,”

“What the fuck.” Is all you can manage, eyes wide as you look at her, “Are you, like, certain?”

She places a hand on your own, squeezing in a comforting manner, “The ultrasound will be to confirm, but blood tests are rarely wrong,”

She gets you situated and pulls the gown up so she can rub the probe over your abdomen, “I am hopeful we won’t have to do this vaginally,”

She quickly places the cold jelly on your abdomen and runs the probe over it, trying to find a fucking baby. You feel like you might throw up.

“And there they are,” There’s a smile on her face and she shows you.

“Oh my god,” You think you’re in shock “I think I’m gonna throw up,”

“Oh!” She quickly steps into action, grabbing a bucket and rubbing your back while you vomit.

“I think this is the worst day of my life,” She gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“The vomiting could be due to the fall you took,” She bites her lip, “CT is pretty backed up, let me go get my attending to see if he can take a look and find something that can get you moved up the list. I’ll be right back,”

She quickly walks out, and you feel tears building quickly in your eyes. How the fuck could you let this happen?

And now, you’ll have to awkwardly face Jack and tell him your passionate night has resulted in this situation.

He didn’t even ask for your number for crying out loud.

Your downward spiral is interrupted when Dr. Mohan returns, with the last person you wanted to see right now.

“This is my attending, Dr. Abbot.” She gestures to him. “Dr. Abbot, I have a twenty-three year old female, approximately eight weeks pregnant with a possible concussion,”

You don’t hear another word that passes her lips, eyes glued to him, and he looks just as shocked and horrified as you feel.

[silens-oro]

Senior Citizen Behavior

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: For the first time in a very long time, it isn't Robby who's coming home late after his shift. Word Count: 1,421 Content Warning: Age gap; No age specified, but I typically write readers with Robby or Abbot as 30+ in my mind. Tooth-rotting fluff. A/N: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble and ended up being a one-shot because I can't help myself when presented with an old man on a silver platter, so there's that.

please comment & reblog :)

It was just before 10pm when you quietly let yourself into the apartment you shared with Robby -a whole two and a half hours later than you were supposed to leave the office, but the end of the quarter was quickly approaching and extra hours were required to be put in by your entire team. 

Gotta think of the shareholders, you thought bitterly to yourself as you shook the snow off of your head and toed your boots off at the door. Your bag and coat found their homes on the wall hooks in the entryway next to Robby’s jacket and bag, and you tiptoed down the hall to the soft glow coming from the living room.  

Robby was an absolute sight when you caught a glimpse of him on the sofa. Mindful to step around the known creaky floorboards, you rounded the sofa to see what the damage was. He texted you earlier in the day that the first couple of hours of his shift were an absolute doozy, and when he called you on his way home he yapped about a fist fight that broke out between two patients who were there because of a fight that landed them in the ED to begin with. 

"Round Two in the Emergency Department," he had said, still beside himself when the department turned into the set of Jerry Springer. 

“Sounds like an episode title of It’s Always Sunny,” you joked into your desk phone as you typed into the blurring Smartsheet on your monitor that you had been working away on for the last three hours straight. You let him know that it was going to be a late night for you and to not wait up. He needed his beauty sleep.

It was a nightmare Robby was all too happy to leave in the hands of Dr. Jack Abbot and his (loving) freakshow of a night shift -they were more than equipped to handle it and Robby couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

All Robby wanted to do by the time he stepped out of those automatic doors and into the fresh air was get home, take a hot shower, eat a good meal, and wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor -and maybe put a movie on so he could fall asleep before the opening credits finished. It wasn’t too much to ask for, and yet Robby found he had the apartment all to himself because you (in an absolute rarity) ended up as the one who had to work late this time around, so he made due with what he had. 

He took his shower and made a quick meal for the both of you before getting comfortable on the sofa with a book he started on his last day off. He got maybe three pages in, blinked once, and the next thing Robby knew, he was out. If you were there, he would’ve told you that he was just resting his eyes for a moment and he was definitely not asleep. No, he wasn’t snoring. All allegations were denied in this situation (that happened many times before), but you'd always give him a knowing smile with a sarcastic ‘sure' thrown his way. 

Senior citizen behavior, you had joked once and he nearly smothered you with the weight of his body as he draped himself on top of you until you apologized through a fit of laughter.  

Robby was sitting mostly upright on the sofa, leaning on a few throw pillows that propped his elbow up on the arm rest. He was in his comfy cardigan (the one he only wore at home after he had taken a shower) with his round readers hanging precariously on the tip of his nose and his latest book smashed flat against his chest. His feet, wearing coziest winter socks because the man was never barefoot in the house, were crossed ankle over ankle on the coffee table making his impossibly long legs appear to be even longer than they already were. 

Robby’s head was tilted back just enough to make his mouth open the tiniest bit, allowing soft snores (that he would deny til he was blue in the face) to escape while he rested -blissfully unaware of his audience, and you couldn’t stop the breathy laugh that escaped you even if you tried. 

“Oh, you are never beating the senior citizen allegations now, Robby.” You teased in a whisper as you carefully removed the readers that were dangerously close to falling off the tip of his nose. You folded the arms carefully and set them on the side table next to the base of the lone lamp that illuminated the room, before gently prying the book from his (more than likely cramped) hand. The book itself was flat on his chest, pages splayed open on the last page he read -or attempted to, anyway. Not seeing a bookmark anywhere, you dog-eared the page and set it next to his glasses with care. 

Robby grumbled incoherently when your palm came to rest on his bearded cheek. The dark circles that were starting to reappear under his eyes made your lips tilt down for a fraction of a second, knowing he was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well. Between what happened with Pittfest just four months ago, and Frank’s situation that Robby blamed himself for (not for Frank using, but for Robby not seeing it until a first day intern pointed it out to him), and the goddamn Patient Satisfaction Scores he was constantly drilled about like the ED was a Primanti Bros. franchise -on top of whatever other bullshit Gloria threw at him, he needed to take some time to himself so he could disconnect -if only for a few days. The problem was that Robby wasn’t the type to disconnect. He felt an obligation because if not him, then who?

It hurt your heart to think of the weight Robby carried day in and day out, like he was Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders, not because he needed to be punished, but because he needed to be useful and this was the only way he knew how to be. Robby was a great man with an enormous heart who constantly gave himself away at the expense of never getting those pieces back. And while you tried to replace what you could, for every piece you returned, two more were taken away in its place. The toll it took on him was getting more and more noticeable by the day, but still he trudged on. It’s who Robby was, and would always be. 

Waking him up when you knew he needed the rest was the last thing you wanted to do, but you knew if you left him on that couch he was liable to wake up with something out of alignment and that was the absolute last thing he needed. 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead tenderly, then down to his nose, and finally landed on his ever so slightly parted lips (that he was 100% not snoring through). Robby’s eyes started to flutter and a sleepy grin tilted his lips up when he cracked them open and saw you standing over him. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” You whispered, “I told you that you didn’t have to wait up for me. Your back is going to be screamin' at you.”

“Clearly I didn’t wait up,” He joked, groaning at how stiff he felt from sleeping in the position he was in. He yawned as he stretched his arms up, pulling his t-shirt up to reveal just the slightest sliver of his happy trail low on his stomach, and gently grabbed your hand to pull you down to the sofa so you could snuggle into his side.

Robby drowsily kissed the side of your head as you wrapped your arms around his middle, letting one of your hands slip underneath his soft cotton t-shirt to rub at his ribs affectionately. It didn’t take you very long into your relationship with Robby to figure out that skin to skin contact, specifically in a non-sexual setting, was something he craved. It was comforting and intimate in a way that grounded him and so it became a ritual whenever the two of you had brief moments together that you were more than happy to oblige in. It was never explicitly stated between you, he never asked for it, but you just knew and he loved you for it. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you. Figured you’d be starving when you got home.” His words were muffled because he still hadn't moved. You gently tilted your head up to look at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were pronounced and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was -especially when he was smiling. “Because I do. You’re the best.” You smiled up at him, giving him a loving peck. Robby let the kids linger, cupping your jaw to keep you close to him. 

“I try.” He breathed against you, dodging the attention by pressing his forehead to yours. He found comfort in the lingering smell of your shampoo and the warmth that radiated off of you. 

“You do more than try, Robby, and I will always appreciate that.” Again, you kissed him tenderly, your hand coming up to gently scratch at his beard. He gave you the stink eye when you laughed at the tiny groan he let out when you did it.

"I know you do, even if you are a pain in my ass. I love you all the more for it."

please comment & reblog :)

[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

[riverbends]

https://www.tumblr.com/andrewcodymybeloved/781526766708719616/fuckin-wrong-baz-i-will-have-his-babies

omg ok hear me out…

Imagine overhearing this convo or having pope sadly tell you about it. Imagine having to try to cheer him up and convince him that you would have his children.

Like I would let my man breed me on the spot… but that’s just me

YES. it terrifies him to think that baz might be right—that andrew cody can only harm, never nurture.

he probably wouldn’t tell you about it though. too scared you might agree with baz. you’d have to be eavesdropping nearby and you’d bring it up later in your own home, maybe sitting down somewhere. i reckon the couch, late at night. he’s got some NatGeo documentary on and you watch quietly with him. you’ve got your feet in his lap, your ankles locked under his hands.

maybe you ask him if you can have his baby. you say it like you’re trying to borrow his shirt.

(nsfw-ish stuff below the cut)

he just turns his head and looks at you with that signature frown of his. the question makes his throat go dry so when he says “what?”, you can barely hear him.

“baby or no baby?”

still staring at you, mouth a little parted. he’s utterly perplexed while you wait for him to answer.

“i don’t understand,” he whispers. then blinks. you shrug and lightly nudge a foot into his thigh before his hands tighten over your ankles. he wants to know what the fuck you’re talking about.

“i want a baby,” you say, so simply. “whenever it suits you, of course.”

you watch him breathe. the light from the tv licks at his face. he lets eyes his fall to your childless stomach, and then to the floor. and then his attention is back on the documentary without a word. but you smile to yourself because you know his brain is probably trying to compute the possibility now and he has to figure out if you knew what baz said to him earlier. and how. and why on earth you would want such a thing from himself of all people.

when you’re in bed, he still doesn’t address it. he just summarises something he’s supposed to do with the boys tomorrow. asks you what time you’re finishing work so he can pick you up after collecting lena from school.

in the dark, he rests on his back while you nestle into his side. his heartbeat thumps steadily under your open palm.

“what did you mean?” he murmurs into your hair and you lift your head.

“jesus, you know what i meant,” you laugh.

when he doesn’t say anything, you’re getting up and straddling him. he lets you, of course. he always will. you just have to adjust your clothes before you can take him to the hilt. pleasure swallows him as you ride your way up. his hands are iron on your thighs.

you lean down, rolling your pelvis against his while he’s still inside, and you just tell him to keep going until it takes. he nods like he’s obeying an order. and then he’s got you on your back. he’s going for a home run. he does exactly as he was told and keeps going until he knows it takes.

…….guys you have to put me down like an animal or i fear i will never stop WTF

[thescarletfang]

breathe, baby

I couldn't stop thinking about these two from this drabble I wrote, so I expanded upon it.

breathe, baby: jack abbot x f!doctorreader

word count: 5.8k

summary: the day dr. jack abbot accidentally calls you "baby" during a shift is a day that changes everything.

warnings: MDNI!!!!!!!! 18+, lil angst, fluff, smut, sliiiiight breeding kink?? praise kink, feelings etc

******

The day Dr. Abbot accidentally calls you “baby” during a shift is the day that everything changes.

 

If you’re being completely honest, you think it’s been building toward this for awhile, but you’re too afraid to let your brain linger on that thought for very long.

You’re his top resident and you two have a rhythm. Years and moments and fragments built upon pain and trust and chaos. Lingering looks, a language of your own working together. A rough, strong hand on the small of your back as he passes behind you. A coffee set down in front of you, just the way you like it, accompanied with a muttered, “Hang in there,” out of the corner of his mouth. A “lemme walk you home” grumbled to you after a harrowing shift. 

Quiet moments on the rooftop after losing a patient. Not saying anything. Just fucking existing together, shoulders brushing, this quiet, strong, capable man a safe space for you after all this time.

You both ignore the knowing looks from Shen and Ellis and Walsh and fuck, even Robby and Dana have made comments about how the two of you disappear into your own world when working together.

Jack always just quirks the corner of his mouth up at their teasing, then gets back to work. Your face is always warm for at least twenty minutes after one of their barbs. 

But this day - it’s fucking hard.

You almost lost a patient. A teenage girl. You watch them roll her up to the OR after she’s finally, finally stabilized. But this one hit differently. She just…she reminded you of you. 

You’re rooted to the spot and it’s hard to breathe and everyone else is clearing out and your vision is swimming and you think, please let me just disappear—-

“Breathe, baby. Breathe. You fuckin’ rocked that shit, okay?”

It’s out of the corner of Dr. Abbot’s mouth, a passing comment, in that low rasp of his voice.

Your eyes dart up to him, but Dr. Abbot— Jack — is moving away, taking off his bloody gloves and throwing them into the trash. He’s already moving on to the next patient, the next case, and you can’t even catch his eye, you just watch his steady, slightly uneven gait cut through the chaos of the ED.

Breathe, baby.

Breathe, you remind yourself.

You let out a breath and it steadies you and your heart rate returns to normal.

You finally move, strip off your gloves and remove your mask and then you feel it, him staring at you across the hectic room, where he has a chart in his hand and you think maybe, finally, everything’s changed. His gaze is intense and it’s loud and it looks like he realized what he said, what he let slip. He’s always been one for eye contact and he’s just standing there in his black scrubs, staring at you like you’re the only thing he sees.

You fucking burn.

* * *

When you transferred to the night shift in your third year of residency, you were nervous. You’d heard all about how fucked your sleep schedule can get, how wild and feral the night shift at PTMC could be, but you didn’t have much of a say in scheduling. You gritted your teeth together and got to work. 

Ellis and Shen immediately welcomed you with their sarcasm and quick-wit. Walsh was cold, predictably. 

And Dr. Abbot?

Jack?

He was fucking intimidating. He greeted you with eye contact that made you want to squirm. You were convinced he never cracked a smile a day in his life. His eyes – dark, hazel, penetrating - held such a layer of overall sadness that, despite not knowing anything about him yet, this man had lived a life. 

“Welcome to the chaos,” Jack’s first words to you were thrown carelessly your way, locking eyes for a beat, before turning back to the computer at the nurse’s station. You had nodded, and Shen had swept you away on a case. 

You didn’t talk to Dr. Abbot for the rest of the day, but you were amazed at his ability to command the ED and how he effortlessly led the team with calm, biting competency. His movements were so sure. His hands were steady. His mind was unimaginably capable. A respect for the war veteran settled deep within your bones immediately. 

Within a month, you and Dr. Abbot - Jack - had a rapport that felt professional. Within three months, you got him to crack a smile in your direction when you sassed Myrna right back. Within six months, you were working together fluidly in a way you couldn’t have predicted. Within a year, Jack knew your coffee order and you knew his. 

You learned things about one another. You learned he was a widower when you caught a glimpse of his wedding band hanging around his neck, next to his dog tags that he wore under his scrubs. You learned that he was in therapy and that sometimes, he stood too close to the edge of the roof. 

He learned you, too. Learned that you ran yourself ragged and would keep going unless he told you to take a break. Learned that you had trouble sleeping, that you were on an anti-anxiety medication, that a warm tea after a shift with lots of honey calmed your racing heart. 

One time, after a particularly brutal shift, you were lying in bed, showered and staring at your ceiling, your heart pounding in your ribcage, adrenaline coursing through you. Your phone buzzed.

A text - from Jack. 

Jack: Postmate should be at your place shortly. Get some rest, you earned it. 

You frowned in confusion for a moment before a knock on your door caught your attention. You padded down the hall and opened the door to find a courier holding a coffee tray with a steaming cup of your favorite tea, and a little brown bag with your favorite pastry.

You texted back immediately.

You: You really didn’t have to do that. I’m kinda speechless???

Jack: Don’t be dramatic. 

Then you watched as the bubble with the three little typing dots appeared, disappeared, came back, then stopped altogether. 

You bit your lip, pulse racing. 

You: Thank you, Jack. Who knew you were such a softie under that hard exterior. 

As you took your tea and pastry back to your bedroom, snuggling up under the covers, the warm seeping into your bones and relaxing you, your phone screen lit up.

Jack: Only for you. 

You had stared at your phone until the weight of exhaustion had lulled you into a dreamless sleep.

And now your heart is beating in your chest so quickly you think it’s going to burst. It’s been two years since you transferred and you’re still here and Jack called you baby and it has lit up every single neural pathway in your brain. You feel warm all over, can feel the word wrap around your body and caress you. The low timber of his voice. The way it'd anchored you in the moment, floating you to the surface. 

You close your locker hard, the day heavy on your shoulders. Surely he didn’t know what he was saying. You’re all overworked and under caffeinated and exhausted. He probably calls everyone “baby,” right? Though the idea of Jack calling Ellis or Walsh or Shen “baby” makes you angry in a way that you don’t care to examine. 

You step out into the early morning light, grateful to leave the whirlwind of confusion and feelings behind in the ED. Then you see Jack standing there, camo backpack slung around one of his shoulders, leaning against the side of the hospital. He’s out of his scrubs, in a black-shirt and cargo pants and the minute he sees you his jaw clenches. You can see the tension in his shoulders, in his posture. You’ve rarely seen Jack look uncomfortable but there’s no other word to associate with him right now. 

“Hey,” he says, walking right up to you. “Walk you home?”

You feel your face grow warm but you force yourself to maintain that goddamn eye contact of his. His hazel eyes search your face but he’s completely guarded and unreadable - his default setting. 

“You don’t have to do that—”

Jack lifts a brow, his salt-and-pepper curls blowing slightly in the wind. He rubs a hand over his jaw. 

“Yeah, but I want to.” 

Jesus Christ, is this man trying to kill you today? Butterflies erupt in your stomach like you’re a preteen. You nod and shrug, shouldering your own backpack and you fall in step together. 

You live about fifteen minutes from the hospital. Jack’s never actually been up to your place, but he has walked you home before plenty of times. His own home is just five minutes further than yours, so there had been those mornings, when you didn’t want to feel confined to the inside of your car, where you’d walk home and Jack would join you. You’d always try and brush it off, could see the way he favored his right leg, could imagine the pain of the prosthetic left leg throbbing. But he would always roll his eyes, grumble something about “not being that old” and the two of you would walk in companionable silence. 

This silence doesn’t feel companionable. 

The silence is loud between you. You can feel Jack studying you out of the corner of your eye. He never hides when he looks at you.

You glance at him and purse your lips. “What?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rubs the back of his neck and mumbles, “Nothin’.” 

A minute later he breaks the silence. “Just makin’ sure you're okay.” 

Your mind races, trying to land on what he could be referring to. Surely, not—?

At your confused glance, he clears his throat. “The young girl. You seemed really shaken back there. Haven’t really seen you like that in a while.”

Right. Of course Jack isn’t going to bring up what he called you, because he didn’t mean it. Because you’re his resident. Because the working relationship you’ve built is just that - it stays at work. 

You feel panic crawl up your throat for a moment; feel embarrassed and ashamed that for a second in that trauma room, you thought maybe this fucking torch you’ve carried for your attending could be reciprocated. 

You feel like a fucking fool. 

By the time you decide to answer, you’re at the entrance to your apartment building. You turn, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. He’s studying you like he knows every answer; like he has you fucking memorized.

“I’m fine,” you lie. It rolls effortlessly off of your tongue. 

Jack takes a step closer to you, his hand still clutching his backpack strap. You’re close enough that in the cresting light of the morning, you can see the gray stubble that lines his jaw. You think he’s so handsome it’s a bit unfair. You think he’s the kind of man that was meant to be fifty, he’s settled into his body and features in a way that feels like he was always meant to get here. Can see how every line of his face tells a story that he keeps too close to his heart. 

You can’t read Jack. You never could.

But he’s looking at you like you’re his favorite book and you don’t know what to do with it all. 

“You’re lying,” he says, and it’s so matter-of-fact that it feels like you’ve been slapped. 

You harden your gaze, try to stand taller. “You walk me home just to accuse me of lying?”

He shakes his head and his eyes never leave yours. “You don’t gotta do that with me. You know you don’t, so why are you doing it now?”

You burn for this man. It consumes every cell in your body and you just want him to either call out what all this means or leave you the fuck alone. Over a year of this push and pull between you and you fear you’re at your limit.

“I’m not the only one who’s good at lying, Jack.”

The sentence hangs between you. You see something shadow his face, a muscle in his jaw works overtime. He puts his hands in his pockets and he lets out a breath, a half-laugh and a half-scoff and finally looks away. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters. Jack looks back to you then and you swear you see it. Swear you see the longing and the fear and you recognize it because you feel it right back. 

Something pulls in your sternum; it’s a tiny ball of light, of bravery, and it’s buzzing inside of your bloodstream.

In the span of a few seconds, you think of so many moments with Jack. You think of the time he found you crying on the rooftop, exhausted and at your mental brink. About how he sat beside you, about how he rubbed your back as you wept. 

You think about how when you told him a few months ago you were going on a first date with some anesthesiologist, he’d grown silent and stoic and you’d lost him to his own mind for the rest of the shift. How he’d seemed relieved the next night when you’d told him it had been a dud of a date.

You think about that time everyone went out for Ellis’ birthday to that run down little pub around the corner. How you’d actually gone home to change first, how Jack’s eyes had immediately widened for a second when you walked in wearing a little sundress. How his gaze was hot, how he’d put a hand low on your back and asked you what your drink was. How he watched you the entire night, how you felt drunk with that power, knowing his eyes were on you. How he’d laughed and smiled and looked like everything you’d ever wanted in a man. 

It lit you up. It made you feel like a champion. 

You look at him now and he’s looking right back. 

“You call all of your residents ‘baby’?”

The question is out of you before you can keep it behind your lips. You see the words tumbling out, see them reach over and land on Jack. He lets out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a scoff, a sound like he never meant for you to hear any of it at all. 

His eyes dig right into yours. Your chest is rising and falling now and he’s closer, just by a step. You’re in each other’s space. 

Jack’s eyes flicker down your face before they find their home back in your gaze. It looks like he’s made a decision but you can’t tell what it is. 

“You fuckin’ know I don’t.”

It’s both a confession and an answer. It lingers between you and you want to pull it around your fingers. You want to believe him. 

Warmth pools between your legs and you realize you’ve never been this turned on and you’re not even touching. You’re standing outside the door to your apartment and you’re wet because Jack fucking Abbot is looking at you like you’ve wrecked him. 

You don’t respond, you just punch in the code to your building and open the door. He stays rooted to the spot, watching your every move. You look over your shoulder at him, heart thundering against your chest so hard you swear he can see it. 

“Wanna come up?”

He swallows and you track the movement with your eyes. Waiting for his answer feels like an eternity and you’re nearly regretting it until he says, “Absolutely.”

The nerves settle in as you climb the three flights to your floor. You can feel him at your back, can feel the heat of him behind you. Can feel his eyes all over you and it makes your skin prickle with anticipation. 

When you get to your door, he’s standing so close behind you that you’re breathing heavily, like you just ran up the stairs. Your hands tremble as they fiddle with your lock and then, slowly, his right arm comes around you. His left hand finds your lower back and it’s a steady, warm pressure there. His right hand settles over yours and you can feel his breath tickle your neck. Can feel his chest expand because he’s breathing heavy too, and you have to physically force yourself from pushing your ass into him, to see if he’s as affected as you are. 

What the fuck is wrong with you that you want to grind against your attending in the hallway outside your apartment?

The weight of his hand on yours steadies you. His fingers work with yours to help you unlock the door and it opens and you step inside with him right behind you and you’ve crossed both the physical and metaphorical line. 

You enter your apartment, toss your backpack on the ground and turn around as he quietly closes the door behind him. He drops his own backpack and then you’re just staring at each other in the foyer of your place. 

He clears his throat and the sound scrapes across your skin. 

“I need you to be very clear with me right now,” Jack says, voice serious and grounding. “Cuz if I’m reading this wrong–if I’ve been reading this wrong—”

“You haven’t. You aren’t.”

He stares at you and it’s hard and you want him so badly, so much more than you’ve ever wanted anything in the entire world. 

He sounds ruined when he says lowly, “I don’t wanna be reading this wrong.”

Jack’s gaze tethers you to the ground. You feel so strong.

You step a hair closer. You can hear and feel his intake of breath. His nostrils flare. 

“In every way you read this, I want you,” you say softly. Jack lets out a ragged breath at your confession, like he’s taking his first lungful of air after drowning for eternity. 

“C’mere.” 

His voice is wrecked. 

The line between you is obliterated when you close the remaining distance and Jack puts one hand around your waist and the other goes to cradle your jaw. Your eyes flutter at the comfort from his touch, how it makes you feel so deeply in your body. 

His eyes can’t seem to focus on a single part of you; they trace your own eyes, your nose, linger on your lips, devour your throat as you swallow, caress your chest as it rises and falls quickly. Finally, his eyes come back to your own.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” His question hangs between you.

“I am,” you say. He swallows, his mouth so close to yours. If you wanted to, you could lick his lips. Your breath mingles together and your warm all the way to your toes. 

“I’m broken and old,” he says lowly, gravely, and in those few tiny words you hear so much. You hear him offering himself up to you, all of his wounds and shrapnel and baggage and darkness. 

It doesn’t scare you.

It makes you feel alive. 

You offer him a little smile, bite your lip and he groans at the sight. 

“I want you just as you are, old man,” you tell him and then his lips are on yours and it’s everything. 

The first kiss is soft. It’s a re-introduction. A slow movement of lips against each other’s and then you both pull back at the same time and his eyes are so dark and you feel like you’re buzzing. 

The second kiss is nothing like the first. 

It is filthy and open and wet, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. Jack’s hands skate down your body until they grab your ass, pulling you roughly against him. You tangle your fingers in those fucking gray curls that have driven you wild for far too long. 

You press your pelvis against him and feel him through his pants, hard and aching and you rub against him, grind against him like you’re a teenager.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growls, one hand remaining on your ass, the other finding its way under your scrub top, grabbing hold of the flesh of your waist like he needs it to stay tethered to the ground. 

You lean your head back and his lips attach to your neck, his tongue tracing the tendons, sucking at your pulsepoint. 

You let out a breathy moan and feel him twitch against you. “You have me, Jack.” 

He pulls your top off and even though you’re just wearing a sports bra underneath, he looks at your chest like you’re destroying him. You both fumble and kick off your shoes quickly. You pull his t-shirt off and your hands finally get to touch those shoulders, those biceps, that fucking chest you’ve dreamt about.

You slow down when you see his dog tags and wedding ring around his neck. He goes tense for a moment, like he’s unsure how you will react. 

You look up at him gently and he’s watching you so carefully. Very slowly, you touch the dog tags and ring reverently. You kiss his chest just next to where they lay. 

“You have me,” you repeat quietly. “I want you and everything that comes with you.”

Jack’s eyes glisten for a moment and then he kisses you, both hands cradling your jaw. He works your mouth like he was designed for it. Then he pulls away and carefully takes off the dog tags and ring, lays it gently on your end table. 

You stare at one another and Jack swallows. “I never thought I’d get to have this again.”

“‘This’?”

Jack puts his hands on your waist. “A person I’d feel safe with.” His eyes hold yours like a promise. “I feel safe with you.” 

Your eyes wet before you can stop them. “I feel safe with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours and his hands trail up your arms, cradling your jaw as he tips your head back slightly. His lips find yours and this time it’s a benediction. It’s an offering, a healing and you feel the air shift around you. You bite down on his bottom lip and pull it slightly and he lets out a moan, deep in his throat. 

“Bedroom,” you mutter. He nods still kissing you and you smile against his lips, pull away breathlessly and tug his hand down the hall. 

The second you’re in your bedroom (thank god you remembered to make your bed this morning), you push him down on the edge so he’s sitting with his legs spread. You stand between his legs looking down at him, your chest heaving. His neck is corded, like he’s having trouble holding himself back. It makes you want him so badly you think you’ll die if you don’t have him. 

Your eye contact doesn’t break as you untie your scrub pants, sliding them down and over your ass and thighs. You kick out of them and your socks. Jack’s gaze is hot and he sucks in a breath when you shrug out of your sports bra, throwing it in the corner.

You’re standing in front of him in just your simple cotton panties. (In so many fantasies you’re adorned in lingerie but somehow this is better. This is real.) 

His eyes hold yours for a moment before they finally take in your naked torso and he huffs air through his nose.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, the edges of his words serrated with want. Your face is warm as you walk closer to him. He’s watching you like you hold the answers to everything as you straddle his lap, your plush thighs on either side of him. Your hands land on his shoulders and his hands immediately find your ass, dimpling the skin there. 

You can feel how hard he is and you can’t help the way you grind instinctively over his hips, feeling the clothed head of his cock deliciously hit your soaked panties.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, his eyes fixed on where your rubbing yourself over him. “You’re so perfect.”

“Jack—need you—god—” you’re babbling, delirious with need and the way you’re pulsing between your legs. 

“Yeah, baby?” Jack’s lips attach to your neck again, teeth surely leaving a mark. His hands grab under your thighs and in a swift motion he stands up, turning you around and tossing you onto the bed. Your tits bounce and Jack is crawling over you, his lips tracing a path down your sternum until he’s sucking a nipple and you whine, high-pitched and throaty. He bites a little and you make a noise you didn’t know you were capable of. 

His hands find the waistband of your underwear and he’s panting as he slides them down your thighs, giving your other nipple attention until he has your panties completely off and dropped to the floor. 

You’re bared to him and you can no longer catch your breath. 

Jack leans back on his haunches, staring at you like he can’t believe this is actually happening.

Like he can’t believe you're his. 

You let your thighs fall apart, open your legs for him and the breath catches in Jack’s throat. 

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Fuck, baby, I need to taste you.”

You lay back, run your hands through your hair because this all feels insane. You’re burning up and feeling delirious. 

“Please,” you beg because right now you’re not above begging, you’ve never been above begging when it comes to this man. 

Jack slides down your body until he’s lying on his stomach. His face is so close to you and he actually breathes you in and it’s the most erotic moment of your life. 

Until his tongue is inside you and you whimper. 

“Fuck—fuck—Jack—yes, yes, oh my god.” 

Jack eats your pussy like he’s devouring it. Relentless and precise, you’re humiliated to think you’re going to come in under a minute. He pulls back for a moment, mouth glistening and you stare down at him as he slides a finger inside of you. You groan, throwing your head back as he glides it in and out for a moment, before sliding in a second and using his thumb to play with your clit. 

“Fuck!” you cry and Jack has this little smirk on his face before he puts his tongue back in you, licking so deep and so good. Your thighs end up over his shoulders and you realize he’s grinding into the mattress. He groans into you and you feel it - you’re so close - 

“Jack, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—how am I gonna come already?”

Jack pulls away, his thumb and fingers working in tandem together like you’re his favorite instrument to play. 

“You’re so good,” he tells you, coaxing you toward your orgasm. “Come for me. Come on my tongue, baby.”

It breaks you open.

You come hard and fast on Jack’s tongue and you feel his moan as your heels dig into his back. Your hands grip his hair and it tethers you to the bed. You’re panting as he licks you through out, his thumb and fingers still working in you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out hard, gently gliding his hand out of you. He brings it to his mouth and you go slack-jaw as he licks his fingers. “You taste so fucking good.”

You laugh because it’s all so insane. Breathless laughter that shakes your body and he grins at you and he looks so boyish. 

“I just came so hard,” you tell him because you no longer have a filter. “What the fuck?” 

He rests his head against your thigh and you just stare at each other for a moment. Your fingers run through his hair and he closes his eyes.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s yours. 

“I wanna ride you now,” you tell him. His eyes fly open and he chokes on a breath, lifting up to hover above you. 

“Yeah? God, you’re so good. You’re so fucking good.”

Now that does something to your psyche you’ll need to inspect later. You grin up at him and your fingers go to the ties on his pants. He helps you, kicking them off until he’s just in his briefs.

Your eyes land on his prosthetic. 

“Told you I was broken and old,” he mutters, a hint of self-consciousness breaking through. You put a hand on his cheek, staring up at him where he’s still holding himself above you.

“And I told you I want you exactly as you are.” You glance down again. “Will it be better to take it off?”

Jack hesitates, just for a moment, then nods. 

You lean up and kiss him. “So take it off.”

You roll to the side as Jack takes off the prosthetic, lying it against the foot of your bed. You kneel on the bed, watching him massage the end of the amputated leg. He grunts in relief. 

“There’s a—there’s wipes, in my pocket—”

You reach down to his discarded pants and take the wipes out of the back pocket. 

“Lay down,” you tell him. Jack watches you, breathing heavy before he listens to you, lying back with is head on your pillows. You - naked, humming with your previous orgasm - lean down and gently wipe at the residual limb. You feel his gaze on you, watching you. 

This moment feels sacred and you’ll remember it for a long time.

You toss the wipe in your wastepaper basket before you turn to him, grinning. 

His eyes are glistening and he swallows roughly. 

“Hi,” you say, suddenly shy. 

“Hey,” he tells you back, voice gravel. 

You bite your lip, your hands going to the top of his briefs. “I’m going to take these off now.”

Jack groans. “Fuckin’ please.”

You take them off and when you see his cock you die a little. It’s throbbing and red at the tip and strong and proud and you’ve never been one to fantasize about an actual fucking dick before but Jesus, it’s as gorgeous as the man it belongs to. 

You straddle his thighs, hovering above it. His hands find your hips and you reach over to your bedside table, take out your bottle of lube. 

You put some in your hand, and when you reach down to rub it along Jack’s cock, he hisses, presses his head into the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m not gonna last,” he grits out. “It’s been—awhile–”

Your hand strokes him twice more before you line him up at your entrance. He squeezes the flesh of your waist. 

He looks down at where he’s lined up. “Did you wanna use a condom?” The question is so earnest, so kind, but you really need his fucking cock filling you up right now. 

“I’m on birth control,” you tell him, rubbing yourself over the head of his cock and he gasps. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, yeah, I am, can show you the tests—”

“I trust you,” you tell him. “And no, I don’t wanna use a condom. I want you to come inside me and fill me up.”

Jack throws his head back, baring his throat to you and his hands move to the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll be marks. 

“Fucking Christ—dirty fuckin’ thing, fuck, I’m gonna die,” he growls. You smile to yourself, body completely flushed because yes, you’ve always been confident during sex, but Jack makes you feral in a way you cannot explain. 

You sink down on him slowly and he hisses when he breaches you. You take him, inch by inch and you whimper because the stretch is so good, it feels so good to be full. 

“Oh god,” you moan when he bottoms out. You sit there, him inside you and you look down at him and he looks up at you, his hands dimpling your ass. 

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hisses and when you begin to move, his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

It’s the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. 

You start out slow, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Jack leans up, licks your throat and sucks on your tit. It’s so good. 

You feel like you were made to ride Jack Abbot. Sweat shines on both of your bodies and when he moves a finger to touch your clit, you cry out, leaning forward with your hands attached to the headboard. His other hand goes to your throat, holding you there securely, not tightly, but grounding. 

The bed shakes.

Jack stares down at where he’s sliding in and out of you, punching up and meeting your grinding with thrusts of his own. His chest is completely flushed. 

“Takin’ me so well,” he growls. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You babble, delirious with pleasure. “M’gonna come, Jack, I’m gonna fuckin’ come again.”

Jack nods, his thumb strumming your clit in time with his cock. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you come so bad.”

He locks eyes with you. “You’re so fuckin’ good. Mine.”

You break open again, for the second time. 

“Jack! Jack! Nnnnghhh—”

He’s properly thrusting up now, can feel you spasm around his cock. “Jesus you were made for me,” he growls. “Gonna come. Gonna fill you up.”

Your legs are jelly and you can barely hold yourself up. Jack’s hands find your waist as he bounces you on his cock. You feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes because it feels so good. 

“Fill me up, Jack,” you moan. “Fill me up—-”

He comes with a broken moan, pulsing deep inside you. Your hands are on either side of his head, your hips are aching, and you’re both panting and staring at one another.

You’re not sure who laughs first, but breathless laughter breaks the tension. 

“Jesus,” Jack mutters, helping you slide off him. His come drips down your legs and he watches it for a moment, takes his finger to it and pushes it back inside you. 

You kiss him before you quickly go to use the bathroom. When you return, Jack is staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He looks at you and opens an arm up and you quickly slide in next to him. 

He turns on his side so you’re both staring at each other. 

There’s no awkwardness. It’s warm and sunny and it feels like a weighted blanket is over the both of your shoulders. He brings a hand up, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Dunno how I got so lucky,” he tells you. “You’re it for me, you know that, right?”

You don’t realize how badly you need to hear him say it. You give him a teary smile and his thumb grazes under your eye. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

The early morning light filters through the window and brings a sense of peace you’ve both been searching for. 

You can finally breathe. 

[arcane-vagabond]

Stranger Like Me Masterlist

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Series CW: Language, Inaccurate science jargon, Inaccurate field jargon, Poaching, Animal Cruelty, Inaccurate Climate Depictions, Wild Man who doesn't know much, Wild Man in the big city, Exploitation, Corporate Greed, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Violence. Individual chapters will have their own warnings.

All posts related to this series will be tagged with "SLM," "Stranger Like Me," and/or "Tarzan!Jack”.

*Denotes Smut

Main Masterlist || Jack Abbot Masterlist || Blog Rules || Writing Rules

Series;

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four (Coming Soon)

Drabbles;

Nothing to see here yet…