#but truly I just love the abbot so much

[mercvry-glow]

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

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

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

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

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

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

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

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

But they didn’t know Jack.

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

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

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

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

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

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

Especially now.

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

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

And you still tried.

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

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

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

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

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

That’s when he showed up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack didn’t say a word.

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

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

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

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

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

Good.

Let him remember.

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

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

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

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

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

Typical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same difference,”

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

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

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

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

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

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

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

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

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

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

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

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

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

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

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

Just something.

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

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

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

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

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

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

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

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

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

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

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

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

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

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

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

You blinked. “Which one?”

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

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

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

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

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

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

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

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

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged.

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

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

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

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

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

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

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

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

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

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

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

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

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

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

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

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

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

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

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

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

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

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

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

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

And there it was.

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

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

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

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

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

“Be careful,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

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

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

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

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

You didn’t wait for a reply.

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

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

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

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

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

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

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

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

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Like you did with that prick.”

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

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

You tried again. Softer this time.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

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

“Did you just lock the door?”

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

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

Jack hadn’t liked that.

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His answer was a growl.

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

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

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

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

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

And god help you, you did.

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

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

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

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

And that was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he just pulls away.

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

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

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

He’s aching, he’s so hard. 

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt. 

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you. 

He was going to fuck you like you needed it. 

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time. 

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state. 

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.” 

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard. 

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to. 

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second. 

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air. 

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello. 

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him. 

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist. 

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss. 

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different. 

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release. 

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs. 

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public. 

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…”  you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes. 

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,” 

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you. 

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!” 

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.” 

mercvry-glow 2025

[asxgard]

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better �� Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

[thecherrypittttttt]

SOLID WORK; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 4,700+

content warnings: my minimal medical knowledge, doctor humor, abbot’s filthy mouth, some smut, fluff <3

notes: i am so beyond new to this fandom and to tumblr so please stick with me but i couldn’t not write this🫶

・❥・

”Solid work.”

My breathing slows as I start to process the complexity of the procedure I had just performed. I’d probably be blushing at Dr Abbot’s praise if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through me.

“That was your save. Not mine.”

Trust me - I am never jumping to credit a man with my work but that was the truth. I may have physically done everything but the idea and the instructions that made it possible were all Dr Abbot.

I look back down at the patient. I tell myself it’s to make sure this is all real. That I really just did that. But if I am being honest it’s to avoid Dr Abbot’s unwavering eye contact.

“Hey-“

He is not gonna let me. I look up to meet his gaze. So rock solid but somehow so warm all at once. He may as well be staring right through me.

He lightly rests his hand on my forearm to stop me from going for the suture. To stop me from giving him anything other than my undivided attention.

“-you are the smartest person in here. Take the win.”

I can’t help the exasperated smile that spreads across my face. He’s right. I’ve only got a couple months left of residency. I should just take the fucking win for once in my life.

Abbot, much to my surprise, smiles back. And he has dimples because of course he does.

He’s calm under pressure, he lies on official paperwork to get a teenage girl the abortion she has every right to, he’s the actual smartest one here, he’s kind to everyone in this ED regardless of the stress he is under, and…he still has his hand on my arm.

His hand. The veins there don’t hurt the eyes either.

We must both realize his lingering touch at the same time because he is clearing his throat and pulling away. He reaches for a surgical instrument he doesn’t need. Picks it up and then puts it down.

I swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks but if I think about that too long one will appear on my own.

“Let Whitaker stitch this up. Go home - get some rest. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I love Whitaker but he is so slow we may as well let the wound heal all on its own.”

Dr Abbot laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs as we exit out of the trauma bay. So loud that Robby looks over and asks if he’s okay.

Don’t get me wrong. Dr Abbot has a wonderful sense of humor. A wicked one, actually. But it’s one of those dry, witty kinds. Not the animated, giggly kind.

I tell myself it’s not a bad thing that I’m proud to have gotten a good laugh out of him. That it’s not a bad thing that it gave me butterflies. That’s it’s not a bad thing that I am laying in bed wondering how the hell I am going to get him to do that again.

・❥・

Jack lets out a low moan as he recovers. His eyes are dazed, his head slightly tilted back but not so much so that he can’t keep eye contact with me.

His hand that held the makeshift ponytail in my hair starts to massage my scalp as the other hand reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his strong gaze.

Once he’s got me where he wants me, his thumb travels from my chin to my lips, swiping what’s left of his release off of it.

“My good girl. So good for me, yeah?”

My thighs involuntarily clench together at his words. He knows it too. I nod as his thumb presses further into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.

His mouth quips into a smirk, “Solid work, doctor.”

I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. Standing up from my knees on my own. Ignoring his arms trying to gently guide me up instead.

“That! That is exactly what I am talking about!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jack just laughs as he grabs my wrist, turning me back towards him. He’s quick to have me pinned up against our shower wall - his strong thigh spreading my own apart as he plants long slow kisses across my neck.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Back when I was a resident, otherwise known as a couple months ago, Jack consistently praised what I was doing by saying “Solid work.”

The way he did always made me dizzy. His voice would drop an octave and he’d look me straight in my eyes while he said it. There is nothing inherently sensual about the phrase but it took me a while to realize he was not complimenting the other residents like that.

Him saying it during sex started as a joke. Harkening back to when, as he puts it, I was so painfully oblivious to his flirting. To which I responded, “That was flirting?”.

He said it again to me at work the next day. Being completely and utterly genuine. I don’t even remember what I did but I did it well and he is always the first to acknowledge that. So he was confused when I just huffed in annoyance and peeled out of the room without so much of a glance at him.

I wasn’t annoyed at him. I was annoyed that now all I could think about was him. His hands, his biceps, his tongue. Everything. And I still had six hours of my shift to go.

He followed me into the on-call room I was going to find some refuge in. He locked the door behind him - closed the curtain for good measure.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And then I felt bad. He thought something was actually wrong. That no way I’d ever brush him off like that when he was just trying to compliment me unless something was seriously wrong.

His eyes bored into mine, genuine concern and love pouring out of them. And here I was just being a brat.

I tried to be sly about the way my eyes trailed the veins bulging out of his biceps. I tried to be sly about the way I was imagining my hands tugging on his salt and pepper curls that were just slightly askew from a couple hours work. Unfortunately for me, Jack can read me like a book.

“Did you just stomp out of the ED because you’re needy?” Jack couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face at the realization.

“Well maybe if you weren’t always going Mr Christian Gray on me with the praise-“

“I don’t even know who that is but all I said was ‘Solid work’-“

Jack stops himself as he remembers the past couple nights. When he was saying the same thing in a much different context.

I can’t say I’m entirely innocent. Or innocent at all really. I love throwing in a ‘sir’ every now and again at work to tease Jack. So he does the same to me with other phrases - constantly.

And he said the same thing in that on-call room that he is saying to me right now, “But what I do know is how fucking wet you are for me. So stop pouting and let me taste you, yeah?”

He swipes a finger through my soaked folds before he’s the one sinking down to his knees as I try to keep mine from buckling.

・❥・

“Solid work, Dr Abbot.”

I smile down at my sparkling new engagement ring and then up at the love of my life.

“Seriously? You can tease but I can’t?”

“What’s that saying again? Happy wife, happy life?”

Neither of us can wipe the huge grins off of our faces. No one knows we’re engaged yet. Just how we wanted it.

A couple of months ago, right after I had taken an attending job at The Pitt, Jack had broached the topic of marriage. We’d talked about it before. We both knew we were spending the rest of our lives together. But we hadn’t actually talked about the timeline of it all - the logistics.

Jack was always extremely hyper aware about how our relationship affected me. He didn’t want it to interfere with my career or all of my hard work. So as much as he would’ve walked down the aisle six months ago, he wanted everything to be on my terms.

“Hypothetically - if I were to propose, say within the next month - would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically - if I ever say no to a marriage proposal from you - please get me a psychiatry consult.”

Jack laughed - in an airy way where you could tell he was relieved. I kissed him. There was no universe in which I ever said no to a proposal from him.

He pestered me with questions. He wanted direction but not so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised when the time came.

I told him I didn’t want anything fancy. No big party although I did want to have a small gathering with our friends and family at some point afterwards. A nice sized diamond but not gaudy. No grand gestures - just him being him is all that I wanted.

And he executed perfectly. Because when does he not. It was our first night in the new home we had bought. He said we could get a hotel while we waited for our furniture to be delivered. But I wanted to do one night with no furniture, an air mattress, some candles, and a pizza delivery.

“Like camping.” I had said.

“You hate camping.”

I laughed because he was right but he obliged me anyways. He carried me over the threshold and I made a joke about how he’s got to be careful - being old and all.

Then he carried me right over to the air mattress, said something like “Can an old man do this?” and went on to coax four orgasms from me - one from his fingers, one from his tongue, one from his thigh, and finally one from where I wanted him most.

When we were done, I threw on one of his old tshirts and a pair of boxers. He just had on an old pair of sweats and a white tee. We stared into each others eyes like two lovesick teenagers until he said “Come here - I gotta show you something.”

“Babe, the house is empty.”

“Get over here smart ass.”

Jack picked up a candle and lead us over to the fireplace. He set the candle on the mantle as I read what was now engraved into the stone ‘The Abbots - Est 2025’

“So this is why you were getting all of those random tools from Amazon.”

Ever the handy man he is. Then he was on his knee. His bad one. To which I told him he didn’t have to do that. And then he said he would even if it killed him. And I think I said something stupid like “Not on my watch.”

I don’t even remember what he said after that. He doesn’t either. We both blacked out from sheer happiness. All I really remember is him asking me to do him the honor of being his wife and me pulling him up off of his knee and saying ‘Duh!’ as fast I could before kissing him. Over and over and over again until that air mattress was just a deflated extension of the wood floor beneath it.

・❥・

Dana’s hand rests on my thigh gently. My leg stops shaking. My mind doesn’t stop racing though.

I'm not an anxious person. If anything, I can be relaxed to a fault. But I am an intuitive person - and something is wrong.

Where is he?

“Relax. When is that man ever late?”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You would think I didn't have my own license or car the way Jack insists on driving me everywhere. He tells me it is to keep our insurance from being sky high. I may or may not be a bit accident prone when behind the wheel. I tell him it's because he's obsessed with me. He always huffs a laugh and murmurs something about two things being true at once.

The Pitt makes sense. Ever since Jack started taking on more day shifts to balance out our conflicting schedules, a lot of times we are arriving and leaving here together. But on the off chance we are not, he is still picking me up. Always with some kind of treat in hand - usually a McDonalds Diet Coke much to Jack's dismay.

Jack takes the saying 'If you're not early - you're late' far more seriously than anyone I have ever met. The day shift typically gets off at 7 PM which means he is usually here to gossip with Robby on the roof by 6:35 PM.

“Go - take a case! He’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”

My dissents are quickly met with Dana shooing me from the nurses station and personally squaring my shoulders to the board.

I haven’t even read the first name when Robby appears at my shoulder.

“Where is your fiancé?”

“Say that any louder and you’re going to be my next patient.”

“Yeah because you two are so inconspicuous with the whispering and the giggling and the big honking rock on your finger and the-“

“-disappearing to 'clean' the on-call room.” Dana finishes Robby’s sentence as they both double over in laughter.

Dana, Robby, and Collins are the only people in the ED that know about Jack and I’s relationship.

Collins knew I had feelings for Jack before I even let myself go there. Robby knew Jack had feelings for me before he let himself go there. So they took matters into their own hands.

Collins had a $100 on Jack breaking first. Robby $100 on me. And he had an extra $100 to spare when he bribed Dr Ellis to ask me to take her night shift for a week. Oh, how that backfired on him.

Three shifts later and Robby was $200 in the hole.

Six months later, I was moved out of my city apartment and into Jack's house.

Dana offered to drive me home after shift one night. Because it was cold and rainy and my apartment was close by. My apartment that I no longer lived in.

Jack wasn’t picking me up - he was out of town at a conference. I insisted on taking an uber, the bus, walking - anything that meant not explaining to Dana why my new address was the same as Dr Abbot's. She wouldn't take no for an answer and yelled "Oh, I knew it! Bridget owes me $100!" when I finally fessed up.

One year later, almost to the day that Robby had to pony up on his bet with Collins, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

Tonight, after he picks me up, Jack and I are going to pilates together.

It was only a matter of time before Robby and Collins gave it another go and I bet Jack that Robby would fold before Collins.

What's the point in betting money when we share a bank account? Seeing Jack in the pink pilates grippy socks he does not know I got him will be priceless.

“Well, when you find him please tell him that he is late for our date on the roof."

"Stop dragging him up there - you already have a date tonight!"

"Yeah, one in which I need his advice on."

"Oh please, you're talking to the wrong Abbot if you need advice on how to woo Collins." Dana interjects. Not everyone in the ED knows about Jack and I but they do know Heather and I are best friends.

"Oh, I wasn't aware you two had tied the knot already. Do you want me to change your name on the board? I can do that right now actually. Does HR know? It'll just take a moment-" Robby teases.

I grab the remote out of Robby's hands as he laughs, "Okay fine - go have your little roof date but do not take long!"

"Well, we'd already be done if he wasn't late. Where is he by the way? He is never late for anything.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

I step forward, my elbows on the counter of the nurses station and my head now in my hands as I groan.

“Relax. It’s Jack - we couldn’t keep him away from this place even if we wanted to. Especially with you in here.” Robby squeezes my shoulder and is off to what I assume to be the roof.

I check my watch before I stand back up to scan the board for real this time - 6:50 PM.

Where is he?

I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no new message from Jack lighting up my home screen but I open up our conversation anyways.

From Jack: I miss you

From Jack: I can’t believe Langdon is getting to hang out with you right now and not me

From Jack: If you stay at that damn hospital any longer we’re gonna have to start forwarding all these packages you order there

Little does he know one of those many packages holds his new pilates socks.

To Jack: Oh please - as if more than half aren’t all your little go bag gadgets

To Jack: And to think our colleagues think I’m the drama queen

“Incoming - Trauma 1!”

I’m happy for the distraction. I’m gowned, gloved, and ready to go before the patient is even rolled in.

The doors to Trauma 1 fly open - but not with a patient. Just Dana.

“I’m going to get Robby! You should not have to do this.” Dana is staring pointedly at me before she’s off. I don’t even get a chance to respond.

Weird. I know I’ve only been an attending for a couple months but Dana had more confidence in me on my first day as an intern than she did just now.

I now understand why as the patient is rolled in front of me.

There he is.

Unconscious. Cold. Clammy. And slightly bloody from a small cut on his forehead.

My world stops.

“Heart attack.” Langdon is here.

Somehow all I can think of is Jack’s text from earlier. I want to laugh but I can’t. What if I never get one again? I’m supposed to see him in pink pilates socks tonight. Not in a body bag.

“CLEAR!”

Suddenly all the pieces from the past couple days are coming together and I cannot believe I didn’t catch it sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t catch it sooner!

“CLEAR!”

His dizziness. The increase in massages of his amputated leg. The quick heart beat. The rash.

I hear the commotion around me. But I’m not processing any of it until it’s directed at me.

“I said CLEAR! Move!”

This cant be happening. So I decide that it’s not going to.

“No!” My voice comes out way more feeble than I meant. Way more feeble than anyone in this ED has ever heard me.

“Well I hope you enjoyed being Abbot’s favorite because you’re going to kill him and your career in one go.”

“Langdon - he is not having a heart attack.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t - take off his leg!”

“Take off his leg?! Okay, you’re literally going insane. And I’m supposed to report to you?! I know I went to rehab but oh my gosh - CLEAR!”

“I’m going to clear you out of this trauma bay if you do not get out of my way.”

You know how they say a new mom could lift a car off of her new born baby? I’m pretty sure that’s the phenomenon I am experiencing right now. I don’t exactly know what other worldly force is taking over me right now but I do not question it. I am watching myself from outside of my body as I spring into action.

I shove Langdon to the side as I lift up Jack’s pant leg to remove his prosthetic. The prosthetic that noone else in this room would’ve known he had.

He doesn’t keep it a secret but he doesn’t exactly advertise it either. Especially when he refuses to sit down on a double shift. Ironically enough, that’s probably why he is on this table.

I spot what I’m looking for immediately but Langdon is the one who speaks it out loud, “Pressure ulcer - he’s in septic shock.”

“Thanks for finally using your brain Dr Langdon but we’re going to be using mine from here on out.”

“Blood ox is 91.” Someone yells. I don’t know who. What I do know is that 91 is dangerously low.

“Scalpel.” I demand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We need to drain this fluid before his organs start to fail.”

The first and only time Jack taught me this procedure it was his save. Now it has to be mine.

I tell myself that one day we will be sitting in front of our engraved fireplace. Old. Like, actually old. Not the fake old that Jack tries to pretend he is. With kids and grandkids - telling them the story of how Jack saved his own life through the transitive property. So I better get to work.

“Scalpel. Now.”

Langdon slams the scalpel into my hand. I ignore the looks around the room. The looks that say ‘The only person qualified to perform something like this in an ED is the patient’.

“Your funeral. And his.” I ignore Langdon.

I must have cut the most perfect incisions of my life. Performed the most flawless procedure anyone has ever seen from me. I don’t remember any of it.

The loud beeping slows. His blood pressure rises. Then his blood oxygen. Then the bag I drained is full and being disposed of by Dana.

When did she get here?

Robby’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me away.

When did he get here?

I hear him tell Whitaker to get a suture and close up the wound. Oh, the irony. Credit where credit is due - Whitaker has gotten much quicker under Jack’s patient teaching. Thank fucking goodness.

I think of the first real laugh I got out of Jack. My eyes start to tear up but I stop myself. I will hear that laugh again. Over and over and over again. So much so that I would get sick of it if that was even possible.

Robby is apologizing profusely into my ear. He has nothing to be sorry for. But I can’t manage any words. So I just let him move me out of Whittaker’s way but I do not leave Jack’s side.

I can’t seem to register anything beyond Jack’s face that I’m seemingly trying to force into consciousness with my stare alone.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

My head turns to Whitaker at his question but it swivels so fast back to Jack I think I give myself whiplash. Because I don’t speak - he does.

“Solid work, doctor.”

I’ve never been happier to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god.” My hand clamps over my mouth as my head dips to Jack’s chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.

My adrenaline tank plummets to zero and I am absolutely sobbing into Jack’s chest. Whatever was coursing through my veins during that procedure is coming out in what feels like gallons of tears and hiccups.

I don’t care who’s in the room. I don’t care that everyone is slack jawed and staring and so beyond confused. I don’t care that out of the corner of my eye I see Perlah slapping a $100 into Princess’s palm.

All I care is that Jack’s hand has found its way into my hair and when I place my shaking hand on top of it to make sure it’s real - it is. Even better - it’s warm and dexterous and alive.

He’s alive and he’s here.

He gently guides my head out of his chest. I lift my chin up to look at him - give him the eye contact I know he is seeking. That we both are.

“Baby - I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is as steady as ever. His heart beat matching it. The beat that was so faint what seems like moments ago.

I let it calm me down. I place a kiss to his chest and lean up to do the same to his forehead. My hand tangles in his salt and pepper curls as I hold his sweaty forehead to my lips and then bring my own forehead down to meet his. I close me eyes and breath him in.

He’s alive and he’s here.

“Welcome back, brother.” Robby manages to choke out through a couple tears of his own.

“Just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t getting lazy at the end of your shift.”

We all crack a smile but only Robby speaks, “Does this mean I have to work a double?”

“Not if you go park my car. It’s in the ambulance bay.”

I speak a full sentence for what feels like the first time in days, “You drove here?”

“We had a date. Plus, I wasn’t feeling quite right.” Jack nods down towards his amputated leg like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I dig into his pocket and toss Robby his keys. Robby calls for a CT and a room with a bed before ushering himself and everyone else out to give us some privacy.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling like I’d like to make the woman who just saved my life my wife.”

My hand immediately flies to the small cut on his forehead. The blood dry and crusty, “How hard did you hit your head? We’re already engaged.”

Jack chuckles, places his hand on mine and squeezes, “I barely hit my head when I fell out of the car. I’m fine - I just really don't want to live another moment without being able to call myself your husband.”

So we don’t. Not really anyways. I make Jack get every fucking scan in the book that I think we hit our insurance deductible in under an hour. He humors me by lying in the bed in one of the ER rooms as I pump a myriad of fluid and antibiotics into him.

After a few hours his blood oxygen is perfect. So is his blood pressure and his heart rate. I don’t think I’ve taken my eyes off of him once. Or my hands. Running my hands through his hair, caressing his forehead, squeezing his forearm. Just to reassure myself he is here.

He understands what I’m doing. Hears what I cannot say. He grabs my hand on its next pass through his hair and presses a kiss to every single knuckle before speaking, “Baby, I’m sorry I scared you. I scared myself honestly. But I promise, I am not going anywhere. Ever. And I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should have never had to operate on me. I don’t know how you did that. I mean if it was flipped. If I saw you come in like that-“

His voice falters, his bottom lip quivers and he pulls me into the tightest hug as we both begin to cry. I think if we could crawl into eachothers skin, we would.

We stay there like that for a while. Until Jack grabs my face, kisses every single part of it, then whispers “I love you so much but I think if you pump anymore fluid into me you’re going to water board me.”

As if on cue, Robby whips the curtain open, “To the roof we go!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Robby holds up some kind of certificate as Collins and Dana round the corner.

In the hours I spent nursing Jack back to health, I went to the bathroom one time. And only because I hadn’t gone the last four hours of my shift and I own a huge water bottle.

In that one bathroom break, Jack had managed to get Robby ordained online and enlisted Dana and Collins to ‘decorate’ the roof.

We’re still gonna have our wedding ceremony and the reception and the whole ordeal. But I agree with him - I can’t go another second not married to him. Not after today.

So we go up to the roof. Jack still in his hospital gown and me in my scrubs. Robby officiates, Dana sings because she can’t help herself, and Collins ‘witnesses’ which really means crying.

Jack is kissing me before Robby can even say, “You may kiss your bride.”

When we come up for air, Robby claps both of us on the back and says, “Solid work, you two.”

I just kiss my husband again. Because he is alive and he is here

[science-hoes]

wine night thots??? hmm how about any of the boys eating their, uh you know favorite meal *wink* *wink*

Ah yes Charlie Reid, Pope Cody, Jack Abbot, and Michael Robinavitch are fine dining connoisseurs!! They only eat at five star restaurants!!

Charlie eats you out like it’s a daily ritual, especially before he leaves for work in the mornings. It wakes him up better than any amount of caffeine. You’ll root your fingers in his greying curls, grinding against his skilled tongue. His hands pin your hips down so he can get just the angle he wants to hear you scream his name. “Gonna wake up the neighbors, sweetheart.” He rolls your clit in between his lips, vibrations shooting to your core when he chuckles at your desperate whines. “Hush, now, I’m gonna let you come. Won’t leave my baby girl frustrated all day.” When your orgasm approaches, he expertly draws it out with a few more skilled flicks of his tongue, moaning as your slick dribbled down his chin. He makes you kiss it clean for him before he gets out of bed to shower.

Pope is probably the least experienced when it comes to eating pussy. He hasn’t had much opportunity to do it, so he’s certainly no expert. But when he goes down on you the first time, he wants to make it perfect for you. “Does it feel good when I do this?” His tongue is long and rough against your folds, and he can’t get enough of your juices. You taste like heaven, and he could die happily right there between your thighs. When you guide him to suck on your clit, that’s when he starts to have fun. The desperate slurping sounds from his mouth fill the room, and fuck, he’s a fast learner. When you come on his mouth for the first time, he drinks it all up, swallowing like it’s his final meal. “Can I do it again? You just taste so good.” And how are you supposed to say no to that?

Jack is a certified pussy eater. He’ll take care of you anytime, anywhere. At home in bed, in the on call room at work, in the backseat of his truck. He loves to have your plush thighs constrict his neck like a boa snake as he devours you. It’s his favorite way to relieve stress after a grueling night shift. “Mmmm, I needed this.” You’ll scream his name over and over, it’s like a symphony to his ears. And he isn’t gonna stop until you come twice on his mouth before you move to any other activities. “Come on, baby doll, give me one more.” When you come for the second time, he’s greedily licking up every last drop, mouth glistening with your juices in the early morning light. And if he’s feeling mischievous, he’ll try for a third and a fourth time, just to see what your limits are.

Robby thinks about the taste of your pussy while he’s at work, even when he shouldn’t be, like when he’s elbows deep in a gunshot victim with you at his side. Most nights, when you get home, he’ll snatch your scrub bottoms down, push you onto the couch, and start teasing you through your panties with his tongue. “Been thinkin’ about this all day, kid. You drive me crazy.” When you eventually get rid of your panties, he dives in like a man possessed. His beard adds a wonderful scratch to your most sensitive areas, his nose brushing perfectly against your clit, and if he has those old man glasses on, they’re fogging up from your heat. “Gonna squirt for me today? Did you drink enough water?” And truly, that was your only motivation to stay hydrated. To see Robby’s beard drenched with your cum and juices after he licks and fingers you into squirting all over his face.

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

post night shift | michael robinavitch x nurse! reader

summary: robby comforts his gf after her first and last night shift

warnings: mention of patient deaths

a.n: this is the first thing i’ve written in over 4 years thank you dr robby for the inspiration

“She lost three patients today” abbot gives robby the heads up over the phone after he walks you out of the hospital.

Robby’s heart drops, he knows you take losing a patient very hard, he can’t imagine how you’ll be after losing three. He wasn’t expecting you to walk into your shared apartment pissed.

“What the fuck is night shift?!” you exclaimed as you walked in the door and took off your shoes by the entryway, setting your bag on the hook. Michael came to meet you near the entryway, “I knew I wasn’t made for night shift and this just confirmed it,” you rambled. “The staff was great and I love working with abbot but my god I’m never covering one of those shifts again, that was horr-horrible” your voice shakes as tears well up in your eyes and then the next thing you know you’re crying in robby’s arms.

You weren’t even supposed to be there. You were doing a favor for the night shift charge nurse when she called to see if you were willing to come in since they were so short staffed. You remembered abbot mentioning how much smoother night shift would run with more nurses since they were usually always short staffed anyway, so you figured you would help out by coming in.

You loved being a nurse, you truly did, but it was shifts like these that made it so hard. Yes, you helped many patients today, but it was hard not to focus on the ones who died.

Robby doesn't ask you any questions, he knows you’ll talk to him when you're ready, and he also knows that right now you just need to cry it all out, allow the grief to leave your body. It still breaks his heart listening to your sobs, but all he can do is rub your back to try to comfort you.

“I lost three patients today” you hiccuped out through your crying as you lifted your head to look up at robby.

He takes your face in his palms as his eyes soften, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s hard”

“One was just a kid, 8 years old” you cry a little harder and his thumbs lightly brush your cheeks. He brings your head back against his chest, and after a few moments your cries quiet down, and you finally look back up at him, “today was so fucking hard michael” you whisper

“I know baby, I know” he says as he leads you to the couch and you immediately crawl into his lap and take your place against him.

You paused for a moment, “did abbot call you?” you asked

He nods, “yeah, he was worried about you”

“I need to apologize to him,” you sighed, “I may or may not have snapped at him after losing my second patient” you grimaced, remembering how harsh you were with him

“You know he didn't take it personally” he says, softly rubbing your back and you just nod in response.

After a few moments of just enjoying his company you say, “I’m gonna head to bed, I need to get my sleep schedule back on track to flip back to days for the next shift” you kiss his cheek, feeling like the heavy weight of grief on your chest lessened when you cried it out. This was a rule you and robby made for yourselves when you first started dating: you would cry out all the emotions you needed to, take as much time as you needed to go through the motions of the day, and then let it go.

“Then let’s go to bed” he says, and you look at him confused, didn’t he just wake up? “I took a very short nap after my shift and woke up around 3 so I could wait up and take a nap with you when you got back” he explains, a bit sheepishly even

You let out a small smile, “you’re so cute” and give him a kiss, “how did I get so lucky?” you lean back in his lap to look at him. He can feel a soft blush taking over his face when he notices how you’re looking at him, all these months together and you still make him blush.

“I’m the lucky one, sweetheart, I can’t believe you still put up with me” he says softly, thinking of how you put up with him and all the emotional baggage he was dealing with in the beginning of your relationship, and how incredibly thankful he was that you stayed.

“Always” you said

—

the pitt masterlist

[sushiwriterhere]

jack abbot is such a wife guy through and through oh my god. even before him and samira get married, he leans into the domesticity and comfort of their partnership. when she starts staying over, he’s clearing out drawers for her, noting her skin and hair care products so he can get her stuff for his place.

(he isn’t sure how to give them to her, not sure how she’ll take it. is it presumptuous? during a particularly slow shift he familiarizes himself with sephora and ulta and eventually decides, fuck it, he’ll wake her up with breakfast and a bag of her things. the packages get delivered after he’s left for his shift and before he can intervene, she’s texting him a photo of the packages all ‘???’ and all he can say is ‘open them!’ and when he comes home she kisses him breathless just after he walks in the door.)

he still has that lingering anxiety about him being too old and her too beautiful, too accomplished, (too young), and so he stresses for a few weeks after he realizes he wants to propose before robby tells him he’s acting weird and threatens to have dana intervene. after that he comes back to himself but realizes the world of engagement rings has changed a lot since the last time he proposed.

(the pain of becoming a widower never really goes away. his therapist tells him the grief doesn’t get smaller, you just grow around it. he hates the thought of amy being a smaller part of his life, but when samira takes flowers to her grave on their anniversary, while jack is suffering through a night shift from hell, he thinks things might be okay.)

abbot decides he’ll need more than just google can provide (he almost has a pinterest induced migraine), and he asks the people he knows will know best.

dana first, to confirm he hasn’t lost his mind. dana blinks at him before laughing and saying ‘took you long enough to get here.’

then he asks mel king because he figures she’ll know what kind of ring samira might want and maybe how she wants to be proposed to? dr king is an unusually helpful resource, sending him a link to a pinterest board (fuck) that samira and her have apparently been diligently curating. she agrees no fanfare.

his army buddies know who she is before she meets them because he’s always saying samira this and mohan that. they all cheer when he says he’s proposing and that it’s about time.

he thinks he’s going to throw up but also that he’s never been more sure of anything in his life when he holds out the box in his palm, kneeling in the botanical gardens, the two of them hidden by the lushness of first spring’s bloom. she doesn’t say anything, staring at the ring, then at his face, then back at the ring. he knows he’s giving the speech he rehearsed a million times over.

(‘abbot i think you should pick a different prayer when a patient is crashing, that one sounds an awful lot like a proposal speech.’)

samira mohan’s hands shake while she lets him put the ring on her finger, because ‘jack i would’ve said yes a month into dating you.’

(‘aren’t you glad i bullied you into a videographer and photographer?’ jack can’t even bring himself to be annoyed at santos’ tone because now he forever has photo and video evidence that samira mohan said yes to marrying him.)

there’s not a dry eye during the ceremony, robby gives her away, and samira told him robby had cried so hard he’d been shaking when she’d asked. and it’s not an extravagant affair, because samira rolls her eyes when he asks her if she wants the dramatic ceremony.

(her dress is still breathtaking and jack’s coworkers see him cry for the first time.)

after they tie the knot, it really is unfortunate that he can’t (actually) use the ‘my wife said no’ excuse because he really just loves the way ‘my wife said’ sounds. not like that stops him anyways, because dana throws a pen at his head after the fifth, “my wife said no.” in response to her strict instructions to stop hanging around after his shifts are over.

it’s not as if much truly changes. samira terminates her lease and properly moves into jack’s place. she was the only one really using the kitchen, but now he’s spending his time off redoing the backsplash because he saw her looking at some picture on pinterest for just a little too long.

they adopt the dog she couldn’t stop looking wistfully at after going with mel and becca to the no-adoption-fee event.

(jack only pretends to think about it so she tries to persuade him. his facade lasts approximately thirty seconds into her kissing down his bare chest after they’ve come home before he caves and admits he was googling doggy daycares while trailing her in the shelter.)

they start doing double-date brunches with robby and collins in their backyard when shifts align and jack pointedly does not cry when he and samira open a gift bag containing the tiniest onesie he’s ever seen.

(samira had apparently noticed weeks before but kept the secret to herself aside from checking in on collins occasionally when she’d disappear to be sick in the bathrooms.)

he puts his first ring on a chain that he wears along with his dog tags. he makes his phone background a photo of samira the morning after the engagement (she’s got bedhead and her eyes are puffy from sleep but she’s smiling sleepily at the ring on her hand and jack thinks it should replace the Mona Lisa).

[quickestgold]

For angsty requests: marriage on the rocks with jack abbot, contemplating divorce?

Say Something: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: A decade of falling in and out of love has turned you and Jack from lovers to strangers. But when a difficult case hits too close to home, you might finally be calling time of death on your marriage.

Warnings: Reader and Jack are both vets/doctors; Canon-typical graphic depictions of trauma/injuries; mentions of missing limbs, blood, war, ptsd, GSWs, patient death, divorce, rooftops;

Word count: 4k+

A/n: Slowly working through my requests, sorry for the long wait! But thanks so much for sending this in! Can't wait to hear your thoughts! Ngl kind of broke my heart with this one ♡

I will hold your hand. I will grow with you. I will change with you. Every day, in love and in life.

Ten years.

In and out of love. Always by each other's side. Two sides of the same coin. Combat medics. Doctors. Lovers. Friends. In that order.

But lately, a new reality has settled between you.

Strangers.

You share a bed and a space. A home. You've grown through laughter and pain. Know the other's darkness and heartache intrinsically.

Jack is the person you would survive any war with. He's your person. And you're his. Your passion runs deep, intellectually and emotionally.

You've been through hell together, but you always made it back. You used to laugh a lot, coping through humor. Most alive in high-stakes, emotionally demanding work.

You spent most of your careers overseas. Never shying away from the hard places. Always trying to help.

You can be unpredictable, the ends forever justifying the means. Walking the thin line between control and recklessness. Even for Jack's standards and he isn't exactly a man of protocol.

But sometimes you scare him. Your complete disregard for your own safety, always putting him first. The irony of course being, that he does the same for you. But before you, he never experienced a partnership like it. No one ever made him feel that whole. Completed him in a way, he can't ever find the words for.

So he made you a promise. To hold you. To grow with you. And to change with you.

Every day.

And you said yes...

But over the years, the line between your personal and your professional life has almost completely blurred.

You barely see each other outside of work. Everything feels mechanical. There's only faint traces of intimacy. Of tenderness. Just two people who've known each other for a long time. Who are slowly growing apart. Changing without the other. Not realizing they're going in separate directions.

In your heart you know it's no ones fault. No infidelity. No drama.

Just... silence.

Your shift wasn't exactly quiet before this case. But this injury, this patient, throws you off your game.

You never crack. The new interns thought Dr. Abbot was the stoic, quietly observant, fuck-standard-of-care, ED-cowboy.

Before they met you.

Unafraid to contest decisions from the higher-ups, demonstrating fearlessness in times of crisis, fudging paperwork for the sake of the patient. Always treating the person, not the protocol.

Dr. Walsh, Emery, your best friend and twisted sister in arms, always challenges you.

Your "other" person. The Cristina to your Meredith.

On occasion, she kicks Jack out of his own bed, when you need to reflect on a particularly bad case, or sometimes just to wind down with shitty reality TV. Jack would curse under his breath, but ultimately make room for the two of you. Always respecting your strong bond.

You went through residency together. Watched others drop out under the pressure. But you were never in competition, except maybe the odd healthy one.

Where she practices medicine by the book, you often improvise. But your dynamic works.

She knows you. Truly.

So when she steps into the trauma room, her words slice through the air like a sharp scalpel. The tension has built up slowly over the last two hours you've spent working on a man, who got his leg blown off handling faulty fireworks.

You're pressing into his chest, trying to force life back into his body, one beat at a time.

"Fuck no." Emery approaches the table, ready to shove you aside. "You should not be running this."

"This is not the time for you to tell me what to do, Dr. Walsh." You counter, your movements focused.

Jack is beside you, watching every step closely. His eyes flicker to Walsh's, you pretend you don't see them exchanging a look.

Your priority is the patient on your table.

Assess. Stabilize. Move upstairs.

"Third unit's in." Jesse states.

"Okay, pulse check." You order, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

Emery presses her fingers against the patient's pulse points. "No femoral. No carotid." The words make your heart drop and for a second it feels like it's you hooked up to the monitor, the flatline mirroring your failure.

You resume compressions. "We had a pulse after three packed cells", exhaling deeply with each push. "We need to get him up asap, Em." Em. Not Emery. Not Dr. Walsh. Your professional exterior clearly cracked wide open, ribs spread apart.

"We need a pulse to go to the OR. You know this." Emery hovers next to you now. You can feel her breath against your damp skin.

Jack doesn't say anything, but you get the feeling he's with Emery. His arms are crossed, his weight shifting from one leg to the other, worry written across his features. His own trauma pulling at the seams. But he doesn't let it in. He's focused on you, watching you touch your belly in a nervous tic.

The realization that this is a battle you're going to lose, dizzies you. You take a step back, hands slightly trembling, as Javadi takes over compressions. A million techniques and procedures flash through your mind.

A lifetime worth of training. Of knowledge. But nothing makes sense. Your brain starts to short-circuit.

Focus on the medicine.

"I could try a REBOA?" Santos suggests, stressing the word with dangerous confidence.

"Would that work?" Javadi cuts in, panting.

You don't look, but you feel Jack shaking his head softly, with a resigned sadness.

"Dr. Abbot, step back." Emery grabs your elbow, forceful.

You shove her with the same attitude, turning your attention back to the patient. "He's right on the edge..."

"Dr. Abbot." Emery moves to the other Abbot, willing him to say something.

Jack nods, silently reaching for your hand. The cold sensation on your clammy skin startles you. You pull your hand away, sharply. Nearly throwing him off balance.

You stare at them incredulous, their betrayal like a sharp stabbing pain in your back.

When did they team up? Against you, nonetheless.

"It's not Jack!" Emery yells without thinking, but she fears it's the only thing that can pull you back to the surface.

The flatline echoes in the distance, but you don't wait for them to call time of death.

Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. Gloves are ripped off with a snap, before you flee the scene. Not ready to face the consequences of your defeat.

After finishing the rest of his shift, Jack enters the home you've built together. The curtains are drawn. The lights dim. No familiar smell coming from the kitchen.

He paces through the empty hallway before he finds you in the ensuite bathroom, still washing today's trauma off. Scrubbing. Until your hands are sore. Then scrubbing some more.

"I’m not trying to fight with you." His voice is low and soft.

"Then don’t." You scoff. "Don’t take her side. She wasn’t there."

"No." Jack shakes his head in acknowledgement. "But she means well." He surprises himself by siding with his supposed mortal enemy.

"She always does this. Acting like she needs to fix me."

"Surgeons." Jack offers playfully, but you don't bite.

"I'm not her fucking patient."

Jack reaches for your hand, attempting to pull you out of your spiral.

"Fuck off." You snap. Too harshly.

"Hey." His eyes sharpen. "I can't talk to you like this."

"Yeah? That's kind of the point."

"Last I checked, this means something." He grabs your hand, bringing the delicate ring on your finger into vision. You snatch your hand away.

"The piece of metal that binds you to me? Without it you'd have run for the hills ages ago." This conversation is starting to feel more and more like a losing battle in itself. It's like you're right back in that trauma room. Fighting for someone’s future. Though this isn't quite as tangible.

Why didn't med school prepare you for this?

Jack huffs a humorless laugh. "Every day. In love and in life." He breaks eye contact. "Even when you resent me."

"No. Don't do this. You don't get to tell me, I resent you for choosing you. For years, I let you act like I'm doing this selflessly. A noble sacrifice in the name of love. Like it was your fault-"

"We both know it was." Jack's words rip through the air like a bullet. Tearing straight through your heart. Leaving you breathless, unable to speak. The air constricting, like there's a tube down your throat.

"Don't pretend it wasn't. I was sent home. You could've stayed. But you didn't and you've hated me since." There's a brutally honest edge to his confession that feels like someone's sliced you open, vultures waiting to feast on your organs.

You process for a few beats, before rediscovering your voice. Shock slowly replaced by anger.

"Don't ever say that to me again." You cross your arms, hiding your trembling hands in the safety of your embrace, the hurt palpable. "I did that for you." You say quietly, painfully aware of the throbbing ache in your chest.

"Yeah? I never fucking asked you to."

This isn't Jack. But something within him's snapped. He fears if he doesn't lay it all out on the table now, there's no chance of recovery.

Soon you'll be the one calling time of death on your marriage.

You stare at him, suddenly realizing you've exhausted all options. There's nothing more you can do. You gave it your best.

You really fucking tried.

"I wanted this. I wanted you. But I'm... tired." You hesitate. "Maybe it's time we stop trying."

Jack is silent, already anticipating where you're going, knowing you saying the words out loud will break him.

You search his eyes, only to find your own grief reflected back at you.

"People get divorced, Jack. All the time."

The weight of your words crushes him, compressing his lungs. The force on his body leaving him momentarily paralyzed.

He just blinks at you, his expression illegible.

Your eyes are locked on his, willing him to say something.

Back in control of his muscles, Jack moves to his side of the bed, silently grabbing his pillow and heading towards the door.

You furrow your brows. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Jack answers, an unexpected resignation in his voice.

You groan. "I'll sleep on the couch. You stay."

Jack says your name like he's breaking the news of someone's passing to their loved ones. Crushed by a new reality, even if they're in denial.

"Are you serious?" You ask, blocking the doorway with an unwavering confidence that is usually reserved for emergencies.

Maybe this is one.

"Yeah, I'm serious. Move." His words are composed and determined, like he's not speaking as your husband, but your attending.

"You know you'll get no sleep on that thing. You'll be fucked tomorrow-" You try to reason.

"I don't need you to protect me!" He yells, too loud. The shrill tone taking you aback, making your heart race like someone's calling a code. "Stop treating me like I'm broken."

You grimace, your hand instinctively finds your belly again, your nails digging tightly into your battleworn skin.

Jack immediately retreats. "I- I'm sorry-"

Shouting is the one thing you don't do. You fight. You argue. You walk away. But you don't let anger boil over to the point of raising your voices at the other. Your therapist finds it healthy. But you both know it's from a combination of your PTSD triggers and shared trauma.

"Do me a fucking favor and sleep in our bed." You hiss, ripping the pillow from his hands and throwing it back onto the bed.

Before the next wave of pain hits you, you disappear into the bathroom to splash water on your flushed face.

Jack stands still for a moment, instant regret shooting through him. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his palms.

He calls out for you again, softer.

"I'm leaving! Fuck." You stumble back into the room, face wet, eyes burning. You find him looking up at you with a sadness you've only seen once before. Your heart palpitates with sorrow. Each skipped beat a reminder of all the loss and heartbreak.

"Please." He gestures at the duvet, gently touching the empty space next to him. "Stay."

In a moment of vulnerability, you truly see your husband in front of you. Your person.

With familiar effortlessness you kneel down in front of him, your hands resting gently on his tensed thighs.

A glimpse of what was. Intimate and tender.

Your hands find his prosthetic, sliding it off with practiced ease, slowly working it out of the socket.

"You're not broken."

Your words wrap around his heart, loving and earnest, like your hands massaging his leg.

You linger in his space, staring directly into his soul. Your eyes expressing more than every language in the world.

"You're whole."

Jack’s thumb instinctively caresses your cheek. The kind of closeness you both crave deeply, but haven't found in each other in far too long.

You both slide onto the bed, silently staring up at the ceiling.

Jack turns to look at you, before softly placing his palm on your abdomen.

"Is that really what you want?" He whispers into the darkness, afraid to hear your answer.

The silence hangs heavy with the words unsaid.

You notice the awful ringing in your ears first.

It's so fucking loud.

At the same time, you can't hear anything at all. Your brain is too slow to catch up.

Jack, the other medic in your unit, - and secret fling - just handed you a cheap beer. You were eating burnt food. As usual, when you were in charge of dinner.

Why are you on the ground?

Sharp objects pierce your sunburnt skin. A cocktail of sand and ash forces its way inside your mouth and nostrils, making you gag. You gasp for air, willing the dust around you to disperse.

But a cloud of darkness blinds you. Fiery sparks and flashes shooting through the air without direction.

Then it hits you, like a second wave of explosives.

Your unit was ambushed.

Where's Jack?

You stumble to your feet, desperately looking for something to hold onto. To steady you. Rough hands suddenly grab at you, pulling you behind metal walls for cover.

Your sergeant. Shouting at you like there's no tomorrow, but you can't make out what.

He's violently shaking your shoulders, then just as quickly, he's somewhere else. You drop back against the wall with a harsh thud.

It takes all of your energy to let your head fall to one side. When you spot him. Just out of the corner of your eye.

Jack.

On the ground.

Gasping, breathing erratically, staring up at the sky, like he's waiting to become a part of it.

For a second you let your eyes dart to where he's looking.

A beautiful, peaceful sight. The world above you, blissfully unaware of the atrocities going on below.

Something brings you back. A distorted sound.

A low, agonizing cry. You don't know where it's coming from, until your eyes shoot back to Jack.

Still on the ground.

Fuck. You're trained for this.

Why is he not moving? Why aren't you?

Your eyes scan his body, your medical instincts taking over like muscle memory. Assessing.

Your gaze lands on his torso. There's no obvious trauma, your eyes move lower, towards his hips, his pelvis, down to his legs.

Then you see it. The massive gash below his right knee.

You don't think. You just react.

Don't even register your seargent shouting at you again. Your legs carrying you to Jack's side, dropping to your knees beside him.

Not as his partner, not his girlfriend.

There's barely a trace of the woman he's grown to love, only the professional, hardened combat medic.

With one goal.

Assess, stabilize, evacuate.

Your hands move on autopilot, tightening a tourniquet just below his knee. Desperate to stop the-

To stop the love of your life from bleeding out!!

Your professional demeanor cracks, your eyes suddenly dart to Jack's. His are already on you. Holding onto you like you're the anchor tying him to this life.

The tourniquet holds. Your hands find his face. Desperate to comfort him in any way you can.

You can't speak. Neither does Jack.

And you still cannot hear a thing.

Not even when muffled thuds go off. You don't acknowledge your team readying their guns. Your only focus is Jack.

Then you feel it. Not the impact, but the warm liquid instantly soaking your uniform.

Your eyes flicker to your abdomen. It doesn't register immediately.

Though when it does, the world suddenly regains volume. The sound almost deafening.

Fuck.

No Man's Land.

But it doesn't matter. Only one thing does.

Protect Jack.

You throw your body over his, shielding him from whatever's coming.

You can feel his ragged breaths against your neck, your blood leaking into his uniform. Flooding him with your warmth, while your skin grows cold.

If this is goodbye, there’s no one you’d rather be with.

Minutes pass.

The dust settles. The sounds slow. But unfortunately, so does your breathing.

It takes all of your energy to lift your head just enough to find Jack's eyes underneath you. Looking up at you with a sadness you hope to God you'll never see again.

He's scared to death. Though not for himself.

You give him a brave smile to reassure him, before dropping onto your back.

There's too much blood.

Jack's. Yours. It's all one.

If you go, he’ll follow. And vice versa.

Without wasting a second, one of Jack's arms pulls you closer, throwing his hand over your wound. Gathering all of his remaining strength to apply pressure.

To protect you.

The world around you starts to fade. Your team moves around you frantically.

But you and Jack, just lie there, still, holding each other.

Until darkness takes you.

You wake to an empty bed, made perfectly, like it wasn't slept in. You stumble into the kitchen to find your coffee and go-bag ready on the counter, the habitual gesture making you smile, before the sadness rushes back in.

Is that really what you want?

Then you notice the stick-it note attached to the fridge.

We should talk to someone.

Vague as ever.

A therapist? A lawyer? God?

A jarring ding pulls you out of your head.

You open the door swiftly, being greeted with an iced oat latte and your favorite pastries from the coffee shop across the street. A cheap attempt at a peace offering.

"Have we calmed down or are we still pouting?" Walsh's sarcastic tone echoes through the hallway.

You attempt to slam the door shut, but she beats you to it, quickly wedging her foot into the frame. You roll your eyes, hard, before making your way back into your living room. Satisfied, she accepts the invitation and follows you in.

"It wasn't your place to get involved." You state, serious, crossing your arms and sinking into your corner of the couch.

Walsh sets the coffee down next to you before placing the pastries on the bottom shelf of your fridge. Her movements are familiar, like she's done this a thousand times.

With a groan she sits down on the other end of the couch, your eyes tracking her.

"Someone had to say it." She states nonchalantly, sipping her own latte.

Sure no one else would've dared. But…

"It was still fucked up."

She sighs deeply, leaning forward to shove the cup closer to you, like the ice can melt away the betrayal. "I'm sorry."

You nod, reluctantly taking a sip of your coffee.

"I suggested a divorce." You blurt out.

Emery almost chokes on her drink, eyes wide. "You what?"

God. Her reaction somehow makes it worse.

"I just don't see a way of moving forward, Em. Something needs to change."

Emery nods.

"We were happier once, weren't we?" You ask, like a child seeking reassurance from a parent.

"I don't know." Walsh answers truthfully. "But you were sadder before him."

"Do you think I smother him?"

Emery leans in, taking your hand. "You saved each other. In more ways than one." She gives you a squeeze. "Maybe you forgot that being married is more than sharing a home."

Though you usually work night shifts now, you've agreed to take a day one, your and Jack's shifts only slightly overlapping.

Preparing for the madness to come, you find yourself on the roof of PTMC to watch the world come alive before your eyes. The first rays of sunshine spreading warmth across your skin against the cold of the night.

This is where Jack comes to process particularly bad cases. It means something to him. So it does to you too.

It didn't surprise you that Jack proposed on a roof. Not this one. He's not that morbid. It was your first apartment. But without any grand gesture. No fairy lights, cozy blankets or candlelight dinner.

It was simple.

Just two people, in love.

To be fair there was a blanket. One. And he wrapped you both in it, while you were watching the stars above. Or at least you were. Jack was gazing at something far more mesmerizing. His future flashing before his eyes, like a shooting star.

Everything that's truly ever mattered, leaning into him. Seeking comfort in the darkness, finding it in his warmth. And he in yours.

“Marry me.” He whispered it with a confidence like he already knew what you were going to say.

You only just notice you stepped under the railing, a little too close to the edge. But somehow, you get the appeal. Of how being this close to certain death makes you feel weirdly alive.

The door creaks open, you don't have to turn around to know who it is. You can hear it in his footsteps.

"I'm in your spot." You state, beating Jack to it.

"I hate it when you do this." He mutters under his breath, approaching slowly.

"Ditto." You counter with a smirk, turning your head slightly to shoot him a glance.

"If you lose balance, you go over... that’s it."

"Don’t be so dramatic." You sigh theatrically.

He shifts his weight and groans, arms clinging onto the railing. Your eyes flicker to him, as he rests his head.

Your brows furrow. "You okay?"

He lifts his head just enough to look at you. "Are you?"

You can't help but smile. He returns it with a grin, announcing his dry humor is about to make a guest appearance. "Aim for the bay, otherwise you’ll hit the roof and end up on my table."

You laugh, like you haven't in years. A reminder of before.

He huffs. "But I hope you know, if you jump, I’ll hate you forever."

"I thought you already did." You say it as a joke, but it hits a nerve. Jack's face grows serious.

You turn to fully face him. "I know it wasn't you. Yesterday. With Em."

"Yeah." He mouths, understanding. "But it took you back." A statement, not a question.

"I felt it." Your eyes begin to sting with a familiar burn. "The pain, the fear... the thought of losing you-"

"I swear we were friends." Jack interrupts, unable to shake his thoughts. You tilt your head in confusion. "Before all this. Before the pitt, the tours, coming back."

You listen, even though it really fucking hurts. Because it's true.

"Before we were lovers. Before we became strangers." He sighs deeply. “I don’t recognize us. We never run away from the hard stuff.”

A realization suddenly hits you. "I think I changed. And so did you. But we didn't.”

Your inhales deepen, both of you now breathing in perfect harmony.

Jack leans closer, tilting his head to make sure his words reach your soul. "I want this. This life. With you. I'll never stop wanting it. Even if you choose to walk away."

"I don't..." Jack's face drops, you quickly elaborate. "I don't want to leave you, Jack. My worst fear is a life without you."

Jack exhales like he wasn't breathing until now, sadness, grief and heartbreak visibly leaving his body.

You lean in too. "What if we find new ways to share it?"

Years of unresolved sadness finally come to light. Beautifully mirrored by the rising sun. Another chapter.

A new beginning.

Jack reaches for your hand. Only this time you don't pull away. You stay. And let Jack hold you. Like he promised. Like you both did.

Every day.

© quickestgold, 2025.

Taglist: @mayabbot @sus-styles @clarasmoon @ezraphalitis @ncsls0515 @melancholyy-hill lmk if you want to be added! ☼

[loveyhoneydovey]

18+ mdni (female reader who's implied to be younger. idk what this is y'all I just need Jack and Samira so bad)

thinking about Jack coming home from covering for someone on the day shift to find both his girls, you and Samira, making out on his bed. what gets him even more worked up? you two don't pay any attention to him, either because you haven't noticed him or you're truly just too focused on each other to care about anything else.

thinking about the obscene sounds of hungry lips exploring each other and desperate moaning filling out the bedroom as you and Samira grow needier for each other. the way the air slowly starts to feel heavier, becomes filled with your scent and hers mixing together with Jack's cologne. your hands roam all over her body as you can't help but start trailing kisses down her neck until you get to her collarbone. the lewd whine she lets out when you suck on her clavicle goes straight to Jack's cock and has you soaking your panties.

and Jack's a smart man, he's not gonna interrupt his girls and get in the way of perfection. instead, he opts for pulling his cock out of his boxers to fist it, slowly at first. he watches as you move on to Samira's naked chest, taking a nipple in your mouth while you twist the other with your fingers. he can see how much you're trying to take it easy, but he knows how much you love her tits. and just as he expected, Samira yelps as you resort to biting and sucking instead of the gentle suckling you'd been doing previously.

you release your girlfriend's abused nipple with a plop sound before looking at her. and it's like you two can just communicate through one look, because next thing he knows, Jack is watching you and her giggle like the two little brats you are.

"so, doctor Abbot, are you finally gonna join us or has old age finally caught up to your body?"

you don't have to ask him twice

[jackabbbot]

pairing: jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary: even when looking after your patients, you want to make sure jack is okay.

note: i wrote this on my phone whilst rewatching ep 12 and drinking every time im squeamish. its short. i’ve not read this back.

‘what does that even mean?’ jack looks at you, shaking his head. he shuffles his gait between his legs and you grab his hand. it’s big and strong, dwarfing your own hand.

‘it’s doesn’t matter,’ you say, shaking your head as you guide him towards a seat. pulling the stool towards you with your foot, you gently usher him down. ‘is it your hips or your leg?’

‘it’s nothing,’ he dismisses, trying to stand back up but your hand on his shoulder keeps him down. ‘i need to get back to work.’

aware of how long you’ve been touching him, you gently bring your hand away. at the very least, you want to preserve a small resemblance of professionalism at work, of all places.

‘you’re behind on your charting, anyway,’ bridget says, her eyebrow raised as she taps the computer in front of your husband. ‘sit down, and listen to your poor wife, for once.’

shooting her an appreciative look, you grab a tablet and look up at the screen. south 16 has a patient whose labs have come back. you take the case, having been one not touched since shift change.

‘hello,’ you introduce yourself to the patient, keeping just a sliver of curtain open. it allows you to keep an eye on your favourite attending. ‘your labs have just come back and your blood alcohol has returned to normal. this is great news as it means you can be discharged soon.’

‘thank fuck for that,’ the girl says, grabbing her phone. ‘and, it’s fucking dead, what the fuck. do you have a charger?’

‘yeah, i should do, let me check,’ you look down at the tablet and make a few notes. ‘okay, so your mom is on the way and i’ll come back if i’ve got a charger.’

‘great, i can’t wait to get out of this fucking place,’ she rolls her eyes and throws herself back on the bed. ‘it’s just a fucking nightmare. i just fell.’

‘your blood alcohol was 0.3. we have to make sure you’re sober before we let you go. in better news, though, that’s all we need to do before you need to go. your previous doctor has already gone through the care instructions for the cast.’

you make your way back into the er and jack has already left the seat. shooting a look to bridget, she just shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

‘hey, could you let me know when the patient in south 12’s mum gets here?’ you ask, finishing the last of your charting. she nods and the charge phone goes off.

you do a quick round to look for jack, knowing that there is someone coming in soon. he’s in the staff room, prosthetic off of his leg and is massaging it.

‘you okay, love?’ you ask, gently touching his shoulder. there aren’t that many people in the er as of yet so taking a little time isn’t particularly detrimental to anybody. ‘are you in pain?’

‘it’s okay,’ he shakes his head and tries to grab the prosthetic but you stop him. crouching down, you cup jack’s face in your hand.

‘it’s not okay. i know you say it’s almost constant but we have a moment. take a moment, please,’ you beg, taking over massaging his leg. he lets out a hiss and you brace jack’s head against your shoulder. ‘let me look after you for once.’

‘you always look after me,’ he starts, voice raspy. he points a finger at his heart. ‘you look after me here. all the time.’

he’s so sincere it makes your heart clench in your chest. your eyes well up just the slightest and you squeeze his hand, unable to say anything else.

you look deep into his beautiful hazel eyes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. it’s enough for now. it’s too much for work but far too little to truly express how you feel about him.

‘the charge phone went off before i came looking for you,’ you say, breaking the silence. ‘you can stay here and i’ll deal with it or someone else can.’

‘sweetheart, i’m fine,’ jack protests, kissing your knuckles. ‘i’ll be out in a minute.’

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[erwinsvow]

i love langdons little sister but i started thinking robby’s very little sister :( they probably didn’t grow up very close so like Lexi and Meredith they probably have to start developing their relationship while they work together :( i can imagine the first time robby acts truly like a big brother is to say “you can’t date my baby sister dude!!!” and it’s like upsetting that he doesn’t approve of the relationship but also you can’t help but be happy he called you his baby sister for once :((((

omg!!! more gold!!!! we are all hell bent on making robby’s family jack’s family aren’t we. this is sooooooooo wow!!!!!! sooooo let’s see. we have the adopted after had already left for college idea. divorced parents and someone remarried and had another baby when he was already a grown man. could be a godparents had to adopt the kid after her parents died situation. all of which work just wonderfully fine. the point is that you see robby on calendar holidays, and it’s not that he doesn’t like you but it’s just that you’re kind of just. there. you were growing up when he was in medical school and residency. you were a still a kid at his wedding probably. the age difference means you have absolutely nothing to talk about, nothing in common besides some overlap in music that you both inherited from your parents and your careers. you remember reaching out to ask him about some questions when you were applying to medical school but a lot had changed and he had to hang up because there was an emergency and you had been trying for a while to get back in touch but. robby’s very busy and you’re still an annoying kid in his eyes probably and so you don’t really talk to him about the whole thinking about emergency medicine, thinking about pittsburgh thing. just surprise! there for an audition where you, of course, impress everyone. at first people think you’re a long lost daughter but you’re kind of used to that and even though you haven’t really talked to your brother much over the last couple years besides the occasional how’s school, how’s work small talk, you still get very bright eyed and happy telling them that’s your big brother. you hear how it “runs in your blood” and of course you match there and then during your first few months you start working on the type of relationship you want to have with robby. and robby’s not mean!!! he’s so nice and he has a big heart and he feels a lot for everyone but when it comes to you he’s kinda just head empty. he doesn’t know much about you and it’s also overwhelming and he definitely doesn’t like his private life being talked about at work and now because you’re here it’s talked about all the time and he hates questions so it’s just very overwhelming for you. & we know how robby is with his female mentees (which is fascinating and helps my case here a lot). so he’s trying but not really trying and you do get yelled at sort of a lot and you’ve got thick skin but you’re still just feeling like the little kid nagging someone to play with you. you don’t even remember what it feels like to nag robby because you’ve never had a chance to do so, never bothered him because he was never around. so maybe it just builds up (just like with mer and lexie!) and maybe he kind of explodes on you (he’s thinking about the shit with frank and the horrible months upcoming and post pittfest his relationship with jake and heather and all these things) and it kinda hits you that maybe all of this was a mistake. everyone else loves you beside the one person you wanted to get closer with.

so then you go on the night shift!!!!!!!! and man. oh wow. your education does a 180. you get so much more confident and you actually enjoy going to work and you get to avoid robby which secretly hurts you but you avoid thinking about it when you can. because dr. abbot is so nice!!! and of course he knows you’re robby’s very little sister. you’re practically a kid (you’re the same age as the other residents but you still feel like a kid to him. robby’s mentioned you… three times? four? in all the years he’s known him? twice it was an “ah, fuck, forgot about my little sister’s birthday” and maybe another time how you were in medical school. and then once it had come up during a drunken conversation about kids and families, how he would never do what his parents did and have you so late in their life because it just fucks everything up. of course, he never mentions any of this to you. it would hurt your feelings. and jack is very keen on your feelings.) but there’s no favoritism, nothing that makes you feel like you’re not where you deserve to be. and it doesn’t help that you and jack actually have a lot in common. music, duh. you take your coffee the same way he takes his (something you picked up since you had older parents in the house and they take theirs like him too, something you don’t mention because he might thing you’re calling him old. and you would never want to do that) and he’s surprisingly read all the books you bring on your shifts with you (a couple of classics, a mystery someone had got you for christmas, and very surprisingly one of those vampire romances where there’s two boys fighting for one girl. and he has opinions, which you try to listen to while keeping a straight face and giggle for an hour afterwards. because who would have thought?) but really, who would have thought that jack abbot would become your favorite part of each shift? that the quiet conversations you have all throughout the night are the best part of coming into work. that him borrowing a book for his day off and coming back with lots of commentary would bring you such joy. that he brings in a record for you from his own collection because he thinks you’d like it (and that you listen to it all day and all night and when you look at him, the songs play in your head on repeat). and well, some things are inevitable—life, death, taxes, falling in love with jack abbot. it’s six months of night shifts, listening to his record hum in the background while you brush your teeth at 8 in the morning, to understand that. another two months of beating around the bush. maybe it’s when he gets you a better gift than your own brother does for your birthday that you can’t take it any longer. kissing him silly when he walks you home for the millionth time because he likes to make sure you get home safe (you fuck him silly when he shows up on his day off to walk you home). and then maybe at some point in the year, maybe right as you’re heading into r2 & robby’s doing some deep thinking and having conversations with jack about what he should do about you too often, that your relationship with robby slightly changes. he lingers at shift change to ask you how your morning was, takes you to get a coffee one day and pays how a big brother would. learns about what medical school was like for you and how night shift is going. he says he hopes dr abbot is treating you good or he’ll have words and you laugh into your coffee and get flustered and he kinda… gets suspicious for a moment. finds out when everyone else does, someone telling him that it’s a bummer they lost the pool because they were so sure you and jack would make it another three weeks hiding. and robby goes hiding what? and the guy scurries away. cue the are you kidding me, jack? my sister? my little sister? and jack kind of looks at you like can I get some help here? and you’re still staring at robby because he called you his little sister!!!!!!!! anyways. it’s kinda funny because robby is the best man at your wedding

[pittsick]

omg congrats on 200 followers! i love this idea. can i request 💘 for jack abbot?! be your usual, amazing creative self with it!!

200 FOLLOWERS GAME.

hi omg!!

thank you so much for your support and for following me, it truly means a lot!! <3 and thank you for this request, i love jack so much omg 🤭

Jack’s love language is Quality Time—but not in the usual, candlelit-dinner, long-walks kind of way. With Jack, it’s quieter. More intense. More earned. He’s a man constantly under pressure, always analyzing, fixing, solving. But when it comes to you, he puts all that aside just to be there.

He doesn’t waste time on grand romantic gestures. What he gives instead is his presence—undivided, focused, and rare. When you’re around, he listens with full attention. He notices things no one else does: the way your hands fidget when you’re anxious, the shift in your tone when you’re tired. He’ll take a break from the chaos just to sit beside you in silence, share a drink.

And when he finally lets his defenses down? When he looks at you, eyes softer than they are with anyone else, and says something like, “Stay a little longer”—that’s love, the only way he knows how to show it. Through time. Time just for you.

[wayiiseetheworld]

Aila's Birthday

Summary: Jack celebrates his wife for her birthday.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x OC!Wife. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Domestic Fluff. Romantic Fluff.

Word Count: 1,506

Author Note: I am obsessed with Jack Abbot, and The Pitt. Slowly going to post my stories from A03 on here. || Not my gif.

Part One | A03 Link | Masterlist

The soft glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle light across the bedroom. Aila stirred, her face still nestled into the pillow, unaware of the surprise that awaited her. Jack had been up for a while, quietly preparing everything for this day. He wanted to make her birthday memorable; especially after the rough few weeks they’d just endured. Between her attack, her injury, and Jack picking up extra hours at work because they were unstaffed, life had been overwhelming. 

This day, however, was going to be about her. Everything she had mentioned when they talked about her birthday a few weeks ago, her favorite things, her happiness, that would be the focus. Jack had spent the last few weeks planning, arranging. Today would be a whole day dedicated solely to her.

He knew she deserved that and more. But he listened, she requested a day at home. “...just a day at home with you. Maybe a little spa session, drinks flowing all day, watching some romcoms? The Red Velvet cake from the bakery downtown - what is it called, Sweet Street? And maybe you can whip up your famous steak? We haven’t had steak in so long." He recalls her request.

Quietly, he walks into the master bedroom. Watching her sleeping for a moment, taking in the view.

He leaned down, placing a tender kiss on her forehead, feeling her breathing slow and deepened. Her peaceful expression made his heart swell. Carefully, he reached for the tray he’d prepared; a breakfast to be served in bed with all her favorites and placed it gently on the bedside table. Two large glasses of mimosas sat beside a plate of fluffy pancakes, fresh berries, and a small bowl of her favorite yogurt. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, which sat a small coffee cup on the plate.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Jack whispered softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His voice was warm and tender.

Aila’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she just looked at him, surprised and touched. She sees the breakfast on the nightstand, the dozen sunflowers on the dresser that is located across from the bed. Then a shy smile curled her lips. She reached out to touch his cheek. “Jack,” she said softly, voice still thick with sleep. “You didn’t have to…”

He interrupted gently with a finger against her lips and the color red filled her cheeks. “Just relax. I wanted to do this for you. It’s your birthday. I want to celebrate you.” She hesitated for a moment, then sat up, propping herself on her elbows. The soft sheets draped around her. Her eyes move from Jack to the food. “I made you my famous pancakes. I even got the blueberry syrup you love so much from Maine.”

“Honestly, Jack,” she began, a small, playful grin forming. “That sounds perfect. Thank you. I didn’t even hear you get up this morning. Thank you for doing this.”

Jack's heart softened at her words. He rose to his feet and reached for the nightstand beside the bed, offering her one of the two glasses of mimosa. He handed it to her with a gentle smile. “Here's to you, Aila. The most incredible person I know. Happy birthday.”

She accepted the glass, her fingers grazing his. “To me,” she responded with a grin, clinking their glasses before taking a sip, enjoying the bubbly and citrus flavors.

Jack relaxed back onto the bed, leaning against the headboard as Aila leisurely enjoyed her breakfast, sharing bites with Jack. Once she finished, he reached out and took her hand once more, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “Are you ready for your spa session?” he teased with a grin.

Aila chuckled. “Absolutely. I can’t believe you did all this.”

“You truly deserve this, baby girl,” he whispered softly as he gently guided her toward their luxurious master bathroom, which was connected to their bedroom. It was one of Jack’s favorite spaces in their home; a sanctuary that he designed when they moved in a few years ago. The room featured a sprawling, deep bathtub with soothing jets, alongside a separate, glass-enclosed shower for quick refreshes. Dual sinks gleamed under the soft lighting, and beyond them, a spacious walk-in closet was accessible. Jack had thoughtfully prepared the entire space just for her: scented candles casting a warm, inviting glow, calming music softly playing in the background, and the tub was filled with warm water infused with fragrant bath salts to relax her muscles. 

Once Aila was settled into the warm, soothing waters of the tub, Jack gently approached her, kneeling beside the edge. He began to massage her shoulders, applying gentle pressure to ease any tension lingering there. She had a calming face mask applied, cucumber over her eyes. She allowed herself to fully enjoy the soothing warmth, the soft hum of the music, and Jack’s attentive touch, feeling completely pampered and cherished in this peaceful retreat. “We should do this every year for my birthday.” Aila states. 

“We can do that.” Jack whispers, a promise, pressing a soft kiss behind her ear.

By early afternoon, they nestled comfortably together on the plush sofa, Jack gently wrapping his arms around Aila as the big spoon, while she curled into him as the little spoon. A soft, warm blanket from Pendleton,  a surprise from Jack as it was one of her favorite brands, draped over their bodies. The gentle glow of the television illuminated the room as “Pretty Woman” played softly in the background, its romantic melodies blending seamlessly with the quiet intimacy of the moment. They sipped on rich red wine, the open bottle on the coffee table beside two carefully arranged charcuterie boards sat within easy reach; one piled high with an assortment of meats, artisanal cheeses, and crackers, and the other filled with chocolates, sweet and tart fruits, and nuts. 

“Cake before or after dinner?” Jack asked softly, his voice warm as the first hues of sunset started outside.

“Before, please,” Aila replied with a bright smile. She was always a dessert before dinner kind of person. 

Jack nodded and made his way to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to retrieve a white box. Carefully, he lifted the lid, revealing a beautiful red velvet cake, adorned with vibrant sunflower decorations; made at her favorite bakery downtown. She took a few pictures before Jack began to sing “Happy Birthday” softly, his voice full of affection. Aila’s cheeks flushed with blush, and she giggled shyly at the gesture. 

Together, they carefully sliced the cake, the rich layers yielding to their gentle hands. Aila took a bite, her eyes lighting up as she whispered, “Fucking perfect,” a satisfied smile spreading across her face. The moment felt so special, so intimate, and she savored every bite.

An hour later, the inviting aroma of Jack’s famous steak dinner wafted through the air, filling the room with mouthwatering anticipation. The meal was simple yet perfect; succulent steak, a baked potato topped with sour cream, bacon and chives, and tender cauliflower florets. They lingered on their porch beneath string lights that cast a warm, golden glow over the table, savoring each bite. 

When dinner was finished and everything was cleaned up, they returned to the sofa, both holding glasses of wine. Aila’s feet rested comfortably in Jack’s lap, and they relaxed into the soft cushions, content and happy. She took a sip of her white wine and looked up at him, her voice gentle. “You did so much for me today,” she whispered. “This is honestly the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you for everything, Jack.”

“No need to thank me.” Jack tells her before he reaches over and grabs something from underneath the coffee table and places a small, elegantly gold wrapped box on her lap.

Aila raised an eyebrow, curiously glancing at him. “What did you do?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she prepared to uncover whatever surprise he had in store. Jack has always been a great gifter.

“Open it,” Jack urged softly, his eyes shining with anticipation.

Aila giggled, setting down her glass on the table as she eagerly tore away the shimmering gold wrapping. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the delicate paper, her excitement building with each strip she removed. When she finally lifted the lid, her breath caught in her throat. Inside the box rested a stunning black opal ring, its iridescent colors swirling and shifting with every movement—deep blues, fiery oranges, and flashes of green. 

“Jack!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with surprise as she reached out to gently touch the ring. Her eyes shimmered with happiness, and she looked up at him, overwhelmed by his thoughtful gesture.

“You like it?” He asks. 

“I love it.” She whispers. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful.” She carefully slipped the ring onto her finger, feeling its cool smoothness against her skin. It was perfect—just like her day. Just like the love they shared.

[abbotjack]

hi just wanted to come her and tell you that i truly love everything you’ve been putting out and im wondering whats to come🤔 would you mind telling us about any fics/requests ur working on? just somethings to look forward to :))

also as a writer myself, how do you handle requests? do you just go with the ones that inspires you most atm or do you go by the order in which they entered your inbox? i sometimes go with the first option and feel a little guilty 🤣🥲

hi!! first of all, thank you so much for saying that — it really does mean a lot 🖤 and yeah, as someone who’s still kind of new to sharing my writing, i definitely get overwhelmed sometimes. but honestly? i love getting requests. it’s really cool to me that someone would take the time to think about a story and send it my way. because of that, i usually just go with whatever i have the most inspiration for in the moment — i never want to half-ass something. if someone cared enough to send it in, i want to care enough to do it justice. and honestly, people have been super understanding about that, which i'm really grateful for.

and since you asked, here’s some of the stuff sitting in my notes app right now:

part three of the life we built series : this picks up after reader and jack’s daughter is born — it’ll cover her first twelve months of life, but not in a montage-y way. i want it to really show how their lives change: the little things like jack falling asleep with her on his chest after night shifts, their first trip to the lake with her, the quiet moments where reader second-guesses herself as a mom and jack grounds her without even realizing he’s doing it. it’s going to be very domestic but layered too — lots of marriage dynamics, balancing work and family, seeing jack in this new phase of life without losing the parts of him that have always been there. i want every month to feel like its own chapter of growth, not just for their daughter but for their relationship too.

an addition to the handoff universe (pre-wedding story) : this will be set a few months before their wedding —it’ll probably revolve around some kind of high-stakes night at the hospital (a bad trauma case or a near miss), and how that forces them to confront everything they’ve been putting off talking about — fears, what it means to build a future together, whether they can survive the life they've both chosen. it’ll feel a little heavier than the life we built stuff — more about the growing pains of trying to have it all. i’m consciously not leaning into pregnancy here, since TLWB already covers that side of life. and the universes stay separate — accountant reader vs. attending reader 😭 different lives, different dynamics.

dad’s best friend jack abbot fic (potentially robby’s daughter) : this one’s still brewing, but i’m obsessed with the idea of setting it over fourth of july weekend. reader would have grown up around jack — years of cookouts, pool parties, firework shows — and now she’s grown, back home from college, and the tension’s impossible to ignore. jack’s trying to stay composed because of loyalty (to robby, to her dad, to whatever rules he thinks still apply), but the dynamic is all heat and bad timing. if i go with reader being robby’s daughter, it’ll add even more conflict: not just the age gap, not just the forbidden aspect, but the loyalty jack feels — and the way he starts to realize that loyalty is tearing him up inside. thinking major national anthem x lana del rey energy: reckless, indulgent, a little dangerous, and completely inevitable.

a jack abbot x all too well (10 min version) inspired one-shot : this isn’t going to be a direct retelling of the song, but i’m pulling hard from its structure — moments flashing by, small details that add up to heartbreak. it’ll be one of those fics where you feel the weight of time passing, even if the characters try to pretend it isn’t. probably a former relationship between reader and jack that fell apart because of timing, or choices he made that he thought were protecting her. i want it to be devastating in a quiet way — not loud fights, but all the little silences, the missed moments, the things they almost said. very lyrical, very slow-burn angst.

a one-shot based on girls / girls / boys by panic! at the disco : you, jack, and robby have always been close. too close. the kind of friendship that feels a little dangerous, a little too intimate when no one’s watching. it’s always been half a joke — the three of you piled onto the same barstool, robby slinging his arm around your shoulders like he owns you, jack sitting just a little too close, like he doesn’t trust robby not to do something stupid. you laugh it off. they laugh it off. but everyone feels it — that spark pulling tight between the three of you like a tripwire. the story would open on a night that starts like a thousand others: post-shift beers at some dive bar that should’ve been condemned years ago. the alcohol’s kicking in. the music’s too loud. the glances last a little too long. someone bumps your shoulder and jack’s hand is immediately on your lower back, steadying you — fingers lingering like he forgot he’s supposed to let go. and when robby notices, he doesn’t pull jack away. he grins. like he’s been waiting for this.

i’m trying to make sure each one-shot feels different and actually brings something new, instead of just reworking the same beats over and over! also have a lot of stuff in my inbox.. so really dk what is coming next!

[group-dynamic]

We just got a perfect season of television folks. The Pitt Episode 15 Spoilers

First, in a brilliant season of television, the moment to finally make me cry was Santos with the patient from the parking lot. The show earned that emotional payoff. Santos’s simple, provable declaration that life fucking sucks, but it’s still worth living is a thesis statement for the entire show. Her desire not to let someone slip through the cracks and her determination to make sure that her patient gets help by connecting and transforming her personal story of pain into healing for others makes her the spiritual embodiment of every lesson we learned in that emergency department this season. It ALMOST makes you wish that she had won the rock paper scissors match with Whitaker earlier and found Robby. Because it doesn’t escape notice that both Langdon and Robby ended this season with concrete offers of help from a male friend / colleague (rehab for Langdon from Robby and therapy for Robby from Abbot) and neither of them have taken the offer (Yet. The constant drum of this episode: “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. . .”)

Whitaker!! Now I can’t believe how much goodwill this show has built up with me by paying off storylines. The earlier hints about Whitaker‘s dire financial straits and his burgeoning sibling dynamic with Santos: his telling her in the first(?) episode that he definitely didn’t have $50 and then pocketing the sandwich; her own willingness to help and support other people being shown through his injured finger. This was a FULLY earned pay off. (Silly add on: Gerran Howell’s frightened reaction to Santos’s arrival was (1) valid and (2) the only moment in the show that I truly had my brain shouting British! That is a BRITISH man. It was something about the specific flavor of British physical comedy he channeled into his face and body lol.)

Also, I love how the general reaction to Mel and Becca has been a recognition that they are both relieved to be back with their sister (community, family, belonging) and how much Becca is a bright, centering force in Mel’s life but also that Mel can’t talk to Becca about what she’s been through that day. Mel doesn’t ever really get to be “off” as a caretaker. She has to keep a mask on at home—maybe a different kind of mask, but it really hit me that she has to still be somebody else to protect her sister. The bittersweet loneliness of that togetherness hits hard. It really beautifully captures the tableau of how families can never fully understand what their hospital worker family members do. And how that is both painful and healing: something to go home to that is just good and distant.

One thing that did stand out to me this episode (through no fault of the show) is how the change in the US political climate since the show filmed affected that scene where Abbott and Robby take over the patient and Ellis and Shen jokingly say “two old white guys are poaching our patient.” When later we find out that Ellis made the wrong decision in a way that put the patient’s life in danger, and Abbott has to step in and fix things. . . I imagine originally that scene was simply proof of how hard it is for Abbott and Robby to let go of the work that they do and go home because their years of experience makes them invaluable to the ED. But in this political climate, it didn’t pass my notice that two white men had to step in to fix the mistake of the only black female doctor we know on the night shift. The fact that this show has earned such good will from us that we know this is entire unintended is a testament to the character of all of those involved.

Oh, and somebody over on Reddit actually called the Abbot amputee reveal from 1! blurry behind the scenes photo, so I wasn’t as surprised as I should’ve been by that moment but I loved the casual acknowledgment of both the pain that working on your feet as an amputee all day would cause and the way that Princess hands over the wet wipe to him to wipe off his shoe, which makes the world feel so lived in. This is just life. People are disabled. Sometimes they are also doctors. This world is so rich, man. This show just GETS people. And LOVES people.

On that note! Samira Mohan speaks to my soul in this episode. I do feel like they shoehorned in the idea that she doesn’t have anything to go home to, and I’m also not convinced that telling a young female character that her career can’t be her whole life is necessarily needed in this moment, (but perhaps they cut whatever conversation the trailer suggested she would have with Abbott afterward, which may have contextualized this more. GIVE IT TO US!!). That being said, there is something so visceral about the ecstatic joy that a career of helping others brings you and the inevitable crying in the bathroom that follows. I just absolutely love Samira Mohan so much. She’s become my favorite character.

As for Javadi, I hope we get to see her again next season. I know that both she and Whitaker are harder to bring back if they set the next episode later than their rotation end, (which seems very likely based on the press releases so far). However, by having Javadi‘s parents work at the hospital and showing a potential friendship? Relationship? with Mateo it’s possible that we will see her again in some capacity. Similarly, by having Whitaker move in with Santos, there’s a possibility we get to see him again as well, even if he isn’t still part of the emergency department.

Oh! And one more thing about Javadi. I love how in the course of an hour she goes from juice box to beer! A very subtle, but wonderfully literary note to indicate that this baptism by fire has passed her from childhood into adulthood in the eyes of the Pitt crew. I love that her existence creates some perspective for Robby enough that he can laugh. Tomorrow and tomorrow. . .

OK, and I did say that Mohan was the most relatable character, but I actually have to give a shout out to Dana. Her quietly taking her things and walking out from the job she’s dedicated her life too (emotional and unannounced) is something I have done before and she captured that perfectly. I’m in awe of this cast.

(Speaking of the cast: Shout out to David’s actor for channeling those haunting camera stares that will stick with me for a long time. A Caravaggio. A portrait of humanity in all its complexities.)

Now back to Dana! On the one hand, you want Dana to have her retirement. You also want her to have her freedom from being the caretaker to the other doctors. I have spoken a lot about the way that this show captures how the patriarchy harms men. One thing I only mentioned in the side, though, is that the patriarchy expects women to pick up the slack. Dana is actually the one who holds that ED on her shoulders. And the expectations of an emergency department that needs her from the newest patient in the waiting room to the highest ranking doctor on the floor is so evident in Langdon‘s begging her to stay because he (and Robby) need her despite his unwillingness to take care of himself. (It’s what Whitaker said to Robby to get him off the floor. We need you: a truth that we know is not equal to healing).

I also saw that for many people, Langdon‘s comments to Robby was their final straw for liking him, while this episode also succeeded in creating genuine love for Santos. I once said I had no idea how they were going to successfully redeem Santos in the eyes of the audience after showing her in such a negative light but I shouldn’t have doubted. This show is made by people who are intelligent and caring and who love people. I don’t know any show outside of ATLA that’s pulled off a redemption arc that good. Never mind in the equivalent of one day. Especially without changing the character much at all: just our perception of her. People are full of infinite complexities when you are given the time to know them.

On that note, this episode did NOT make me hate Langdon. Despite not being his biggest fan, I think this show makes clear how much one day (which is really so so many days piled up over and over across time) can change everything. These characters lives are different now. Those families, those patients, ever hospital employees: they changed and they can’t go back to yesterday. (But tomorrow. . .).

So my favorite moment actually is Robby‘s confident, loud, and certain fuck you that he shouts back at Langdon as he walks into the hospital. That, to me, felt like the sign that we’ll see Langdon again. It’s the tone you use for someone you know and care about despite everything. The familiar, casual anger of loving something enough to walk away before it all gets worse. That fuck you, to me, was the same thing as the “See you Monday” to Dana: a recognition that I know you don’t want to try again, because life is fucking hard but hey, it’s worth it when you’re ready: see you tomorrow, assholes.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

Richter vs Maria

What we do with grief

I find it interesting about the similarities in Maria’s familial storyline in comparison to Richter’s. The beginning of Richter’s story and character arc starts with Julia dying whereas Terra’s “death” begins seemingly toward the ends of Maria’s story (depends on how many seasons the show gets).

Richter clearly traumatized chooses to fall in to what he believes a Belmont is and how they are supposed to be. He compartmentalizes thinking that it all must be for a reason. He literally says that to Annette. His mother’s sacrifice must have been for a higher calling. Richter relies on humor and action to safeguard his own emotions. It is quite interesting that he is not closed off to people. He loves Terra and Maria. He opens himself to Annette and Edoaurd. He never let his grief truly consume him. He can still recognize and appreciate the love he finds himself in and hold it dear. We actually see what happens when he has to confront Olrox in season 1. He runs! He doesn’t stop until he can’t and breaks down and cries. He is consumed by fear and loss that his body moves on his own. We contrast that by the end of season 2 he is calm and sure. I’m sure that there is still hatred on Richter’s part but I think that they both have moved on from that. I think it’s Richter’s acceptance of who he is over the series leads to this moment but it not just that. It’s the love and admiration he has of Annette. It’s the budding friendship him and Alucard. It’s the ties he has found in Juste (his grandfather). Like Annette says she is surrounded by love, protected by it. Same is said for Richter. Now what does this has to do with Julia? It’s simple Julia is the archetype of what a good Belmont is to Richter, he says as much himself. He models himself after her.

How does this differ from Maria? When Terra gets turned into a vampire, we see a dramatic shift in Maria. The once passionate revolutionist is now angry and closed off. She is standoffish to those close to her. She’s lashes out at Richter, Juste, and Mizrak. Unlike the ghost of Julia haunting Richter(metaphorically), Terra is around talking to, her coaxing her. She’s here yet so far away. It’s like she’s toying with her heart and mind, not on purpose. With Terra’s constant interference and the ongoing revolution Maria snaps. She has a show down with the Abbot. She is fueled with hate and hurt. She burns the Abbot alive. Afterward it’s like she’s filled with this emptiness. She is now throwing herself into the war. Juste realizes this and says that they should leave that to other people but Maria is not hearing any of that. He is able to get Maria to fix her magic, making her remember what was the source of her magic. While she does find her source again the season 2 finale it’s clear that there is still a great deal of hatred and darkness in her.

Summary

What do we do with grief or what does grief do with us? In Richter case his grief manifests into fear. He, at first, runs and cannot contend with the confrontation with his mother’s killer. He also leans into the bonds he forms. He finds strength in them. Richter never closes himself off. It is those bonds that gives him the courage and peace to confront Olrox at the end. Whereas Maria closes herself off and lashes out. I equate this to the fact Terra isn’t technically dead. She’s the figure in the shadow, a bump in the night constantly around. Maria knows Terra is out there somewhere and she hasn’t gotten the chance to truly grieve. Julia is dead and Richter got the chance to mourn and find peace. I wonder how this dynamic between Maria and Terra will play out in season 3 (praying). Will they go the Alucard and Dracula route or find their own path?

Ps sorry for such a long post, I got to start breaking up these things but I get lazy😭. Someone asked for this, so I hope they liked it.