Espressheauxs - Say You Can’t Sleep

Pov: your camara roll dating Carmen Berzatto 🐻

cathectic and couchbound

jack abbot x reader

word count ~3k

content warnings/description: explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, power imbalance/dominant jack, spit kink, age gap, sickeningly sweet, single mention of jack wanting to knock reader up

author's note: i feel like this is overdue considering my whole blog is dedicated to this man, lol

jack abbot fucks you on his couch.

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Jack walks through the door of his apartment and hits the lights. He tosses his pack over the arm of the living room couch before dropping himself onto the cushion. It sinks under his weight, fluff spilling out of the sides. It’s ratty, has a slight sour odor, but he’s kept it all this time—moving it from place to place during his time in the military. 

His police scanner lies on the coffee table, still humming, left on from when he left in a rush for day shift this morning—subbing for Robby during his vacation. Robby let you switch shifts to be with Jack as a thank you. You both prefer nights.

He slowly reaches over to turn it off. Tired doesn’t begin to explain how he feels. He’s exhausted. Worn out. On his last leg. 

Jack made that last joke to Robby too many times to count, trying—and failing—to get a chuckle out of him. Maybe one day.

He considers taking off his prosthetic to get more comfortable and ease some of the ache but decides against it. Leaving it on will motivate him to make the trek to bed later. He’s slept on this couch more times than he’d like to admit, and it’s been with him through it all—but it wasn’t made to last.

It’s convenient, sure, but he prefers to sleep in bed with you. And it’s easier on his back.

Jack unlocks his phone and is faced with the last website he was on while taking his millisecond break earlier tonight. Dana suggested the place, and he could see why. The jewels are bright, sharply cut—dangerous—yet mesmerizing. Hypnotic, even. Jack eyes one in particular, hovering over the purchase button. He imagines the center stone of the engagement ring glinting from the sunrise as you hold onto the railing of his patio while he eats you out from behind. 

He’s pulled from his reverie when his phone pings, signaling a text from you. Your message says that you'll be a little late. 

He feels awful about leaving you in the Pitt, but after a string of deaths—one after another after another—he didn't want to stay even a minute past the end of his shift. He replies to your text with a simple thumbs-up. You understand. You always do.

Not twenty minutes later, he hears the rattling of the doorknob, the jangle of his spare key, and the click of the lock turning. 

Most times, once Jack gets home, he leaves his door unlocked for you, considerate of your occasional forgetfulness. But, now and then, he locks the door on purpose, somehow knowing you’d forget your key that day. He doesn’t know how he knows—he just does. 

He always gives the excuse that he forgot to leave it unlocked—old age, he dryly jokes—but he can’t help secretly looking forward to opening the door for you every time. Seeing your sheepish face waiting patiently on the other side when he greets you. 

Jack lingers at the door, his thick frame blocking the entrance to the apartment. He takes his time staring at you, soaking you in, wondering how he managed to make such a pretty young thing like you his. On a good day, you’ll indulge him in his silent staring contest, admiring his corded arms crossed against his chest, but on most days, you push past him, rushing in to use the restroom.

Tonight, though, he must really be tired, because not only did he—for real this time—forget to leave the door unlocked, but he's also slightly relieved you brought your key. Jack was not moving from the couch anytime soon. He couldn’t help but feel bad for it—the old thing rocking with each sudden movement, thanks to one of the uneven legs.

You drag yourself into the living room and your purse lands at an angle atop Jack’s pack, then slides to the floor, now scrunched from the impact. 

A granola bar, your lip balm, and your R3 badge escape from the unzipped lip of the purse, but you don’t care. You lie across Jack on the other end of the couch, throwing your feet over his lap. He helps you remove your shoes while gently rubbing your feet. 

Silence cozily stretches over the both of you like a heated blanket, despite the appearance of the muted, almost sterile living room. Jack’s entire apartment is nearly stripped to bare bones. 

What little he does own is old, tattered, or otherwise near defunct. His walls are empty, save for a few photos of the two of you together that you forced him to put up. The food in his fridge is nearly gone, with the exception of eggs, sourdough bread, and his chocolate protein shakes—an essential, apparently. The only other things to eat are snacks he keeps stocked in the cabinets for you. And this damn couch. The smell used to make you wrinkle your nose, but you’ve gotten used to it.

It makes sense, considering his military past and the time demands being an attending requires, but you can’t help wanting to liven the place up a little. For the both of you. You always joke that the three most important things to him are you, his couch, and his police scanner—not necessarily in that same order.

You casually wonder if Jack would let you take his card to go shopping for the place, knowing all his money is just collecting dust in the bank. You might as well—you practically live here. You’re not sure when you last saw the inside of your own apartment. He only ever spends money on necessities and spoiling you, anyway. You’ll convince him to take you both when your schedules line up. 

He asked you to move in not too long ago, but your lease isn't up for another few months. He offered to pay the fee to break it, but you humbly declined. You aren’t quite aware how much of a dopamine rush Jack gets when he takes care of things for you. When he takes care of you.

Jack gives you a few minutes to decompress, now rubbing your sore ankles.

Finally, you start, “Today was a shit day.”

Jack grunts in agreement. “No argument there—but you were amazing today. You’re so strong, you know that?” He gives you an intense look.

He’s not joking, not throwing words at the wall to see what sticks. He’s being utterly sincere, and another pinprick of sand falls into the hourglass of love you have for him, joining the millions already there.

You smile warmly at him. “You tell me after every difficult shift. How could I not know? And… you’re amazing too.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

A second passes before you respond. “Can you hold me?”

“Sure can, sweetheart.”

Jack pulls you from under your arms like a child, setting you atop his lap. You can’t help how your face heats up at the way he so easily throws you around, bending you to his will. The act makes you dizzy—his casual display of strength and the way he takes care of your needs makes you putty in his strong hands. 

He rubs mindless shapes into your back, applying slight pressure, and you're comforted by his touch.

Jack moves his hands to your shoulders and continues to rub with even more pressure. 

“Let me know if it hurts at all, baby.” 

The massage starts to feel good. Almost too good. Who taught him to give massages like this? 

You rack your brain, recalling if Myrna’s asked for one lately. Or worse yet, imagine her using her one uncuffed hand to grope Jack under the guise of a “massage.” 

You shiver at the uncomfortable thought, then at the pleasure running through you from Jack’s working of your shoulders. You let a low moan escape from deep within your chest. Under normal circumstances, you’d be a bit embarrassed by the sultry sound, but both you and Jack are too tired and too caught up in the haze of each other’s presence to care.

At the sound of your pleased groan, Jack feels a new life springing within him, taking root and reaching his extremities, tension churning just under his skin with its movement. 

Taking care of you like this—touching you, being in your presence—is more than he could have ever hoped to imagine for himself. Jack knows more than most to take wins as they come. Sink them in and hold on to them, because you never know what tomorrow might bring. 

Despite the losses in the Pitt tonight, he still has you. As long as you’re with him at the end of every day, falling apart under his touch, going shy at his quiet confessions and severe (but loving) stares, he can make it another day in the Pitt. 

Jack’s touch becomes more persistent, roaming south again—and even further south—to grope the round of your ass. 

“Jack,” you rasp, tugging at his soft curls. You begin to grind down on him, both of your scrubs thin enough to feel the heat emanating from each other’s bodies. 

Jack grunts, but ultimately ignores your whining. He’s taking his time with you. Whether you’re patient enough for him or not. He’s not against taking you over his knee if you flail too much for his liking. You’re so, so good to him though, letting him set the pace, and you settle against him again. He kisses down the column of your neck, grazing his teeth at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

Muffled against his shoulder, you manage, “Jack, p-please? I want to be closer to you. Let me?” Jack gives your neck one last deep, almost shaky, inhale, then a tender kiss on your cheek, and nods. 

You’re just too damn sweet—and Jack wants to eat you alive. And what’s worse? You’d let him. 

The naked trust you have in him makes him reconsider every mistake, every bad decision, every failure in his life. He can’t be so bad if someone like you trusts him, right? Pre-therapy Jack? Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even be in those pictures on the wall. There’d be no pictures on the wall. 

He wouldn't allow that. He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt anyone but himself—no one but Jack. He’s let too many people down already. People he couldn’t save during his time in the service years ago. People he can’t save now—patients like those lost tonight in the hell that is the Pitt. 

Jack still feels the occasional pang of guilt, but now it washes over him, like a spring rain washing away the lingering, tacky pollen, and he feels all the lighter for it. He still lets himself feel sorrow, and pain for the people whose lives couldn’t be saved—who he couldn’t save. But now he doesn’t find it in himself to self-blame. And with you in his corner, his other half, he’s too fixated on your needs to wallow in sorrow.

Post-therapy Jack? The Jack that forgives himself for his mistakes and lets people in? He couldn’t imagine pushing you away. 

You're it—and there’s no escaping him. He’s tagged and bagged you, and you’re his. 

Jack has always told Robby that he lives in the darkness. It used to rear its ugly head in the form of bar fights, drunken nights, and emotionless one-night stands. It's controlled now, taking a backseat only for those really ugly, bad days, but sometimes it comes out of hiding in the form of a disgusting possession that curls around you both. 

Jack allows himself this one vice. He doesn’t care about having physical things in his apartment. About the money he makes, about the notoriety that comes from being Jack Abbot. Just having you is enough. 

And you never shy away from it—from him. From his past, from his darkness, from his deep, intense love for you. 

Jack, for a brief second, thinks about impregnating you. Tonight. Right here. Right now. As long as it takes. Until you take. But he drags in a deep inhale. Stop, he thinks to himself. Everything in due time.

He pushes the thought away as you step back to take off your scrubs and step out of your underwear.

It’s not lost on you that you're now nude while he’s fully clothed—the slight humiliation and power imbalance scratching an itch you’re too delirious with need to unpack at the moment. Jack lifts from the couch to pull down his bottoms and boxers just enough to free his hard cock and balls, flushed and leaking for you.

Jack pulls you to him, gripping your hips so you’re sitting just above his cock, letting you sink down on him at your own pace. While you moan, getting adjusted to his size, Jack has his own agenda, and he starts tweaking your nipples, pebbled and peaked under his rough touch. 

He takes your left nipple into his mouth, groaning against the soft flesh of your breast, while his palm squeezes the other. Meanwhile, you’re whining on his cock, frustrated by Jack’s lack of movement.

He can’t help but get riled up when teasing you, knowing how much you want him.

When Jack’s had enough of torturing your tits, he kisses you—rough, sloppy, a mash of tongue and teeth—while unashamedly spreading the fat of your ass, his wrists pinning your hips so you can’t ride him. 

“J-Jack. Please… just—just fuck me already.” You try to sound as confident as possible, but you know better than to disrupt Jack while he’s far away somewhere, lost in the feel of your body. It frustrates you how patient he is sometimes. You want to be fucked. Now. 

You bring your fingers down to your swollen clit, wanting some friction. He stops you with his words.

“Okay, baby.” A kiss to the tip of your nose. “Thank you for saying please.” He smiles down at you in his devilish, gremlin-ly way. And you can’t help but want to both slap him and kiss him breathless for it.

Jack lifts you again, slowly, so only the tip of his cock is slightly pushing against your pillowy cunt, hole clenching around nothing while you hold onto his shoulders, shaking slightly. 

“Ready?” Jack asks. You give him a firm nod, and Jack slams you back down to his pelvis, the back of your thighs scratching against his scrubs. He begins a rough, but measured pace, cock hitting at just the right angle to make you go dumb. 

You’re fucking wet. Juices stain the black of Jack’s scrubs, and he wears it like a badge of honor.

He forces your mouth open with the press of his thumb.

“Open wide, sweetheart.” Jack spits into your mouth, and you swallow his saliva down, moaning at his possessive display of affection. Jack groans at your obedience, cock twitching inside you, pride swelling in his chest at the act.

“There you go, sweet girl, doing so damn good for me, hm?” When you don’t respond, he gives a quick slap on your ass, and you yelp at the unexpected contact, clenching tight around his cock. He groans at the feel of your soft pussy wrapped around him.

“Yes, yes, yes. S’good, s-so good,” you babble, clearly out of it with how fast Jack is thrusting into you now.

Jack takes his hand from your hip and presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, wanting nothing more than for you to come on his cock. He’s desperate for it—what was less than a second ago an intentional, controlled stroke of your clit, is now frantic and sloppy.

He’s been patient enough. 

Jack looks between your lips, wanting to kiss you, and where you’re connected, pretty cunt wrapping around him like cling wrap on a dish. Warm, dripping, and ready to eat. He’ll make you cry on his tongue another time.

“I love you. I love you—I love you—I love you,” you chant and come on Jack’s cock with a cry, tearing up at the overstimulation as he ruts into you, chasing his own end. The guilt, despair, and exhaustion from the losses you faced today are pressed, compacted, and tucked away into the far corners of your mind. 

There’s only Jack. You and Jack. At this very moment.

Jack finishes inside you with a rumbling groan, plugging you up with his thick come. He gives you a deep, bruising kiss and he whispers, “I love you too, baby.”

You take a second to catch your breath, and he’s in no hurry to pull you off of him to clean both of you up. Instead, you and Jack remain there, on the couch, your liquids mixing and spilling onto the cushion from where your bodies connect. Jack concedes to himself that it’s probably about time to replace the thing.

He’ll do it for you.

Now, Jack is the first to speak. 

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” You nod into his shoulder, too spent to give him a verbal response. Jack takes that for an answer and holds you tighter to his chest. He knows he should move you to bed, the cold seeping into your naked and weary body, but for now, you both stay holding each other like this. Just for a few more minutes. 

You doze off in his arms, and Jack takes that as his cue to head to bed. He gently pulls you off of his now softened cock, jaw tightening when he sees his come leaking from your sore pussy. He pushes as much of it back inside you as gently as he can, then easily carries you, bridal style, to his bedroom. 

Jack brings you to your side of the bed and tucks you in. 

Prosthetic finally off, he sidles up next to you and wraps his arms around you, reaching for your hand.

He’s made a habit of reaching for your left hand at night, once you’re asleep and he’s awake with his thoughts, delicately pressing your ring finger between his thumb and forefinger.

He kisses the top of your head and makes a mental note to bite the bullet and buy the ring tomorrow. Hopefully Dana doesn’t come collecting her finder’s fee.

the luckiest bastard in pittsburgh

pairing: dr. jack abbot x coffee shop night shift worker!female reader

this is mostly fluff but there's some allusions to smut/18+ content toward the end so minors do not interact!!!

a/n: i finished the pitt the other night and have been consumed with dr. jack abbot as a character and thinking about what he'd be like in a relationship. because he's such a capable doctor, but he seems like he's kind of a mess in every other aspect of his life, and i love the idea of him being a bit of a bumbling mess while falling in love. so here are some thoughts about all that.

if y'all enjoy this, i'm thinking of rewriting it as a proper series, potentially showing both points of view, and diving deeper into the smutty bits that would come later. so if you're interested in that, do let me know!

Dr. Jack Abbot doesn't even like coffee that much, even if it helps him get through the night shift. Jack finds comfort in the darkness, but on the rough nights, when the horror seems endless, it's your pretty smile that really gets him through till dawn...

it isn't long after he first sees you at the small café next to the hospital that Jack starts getting coffee every night, either stopping in before his shift or ducking out from the ER for a cup of black coffee in the early hours of the morning—if he can pull himself away.

he finds himself making excuses to linger in the coffee shop, asking you whether you enjoy the night shift, his mouth twisting in a hint of a smile when you admit that you do. it's quiet, and you like the quiet.

it takes a while before Jack works up the nerve to ask you for your name, and his knees nearly sag with relief when you give it to him freely.

there's another of your pretty smiles on your face when you tell Jack your name—and this time, it's all for him.

a flicker of warmth trembles to life in his chest, a spark of something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. he feels the need to protect it from the yawning darkness in his chest.

Jack introduces himself to you as, "Dr. Jack Abbot, but you can call me Jack." and you look at him from under your lashes, a teasing glimmer in your eyes as you murmur, "it's nice to meet you, Dr. Jack."

hearing you call him that, in your sweet voice, does something to Jack's chest and he's not quite sure what to do about it. he has half a mind to check himself out for a heart event as he trudges blindly back to the hospital, black coffee in hand.

but then he's plunged back into the chaos of the ER and he doesn't have time to think about the strange fluttering behind his sternum whenever he remembers your smile or your voice or the way you called him Dr. Jack.

he decides it's nice, actually, and that maybe he could learn to live with it.

one late night/early morning—all Jack knows is that it's past 3am but the sun hasn't started to rise yet—he's in the coffee shop, doing his best to chat with you when a car backfires outside on the street. you jump, spilling scalding hot coffee over your hand. the paper cup and coffeepot tumble to the floor, the latter shattering and sending glass flying across the tile.

before Jack knows what he's doing, he's catapulted himself over the counter. glass crunches beneath the soft soles of his shoes as he makes his way to you, moving faster than he has in years to get to you.

you're biting your lip against the pain, tears shimmering in your wide eyes—but there's no fear in your gaze, only a desperate pleading for help. Jack's heart surges in a way it never does in the ER, beating harder and faster, his nerves buzzing to life after so many years spent dormant.

thankfully, all Jack's years of training kick in and he's able to take control of the situation on muscle memory alone.

gently, he takes your arm and leads you to the sink behind the counter, kicking glass out of his way to clear a path for you. he flicks on the tap and checks that the water is cool, but not too cold, before he guides your quivering hand beneath the stream.

with his other hand, Jack tips your chin up to look at him and his chest squeezes with a concerning force when he sees that tears have spilled down your cheeks.

right then, Jack knows he'd tear out his own heart with a pair of forceps if it meant never seeing you cry again.

with fingers shaking in a way they never do when he's working in the ER, Jack brushes your tears from your cheeks. his throat is tight with a panic that feels foreign and overwhelming, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that it's you who's hurt. through it all, he manages to murmur words of comfort.

"you're alright, i've got you. just keep your hand under the water, sweetheart. you're doing so well, just stay right there. you're gonna be ok, i'm gonna take care of you, i promise."

when the tears have stopped, Jack asks where he can find the café's first aid kit, which he fetches quickly before returning to your side.

he knows he's standing too close, crowding into your space, but he can't help himself. he needs the physical reminder that you're there, that you're going to be ok, and he's going to make sure of it.

when he flips open the first aid kit and quickly takes stock of what supplies are inside, he can't help but grumble roughly. he doesn't even know he's muttering under his breath about everything the kit is missing until a little puff of laughter escapes you and he looks up in surprise.

your eyes are still wide, a tightness around them that tells Jack you're still in pain and are being brave about it, but there's something else shimmering in the depth of your gaze. something like fondness, something warm that reaches straight into Jack's chest and wraps around his heart, squeezing in a way that's both painful and pleasant, torture and comfort.

"i'm sorry about your coffee."

your words pull jack from his scattered thoughts, and before he can think better of it, he says, "fuck the coffee." his voice is low and rough, but that doesn't seem to scare you.

his blunt words draw another giggle from you, and Jack feels practically high from the relief and rapture the sound inspires in him. distantly, he considers booking himself in for a head scan when he gets back to the hospital, but he knows the sudden off-kilter feeling has nothing to do with a potential brain injury and everything to do with the way you make him feel.

your laughter trails off too soon, but you're still smiling, looking at him from under your lashes, almost like you're suddenly shy. "if you have time, Dr. Jack, i'll brew another pot."

"i've got time," Jack says, the 'for you' left unsaid. but Jack thinks you know what he means, because your face softens, your eyes looking at him like he hung the moon, and your lips curving into the prettiest smile he's seen yet.

the two of you linger in that moment as long as possible, like neither of you want it to pass. but, inevitably, it does.

Jack looks away first, coughing to clear his suddenly dry throat. his movements are jerky and awkward at first, as he starts pulling supplies from the first aid kit's meager offerings, but his hands steady as his training takes over, and he's never been more thankful for it.

in no time at all, Jack has your hand bandaged and you tell him you're feeling a lot better. before you can thank him, he's writing down his personal phone number on the back of one of the café's loyalty punch cards and telling you to call or text him if you have any questions about treating or re-bandaging the burn.

you take the card with a gentle smile, your eyes roving over his face in a way that makes him shift his weight from foot to foot. he has to bite back a wince when he feels a twinge of discomfort from his leg rubbing against his prosthetic, but he won't stop you from looking.

you thank him for his help, and seem to hesitate before stepping close to him—so close, his heart riots in his chest and his breath catches in his throat. his entire body is lit up, his nerves feeling like live wires, even as he stands perfectly still, as if any sudden movement could spook you.

your lips brush against Jack's grizzled cheek and it's embarrassing how his body reacts to such a chaste kiss, blood flowing to places he thought were half-dead from disuse. his heart is pumping in his chest and his fingers twitch with the need to reach for you, while another part of him, below the waistband of his scrubs, also strains for you.

he wants to wrap you up in his arms and haul you against his chest. he wants to kiss you, to learn how you taste and how you'd sound coming apart on his tongue, and how you'd smile when you're wrapped up in the sheets of his bed.

he wants to map every curve of your body with his calloused hands. he wants to take you home and cook you breakfast. he wants to protect you from ever being hurt again.

Jack knows none of that is possible, that there's no way a sweet, pretty thing like you would want an old, haggard doctor like him. but he'd settle for another kiss on his cheek...

the first time you text Dr. Jack Abbot, it’s only a few hours later. the sun is high in the sky and Jack wakes from a dead sleep at the vibration of his phone on the nightstand.

he doesn’t sleep well. his body never quite unlearned the training it got overseas when he had to be awake and alert at a moment’s notice—or risk his life or those of his fellow soldiers.

but when Jack sees your name and your innocent question asking him whether it’s ok to put aloe on the burn before freshening the bandage, he calms and smiles to himself. it's a smart idea, and he tells you as much.

after he answers your message, he drops back to sleep as easily as breathing, the ghost of a smile still on his lips and the memory of your eyes in his mind.

as the burn on your hand heals, you keep texting Jack questions even though he’s pretty sure you already know the answers—but he won’t do or say anything to discourage you from texting him.

not when you indulge him by sending photos of your hand during the day. and not when you're patient with him when he checks how you’re healing every night when he comes into the coffee shop for his daily fix (though he hasn't told you yet that your smiles do much more for him than the caffeine ever could).

he praises you for taking care of your injury well, his chest warm with pride, his heart surging at the pretty little smile and soft "thank you" you give him.

eventually, the burn on your hand heals, but you keep texting Jack.

at first it’s superficial questions like whether he’s coming in that night—even though Jack is pretty sure you’ve noticed he comes in every night—or telling him about a strange order or funny customer you had.

but soon you start asking him how his night is going and what he does when he’s not at the hospital.

Jack has to scramble to come up with hobbies that aren’t sleeping and listening to the police scanner, the night shift nurses sharing a judgemental look and biting back laughter when he asks them what normal people do for fun.

when he tells you he reads and watches movies, though, you seem pleased.

everyone in the ER knows something’s going on with Dr. Jack Abbot. he’s going on coffee runs every night when they were only rare occurrences in the past, checking his phone so much it’s practically glued to his hand, and he’s smiling more—real smiles, not just the twist of his lips into the approximation of one.

Dr. Robby has even stopped finding him on the roof. or, at least, not as close to the edge.

the security guards and some of the nurses have a betting pool going for who the new person in Dr. Abbot’s life is. Jack pretends to ignore it, but he can’t keep the smile off his face when he sees the board because it reminds him of you.

it’s a few weeks later when Jack finally blurts out the question he’s been wanting to ask you since the first time you smiled at him.

“you wanna go out sometime? with me?”

your grin is wide and beaming, that teasing gleam in your eye when you respond, “took you long enough, Dr. Jack.”

on Jack’s next night off—which happens to be your night off as well—he takes you out. it’s nothing fancy, just dinner at place where you can get a good beer and burger, then you walk through a park, hands brushing tentatively a few times before he finally laces his fingers through yours. your hand is soft in his calloused one and Jack thinks he’s never felt anything quite so perfect.

he walks you home and you hesitate at your door. you don’t invite him in, but you sway into his chest, your face tilted toward his.

bathed in the golden light of the lampposts, you look like an angel to Jack, all soft eyes and a pretty smile.

the two of you linger in that moment, the hum of tension and desire thrumming in the space between your bodies. Jack is so busy marveling at your beauty and wondering why such a pretty thing has any interest in him that he nearly forgets what it means that your eyes keep drifting to his mouth, your pupils blowing wider in the low light.

but finally, he remembers.

Jack kisses you, his hands cupping your jaw and his mouth brushing against yours in the most teasing of caresses. you exhale a soft puff of air, chasing his mouth as he retreats and Jack smiles briefly before he’s giving you what you want. his lips press more firmly to yours, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

Jack is surprised when your tongue flicks teasingly against his upper lip and he opens for you reflexively. in the next second, you’re licking into his mouth like you’re hungry for him, a gentle sound in your throat like you'll never be able to get enough of him.

the heat of you is nearly overwhelming and Jack's arms wrap around your back, hauling you tight against his chest while he kisses you back just as greedily. he prays you don’t notice how embarrassingly hard he is against your belly, a testament to how much and how long he's wanted you.

but then you moan into his mouth, your fingers carding through his silver-streaked hair, and Jack's mind goes entirely blank.

the kiss lasts forever and not long enough.

when Jack finally pulls away, he’s met with the wondrous sight of your dazed, slow-blinking eyes and kiss-swollen lips. he thinks that if he can’t keep kissing you, at least he can still look at you, your beauty leaving him just as empty-headed as your lips and tongue.

with a giggle at his slow-moving brain, you gently shove Jack away from your door and wish him a goodnight. he waits until you’ve gone inside and locked the door behind you before he retreats.

he walks home with his hands shoved in his pockets to stop himself from texting you to come back outside so he can keep kissing you, maybe even convince you he’s worth a damn—though a part of him suspects you already think he is. for whatever reason.

the next day, you text him that you had a good time on your date and are looking forward to seeing him again. it's accompanied by a selfie of you smiling, your lips still a little swollen from his kiss, and Jack nearly loses himself in his boxers at that simple sight.

his response to you is immediate, telling you he'll see you at the café that evening and he's looking forward to your next date. then he lays back in his bed, and thinks about your eyes, your smile, the pretty sounds you made when he kissed you. he imagines waking up next to you, curling his arms around your soft body and inhaling your sweet scent.

not for the first time—nor the last—Dr. Jack Abbot thinks he must be the luckiest bastard in Pittsburgh, all because of you.

hope y'all enjoyed!! again, let me know if you want to see a longer version of this story—probably broken up into chapters to be a full series. ♡ comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Love your work!!! Fic or headcannon request where Jack's wife/girlfriend has insomnia and just shows up with a plate of cookies or a fully cooked meal in the middle of his shift at least once a week

Aaaa thank you so much lovey!!!! I’m so glad you like my work🥹🥹🥹 THANK YOU for sending this really cute request!!!! Lets goooooo I hope you like this💕✨

It is another sleepless night; you go to bed a few hours after Jack left for his shift at The Pitt but then wake up around two in the morning.

You try to go back to sleep, you really do, but just like always, it is as if there is no trace of drowsiness in you while you are exhausted.

You toss and turn in the bed, burying your face into Jack’s pillow in hopes of his scent calming your racing mind and lull you into a dreamless sleep.

Wrong. It doesn’t work.

You drape his blanket on yourself, pulling it up to your chin as you cuddle his pillow, humming in delight as the warmth of it seeps into your body and eyes.

Wrong. Again. You don’t fall asleep, and the ticking of the clock is not helping either. So with a very tired groan, you kick the blanket off and sit up on the bed.

This isn’t something new to you. You experience this a few times a week when you don’t take the pills, but tonight? You did take them and they still didn’t work.

Your mind wanders to Jack; your poor boyfriend having to work with barely sleeping five hours, you just know he must be hungry and tired.

You halt in your step when you stand up to go the bathroom, head striking by a pretty great idea.

After your quick trip to the bathroom, you bolt to the kitchen, shuffling through the cupboards to find the ingredients for Jack’s favorite cookie.

You don’t know when you start and when you finish, all you can remember is that you are walking to your car at four in the morning with three bags filled with stored cookies and sticky notes on each lid.

The car ride is uneventful; the roads are clear and streets are quiet, and you get to your destination in ten minutes.

As soon as you step inside the triage, a nurse you have met before spots you and waves at you, rushing to help you with the bags.

You duck your head as she helps you through the doors, trying to stay invisible when a man shouts ‘Why is this woman going there—‘

“Look who’s here!” Parker grins, nudging Shen with her elbow before she meets you halfway, pulling you into a quick hug, “What are you doing here? Are you hurt? Y’know Jack’s gonna flip out if he—“

“I’m totally fine, I just… couldn’t sleep and decided to be useful!” You bring one of the bags you are holding up, “Cookies for all! Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of sea salt.”

“If he doesn’t marry you immediately, I will—“

“Finish that sentence and you’ll find a tube down your throat.”

There he is, your protective secretly jealous old man. You smile at him when turns his head to look at you, making his way towards you to cradle your head to his chest.

“Honey, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jack cups your face in his hands, his brows furrowed as he searches your face for any sign of bruises or swelling.

“Jack, I’m fine! I swear!” You smile, resting your hands on his, “Couldn’t sleep so I brought your favorite cookie!”

“At four A.M.? Seriously?” And it finally dawns on him that the medicine didn’t work tonight, “I need to make you a very strict sleep schedule. Can’t have you running around the city with bags of cookies for anyone but me.”

“Don’t worry, I brought something super special just for you, baby,” you lean up to kiss his cheek, reaching for the bag on the Nurse’s station, shuffling through the plates before you pull his out, “Brownies for the most handsome doctor of The Pitt.”

“Sugar coating it won’t make me go easy on you,” he glares at you playfully, but reaches and opens the lid, taking a bite from the brownie before moaning and shaking his head, “You know what? It probably will make me go easy on you— these are fucking delicious.”

“Glad you like it,” you beam at him and he just can’t resist it— he leans down, pressing his chocolate-covered lips to yours, totally forgetting the entire floor is watching the two of you.

“Didn’t peg you for a PDA type of guy, handsome,” you tease him, wiping his mouth with a napkin you pull out from your bag, “Easy, this has to keep you fed until you come back home.”

“Fine, but—“ he points his finger at you, his face twisting in worry before he shakes his head, “Call me when you can’t sleep. Don’t come running into the ER, okay?”

You do exactly what he told you not to do.

Next time, you can’t even get a blink of sleep. So what better way to spend another four hours up to make full trays of Fettuccine Alfredo for your favorite night owls?

“Where do you think you are going?”

This time, Jack spots you instantly in the ER before you can sneak out, making you groan and turn around, only to be met with your very scowling boyfriend who has his hands on his hips, ready to scold you.

“Home?” You reply sheepishly, biting your lip when he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s one in the fucking morning,” he says, his tone laced with worry and affection as he crosses the floor to reach you, his hand flying to your lips to pull you closer, “I told you what to do, what pills to take, but I bet you forgot.”

“I brought Pasta?” You try to dodge the question, and you sigh in relief when Jack just rolls his eyes affectionately before he kisses your forehead and leads you to the Central, already finding Shen and Ellis elbow deep inside one of the plates.

“Maybe we should hire her because goddamn-“As soon as Ellis wants to bring a fork to her mouth a trauma barges inside the floor, making her groan and glare at Shen who shrugs and doesn’t stand up from his seat, “Fuck you, man.”

“I’m your attending, now go save that poor guy while I finish my dinner.”

“Stop eating and go supervise the case,” Jack snatches Shen’s fork from his hand and pulls him up, “Go.”

You watch as the young doctor follows Ellis into the room with a loud whine, and Jack takes this chance to help you on the chair, handing you a clean fork before he sits down next to you as well.

“This tastes like heaven,” he whispers, swallowing a mouthful of the pasta while you watch him. He frowns when he notices you not eating anything, twisting his fork as he gathers a large bite of the fettuccine before he brings it to your lips, “Open up, sweetheart.”

“I’m not hu—mmf,” your eyes go wide when he pushes the fork past your lips, smirking when he watches you finally chew on the meal you have cooked.

“This is the first dinner we’re having together after a few weeks, enjoy it.”

“You’re not gonna scold me for not sleeping?” You pull your chair closer to his, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Nope,” he kisses your head after he wipes his mouth with a napkin, “Listen, if it helps, you can sleep with me in the mornings, like you’re doing night shifts.”

“Yeah, I think I can fall asleep if you’re with me.”

"I'll have her home by 7, Sir." -> "She calls me Daddy too."

Eliza is too fucking funny LMAO she was like just kiss already god damn 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I love the way you write Jack!! He deserves the world.

You Are In Love: Chapter Two

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly fluffy, trauma, Jack's widower status is slightly explored, light sexual references

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Description: Jack and the reader haven't spoken since the night Robby's daughter broke her arm. Trying to get them back in the same place, Robby and his wife ask them to babysit the kids while they go to a wedding.

--

“What if one of them offers to go home?” Robby asked, slinging a powder blue tie around his neck, a move usually reserved for his stethoscope. 

His wife leaned over the bathroom counter slightly to get a closer view of her eyelashes in the mirror as a mascara brush painted them. “Neither of them will actually go home.” She answered nonchalantly. 

He raised an eyebrow as he snaked the tie into a Windsor knot. “And why is that?” 

“Eliza is going to beg both of them to stay.” She responded like it was an obvious answer. 

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“It’s hard to say no to those Robinavitch brown eyes.” 

Robby smirked and slid an arm low around his wife’s waist. “Oh, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “We do not have time.”

“We hired babysitters.”

“So we can go to a wedding.”

“What about after? I’ll show you a good time in the back of the truck. Just like your intern year.” A swat at his ass had him howling in surprise. “Oh, yeah, just like that, Mama.”

“Michael!”

—

You pulled up to the address that Robby’s wife had texted to your phone a couple of days ago. She had asked if you could babysit the kids for a few hours while she and Robby went to her cousin’s wedding. And, of course, you couldn’t say no after meeting Eliza and baby Abbot in the emergency department a couple of weeks ago. 

You turned onto their street as instructed by your phone, counted the mailbox numbers, and…that was weird. You knew Robby had a navy truck, but you didn’t recognize the second black truck that was sitting in front of the house. As you rolled forward, you parked behind the black truck so you wouldn’t obstruct the driveway. The license plate caught your eye, and…fuck. 

U.S. Army Veteran.

Jack was here. You quickly pulled your sun visor down to check your appearance in the tiny mirror. Light mascara and blush from your day of running errands. A lavender oversized sweatshirt and black biker shorts that hugged your ass (covered by the sweatshirt though). You didn’t look bad, but you certainly didn’t put in enough effort to be around him. 

The night Eliza broke her arm was the last night on your rotation with Jack. About thirteen days ago. Now you were on the day shift with Robby and his wife. Even though shift changes overlapped, Jack was always pulled immediately into a room when he arrived at dusk. And he never seemed to wait for you when you came in the mornings. 

Your last interaction with him was warm, tender, and promising. Talk of the future, even if it wasn’t explicitly about you and him. The innocent touch of your hands around his bicep. The press of his lips against your hair. 

You had expected a call or text. But you received nothing from him outside of work discussions. A piece of your heart crumbled every time his name popped up on your lock screen, just for it to be about a patient’s chart.

Robby’s wife made a thorough effort to become your friend. She was a senior resident, just returning from maternity leave. A couple of times, she asked how Jack was doing, assuming the two of you had kept in touch, but you couldn’t provide her with an answer. You didn’t know. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, deciding that the only way to approach tonight was with confidence and grace. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you care. But still be sugary sweet. This wasn’t your first rodeo. 

You knocked on the door, not too loudly, and avoided the doorbell in case baby Abbot was sleeping. Following a click, the door swung open to reveal Robby, uncharacteristically polished in a navy suit, with Abbot tucked into his right arm like a football. 

“Hey! Come on in.” He greeted, stepping out of the doorway. 

You smiled, giving his wife mental props for scoring a hot older man, and stepped inside. Baby Abbot was kicking his legs, blowing spit bubbles. You tickled one of his bare feet. 

“Hey, handsome!” You cooed. “It’s only been two weeks, you look so much bigger!”

Robby chuckled and shut the door. “He is definitely not failing to thrive.” He commented.

High heels clicked on hardwood floor, softening as they hit the entryway hall runner. You turned to see his wife, looking elegant as ever, but certainly much more youthful than him. 

She greeted you with a hug and grabbed your hands. “Thank you so much for helping us out. This is actually the first time we’ve left them both behind...” She said, and a streak of anxiety flashed through her eyes. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “So we needed extra reinforcements. Jack usually watches Eliza, but she can be a lot. And with a 4-month-old…” She trailed off, looking to make sure nobody was behind her. “He’s just older, you know? Can’t get around like he used to.”

Behind you, Robby narrowed his eyes at the last sentence as he bounced baby Abbot in his arms. But you nodded in understanding. “No, yeah. I totally get it.” You replied, an unusual feeling wrestling in your stomach at the mention of Jack. 

“I mean, Robby already has a hard time keeping up with both of them when I’m away. With Eliza running around and Abbot learning to crawl-“

Robby stepped forward, throwing his free arm around his wife’s waist. “Okayyy, she said she gets it.” He cut the conversation short, but clearly he wasn’t too upset. “We need to get going.”

His wife giggled and leaned into his side. “Okay, okay.” She conceded before calling out, “Eliza! Come see who’s here!”

Robby looked to his wife as tiny footsteps grew louder. “For the record, I get around just fine. I’m in my physical prime.” He protested. 

All he received in return was a “Sure, babe.”

From around the corner, Eliza appeared in a pink, glittery princess outfit, wielding a star wand in her casted arm. As soon as she spotted you, she squealed your name and sprinted to you. 

You swooped her into your arms, matching the tight hug she gave you. “I didn’t know a princess lived here!” You exclaimed. 

Eliza giggled and did a spin in her dress. “I’m a doctor princess!” That’s when you noticed a toy stethoscope around her neck.

You nodded and tapped the plastic stethoscope. “Oh, I see.” 

“Uncle Jack gave it to me!” She explained.

As if on cue, you could hear his signature foot pattern. Slow, steady, but heavier on the right foot. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his piercing gaze. You couldn’t bear to hold it, so you looked back at Eliza. 

“That’s very nice of him.” You commented, standing up to adult height. 

The silence that followed was a half-beat too long. Robby received a say-something glance from his wife, and he cleared his throat. “Eliza, you get two babysitters tonight. Are you excited?”

Eliza looked between you and Jack, processing this new information. “But I only need one.” She replied as frankly as a five-year-old could. 

Robby’s wife carefully took baby Abbot from her husband’s grasp, kissing him on his tiny forehead. “That’s true, but your baby brother needs a babysitter, too.” She reasoned. 

Eliza tilted her head. “But Abby is little.” She replied. 

You and Jack gave identical looks of confusion to the parents, not exactly following the child’s statement, but they were just as lost. Robby shrugged, indicating to move along.

“I can-“ you stuttered, making an awkward step backward to the door. “I can go if that makes her more comfortable.” 

“No!” Four different voices exclaimed. Desperately from Robby and his wife. Loudest from Eliza. But surprisingly, from Jack. Even he was caught off guard by his response. 

You relaxed and smiled, feeling a little more welcome. “Okay, I’ll stay.” You replied. 

Eliza cheered, jumping up and down. “Two babysitters!” She shouted. 

Robby’s wife carefully transferred baby Abbot to your embrace, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bottles are in the fridge, bottle warmer is next to the kitchen sink.” She told you. 

“Got it.” You answered, bouncing the baby in your arms. 

Both parents knelt to hug and kiss Eliza, sharing I-love-yous and goodnights. As Robby stood up again, the joints in his knees cracked, and he let out a slight grunt as he straightened out. 

“Physical prime, my ass.” You heard his wife say under her breath, earning a glare from the old man. 

Jack had made his way to your side, picking up Eliza in his arms as she waved goodbye to her parents. You took baby Abbot’s tiny hand and waved for him. 

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Robby reminded, and the door shut behind them. 

There was a moment of silence. Eliza watched the door, fighting the urge to chase after her parents like every child. Baby Abbot stared up at you, holding your gaze with the same big brown eyes that matched his father's and sister's. Jack glanced down at you, trying to find the right words to say, but his search was cut short.

“Uncle Jack, can I paint your nails?”

—

Everyone was on the ground in Eliza’s room. Jack had laid a towel down for the inevitable nail polish spill that would occur. You set baby Abbot on a blanket, letting him lie on his tummy, and mirrored him on the floor. Eliza sat crisscrossed, the rainbow assortment of polish out in front of her. Jack sat with his left leg bent, right leg extended out, awaiting his glittery and messy fate. Peaceful instrumental music played from the tiny stereo in the bedroom, giving a warm aura. 

“What color do you want?” Eliza asked. 

Jack hummed in thought, browsing his choices. “Give me your best shade of pink. I want to look pretty.” He answered very seriously. 

Eliza giggled and snatched the light pink glitter polish before swiping the others aside. “This is the best pink.” She advertised. 

You couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s devotion to making his niece happy. The cynical veteran remained still with his hands pressed on the towel while Eliza slathered the nail polish onto his nails and knuckles. 

“I think he’ll need his toenails painted, too.” You commented. 

Eliza looked up to you, eyes blown wide like you’d revealed an entrepreneurial secret. “Yeah!” She exclaimed. 

Jack’s jaw slackened as he slowly looked over to you, tongue in cheek. You gave him a sweet smile before returning your attention to baby Abbot, who cooed as he tried to figure out how to crawl to you.

Eliza continued to work diligently, covering each nail with an excessive amount of polish. “Have you kissed her?” She asked casually. 

The color drained from your face, but you refused to turn around. You didn’t see his reaction, but his silence was deafening. 

“Not yet.”

Now that caused you to turn around, only to find him smirking right back at you. 

Eliza raised an eyebrow, the same look her mother gave patients daily. “Why not?” She asked.

You tilted your head in curiosity, smiling slightly at Eliza’s annoyance. “Yeah, why not?” You asked. 

Jack looked away for the first time with an odd look on his face. Was he…blushing? Was he getting shy with you? He shrugged with the bashfulness of a teenage boy. His lips twitched as he cycled through his answers. 

“She’s been working in the day with your mommy and daddy. Not at night with me. I don’t see her anymore,” was the answer he settled on.

Your eyes softened. For the first time in two weeks, you realized that maybe he was waiting for you to make the next move. After all, he was the older man, not wanting to seem like a perv by snatching up the young intern. 

Eliza closed up the pink glitter polish and wiped the residue from her fingers onto the towel. “Why don’t you work with Uncle Jack anymore?” She asked. 

You smiled at the child’s innocence. “It’s the rules at work. I’ll work with Uncle Jack again in a few weeks.” You explained, then gambled. “I miss working with him.”

Jack’s amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glimmer of something hopeful in them. One side of his mouth curled up just slightly, but not too much. Eliza pulled out her nail polish selection again and spread them out. “Uncle Jack, she misses you.” She reiterated. 

Jack chuckled, the smile pulling all the way now, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “I miss her, too.” He finally responded. 

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground with a million kisses, but baby Abbot had other plans. The tiniest Robinavitch began to cry, face reddening as he fussed. You sat up on your knees and scooped him into your arms, shushing him gently. 

“I think it’s time for a bottle.” You said to the baby and moved towards the doorway. “Are you two going to be okay in here?” 

Jack watched you leave, resisting every urge to yank you down into his arms. “Oh, we’ll be fine. Besides…” He pulled off his left shoe and sock. “It’s time for my pedicure.” 

Eliza squeaked in laughter as he shoved his foot near her face. She tried to push it away, but Jack wouldn’t give in. “It’s gross!” She screeched. 

“I will leave a bad review online if I don’t get the pedicure I was promised.” He threatened, finally setting his foot down. 

Your cheeks ached from laughter that matched Eliza’s. You felt that odd feeling of warmth again, watching him. Jack was meant to be a dad. And deep down, you wanted to do everything you could to make that happen for him. 

—

After feeding baby Abbot, burping him, and giving him a quick diaper change, you returned to Eliza’s room. Jack now had bright green polish splattered across his toes. 

“Oh, I think that’s your color, Uncle Jack.” You complimented. 

Jack gave you that famous half-smile in response. “I think so, too.” He replied. 

Eliza typed at her toy cash register, tallying up the salon bill. “Your hands are a hundred.” She announced, then pushed a few more buttons. “Your foot is not a lot because you only have one foot.” She added. 

An unexpected laugh escaped you, and Jack snapped his head up at you. A wide grin slapped across his face as you covered your mouth by pulling baby Abbot closer, hiding your snickers. “Oh, you think it’s funny?” He challenged. 

You sat down next to him, carefully shifting the baby in your arms. “Half off discount, right?” You teased. 

Jack laughed with you and nudged your shoulder with his. He fished his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, opening one of the folds to reveal Monopoly money. “Here ya go.” He tossed the assorted colored cash to the register. 

Eliza let out a big yawn as she shoved the paper into the register. “Oh, are you tired, baby?” You asked.

She didn’t say yes. No child ever admitted to being sleepy. But she rubbed her eyes before saying, “We have to do snuggle pile.” 

You looked to Jack for an explanation, but he just furrowed his brow. “What’s snuggle pile?” He questioned. 

Eliza pulled at Jack’s hand to make him stand up. “We have to do snuggle pile before sleeping.” She explained. 

Jack carefully put his weight on his left leg, slowly standing with a practiced ease until his right foot could drag up with him. “You’ll have to show me what you mean.” He replied. 

The little girl then pulled at your shirt to help you up. Jack took baby Abbot into his arms so you could stand up as well. “We have to go to the couch.” Eliza said before leading you both to the living room. 

She first pushed Jack into the corner of the L-shaped sectional. “That’s where Daddy goes.” She listed. 

Still holding baby Abbot, Jack was unable to reach for his right leg to pull it onto the couch, and you saw the brief conflict in his eyes. You gingerly grabbed the ankle joint of his prosthesis and lifted until it rested on the cushion. Jack watched you with a vulnerability that you’d only seen the night Eliza broke her arm. Before he could thank you, you were being led by a tiny force to sit down. 

“Then Mommy goes here…” Eliza explained. She pulled Jack’s arm out, the one that wasn’t cradling baby Abbot like a football, the same way Robby had. Then, she pushed you down into his embrace. “Uncle Jack, you have to hold her.” She instructed. 

Your face reddened as Jack shifted on the couch, lounging against the cushions. But he kept his arm out for you, waiting like the spot had always been meant for you. You slowly sank back, not breaking eye contact with him as you did. Once you had settled, he curled the arm around your waist, the motion turning your body more towards him, more against him, the closest you had ever been to him. His breath pooled against your cheeks, warming them further. For the first time, you could smell more than just antiseptic and coffee on him–a blend of sandalwood and citrus. 

Eliza marched to the other end of the couch and hauled a fluffy blanket in tow back to you. She climbed into your arms, cuddling between you and Jack. “And I go here.” She finished her tutorial. 

You spread the blanket across your bodies, securing the warmth. Not another word was said. Only the hum of the fan above accompanied the soft breaths from each of you. Baby Abbot already had his eyes closed, snuggled into Jack’s arm. Eliza began to drift off, turned towards you, head on your chest. 

But you were lost in Jack’s eyes, and the perfect blend of every color stared right back at you. Blinking slowly in your haven of peace. You caught him beginning to smile, the real one with dimples, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And it was so beautiful. You had no choice but to smile with him. There was nothing that needed to be said. You could hear it in the silence. 

—

It was midnight when the front door opened. Jack was the only one awake, still holding together the snuggle pile. You had dozed off, unable to fight the alluring urge to rest in his embrace. 

Robby and his wife entered the living room, both smiling at the sight before them. “Snuggle pile?” Robby whispered. 

Jack just smiled and nodded, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. The deep vibrations were enough to wake you from the best nap you’d had in years. You felt a weight being lifted off you as Robby carefully lifted his daughter from your body. Flustered, you sat up quickly, disoriented. 

“I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” You breathed. 

Robby’s wife waved you off. “You’re fine. The Lieutenant Colonel kept watch.” She replied, lifting baby Abbot from Jack’s arms, allowing him to sit up as well. 

Both parents left to transport the children to their respective bedrooms. Jack slid his right leg off the couch, his foot hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked quietly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I did actually. I didn’t even mean to. I wasn’t tired.” You rambled. “I just felt…safe.”

Safe. That was the perfect word. And Jack’s chest puffed out with a primitive pride. Then he smirked. “You talk in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” He was smiling, dimples and all. “You were reciting the steps for a laparoscopic appendectomy. Correctly, I might add.”

You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you just giggled. “I can’t stop studying. Even in my sleep.” You joked. 

Jack chuckled with you and ran a hand through his silvered curls. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

You shook your head, smiling still. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Then let me walk you to your car.” He offered. 

Robby reentered the living room, and you heard his wife moving in the kitchen. “Let me update her on how the baby did. Don’t leave without me.” You said before standing to go to the kitchen. 

Jack watched as you walked away, and there was an involuntary ache in his chest just at the notion of your absence. Robby flopped down on the couch next to his friend. 

“Sooo…” He started, trying to pry. “How’d it go?”

“I got overcharged by your daughter for a mani-pedi.” Jack flashed his pink glittery nails as he spoke. 

Robby laughed, examining his own nails that he’d scrubbed with nail polish remover just before the wedding. “I’ll wire you some more Monopoly money at the end of the week.” He joked, but then shifted to face his friend more. “How’d it go with her?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where you spoke with his wife. 

Jack sank into the couch, uncharacteristic of his natural military posture. “I feel like I need to wait. I don’t want to rush into anything or scare her off.” He admitted. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Wait? Jack, you’re almost 50. If you wait any longer, you’ll turn to dust.” 

Jack shook his head, fiddling with his hands in his lap, another oddity from the veteran. “Michael, I’m scared.” He finally said. 

Robby’s brow wrinkled in surprise. Of all the things they had been through together, all of the traumas, all of the disagreements, all of the near-jumps from the roof of the Pitt. Jack had never admitted to being scared. And he had never, ever called him "Michael."

“Scared of what?” Robby finally asked. 

More silence. And then, “I don’t want to lose her, too.” The tiniest crack in Jack’s voice threatened to unleash a reservoir of tears if he said anymore. 

Robby scooted closer on the couch and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jack, listen to me.” He whispered. “You’re ready for this. You have been for years, you admitted it yourself.”

Jack looked to him with glassy eyes, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Tonight, when I held her, watched her sleep, heard her breathing. Holding the kids. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And the thought of losing that…of losing her. I can’t go through that again. You saw what it did to me the first time. I don’t know that I could come back from it a second time.”

Robby felt tears sting his own eyes at Jack’s words. The suffering his friend had endured when his wife passed away almost a decade ago was insurmountable. The only thing he could do to escape was go on another tour overseas, and it cost him his right leg and sanity. He tightened his grip around Jack’s shoulders. 

“Do not let fear keep you from being happy.” He said firmly. “Jack, you deserve this. You are ready for this. You know I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”

Jack just nodded, taking in a heavy breath to control his emotions. “I don’t like silence.” He said simply. “I mean, you know that. Always have the police scanner on, always have music playing, always finding ways to fill the void. Because silence is when I go back to a dark place. Or that’s what my therapist says anyway.”

He looked to the kitchen, and he could see your reflection in the window as you chatted with Robby’s wife. “But tonight, for the first time…I enjoyed the silence. I didn’t go to a dark place. I was happy with her and the kids. Just at peace.”

And with that, Robby smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell ya, brother. Being able to hold my entire family in my arms at the end of a shift from hell…no amount of therapy could equate to that.” He said. “My only regret is that I didn’t let myself find happiness sooner.” His eyes trailed off to the window, watching the reflection of his wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jack smiled slightly, stretching as he prepared to stand. “You’re an hour late, by the way.” He mused. 

Robby hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head, a dead giveaway. “Uh, yeah. It was a Catholic wedding, so the ceremony ran a little long, and-“

“You have lipstick on your neck, and you’re missing two buttons on your shirt.” Jack cut him off. 

Robby shrugged, still rubbing the nape of his neck. “What can I say? She keeps me young.” 

“What are you boys talking about?” His wife asked as you both reentered the living room. 

Jack shrugged casually. “Ah, not much. Quick question, though. If I go to Robby’s truck right now, am I going to find the two missing buttons from his shirt in the back seat?” He asked. 

“Michael!”

Robby glared at the silver-haired man. “Snitch.” He hissed. 

—

You walked outside, and Jack shut the door behind you. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back as he led you down the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” He asked. 

You smiled, walking slower to savor your time with him. “Jack, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you when I make it home.” You promised. 

That was good enough for him. You both passed his truck to get to your car. Instead of opening the driver’s side door, you leaned against it, facing him. 

“Is this the last time I’ll see you until I’m on nights again?” You asked. 

Jack watched you for a second, memorizing the way the moon lit up your features, highlighting every perfect ridge and curve of your face. “I don’t want it to be.” He admitted. 

You smiled and grabbed his hands in yours. The smooth pads of your thumbs traced against the rough, slightly wrinkled skin of the back of his hands. “I’m honestly surprised you can work nights. Guys your age are usually in bed by 9 pm.” You teased. 

Jack huffed a laugh, and his grin twinkled like the stars behind him. “Guys my age?” He repeated, stepping closer to you, placing a hand beside your head on your car window. 

His body was nearly pressed against yours, but you knew you could reel him in some more. “Oh, you know. Old.” 

He inched closer, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing against your exposed knees. 

“Ancient.” 

His free hand mirrored the other now, enclosing you against your car door. 

“Elderly.” 

His chest bumped against your breasts with every inhale. Your fingers looped in the belt buckles of his jeans, closing the gap between your hips. 

“Archaic.” 

His smile was gone. It had been long gone since the first brush of contact. 

But your smirk remained. His breath was hot on your cheeks, just like before, but there was a new energy in the heat. “You better wipe that smile off your face.” He warned. 

Jack’s piercing eyes bore into your soul, and you had to look away, blushing at the strong eye contact. “Or what? You’ll wipe it off for me?” You called his bluff. 

He was as still as a statue, and even his breathing had stopped. 

“Look up.”

It was a command from your soldier, and you obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. The vulnerable one. And suddenly you realized he wasn’t going to make the first move. He couldn’t do it. He was scared. 

You moved your hands from his hips, trailing up his upper body, muscles trembling underneath your fingertips. You cradled his face on either side, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly shifting. He whispered your name, a shaky resonance from his throat. 

You stood on your tiptoes, brushing your nose against his. His breathing stuttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

That was the final drop that broke the dam. You pulled his face close and kissed him hard. He let out a desperate, pathetic moan of relief, like he had been in agony until your mouth was on his. One hand anchored to the back of your head, the other dropping to your waist. 

The kiss was ethereal. Your face buzzed like you’d had an entire bottle of wine. Jack’s stubble nearly cut your skin, but the sensation was addictive. Finally, he grabbed your face, pulling you away just enough to look at you. 

“Come home with me.” He pleaded. 

—

Robby’s wife sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands, a frustrated look on her face. “They’re not doing anything.” She mumbled. “They’re just talking.”

Robby pulled the knot out of his tie, slipping it off once it became loose. “Just give it a second.” He said.

His wife zoomed in on the security camera app, adjusting the brightness on her phone to see better. “Waiting…waiting…waiting…” She tolled. 

“A watched pot never boils.” He mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Aristotle.”

He chuckled, walking to the closet to hang up his suit until a squeak of excitement drug him back to the bedroom. 

“There it is!!” His wife cheered. 

Robby sat next to her, focusing on the phone screen. Sure enough, you and Jack were kissing. “Atta boy, Jack!” He high-fived his wife and tackled her in a hug. 

Their plan worked.

--

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love writing domestic fluff for Jack, so I had to do more than just a two-parter. Also, I love writing for Robby and his wife (aka the reader, which is why she has no name lol) as an intro and an outro like a shot and chaser before the actual fic.

PEDRO PASCAL as GENERAL ACACIUS Gladiator II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott

thinking about his big thick dick unfortunately

@ovaryacted now hold on-

Mission Impossible AU…but with Jack Abbot. Oouuuu.

emilia perez first loss 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🍾🥂🥂🍾🍾🍾🍾🥂🥂🥂🥂