Well Fucks? Get To It!

PALESTINA LIBRE HOY Y POR SIEMPRE

Early Spring Snow

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

You didn’t mean to end up in your own ER after a grueling day shift. There had been an early spring snow in Pittsburgh a couple of days ago, and the daytime sun and nighttime freeze caused black ice to form everywhere. The Pitt was slammed with broken bones from slipping and falling. And you were about to be one of those patients.

You had originally planned to go back to your apartment, but your boyfriend, Jack Abbot, insisted that you go to his house while he was at work. If the weather continued to fluctuate, he wanted you to have access to his backup generator that would keep the electricity going. So you agreed, and you had picked up some groceries to cook breakfast for him when he got off his night shift.

You were double fisting the grocery bags as you walked up the sidewalk. Jack had salted the concrete to prevent black ice, and you could hear each crystal crunch under your shoes. You made it to the front door before realizing you left your keys in the car. With an annoyed huff that you could visualize in the icy air, you set the groceries down, and turned to run back to your car to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

And that was your mistake. Your foot found the singular patch of ice on the sidewalk that had evaded Jack’s salting efforts. You had no time to react, and instinctively, your hands braced your fall as you fell hard onto the concrete. A string of curse words hissed from your mouth as you unsteadily rose to your feet. You brushed off the salt from your knees and upper body, but there was an odd pain coming from your left arm.

Because of your puffy coat, you couldn’t initially see that your forearm was going in a direction that it shouldn’t. In fact, the lower half of your forearm didn’t seem to be connected to your upper half.

Fuck. You knew the endorphins were gonna wear off soon, and you wanted to be under a considerable amount of pain meds when it did. Drunk with adrenaline, you got back in your car and drove to the Pitt, ditching the groceries at Jack’s front door.

When you arrived at the parking lot of the Pitt, you were grateful to find it generally unbusy. You walked through the front door and passed through the waiting room. Mel King was the first one to spot you. She grinned and waved eagerly.

“What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly.

You smiled at your friend’s enthusiasm, but the pain in your arm reminded you of your reason to visit. “I think I broke my arm.” You replied.

Mel’s smile quickly vanished, and she began to usher you towards an empty room. “Oh, that’s not good. Let’s get you checked out.” She said.

You entered the room and began to take off your puffy winter coat. You tossed it on the chair in the room, and you heard Mel gasp. Her eyes were locked on your arm, and you saw for the first time how bad it was. Definitely broken.

She sat you on the edge of the bed and immediately began a physical exam of your wounded arm. “What happened?” She asked.

You sighed, feeling embarrassment course through your veins after teasing patients all day about this very thing. “Slipped on black ice.” You responded.

Mel nodded, not an ounce of judgment on her face. What an angel. “I’m gonna go get you a sling and get you in line for an x-ray. I’ll order some morphine, too.” She said, about to run out of the room, but hesitated for a second. “Any chance you’re pregnant?” She asked.

You felt the default answer of “no” in the back of your throat, but you stopped yourself. You had irregular periods, and you and Jack weren’t the best at using protection every time he wanted to fuck you. Although you were confident that you were not, you found yourself answering “I don’t know.”

Mel nodded, taking the information the best she could. You could see from her reaction that she was a little surprised. “Um, okay! Let me get you a sling and we’ll do a urine test before we send you off to x-ray.” She said.

And you were alone in the room again. You shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed and wondered if you should tell Mel to get Jack. The only person on staff that knew of your relationship with him was Robby. There wasn’t much opportunity for others to speculate because day shift rarely interacted with night shift. You decided against telling Jack as you vaguely remembered seeing a mass of doctors and nurses in Trauma 1.

Mel soon returned with the sling and urine cup. “Alright, let’s get you in this sling.” She said.

She guided your distorted arm into the holder of the sling, making sure you didn’t endure anymore pain. Once the strap was adjusted, she handed you the urine cup. “You know the rules. Wipe front to back with the sanitary towel, pee for a few seconds, then collect the specimen.” She instructed.

You smiled slightly. “Thank you.” You replied before heading to the bathroom.

Getting your dirtied scrub bottoms off with one hand was much harder than you thought it would be. Bits of salt were still buried in the fabric, and they began to fall onto the tile floor of the bathroom as you shimmied out of the pants. You followed Mel’s instructions to a T, then did your best to wash your good hand with soap and warm water.

As you headed back to your room, you caught a glance of Trauma 1. Jack was commanding the room with ease and working hard to creatively intubate the patient. Your heart fluttered at the sight, rarely getting to see your boyfriend in action. You reentered the room, and Mel was there waiting for you.

“Why aren’t you in Trauma 1?” You asked.

Mel took the cup from your hands and immediately dipped a pregnancy test. “Oh, they have too many people in there already.” She answered and placed the test and cup on the counter behind her. “Plus, Doctor Abbot is scary in trauma situations.”

You giggled and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he can be pretty fierce in a high stress situation.” You replied, trying not to let on the extent of which you knew him.

Mel nodded and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know, I’ve heard Princess and Perlah mention that he has a girlfriend now. He’s been a lot less mean.” She added.

Your face flushed, and you prayed the fluorescent lighting wouldn’t highlight the redness. “Oh, seriously?” You tried to fake.

“Yeah. She works on the day shift I think. I don’t know who it is. Do you?” She looked to you, genuinely curious.

You shrugged nonchalantly, honing in on your best acting skills. “I don’t think so. But now I’ll be on the look out.” You replied.

Mel turned slightly to look at the test. “Oh. Um…let me get another test.” She said before hurrying out of the room.

You raised an eyebrow but figured she may not have saturated the first test enough. When she returned, she dipped the second test in the cup and placed it next to the first one.

“I’m gonna get you some acetaminophen for the baseline pain.” She said and disappeared again.

You let out a disappointed sigh. Acetaminophen wasn’t going to do shit with your broken arm. Morphine would work a lot better and faster. Mel returned with a couple of pills and a small cup of water. You downed the pills, hoping they would provide some relief.

Mel peered over at the pregnancy tests again, and you could see she was uncomfortable by the way she wrung her hands. “Okay, so both of these tests are positive. You’re pregnant.” She said, not knowing the exact tone to use.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn’t even speak, but with your free hand, you reached out. Mel handed both tests to you. And she was right. Two lines instead of one. Pregnant. Your hand began to tremble, and the room spun around you.

Mel noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder to push you back against the bed. Your head came to rest on the mattress. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?” She tried to calm you.

You nodded, and you followed her lead in taking two deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I just-…I didn’t know.” You admitted sheepishly.

Mel nodded. “That’s okay. It’s not what you expected. Let me go get the ultrasound machine, and I can see how far along you are.” She said before hurrying out.

You were alone in the room again. Pregnant. How could you not know? You didn’t have any morning sickness. Your irregular periods made for a perfect red herring. Maybe your bras had been a little tighter, but you assumed that was from eating extra snacks in between breaks. Oh. Eating extra snacks. Yeah, that was one sign.

Then all you could think about was Jack. You had talked about the future, about kids, but that was wishy washy stuff. You expected that to be much farther into the future. If it ever happened. Not now. Was he going to be mad? Or sad? Was he going to leave?

You were brought back to reality when Mel swung the curtain open and wheeled the ultrasound in. “Okay, I’m gonna put some warm gel on your belly, could you lift up your shirt?” She asked.

You did as she asked, and your eyes were riveted on the compression marks from your scrub pants. They had been a little snug lately. Mel squirted the gel onto your belly, then took the probe to navigate.

“We may not see anything if it’s still early. I’ll have to use the transvaginal probe if it is. But…” She trailed off as she watched the screen. “It looks like we can see baby right now. Inside the uterus where it belongs.”

You looked to the screen, and there it was. Your baby. Jack’s baby. The outline of a head and body. Arms and legs compressed against it. Just a little fetus. You felt an odd feeling in your chest, a mix between anxiety and joy.

“Oh. That’s my baby.” You said, not even aware that it was out loud and not in your head.

The curtain swung open, and you flinched at the sudden sound. Mel’s hand jerked away from your belly and turned around. Jack stood there, trying to take in the sight before him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked firmly, but you could tell he was distressed in his eyes.

You looked awkwardly to Mel, who decided to present you as a patient case. “29-year-old female presenting with suspected left radial and ulnar fractures after a fall.” She stated, in perfect form.

Jack looked to the ultrasound and back to you, unable to follow based on Mel’s presentation. “So what’s the ultrasound for?” He asked.

Mel shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should share her coworker’s business. But you were a patient now. “She had two positive pregnancy tests, and I was confirming with ultrasound before sending her to x-ray.” She explained. “Would you like to check?”

Jack had kept his eyes on you the whole time, something unreadable in his face. You had gotten pretty good at understanding the small changes in his expression. He never smiled, even when he laughed, so you had to pick up on the tiniest changes to figure out his mood. But this was new.

“Yes, thank you, Dr. King.” He answered, trading places with her on the rolling stool next to your bed.

He dragged the probe across your belly, staring straight at the screen. You watched him intently, trying to decipher his body language.

“Dr. King, can you give an estimated gestational age?” He asked.

Mel looked at the monitor, noting the baby’s features. “About 12 weeks. About to start the second trimester.” She answered.

You felt another wave of anxiety rush through you. You missed the entire first trimester. “A-are you sure?” You asked.

Jack nodded, not looking away from the screen. “She’s right. Measuring at about 5.4 centimeters.” He confirmed, voice as firm as ever.

Mel looked to you, a small smile on her face. “At 12 weeks, you can tell the gender.” She reminded you.

You looked to Jack, who was diligently studying the baby’s anatomy, making sure there were absolutely no informalities as of now. “The gender?” You repeated, and it brought Jack back to reality.

Jack turned to look at you fully for the first time since he entered the room. Those hazel eyes were welled up with tears, and he was doing everything he could from letting them spill over. “Do you want to know?” He asked, and you could hear the barely-there strain in his vocal cords.

You nodded, not breaking his eye contact. “Yes, please.” You whispered.

It took ounce of military training to hold Jack from breaking down in tears. “It’s a boy.” He answered as steadily as he could.

You smiled, then grinned, and tears streaked down your cheeks. “A boy?” You repeated.

Jack nodded, twisting his face to prevent himself from crying, grateful his face was turned away from Mel. “Yeah, a healthy baby boy.” He affirmed.

You brought your free hand to your face to wipe away some of the tears, and you laughed with a new joy you hadn’t felt before. Jack turned away from you in that moment, but still not fully facing Mel.

“Dr. King, could you go check with imaging and see if they’re ready?” He asked.

Mel nodded. “Yes, sir.” She replied, but looked to you and smiled the biggest smile she had. “Congrats on the baby boy!”

You matched her smile. “Thank you, Mel.” You replied, and then she disappeared behind the curtain.

Before you could begin to speak, Jack wrapped you into his arms, carefully cradling you to avoid your broken arm. The love you felt from that embrace had more than exceeded your expectations. “You’re not mad?” You asked, pulling away slightly.

Jack looked to you with an offended demeanor. “Mad?” He questioned while rubbing your shoulder. “Sweetheart, I could never be mad at you.” He added. “Especially over this.”

You smiled and ran your free hand through his thick, silvered curls. “You’re gonna be a dad.” You whispered.

Jack’s bottom lip quivered, and the tears spilled over his face. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He repeated.

You had never seen him cry before. You desperately wished you had two available arms to pull him tightly into your embrace. Instead, you guided his head to rest close to yours and kissed him gently. He energetically returned the kiss, fingers threading through your hair. But he pulled away when reality hit him.

“Wait, how did you break your arm?” He asked, a new wave of concern washing over his face.

You rolled your eyes at your own clumsiness. “I slipped and fell on black ice outside of your house.” You responded.

Jack huffed, disappointed that he hadn’t put down enough salt. “I’m sorry, love. I thought I fixed it up for you.” He replied.

You shrugged and a slow smile found its way to your lips. “It’s okay. Because now I’m here. And now we have a baby.”

Jack’s concerned expression melted into one of pure happiness. It was one that you had only seen a few times. But despite his tear-streaked face, the joy was unmistakable.

—

A/N: Yeah I’m a sucker for giving my favorite characters a baby, sorry this wasn’t super long, but I wanted to write it before the week started!

The yearning!!! 😭🥹

Companionship | pt. 9

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You try to move on, until your phone rings.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Y’ALL ARE SO NICE TO ME!! I may not be able to answer everyone (especially on reblogs), but I appreciate you all so much😭💜

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: age gap, angst, foul language, panic attack, feelings, talk of death (adamson)

not beta read

Every thought screamed for him to turn around and run back into the apartment. It clawed at his insides that he had majorly fucked up. The pieces of the Visa card dug into his palm, sharp and unforgiving. You had cut it up. He had thrown your agreement and your payment in your face and you had already cut the Visa card up.

Michael kept walking, and walking, too embarrassed to turn around. Hot feelings buzzed in his chest, torn between guilt and something that burned unrequited.

Had it really been unreciprocated when you had basically admitted to it? Shame flushed through Michael’s system.

He had wanted to be a good person and not allow someone far too close to half his age to get tangled in his mess. In him. It would not be fair, to you most of all. He had just wanted to walk into your apartment, check to see if you were okay and then end the agreement, even when not having you in his company was the last thing he wanted.

He ended up tearing any hope to shreds. It was not even fair for him to have had any hope, but if you had pushed? I would have given it a chance, the thought stung and bile churned in his stomach. But he had been a fool and fucked it all up anyways.

The thoughts racing through his head felt jumbled and chaotic. Guilt and shame for how it had ended, for how he had hurt you, and something like relief. If you hated him, then there would be nothing to pursue and you would move on. Move on. It felt like acid in his mouth.

This was all for the better, he tried to tell himself. He could hardly imagine anything working between you anyways — between the age gap, the swirling insecurities he had with it, and all the skeletons in his closet. Not to mention his general avoidance of his feelings, or the kind of emotional intimacy long term relationships required. He fucked up anything serious he had ever found himself in. You would have gotten hurt regardless. It was better to rip the bandaid off early and let you go.

A longing sat heavy in his chest, an itch to reach out. A call. Just a call. Just to hear your voice and bathe in the way you had a knack for calming him. Was it weird that he wanted to seek you out even after all he had said? Over some stupid impulsive words strung together by his insecurities over the whole thing. A complete instinctive response to shield his heart from something real. Something that might matter. Something that might hurt.

But he had made it hurt all on his own.

—

Days blurred together, the pain in your hand acting as the only buoy that kept you tethered to your reality. You wanted to sink beneath the waves, let your heartbreak drown you, but the thoughts made you feel even more pathetic.

I didn’t even really know him, your mind sneered. How can you mourn what wasn’t even there?

Perhaps it had been that fact that you had grown to trust him, or the feelings flickering in your heart and in your belly at the very thought of him. Something had clearly been brought to life in your late night conversations, wandering eyes and lingering touches and you hated yourself for it. For the butterflies that still invaded your insides at the thought of his lips against yours, bubbling up your throat until you wanted to scream.

You had to kill the feelings and move on. You only allowed yourself one more day of misery before trying to pick up the pieces.

Every time you caught sight of your hand, edges stitched together, you thought of him. Of how you wished your heart had been more cleanly cut so the jagged edges did not get caught on any wandering thought, forcing you to feel it even more. Forced his stupid handsome face to center stage in your head, the way his eyes softened—

You wondered how the hell you were going to stitch up that wound.

Marsi came by after you had ignored her texts for a few days, showing up with a bottle of wine and junk food.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it might make you feel better?” Marsi asked when you opened the front door.

You frowned, but let your friend in.

“I texted Erin since she might’ve been able to help with this sort of situation, but apparently she’s in Greece right now. With Craig The Hedgefund Guy.”

“Good for her.” You said monotonously.

Marsi raised an eyebrow, “So…did he not want to cancel the agreement in favor of anything else?”

“No, he wanted to cancel the agreement.” You huffed out.

Marsi waited patiently.

“He just didn’t want me.” You shrugged. “Thought I was just interested in his money.”

“Well, he has been—”

“I know, Marsi. I know.” Your throat got tight in embarrassment. “I just want to forget about it.”

“I’m happy to distract you with my poor excuse of a love life and my dumb professor.”

“Please.”

—

It had been a week. More than a week. Your healing cut was beginning to itch. You had scheduled an appointment with Dana back when you had been in the ER, but you did not want to go back. You had called up your PCP to schedule to get them removed instead. You just had two more days and you could put it all behind you.

There had been distractions in the end of year exams that you had been able to lose yourself in. Late nights became even more common, studying and trying to forget. Your heartbreak had yielded to anger, though the lines between them blurred enough that one was the other and you had a hard time figuring out which was which.

You sat on your bed, hoping that you would perhaps get so tired that you would pass out so you would not have to be alone with your thoughts. The anxiety of your exams was just increasing your turmoil even more.

Time is healing my hand, time will heal this too.

Sitting criss-cross on your bed, your laptop in front of you, you tried to focus on the numbers on the spreadsheet. They blurred together due to the late hour.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and your eyes flickered to see who it was. Your heart lurched into your throat at the sight of Michael’s name.

Heart already beginning to pound, a small amount of heat lighting your skin on fire, your hands beginning to grow clammy. You stared at it, before taking a long blink and rubbing your eyes. Surely, your eyes were playing tricks.

Opening them again, his name still sat there and the buzzing continued. It was late, nearly midnight, and a fear took root. Why is he calling?

With slight hesitation, you reached to answer it before it went to voicemail. The silence of your room was suddenly invaded by the sound of Michael crying. Heavy breathing trying to find rhythm, and panic bloomed from your fear.

You swallowed and just listened. Words got stuck in your throat, and the red hot anger that had been biding its time made you flinch to hang up. How dare he call you out of all people when he was in the middle of a panic attack. Did he not remember the scathing words he had said? Completely ending your agreement, your obligation to talk to him?

Had it been obligation? Or had it been care? Your mind whispered somewhere in a dark corner.

“I-I’m sorry—” he whispered, his voice cutting through the hyperventilated breaths like a siren’s call across the sea of your uncertainty.

Your heart thudded, but you let out a long breath, your edges softening.

“Just take a deep breath, Michael.” You said, trying to pull any sort of emotion from your voice. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not o-okay.” He hiccuped on a sob. “Fuck, I don’t even know why—”

You hushed him.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry. I had to take a patient off a ventilator—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “He was—he was gone, but fuck—I didn’t—it felt like—” He resorted back to his tears.

The sound of his desperation clawed through the heat of your anger, finding the soft spot beneath and latching on, sinking its teeth deep. Your own tears welled up. All the frustration, the sorrow, the anger, the heartbreak and your own brutal desperation tangling together in your throat, tears burning your eyes. You cried with him.

With your cheeks wet and sobs crashing through your body, you held your phone tightly to your ear, wishing instead it had been Michael you were holding close. Stupid, foolish girl.

“It brought me back to having to let Adamson go…it felt like I was reliving it all over again.” His breathing still came quickly. “I had to give up on him to save a little girl…and she didn’t even make it.”

Your own sadness bled into your empathy, “Michael…I don’t know what you need me to say. I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse. “Just breathe with me.”

You tried to take a deep breath through your nose and back out through your mouth, but it got caught somewhere in your chest. You cried harder.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t—fuck. Today was rough. It was bad. I—I didn’t know who else to call. I needed to hear your voice.”

A part of your heart warmed and you rubbed your eyes. Your thoughts blurred with a thousand questions and a million protests.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping. I should—”

“No…stay.”

The line grew quiet, but it didn’t cut off. You had the fleeting thought to hang up and not allow any of it to get any more complicated than it already was, but you could not bring yourself to. You held onto your phone like a life preserver in the storm.

It took several minutes before your breathing began to slow and the tears to dry, and rational thoughts seeped back in. He took a long breath in on the other side.

“I’m really sorry for everything I said.” Michael whispered. “Fuck, that was so wrong of me to do to you.”

“It really hurt.” You told him simply. “I thought—I just—is that really what you think of me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it isn’t. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, or how the agreement was making me feel. And I took it out on you. That was incredibly unforgivable of me.”

You swallowed, “It was getting complicated, that wasn’t what you signed up for.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He agreed. “It still doesn’t absolve me for everything I said.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He sighed, “Thank you for picking up anyway.”

You stayed silent, unsure exactly what you wanted to say.

“But the agreement is over. Nothing more to tie us together.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t want this…distance between us. Even if that means we’re just friends. But I can understand if you want nothing more to do with me.” He said.

You bit your lip, “I can’t just forget what you said, not yet. But I don’t want you to go anywhere, either. I want to figure this out.”

He paused on the other end, “Did you get your stitches out yet?”

“No. I have an appointment with my PCP.”

“Come by the hospital instead? We can start there?”

You thought about it, about seeing him. About the possibility of finding sturdy ground with him again and the possibility of letting something grow without the hindrance of an agreement. Or any external pressure.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I originally scheduled to come by tomorrow after work.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Something like hope grew back in your chest.

[ Next ]

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

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 need a mutual to let me brain rot about a very specific idea I have for Jack Abbot x doctor!reader. An outline of events, if you will.

I can’t get this out of my head:

Jack sees the shock on your face before he hears the words he had just said to you.

When had the wind been this defeaning? Or was it the silence?

“J-Jack…you don’t…don’t say th-”

“I’d do it with you. Have kids.” He said again, more definitely this time. More concrete. More real. He thinks about all the time he’s spent alone, of the kind of life he could’ve had had things been different. How you’re a different person, a different doctor, more fierce in every way when a child patient comes through those doors.

And fuck, if it doesn’t make his heart squeeze when he thinks what that can be like with you.

“We don’t have to get married.” He says, eyes watching how your throat constricts and your lips wobbles, tears threatening to free fall again.

His face leans in closer to yours, how it normally does whenever he’s seen you doubt yourself and willed every bit of confidence in you.

“But I want this for you, I want this with you. That asshole down there made you feel like you had to choose one thing and give up another, but you don’t have to give up anything with me. You can have it all, and I want to make that happen for you, if that’s what you want.”

Lord knows he’d rather chew sand than let himself be this vulnerable again.

But with you, he didn’t have to be afraid of anything at all.

"Saddle up, cowboy. We got this."

i loooove reading . do you know how many lives i have lived

wet.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Female!Reader

Summary: Not so innocently texting your boyfriend during his shift.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Jack Abbot being Jack Abbot, short little blurb

You were tired, exhausted and looking forward to just crawling into bed and melting into sleep because it’s been a long fucking shift. But you needed to text Jack first. Just- just a little something for him to think about until he gets home in the morning and you have some time to kill while you wait for your pizza.

[You]: Hi baby

[Jack]: Hi

[Jack]: What’s wrong?

[You]: Nothing. Just miss you.

[You]: Are you busy?

[Jack]: Yes.

[Jack]: But I always have time for you.

You can see the three dots indicating Jack is typing some more but you’re faster. You already planned this. Immediately you send him a picture- the picture you took right before texting him. Clad in his old army shirt, only his old army shirt but you’ll let him figure that out in a bit. The dots stop. You smile victoriously for a moment when they reappear.

[Jack]: That’s not what I meant when I said I always have time for you.

[Jack]: Fuck

[Jack]: What do you have on under?

You knew your boyfriend well enough that he can’t leave it alone. The thrill of seeing you when he’s supposed to be focusing at work. He will absolutely be thinking about it until he gets home in the morning, he won’t be able to last 10 hours without you. And to respond to his question, you send the other picture you took. On your front, back arched just a little so he can get a clear view of your ass that has nothing on it- bare and needing him.

[Jack]: Robby almost saw that

[You]: Do you think he’d like it?

[You]: Or this maybe?

Your next picture was sent. Laying on his side of the bed, shirt pushed up so he can get a clear view of your chest- how you’re grabbing your breast and how you definitely don’t have any underwear on. He needed to excuse himself, needed to find an empty on call room because he’s fucking half hard at this point and the only thing that’s calming him down is cumming into his own hand so he can focus on work- then as soon as he gets home he’ll fuck you into the mattress as punishment for distracting him. Maybe he’ll let you cum. He hasn’t decided yet. Jack locks himself in the viewing room, leaning against the door and trying to unbuckle his belt but you send him another fucking picture and- oh. No. No- not a picture, a video. He’s sure he had a stroke because you’re whining his name and pushing your fingers inside yourself and- ‘Fuck- Jack. I need you so bad right now baby.’ He can’t stand it. He calls you.

“Baby?” You answer, whining into the phone the way you know he likes. How you sound so pathetic and desperate for him. Like you can’t do this without him. Breathing a bit heavier, you ask him to help you.

“Fuck- you know you can’t do this to me at work honey.” He grits out, licking his palm and sighing in relief once his hand is finally wrapped around his cock- tipping his head back to rest against the door from the feeling. He’s already leaking at the tip and trying to think about how you’d be on your knee for him right now. Like last week, yanking him into the supply room because you couldn’t handle it anymore- dropping to your knees and ignoring the way he said someone could walk in on your both but- you made quick work of him.

“But I need you Jack-” You sigh into the phone, sounding so desperate and sweet in his ear and he can hear you shuffling around and moaning- the little gasp that you make because you know he likes it when he slides his cock or his fingers inside you and it just involuntarily happens. He can picture your spread out on the bed, phone on speaker next to you so you can use both hands- shirt pushed up over your breasts so you can palm and play with your nipples like you need, maybe licking your fingers to get them wet before your toy with your clit. Fuck or maybe you’ve been playing with yourself for hours already and just need him to help you cum. Jack thinks about all the possibilities while stroking his cock to the sounds of your moans and whines and-

“Fuck baby, you need me? How wet are you? Tell me.” He needed to hear it- hear how wet you’ve been just thinking about him. He starts stroking faster and bites his lip to hold in his moans. Fuck maybe he can get you to FaceTime him so he can watch you and see it and-

“Jack- baby I’m so fucking wet,” you don’t give him a moment to respond, your tone has changed and- “wet like my fucking laundry that you didn’t put in the dryer.” Dial tone. That’s all he heard. And somewhere he can hear you cackling to yourself because he’s breathing hard and his cock is still in his hand and- fuck. He was so fucking close- trying to call you back but it goes to voicemail. You weren’t three fingers deep like he thought- you were on the couch, still in his shirt but also his sweats and devouring the pizza you ordered along with his super fancy beer that he doesn’t drink often. You unmute the TV, settling back against the couch and smiling to yourself when your phone keeps ringing.

[Jack]: Answer me.

[Jack]: Now.

[Jack]: Baby I’m sorry please…

[Jack]: Wait until I fucking get home.

[Jack]: Send me another picture so I can cum at least.

When he gets home he better rewash your fucking laundry, dry it, and fold it. But not until after he shoves his tongue inside you and makes up for it. One final text pulls you from your plotting and-

[Jack]: I came.

Of course he fucking did.