Jack Abbot Sending You A Selfie While He’s At Work….. I’m Unwell

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.

‘We need more loud, unashamed queers’ yes but some of you can’t even seem to handle a bisexual woman liking men.

Damson Idris attends the 2025 met gala. — (may 5, 2025)

need to be passed between jack and robby like a blunt at a party if i’m honest

tw: language, smut, threesome (mmf), dirty talk, bodily fluids (mentioned), f!reader, soft dom!rabbot, sub(ish)!reader, abbot and robby knowing each other really well, oral (m+ f receiving), riding, unprotected sex, creampie; please remember this is fiction <3 mdni/+18.

your attendings have had you like this forever, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it.

jack sitting sturdy on robby's couch, cock out and stroking with one hand while the other wraps around your front to flick at your nipple. robby kneeling in front of you to bump his nose into your clit before sucking it with a spit-covered tongue.

and you–at the center, reclined against jack's middle, one of your legs thrown over robby's shoulders, and squirming every time either of them moans. lulling your head, you blink at the fat head of jack's cock and stick out your tongue.

jack grins for half a second, obliging you with a rub of the tip along your top lip before just barely lifting his hips to let you slip it further into your mouth. eyes soothing shut, you whimper at the salt that flashes across your tastebuds as your tongue snakes along the bottom of the his head.

the groan this pulls from jack catches the attention of robby, who grunts at the sight of abbot cock poking against the side of your cheek.

"keep sucking him just like that," robby commands in a soft gravel, pulling away but kind enough to not let you steep in the cold of missing him for too long. he kneels on the couch, leg bending to slip inside you at the perfect angle.

robby bottoms out with a punched breath, head back and throat bobbing as he swallows to keep his composure. he can't look at you or jack when he starts to fuck you, every hit of his middle against yours jerking your mouth back and forth onto jack's cock.

"son of a bitch, she's tight," robby rasps to no one yet it still makes jack smile through his latest shuddering moan as the men ease into a sweet pattern. jack, pushing his member across your tongue whenever robby's pulls backward. robby, plunging himself as deep as you'll let him as jack draw out his cock until the only thing you can suck at is his leaking tip.

a noise–a single, muffled word–sounds out of you and robby doesn't stop when he tilts his head to hear you better.

"what was that, sweetheart?"

"harder," jack answers for you through a bitten lip. "fuck her harder, mike."

"happy to oblige," declares, a suave tint to his voice as he takes a moment to blow out a quick breath.

with one palm on your side and the other clutching abbots thigh, robby quickens his pace. the three of you gasp and pant at every buck of his hips that starts to slam into yours at a new vigor.

you're staring to forget how to think about anything else except the two men filling you full, and it's every thing.

"yeeeah, give me that pussy, baby. let me fuck my cum into you so jack can fuck it deeper."

you're drooling through your moans all over jack's girth, choking with a few gags when his head grazes the back of your throat.

"that's right," robby wheezes out at your wet coughs. "gag on it, angel. he likes it messy, don't you, dr. abbot?"

"oh, you know it, dr. robby," jack rasps back, nudging his cock a few inches deeper until robby can see the buldge in your throat. he lets his cock pulse for a few short seconds before pulling back and patting your cheek as you gasp for air. "fuck yeah. attagirl."

robby's hips falter just a tad and he releases a short wail.

"mmm," he hums out, resuming his rhythm with a flushed face. "'m almost there. this pussy's too sweet for an old man like me..."

popping his cock from your mouth, abbot plants a hand under your chin and tilts your eyes his way.

"use those pretty words and tell him how much you want it, gorgeous. how much you need him to fill you up so you're nice and ready for me... and make sure to use his first name, too. he'll bust quicker."

a sound seeps out from the back of robby's throat, and he throws a side eye at jack's wink. the look melts into hooded-eyes and a dropped jaw when his drags his stare back to you.

"fuck, i want it," you sob out, lids fluttering a little at the feeling of robby's cock still driving inside you, touching somewhere warm and deep. "want it so bad, mikey, please–"

"oooh," robby groans, softening into a round of shaking along with and clenched eyes as he comes cause that's just not fair. his cock twitches over and over again, hunching to spill out his load on unsteady legs.

robby doesn't slide out of you until he knows he's present enough to help lower onto jack. the maneuvering happens with practiced simplicity.

jack parts spreads his thighs in a backwards lean, while you clench and stand. robby grabs your waist as you tilt against jack, who plants a kiss on your shoulder before lining his tip with your slit.

"jesus, you weren't kidding, rob," jack breathes out as you sink down.

"well, it'd be rude to joke about somebody as pretty as her, wouldn't it?" robby teases, eyes big and soft while he stares into you. he waits until jack's cock is all the way inside you before once again leaning onto the couch, this time on both knees.

you groan while robby settles himself, smushing you between both of their bodies. he guides one of your arms to hang around his thick neck, and you hiss as jack wastes no time thrusting up into you.

"use me to fuck him, sweetheart. hold my neck 'n bounce on it," robby mumbles, hand placing over the one abbot has on your hip.

"he's big," you slur to robby, arm bringing him impossibly closer. his cock slicks between to two of you, half hard and already throbbing again. "feels good."

jack's hips flinch at your words, and he shoves his cock deeper. you meet his thrusts with determined bounces, groaning at the sound of your ass slapping back against him.

he might be a inch or two shorter than robby, but jack's thickness has him rubbing at your walls with a force that make you sound as cock drunk as you feel. robby swallows most of them with a feverish kisses.

"don't forget to breathe, j," robby reminds against your mouth.

"fuck, 'm trying," jack wheezes out with a huff not one second later, causing robby to smile. "she's just so fuckin' warm, man."

using robby as leverage you and jack form an almost brutal pace. you clench around him at the perfect time, and jack has found a curve of his hips that drag his head against a spot that makes you hold robby tighter.

you're creaming out something devastating around jack, robby's load blending with the juices as well as you ride the man.

"wanna come," you plead, legs becoming so tired that you have to stop. the pause is swiftly ended by robby, who clasps you tight with certain arms.

he and jack work in tandem to drag you up and down jack's member, and your hands reach out to clutch both of them. the two catch eyes over your shoulder, and neither find the will to look away. robby groans quietly, the friction of your stomach enough to have his own cock rock solid and leaking once more.

"taking it like a damn champ, gorgeous," jack praises behind you, sweaty and panting. "take both of us so well. how 'bout i paint your insides just like mike did for being such a good girl, huh?"

seeing that you're teetering on the edge, robby reaches to grab his cock and glides the head across your clit. the sensation is more than enough to yank your orgasm from you, and you wail out with pulsing walls.

jack is following you soon after, clutching you with ragged breaths, pumping you well and full with rolling eyes and a myriad of profanities. his grip wraps around your waist, forcing you to unhook from robby's neck and roll completely into his front.

using the space, robby takes a quick hand to his cock. his eyebrows pinch and his chest jumps, abbot using your pussy to out milking the last of his cum out just as robby finishes again with a grunt.

he presses his head at where you and abbot meet, spurting out impressive ropes of thick cum. robby continues to smear his load, abbot adding to the action by using his finger to rub what robby doesn't catch into your swollen clit.

when you try and squirm, jack's hand moves up to rest against your throat. he pulls you back even further this time, pressing as far as he can into the couch and keeps you still with a gentle grip around your throat. robby watches the scene with heavy silence and dark eyes.

"now, where do you think you're going?"

jack's question hits low and hot against your ear.

"if he gets two... so do i, doll."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

Jack Abbot. Wearing glasses at night. Hanging on the edge of his nose. He’s reading through one of his medical journals or an article or a book or fucking something. Wearing a baggy cotton T-shirt and some sweats or just his briefs under the sheets, you can still see the slight curve of his belly from the way he’s positioned. He’s sitting upright against the headboard with two pillows supporting his back, maybe as he reads he’s annotating things here and there making notes to keep in mind.

Your head is either on his lap where he strokes the back of your head and your neck just to feel your proximity, or you’re watching him from where your head’s propped up on your side of the bed, eyeing him up and down, a shiver brushing over your figure the more you stared at him.

He knows you’re looking, knows you’re watching, but he refuses to acknowledge you. He lets it fester, lets the tension in the air grow thicker as if he wants to drag it out, as if he can read your mind. You think he can, you think he knows how good he looks being so domestic. He’s the one that breaks the silence after a beat far too long.

“You need something, sweetheart?”

Of course you do. You always do when it comes to him. And you sure as hell were gonna get it.

Btw, pls go read this blurb by my precious stella bella @stellamarielu. TANK YEW!

DEMNA HAS FINALLY LEFT BALENCIAGA THANK GOD

I've got a lot of respect for smut writers. you write something incredibly sexual, it's probably somewhat of a look into your own soul, and then bitches are too scared to leave kudos of comments half the time, so it looks as though everyone hates your work. And yet yall still do it, and I love that

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!!

Ayo Edebiri via deemakeupart on Instagram — February 22, 2025