Today I attended a pride parade in my city. I walked with my union. 🌈
It’s mandatory for kindergartens and schools in Norway to promote equality, equal worth and diversity.
I am a kindergarten teacher. We have a Framework Plan for Kindergartens.
“Kindergartens shall promote equity and equality irrespective of gender, functional ability, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, ethnicity, culture, social status, language, religion and world view. Kindergartens shall combat all forms of discrimination and promote compassion.”
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content: fluffy and smutty headcannons of being camboy!franks roomate from med school on, linked text at bottom is p!links they’re for visuals yk but can be ignored…nicknames [sweets, princess], 2k wc.
dividers by me : @graphiclost | masterlist coming soon!
☆ Roomate!Frank who makes a posting on the med school community board about needing a roommate with no real other specifications. He was a cam boy on the side to help pay debts but it was not enough to also cover rent in full. He talks to a few different people and while they seem nice enough, they aren't you. He didn't plan on having a female roommate especially with his side job but when you came over to tour the apartment he swears an actual princess walked through the door. Being ever the gentleman he is he carries in all your boxes and doesn’t let you lift a finger to unpack besides your personal and intimate effects and clothing. (full fic eventually on their meeting etc)
☆ Roomate!Frank who is very bold and obvious with his attempts at flirtation and show of his affections. No matter if you laugh them off or simply roll your eyes at him, until you tell him outright stop it he plans to continue on acting pathetically down bad. Especially when a few comments and complaints pull a genuine smile or laugh from you at their corny nature.
☆ Roomate!Frank that memorizes how you like your coffee or tea and learns which foods you like best. That way he can always buy the correct things at the store and make your preferred hot beverage prefect. It’s all worth it for the sweet smile you give him while you say “Thank you Frank” and rub your thumb over his arms that were crossed over his chest in anticipation.
☆ Roomate!Frank who leaves his playboys all over the living room table, he has an extensive collection of them that is not contained to his room and you are complaining off for him to pick up after himself. He always attempts to bargain with you “I will take out the trash and vacuum if i can get a kiss on the cheek” when you agree he damn near runs into the coffee table as he jumps off the couch to clean. Standing next you when he completed said tasks and tapping his cheek with his index finger before his hands fall clasped behind his back. Only instead of your lips pressing to his face, you kiss the pads of your fingers and lightly smack against his cheek. “Atta boy Frank” you praise in a sweet condescension that forces a blush across his face and ears coupled with a throb between his legs.
☆ Roomate!Frank that takes advantage of the thin walls of your med school apartment while he films. Even if he’s in his own room with the door shut often then not you hear his loud whiny moans flood down the hall. He’s also been a little bit of a perv and left his door open a jar, knowing his bed is in direct line of sight if you passed by. Listening intently as he fists his cock to each creak of the floor as you walk around your rink and praying you magically need something in the living room and you pass by.
☆ Roomate!Frank who uses the dumb letter magnets you two were gifted as a house warming gift to leave you stupid flirty messages before he leaves for class. Spelling out “Be naked when I'm back from class sweets” in bright colorful letters on the door of the fridge. “Gonna miss you princess, think about me” is found when you go to grab water before you head out yourself. He even manages to morph them into a silly winking face one day. He is often coming home however to you reaggranging them out of his flirty notes and into a response. “You couldn't handle it if I was” and “No, buy cereal tomorrow” and you turn his winky face into a middle finger which makes a loud cackle burst out of him when he walks in that afternoon to the image on the fridge.
☆ Roomate!Frank who is a weak, weak man and when he finds a pair of your panties amidst his load of clean clothes, he steals them. Letting you believe that the dryer ate them when in reality they are stowed away in his nightstand drawer. Often being fished out and held against his nose as he fucks up into his fist, even starring in a solo video of his wrapped around his cock. He eventually returns them but only after they have been either defiled or the scent of you dissipated from the fabric.
☆ Roomate!Frank asks repeatedly for you to film with him, saying how it would probably do far better than his solo videos do. Down right pleading with you and telling you it’s a professional thing, you can set boundaries. He doesn’t even have to fuck you, saying he just wants to eat you out on camera. Telling you only your body would be in it, your head cut off. His own face would be shrouded with darkness with the dim lights he sets for filming and blocked by your thighs anyway.
Just make you cum on his tounge, saying he will keep you so distracted sucking at your clit you’ll forget about the red flashing light.
“No one would know it’s you and me, sweets come on please…” he’d bargain, an underlying whiny tone to his voice while he stares over at you with furrowed brows and a desperate look. He continues to beg for it when you complain about med school debt, and the video would make enough to cover them.
☆ Roomate!Frank who thinks he must not have gotten enough sleep after staying up studying and he‘s heard you wrong when you finally agree on a random Friday. Telling him you need the extra money for student debts and you have a vague idea of how much he makes per video and know it’ll be enough. Frank agrees to give you all the income from your video together. Frank is more than ready to make you cum on his face like he’s been advocating for and thats that, but you tell him he’s gonna fuck you on camera.
“It will do better trust me, and i’m only doing it just this once” you explain, trying your best to hold your voice steady and not shy away even when heat spreads through your body at the way his eyes darken. The two of you decide he’ll fuck you on the couch, agreeing it’s some how less intimate than in bed, as if he’s not gonna see you naked for the first time.
You watch as he sets up his red camera against a stack of medical books and magazines. The view finder flipped out so that he can angle it just right, a small laugh sputters out of your mouth at how precise he’s being with the height and way the camera is turned. “We are making a prono Frank not a commercial it’s fine”
“That will be fine i guess, before i hit record you are certain about this?” he asks checking for consent about the 5th time since you agreed. “Just fuck me already Langdon” you prompt, hands gripping the bottom of your shirt but you are stopped. “Wait!” he barks out before quickly hitting the record button and scrambling over to you on the couch and placing his hands over yours. When you nod in response he begins to tug your shirt off your body, all remaining clothes following suit quickly after. Frank makes quick work of foreplay, getting you dripping against his mouth before your legs are wrapped around him as he bucks his hips desperately into you. Steadily losing all composure the longer he was buried to the base deep inside you, his anatomy perfectly fitting yours in a way that makes your cunt tightly hug his cock. When in the throws of pleasure as your orgasm is approaching he leans his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over yours.
“There any rules on kissing princess?” he pants out as his eyes flick from yours down to your parted lips nearly touching as you moan out when his tip hits that euphoric spot deep inside in a hard thrust. “Wanna kiss me Frankie?” you coo through cut off whines while your nails rake down his bare back in a way he hopes is hard enough to leave marks. He groans out, eyes glazing over and a small pout forming on his face as he nods, hips smacking your ass harder the more he feels your cunt spasm around him. When he leans in closer to test the waters you don’t fight it and his lips finally seal with yours in a wet desperate kiss that Frank pours more emotion than intended into.
☆ Roomate!Frank that never actually posts the video, possession flaring up in his chest when he goes to edit it at the idea of other men hearing the addicting sinful sounds he worked so hard to pull from your pretty lips. Instead he pays you with the money he gets from his solo videos. Leaving you unaware that the only place the video of your roommate coaxing 3 orgasms out of your body exists is a little black flash drive he keeps in his nightstand. He’s already made enough to continue paying his own debts and rent, doing a bit better on his own than you knew. So where the harm in you not knowing he never posted it but instead keeps it in his private collection and never touches another playboy or regular porn site again when he jerks off.
☆ Roomate!Frank who when the two of you are finally together and all his yearning and persistence pays off, gets your lip print tattooed above his v-line.
He doesn’t care if it’s cringey or tacky, he wants your kiss with him when you’re not around to give a real one. Which he practically demands one every 2 hours you are in his general vicinity now that he’s allowed. Smushing your cheeks by your grabbing your face and pulling you towards him when you are mid study session, lazy and slow make outs on the couch because he’s far more interested in your mouth than the movie he picked to watch. Even taping his lips before you leave the apartment for class or get up out to go pee.
“Frank, I’ll be gone not even 10 mins you’ll be okay” and when he pouts at you with those damn puppy dog eyes that he’s mastered by now you fold. Leaning down to give him a chastise peck on the lips before bolting off to the bathroom so you don’t piss yourself.
☆ Roomate!Frank who regularly now films you two but never posts them, camera set up to shoot him with his head between your thighs as you lay on your sides. You laid back over his lap as he positioned his fingers in and out of you and slapped at your puffy clit with his free hand. A film completely from his point of view as you mouth and suck at his cock before climbing on top of him and giving him his number 1 favorite view. So many photos and videos pile up on his little flash drive he repeatedly has to buy one with more storage.
! NOTE: the video of him eating you out he begs for + the video you two eventually film together
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That's the first and only thought in his brain as his cheek makes contact with the cold concrete of this back-alley sidewalk.
The walk home today was completely unassuming. His shift at the ED was nothing special, nor was it anything new. Just the same old horror and suffering that comes with treating the most desperate humans in all of Pittsburgh. He should be grateful for it, really. He's had worse days, but he could also argue he's had better days.
It's been a while since he's had one of those though. And this was shaping up to be an exceptionally shitty night.
The man's face registered pretty quickly in his mind when he approached. He was the father of the four-year-old little girl who lost her life in one of his trauma rooms. She was attacked by a Doberman gone rogue, one of their neighbor's dogs if he remembers correctly, that was claimed to be usually very well behaved (as they all are until they're taking off half of a toddler's face).
That evening, coming home a week ago, was rough. She managed to wake up very briefly once they got her hooked up on pain meds and all he remembers is the tears and fear of a little girl who just started living. Of a little girl with a halfway degloved face that wasn't going to live to see her first day of kindergarten.
Yeah, he was pretty upset about that one. But clearly not as upset as her father, obviously.
"You're a doctor, right?"
The question felt hostile, defensive. He could practically smell the frustration coming off of him. But he didn't have the patience to placate anyone. He just wanted to go home and sleep for a long time.
"Yes, is anything the matter?". Even then, his medical brain quickly switched on. Maybe this was not what he was assuming it was, and somebody in the vicinity was hurt.
"You're the piece of shit that killed my babygirl."
Nope. He was wrong.
The first hit stung. Got him square in the nose, probably broken upon contact. Fucking hell.
But it didn't stop. He thought maybe he needed one good swing.
No, this man wanted blood. Just the amount of blood his daughter lost on the linoleum floor of the PTMC emergency department. And lucky for him, Robby was just the man to draw it from. He wears guilt and shame like a permanent piece of clothing. A sweater made of spikes and thorns curated for misery. This little girl will sit in the back of his mind for a long time, but her father wanted it to sit right in front of him and attack.
Well, he's already got one part covered.
He got hit in the jaw the second time, a clean uppercut that had him stumbling. He tried to find his footing on the brick walls to his left, but it sent him falling to the floor instead.
Michael Robinavitch laid there and thought of all the movies his grandma didn't want him to watch when he was a boy because of all the violence in them. He lays there and realizes he's in one of those movies right now as he gets a swift kick to his ribs.
The father grabs him by his collar and lifts him up from his shoulders. He spits in his face and spouts something vile he can't pick up over the ringing in his ears. Then his head is making contact with the ground again, a recoil he can definitely tell is a concussion. If not blunt head trauma.
Another sharp explosion in his abdomen, his very own backpack containing the stethoscope he used on his daughter's chest and the coffee cup he drank from minutes after her time of death was called was slammed onto his head.
A kick in the balls. Of-fucking-course. And another solid connection of the man's fist to his face, and he was gone.
Everything was blurry, dark. Abnormally so, he could tell, even though it was 8pm. His whole upper body was tender and pulsing with his heartbeat. He could feel blood dripping down his face; he'd be surprised if it wasn't coming out the back as well.
His bare instincts tried to diagnose himself to no avail. He couldn't even hear his own groaning, which apparently drew a young couple to him.
Call 911. What the fuck happened to this dude? Is there anyone else around?
Even if his medical knowledge wouldn't come to his aid, his own multiple decade long embarrassment at being seeing vulnerable and hate at someone thinking he may need something got him to try to climb up onto his knees and push the woman, who probably wasn't older than 25, away from him.
"Hey woah, dude, get down."
"No, no", a bloody cough, "I'm okay." Was he wheezing? Why is the air so thick?
"We've got an ambulance coming your way. You're good."
As the corners of his vision went black, the same thought circled his brain again and again.
This is all my fault
~
Jack was disappointed.
Not in the way you would expect. Not disappointed in a med student or a patient's company who think they know better.
He was disappointed by how dead the ED was. Yes, poor choice of words and poor train of thought. But he's got nothing to do with the practically ever existing adrenaline in his veins. Two MVAs and an emergency c-section loses their thrill after a few hours of nothing exciting. And charting is definitely ranked very low in Dr. Abbot's engaging job assignments list. So, naturally he gets up, sends an apology to his leg which would rather be resting, and does rounds on the patients spending their dinnertime in his care.
Halfway through, he can distantly hear Lena shout out something about an incoming trauma, but he spots John speedwalking her way, coffee in hand, and sighs almost dramatically knowing his help most likely won't be needed. He makes his way over to central anyways.
Four minutes later, paramedics are coming through with a gurney
"50s, male, found in a back alley by a couple who said to not know what happened to him, but likely pneumothorax caused by broken rib, sats dropping by the minute – slight tachycardia, moderate head trauma"
Another sigh. A settle in a low rolling chair, and then one Dr. John Shen shooting through the trauma one doors shortly after the patient's arrival.
"Jack! You gotta see this."
"What?"
He gets back up and makes his way over. The nurses and residents are working, but in an uncomfortable way he's never noticed before.
Then his eyes connect with the body in front of him.
Robby.
Robby is the one on that bed. Robby is the one with that giant bruise on his torso, the trail of dried blood across various parts of his face, the friction burn on his arm. Jack glances up...and like they said, the dropping sats.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A million times fuck.
There's only so much they can do outside of the OR and radiology with his condition. They need to stabilize his vitals, insert a chest tube, and get him sent up to get a CT and get the broken rib out of his lung. But Jack can't focus.
The most important person in his life is in his care and he's frozen. He can see John look his way, understanding in his gaze and shoots out orders himself.
Once someone gets the tube in his chest, Jack finally locks into reality and rushes forward to check the head trauma they mentioned. Someone already checked, he's sure, but he has to know if Robby can walk away from this.
Pupils are slow to react. Probably just a bad concussion. He lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, and then Robby is being rolled away.
A hand on his shoulder and a few wayward glances from people who don't get it is all he gets.
~
He comes to with very bright lights and faint beeping hitting his senses. Letting out a groan and trying to shield his eyes from the fluorescent bulbs seems to startle another person in the room and suddenly it's dim.
He lowers his arm. Jack. It's Jack.
"Hey big guy, how you holding up?" His curls were a mess and was he crying?
"I'm not sure", he mumbled
"Well, turns out you've got a pretty gnarly concussion, a broken nose, a couple places that needed stiches, a broken rib, and a lung that was collapsed about 2 hours ago. Also, a giant bruise that came from that rib getting broken. So I'm going to guess you don't feel all that great". He almost whispers it as he makes his way back over to him
He squints, "But I'm clear to work tomorrow?"
Jack let out an unamused snort and sat next to Robby, "What the hell happened to you man?"
The question felt like stuffing in his brain, until it suddenly cleared, and he remembered. He can't really hide from this one. "Do you remember when you came over that one night last week because I had a rough shift?"
"Yeah, wasn't it about the Doberman case?"
"Mhm", he shifts minutely and groans. He can feel Jack's hand on his chest trying to settle him. "Her father found me walking home today."
He hears and feels Jack's reaction more than he sees it: a punched-out breath and a tensing in his whole body. "You're telling me he fucking did this to you?"
"Yeah, kinda."
Jack shot up.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding her records and finding out who the hell he is. That man is spending the rest of his middle age rotting in a fucking cell."
"Jack, no."
"Robby, you can't just-"
"I deserved it."
He froze. Then stiffly turned over his shoulder. "Did you punch him first or something? Didn't know you had that bad of a shift yesterday." His voice had no humor on it, Robby could tell he was standing on the end of his rope. He said it anyways though.
"No, he accused me of killing her and swung at me. But I deserved it."
Jack couldn't decide between whether to punch him himself, or to break down in tears. He opted instead to crouching down and holding his IV punctured hand.
"Michael Robinavitch, you fucking look at me."
Robby does, mainly because he can't really do much else.
"You did not deserve that. You did the best you could, and there was nothing else to be done. That asshole should be blaming the owner of that dog; you didn't kill his daughter."
"Jack-
"-No. I'm sick and fucking tired of you doing this to yourself. Of you carrying the world on your shoulders and expecting yourself to solve all of its problems. Of you carrying this nauseating guilt everywhere you go as if you aren't one of the most hardworking doctors I know. You did the best you could. You hear me? You aren't playing martyr and dying on me because you let people treat you the same way you treat yourself. "
Robby can't tell if he's crying or not, his senses are too overloaded and he's in too much pain, but Jack drags a knuckle across his cheek. So there's that.
"Okay?"
He nods to the best of his ability. "Okay."
"Now I'm going to get you some shitty cafeteria food, but I'll get you whatever you want whenever you get discharged alright."
He gets up and starts leaving. Just like Jack to have an emotionally charged conversation and then just move on the moment it's over. "Jack."
"Yeah?"
"...Thank you."
"None needed brother.", he smiles, slaps the doorframe, and he watches those greying curls retreat.
Summary: A horrible experience with robby screaming at you on your last day on the morning shift that was heard by practically everyone, leaves you embarrassed and crying. What’s even worse is that your night shift attending heard it during handoffs. So much for first impressions. lets just hope things don’t go more down hill from here
Warning: poorly written dialogue, we don’t like robby around here
Author’s Noted: I’m having so much fun making these. Anyways, I’m going to horribly attempt at creating a slow ish burn here. Also yes wrote reader to be an outlander fan everything else for the most part i kept ambiguous to the best of my abilities
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Summary: A horrible experience with robby screaming at you on your last day on the morning shift that was heard by practically everyone, leaves you embarrassed and crying. What’s even worse is that your night shift attending heard it during handoffs. So much for first impressions. lets just hope things don’t go more down hill from here
Warnings: poorly written dialogue, robby being an asshole off screen
Author’s note: first time posting, kinda nervous. Sorry for any inconsistencies with the dialogue gang
╰⋆˚꩜｡ ex!jack abbot is not fond of the new resident
cw: mentions of blood! proofread a lil
“i swear i’m fine!” you repeat, angling your hand upwards so the blood from your palm pools on your hand and not let any of it drip on the floor.
the laceration on your palm was an unfortunate consequence after naively giving your absolute trust to the MS4 you dragged with you to perform an escharotomy.
he was just handing you a scalpel, how did that ended so badly?
now, you’re rushing to find a room with a suture kit on your non-dominant hand. the new and awfully stubborn r3 named stan, who started 2 weeks ago, is following behind you.
“oh come on. i swear i’m good with sutures! let me at least show my skills,” stan swears by his heart.
you enter an empty treatment room, and turn around to the guy who’s so eager to help you with your injury.
“you’re telling me you just wanna show off?”
“to be fair, my main reason is to help you. the other part is secondary,” he says with a sincere look.
you sigh, sitting on the bed. you might as well let him. it would be quite a pain in the ass if you treat your dominant hand by yourself.
“just live up to your word, okay?”
his face practically beams! oh, he feels like its his lucky day to help the pretty resident.
“i won’t disappoint,” he smiles with full teeth, grabbing the suture kit from you and pulls a chair facing the bed.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
stan’s hands are gentler than you thought. head bent close, and brows furrowed in concentration. he grips your hand carefully, “deep breaths and relax your arm for me, yeah?”
you nod, “yeah… yeah, sorry.”
“don’t apologize. you’re doing great.”
you take your gaze away from your palm, immediately meeting his. you didn’t realize that he was already looking at you.
“yeah yeah, okay,” you give him a small smile, hoping that it seals how grateful you are for the help.
outside the small bubble you share with stan, jack abbot watches you through the glass behind the counter by the nurse’s station. his eyes fixate on stan’s hand cradling yours, and to your shy smile as the man tends to your wound.
jack knows that smile. hell, he misses it. he knows what it costs to earn it, because he used to be good at it—
“what’cha watching there?” robby nudges his shoulder, putting the chart he was just reading on the counter.
jack doesn’t look away.
“that new resident of yours… he knows what he’s doing right?” jack asks, hiding the grumble in his voice or else it’ll give him away.
robby follows his eyes, “ah that. our overeager intern lacerated her palm earlier. so, stan’s just fixing it up.”
“fuck” you hiss, teeth digging on your lower lip.
“i’m almost done, okay? you’re a big girl,” stan smiles
oh, the usual level-minded attending seethes. who the fuck does he think he is? calling you big girl like that, voice all soft and sweet? a suture on the palm shouldn’t even take this long too, that’s a quick job for a good resident, and not whatever slow, deliberate thing happening behind the glass like there’s no one else in the department.
“he’s taking his time about it,” jack points out. is stan not aware of the awfully busy nature of PTMC? for a woman who values efficiency in the workplace, why are you letting this man be inefficient with time—
“abbot,” robby’s voice firm and stern voice cuts him off. that doesn’t faze his friend away though.
“what?” jack finally takes his gaze away to look at his friend, like robby is the one being insufferable. “what now?”
“just leave them be, alright? leave her be. it’s been like what—a year?” he says with a serious face, the friendly grin no longer there.
“how is that relevant? have you seen the number of people waiting out there, we can’t have our residents fucking aro—?”
robby doesn’t let him finish and lets out an exasperated sigh. he grabs his shoulders, forcefully steering jack to push him out of the nurse’s station, and drag his ass with him to the ambulance bay area.
“ooookay, let’s get some air, shall we?” robby squeezes his shoulders, a surprising reminder that jack is menacingly built and yet he just lets robby manhandle him towards the exit.
through the glass, right as robby’s turning him towards where they’re going, your head tips up.
you’re not sure why, but its like your instincts sensed that you’re being watched and you just had to look who it is.
you make eye contact with jack, being escorted out by your attending.
there’s that annoying little thing prickling in your chest once again. you hold your gaze on his, and your ex boyfriend does too—
“and we’re done!” stan pulls your attention back to him. “look at my beautiful work.”
you turn to stan, and okay, you can’t deny that he is quite good with sutures. he has that precision that you struggle with.
“humble, are we?” you tease.
“i’m allowed. i did good work,” the corner of his mouth tips up.
you playfully roll your eyes, letting stan hold your hand and look at his work from different angles under the harsh hospital light.
your mind starts to wander to why is jack here in the hospital two hours before his shift?
a/n: aaaaaand i guess this is the start of my blurb series hehe can’t you tell my favorite jack trope is ex!jack 😋
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The midday sun beat down hard on the asphalt outside the Pitt’s ambulance bay, casting a bright, unforgiving glare over the busy courtyard. Jack Abbott stood near the edge of the loading zone, looking every bit the part of a heavily armed, authoritative force. He was off-duty from his morning sector patrol but had dropped by to walk Y/N down to her car after a grueling fourteen-hour shift.
He wore his police uniform, the heavy duty belt fitted snugly around his waist, radio clipped securely to his chest, and his broad, imposing shoulders filling out the crisp shirt. Standing at nearly six-foot-four with built-up muscle and a naturally stoic, unreadable expression, Jack cut a terrifyingly striking figure.
A few feet ahead of him, Y/N was walking toward the parking lot, completely oblivious to the world. She wore a pair of high-waisted linen shorts and a fitted crop top, looking impossibly small against Jack’s massive, towering frame. Whenever she turned back to say something to him, the sheer height and size difference was comical she barely reached his shoulder, looking like a delicate sparrow being trailed by a mountain of tactical granite.
What neither of them realized was that a local news crew doing a quick segment on emergency services integration had caught the tail end of their walk on tape.
Two days later, the clip was live on TikTok.
Whitaker was the one who found it. It was mid-afternoon in the Pitt’s staff breakroom, and Whitaker was leaning against the snack machine, scrolling mindlessly through his phone while eating a bag of pretzels. Suddenly, he choked, a loud snort escaping his nose as he stared at the screen in absolute disbelief.
"Hey. Hey, Robby, drop what you're doing right now," Whitaker hissed, waving frantically across the room.
Robby looked up from his chart, walking over. "What?"
"Look at this," Whitaker turned the phone around, hitting play.
The video was a slickly edited TikTok transition. The first half showed the local news footage of Jack in full police uniform, walking slow, heavy, and deliberate down the sidewalk, radiating absolute protective energy. Then, the clip seamlessly cut with a hard bass drop to the booming, viral audio: She don't want no puppy, she want a big dog.
Another video was as well to the sound: Look at me, habibi, the video zoomed in on Y/N walking right in front of him, turning around with a bright, carefree smile, before panning back up to Jack, whose dark eyes were locked entirely on the back of her head with a look of such intense, possessive devotion it practically melted the screen.
The caption read: POV: You’re a tiny doctor dating a 6’4 tactical boyfriend who treats you like national security.
The comment section was already sitting at half a million likes, filled with frantic typing:
• WHO IS THIS OFFICER AND DOES HE HAVE A BROTHER
• The size difference omg she is literally a pocket-sized human next to a tank
• He is looking at her like she’s his religion pls
• Bro is built like a brick wall and she's just skipping along, I love them
"Oh, this is gold," Robby crowed, a massive grin splitting his face. "Absolute gold. Abbott is going to lose his mind."
Just as the words left Robby’s mouth, the breakroom door swung open. Jack walked in, having just come off a morning patrol shift. He tossed his keys onto the table, unbuttoned the top collar of his uniform shirt, and reached for a paper cup of water, looking like he needed a twelve-hour nap.
Whitaker immediately shoved his phone right into Jack’s face. "Explain yourself, big dog."
Jack stopped midway through lifting the cup to his mouth. His dark eyes flicked down to the screen. He watched the news clip play on loop, heard the booming she don't want no puppy, she want a big dog echo off the breakroom walls, and watched himself look like an absolute guard dog trailing behind Y/N.
The room went dead silent. Robby and Whitaker waited for the legendary Abbott scowl the sharp, intimidating glare that usually shut down any teasing immediately.
Instead, Jack slowly lowered the cup. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, a very slow, deeply satisfied, deeply arrogant smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
He crossed his massive arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter.
"Well," Jack drawled, his voice a gravelly, pleased hum. "The internet finally got something right."
Before Robby could crack another joke, the breakroom door opened again, and Y/N walked in, holding a fresh chart and looking exhausted.
"Hey, guys, has anyone seen—" She stopped, noticing the weird, highly amused energy in the room. Her eyes flicked to Whitaker’s phone, which was still looping the video at full volume.
Y/N froze. Her face instantly flushed a brilliant, burning crimson. She stared at the screen, listening to the audio blaring look at me, habibi right as the camera zoomed in on her walking in her shorts.
"Delete that," Y/N gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks as she lunged for Whitaker’s phone. "Delete that right now, Whitaker, I am begging you, I will never bake you another cookie as long as I live—"
Whitaker deftly yanked his phone back, laughing wildly. "Too late, Y/N! You're viral. The people have spoken. You belong to the big dog now."
"I am going to die," Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am going to quit medicine, change my name, and move to a remote island."
Before she could retreat out the door, a heavy, familiar arm banded securely around her waist. Jack closed the distance between them in two long strides, pulling her flush against his solid, uniform-clad chest. He towered over her by a solid foot, making her look even smaller as he rested his chin comfortably on the top of her head.
Jack looked down at her, his dark eyes burning with warm, undisguised adoration, completely ignoring Robby and Whitaker who were watching them like they were front-row at a movie theater.
"Don't listen to them, sweetheart," Jack murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against her spine as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple. "They're just jealous they don't have a big dog guarding them."
Y/N peeked out from behind her hands, looking up at him with a mix of embarrassment and a fond, helpless smile. "You are never allowed to wear your uniform near a news crew again, Abbott."
"No promises," Jack whispered, a wicked, low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his grip around her waist, entirely unbothered by the fact that half the Pitt was now watching them star in a trending TikTok.
Summary: How going downstairs to the ER to check on baby Jane Doe turned into patching up the night shift attending.
Word count: 1.9k
Tags/warnings: fluff, episode 7 spoiler, use of pet names (kid, hon'), medical inaccuracies, mentions of violence, canon divergent, implied age gap but not specified
A/N: Okay so, I'm back (sort of). This is inspired by the new episode, clearly, and if you're asking yourself "where's Samira?", the answer is making out sloppy style in a closet with me. I also changed up some things form the intro post for paediatric!nurse!reader, but no one cares about that. The gif in the header is by @wesandresons . English is not my first language and this was not proof read. Enjoy!
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Accepting to switch to the day shift the same week of the 4th of July was not one of your brightest ideas.
It did seam like one the day you accepted to cover for a fellow nurse who had to go on maternity leave — and technically, it is.
You will get to live during the day and sleep at night, and maybe you'll fix your sleeping schedule too.
That's what you keep reminding yourself as your shift progresses.
Your morning had been going pretty well, and you had just finished your morning rounds when your floor got a call from downstairs.
"What do you mean they found a baby in the bathroom?" you ask Clara, a student nurse who's doing her last rotation here in the pediatric department before her graduation.
"That's what they said," she replies before taking a sip out of her ridiculously large cup.
The both of you should be working, but the shift has been pretty— no, you're not even going to think about that word.
"So, why haven't they sent them upstairs yet?"
"We need them to run some labs first."
Both you and Clara basically jump off your chairs when you hear the voice of the attending pediatrician behind you. "Actually, would you mind going downstairs to see how baby Jane Doe's doing?"
Before you can reply, the woman is already walking away, ready to jump on another case.
As you slump into the squeaky swivel chair, you hear Clara letting out an amused scoff. "Good luck with that! I've heard that Westbridge is shutting down. They must be really busy, on top of the whole 4th of July thing..."
And boy, she was not wrong.
Immediately as the elevator doors open, you're thrown into a world that you had realized not so long ago you couldn't keep up with.
Beds are piling up in the hallways. Nurses and doctors are constantly running around, falling into a dance that looks rehearsed, with the sole end goal of saving lives as quickly as possible.
After a moment of hesitation, you walk up to the nurses' station.
Sitting behind the desk, you find none other than nurse Dana Evans, your mentor during your rotation in the ER back when you were still in nursing school.
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
The woman glances at you from over the glasses sitting low on her nose before breaking into a smile.
"Oh, hey kid," she greats you, walking up to you to give you a hug.
"Look at you," she says pointing at your badge that states you're not a "student nurse" anymore, "you're a big girl now."
"Yeah, I'm a real nurse now."
"Ah! How's Peds treating you so far?"
"I mean... We're understaffed and overworked. But we keep going."
"Amen to that. So, what brings you here today, hon'?"
You tug the pink stethoscope draped around your neck, rolling your head around slowly, trying to ease the pain.
"Heard you have a baby Jane Doe around here. Boss sent me here to check on her."
"Be my guest," she replies, before pointing to the room where you could find the baby.
The pediatric room is a familiar space, making you feel immediately at ease in the chaos that the Pitt is. Cartoon animals are plastered on every wall, and there, in a hospital bassinet and guarded by Donnie, a nurse you met back during your rotation, lays baby Jane Doe.
"Oh, hi! I'm nurse Y/L/N, from Peds," you introduce yourself with a smile, not quite sure he remembers you. "How's she doing?" you ask Donnie, getting closer to the bassinet to have a look at the baby inside.
"Oh, hi Y/N! Long time no see," he replies while giving you a quick hug, "She's doing pretty good. She's been changed and fed. Also, her latest labs just came back."
"Can I take a look?" you question.
"Of course," he says, handing you the iPad.
You take a moment to read all of the information about the baby, and quickly come to the conclusion that everything seems normal, making the frown of your face deepen.
"Everything looks good. Do you have any theories as of why she ended up in the bathroom of a hospital?"
Donnie shakes his head, and you let out a sight before shifting your attention to baby Jane Doe, feeling all of your tension melt once she smiles at you.
"So... Are you going to take her upstairs?"
Your face twists into an apologetic expression, and Donnie immediately understands, even without hearing your next words.
"I'm so sorry. We're packed up there, but we'll let you know as soon as a place opens up. I was sent down here just to check on her and see at what point you are with the labs."
He nods before your attention moves back to the baby once you hear her shift in her bassinet.
Without thinking too much about it, you lift her in your arms, gently holding her head in you hand and patting her back.
"I'd take her home with me if I could," you say mindlessly.
"I have one at home, and I'm telling you: you don't what to do that," he jokes.
"Oh my God, Donnie! You became a father? Congratulations!" you say with the biggest grin on your face.
He thanks you with a genuine smile, and you can tell how happy he is by the way he talks about his newborn.
"Well," you gently lay baby Jane Doe back in her bassinet, "I guess I better head back upstairs. I'll let you know when a place opens up. It was nice seeing you Donnie!"
"You too, Y/N!"
After disinfecting your hands, you start walking in the direction of the elevator, but as you pass in front of a room, you hear some weird noises.
You technically don't work on this floor, but you can't bring yourself to just walk away, reasoning that someone could need help.
Gently, you move the curtain to take a quick look inside.
What you are met with is the sight of Dr. Jack Abbot sitting shirtless on a gurney, apparently trying to patch himself up.
He looks up from the tray in front of him, startled by the noise you made while moving the curtain, and for a moment you stare at each other in silence.
You clearly don't belong to this floor — the pink scrubs prove that much — and you don't really have a valid reason to be in this room.
In the end, though, you're the first one to break the silence. "Dr. Abbot? What's going on?"
He blinks at you, and when he doesn't reply immediately, you feel the need to justify your presence.
"I'm so sorry. I'm nurse Y/L/N, and I'm from Peds. I was sent here to check on baby Jane Doe, but then I heard some noises in this room and I wanted to make sure everything was fine. You might not remember me, but I did a rotation in this department some years ago. But, of course, you work the night shift — or worked? — so we never actually had a shift together. You probably don't care, it's just that I thought you might think it is weird that I know your name. I mean, probably you still do, but—"
Thankfully, Dr. Abbot decides to put an end to your humiliating attempt to make the situation any less weird.
"Of course I remember you," he states as he rips a piece of medical tape, "Y/N, right? Everyone was constantly singing your praises. We were all kinda bummed when you choose Peds."
All you can do to ignore the funny feeling in your lower belly that the words of the handsome — and shirtless — man in front of you originated, is let out a laugh, which ends up sounding more like someone punched you in the stomach.
"So…" you divert after regaining control over your own voice, "What happened to you?"
"Bullet grazed my vest," he replies casually, his attention back on the supplies in front of him.
"Wait, what?" you ask, not sure whether you're more concerned or confused.
"Geniuses thought today was the day to rob a goods warehouse. Didn't think about how long it would take to load the appliances. They panicked. All hell broke loose."
You cross your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head. "Still doesn't explain why you were in that situation in the first place."
"On top of my work here in the ER, I'm also a SWAT physician" he replies.
The question comes out of your mouth before you can bite your tongue. "Why do you do this?"
You don't have the right to ask him these type of questions, and he certainly does not owe you an answer, but still, he gives you one.
"My therapist said I needed a hobby."
This manages to get a real laugh out of you, and you think you may have saw one corner of his mouth lift slightly for a brief second, before settling back into a neutral expression.
"Then I also hope they told you that humor is only a healthy coping mechanism as long as it's not used as a diversion tactic."
There it is again: the almost smile.
"I'll keep that in mind, kid," is it's reply before he tries, and fails, to reach the wound on his shoulder with the cotton swab in his hand.
"Do you need any help with that, Dr. Abbot?"
But it's not really a question since you're already reaching out for a pair of gloves. You can see him pondering his options, but in the end he hands you the swab, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps even more prominent.
You give him a heads up before starting to carefully clean the wound, and automatically you rest your free hand of his freckled back, felling the heat radiating from his body through your gloves.
"Did you make a chart?" you mumble, breaking the comfortable silence you two had fallen into.
"No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or the police department."
You hum as you finish your work, feeling slightly intoxicated by his smell, a mix of cologne, sweat and antiseptic.
Once you're done, you take a step back and take off your gloves, throwing them in the bin.
"All done. I hope I did a good job, Dr. Abbot," you say, shifting in place nervously, and causing your shoes to squeak against the linoleum floor.
"I guess I better go back upstairs before they start looking for me," you joke. "It was nice meeting you again. Minus the part where you got shot at."
Your comment manages to get a real smile out of him, and you feel one making an appearance on your face as well. "I'll see you around, Dr. Abbot!"
Just like that, you leave the room, and Jack swears to himself that he'll find a way to make that happen.
Unbeknownst to the both of you, Robby had briefly witnessed your interaction, and he'll make sure to bring that up to Jack before leaving for his sabbatical.
Who knows, maybe before he comes back, Abbot will have found the courage to ask you out.
A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!
All the love, Anna ♡
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