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tags: chef!jack abbot x fem!reader, based on The Menu, suicide (not reader), off page murder, canon movie violence, misogynist (not jack), power imbalance, small age gap, pet names, morally gray reader, dark!jack abbot, smut, oral (fem!receiving), piv (unprotected), afab reader, 18+ NSFW MDNI
notes: big thank you to @oxalaia-quilombensis for co-writing this with me!! please go follow her, she has amazing jack abbot fics that I just eat up! I hope you all liked reading this as much as I liked planning and writing this and, like always, if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 8.2k
Each wet smack of food in between teeth and tongue slathered with too much saliva grated against your bones and made your skin itch.
Your knuckles stretched white against the table’s edge, and your fingernails molded crescents into the table cloth. Your eye twitched continuously in a manner that made it impossible to ignore. With each minute that ticked by, you found yourself wishing you hadn’t accepted the food smacker’s invitation to dine at the exclusive North & Vine, the restaurant ran by word famous chef, Jack Abbot.
The man wasn’t foreign to you; his face was pretty much on every cooking magazine you could get your hands on. With his salt-and-peppered curls and no-fucks-given attitude paired with a highly seasoned and awarded background for serving the country on the battle front, Jack Abbot was a spectacle for Instagram foodies and middle-aged home cooks alike. His smile being easy on the eyes also didn’t help the flutter of your stomach when he flashed you a quick one on the way in from the tour of the island.
However, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled as the courses went on, especially when murmurs picked up when the third course was handed out. While people shifted in their seats, you stared at your “date” while he wolfed down his course without a second thought. Your hands did not move; your stomach did not hunger. No matter how fancy or how insane the courses were, you couldn’t find it within yourself to pick up the fork. Each deconstructed course that was gently settled before you twisted your stomach into knots. Your hindrance to dine also didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you going to eat that?” food smacker—Tyler’s—voice sounded louder than necessary, but it was enough to tear your eyes away from the heavy door that not one person went in or out of the whole evening.
You glanced down at the plate and glared at its circulatory shape filled with a sauce and two scallops. “No.”
His fork grated through the last wipe of his food as he wiped his face. “Can I have it then?”
“Be my guest.” Your glare turned as sour as the first lemon course smelled when he rolled his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re acting like a child,” he hissed, small specs of food flying from his lips. “Do you know how much I paid to have us here?”
You scoffed. “I wasn’t even your first choice, Tyler.”
“Shouldn’t have been my second either.” His hand reached over the ornate center piece and snatched your plate, carelessly letting it fall in front of him. “Everything I do for you, you hate it.”
“That’s because you never ask me what I think before you use your card,” you shot back in a whisper. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“You’re so fucking ungrateful. You finally have someone cooking for you, and you’re being wasteful. Maybe next time I’ll leave you in the kitchen so you can complain about your own cooking.” He stuck your scallop into his jaws and clamped down with an overexaggerated moan. “Oh, that’s good.”
Even if you wanted to hide your disgust, your face said it all. Here he was, moaning and ass-kissing a chef who didn’t even know his name, belittling you for something he couldn’t even do himself. Before you had given him the benefit of the doubt, he was living off of microwaveable meals while stealing stock photos for his own blog.
The red flags were there, but the loneliness that bubbled in your chest had you chained to this . . . beast of a man. There was nothing sophisticated about him, contrary to how he portrayed himself online. Every like he got on his sad posts was somehow so ego boosting, he claimed he was better than the chef standing a few yards away. The thought had you scoffing. And unfortunately, he thought the sound was meant for him.
He thrusted a fork in your direction. “Oh, shut up. You haven’t eaten a bite, so keep your mouth shut.”
Your teeth caught your tongue. He wasn’t worthy of your building anger.
“Is there a problem here?” a new voice asked before being followed by a full choke.
You looked over your shoulder and followed the tan apron up to a crows-feeted grin. If you leaned in close enough, you’d accidentally brush against the head chef. To your utter surprise, he was looking at you instead of the one currently gobsmacked even if he thought Jack Abbot was talking to him.
Tyler smiled widely to the point you spotted a small stem of green stuck in teeth. “There’s no issue here. My date just isn’t—”
Chef Abbot held up a hand, effectively silencing Tyler. “I wasn’t asking you.” He turned his body so that you were the only one on the receiving end of his attention. “Is there a problem here, miss?”
A thick swallow slid down your throat. “No, chef. We were just talking.”
You hoped he didn’t catch the way you broke eye contact halfway through speaking; if he did, he didn’t say anything either, only choosing to hold out a hand.
“Then let’s just have a nice talk. Come with me please,” he said, voice deep and borderline sultry it went straight to your core.
Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, instantly surprised by the sheer warmth of his skin. You didn’t look back as he softly guided you toward the kitchen, the noise of the chefs growing with each step. When you got closer, he dropped his hand, and for a moment, you missed the feeling before it planted itself in the middle of your back, his fingers slightly gripping the small pudge of your sides.
“I was not aware you’d be attending this dinner,” he said close to your ear. “And I make it a priority of mine to make sure that I know exactly who is eating my food.”
Your shoulders hunched in on themselves. “I guess I was a last-minute surprise.” You shook your head. “Or maybe a last-minute disappointment. I wasn’t exactly the first choice to accompany the man at my table for tonight.”
He stopped you midway, allowing the heat and chaos to blend beautifully into your skin. “I’ve noticed you don’t seem too fond of my cooking.”
A bashful smile spread onto your face. “I’m sure it’s great, Chef, but . . .” you trailed, eyes lighting with the fire from the grill.
He shifted behind you, subtle enough to not show how much he was affected by the sound of Chef pushing through your lips. “But it’s not for you, is it?”
The softness and understanding almost surprised you. Your hair swayed softly as you shook your head in backwards agreement to his words.
“It’s not.” Your gaze lingered behind his shoulder at your table. “I thought maybe it could be if I tried hard enough.”
“That’s the thing about food,” he started. “You shouldn’t have to try to like it. Food is so moldable like that. We make it into something that we know we’ll like. When force-fed, it becomes rotten and sour on the palate.” He leaned over and ran a fingertip through an off-white sauce before presenting it close to your mouth. “Try for me?”
Your body tensed under the command, but you couldn’t help but follow his words, tongue peeking out to run hotly across his finger. Your eyes widened at the perfect blend of salt and tang and cream.
“Oh,” you breathed.
His smile widened. “Is that more to your liking?”
“Yes. I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” A heat bloomed across your face as your mind caught up with what you just said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he responded, reassuring you with two large hands on your shoulders. “I’m glad I’m capable of making something you’d actually enjoy.”
“I knew you were more than capable,” you softly said, your looks melting into one of embarrassment. “It was my fault; I apologize for being so picky.”
Short tsk, tsk, tsk clicked against his cheek while he shook his head. “Please. You’re hardly the pickiest eater I’ve had the pleasure of serving in my restaurant.” His eye caught something behind your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, darling, the next course is about to be served. Will you please make your way back to your table?”
You fought the pout that tried to make its way onto your face and simply nodded. “Yes, Chef.”
His eyes stayed trained on your figure the entire walk back to the corner table where Tyler looked a mix between rage and burning jealousy. Once you were seated, his greasy hands splayed across the table cloth as he leaned forward.
“What the fuck was that?” he spat. “Is this some sort of ploy to embarrass me? You’re such a bitch, you know that? You can’t eat his food, but you can give him bedroom eyes? How pathetic—”
An echoing clap cut him off, and all eyes in the room turned toward Chef Abbot, who stood tall before his kitchen.
“Let’s begin our next course, shall we?”
___________________________
Jack couldn’t quite hold back the smile that spanned across his face when he looked right at the pig sitting across from you—the diner who had managed to sneak her way onto the island. He clearly had a list of just a few, simple rules, and somehow Tyler fucking Ledford had broken all of them.
The first had been inviting you instead of his first choice; Jack wasn’t ever keen on changing his guest list up. The second had been taking his phone out during each course in the most non-discrete way known to man; he hadn’t even been smart enough to turn the damn shutter sound off. And the third had been the way he belittled you when nothing Jack made tickled your fancy; the customer was always right.
Tyler had been running ramped for far too long, so Jack, in all his spare time (which was none) walked right over and didn’t even spare him an eye.
And oh how much more beautiful you were up close; he could hardly contain himself. His mind raced with ideas of what he wanted to do with you, all ranging from making you the best meal you’d ever tasted to laying you across the table and taking you right then and there.
Instead, he had to be smart.
Jack offered you his hand, which you took almost immediately, yours slightly smaller and fitting so well in his palm. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around yours while you stood, and he had to fight back the biggest smirk when Tyler’s jaw dropped. As long as Jack was breathing and acting as head chef, that pig wouldn’t get an ounce of his good graces. To throw oil into the flame, he guided you by the waist right into his kitchen knowing he shouldn’t be toying you at all since he planned to kill everyone in the room by the end of the night.
But the way you leaned into him, the way your dress hugged your figure, the way your cheeks heated under his gaze made him yearn for you the way all chefs yearned for their best recipe.
And he just had to go and let you lick sauce right off his finger like he was in his own personal kitchen at home. A moan had threatened to rumble through his chest at the fleeting warm and hot feeling around his digit, and Jack tried to rid himself of the thoughts of his fingers in other places that belonged to your body.
However, nothing would touch the feeling of the way your eyes lit up when you finally enjoyed something he had made. You were teachable; you just needed the right chef to open your eyes to a whole new world of flavors and textures. Jack would make sure it’d be him to do so. He almost hated the way he had to send you back to that table like he was banishing you to the edge of his kingdom.
Yet, good things come to those who wait.
This time, he couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his body as all eyes turned toward him even if he was only looking towards you. His hands firmly clasped together near his front.
“Guests, so far tonight, you’ve taken a culinary journey through our island through each course I have prepared for you tonight. However, for this next course, I want to switch things up a bit.”
Everyone seemed to shift at his words. Jack Abbot did not just switch things up. Never once since North & Vine opened did he ever stray from his two-Michelin star menu. Top chefs kept everything the same so that the customers got the consistency they deserved. But tonight, his customers did not deserve his consistency, did not deserve Jack at his best. His hazel gaze shifted to Tyler.
“I keep tabs on all my customers because as much as you all know about me, I wanted to know about you.” He took a small step forward. “Mr. Ledford.”
Tyler looked pathetically like one of those stupid crusty, white purse dogs that old women loved to fawn over as he perked up at the sound of his name.
Another step. “I’ve been following your page, your ratings, your own recipes you like to flaunt all over your social media.”
The man looked close to wetting himself out of excitement when he stood. “Chef Abbot, you don’t know how much that—”
“So,” Jack interrupted, “tonight you will cook for us, since in your last post you boasted that you could recreate my famous pommes purée. Because according to you, no one can . . . fuck up simple mashed potatoes.”
Jack’s chest puffed when his ears caught the small sound of a giggle from your direction when Tyler froze in his spot. Jack looked over his shoulder at his staff.
“Come. We even have a coat for you.”
Begrudgingly, Tyler shuffled across the way until he stopped near the front of the kitchen. Jack didn’t turn his way, instead staying facing his guests.
“Please.” He opened his arms, hands widespread. “Join us in the kitchen so we can watch this bright, young talent follow his dream.”
The scrapes of chairs against the floor were music to his ears, because Tyler was now just moments away from utter humiliation, his punishment for breaking each and every one of his rules. Jack wetted his lips as you seemed to be extremely eager to be the first to get close. Your heat had him inching closer, wishing his bare arm could press against your open skin. The dress that dripped from your body had him itching to tear it off.
Patience.
It was time to revel in the way Tyler was about to make himself a fool.
Jack let his sly smile slide right onto his face each time the man burnt his hand on a stove before quickly giving him faux pouts and an overly saccharined tone that held zero ounces of actual concern. His chefs, on the other hand, couldn’t hide their disgust when Tyler burnt the butter or all but beat the potatoes instead of gently folding them through. Even you seemed to know better.
“It’s the motion supposed to be folding and clockwise?” you whispered, lips dangerously close to his face.
Goosebumps raced across Jack’s arms at the feeling of your hot breath against his hear. His eyes stayed forward, face not moving an inch, when he responded just as quietly.
“You know my method.” He hadn’t plated it as a question.
You shied again under his shadow. “I watch your “Yes, Chef” on Food Network when I’m bored. Clearly someone lied about doing that too.”
“How much has he lied about?”
Your chin jutted out. “His photos are either stock images, or he pays people to get him pictures if he can’t get into a restaurant.” You crossed your arms. “I do most of the cooking when we’re together. He burned pasta the other week.”
Something surged deep in his chest at your blatant honesty and willingness to spill everything about the fraud you were supposedly seeing. Jack wanted—no—needed him gone. He stepped half an inch closer to you, finally letting his skin brush against yours. It delighted him to feel the small response that your body gave him.
He wanted to reply, wanted to feel your words against his chin, but the loud, unceremonious clatter of a plate against the steel counters had everyone flinching and drawing their attention back to the horrible mess that was happening before them.
Jack raised an unimpressed eyebrow while Tyler acted like he himself was about to earn a Michelin star. Jack’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding down on each other at the thought of putting a small bite of that burnt mess into his mouth. No one could make him do that either, so, he took one look at the slop and leaned in.
“Everyone,” he announced, “come look at what Tyler has made for us.” His spine straightened, back stretching the white shirt he wore beneath his apron. “Come see this absolutely pathetic attempt at what he has deemed simple mashed potatoes.”
Tyler deflated visibly with splotchy red cheeks and tears lining his already droopy eyes. Jack didn’t hide his smile this time. He slowly stalked toward the man and leaned in close, lips barely an inch away from his face.
His tone was low and dangerous as he whispered. “You came into my restaurant with pants too big for your wretched ass. You broke my rules, you insulted your woman in my presence—” Jack didn’t dare to let his eyes drifted over to where you were watching. “You are a sorry waste of space. Why don’t you do us all a favor and use that bucket in the closet wisely.”
A loud sniffle whistled through Tyler’s nose. He didn’t nod, didn’t make a big deal about it. All he did was step back, shed the white coat from his shoulders and leave the small area, seemingly heading toward the men’s room.
Jack turned back toward his guests. “You may all return to your seats for the next course.”
However, when they all turned to move, Jack gently reached out and tugged you back into him. Your breath hitched at the movement, only returning to a semi-normal pace once you were settled into his side.
“Is something the matter, Chef?” you asked.
Jack shook his head. “I seem to have misplaced an ingredient I need for dessert, and I was wondering if you’d be so kind to go get it for me?”
Normally, you wouldn’t have been so eager to please, but with the way Jack was looking down at you with heat and season in his eyes, you couldn’t help but nod with wide, wanting eyes.
“I’d be honored.”
His lips stretched into a grin. “Good girl. What I need is the bottle of vanilla that I keep in my cabin—you know the one?”
You gave him another nod.
“It should be in my pantry; middle shelf,” he listed. “The door is unlocked.”
“Pantry; middle shelf,” you repeated, and the verbal confirmation made Jack’s soul sing.
He was going to love every second of devouring you. His hand lightly tapped your behind as he shifted past you. “Get to it, darling.”
Jack let his eyes trail your back while you walked away, his tongue running along his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the plush flesh. The only way he stopped looking at you was when you slipped out of the door and out of sight.
With a heavy and almost relieved sigh, Jack turned back towards his diners and clapped loudly once again. All eyes turned his way, and an unexplainable pleasurable feeling bloomed in his chest.
“Let’s continue with our final course: dessert.”
___________________________
Your kitten heels clicked softly against the concrete path, casting a small echo in the vast forest. You kept your arms wrapped around your middle as a chill hugged your bare skin. Each step further into the trees had your heart skipping beats. Whether it was the unnerving want to obey Jack’s instructions or the feeling of being so exposed with no one around, you weren’t sure what you were feeling during your walk while your stomach flipped.
The cold had you missing Jack’s heat even if you had barely brushed against him. His warm palms and sturdy mass had you wanting more, had you dreaming of what it’d be like to belong to him. Surely, he’d never let you go hungry. Surely, he’d speak kind words. Surely, he’d never make you doubt his intentions.
You’d been so lost in your head, glimpses of Jack’s hands dragging along your body, that you almost missed the small cabin you’d seen hours earlier on the tour. The structure reminded you of something out of a horror film. Nothing gave a good plot like a lonely woman coming across an empty cabin in the woods. However, even with the frightening feeling, you continued on, hand reaching out to open the door when you got close enough.
You expected the hinges to creak under your push, but it seemed like Jack didn’t just take care of his kitchen; he seemed to take care of what he was given by the looks of the well decorated interior. A lamp in the corner had been left on, allowing the living room to bathe in yellow light. A rug silenced your steps as you walked through and straight to the kitchen where the pantry wasn’t hard to find at all.
When the pantry door opened, you were hit with a warm aroma of spices and herbs. Bundles of dried leaves hung from the ceiling while neat containers filled with various grains and powders lined each shelf. And right where Jack said it’d be, the middle shelf was lined with clear bottles topped off with vanilla beans suspended in ambery liquid. Your weight shifted onto your toes as you reached up, fingers curling firmly around the closest bottle before holding it to your chest.
Since the job had been done, you took your time walking through Jack’s house, only stopping once to look at the singular framed picture hanging on the wall. You smiled when you realized that the young, auburn-haired man in the photo was none other than Jack. He held an award at his front and was surrounded by a few people. What you couldn’t look away from was a smile that seemed so much more genuine than the ones he gave to cameras for magazine photos. This smile was filled with crooked teeth and paired with squinted eyes. You even allowed yourself to gently trace a finger down his face.
You could have stayed there all night, but the soft chime of a clock down the hall had you jolting. With the vanilla still closely clutched to your front, you swiftly left the cabin with the door clicking behind you. This time, the trip went by faster with your heels clicking in a speedier pattern. Soon, the restaurant came back into view, and a surge of anticipation raced through your body, causing your heart to flutter. The thought of possibly getting to see Tyler after getting humiliating had you skipping a few steps on the way up.
However, when you opened the door, you paused at the sight of a completely, empty restaurant. Your eyes trailed the empty tables and chairs, mind struggling to come up with any logical explanation for why everyone must have left. You took another step in and let the door close behind you with a loud thud. You didn’t stop walking until you got to the middle of the floor. Twisting, you tried to find at least one person, yet, the whole place remained strangely dead and quiet.
That was until you heard a small shift in the kitchen.
Your eyes immediately caught the origin of the noise. Jack was standing there, back leaned against the stainless steel of the prep table island, arms crossed over his broad chest. His apron was gone, leaving him in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You drank in the sight before your eyes shifted behind him.
Scanning the open space of the kitchen and dining room, you found his missing apron, the article of clothing hanging from a hook over Jack’s left shoulder. Something dark was splashed across it, staining the tan leather. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what it was.
“Where is everyone?” You took a few tentative steps forward, stopping just before the single step that led up into the kitchen. “Where did everyone go? Where’s Tyler?”
Jack’s eyebrow quirked as he looked down at you, now only five feet away. He looked almost disapproving of your choice of questions. Your stomach twisted into a knot. You weren’t exactly sure why his disappointment gave you such a visceral reaction, but you didn’t want to feel it again.
“Is that really your first concern?”
His arms uncrossed, hands settling on the reflective counter behind him. Your eyes greedily tracked the flexing of his forearms when he shifted. The muscles moved tantalizingly under that warm skin that you just wanted to reach out and touch.
“I—” Your jaw snapped shut.
Honestly, you weren’t really sure what else you should be focused on at this moment, standing in the eerily deserted space that had only minutes before been filled with your fellow diners and the veritable army of staff.
“Give me the vanilla, darling,” he ordered with his hand reached out, palm open and waiting for the bottle still clutched in your hands.
You eagerly complied, feet rushing up the step until you were face to face with him. Gingerly, you placed the bottle in his hand. It was difficult not to let your mind wander to how his fingers dwarfed the jar, wrapping around it in a way that your own small hands hadn’t been able to.
A smirk quirked at his lips. “Good girl.”
The warmth that shot through you from head to toe at Jack’s words of endearment was almost pathetic. Just two words had you preening at the slightest bit of praise from this man, ready to roll over and present him your belly like a loyal dog.
His torso twisted as he placed the vanilla down before straightening when he looked back at you with a hungry blaze in his eyes.
“Are you ready for dessert?” he asked while pushing off the counter to close the already miniscule space between you.
“Yeah,” you replied, all soft and breathy, eyes locked on his.
One of those big, capable hands settled on your waist and gently maneuvered you until you’d taken his place with your back against the cold steel and your thin dress acting as the only thing to protect you from its chill.
“Up.”
His command had you rushing to comply, palms pressing into the metal and lifting yourself up and onto the table. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wondered if sitting on the workstation broke a few health codes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as Jack crowded into your space. His hips found their place between your open thighs, legs spreading them wide to accommodate himself.
“Do you know what the worst part about being a chef is, honey?” he muttered.
All the air left your lungs as he bent down, his head nosing at the sensitive skin of your neck. Goosebumps broke out across your body as his breath ghosted over your pulse.
When you didn’t respond, his hands gripped the pudge of your thighs hard enough to bruise.
“Answer me.”
Jack tugged your hips closer to the edge, allowing the hardness hidden by his jeans brush between your legs. You melted at the feeling.
“I-I don’t know,” you finally answered, eyes fluttering and lids threatening to close as the anticipation of what he was about to do to you burned through you.
“My food always smells so good,” he continued. His hands were hiking your dress up now, fingers pushing the flimsy fabric up your thighs. Once the fabric bunched to his liking, he dragged his nails lightly over the bare skin as he went, only stopping when the silky skirt was pooled around your waist, your entire legs bared to him. “And I get so hungry, but sadly there's never any time for me to eat.”
A breathy whimper fell from your lips as his tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your neck. He blew against the wet spot, and a delicious shiver wracked down your body. The cold air of the restaurant stiffened your nipples until you were sure they were visibly poking through your dress.
“Jack—” You shifted forward, body aching for more.
“Uh-uh, that’s not my name, pretty girl,” he corrected with his face was directly before yours, lips almost touching as his hand slid halfway into your hair. “In my kitchen, you call me Chef or Sir. Do you understand?”
You nodded frantically, eyes wide and staring up at him.
“Use your words like a big girl.” His hand tightened fractionally, lightly pulling at the roots of your hair to keep your head still.
A thick gulp of saliva slid down your throat. “Yes, Chef.”
“That’s my sweet girl.”
His lips finally met yours in a gentle almost teasing way. The kiss was chaste, entirely too soft and modest for the position you had found yourself in. It was nothing more than the careful brush of his lips against yours, yet, his grip in your hair and the commanding aura he exuded kept you from pushing for more.
“Now,” he said after parting from you. His hand still on your waist dropped to the top of your thigh. “Since I am utterly famished, are you gonna let me eat my fill?”
Your mind was working at maybe a quarter of its usual capacity. You weren’t sure exactly what he was asking of you, but you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his disappointed glare again. Not to mention, you were pretty sure you’d do anything this man asked of you. Even the briefest touches of his skin against yours had you ready and leaking.
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good girl.”
Jack pulled back, his hands leaving your body as he kneeled before the table. Your brain finally caught up to just exactly what he was planning when his hands found the hem of your most certainly ruined panties.
“Wait, Jack—”
His eyes were hard and dark as he looked up from where he sat. You swallowed hard, realizing your mistake.
“Sir—”
He was slowly growing tired of being kept from his meal. “What’s the matter? You gonna make me go hungry?”
His head titled, and his soft curls tickled against the soft, plush skin of your inner thighs.
You shook your head as an embarrassed burn grew across your face. “That’s—Tyler never—I haven’t—”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Tyler, glancing between your soaked underwear and your face. Bringing up your waste of space boyfriend at this moment probably wasn’t a wise move, but your mouth had worked before your brain.
“What about him?”
Your whole body jolted against the table after Jack’s index finger ran over the lace of your underwear, brushing a feather light touch against where you needed him the most.
“H-he wouldn’t—if I didn’t—”
It was impossible to get the words to come out in a coherent sentence when his finger wouldn’t stop applying that maddeningly soft touch. He kept it just enough to have you wanting and needy, but nowhere near to supply any real, substantial pleasure.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” Jack encouraged. “You can do it. Tell Chef what that piece of shit did that’s stopping me from enjoying the best meal of my life.”
“H-he wouldn’t go down on me,” your voice trembled, and the sound had Jack mercifully stopped his teasing.
The tip of his finger settled right over your clit, though, lightly touching the bundle of nerves through the soaked fabric.
Your eyes slipped shut, forcing the words out and trying desperately not to focus on the barely-there sensation. “If I didn’t shave. He s-said it was dirty, and it would ruin his palate, and I didn’t shave this morning—”
Jack’s grip on your hips tightened. “Hey, look at me.”
Your eyes peaked open, meeting his. His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the hazel iris that danced with shades of green and gold. He was impossible to look away from.
“I’m not him, and you need to forget about him. I want you, exactly as you are.”
His hands once again trailed down to the waistband of your panties, and this time you didn’t stop him. Lifting your hips slightly, you let him pull down the ruined scrap of lace, face heating even further when he pushed it into his back pocket.
“And don’t worry; my palate is a lot more refined, sweetheart.”
You let Jack move you to his liking. He tugged you closer, until your ass was nearly hanging off the table. Then both of your legs were lifted with your thighs settling over his shoulders as he leaned in.
The first touch of his tongue was tentative and exploring. He traced it through your folds almost reverently, all the while humming in satisfaction at the taste. But—much to your chagrin—he avoided your clit, choosing instead to lap up as much of your wetness as possible.
“Sir, please,” you whined, dragging the last syllable out in a high pitch. Your right hand slipped through his curls while the left extended behind you, bracing against the table to hold you up. “Fuck, I need more.”
“Yeah? S’that not enough for you?” he slurred, face staying buried against your cunt. His fingers came back and stroked downward over your entrance. Slowly, one pushed inside, sliding in down to the knuckle and curling upward. The pad of his finger pressed against the sweet, spongy spot inside that had your hips jerking against his hold on you. Quickly, a second joined the first, both of them incessantly pushing against you. “How’s that, sweet girl? Does that feel good?”
“Yes, yes, please!” Your eyes were fluttering closed again while your hips rocked mindlessly as they chased the high that the pleasure he brought you promised. Already, you started shaking against him, thighs clenching shut around his head.
“Fuck, you taste so good.” His tongue flattened and licked from where his fingers were working right up to where you really needed his mouth. “Can’t believe that manchild tasted this and still treated you like that. Fuck, I’m never letting you go.”
You didn’t have very long to unpack his statement before his lips were closing over your clit. His tongue traced tight, quick circles over the bud while he sucked and kissed.
It wasn’t long before his fingers, his lips, his tongue, all of it was throwing you towards a cliff: one that you feared you might not make it back from.
But you couldn’t fight—didn’t want to fight that rising tension, that rubber band of pleasure that was growing incredibly close to snapping. Your hips continued to rock against his face. You moans echoed out across the deserted dining room and mixed with the filthy wet noises and groans coming from between your legs.
If Jack could tell you were almost there, he gave no indication. He did not speed up or change his tempo at all and instead kept his fingers and tongue steady and consistent.
“Oh-oh!” your voice broke as the climax crashed through you. It ripped ragged, gasping moans from your mouth, every muscle in your body contracting, your walls pulsing around his fingers. Your eyes pinched closed while your arms tried to keep yourself upright as the pleasure tore through your every cell.
Each wave crashed over you, unceasing as Jack kept up that same pace. He didn’t stop, even when your hand scrambled at his head and words begging and whining when the sensations teetered on the edge of too much.
“One more,” Jack growled out, husky and demanding and spoken into you with his mouth a fraction of an inch off of you before he went right back at it.
“No, no I can’t, sir, please!”
Your cries fell on deaf ears.
The biggest waves had died out, dissipating as the orgasm steadily ran its course, but the aftershocks wracking your body were still jerking through you at random intervals. Combined with the way that Jack still has not stopped his ministrations, you were quickly becoming a mess.
Your hand that had kept your upright gave out, leaving you to fall flat on your back against the metal surface. The shock of the cold caused your back to arch, pushing your hips even further into his grasp while he built you up again.
Embarrassingly fast, you were back on the edge again and nearly there as Jack just stayed steadfast and methodical, never deviating from the rhythm he’d honed. He handled your body like he’s known you for years, not hours.
You were pretty sure you were crying, but you were already so lost in the sensations of him that you couldn’t even tell if the wetness on your face was tears, sweat, or drool. All you knew was that this man, this strange, magnetic chef, was tearing you apart and building you back up again.
The second orgasm hit just as quick, if not quicker. Your vision grew black for a nanosecond before your hips jerked and twisted, body trying to simultaneously get away from his hot tongue while also getting more of the feelings he’d thrust upon you. The orgasm burned through you, visceral and violent in a way the first hadn’t been. It felt like every nerve in your body had been set alight with searing hot pleasure.
Your legs shook, and your arms were too weak to lift yourself back up. All you can do was lie there and try to learn how to breathe again. Finally, Jack came back up for air. However, you didn’t have long to recover before he pulled you up and crashed his lips against yours.
“Taste so fucking good,” he muttered the words into your mouth, letting you swallow them, along with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. He felt filthy and so fucking hot. “Gonna let me fuck you now, honey?”
You nodded before you could second guess yourself, already craving even more of him.
Jack pulled his white t-shirt over his head, and for just a second, your eyes tracked a spot of something dried and red that crusted on the hem. You didn’t have long to consider it, though, because his hands were yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you completely naked before him.
“Move back,” he directed you, large hands guiding you to scoot further up the empty table until you were laid out fully on the surface.
The table was longer than you were tall, and it stretched almost the length of the kitchen like some kind of altar. And here, laying on the same space that his team had worked on just hours before, you felt like some sort of offering. To what entity though, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that Jack wasn’t going to stop until you’d been thoroughly fucked and spent.
The predatory hunger in his eyes as he stripped off his jeans and boxers in one go, now baring himself completely to you, reignited your own hunger. The length of his body was beautifully tanned and freckled with soft edges curving around hard-earned muscle.
His cock was nothing to scoff at, either and definitely more than double the size of Tyler’s (although that wasn’t saying very much). He was fully hard, tip resting against his lower abdomen, shining with precum in the low lighting of the kitchen.
Jack’s movements were steady and sure as he climbed onto the table, nudging apart your knees again to make room for himself while he hovered over you. His weight settled onto you in a mouthwatering way. He held back just enough to not crush you but to instead allow you to feel every inch of his body against yours. Your legs bent at the knees and curled around his lower back to anchor him in place.
“If I fuck you,” he breathed, his head dropping down to let his breath fan over your cheek, then lower still until he was laying soft, brushing kisses against your neck. “You’re mine. Forever. I’m not letting you go.”
Your breath hitched at his words. Forever was a long time, especially considering you barely knew him apart from magazines and your guilty pleasure cooking show. But in the time that you had, he’d shown more interest and care than any other man you’d been with. Your body was certainly screaming at you to give in and take everything he was willing to give.
So, before you could really consider the consequences, you agreed.
“Yes, sir, I’m yours.” Your legs tightened around him, dragging the thick length of him through your dripping folds. “Please, fuck me. I’ll leave Tyler; I’ll be yours.”
He chuckled darkly as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He pressed in slowly, and you could feel everything. Each and every centimeter of his length felt like it was splitting you apart, right down the middle.
For once, Jack took his time, letting you get used to the heat and weight of him with his bare skin on yours as he pushed deeper than anyone had ever been inside of you. When his hips were finally flush with yours, you felt impossibly full. His head settled just below your cervix, and every tiny rock of his hips grazed your sensitive depths. One of his hands gently brushed a stray piece of hair away from your face before settling on your cheek.
“You don’t have to leave Tyler, pretty girl.” Jack looked immensely satisfied, his hips pulling back slowly as he braced his forearms beside your head. He laughed again at your confused expression until it melted off your face as he drove back into you, hard. “He’s already been taken care of.”
“Jack, what—”
In the mix of pleasure and confusion, you’d forgotten the honorifics he’d demanded, and he punished you with a hard thrust in, his hips jolting your body up the rapidly warming metal and punching a whine deep out of your throat.
“Don’t forget your manners like he did, sweetheart,” he tutted as his pace settled into lazy, grinding thrusts that had your head spinning even more than the brutal ones had.
“S-sir,” you sputtered, though your mind was still focused on figuring out exactly what had happened to your now ex-boyfriend. “What did you—fuck—what did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything but give him a little motivation.” Jack’s hand grasped your jaw before forcing your head towards the closed pantry door, just off to the left. His tongue darted out to trace over the shell of your ear. “He made the choice to . . . remove himself from the equation.”
“O-oh fuck, he’s-he’s dead?”
Your eyes were wide as Jack finally turned your face back towards his. You desperately tried to scour his face, searching for any sign he might be messing with you. But with half-lidded eyes filled to the brim with pleasure, and your mind struggling to come up with a good reason to be saddened over Tyler’s apparent suicide, the need for an explanation swiftly melted from your body.
“Want to know a secret?” Jack asked as he hovered over you, eyes dragging down your face. He leaned back in close enough that his hot breath wafted over your face. A smirk stretched across his face while he spoke. “They all are.”
Your almost closed eyes shot back open, and your jaw dropped to gape up at him. Jack just continued smirking back at you, his mouth dropping onto yours as his hips picked up the pace, tongue twisting around yours between your teeth.
You let him kiss you, offering no resistance even as his words replayed in your mind. The way he’d said it made it sound like he had killed them. All the guests, maybe even his own staff. But the more you thought about it, the more you found out that you simply didn’t care. You didn’t know those people, so, why should you care if they were dead?
You had known Tyler, but he was a piece of shit, and no part of you wanted to grieve him.
“All of them?” you whispered before licking your tongue across his lips.
Jack grunted into your mouth, pulling back just enough to break the kiss. “All of them. You and I are the only living humans on this island.”
“Oh fuck.” Your back arched into him as he struck a particularly sensitive spot inside you. The perverse, dark little part of your brain also blamed your reaction on his confession. Sure, it didn’t necessarily bother you that he’d killed them, but you weren’t ready to admit it might have even excited you. “W-why?”
“Why, what?” Jack moved faster now, his polished demeanor falling away as he began to chase his own climax.
“Why did you—oh shit, right there, please! I—” You were interrupted by Jack pulling one of your legs from around his hip, sliding it up and over his shoulder to pin you wide open beneath him.
“Why did I kill them?” he provided between the swing of his hips.
You nodded frantically as your head fell back against the table. You were writhing against the surface, on the fast track for your third orgasm of the night.
Jack laughed breathlessly; his hand that wasn’t braced on the table moved between your legs to find your clit. “You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
You were meeting his thrusts against him now, the pressure and friction almost too much for you to handle.
“I didn’t like them.” Jack’s teeth grit together as he pushed the words out, but you got the sense that had more to do with the exertion of his own approaching climax. “Some of them were rude, some of them fucked me over once or twice,” he panted, hips pounding into yours, clearly chasing his own ending, and yours in the process.
You were right there, almost ready to snap once again.
He continued despite his slipping restraint. “Some of them were—oh fuck—fucking annoying, and all of them, especially your p-precious little boyfriend,” his voice dripped with venom as he brought up Tyler, “were too fucking self-absorbed to appreciate the beauty right in front of them.”
With that, you came, the sensation less intense than your second, but still powerful enough to have you gasping for air, mind going blank as the heat of it flowed through your veins with the initial wave. You came snapping back, air filling your lungs as your body pulsed around Jack. Each rhythmic clench of your walls sent sparks flying up your spine and your legs jerking and twitching.
Jack finished soon after, his hips finally losing all rhythm. His whole body went still for a moment, before he was pressing as deep as he could, spilling into you and falling down with a hand splaying near your shoulder, just barely holding up his weight to avoid crushing you entirely, but he still had you bent nearly in half underneath him, leg still slotted over his shoulder.
His lips found yours, the kiss slower and sloppier than before as you both panted and moaned through the radiating pleasure. You stayed that way as you came down. The kiss slowly grew more coherent, less panting and licking to more lips and tongues dancing. If he didn’t just fuck you three ways till Sunday after murdering a handful of people, it could have been almost romantic.
He gripped your hips firmly when he pulled out, the both of you lightly hissing at the feeling of parting. Your chest heaved while he quickly pulled his pants back on before helping you sit up, his hands finding the sides of your hips like they were magnets. Without much want to do anything, you draped your arms across his shoulders, fingers finding the small curls at the base of his neck. Jack reveled in the feeling of your bare skin against his naked chest. He gently brushed a hand across your forehead.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Chef?” you asked with a sly smile. “Was it to your liking?”
Jack shook his head and chuckled. “It was fucking delicious, sweetheart. But—” He leaned in and pressed another chaste kiss to your lips. “I think I didn’t get enough to satisfy my hunger.”
You pouted playfully before biting your lip. “Well, we can’t have Chef Abbot go hungry; can we?”
His right hand slid from your waist and splayed between your breasts. “Lie back down, sweet girl. Let Chef have his second course.”
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hey so what are we thinking jack’s/pope’s cup size is….because imma be honest his are bigger than mine….like those are full on BOOBS (stress balls for my hands ya know)
hi baby!! i absolutely love that you do so much platonic x reader, and i keep rereading your titus and sister fics.
please can i request a fluffy mixed media titus with him adopting his stepdaughter(13-15 years old), maybe to prove he loves her even after his wife dies (is killed)? that isn't necessary though just an internal thought!
thank you so much 💗💗
Bonus dad
tags: titus danforth x step!daughter reader, mentions of murder, titus being titus, spoiled!reader, teen!reader, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you nonnie for requesting!! I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope that you enjoy reading this! I'm also sorry it's short but for this idea, I thought it might be better if it wasn't a full blown work! use of y/n, if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 800
social media count: 4
You should have known that the moment your mother brought home Titus Danforth that your life would never be the same.
Like most mid-life crises (even if she was only 35), you thought she would have bought a super car or left you behind to go galivanting in Europe on a cruise. Somehow, that would have been easier than having to wait months after the wedding to find out that she had died suddenly. Because then you would have been able to look her in the eyes and damn her for everything she had done.
Really, she had never been a good mother.
Between getting pregnant with you at 20-years-old and cheating on your father before you’d been born, your life hadn’t been the easiest. It seemed like every day she found a new way to blame you for her misfortune. No matter what you did to placate her mood swings and horrible habits, you were always on the receiving end of her wrath. You’d learned at a young age to not be seen or heard especially when she had her always revolving company come by the house.
It really wasn’t until Titus came over more than twice when you realized that your mother had farther intentions.
Not even three months later, the two were engaged with the wedding planned in a one-month advance.
During that time, Titus tried; he really did. He knew he’d never actually be a father to you, that was for certain. But while your mother was busy believing she was wringing his bank accounts dry, he was making sure you had someone pick you up from school, helping you with your business homework, and asking Ursula if she’d be willing to help him make sure that you’d be taken care of when he inevitably sacrificed your mother.
He'd washed his hands of you.
You’d be fine without him is what he told himself.
But when he dug deeper into your family tree, a weird wash of emotion filled his chest at the empty blanks. If he didn’t stay in your life, you’d have no one. No father, no grandparents, no weird aunt and uncle who would be willing to take you in for a couple of years before you legally could be on your own.
Titus knew what not having a mother could do to one’s psyche. Obviously, it had happened to him, and he was well aware enough to know that he wasn’t normal even without the whole devil worship and blood sacrifices.
So, when he showed up out of the blue almost three months after he scrubbed your mother’s blood out of his finger nails, you didn’t know whether to feel relief or anger.
You settled on somewhere in the middle of bitter teenage angst and wife whose husband came back from war.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” you bit, eyes blazing as you looked at Titus. “If my mother ended up running out on you and you want revenge, you’ll have to get in line.”
Titus couldn’t help but chuckle at your spitfire. “The opposite really. I’m here to take you home.”
Your brows pinched. “Home?”
“Yeah, kid. Home.”
Because apparently in that large, centuries-old book the short man had read to you after you arrived at the biggest building—is this even a house you had asked on arrival—there were no rules or hidden clauses about adopting a child after the marriage had already gone through. And in one palm slash and your name written in your own blood, you’d become a Danforth heir.
However, that didn’t mean Titus was going to send you right into their ways. Ursula also agreed with him, even after a few arguments. If you were going to be their ward, they didn’t want to scare you off which might end in your untimely demise as well.
They started slowly.
You began with riding lessons, history lectures, and a few hours each day practicing fencing. Each skill they put you in, you somehow exceeded more than they thought you would. In just a few months, you were following Titus into business meetings and accompanying your aunt across the globe to deal with their assets.
Your first kill came about half a year into living with your stepfather. The game had been simple enough: a small round of tag.
Titus was nervous when you picked up the Chinese Hook Sword with gleaming eyes. However, all jitters fled his body after you swung the weapon and effectively “tagged” the victim, the deep hook sinking into his shoulder. He almost couldn’t believe you had done so well, and pride bloomed deep in his stomach.
And as you smiled at him, blood dripping from your coat sleeves, Titus couldn’t help but think that, yes, you were his kid.
y/n.danforth has posted
liked by grace.jessup, tom_vance, trishA, and 3,029 others
y/n.danforth cannot wait for the weekend
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trinity.caido girl fencing almost ended me 💔
y/n.danforth tell me about it 😪 it will be too soon the next time I hear piste
trinity.caido preach preach preach
tom_vance cannot believe I got beat by a child
y/n.danforth should I send you a picture of the trophy again so you can believe it?
tom_vance you're such a brat
y/n.danforth I get it from my dad 😛
charliewilkinson please tell me you'll be at the compound for lunch tomorrow? I don't think I'll survive another meal without you
y/n.danforth Charlie I wish but my auntie and dad are taking me to Greece for the weekend
charliewilkinson boooooo bring me with you
y/n.danforth I would in a heartbeat
grace.jessup is that a new iPad......
y/n.danforth maybe 🫣
grace.jessup this is the fourth one this month
y/n.danforth you should see how many my dad goes through in a week
y/n.danforth has posted
liked by trinity.caido, charliewilkinson, wan.jin, and 2,348 others
y/n.danforth a smile would be nice 🙃
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grace.jessup girl I'm sorry to say but your dad is HAWT
y/n.danforth EW NO?
grace.jessup relax he's not even on instagram
y/n.danforth he finds out sooner or later.....
charliewilkinson can't believe you'd choose a cat over me 💔
y/n.danforth the cat is better company I'm afraid
charliewilkinson right to the heart man
trinity.caido how'd the "conference" go
y/n.danforth it went super well! dad said you could join next time too. he knows how much we enjoy going after those representatives
trinity.caido oh sick
tom_vance is your aunt single?
y/n.danforth I'm going to pray you delete this soon
tags: michael "robby" robinavitch x reader, baby jane doe, talks of abandonment, soft reader meets immoveable force robby, mentions of suicide, sabbatical, loving isn't always easy, angsty, comfort, good ending, medical inaccuracies, mentions of miscarriages, not edited lol, always ooc robby, 18+ MDNI
notes: i've had this idea stuck in my head for a little bit and finally got around to writing it! I hope you all like this! and if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 4.1k
Robby hadn’t meant to be away from his phone for very long, but between the chaos of July 4th and the preeminent doubts of if he’d actually be coming back after three months, the device had been farthest from his mind and even farther from his pocket.
Even now as he towered over the bassinet, the only thing on Robby’s mind was how innocent the small creature was compared to the tons-heavy load he carried in his soul, and how both of them, two sides of the scale, had been left to face the world alone. His chest ached more than it ever did; each breath desperately pushing against his ribs like they were trying to break free. Each small sound the baby made had Robby freezing, waiting for her to cry out like she had earlier. But each time, she ended up contently sighing before stilling, wide eyes looking up at him and his sorrow ladened face.
He couldn’t help but reach out, desperate for one more small grasp of her entire, tiny hand around the width of his finger. A small chuckle bubbled from his chest when she was quick to do what he was wishing for.
“You have a good grip,” he muttered with a small smile. “That’s good; means you’re already so nice and strong.” His smile slowly dropped. “You’re going to be just fine.” He paused before adding, “That’s more than I can say about myself.”
All day, he withered away under the sad stares of his colleagues. Dana had briefly mentioned that she was nervous for him, Jack tried to get him to understand that, if he gave life a chance, everything could be better, and hell, even Whitaker tried to laugh about his offering of his house—not home, because it was too sterile to be called that—if he actually never returned. But when he saw the hopelessness in Baran’s eyes after he chastised her and threatened her job, or when he saw the burning resentment build in Samira’s after he degraded her for something so normal as a panic attack, or when he saw humiliation in Frank’s after he’d pretend not to care about his once protégé who was able to get his act together far better than he would ever, Robby couldn’t help but think that, yes, they were all going to be so much better without him.
Robby couldn’t survive without the Pitt, but the Pitt could thrive without Robby.
Without even realizing, tears started dripping down his cheeks again.
He tried to wipe them away with his unoccupied hand, but the streams kept coming and coming, years of stunted and repressed emotions finally coming out in waves against the sand of his skin.
How pathetic he thought himself to be. You have friends, a job, a house, and you’re crying while this baby has no one, and she’s perfectly content to hold onto your touch-starved finger.
It couldn’t have been a few more mere minutes of enjoying the small bit of company before the door burst open, Robby’s shoulders hunching and body tensing instinctively. But his finger stayed still in the baby girl’s finger, every ounce of his body not wanting to be the cause of more cries from her little lungs.
His neck turned stiffly, allowing his eyes to meet Dana’s gray hues. He looked back down quickly almost to hide the state of his obvious tear-stained face.
“Yeah, Dana?” he asked gruffly.
If she was about to lay it on him again, then he might have to leave the room and get headed on the road before anyone could stop him from leaving. That’s where he was supposed to be. He should have left the moment his shift was over with his bike between his legs, engine rumbling as he sped down the interstate, letting his hair freely catch the wind. He shouldn’t still be in the room, letting this abandoned baby hold onto him like a lifeline, allowing her to touch his tainted hands.
“Phone’s been ringing off the hook, Cap,” she stated, holding the device up in one hand. “Ya currently have ten missed calls and a handful of messages.”
Robby’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know who would be calling him that much when everyone who seemed to care about him was currently within the Pitt’s walls.
“Is there a caller ID?” he asked, spine straightening while his finger stayed still.
“Just a number,” she responded before walking the device over to him.
Once it was in Robby’s hand, the device fell silent under his gaze. He thumbed through the messages without unlocking the phone, but as he strolled, the generic Please call me and Please answer it’s an emergency did nothing to help his utter confusion. For a moment, he wondered if someone had the wrong number until the first message at the very bottom read Michael, please pick up.
He had barely been able to type a few words into the message bar—one handed mind you—when the phone buzzed again, the same number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate to swipe across for the call to go through.
“This is Michael Robinavitch,” he said into the speaker.
“Michael?” the shaky voice answered, and a small thank God followed in a whisper.
Robby should have recognized the number, but the sound of your voice solidified his realization. However, his short-lived confusion quickly turned into deepened concern when your sob echoed in his ear and was trailed by a series of unintelligible words filled with harsh breathing and a few muffled whimpers.
“Hey, hey,” he said. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe.”
Dana, who wasn’t privy to what you were saying, or at least trying to say, widened her eyes at the casual pet name that Robby said without much thought, almost like it was familiar between his teeth and tongue.
Robby paid no mind to the charge nurse, suddenly more concerned with figuring out what the hell was going on. He couldn’t help but wince at the shuddering inhale and exhale that you took at his authority.
“Okay, okay,” he said after a few more quiet moments. “What’s going on?”
You whimpered again in response. “M-my ex w-was supp-supposed to—oh, fuck—”
It hurt him to hear you so close to hyperventilating while he could only listen. “Hey,” he said a bit harder, trying to get you out of a panic. “You need to breathe before I can even try to help you with what’s going on, okay?”
Dana got his attention with a wave of her hand. Robby looked up in time to see her mouth Do I need to call 911? to which he shook his head and mouthed back Not yet.
When your breathing slowed a bit, you tried again. “He was supposed to be taker our—my baby to an app-appoint-appointment and now—” Another failed attempt at keeping another whimper in. “Now he doesn’t ha-have her and w-won’t tell me where sh-she is.”
Robby’s grip on his phone tightened to the point of his knuckles going white, his eyes briefly falling to the baby who currently had fallen asleep holding onto him.
“I-I know sometimes people take them to f-fire stations, but I called each one in the area, a-and they all said that no one’s dropped any b-babies off. Then I tried hospitals, and r-remembered you worked at one, and I just—” You inhale sounded watery this time. “Just hoped that you might h-have heard something,” you squeaked out the last bit, already biting back another sob. “I’m so-sorry for calling, but—”
“How old is your baby, sweetheart?” he asked calmly.
“Five weeks,” you sniveled out. “She’s five weeks today. And—oh gosh—how could this happen?”
He could almost imagine you gripping your hair and tugging tightly at the roots as you spoke, something he knew you’d do under duress. He’d seen it happen too many times to count throughout college and well into adulthood.
“Do you know the last time he had her?”
“He picked her up t-this morning. I’m so fucking stupid,” you hissed, voice sounding the steadiest since the call went through. “I had work, and my mom couldn’t take her so-so I thought—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Robby leaned over the bassinet again, eyes quickly scanning the sleeping baby, finger released form her grip in order to pull her small onesie down just enough to see her shoulder. “Does she have any identifying marks?”
The line went silent for a split second. “She has a small birthmark on her shoulder. I swear it looks like messed up puzzle piece.”
A rush of air filled Robby’s lungs to the point he felt dizzy. Staring up at him was the exact, described mark on Baby Jane’s shoulder. The baby that he’d been spilling his woes to was your baby, belonging to the girl who’d truly had his heart for years.
“Sweetheart—” he began before you interrupted him.
“I’m so sorry for calling so much, but I thought that if anyone knew anything, it’d be you.”
Robby held the phone silently to his ear. You could have called anyone: the police, the main line, other hospitals where they might not have taken you seriously. Instead, after calling the firehouses with the drop boxes, you called him.
“Earlier today,” he started, his voice now on the edge of also being shaky, “one of my nurses found a baby in the waiting room.”
Robby kept the part about where exactly in the waiting room she was found in to himself. He closed his eyes at your sudden, hopeful gasp.
“A heathy, happy, and unharmed baby we estimated to be around six weeks.” He paused. “She has the mark, sweetheart. I think we have your baby here.”
_______________________
You knew you probably looked like an escaped insane asylum patient.
Wide eyes, trembling hands, hair messed up from pulling on it one too many times: all the wonkiness of your appearance was just a physical manifestation of hours upon hours of stress beyond measure. You tried to reign it in, but ever since Robby confirmed that your spiteful ex, in attempts to push you over the edge, had abandoned your baby all while you were working, your emotions were close to bursting out of skin.
Somehow though, you managed to wade through the crowd waiting to be seen and get to the plexiglass shielded clerk desk without startling anyone. The kind woman behind the shield smiled up at you.
“What brings you in, honey?”
Your fingers twirled the ring around your pointer. “I’m here to see Michael Robinavitch?”
Robby hadn’t told you where to come in, and even if he had, your head spun so fast that most of the words he said after I think we have your baby here was everything but audible past the roar of blood in your ears. You’d jumped into your car and drove straight here. And even if he had reassured that your baby was unharmed, you couldn’t be convinced until she was back in your arms.
The woman had barely opened her mouth to answer before the door to your right clicked opened with Robby’s hand splayed widely against the metal and his body standing in the space between the waiting room and the ER.
“Hey, sweetheart. You wanna come with me?” he asked, eyes filled with a soft kindness that had your tummy flipping.
You could barely contain the bob of your head as you walked over. Without even thinking much, you took a handful of Robby’s green pull over. Robby either didn’t care or didn’t notice since he said nothing while he took deliberate steps toward the room that had been housing the baby since there hadn’t been any room in the pediatric ward.
He held the door open, and you quickly slipped past him, stopping just a few feet inside when you noticed the room wasn’t completely empty. A blond woman was currently hovering over the medical bassinet, however, she looked up at the sound of the door opening, her mouth stretching into a small smile.
Robby let the door shut behind him, placing his hand on the small of your back before introducing you to the woman. “Dana’s our dayshift charge nurse. She made sure that if your baby needed anything, she’d get it.”
You nodded mutely, slightly taken back by how sure Robby said your baby like something inside him subconsciously knew that she belonged to you and you alone.
“You have a fine baby here,” Dana said, voice twanged with an accent. “Spent all day being loved on by our staff and taking naps between.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off the squirming baby. “Can I?”
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Robby murmured with a soft push.
Your steps were ginger and quiet as you walked closer. The moment your eyes traced her familiar features, a quiet sob bubbled through your lips. At the sound, your baby turned her head, small eyes tracking your face, even if you knew all she could probably see was a large blob. It wasn’t long until your hands were gently sliding under her neck and bottom and lifting her close to your face. You couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as you nuzzled into her soft cheek.
Apparently, the feeling was familiar enough that it made the baby smile slightly. She grunted and cooed against you as your hold readjusted her onto your chest. Her small hands immediately clenched fistfuls of your shirt while her head stayed pressed to your front.
Robby and Dana couldn’t help but smile when you began to sway and gently press kisses onto her small head.
“Hi, Shelly,” you muttered, nose taking in so much of her baby scent. “My sweet baby.” Your eyes watered to the point even a few blinks didn’t clear up your eyesight. You kept her close as you spun to face the other two occupants of the room. “Thank you both so, so much.”
Dana smiled warmly. “We’re just glad she has a home.” Her grey eyes subtly glanced at Robby. “Now, I’m going to find our social worker, and get you some paperwork before you can take your little one home.”
Your grip tightened ever so slightly. “Social worker?”
Robby was quick to answer. “Just part of the process of getting her home. How bout I stay with you while Dana here gets all that in order.”
With another nod of your head, the blond slipped out the door, leaving you and Robby alone with your baby, whose eyes were currently looking right over in his direction, something you didn’t miss at all.
“She’s looking at you,” you softly said, eyes downcast at the top of her head. “Must mean she likes you.” You looked up at him. “Michael, I just can’t begin to thank you—”
You stopped when he held up a hand.
“No need,” he interrupted. “It’s all part of my job, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, well, you stayed on the phone with me and talked me out of a panic. I count that as something.”
Robby took a step closer, his right shoulder leaning a bit on your left as he looked down at her. “You made a very cute baby. Can’t believe how much time has passed since . . .”
You glanced up over your shoulder and into his brown, sad eyes. “It has; hasn’t it? What are you up to? Other than running an emergency department, I mean. You used to talk about doing so all the time, but you must have a hobby or something.”
He hesitated because, really, other than the ER he had nothing, meanwhile it seemed like you had done everything that he wanted: have a partner, get married, build a family. With a shake of his head, he rid himself of those thoughts. His hand rose and scratched at the back of his neck, blunt nails digging into his skin.
“Other than my upcoming sabbatical, I don’t have very much going on,” he replied, voice tired and worn beyond anything you’d ever heard.
“Oh.” You finally turned around fully, Shelly now the only thing between the two of you. “Well then, I must insist you come over for dinner. I know it’s late and that you have plans, Micheal, but please.” With all of Shelly’s weight in one arm, you gently rested your other hand on his bicep. “For us?”
Now, truly, there was a lot that could make Micheal Robinavitch say no. Plans made between residents for drinks after shift were always politely declined, women who got the hots for the doctor title were horribly left on read after the second date, and urges to go to therapy by his closest friend were quickly shoved into his back pocket.
However, one of the few things that could actually break his will power was the soft look you were giving him right now. The one that made it seem like the large gap of years hadn’t passed at all. The one he always thought was full of love before the two of you found different paths to take.
He found himself agreeing before his brain even caught up. “Dinner sounds great.”
And if he could keep that shining smile on your face for a bit longer, Robby decided that he’d stay for as long as possible just to see you look up at him like that.
_______________________
Dinner, in his opinion, was the best meal he’d eaten in a long while. Between the sabbatical countdown and endless shifts that only gave him a few minutes to shove a bite of protein bar between his teeth, Robby was never one to make dinner or meal prep once he went back to his house. The walls were there only to shield him from the outside as he slept fitfully.
But here in your home—home not house, because obviously you made the building into something warm—he found himself wishing he could stay forever. You had even let him hold onto Shelly while you cooked, letting your baby sleep against his heart like she’d known his feeling for ages. His big hands almost engulfed her entire, tiny body, and he caught you looking his way several more times than he thought necessary.
Robby hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you put Shelly down to sleep, he was sunken into your couch with his glass from dinner, and you were tucked into the opposite corner. The sky outside held no indication that the sun was still visible, and he knew that his time with you was slowly winding down.
“I should probably head out,” he mentioned with a sigh, like saying that was physically hurting him.
He tried to ignore the small frown that tugged on your mouth.
“But it’s so dark out already,” you replied.
“Fine by me. There’ll probably be fewer cars out there on the road if I leave soon instead of waiting for the morning.”
“Oh.”
Robby hated the way that sounded in your mouth. You quickly looked around your house almost as if you were trying to find something that’d make him stay. For that, he made no action to actually move from his spot on in the cushions.
You finally gave up and looked down into your glass. “You know, it’s okay to ask.”
He knew what you meant. Throughout the night, he tried his best to not to bring up the man that all but threw your baby away while she had a perfectly good home waiting for her. The social worker had made sure to tell him that there were definitely no signs of abuse or neglect on your side, and a flood of relief and a knowing understanding had bloomed beneath his ribs. He knew you’d never put that baby girl in danger from the way you were so heartbroken about not knowing where she had been for the entire day. But a thorn of concern had buried itself into his side.
“I didn’t want to overstep,” he replied after a moment of quiet. “But . . .” he trailed, giving you the space to fill in.
“Me and Brandon met soon after we parted ways. Thought that he was the one for me; you knew I’ve always wanted a family.” Your arms wrapped around your middle. “We got married, had a nice few years without kids before we even began to start trying.”
In a split second, all Robby wanted to do was scoop you up into his arms
Your pointer finger picked at your thumb. “We had some complications, had a few miscarriages, and I completely gave up.”
This time, Robby did unfold his arms and gesture for you to scooch closer. You quickly pushed yourself out of the dip and into his chest, sighing softly when you rested against him.
“I thought that I’d never get to be a mother until last year. I guessed that the pregnancy wouldn’t last and then the next thing I know she’s in my arms.”
He felt the way you tensed before relaxing. “We finally had her.” You paused before adding. “And then I found out that he’d been cheating on me for months. I should’ve seen the signs when he missed pretty much all of my appointments.”
You looked up at Robby, and he was already looking down at you as well.
“You didn’t deserve any of that, sweetheart,” he muttered, chest rumbling in loathe and a dash of jealousy. “He’s a fucking son of a bitch for that.”
If you were his, he would have been there for you at every moment, every scan, every fucking second by your side, his hand in yours.
You hummed in agreement. “I’m just glad I didn’t pick the name he wanted.”
Robby cocked his head, a smirk lacing his mouth. “Oh yeah? Was it going to be something stupid like Brandon Junior?”
“Oh, yeah,” you giggled. “He wanted Brenda. There was no way he was going to win though; she’s my baby.”
“Well, I think you picked the sweetest name. Shelly suits her.”
You bit down on your lip, not knowing if you should say the next thing on your mind. But having Robby be your personal back rest, you couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“Shelly’s just her nickname. Her full name is Michelle.” You looked up at Robby expectantly, but he just kept looking at you with that soft expression. You smiled at him, hand raising to gentle rest against his beard. “Michael, her name’s Michelle.”
It was almost as if all air was sucked out of his body.
“Michelle?” he croaked. “Why-why?”
“Because maybe I wanted to keep a piece of you, the man who believed in me and listened to all my dreams, even if I can’t have you.”
Robby blinked slowly, lips loose from his drink. “You can have me.”
“You’re about to go on your trip, Michael. I’m not going to keep you here, somewhere you don’t want to stay, just because I finally found you again.” You tore your eyes away from his. “I can’t be that selfish. Even I can see how much you’re hurting.”
You expected him to push you off. You expected him to slam out the door. You expected him to drive off and never turn back.
What you didn’t expect him to do was take your hands in his and hold them and keep you against him.
“I’ll come back,” he whispered into the small space between you two. “I’ll come back to you.”
Your head shook. “I can’t ask that of you. I can’t—” The sentence died between your lips and Robby’s finger gently pressing against your mouth.
“Listen to me, sweetheart. For years, I’ve been looking for a reason to stay, to live. I’ve tried to find that reason, and I had pretty much given up on finding something like that.” His eyes glossed over in blink. “But the moment you walked through the doors, the moment you held your baby, the moment you invited me to dinner, and the moment you let me hold you, I finally found my reason.”
Words escaped your mind at his confession, and the only next logical thing to do was sit and mull over his words. However, when dealing with Robby, all logic flew out the window just as you pressed your lips against his in a desperate motion.
Robby was quick to reciprocate, his hands cradling your cheeks just as he’d cradled your daughter, who you chose to share his namesake in your darkest moments. His thumb brushed away the slight wetness growing under your lashes. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt and held strongly, and your torso twisted to press your front against his.
You pulled back slightly, face staying within Robby’s hands. “Stay,” you breathed. “Stay.”
His nose brushed against yours as he nodded. “I’ll stay.”
With your request open, what about Jack’s niece or daughter having a shift from hell, maybe some comfort in the end from Jack, other than that I leave it up to you to go whatever direction you want if you decide to write this 🫶🏻
Call your dad
tags: jack abbot x daughter!reader, burnt out reader, inferred suicidal tendencies (like father like daughter), best friend trinity santos, stress, angsty, all the comfort to follow tho, comforting ending, possible ooc characters (but they're my barbies to play with), one use of y/n, title is taken from "Call Your Mom" by Noah Kahan, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @panic-in-the-multiverse for your request! sorry it's taken me so long to get to it. I hope it hits you in the feels in the best of ways! like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 2.7k
When Jack’s phone rang two hours before your shift was supposed to be over, he thought the worst.
Robby wasn’t one to call him in asking for a favor of an extra shift, always strict with keeping the day shift and night shift separated for the benefit of everyone’s sleep schedule. In all his years in working at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center, Jack had only been called in on his day off fewer times than he had fingers. If a mass casualty—like Pittfest—happened, he probably would have already known about it through the small police scanner he kept on his kitchen counter.
So the fact that no blaring alarm had gone through and his phone was ringing, there were really two worst case scenarios he could think of: something had happened to Robby, or something had happened to you.
You, his daughter, and Robby, his best (and probably only) friend, were the only two people Jack knew of who had him down as their emergency contact.
The number flashing across his screen wasn’t one he recognized, the sight adding to the tumultuous worry that was currently racing through his chest. He barely reached the device before it went straight to voicemail and brought it up to his ear.
“Abbot speaking,” he spoke into the phone, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.
“Dr. Abbot? This is Trinity Santos,” the feminine voice responded.
Jack’s shoulders hunched a bit as he turned to lean his back against the marble of his kitchen counter. Even through the layer of his shirt, panicked goosebumps littered his skin from the intrusion of the chill.
“H-Hey, Santos,” he stuttered, mentally cursing himself. “Sorry, I didn’t have your number saved.”
The apology was weak, and really, he should have been asking what was wrong instead of making small talk with a resident he barely knew outside of handoffs and the couple times you brought her over for a movie night where he chose to retreat back to his room instead of joining on the couch.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
Jack closed his eyes, and his body braced for impact. “What’s up?”
Was that the best he could do? “What’s up” when there might be an emergency involving the two people that kept him tied to the earth instead of joining his wife in the sky?
For a moment, it was only Trinity’s breathing that crackled through his phone, almost like she was also preparing for something unseen.
“It’s Y/n,” she finally said.
Medically speaking, hearts only ever stop when a person is having a heart attack. And when that happens, medical intervention is needed to get it pumping again before that person dies. But where Jack was standing, arm bent enough for him to grasp onto the counter with white knuckles, he swore his heart stopped completely before resuming beneath his sternum.
“Is she—” He couldn’t even say the words. “Is she okay?”
“If I said she was okay, I’d probably be lying,” Trinity confessed. “But today has just been really . . . bad.”
A flood of relief slightly overwhelmed the panic enough for Jack to take a full breath. Trinity wasn’t talking like you were dead; that had to count for something.
“Did something happen?” he pressed while abandoning his post by the counter in favor of heading towards his bedroom.
“Her chronic-illness patient died this morning.”
Jack paused, the sight of the small girl you’d been trying to help, the one who’d been to the Pitt off and on for months, flashing across his eyes. This time, his heart didn’t stop, but it did clench painfully at the thought of you going through that so early this morning.
“And she’s had to change her scrubs twice. You know the set she’d been excited about for months?”
He hummed; he knew what set she was talking about. You’d been so excited to the point you had talked his ears off for days before you finally were able to buy the limited color when it released on whatever website offered the items.
“She was helping a domestic violence case, blood got all over it. Police had to take both the top and pants for evidence.”
“What happened to her back up pair?”
“One of the med students bumped into her when she was holding her coffee. The cup splashed all over her.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Trinity clicked her tongue.
“Anything else?”
She paused. “Park yelled at her.”
Jack’s hand tightened around the phone. “For what?”
“Paramedics hadn’t packed a guy’s foot correctly on the way over; so, she tried to reset it correctly, but—”
“He thought she did it.”
“Dr. Abbot, I’ve never seen her cry during a shift before today. And it’s not like Park’s never an asshole, but he didn’t have basically rip her a new one in front of everyone when it wasn’t even her fault in the first place.”
Jack was already reaching for a sweatshirt from his closet, stuffing it down into his bag with one hand while the other remained holding his phone to his ear. His prosthesis had already been put on as a just in case incident, and Jack was thanking whoever was listening for that gut feeling. Limbering back into the kitchen, he grabbed the keys to his truck from the bowl on the edge of the counter, something you’d wanted to get after seeing one of those TikTok videos about a purse bowl—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
“Where is she now?” Jack questioned after getting the call connected to the Bluetooth.
“That’s what I was calling you about,” Trinity muttered. “We can’t find her. Dr. Robby checked all the rooms; Dana’s been trying to call her cell. I thought maybe she’d be in one of the supply closets or in the bathrooms, but . . .”
His heart clenched again.
He knew you. Whenever you’d hurt, whenever you’d cry, whenever you’d need to just get away from the world, Jack knew you’d find a place away from prying eyes, a small coping mechanism you’d picked up on whenever he himself would flee the room the moment his eyes stung. Abbots weren’t known to publicly show emotions, especially after the loss of his wife and your mother. It was always I’m fine and I’m not crying and Could you excuse me for just a moment.
Trinity—he could tell—was close to panicking by the way her breathing changed, and the way her next few sentences came out shaky.
“I’m worried. I’ve seen her with bad days before, but today’s been different. It’s like she’s close to giving up.”
Jack’s foot pressed the gas a bit more, engine straining and pushing the truck to move the tiniest bit faster, like getting to the Pitt could at least ease the tightness he had in his chest. As the city passed by in waves of blurred lights and buildings, a moment of clarity washed over Jack thought he couldn’t tell if it was closer to relief or dread.
“The roof. Have you checked the roof?”
_______________________
You hadn’t meant to stand there for so long, but every time you thought about going back down, going back to that trapped feeling, you’d stayed, feet glued to the concrete and eyes unwavering from the building tops.
Being on the roof felt the most freeing you’d felt since walking through the doors to begin your shift almost twelve hours ago.
You’d thought today would have been a good day. Dad had made breakfast before you left, your playlist shuffle on the way over felt perfectly curated, and the first few hours of patients walking out the doors with gratefulness dripping from their lips convinced you that nothing could go wrong.
That had been your first mistake, because in emergency medicine, good days never went by without a little grief—or in your case, a lot of it.
Kassy, the 9-year-old who’d seen more hospital than her own bedroom, had been brought in during the third hour of your shift and wasn’t even able to leave the building. You could still feel her failing chest and cracked sternum under your hands if you thought about it for more than a second. Her parents had been understanding; you’d been devastated, believing you could have done more.
But duty called, and you knew you had to leave every ounce of regret at the threshold of the door to her room. Easier said than done, because the next case, a younger woman, who came in with a stab wound, panicked so much about the anger of her partner that she rolled off the gurney, right into your arms, her blood instantly soaking through your scrub top and pants.
The stain should have been manageable, a little cold water and vinegar always seemed to do the trick, if it weren’t for the officers following and asking for the contaminated matching set as pieces of evidence against her attacker. You watched in a disappointed fog as they stuffed your clothes into a plastic bag that you probably would never get back.
A coffee, you had settled your mind on, was always a good choice to make your day a smidge better. Nothing sounded as good as the warm liquid mixed in with enough cream and sugar to be cavity inducing. You’d made the concoction after changing into your spare set of scrubs, albeit they weren’t the ones you’d wanted to wear, but they would work just fine.
Well, that was until a meandering med student walked right into you, their eyes more focused on the tablet in hand than where they were walking.
Scrub change number two came soon after, but unlike your personal scrubs, the hospital provided ones always sad wrong. They were itchy, tight around your neck, arms, and thighs but way too loose in the torso and waistline.
Now, you weren’t superstitious, so granted, you thought the worst of the day had passed. The morning could be filled with sorrows, but you still had the afternoon to make up for it.
An incoming leg trauma straight from a construction site was just the push of adrenaline you needed. The paramedics had rolled him right through, Robby had grabbed you to assist, and the two of you (plus the nurses) were well on your way to get this guy approved for an orthopedics consult before surgery. You held onto those hopes until halfway through the observation when you noticed his foot was tilting a few degrees too far inward. Mentally cursing whoever set the foot wrong, you had gingerly reached out for the foot to set it correctly, however, the moment your hands were on the appendage, Park decided that was the moment to walk through the door.
His eyes narrowed, mouth already opening and throwing insults your way when all you wanted to do was help.
Normally, you would have pushed back, would have stood your ground and defended yourself. But already drowning in the emotional weight of the day, you stood there, eyes cast downward as he went on and on about how you should have known better, should have done better.
Pretty much the entire floor was witness to the public execution and the tears that ran down your cheeks.
When he finished, you had simply nodded, promised to do better the next time, and silently slipped through the doors.
Trinity had caught you by the arm, and her eyes widened at the red of your own that just wouldn’t stop welling up no matter how hard you were trying to keep them dry. Softly, she had asked if you were okay, like any normal concerned friend would ask.
You wondered, while standing on the roof, body shivering at the chill wing, if that had been your breaking point, because you hadn’t been truly okay in years.
Would someone who was okay throw their life into emergency medicine?
Would someone who was okay deal with their grief in a mature and emotional way and not run from the dark feelings each time they grew too painful to deal with?
Would someone who was okay be standing at the edge of a roof after a seemingly impossible shift?
Answering any of those questions would decide if you were okay, and you ran instead facing the feelings that had been churning since you walked through the Pitt’s doors.
“You’re in my spot.”
You’d know that voice anywhere, but instead of answering, you uselessly wiped a hand under your eyes. Nothing in that moment seemed more humiliating than letting your dad see you cry after a hard shift.
Jack stayed still a couple feet away. He had been assuming that he’d find you on the other side of the railing like he had with Robby a few months ago, ready to take one too many steps forward, stethoscope hanging like an unwritten goodbye letter. But when he quietly opened the door, he breathed a bit easier when he noticed that you’d chosen to stay behind the metal.
“Heard you had a pretty bad shift, kid. Wanna talk about it?” he asked, taking another step closer. He pursed his lips when you failed to answer again. “Santos called me. Said she was worried for you.”
“She shouldn’t have,” you finally muttered, passing another unsuccessful wipe across your face. “I’m fine.”
“You know, you keep using fine, but I don’t think it means what you think it means,” he replied.
A ghost of a smile tugged on your lips at his attempt to quote from Princess Bride, a movie he had actually stayed for and enjoyed more than he would ever realize.
“It’s okay to not be fine, kid. You know that,” he said, voice a little louder in your ears now that he was standing beside you.
You didn’t flinch when his arm draped across your shoulders, muscles tensing as he drew you into his side. The smell of his cologne, all warm and comforting in the way only your dad could make you feel, brought more tears to your eyes. However, this time, you let them fall freely. Jack couldn’t help the coo that pushed through his lips when you tried harder to tuck yourself into his chest.
“I know today was hard,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Hell, I had half a mind to rip Park a new one on my way up.”
“I would have paid money to see that,” you said. “I think anyone would to see him get knocked down a few pegs.”
“I bet they would.”
You stayed quiet for a few moments after, letting your body soak in the peace and calm that Jack always seemed to carry extra of. Nothing would ever be better than a hug from your dad, the one big constant in your life that you could always count on. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand rested against the back of your head.
“I need to get back down and get my patients discharged,” you said, breaking the silence of the roof once more.
Jack let you slowly back away, but he still kept you within reach. “Next time you have a shift from hell, please let someone know where you’re going before you sneak off. Santos nearly gave me a heart attack when she said Robby and Dana also didn’t know where you’d gone.” He pushed a stray hair away from your face. “I can’t lose you too, kid.”
You nodded, understanding the heaviness of his words. “I will. Promise.”
“Good.” He held eye contact and gestured with his head back toward the door. “Let’s go finish discharge so we can get out of here.”
Your eyes widened. “Don’t you have work in like—what—a hour?”
He shook his head. “I called off. Can’t have my girl feeling down when I can do something about it.”
For the first time that day, hope rushed through your body, and you found yourself bringing him back into an unexpected hug. However, Jack was quick to squeeze you against his front again.
“Thank you,” you whispered, voice watery.
Jack rested his cheek against the top of your head. “Any time, kid. Any time.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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just wanted to drop by and say that im always looking foward to seeing your hatosyverse posts and they always make my day! something about them is very comforting, maybe its the way you write for them that they seem very in character and real. sending lots of love your way and appreciate you writing for them <33
awwww thank you so so much! this is the type of encouragement that keeps me wanting to write! I'm glad that you like what I put out! the different characters are definitely fun to write for, and I hope I'm doing a good job of keeping them in their little character boxes but also growing a world around them :)
tags: brett richards, jack abbot, grant riley, andrew "pope" cody, titus danforth, charlie reid, terry mccandless, sammy bryant, reader is their significant other in these, chat fic (16 slides in total), 18+ MDNI
notes: another expansion of my hatosyverse! my other works for this are in my pitt masterlist, so please check those out if you enjoyed this! chats are under the cut, and if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
The faculty was the first thing I ever saw him in and had a very quick crush at 12 so 🤷. I saw him in the pitt and instantly knew who it was - 🫣 and that crush never went away
SPEAK ON IT ANON
the faculty has quickly become my wednesday evening movie 😋
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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hi! just wondering but do you no longer write for f1? (i wouldn't blame you considering how morally and ethically terrible most of the drivers have been revealed to be)
hi anon! as of right now, all my f1 fics are on sabbatical. imma be honest, f1 hasn’t been as large as an interest in my life as it was when i first started writing on tumblr. i am so grateful for the time i had in that fandom, but between bad races and not caring for the same drivers as i did, that chapter has been put on hold.
will i go back to it? maybe, but not right now any more :)
