#habibi

The midday sun beat down hard on the asphalt outside the Pitt’s ambulance bay, casting a bright, unforgiving glare over the busy courtyard. Jack Abbott stood near the edge of the loading zone, looking every bit the part of a heavily armed, authoritative force. He was off-duty from his morning sector patrol but had dropped by to walk Y/N down to her car after a grueling fourteen-hour shift.

He wore his police uniform, the heavy duty belt fitted snugly around his waist, radio clipped securely to his chest, and his broad, imposing shoulders filling out the crisp shirt. Standing at nearly six-foot-four with built-up muscle and a naturally stoic, unreadable expression, Jack cut a terrifyingly striking figure.

A few feet ahead of him, Y/N was walking toward the parking lot, completely oblivious to the world. She wore a pair of high-waisted linen shorts and a fitted crop top, looking impossibly small against Jack’s massive, towering frame. Whenever she turned back to say something to him, the sheer height and size difference was comical she barely reached his shoulder, looking like a delicate sparrow being trailed by a mountain of tactical granite.

What neither of them realized was that a local news crew doing a quick segment on emergency services integration had caught the tail end of their walk on tape.

Two days later, the clip was live on TikTok.

Whitaker was the one who found it. It was mid-afternoon in the Pitt’s staff breakroom, and Whitaker was leaning against the snack machine, scrolling mindlessly through his phone while eating a bag of pretzels. Suddenly, he choked, a loud snort escaping his nose as he stared at the screen in absolute disbelief.

"Hey. Hey, Robby, drop what you're doing right now," Whitaker hissed, waving frantically across the room.

Robby looked up from his chart, walking over. "What?"

"Look at this," Whitaker turned the phone around, hitting play.

The video was a slickly edited TikTok transition. The first half showed the local news footage of Jack in full police uniform, walking slow, heavy, and deliberate down the sidewalk, radiating absolute protective energy. Then, the clip seamlessly cut with a hard bass drop to the booming, viral audio: She don't want no puppy, she want a big dog.

Another video was as well to the sound: Look at me, habibi, the video zoomed in on Y/N walking right in front of him, turning around with a bright, carefree smile, before panning back up to Jack, whose dark eyes were locked entirely on the back of her head with a look of such intense, possessive devotion it practically melted the screen.

The caption read: POV: You’re a tiny doctor dating a 6’4 tactical boyfriend who treats you like national security.

The comment section was already sitting at half a million likes, filled with frantic typing:

• WHO IS THIS OFFICER AND DOES HE HAVE A BROTHER

• The size difference omg she is literally a pocket-sized human next to a tank

• He is looking at her like she’s his religion pls

• Bro is built like a brick wall and she's just skipping along, I love them

"Oh, this is gold," Robby crowed, a massive grin splitting his face. "Absolute gold. Abbott is going to lose his mind."

Just as the words left Robby’s mouth, the breakroom door swung open. Jack walked in, having just come off a morning patrol shift. He tossed his keys onto the table, unbuttoned the top collar of his uniform shirt, and reached for a paper cup of water, looking like he needed a twelve-hour nap.

Whitaker immediately shoved his phone right into Jack’s face. "Explain yourself, big dog."

Jack stopped midway through lifting the cup to his mouth. His dark eyes flicked down to the screen. He watched the news clip play on loop, heard the booming she don't want no puppy, she want a big dog echo off the breakroom walls, and watched himself look like an absolute guard dog trailing behind Y/N.

The room went dead silent. Robby and Whitaker waited for the legendary Abbott scowl the sharp, intimidating glare that usually shut down any teasing immediately.

Instead, Jack slowly lowered the cup. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, a very slow, deeply satisfied, deeply arrogant smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

He crossed his massive arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter.

"Well," Jack drawled, his voice a gravelly, pleased hum. "The internet finally got something right."

Before Robby could crack another joke, the breakroom door opened again, and Y/N walked in, holding a fresh chart and looking exhausted.

"Hey, guys, has anyone seen—" She stopped, noticing the weird, highly amused energy in the room. Her eyes flicked to Whitaker’s phone, which was still looping the video at full volume.

Y/N froze. Her face instantly flushed a brilliant, burning crimson. She stared at the screen, listening to the audio blaring look at me, habibi right as the camera zoomed in on her walking in her shorts.

"Delete that," Y/N gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks as she lunged for Whitaker’s phone. "Delete that right now, Whitaker, I am begging you, I will never bake you another cookie as long as I live—"

Whitaker deftly yanked his phone back, laughing wildly. "Too late, Y/N! You're viral. The people have spoken. You belong to the big dog now."

"I am going to die," Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am going to quit medicine, change my name, and move to a remote island."

Before she could retreat out the door, a heavy, familiar arm banded securely around her waist. Jack closed the distance between them in two long strides, pulling her flush against his solid, uniform-clad chest. He towered over her by a solid foot, making her look even smaller as he rested his chin comfortably on the top of her head.

Jack looked down at her, his dark eyes burning with warm, undisguised adoration, completely ignoring Robby and Whitaker who were watching them like they were front-row at a movie theater.

"Don't listen to them, sweetheart," Jack murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against her spine as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple. "They're just jealous they don't have a big dog guarding them."

Y/N peeked out from behind her hands, looking up at him with a mix of embarrassment and a fond, helpless smile. "You are never allowed to wear your uniform near a news crew again, Abbott."