|| 21 || she/her || @ghost-with-a-teacup 's sideblog!! because i finally decided to make one lmao. i'm just gonna be really gay on here, I hope you're ready :))
Ghost who's been working himself half to death in the gym on base for hours, right?
Not the usual insane ghost workout that makes newbies cringe, but the kind that has him spilling blood onto the mats underneath the punching bags. Knuckles raw and red, face turned into a deep scowl.
Stood of to the side in the doorway, you sip a coffee. Gaz finally tilts his head after staring, having watched ghost push himself too far on the weights "he okay?"
"Yep. He just needs to get it out of his system." You huff, mostly here to babysit your boyfriend. A younger you would have begged him to stop, but you know there's really no avoiding when he gets like...this. "give him a bit to even out."
"What happened?" Kyle tears open a bag of crisps, hands you one.
"He dropped me while we were fucking against the wall." Your ass still hurts like hell from it. Gaz splutters and chokes next to you, doubles over to cough on his just eaten snack. "I told him it was fine, but he hates seeing me hurt."
"Christ— seriously?" Across the room, ghost returns back to the weights. You smile knowing you'll get to massage his biceps tonight. "I didn't think the guy could get it up."
"Oh he doesn't struggle with that, I promise." You chuckle, cast a glance at gaz.
He's light enough, you're sure. You know ghost better than he knows himself, and you explicitly remember how he and gaz spar on weekends. "hey, you ever been fucked against a wall? I'm sure si' would want to practice without hurting me."
"WHAT—" gaz flusters, more embarrassed than you've seen him...ever, really.
"I wouldn't mind it!" Ghost calls from across the empty gym, rough and low and more growl than anything else. "Cute ass, I've been dreamin' aboot it!"
Gaz makes a very significant squeak in his haste to retreat. You'll pick him up for the night next week.
coming home to jack after a night out with your friends and he’s sitting on the couch with his readers on and crawling in his lap while he asks about your night and you kissing him drunkly 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
UGH I NEED HIM SO BAD
august i’m about to absolutely lose my mind oh my GODDD
boyfriend!jack all engrossed in a book when your friends finally drop you off after a drunken night, readers perched on his nose like he must’ve fallen from heaven and landed in your living room. muttering, “sweetheart,” while you traipse over to the couch and somehow land in his lap, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “someone’s tipsy. y’have a good time, baby?” he’ll hum while he rubs the small of your back.
“sooo good, we had so much fun!” you burst, happy that he wanted to hear the details of your night.
“yeah? wanna tell me, honey?”
you just staring at him with this dazed look on your face like you were listening but not hearing him. jack immediately realizing you’re more than just tipsy, more so when your hands frame his face and you start to kiss his lips with an eagerness he only sees in you when you’re drunk.
“mmm, later,” you hum against him, trailing kisses wherever your lips can reach, from his lips to his cheeks to his jaw and back again. “kiss me!”
jack only laughs and puts his readers aside, settling his hands on both sides of your waist. “you can have all the kisses you want, sweet girl.”
Jack Abbot is not a man who is often confused. He's smart, which helps, but he also is willing to listen and learn, so any bit of confusion that he ever experiences is nothing more than a passing blight.
But evidently, you've found the one thing that he just can't wrap his head around.
"You feel sick?" He asks, already using that doctor-voice you hate so much (except for that one time you asked him to use it on you in the bedroom with those examination gloves. That was a good night).
You frown, "No."
"Oh." He leans back in his armchair, looking pleased with your lack of ailment. "That's good."
"No– I mean yes. That's good, but–" You shake your head, feeling the return of the tears you thought you left in the bathroom as you stared at your reflection. "Jack, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel... insecure."
Your husband blinks. "Financially?"
Now it's your turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, you said you felt insecure, and I thought–"
"About myself, Jack!" The floodgates open. "I feel ugly. I feel unattractive! I–I look in the mirror and fucking hate what I see, and it shouldn't affect anything but it does everything!" Your rambling continues. You stand there, crying and ranting about every little thing that you just can't stand about yourself.
The entire time, Jack is frozen in his chair. Even when you're finished, your chest heaving from the exertion of your tears and passion, he's still. He lowers his head for a moment, swiping a hand down his anguished face.
a/n: sorry, y’all the brain worms got to me. had a vision of trying to be playful about the whole doctor role play thing and jack being like. no no you started this, and I’m finishing it. i hope you enjoy it!
credits: gif credits to @/frankslangdons and divider by @robinavitchslut <3
The long night was finally giving way to day, the sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon. It was somewhere around 5AM–in that in-between post-3AM insanity, but pre-morning rush lull. The emergency department was precariously balanced on a knife's edge, one minor inconvenience, or trauma, from tipping back into full on chaos. You were almost at the finish line, the end in sight so long as nothing catastrophic happened.
As it stood, the night had been rough enough–mainly due to the sheer volume of patients you'd seen over the past 11 hours. Food poisoning from a family reunion rolled in shortly after the shift began, followed by alcohol poisoning from a bachelorette party, then a drunken bar fight that continued into the ER, where security had to separate two grown men who were arguing over which sports team had the better logo.
Barely an hour ago, three codes simultaneously racked the department, tying up almost every doctor and nurse and leaving the department in a bit of a frenzy. Two of the codes resolved themselves fairly quickly, but the one you were working on, a pediatric cardiac arrest, lasted nearly two hours. All three patients survived, thankfully, but you were still coming down from the adrenaline rush, your heart still ticking a beat too fast.
The supply closet was a welcome reprieve from the endless chatter and beeping of the ED, the mundane task of restocking crash carts a soothing balm to your overworked mind and muscles. You were still catching your breath as you assessed the carts, taking note of what needed to be refilled and what was already well stocked.
Boots scuffed across the linoleum in the hallway beyond, eventually stopping at the open door. A second later the metallic click of the latch rang through the small closet as the door closed.
You were plucking vials of epinephrine off the shelf in front of you when a familiar presence makes itself at home at your back, large hands falling to your hips with a quick squeeze. A fond smile crossed your lips and you eased into your boyfriend's warm embrace, letting your head fall against his shoulder.
"You did good back there," Jack said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smoothing his hands up and down your sides. His hands were warm, even through your scrubs and undershirt, and you could already feel your heart rate slowing, syncing in time with his.
"So did you, that little girl's lucky she had such a good doctor working on her," you said, turning around in his hold and leaning back against the shelving unit. Every time you saw Jack felt like the first, cheeks heating and butterflies erupting at the sight of him. His hazel eyes were tired, but no less beautiful than they always were; the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, the night taking its toll in the contours of his face.
Your fingers brushed against his warm skin, tracing the sun-worn lines along his neck, the freckles dotted between them creating the most beautiful constellations. It was hard to believe sometimes that you called this man yours, that he looked at you with such reverence and adoration.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Which reminds me, we have a serious problem," you said, schooling your face into a serious expression, eyes hard and lips slightly down turned.
"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" he asked with a wry smile, knowing that he was going to be drawn into one of your shenanigans again. Not that he minded, he usually benefited from them. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, his nose brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss.
You relented for a moment, sinking into the kiss. Your nails scratched through the curls at the base of his neck eliciting a purr-like noise from him. You grinned into the kiss then pushed him back slightly before he could get carried away.
Fixing him with a stern glare, you sighed exaggeratedly, "You're too sexy when you're in doctor mode."
He barked out a laugh that echoed loudly in the too quiet closet and shook his head at you, "That's your serious problem?"
"Yes, I'm serious! It's a problem! I can't be ogling my doctor when I'm supposed to be taking care of patients. It's a real liability issue, could be dangerous for patient care," you said, really trying to sell this problem of yours.
And it was true that he was so fucking hot when he was in the zone, calling out orders, laying out treatment plans–hell, even just watching him teach med students, with that patient but firm tone, correcting where necessary and praising when appropriate, had wetness pooling between your thighs.
The sheer competence in bringing a patient back from the brink of death was astounding. The look he got after a patient was stabilized–the pride, the relief, the hint of fear that crossed his face was breathtaking. It took everything in you some days not to drag him out of the trauma bay and have your way with him. The demons won out the one time he came in with his SWAT team, the combination of seeing him in uniform and the terror of knowing he was shot at commingled in your core and you were on your knees in this very closet in a matter of minutes, sucking the life out of his cock.
But it would never really compromise your ability to care for patients–you both knew that. You were one of the best damn nurses in the entire hospital, and Jack would stake his medical license on your ability to work through damn near any condition. You were his right hand for a reason–and it had nothing to do with your romantic relationship. But it was fun to play sometimes, to rile him up in the way only you could.
"Okay, okay," he said, still laughing, "How do you propose we solve this very, very serious problem?"
You tapped your finger on your chin, taking your time in 'thinking' of a solution.
"Mmm, I was thinking maybe the sexy doctor could make a house call. Y'know, give me a little one-on-one time, get it out of my system. I've been aching real bad, too, think maybe he should take a look," you said finally, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes and biting your lip.
His eyes darkened a fraction, and he stepped forward, closing the little distance that was between you and pressing your front flush to his chest. Goosebumps prickled up and down your arms, warmth spreading through your body and radiating down to your core. You whimpered softly as he shifted his weight, his crotch unintentionally brushing against your cunt.
His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Oh yeah? Well we can't have that, can we? Where're you aching, baby? Show me."
You swallowed, breath coming out ragged, "Well, Dr. Abbot, it started here," you said, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lips. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, and he brushed over it lightly before tugging it down, your mouth parting with it. He pressed forward, thumb briefly running along the line of your bottom teeth before settling on your tongue, pushing down gently.
You moaned at the salty taste of his skin, mouth widening and saliva pooling in your mouth, dribbling out of the corners of your mouth at the intrusion. Jack's eyes were trained on the sight, the irises of his eyes almost completely obscured by his blown pupils.
"Fuck, honey, you just love having your mouth filled, don't you?" he asked, pushing his thumb in further until he hit the back of your throat, muscles contracting around the digit, "Doesn't matter if it's my cock or my fingers, just need something to keep that pretty little mouth full, huh?"
You nodded and whimpered around him pitifully, unable to do much more.
He kept his thumb there for another minute, just watching the way your tongue twitched, the rivulets of spit drooling from your lips.
When he finally removed it, his thumb and your chin were thoroughly spit-slick. He wiped at the corners of your mouth, gathering the spit there, then brought the digit up to his lips and sucked it clean.
"Y'taste so good, baby, can't help myself," he said with a devious grin, "where else're you achin'?"
Your breath caught in your throat, your words coming out stuttery, "m' a-aching pretty bad here, t-too, Dr. Abbot," you said, dragging his hand down to your neck, where it sat loosely around your throat. Your fingers curled lightly around his, applying the smallest amount of pressure–just enough to make your breath hitch.
He tightened his grip a fraction more, then tilted your neck to the side, exposing the soft skin there. His other hand pulled your scrub top and undershirt to the side, and his lips latched onto the curve of your neck, biting and sucking at the flesh.
You gasped, hand flying up to bury itself in his hair. Your eyes fluttered closed as little whines and whimpers escaped your lips.
"So sensitive," he whispered against your neck, laving his tongue over the mark he made once more before pulling back and giving you an expectant look. What else?
Dazed and little floaty, you continued guiding his hand down until it cupped your breast. His other hand moved to your other breast, and squeezed the flesh between his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, though they were buried under layers of scrubs, undershirt, and bra. You could feel the barest hint of pressure where he circled them, enough that they hardened into peaks, taut against your bra.
You moaned and arched into his palms, wishing you could feel the roughness of them against your bare skin.
He chuckled at your desperation, pinning you back against the shelves. One hand remained on your breast, while the other grasped your chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye, "Anywhere else?"
You bit your lip and nodded, sliding the hand on your breast down your body and under the waistband of your scrubs and panties, until his hand was cupping your bare mound, "This is where it aches the most."
His eyes didn't leave yours as his fingers parted your folds, sliding through them with ease. A half-feral groan ripped through his chest, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers just barely brushed over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance.
You whined and bucked your hips against him, searching for something to grind against.
"Oh, baby," he said, "You really are aching, aren't you? Your pussy's soaking wet and I haven't even done anything."
The tips of his fingers breached your entrance and sat there, unmoving–just the tease of his thick fingers filling your cunt.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, need you to take care of me," you whined, rolling your hips forward, trying to force his fingers deeper.
"And maybe if you're lucky, if you alleviate my aches, I'll sit on your cock later," you said, using all the bravado you could muster up–which, admittedly, wasn't much. You were too far gone, too needy for him to act like you didn't want him just as much as he wanted you.
Jack raised his eyebrow, a dark laugh falling from his lips, "If I'm lucky? Baby, I distinctly remember you beggin' for my cock just the other night," he said, pushing his fingers to the second knuckle and curling them, "had you cryin' on the bed, whining for Jackie's big, fat cock to fill your cute little pussy up, didn't I?"
Your cheeks heated at the memory, the sound of your pathetic mewls and gasps echoing in your ears as you did, indeed, beg for his cock. You slapped a hand over your mouth to avoid those same sounds from spilling out now, as Jack's fingers pushed in to the hilt, the heel of his hand settling on your aching, puffy clit.
His fingers hooked against that soft, spongey spot that had sparks exploding through your body. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your hips ground clumsily against his hand.
"Well, I guess the tables have turned," is all you can come up with as he stroked that spot relentlessly. Jack knew your body like the back of his hand, knew just the right pressure and motions to get you to the finish line in no time. He preferred to take his time, but he never turned down the opportunity to make you cum hard and fast.
Your eyes closed, your body on autopilot as it chased release. The waves were cresting, your orgasm within reach. Just a few more thrusts, a few more rolls of your hips and you would be there.
He sighed, shaking his head at you, "You know, I probably shouldn't make you cum before I've done a proper examination. Can never be too careful about your health, baby," he said, removing his fingers from your pussy before your brain could catch up.
Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as your orgasm receded. A high pitched whine escaped you, "no no, please, Jack, pleeease," you said, gripping his wrist and trying to pull it back toward your cunt to no avail.
You looked up at him with wet eyes, frustrated tears pricking the corner of your eyes, "you're mean," you pouted.
"Shh, sweetheart, trust me, I'm a doctor. We'll get you all sorted out at our appointment later, yeah?"
Your brows furrowed at that, your mind still a little hazy. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, but before you can ask it, he's reaching up for something on the shelf above you, body pressing impossibly close to yours in the process. A second later he's pushing a hospital gown into your hands.
You're still confused, the gown doing little to illuminate his meaning.
"What's the look for, sweetheart? You started this game, don't tell me you want to stop now?" he said with an evil gleam in his eye, "Dr. Abbot will see you for a very, very thorough exam after shift."
There was a muffled commotion outside the door, no doubt another trauma rolling through–no doubt requiring Jack's attention.
"Duty calls, baby, see you out there," he said, giving you one last peck on the lips before he's gone.
The end of shift comes quicker than you anticipated, between a new batch of traumas rolling in and your standard caseload of patients taking up your attention.
You were waiting at central, bag slung over your shoulder, when Jack approached, looking apologetic.
"I think I'm gonna be a little longer, I just want to make sure Emily gets up to peds sooner rather than later. Shouldn't be too long," he said, "I'm sorry, baby."
"No worries, I'll hang around. Mr. Hauser's IV needs to be changed in 20 minutes anyway," you said, a yawn sneaking out halfway through.
He shook his head, "Nah, you don't need to wait around for me, and Lena'll bite my head off if I keep working her nurses overtime," he said, laughing a little nervously, recalling the last time he asked a few nurses to stay late, "Day shift's got it covered. Go home and shower, get something to eat."
"Plus," he said, slipping his finger under the chain of your necklace and tugging you closer, "I want you on my bed, in nothing but that gown when I get home."
You nodded and whispered lowly, "Yes, Dr. Abbot."
You took your time in the shower, the hot water easing the persistent ache in your muscles. After drying off and lotioning your body you slipped into a lacy pair of panties–Jack's favorite, the back cut high enough that your cheeks were practically bare, with a little bow in the center.
You dug around for the gown you'd snuck into your bag, pulling it out and holding it out in front of you. You gnawed on your lip as you considered it. Your intention hadn't been to enter into a full-fledge role play scenario, but you couldn't deny the way your tummy swirled in anticipation.
You slipped the gown over your head, the polyester feeling rough and scratchy against your skin. You left the back untied for easy access–you assumed you wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyways–then sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and awaiting Jack's arrival.
You didn't have to wait long for him. About 10 minutes after you've settled on the bed, the door to your bedroom opened, and Jack came strolling through. His hair was damp, and he'd changed out of his scrubs, now wearing a tight black shirt and cargo pants. He stopped at the dresser and pulled out a fresh scrub top, pulling it over his head before turning to address you.
"Good morning, miss, I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you've been having some aches, is that correct?" he asked, dragging the upholstered chair from your vanity over to the bed and sitting down. He folded his hands between his knees, fixing you with an assessing stare as he waited for you to respond–the picture of professionalism.
"Oh, yes, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching really bad," you said, putting on a whiny affect. And it wasn't untrue, your cunt had been aching since your release was denied two hours ago, your clit throbbing for attention.
"Yeah? Well let's try to fix that, huh? I might have to use some… unconventional methods, but I think we can get you right as rain in no time," he said, hooking his stethoscope in his ears, "I'm going to start with listening to your heart, okay?"
You recoiled before he could reach you, "You are not using that on me. God knows what's on it," you said, nose wrinkling at the thought of the dirty hospital germs that probably coated the stethoscope.
He sighed, breaking character for a minute, "This is my backup, the one that's been sitting untouched in it's case for over a year. That okay?"
His voice was low and reassuring, instantly setting you at ease. You relaxed a bit and nodded.
He tugged your sleeves down, the gown falling around your hips and leaving your chest exposed. One hand settled on your ribs, right under your breast, while the other held the chest piece in place on the left side of your chest. You gasped as the chest piece made contact with your skin, the cold metal causing goosebumps prickle up your arms.
Jack murmured a quick apology before focusing on the sound of your heart. The hand not holding the chest piece stroked the underside your your breast, so close to your aching nipple without actually touching it.
"Your heart rate is elevated. You nervous?" he asked, a suppressed smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"A-a little, I've just never had a doctor be so… hands on," you played along, biting your lip shyly.
He titled your head up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "There's no need to be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take real good care of you," he said, brushing your bottom lip softly.
"Okay, I trust you, Dr. Abbot," you whispered, breath catching as his grip tightened on your chin.
"That's it, that's my good girl," he said, his hungry gaze belying his professional demeanor. He was just as affected as you were, but he was committed to this act.
He started moving the chest piece down your chest until it covered your nipple, the pebbled flesh perking up at the coolness of the metal.
"Good, good, you're so responsive," he said, eyes focused on the hardening bud. Then he flipped the chest piece to the smaller side and traced it around your nipple in slow circles. His thumb flicked over your other nipple, then rolled and pinched it between his fingers, going back and forth between those motions until you were letting out a steady stream of whines and whimpers.
"S-sorry, Dr. Abbot, it just feels s-so good," you moaned, arching further into his grasp. Your thighs rubbed together, your clit begging for any sort of relief and finding none–just the slick slide of your arousal spreading across your inner thighs.
"That's okay, it's important that I hear how your body reacts to me," he said before dipping down and wrapping his lips around your other nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The duality of sensations–cold metal on one side and molten heat on the other–had you feeling dizzy.
"Feeling good? That ache goin' away yet?" he asked, abandoning the stethoscope and switching sides. He devoured your other nipple, giving it the same sinful attention–licking, nipping, and tugging between his teeth.
You shook your head, "Need more, Dr. Abbot," you whined, hips bucking off the bed at a particularly hard suck.
He released you with a wet pop, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide. You glanced down and saw his cock was hard, straining against the confines of his cargos.
"Yeah? Okay, then, lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
You did as he said, scooting back until you were lying back on your elbows and your feet were propped up on the mattress. You removed the hospital gown where it had pooled at your middle, leaving you in just your skimpy panties.
The snap of latex gloves rang though the bedroom, and a moment later Jack was on his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs open.
He ran his gloved finger over the soaked gusset and tutted, "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off," he said, slipping a finger under the waistband and tugging them down your legs–then pocketed the scrap of lace.
"That's not very professional, Dr. Abbot," you pouted, "You keep every pretty girl's underwear?"
He chuckled, shaking his head lightly at you, "Only the one's that are a major pain in my ass," he said under his breath.
You gasped and sent him a playful glare–which went completely ignored by him, his attention solely focused on your exposed and dripping cunt laid out in front of him.
"Now I'm going to examine your vagina, is that okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down your thighs.
"Yes, Dr. Abbot, please," you breathed out, the anticipation killing you at this point.
He stretched your thighs open wider and ran two fingers through your folds, spreading your abundant arousal around. The feel of the latex against your wet folds was so different, his fingers gliding through your wetness so smoothly, the roughness of his calloused fingertips obscured by the gloves. The clinical feel of it made your tummy twist in a mix of excitement and anxiousness.
"God, you're so, so wet. That's good," he said, the words thick in his mouth. His thumbs parted your lips, revealing your puffy little clit and tight hole. He was entranced by your pussy, the way your slick dripped down your thighs and your hole clenched around nothing. His thumb swiped over your clit briefly, a flash of contact where you needed it most before fading away. Your hips raised up to chase it, but his hold kept to pinned to the bed.
"Everything looks perfect," he said, running his thumb up and down your vulva, circling around your clit on each pass, "Such a perfect, pretty pussy." He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your cunt, each exhale sending a tingling zap down your spine.
His thumb slid down a little further and circled around the tight ring of muscle there, applying the barest amount of pressure as he rubbed it. You gasped and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, your cheeks heating up fiercely.
He chuckled lightly at your reaction and removed his thumb, "We'll check that at the follow up exam," he said, then notched two fingers at your entrance and pushed in slowly, "I'm going to do an internal nerve check now."
The intrusion steals the breath from your lungs, his thick fingers stretching you out so deliciously. For the first time since the storage closet, it felt like there was some real relief to the ache you've been carrying around.
A broken moan ripped through you when he hooked his fingers, expertly finding your g-spot and rubbing against it mercilessly with the pressure that made your toes curl and your vision white out. Your walls clenched hard around him, your greedy cunt sucking him in deeper.
"Good girl, let it all out. Let me hear you," he said, curling his fingers harder and rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit. The rubbery squeak of his gloves mixed with the wet schlick of your wetness as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound so obscene you felt a little embarrassed.
The coil in your core wound tighter and pinpricks radiated through your body, your orgasm approaching with a vengeance, furious at being previously denied.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, please make me cum, I–fuck, pleeeese I need it," you cried, rocking your hips recklessly against his hand, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
He alternated between scissoring his fingers and curling them against your g-spot, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me, you're gonna feel so much better when you cum," he said, the want thick in his voice and his professional tone almost completely abandoned.
He deepened the pressure on your clit, rubbing the nub relentlessly, and with a final crook of his fingers, the coil snapped, your orgasm washing over your in violent waves. You thrashed as the waves of pleasure rolled through you, your veins white hot and burning, toes and fists curling into the sheets. Your mouth hung open in a perpetual 'o', a deafening moan, groan, or some other such mixture of sound reverberating through you.
Jack worked you through it, keeping up the steady pressure until you were a whimpering mess and your hips were retreating from the friction rather than chasing it.
His latex-clad palm was soaked with your release when he pulled away, and he wasted no time licking a thick stripe through your mess, "fuck, honey, I could drink you up," he groaned, his eyes wild as he took in your debauched form, panting and boneless on the bed in front of him.
He shucked the gloves off and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You squealed at the sudden movement, mind still hazy from the earth shattering orgasm you just had.
"Now–fuck–now I just need to check the elasticity of your vagina," he said, shoving down his pants and boxers in one go. His cock stood proud–long and thick, beads of pre-cum dripping down his shaft. The tip was flushed red and begging for attention.
"I don't give a fuck what you call it Jack, but I need your cock inside me now," you whined, pawing at his shirt, pushing it up his chest until he took over and threw it off. Your hands roamed the newly exposed skin, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his pecs and trailing down the planes of his stomach.
"Okay, baby, 'm gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck this pussy so good," he said, pushing your legs up to your chest and lining his cock up with your entrance, swiping the tip through your messy folds before pushing into you with one deep thrust.
"Please, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching for your cock all night," you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he split you open, the slight burn giving way to mind-numbing pleasure as he dragged his cock back, leaving just the tip before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward harshly, his heavy balls smacking your ass with each punishing thrust.
"Fuck, I'm so full, Dr. Abbot, you're so deep," you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts, but failing half of the time. He was fucking you so hard that you were seeing stars, his cock dragging exquisitely across every nerve in your cunt, each thrust lighting a fire across your oversensitive body.
"That's it, my girl, knew you could take it. Pussy's fuckin' made for me, tight little thing stretches right around me, fuck, squeezes me just right," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh where he gripped your thighs.
"J-Jack, fuck–"
"No," he growled, his pace slowing, "That's not my name right now, is it?"
"Dr. Abbot," you corrected quickly, breathlessly, "my pussy was made for you, Dr. Abbot."
"That's right, baby. Fuck, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Letting your doctor fuck you stupid," he said, picking the pace back up, doubling his efforts now as he felt how close you were–your pussy contracting wildly around him.
The wet slap of skin against skin echoed throughout the room, intermingled with your wanton moans and Jack's deep grunts.
He shifted forward a bit, forearms bracketing your head, and pushed your legs further up, fucking into you even deeper. His cock rubbed up against the depths of your cunt, and the neatly trimmed patch of curls at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, delivering delicious friction to the sensitive bud.
"Right there, Dr. Abbot, don't stop please, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you chanted, eyes squeezing shut as the coil snapped, your back bowing off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. Fire zipped through your veins, radiating from your core to the tips of your toes and the top of your head. Your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his cock, greedily sucking it back in.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he grunted, eyes now trained on the spot where your bodies connected, a creamy ring coating the base of his cock. The remnants of your orgasm and the way your pussy milked his cock sent him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load into you.
He stayed buried in you for a moment, pressing soft kisses to whatever heated bits of flesh he could reach. Your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, not pushing him any deeper but keeping him close. You ran your hands through his sweaty curls, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck every once and a while.
"That wasn't too much, was it? I didn't go too far?" he asked hoarsely, brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek.
You shook your head immediately, "not at all. It was so fucking hot," you said honestly, assuring him that you loved every moment of it.
You laid in comfortable silence for a moment before your cheekiness got the better of you, "I'm not sure if you completely alleviated the ache, though. Might need to go a couple more rounds to make sure it's fully gone," you sighed dramatically.
He huffed a laugh at you, "Like I said, pain in my ass," he said, shaking his head.
You ignored that comment, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"Ooooh, maybe next time I can play nurse," you mused, a dopey smile on your face as you teased him, "y'know, I could take your vital signs, assess your symptoms–oh! I could even wear one of those slutty little nurse's dresses."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and continued, "I mean, I could even give you a sponge bath, you are my old man, after all."
You squeaked when he delivered a sharp slap to your thigh, then giggled at the disgruntled look on his face.
"You're just full of it this morning, aren't you?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Old man, huh?"
taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen
a/n: thank you for reading!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3333
NSFW ⟡.· ft. jack abbot + fem. reader. he loves his babygirl. no doubt about it, but he’s always been strict about you not teasing him while he’s at work, you’ve always liked pushing his buttons though, and when you disobey, someone has to put you in your place. abbot mocks you through it, implied age gap, mean! jack abbot, brat taming, pussy spanking, daddy kink, dumbification, slight dacryphilia. 3.8k.
shawn hatosy hyperfixation is like an infection and i have been infected. first time writing for papa abbot, reblogs + comments are always appreciated. ^_^
abbot isn’t known for his patience. he wasn’t level-headed or calm; sure, he doesn’t crack easily under pressure—any feelings of unease or stress he keeps close to his chest. jack could offer advice; he could talk a resident through a complicated procedure because surgery was taking too long to respond to their page; he could talk about hard and complicated issues using his personal experience, but he wasn’t patient.
you’ve recently developed the frustrating habit of pushing jack’s buttons: you teased, you pushed, you wanted, and while he was more than willing to give, that sentiment only stood when you listened.
you knew better than to send him that. jack knows you do, but knowing doesn’t take away the want to do it.
jack had felt the vibration of his phone inside his pocket as he spoke to ellis, though he didn’t open it then. working night shift in the emergency room meant dealing with the shit you don’t see during the day. it was hard finding time to answer a message from his girlfriend mid-shift, but jack knew you well.
you got pouty if your message sat unanswered in his phone for too long. the last thing he wanted was to come home to see your doe eyes glittering with hurt.
once he finally had a moment to spare, he stepped away from the traffic of the floor, intending to check his phone quickly, expecting a sweet message from you. once his screen lit up, your notification sat on top of a mountain of unnecessary email notifications from newsletters, appointment reminders, and useless travel deals he wasn’t going to take. you had sent him a picture captioned with: ‘i miss you so much, daddy. i couldn’t help myself :(‘
that alone made jack’s shoulders tighten. while he was all for fun and teasing, he had always told you not to send him risky texts when he was at work. not simply because the lives of others sat on his hands; no, he could handle the weight of the world while making sure a person had the best chance to live. he was simply impatient, and if he got turned on while you weren’t there, he disliked the action of waiting.
if all goes to shit mid-shift, he would have to stay for much longer than intended to try and help the transition from night shift to morning shift, which meant spending more time away from you.
after a second of trying to think of what you could’ve possibly sent, he found himself opening the text, despite knowing it would just piss him off. once the picture loaded, the sight of your heavy tits spilling from under your shirt filled his screen, with your hand reaching down between your thighs.
jack felt his body heat up, warmth coming to his neck as he tightened his grip on his phone, jaw clenching tight as he stared at all the little details of the picture, noticing his sheets, your lack of panties, and the small smile curved on your glossy lips. with a frustrated breath, he typed back a quick response.
‘You know I don’t like it when you tease me at work.’
your reply came quick; you had learned early on that if you message him back fast enough, there’s a higher chance of maintaining a brief conversation another before he had to get back on the floor.
‘what are you going to do about it?’ your reply read.
an amused scoff left jack’s lips. who did you think you were? a brat, that’s for sure. of course you just wanted to irritate him; he could see right through you. jack knew you better than anyone else you knew, and he was no better, so your little bratty scheme was effectively working.
‘Just you wait until I come home.’
he typed back with a heavy breath, leaving his lips before shoving his phone back into his pocket, both hands moving towards the back of his neck as he laced his fingers together and rolled his shoulders before he spared a quick glance at the floor. trying to focus on his job while the mental image of you needily rubbing your clit remained in the back of his head felt like his own personal purgatory. he could imagine it vividly: you nuzzled against his pillow with your hand between your thighs, practically humping nothing to soothe the warm ache inside your belly.
bratty girl, eager for daddy, but painfully insolent.
you knew how to push jack’s buttons so well you could be considered an academic with the level of skill that goes into riling up your older boyfriend.
you only wished you could see him, with his jaw locked tight as he continued his work in the emergency room while the idea of you festered inside his brain. jack always looked so good when he was irritated; it only made you miss him more.
his bedroom was a constant reminder of him, from the prescriptions littered around his nightstand down to the yellowish-brown boots he wore when he volunteered for the pittsburgh swat team. with a soft sigh, you plopped down against the bed, curling up against his worn bed sheets before you moved to press your head against his pillow. the smell of his shampoo, sweat, and cologne occupied the air; you moaned to yourself. your delicate hand moved down your stomach before pressing between your thighs as you waited for jack.
already fantasizing about what he would do to you when he arrived back home.
“j—jack—!” you cried out, your tone high-pitched and desperate.
you lay on your side, his sheets rubbing against your sticky skin as the pad of his fingers worked vigorous circles against your sensitive clit, his touch making your body feel feverishly hot. jack lay behind you, his body warm against your back while his free arm lay beneath you, his free hand gripping your breast tight as he kept you pinned against him while he groped you.
his firm chest and soft belly pressed against your back as he nuzzled his face against the curve of your shoulder, his scruffy stubble rubbing against your soft skin as he glanced at your side profile. jack savored the sight of your pretty face while his fingers toyed with the sensitive ball of nerves between your thighs, feeling your body twitch and jolt against his, considering the proximity between you two.
his fingers were thick, his skin coated glossy with your slick, while your hips rolled against his hand desperately, from both the want you had for him and the desperate need you felt for more friction.
“you’re so wet, baby.”
jack cooed, squeezing your chest while applying more pressure against your nub, making your body jolt from the increased pressure applied to your poor clit. you let out a soft sound, barely a gasp, before a breathy moan left your glossy lips. “jack..” you whined; the sound of his name on your lips made his body feel hotter than it was.
“what’s wrong, baby? isn’t this what you wanted?” he taunted, watching you squirm as he continued to toy with your slick pussy, glossy from all of the attention it’s been receiving through the night.
your eyes were shining, sparkling under the dim yellow light of jack’s lamp, his curtains drawn to keep the sunlight out.
as you mewled, your hand moved to rest above his over your chest, fingers shaky as you tried—pathetically—to pull yourself together. the difference in hand sizes was painfully obvious at such a stark comparison. you babbled small words, mostly whimpers of his name, while he made more of a mess from your aching cunny.
jack knew you like the back of his hand; he knew how you bounced your leg when you sat still for too long, how you fiddled with your fingers if you wanted to ask him something but you were too shy, and how you bit your lip when you were deep in thought. he knows he knew you better than anyone, which meant that he knows exactly where to touch to make your brain feel fuzzy.
his hand remained firm, squeezing your chest, fingertips brushing against your hardened nipple to make you tense, before he pulled his other hand away from your cunt. the loss of touch earned an immediate sound of disapproval from you.
“w—what? — why did you stop?” you grumbled, squeezing his hand to accentuate your frustration.
“you really think you’re going to get off after not listening to me?”
jack rasped, the hand that left your clit moving to rest briefly on your stomach before he moved it towards the back of your knee, pushing your leg up to spread you open for him, his heavy dick sitting against your inner thigh as he shifted slightly from behind, angling his body to get better access to your drooling cunt. pushing his available knee up, he tugged you closer, moving his arm from beneath you to rest under the nape of your neck while his hand moved to tangle itself in your hair.
you kept yourself spread open for him as he threw his thick arm over your stomach.
“w—what?” you stammered, for a moment not understanding what he meant.
you were so turned on that it made your memories feel distant, and for a second you forgot how you had gotten yourself into this situation. the memory of your brattiness hours prior refreshed in your mind slowly, and before you could babble out an excuse for your behavior, a sharp spank hit your drooling cunny; the stinging pain that followed afterward made your body jolt.
“what?” jack repeated, drawling out his words mockingly.
“ow!” you yelped.
your thighs twitched; your first instinct was a meek attempt to close your legs to ease the lingering sting.
jack was quick to stop your motion, though. his strong hand caught the back of your knee, then forced your leg up as before.
“jack—!” you wanted to argue, telling him this wasn’t fair.
“what’s wrong, baby?” he mused. “i thought this was what you wanted?”
before you could think of a reply, another sharp spank was landed against your aching pussy, making you wince from the sting.
“please,” you whimpered; the words that had come to you just a second earlier were forgotten under the touch of his hand.
“please? for what?” he replied, uninterested in your whines. “what have i always told you?”
you frowned; he was scolding you, like he always did when you acted out of line. biting your tongue, you huffed, letting your silence be enough of an answer. you didn’t want to get scolded; you were a big girl, and despite wanting to act as if the resistance was because you wanted to seem independent, the true reality was that you wanted to egg jack on.
your little act of defiance didn’t impress the older man, which earned you another spank on your cunt, harsher than before. this time, your body acted faster, and as you cried out from the sting, your thighs slammed shut.
warmth came to your eyes as the sting made your nerves surge, jack tsked, his hand wrapping around your thigh once more before yanking your legs open.
“you asked for this, sweetheart,” he reminded, keeping his grip on the back of your thigh tight as you squirmed.
“m’sorry, daddy,” you said quickly, hoping to butter him up to lessen his tension.
daddy could be so mean sometimes.
“it’s too late for sorry now, baby.”
he crooned, moving his hand away from your leg, trusting you would keep yourself spread open for him, to wrap his fingers against his hardened dick, his hand working up and down his shaft in slow pumps.
his words earned a whimper from your lips.
he could be charming, clever, and pampering, but if jack wants to be mean—or if you push his buttons far enough—he can be really mean. while you loved getting out of your place by your daddy, you always seemed to forget how harsh he could really be.
feeling his dick press against your drooling cunt made your stomach flutter; his cock was big, almost too big. the first time he fucked you, he made you cum twice while he stretched you out, just to make sure your pretty little cunny was ready. the girth of his cock was almost unfair too, with pretty veins curling around his shaft that make your brain melt when they rub against your walls.
jack pressed himself against your back, making sure to keep you close as he peered over your shoulder to glance down between your spread thighs.
“what has daddy always told you?” he repeated, tone softer, though you knew better than to think he was going soft on you, the older rasp of his voice making you squirm.
finally deciding to stop misbehaving—mainly because you wanted to feel him inside you—you pouted, leaning your head back against his thick arm. you glanced to your side to look at him.
“you tell me not to tease you while you’re at work.”
your tone was muted, the words spilling behind your pouty lips, because you don’t like admitting when jack is right.
“and what did you do today?” he asked, clearly rhetorical.
“i teased you..” you answered begrudgingly.
“and what happens when pretty girls want to act like brats?” he continued, tone authoritative, as if he was teaching a kid a lesson, before leaning closer to press a kiss against the side of your neck.
“they have to be put in their place,” you replied softly.
“good job,” jack praised, voice rough despite his tauntingly soft tone, as you reveled in his praise—you let yourself believe maybe he would let your behavior tonight slide, settling to fuck you while babying you the way you liked. feeling jack slap his hardened length against your pussy, you felt a shiver go down your spine in anticipation.
those hopes of getting let off easy felt possible as jack brought the tip of his cock against your aching cunt, pushing your glistening folds apart before aligning himself carefully.
that hope came to a crashing stop as you felt jack’s thick, heavy cock slam deep inside you.
bratty girls don’t earn gentleness.
the sudden intrusion dragged out an involuntary cry from your lips. the force of his hips making your ass made your body jolt, his dick was girthy, pushing apart your warm, slick, walls to make room for him. as his cock settled inside you, the tip pressed against your spongy cervix, the fibrous organ warm and welcoming despite his force, your cunny has taken his cock too many times to count, by now your body was conditioned to take his length without much stress. though when you and jack first started having sex, he used to coax you gently, sliding in inch-by-inch while your eyes got glossy from the stretch.
a heavy groan left jack’s chest as he felt the firm grip of your walls around his girth, moving his arm to rest over your abdomen. jack caged you in against his chest before drawing his hips back and shoving himself inside.
his thrusts set the tone. his cock rubbed against your gummy walls as he pushed his hips back; you let out a breathy sigh before his length was shoved back inside you. jack’s dick hit your cervix again, and again, and again; his breathing became heavier, his eyes shutting tight, the creases of his crow's feet deepening at the motion.
you were putty in his hands; the idea of being silent was laughable as his cock battered your sensitive pussy.
the sounds that left your lips were a disarray of moans, pants, and cries of his name.
“ja—jack, m’so full!” you whined, lips parted in an ‘o’ shape while your body bounced with every sharp thrust of his hips. his cock made your brain numb; every ridge, every vein that pressed against your spongy walls made your toes curl.
at your cock drunken words, jack felt his stomach tighten hard, hearing you mewl such desperate lewdities turned him on more than he wanted to admit.
hearing his baby girl cry out because of him was one of the greatest pleasures he got when he fucked you.
“yeah?” he panted, his face pressing against the hollow of your shoulder, your skin sticky against his as he continued to slam his hips against your own.
“i thought you didn’t mind when daddy filled you up?”
he taunted, moving his arm from your stomach down to your slick clit, pressing his finger against your hardened bud to see you shudder. you nodded at his words, despite knowing he was actively making fun of you.
“that’s what i thought,” he crooned, sucking in a heavy breath as he continued to toy with your clit, your leg spread, making sure jack had access to your messy cunt as he fucked you.
your eyes felt warm as he continued to use you, your body shivering from the overstimulation that came from his attention. jack glanced over at you, shifting you so he could get a better look at your pretty face as your eyes glossed over with tears.
his lips curved. “what’s wrong, baby?”
you whined, your eyelashes clumping together from the wetness in your doe eyes. “it’s too m—much,” you babbled, words tumbling past your lips.
“too much?” he pressed. “poor baby, can’t handle daddy?”
you nodded, eyes glazed over as his cock battered your cunt, his tip knocking against your cervix over and over. “mmm,” you whine, too cock drunk to reply; you felt your mouth salivating while warm tears bordered your lash line.
jack’s hand moved from your overworked clit to your face, reaching over your body to turn your head to the side, making you face him properly. “use your words, baby; you know daddy likes well-spoken girls,” he cooed, voice soft despite the harsh shove of his hips. your tearful gaze met his, your eyebrows furrowed upward while your lips parted, trying to find the words to express yourself.
“you’re too big ‘n’ s’rough, my cunny can’t take it—!” you finally said, words slurring like a drunken sailor as he stared down at you expectantly.
fuck, you always sounded so pretty like this, practically incoherent from his cock.
“yes, you can. you can take daddy. you’ve done it before, haven’t you?” jack murmured, pressing a kiss against your tear-stricken cheek.
you whimpered, your walls tightening around his heavy dick at his softened words. while you loved when jack was mean, you couldn’t help but melt when he babied you while he shoved deep inside you. yours cunt tightened around jack hard, making the older man grit his teeth.
there was a knot in your belly you hadn’t noticed before, tight and warm, straining inside you with every push of jack’s hips against your ass.
gasping, your body tightened as a sudden push of his hips led to his cock pressing hard against that gummy little spot inside you that made you see stars. a long, drawn-out moan of his name left your lips as your back arched against his torso.
seeing this, jack let out a heavy breath, his grip on your body tightening to pull you closer as he continued to hit that spongy spot harder, harder, and harder, and before you could even try to mutter a warning about how close you were, that tight knot inside you snapped. your eyes shut, eyebrows pinching together as you cried out his name.
your already tight walls squeezed around jack’s heavy cock, the squeeze felt unforgiving as your hips rolled against him, your body instinctively twitching as you rode out your much-wanted orgasm.
locking his jaw, jack let out a grunt beneath you, pushing your hips forward to better his angle into your drooling cunt before working his cock past your tense walls.
“did i say you could come?” jack berated. “since when do brats get to come before daddy lets you?”
your eyes were half lidded, your body shaking from the aftermath of such a hard orgasm. your nerves were on overdrive, and your brain was foggy; the only reply you gave him was a shaky moan.
he moved his arm, the one he had under your head, to wrap around your delicate neck. putting you in a headlock as he continued to abuse your cunt.
his arm was heavy, his freckled skin brushing against your face as you rested your head against his forearm, your hands moving to pathetically grab at his muscular arm.
“is your head that empty?” he grunted. “can’t even speak, huh?”
you shook your head, a little whine leaving your lips as jack pumped himself inside you, your pussy milky from all the slick. the sight of you like that made jack’s body tense; you were so messy, so dumb over his cock, and seeing you like this—cock drunk and stupid made his body feel sensitive, his dick twitching inside your messy insides.
keeping your body molded against his own, jack chased his orgasm with more vigor than grace, his pace becoming less concentrated and more desperate with each pump of his hips.
with a choked groan, jack’s hips pressed against your ass, burying himself deep inside you as ropes of sticky cum left his twitching dick. his breathing shook as he rolled his hips against you slowly, savoring the feeling of his orgasm as he made sure to fill you up with every last drop of cum.
you moaned; the warmth that filled your belly made your stomach flutter with butterflies as your legs shook, jack’s arm loosened around you, and your hand found his, fingers intertwining as you felt warm in your belly.
jack let out a heavy breath, shuddering as he moved his hand to grip your thigh, keeping your legs spread as he finally slipped out of your cunt. finally he guided your thighs together before he pushed himself up by his elbow. his hand moved over your breast, guiding your body to lie on your back to see your glazed-over eyes.
“how are you feeling, baby?”
he softened, giving your chest a small squeeze before his hand pushed some of your hair out of your face.
you looked over at him, eyes half lidded and shimmering, before you nodded, still too drunk on his touch to think of a verbal response.
jack’s lips curved before he pressed his lips against your forehead, his kiss soft against your skin before he pressed his lips against your own. “you’re still a brat, y’know?” he mumbled against your lips, earning a soft noise from you before you reached up to rest your hand against his shoulder, squeezing the muscle before you kissed back.
“m’sorry,” you finally answered, words raspy after the cacophony of noises you made earlier.
jack pulled back, looking down at you knowingly. no matter how many times you whimpered apologies for your behavior, jack knew it wouldn’t last long. you were always finding ways to push his buttons, but he would be lying if he said he disliked it.
after all, jack would always love his bratty girl.
popebride, 2026 ⧽ i hope you enjoyed! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ tags: @aangelheartt @xom4yy @tearsofjoyandsorrow1
u/dr-abbot.j: AITAH for provoking my girlfriend because i think it's hot when she acts crazy?
+18 mdni, age difference, fem reader, bratting/brat taming, jealousy (from both jack and reader!), lowkey ragebaiter jack, size difference, 'i'll pay for it' jack abbot, oral sex (f! and m!receiving) semi public, cum swallowing, finger sucking, overstim, dirty talk, praise, possessive behaviour, one use of the word daddy said unseriously, alcohol consumption, club culture, unprotected piv, clit stim, begging, creampie, written in one day and bareeely edited!
┊MASTERLIST┊AO3┊
everyone always tells jack abbot that what he needs is a real nice girl to settle down with. someone who will bake him sweet treats and warm dinners, who will make cozy nights in alluring enough to get him to stay home every once in a while.
but the thing is, jack likes the chaos of his life. he likes working twelve hour shifts and then clocking in to dodge bullets immediately after. his therapist says it's a coping mechanism—can't relive old ghosts if you're fast enough to outrun them.
and that might be true for some things, but not with this. not with you.
sure, jack can't deny that he loves the little rush he gets when you somehow manage to look down your nose at him even though he towers over you. he loves that crazy look you get in your eye. he loves when you raise your voice and point a perfectly manicured finger in his face (a manicure that he paid for, mind you).
but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.
he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.
sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.
jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.
he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"
lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."
you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"
he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"
"me, or your other girlfriend?"
it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"
you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.
he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.
"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"
and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.
there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.
jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.
when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"
you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.
by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).
jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.
the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.
the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.
but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.
your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.
you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.
"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"
"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"
you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.
jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.
you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.
jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.
"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."
he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.
"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"
he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.
"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."
you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.
he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.
jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."
he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.
that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.
but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.
you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.
jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.
and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.
later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.
the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."
and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.
you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"
jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.
you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."
at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.
jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.
you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"
jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.
the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.
beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."
it makes jack laugh.
because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.
and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.
you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.
"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"
"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.
"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."
"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"
"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"
"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"
he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."
the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.
when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."
he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.
you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.
with his moth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"
and he knows the answer before you narrow your eyes at him and say, "your favorite girl, jack? how many girls do you have?"
jack abbot fucking your thighs bc you’ve been very poorly behaved. he needs to get off, but he doesn’t think you deserve any pleasure from it. legs tied at the ankles and knees, cock slipped between the apex of your thighs, periodically slipping against your slit as you cry into the panties shoved into your mouth.
Jack and Robby are dating reader and get into a fight about something stupid. They ignore resolving it to go to work, only for reader to end up in the ER on an ambulance with a life threatening injury.
frozen in time
pairing: jack abbot x michael robinavitch x reader
a/n: tysmm anon for this request!!! you all seem to be enjoying the angst so i hope you'll enjoy this!
Jack Abbot stands in the living room of your shared apartment.
The room was silent, a stark contrast to the usual sounds of a movie playing and your sweet giggles as Robby or Jack made a stupid joke.
Robby stands in the kitchen. His elbows rest against the island. He exhales sharply and runs his hands over his hair.
You had stormed out of the apartment a few moments prior.
The argument had blown so far out of proportion.
Robby came home from a very shitty day at work last night. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.
He was a ticking time bomb.
It had started with a passing comment from Robby the next morning. You were showing Jack a beginner crochet kit you wanted to buy. This was not out of the ordinary at all.
You picked up new hobbies at least twice a month. Pottery, scrapbooking, gardening, yoga, painting, photography, the list went on.
And you loved them all! And so did Jack and Robby.
When you were going through your cooking phase, both of them loved tasting your new recipes.
It took you a while to get good but they were both supportive no matter what.
But earlier, with Robby in a bad mood, he muttered out something about how you need to get better at your other hobbies first, before you go spending money on some other thing.
Jack was at your defence. He didn’t come at Robby straight away but he told him that there’s no harm in any of your hobbies and it’s good for you to learn more things.
“Oh please, drilling a hole through my wallet is what it’s doing.” He murmured, lifting the beer to his lips.
That’s when Jack snapped. The two bickered back and forth as their voices raised. And from there it spiralled out of control.
You stood up and tried to cut through their loud barks of insults.
You were getting pissed at Jack, as each time Robby tried to walk off to the bedroom, Jack would yell something else which would only keep the argument flowing.
And you were pissed at Robby because he’d turn back with more harsh words.
“Jack stop it! Let him cool off.” You say, hand on your hip.
Jack opened his mouth to respond but Robby cut in.
“Oh yeah cause that’s what I need to do. This whole thing wouldn’t be happening if he had chilled the fuck out!” Robby bites back.
You hated fighting. You hated the yelling and the words being spewed.
“Just stop it! Please!…god.” you sigh, exhausted.
They stopped for a moment as their eyes landed on you.
Something flash in their eyes maybe humility? Guilt?
But it didn’t matter.
You were sliding on your shoes and leaving though the front door before they could say anything.
They wanted to go after you. To apologise and tell you they were in the wrong but they didn’t.
They wanted to respect your space and let you have some time to yourself but also because both of them were stubborn and would never admit that.
They didn’t have time to discuss anything. They were still pissed at eachother but they had to get to work. So they moved around the apartment getting ready and silently hoped that you’ll come back before they have to leave.
They hold off for as long as they can but ultimately, can’t wait any longer and they leave for their shift.
Jack is off his game. His co-workers presume it's because he is working a day shift. A drastic change in routine could do that to someone, but that wasn’t it at all.
Robby is noticeably exhausted. Dana realised he was off first, of course. Threw a quick ‘penny for your thoughts?’ his way and he didn’t even give her a second glance.
Jack had enough and pulled Robby aside a while ago. Telling him they both fucked up, and they needed to let you know how sorry they were.
Dana’s voice interrupted them. “Sorry to interrupt. Pedestrian motor vehicle collision incoming. ETA 3 minutes.”
They both nod and hold their conversation to start making their way to the ambulance bay, snapping on gloves with a practiced ease as they see the ambulance pull up. The tires screech as it abruptly breaks.
The gurney is quickly pushed in by paramedics. “Female, mid 20s, got struck by a Chevy Colarado at high velocity. BP is 193 over 120. Was found unresponsive.”
They approach the speeding gurney after they retain the information.
They both come to a halt when their eyes flick up to the face in a cervical collar. The air is taken from their lungs as they look at your unconscious form.
Your face was paler than they’d ever seen it, the blood that covered a portion of your face had matted your hair to your forehead.
Jack feels bile rising to the back of his throat the longer he looks at you. He had been running his fingers through your soft hair just hours prior.
Robby’s eyes search over your body in a panic, taking in what your body had endured.
A gauze is being held to your head in an attempt to stop the extensive bleeding, your leg had a long gash, from your knee to your ankle, fragments of pebbles and tar etched into it.
You’re sped into Trauma two and Robby and Jack can’t even speak.
The next 30 minutes are spent pouring every ounce of dedication and panic into getting you stabilised.
They take over for each other when they see the others hands shaking as they work on you.
“Cmon, sweetheart, cmon.” Jack whispers to himself as he watches your monitor like a hawk, waiting for some sign that you’re improving.
Then the flatline sounds throughout the room, like a waling scream.
They have heard the sound so many times that it has stopped affecting them so intenseley like it had in the earlier years of their careers.
But now, here, knowing that its you hooked up to that monitor, it feels like they're hearing it for the first time all over again.
"She's in V-Fib!" one of the doctors announces.
Robby freezes. His trembling hands stop, as a doctor pushes past him to start chest compressions.
His eyes meet Jack's and he swears he's never seen as much fear in his eyes than in that moment.
One of the doctors yells for the rest to clear as the charge of the defibrillator courses through your body. The room falls into silence as everyone awaits the sound of your heartbeat to return on the monitor.
When it doesn't, Jack has to choke back a sob.
They charge up another round, and the both of them wait with baited breath.
Then, as if the universe had heard their silent pleading, you're monitor spiked.
Robby sobs in relief before quickly moving back in to assure your stabilised.
After some time passes, and the doctors get you intubated and stabilised, Jack and Robby step out of the room as you're wheeled off to ICU.
They walk into a vacant room and the dam breaks. Robby is first to let out a sob. His hands at join at the back of his head as he tries to take deeper breaths.
Jack plants a firm hand on Robby's shoulder and pulls him into a hug.
"It's...It's alright man, she's gonna be okay." Jack manages to choke out through sobs.
Robby takes some shaky breaths, squeezing his eyes shut as he nods.
The next two days, Robby and Jack each take shifts going home to get showered and grab to some food before returning to your room in the hospital where you're still asleep.
The lower half of your body in covered in your favorite blanket from home, two chairs are pulled up right to either side of the bed, where they have both been sleeping.
Well, sleeping wasn't exactly the right word to use.
They would doze off for maybe ten minutes at a time before inevitably waking up. They couldn't sleep when the image of you, so weak and fragile, was a constant at the forefront of their minds.
You weren't intubated anymore, which was some form of relief for them. And, yes, you were improving but it didn't make this any easier.
When you wake up, you squint immediately, the fluorescent lights above you sent a dull ache to your head.
Hearing a wince, Jack's head snapped up instantly.
He was on his feet before he could even think. He turned down the harsh lights above your bed.
"Oh, sweetheart.." he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat before his medical instincts kicked in.
"Do you remember what happened?" he asks, his voiced laced with a type of gentleness that could make you cry.
You open your mouth, and it feels so dry that when you swallow, it burns.
"The truck." you muster up just enough strength to say.
His eyes briefly glance down as he pages Robby.
"Yeah, yeah, that's right. You uhm...you were hit, and-and you were really really hurt." he chooses his words carefully as to not overbear you with anything and scare you, but also because it physically sent a pain through his chest trying to speak about what actually happened to you.
Robby bursts through the door with an urgency you have never seen before.
"Honey, oh god." he places his hand on your head so gently, you just about felt it.
"Are you hurting anywhere?"
You take in a shallow breath. "My-My ribs..."
Jack nods. "Yeah, you broke three of them. I'll get you some more pain meds."
After, you were examined, and were put on more pain meds, you were now sat with them both, the tv played on low volume in the corner of the room.
"Baby...we want to apologise for the fight, the last day." Jack starts.
"We were in the wrong and we never should've- I never should've taken my anger out on you. We feel terrible and-...seeing you, come in here..." Robby pauses as his voice cracks.
"There's going to be no more fighting like that. If any of us are ever feeling pissed off or-or anything like that, we'll talk it out, no matter what. Alright?"
You nod. "I forgive you both and I don't want you both beating yourselves up over it."
Jacks quickly wipes a tear from his face as he lifts your hand to his lips, and kisses it, despite the clunky pulse oximeter adorning your finger.
Robby stands up and presses a long kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much, honey." he says softly, his cheeks still wet with tears.
"I love you both too, i regretted not saying it before I left but I was too pissed off to even think." you sniff.
"We're here now, we'll always be here for you."
The following days in the hospital consist of them constantly checking in.
Not allowing you to eat any of the hospital food, only ordering you stuff from your favorite restaurants, bringing you your stuffed animals and books from home.
You tried to convince them to go home for a good nights sleep and some time away from the hospital to which they agreed to only because they new Robby would be there for you during the day, and Jack at night.
You were comfortable there, I mean, how could you not be?
You had the two best doctors in the world.
masterlist here!!
all likes, comments, and reblogs are sooo appreciated!!!
robby and jack who currently have you sandwiched in between them in your tiny apartment kitchen, with robby in front of you and jack behind, the tiny space forcing more proximity with robby and jacks large bodies leaning against your counters
your tiny sleep shorts pool around your ankles on the floor, and robby's big hands shove up the fabric of your t-shirt to cup your tits, while jack palms the globes of your ass, laying a sharp smack when he feels like watching the fat ripple against his hips
your mouth is full of robby, soft lips wrapped around the girth of his cock as you barely manage to breathe through your nose, the soft, needy whines leaving your throat and vibrating his whole length have him groaning above you, his hand moving down to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail
jack is rocking your entire body forward, your lips greedily taking more and more of robby's length, the hand in your hair guiding your head's movements, and jack's hand that's now wrapped snug around your throat keeps you steady and in place
you're pressed so tightly against their beefy frames that there's nowhere to run or hide, not that you would, but the stimulation is so overwhelming, with the feeling of both pairs of hands always touching you, caring for you, doting on you, while jack's cock hits deep inside of your drooling walls
the sound of your whines and the wet plaps of your pussy and mouth have you dripping down your thighs, the shiny slick glowing in the lamplight
"god, you love this, don't you? I can't tell whose greedier. is it this pussy? or our sweet little girl? what do you think, robby?"
"this mouth could be a good contender too... jesus, she's dripping drool down onto the floor, jack. gooood fucking girl, aren't you, baby?"
and you just love your daddies so much, only thinking of how sweet it was for them to come check on you after their long shift, and they're still taking care of you <3
summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.
wc: 9.5k
a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3
credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!
It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny.
You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster.
Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem.
Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment.
And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now.
That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you.
So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was.
It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule.
But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven.
You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably.
You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed.
The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it.
It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message.
Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.
You settled on:
you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;)
You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out.
What a mistake.
Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen.
Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them.
Why?
Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you.
Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing.
You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either.
And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him.
It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably).
He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway.
Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.
You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress.
It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun.
What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot.
Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo.
Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually.
Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened.
There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up.
Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare.
Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo.
Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with.
You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off.
You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you.
You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it.
You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that.
You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios.
In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation.
But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…
Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you?
A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification.
Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍
It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance.
You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days.
You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.
You woke up two days later and ran through your options.
Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)
Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble)
Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?)
Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible.
That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay.
You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started.
“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask,
“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.
“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing.
Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis.
Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done.
“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.
“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second.
He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own.
And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze.
When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile.
Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work.
This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.
Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either.
His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more.
But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.
And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former.
As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling.
Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.
The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse.
To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom.
Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night.
You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through.
“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient.
The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15.
“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.
You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room.
“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now.
You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life.
“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his.
“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”
Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.”
“BP is down to 60!”
“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.
Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty.
“Must be the belly,” Santos said.
“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?”
You shook your head.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.
Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin.
“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked.
“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway.
Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked.
“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.
Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student.
Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there.
“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.
You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot.
“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact.
You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder.
“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them.
You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to.
He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat.
“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin.
“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face.
Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.
Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips.
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought.
“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.”
“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.
He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked.
A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there.
You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence.
“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin.
You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.”
He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending.
You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.
He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.
You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top.
His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly.
You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks.
“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face.
You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top.
He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you.
You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.
The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency.
It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you?
He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy.
“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.
His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.
You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art.
But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools.
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself.
You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine.
The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation.
“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it.
You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”
You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale.
“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face.
“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile.
He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you.
The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours.
He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?”
You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said.
“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop.
“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?”
You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign.
“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it.
“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone.
A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits.
Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him.
“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now.
He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.
His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face.
He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway.
Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing.
“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?”
No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there.
He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden.
He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.
“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”
“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.
And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much.
He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve.
“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.
“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb.
“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger. Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes.
Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.
And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.
Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.
You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve.
“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.”
You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome.
“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit.
You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out.
“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout.
“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore.
He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him.
Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.
A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time.
Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy.
The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.
You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy.
“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.
Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm.
It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him.
Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could.
Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought.
Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath.
Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up.
He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together.
“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you.
“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice.
“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.”
You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s.
“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.
You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift.
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.
He’s incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.
Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked.
“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.
“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.
“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.
“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.
“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”
Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
───────
True to your words, you’re never late again.
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–
That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.
He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
You’re his.
───────
Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.
You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.
Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.
“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard.
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.
You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.
───────
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.
“S’alright if I join ya?”
You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?”
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–
“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
“I mean it. Anything.”
───────
He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space.
You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
“All good in here?”
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.
“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
You’re starstruck. Sweetheart.
You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
───────
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.
You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety.
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along.
His heart breaks.
You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you.
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,
“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
“I notice.”
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?”
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.
“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
He’s proud.
───────
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
“Good catch, sweetheart.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”
And he always delivers.
Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.
But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.
Tonight is no different.
You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.
He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.
“No!” He shrugs her off
“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.
“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.
───
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”
“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.
“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–
“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
───
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
She’s gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God you’re so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone?
You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.
───────
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever.
You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.
You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.
He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”
Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”
“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.
“I’ll talk to her.”
───
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.
He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.
───
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.
“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.
“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.
“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it.
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.
What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.
───
You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself.
You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile.
“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?”
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot.
What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”
“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”
You don’t want it to pass.
───
You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.
“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.
“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.
The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.”
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
“BP 78/40.”
“We’re losing him, Abbot.”
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.”
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
───
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
───
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.
You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.
You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.
“Shit–”
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
You’re not that lucky.
“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern.
“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.
“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me?
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.
“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
“Jack–” You practically whimper his name.
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.
“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.”
Oh.
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.”
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches.
“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.
“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.”
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh.
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.”
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.”
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
“There she is.” He coos at your smile.
───────
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.
He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.
“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.
“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.
“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.
“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.
“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”
For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down.
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
─
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
“Jack!”
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow.
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.
You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”
jack and robby eating your pussy at the same time...
you were lying on the crumpled bedsheets, your legs spread wide to make room for both jack and robby. their massive bodies were squeezed between your inner thighs, but neither of them seemed to mind – not when their tongues were resting on your sensitive pussy, licking and savouring it as if it was the sweetest dessert.
your body trembled with the almost painful and overwhelming sensation of pleasure you were experiencing. your hands, tangled in both men’s hair, held on tightly, unsure whether to pull them impossibly closer or perhaps push them away.
but they decided for you.
holding you in the almost iron grip of their strong arms, controlling your sweaty body however they pleased, while their lips ravaged your swollen folds and your pebbled clit, kissing and sucking.
"too much" you moan breathlessly, arching your whole body as another electrifying wave of pleasure washes over you.
"don’t lie to us, sweetheart" robby says, his beard brushing against your soft skin, making you shiver "i can see you want more. i can feel you want more."
there’s no point in denying it because you know he’s right. the sensation is overwhelming; you can feel them everywhere. you can feel jack penetrating you with his tongue, kissing your folds. you can feel robby sucking your puffy clit, his long fingers brushing along your entrance, sliding deep inside you the moment the other man finds another spot to torture you with.
your pussy is covered in their saliva and your juices, of which there’s so much that it’s dripping down their chins and your thighs, showing just how long this has been going on.
and yet you still want more, even when you say otherwise, because your mind can’t keep up with their greed, but your body, your body begs for more, as if addicted to the feeling of jack and robby on your body.
and when the orgasm finally hits you, it’s sharp and rough.
your legs clamp down on both men’s shoulders. moans and cries that are downright pornographic escape from your lips and you can feel yourself squirting, but you don’t even have the strength to pull away, letting jack and robby lick up your cum, making you feel as though you’re on the brink of another numbing orgasm.
"you think you can give us one more baby?" jack’s raspy voice snaps you out of the haze almost instantly, but before you can reply, their tongues are back on your sweet pussy, devouring it once more.
Jack making this face when you've had a bad day and gone nonverbal and he's all soft and sweet on you, running a big hand up and down your thigh comfortingly as he says "tell me whats wrong, baby," pressing soft kisses to the curve of your jaw and the plush of your cheeks, "c'mon, tell daddy whats wrong so he can help you." And when he finally gets you to make a little noise its when he's between your plush thighs, licking flat warm stripes up the sopping folds of your pussy, mumbling into your heat "there she is," when you give a little cry and weave your fingers through his silver curls.
a/n: DON'T EVEN GET STARTED!!! READERS STAY ON DURING SEX!!
MDNI - 18+
Jack Abbot, who is lying on top of the sheets, his chest bare and the band of his lounge pants hanging low on his hips, exposing his silver happy trail. His readers low on the bridge of his nose, peering up from his book at your naked body fresh from the shower. He eyed you before resuming where he left off, flicking the page with the rough pads of his fingertips.
You curled beside him, holding onto his freckled bicep. He felt the swell of your breasts around his arm, clearing his throat at the contact. "Whatcha reading, Jackie?" "Nothing you'd like, sweetheart," he mutters, rubbing at the fat of your thigh, dangerously close to your slick center. You huffed when he moved his hand away, turning another page.
"Need something, honey?" he asked, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
"Attention," you replied sweetly.
"Hm, couldn't tell when you walked out here naked and crawled into my bed," he teased, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. You playfully swatted Jack's arm before attempting to turn away; his strong hand pulled you back towards him, catching you as he sank between your thighs. He offered you the book as he kissed your abdomen and hips, his teeth sinking in every so often, leaving red welts along your pubic bone. "I'll give you what you want," he said, his dark hazel eyes meeting yours through the lenses. "On one condition, you gotta keep reading for me, doll. Y'know I don't get much time anymore between your constant need and the night shift."
You take the book, Jack's kisses on your puffy clit already making your throat go dry. You choke on your words when his tongue finally indulges you, sweeping kitten licks between your folds. A moan falls from your lips as you lean further into his mouth, then nothing. "I told you to read for me, sweetheart. I wanna hear your pretty little narration." He leaned his head to the side, waiting for you to acknowledge him, his glasses already slightly fogged from the heat down below. You nodded, and his tongue returned to burrow into you.
Your cute hiccups and gasps between sentences made Jack's cock grow rigid below, his hips dug aching into the mattress. He groaned against your velvety sex at your pretty sounds, his sweet weeping angel. Your vision startled to blur as you tried to make out the print on the pages, admitting defeat as you settled the book atop the pillow next to you. Jack didn't care, especially the minute your fingers grasped at his hair, tugging at his silver curls. He grunted into your wetness, his tongue reaching deeper inside of you before swirling back up to your bud, his fingers seeking refuge in your walls.
The persistent pumps of his digits drew you closer to the edge, squeezing around him and beckoning him in further. Your sounds filled the room, his siren song. He felt the wet spot continue to spill into the thin fabric of his boxers and onto the sheets, the desperation only making him more relentless.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. Please, baby. I know you can."
Your orgasm rushed in waves over your body, your thighs shuddering and squeezing along Jack's scruffy cheeks. He pressed gentle kisses along your sparkling pussy, slurping every drop in between. You finally laid your eyes on him, his readers lying crooked on his face. You chuckled, making his movements come to a halt. Before he could even speak about his vision being off, you readjusted his lenses, booping his nose all cute like.
jack feels guilty for moving on from his late wife and it takes a GSW for him to realise he doesn't want to lose you too.
jack abbot x reader, angst, gn!reader, resident!reader, no description of reader, mutual feelings, gunshot wound, minor character death mentioned, suicidal ideation (jack), 2k words
jack would never miss an anniversary. his wife's birthday, their first date, their wedding day. the date of her passing. those numerals are seared into his memory.
this one isn't an anniversary per se, but it is an annual tradition nevertheless and it slipped his mind. ever since jack and his then-girlfriend accidentally walked into the first iteration of the pittsburgh little italy days while out on a date, they'd made it a habit to attend every year. and even after her passing, jack upheld the tradition.
this year however he's caught up at work and his TEMS side gig and his one day off for the duration of the festival he spends at the bar with his coworkers.
because you're there.
it's only a few days later that he overhears a patient mentioning the festival and realises he missed it.
it scares him. it's only been two and a half years and already he's starting to forget his wife? because he got distracted by a little crush? he won't let it happen again.
so jack distances himself from you. it's subtle and most people don't notice anything different. he guides you as your attending, stays professional where professionalism is required, jokes when the situation allows for it. same as he does with everyone else.
but that's just it. with you it used to be... more. a little too much warmth, a pat on the shoulder for a job well done that lingered a little too long, flirty remarks that seemed a little too real. the remarks are never flirty anymore. and he avoids going out for drinks now if he knows you're coming.
you notice. of course you do. you used to savour every trivial exchange, every accidental touch. looking forward to jack's quips kept you motivated to come into work when you felt like you could sleep for days.
you can't think of anything you've done wrong and you sure as hell can't ask him why he's stopped his subtle displays of favouritism. you start to doubt there ever was any to begin with. maybe it was all in your head and you were subconsciously forcing these interactions. maybe jack just finally caught on to your inappropriate feelings for him.
so you step away. you don't jump at the opportunity to work on a case with him anymore. report to shen more often. just enough to give him space. not enough to make him notice. you make a conscious effort to smile. trinity even comments that you seem more upbeat lately. in reality getting out of bed is becoming a chore. you could probably use a distraction, but when mateo asks if you're joining for drinks, you decline, because you'd heard jack say he'd think about it. with time, the forced smile begins to fade.
robby and dana notice that something is up with jack. that he seems to be getting worse again after all the progress he'd made in therapy. eventually robby finds him on the roof top again. that's when he finally gets jack to confess he missed the little italy festival. robby tries telling him that maybe this is not a bad thing, that maybe it means jack is moving on. but moving on is not what jack wants.
it's not like jack sought it out. he was just trying to help his buddy hiro. yes, he hadn't cared all that much for his own life in the situation. but it's only natural for a field medic to risk their life to save another. he's done it before. he knows the bullet didn't hit his carotid, otherwise he wouldn't still be here, on a gurney, on the way to PTMC. hiro, on the other hand, is in a body bag.
the first face jack sees once the ambulance doors swing open is robby, who clearly didn't expect his GSW patient to be jack, judging by the flurry of curse words and admonishments.
the second face is yours. wide-eyed and scared. terrified, even. jack wishes he had been more careful after all, if that had kept you from looking like that. you two aren't even that close, so why are you making that face? have you never had to treat someone you were close with before?
he loses sight of you as he's being rolled in, he thinks he hears robby yell at you. he'll need to tell him to tone it down with his outbursts at staff once he's out of surgery.
huh.
he does want to make it out of surgery, doesn't he? not a sentiment one should be surprised by.
inside trauma 1 everyone huddles around him, it all becomes a blur of noise and white and red. robby has switched from being pissed to reassuring jack. "we got you, brother," jack faintly hears among the other voices. he tries to make out the faces above him. it's hard to look around with three sets of hands working on your neck. jesse, santos, mckay, donnie. even langdon appears to be back. half the ED is working on him, but where did you go? jack feels like he hasn't seen you in days. he must have. he knows you were scheduled together. you just never interacted anymore.
"BP dropping!" someone calls out to his left.
jack should count himself lucky. he survived two gunshot wounds – he hadn't even registered the one to his shoulder – and figured out he wasn't ready to go. to a large part because he wanted to see you again.
but here he was, second day in recovery, and he hadn't seen you since the ambulance bay. everyone jack considered to be on friendly terms with had come to visit, some in a larger group when he first woke up from surgery, others dropped by throughout the day for more personal visits. you were never one of them.
robby is a frequent visitor, of course. even now he's leaning back in a chair by jack's bed, telling a story about someone getting impaled by the american flag that jack only listens to halfheartedly.
"listen," robby leans forward and jack's absentminded fidgeting with his wedding ring ceases. "i gotta ask you..."
jack raises an eyebrow, giving robby his full attention.
robby still hesitates.
"as the chief attending... i have to..." he rubs his face in frustration.
"wow, this gotta be serious," jack comments on his friends odd behaviour.
robby just stares at him for a moment.
"jack... are you fucking your senior resident?"
jack's eyebrows shoot up. "excuse me?"
robby leans back again. "you heard me, man, don't make it more difficult than it needs to be."
"let me get this straight," jack says, "you're accusing me of sleeping with one of my residents? you?"
"i'm painfully aware of the hypocrisy, i am. but as the chief atten–"
"yeah, right, chief attending, got it," jack dismisses him. "how do you even... why would you think that?" jack asks.
robby rubs his forehead, thinking.
"when you were brought in..." robby laughs in distress, "the shmuck dipped out of the case, man." he gives jack a pained look. "disappeared into fucking thin air," he spreads his arms, "poof, gone," he shrugs. robby seems close to hysteric. jack should've realised this would remind him of adamson. "got mckay to jump in," robby continues. "claimed compromised objectivity when i asked." he leans his elbows onto his knees. "so i need to know, jack. i need to know whether... whether this was a case of job abandonment or incompetence or what."
when robby remains silent, jack turns away and stares at the ceiling.
"i'll have to get back to you on that one," he finally says.
"jack... don't do this, man. just... do i need to tell gloria we have an opening for a senior attending?"
"fuck, robby, no," jack turns to face him again. "don't... don't blow this out of proportion."
"you could have died, jack," robby says, getting agitated. "and if this... if the two minutes until mckay got to us..."
jack can't be certain of your reasons, but he saw your face. and he trusts your judgement. you knew you couldn't do it and you did the next best thing.
downstairs you're swallowing the last piece of a granola bar as you walk out of the break room, tossing the wrapper into the bin as you walk past it. your phone dings and you take a quick look.
Dr. Jack Abbot: 'Just a heads up, I told Robby you couldn't work on my case because of our affair.'
you stop dead in your tracks. are you having a stroke? you read the message again. a third time. still the same words. does affair have a secondary meaning, you wonder. then, a horrible thought hits you: was this meant for someone else? is jack having–
your phone buzzes in your hand, making you jump and drop and it.
"fuck," you hurry to pick it up.
lena is eyeing you over her glasses, "you okay there?"
"yeah all good," you assure her and glance at the new message.
Dr. Jack Abbot: 'Should probably bring this to HR.'
it's almost 10pm when you finally manage to sneak out for a minute. jack might already be asleep, recovery wards don't exactly cater to a night shift circadian, but this is driving you insane, you need to at least check.
a faint shimmer of light is seeping out from underneath the door to jack's room. the tv maybe, or a table lamp. so you hope you don't wake him when you knock.
"yes?" comes back almost immediately.
you poke in your head first. "dr. abbot?" the small lamp on his bedside table is indeed on and the tablet in jacks hands casts additional light onto his face. "could i come in for a minute?"
"better late than never."
"oh i'm sorry," you say, stepping in but still holding on to the door handle, "i can come back in the morning," you suggest.
"not what i meant," jack says, "come in," he turns off the tablet and sets it onto the bedside table.
you stand a little ways away to the side. "i uhm, got a weird text message," you begin.
"first you refuse to work on me, "jack interrupts, "and now i don't even get a 'how are you'?"
a moment passes as you digest what he just said. yet another mention of you not working on his case.
"how... are you?" you finally ask, sounding robotic.
"never been better."
wow, you think, that's a lot of sarcasm even for jack abbot.
"were..." you rephrase, "did you... missend those messages?"
"missend?"
"sent them to the wrong person," you clarify.
jack looks somewhat dumbfounded. "how many people do you think there are that noped out of my case due to 'compromised objectivity'?"
"i... wouldn't know, i wasn't there," you joke meekly.
jack smiles half a smile.
"robby was on the verge of getting you fired," jack explains and you start to panic. "he's not going to," jack immediately assuages, "not now that he's not doubting your reasons.
"oh." jack lied to save your job. "thank you. i'm sorry i put you into this position."
"it wasn't a lie, was it?" he asks, "the compromised objectivity?"
blood rushes to your head. you can only admit to the unprofessional feelings that may or may not have made jack uncomfortable enough to avoid you or you can leave him to believe he unwittingly lied to his friend.
"no." you want to add 'i'm sorry.'
"can i ask you out on a date, then?"
a flutter of butterflies erupts in your stomach.
you suffocate them immediately. jack doesn't mean that. maybe he's joking. maybe he hit his head during the incident.
"to keep up appearances with dr. robby?" you ask.
"no," jack says, "i'm serious."
he sounds serious.
ah.
"you just had a near-death experience," you remind the both of you. "maybe give it a week or two for the–"
"it's not that," jack interrupts, sounding serious again.
don't fall for it.
you give him a smile that is supposed to be sympathetic, but even you feel must look condescending. "i should go back to work," you tell jack, "thank you again for saving my job."
you turn to the door and pretend not to hear him calling out for you to wait.
notes: pittsburgh little italy days are a real thing, first created in 2002, and are held in mid august over the course of four days.
also, i really hope i used shmuck correctly, english is not my first language and yiddish even less so, but i really needed a gender neutral term and couldn't think of anything better. corrections are welcome!
"got flowers for you," dana calls out the moment you walk in.
"me?" you walk over to the nurses' station, where robby and jack are hunched over the counter, already discussing handover.
"who sends me flowers?"
"no card," dana says.
you check anyway.
"any idea who your secret admirer might be?" dana asks.
"probably just a patient saying thanks," you shrug. there is, in fact, no card. "think i can give them to someone upstairs? some elderly patient whose family doesn't visit? they'd probably like flowers, right?"
"sure, but don't you wanna keep them?" dana sounds disappointed.
"to watch them wilt and die? see enough death as is." you pick up the bouquet. "be right back," you tell her and walk off.
once you're out of earshot, robby pats jack on the shoulder, "i'm sorry, man."
"i don't know what you're talking about," jack stops following you with his eyes and looks back onto the tablet in front of him.
robby doesn't even acknowledge the obvious lie. "could try again with potted flowers next valentine's."
"any suggestions where i don't have to wait a year?"
"birthday?"
jack makes a one-sided tsk. "december."
robby ponders for a moment.
"halloween?"
jack stands up straight and crosses his arms.
"flowers for halloween?" he asks.
robby follows suit and stands, "i was thinking potted pumpkin. one of those miniature ones," he forms a little ball with his hands, "could be cute."
they stand frozen in place for a moment, staring at each other, jack's face scrunched up as he's trying to discern whether this is a real option or if he is insane for even considering it.
"no," he decides at last, "too far out."
"then i don't know how to help you, man" robby says and leans back onto the counter.
dana rolls her eyes, "jesus, mary and joseph, are we back in junior high? own up to the flowers and ask for a date, it's not that difficult!"
robby agrees, "she's not wrong."
jack didn't even realise dana was still listening in. he sighs. "how about we deal with the handover for now and save my dating life for later?"
"you're dating again?" john's voice cuts in from behind.
jack throws his hands up. grabbing the tablet off the counter, he heads off to find langdon or mohan, might as well talk to them about handover, he figures.
"he's dating again?" john repeats and takes a sip of his coffee.
"it's uh... complicated," robby says.
dana shakes her head.
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