Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x (female) R4! Stripper! reader
Summary: What happens when "The Shark" finds out that one of the hospital’s most promising residents also dances at a strip club to pay off her student loans and rent?
Warning: Swearing, Brendon Park himself, Age difference, Height difference, he calls her Doll and Good Girl. NSFW. Oral sex. Vaginal sex.
Words: 6,155.
Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @celestephung @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @miichelleswriting @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r
I wasn't sure if you wanted me to tag you in this. But here you are.
Walking through the hospital doors that morning weighed on you more heavily than usual. The sterile, frantic air of the ER struck you like a physical blow—a sharp slap of reality after the lingering trail of cheap perfume, stale alcohol, and tobacco you could still feel clinging to your skin.
The night before at Dixie’s—the club where you worked three nights a week to fund your way through medical school—had been pure chaos. It was a typical, rowdy Thursday, yet your mind remained anchored to a single, haunting spot at the bar.
Of all the colleagues you could have imagined encountering at a strip club, Dr. Brendon Park was dead last on the list. He lived for perfection: impeccable surgical scrubs, a notoriously acerbic wit, and a hard-earned reputation that left no room for nocturnal vices. Yet, there he had been, shattering your perception of him from the velvet shadows of the lounge.
You tried to convince yourself that the dim lights and the hazy smoke of another dancer’s set had played tricks on your eyes. But the way his jaw had tightened the moment he saw you left no room for doubt: the recognition was mutual. He hadn't looked away once during your performance. He had scrutinized your body with the gaze of an apex predator, sipping his whiskey languidly, clearly savoring the view while utterly ignoring the companion at his side.
"Hello, honey. Did you lose sleep again?" Dana asked as you approached the Hub to grab a tablet for rounds. "You have shadows under your eyes."
You forced a smile, taking a tentative sip from your thermos of hot chocolate; ironically, coffee was a taste you had never acquired.
"Too many hours of studying, Dana. You know how fourth year is. I’m ready for rounds," you lied, still feeling the phantom weight of the previous night’s wig against the nape of your neck.
"Start in South 20," Dana instructed, gesturing with her head. "Sixteen-year-old female, acute pain in the lower right quadrant."
The following hours were a blurred montage of cases: appendicitis, rapid sutures, debriding burns, and an elderly couple suffering from smoke inhalation. The ER hummed at its usual frenetic pace, oblivious to the storm of secrets raging inside you. You moved on autopilot, your lower back beginning to ache from the dual toll of the hospital tiles and the stage at Dixie’s.
An hour before your shift ended, a Trauma Code was called. A motorcyclist with an open fracture was wheeled in, his screams for the operating room echoing down the hall. As you worked alongside Langdon and Javadi to stabilize the limb, Robby barked the order you had been dreading all morning.
"Jesse, page Orthopedics for an immediate consult."
The senior nurse reached for the red phone while you performed an abdominal ultrasound, desperate to focus on the grainy screen rather than the frantic hammering of your heart. Not ten minutes later, he crossed the threshold. His gait was intimidating, a silent power that made Javadi instinctively step back to clear a path.
He didn't look like the man from the night before. Here, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights, he was "The Shark." He approached the gurney without glancing at you, his focus locked on the patient. As he snapped on his latex gloves, he stood directly beside you with a calmness that was both hypnotic and terrifying.
"What do we have?" he asked, his icy voice cutting through the ambient noise.
You swallowed hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper. "Male, twenty-eight, high-speed motorcycle accident. Grade III open fracture of the tibia and fibula. Hemodynamically stable, FAST exam negative..." Your voice wavered for a mere millisecond at the end.
He leaned in to check the ultrasound, his fingers sliding dangerously close to yours on the control panel. The proximity made you hold your breath. For the first time since he entered the room, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. The chaos of the ER and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors seemed to vanish.
In that silence, your mind betrayed you. You remembered his hungry gaze on your scantily clad body just hours earlier—the way he watched you spin, the sweat glistening under the neon lights, his attention following every curve and descent. It was clear he hadn't been there for the general spectacle; he had dismissed your coworkers with cold disdain when they approached him, unimpressed by the glitter or the private dance offers. But from the moment he realized it was you on that stage, he hadn't blinked. He had devoured you with an intensity that made your skin burn hotter than the stage lights.
"Well, we’re taking him to surgery," he announced, shattering the trance with his signature abruptness. "Robby, I’m borrowing Dr. L/N. It would be beneficial for her to see this reconstruction up close."
Robby nodded, completely unsuspecting. To him, it was just an elite surgeon mentoring a promising resident. "Sure, Park. She’s all yours."
You were forced to follow in Dr. Park’s wake toward the elevator. The silence within the metal walls was so heavy you could almost hear the phantom echo of the club's bass vibrating in your ears. He didn't look at you, but his massive presence seemed to swallow the small space, making you feel exposed—naked—knowing he had already seen every inch of you that mattered.
As the lift began its ascent, he broke the silence in a low, dangerous murmur.
"Doctor L/N... I never imagined you were capable of moving that way," he whispered near your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. A spark of forbidden excitement raced down your spine, making you shudder. "I suppose I finally understand why you always refuse to join your fellow residents for drinks after a hard shift."
You didn't try to deny it. It was useless. "I had no idea Dixie’s was to your taste, Dr. Park," you finally managed to reply as the elevator passed the second floor. "I assumed someone of your... statuses... preferred environments that were more refined."
"It was a colleague’s suggestion," he replied smoothly. "But I’m glad I attended. The headlining act was far more... captivating than I anticipated."
Before you could retort, the doors hissed open. The chilled air of the surgical floor hit your face, but the heat in your cheeks remained. You felt like a seal cornered by a Great White—one that had already decided you were to be his dinner.
You walked beside him toward the scrub room, the weight of his confession settling over you. He hadn't just seen you; he had relished it. Your traitorous imagination flared, picturing him returning home that night, your image etched into his mind as his hand slid down his own body.
Inside the scrub area, the only sound was the hum of the ventilation. You reached for the soap dispenser, but before you could react, he blocked your path with a predatory agility. His body, solid and radiating a heat that defied the hospital’s chill, forced you back until your spine collided with the cold, stainless steel of the sink.
"You know what I liked most about the show, Doll?" he murmured, closing the distance until your breasts nearly brushed his huge chest with every shallow breath you took.
He reached out, trailing the back of his fingers ghost-light against your jawline before reaching for a surgical cap. His blue eyes didn't deviate from yours for a single millimeter; he hardly blinked, watching you like a predator stalking cornered prey. With agonizing slowness, he began to don the cap, his fingers gently tucking your hair away with a practiced familiarity that made your knees falter.
"Despite the lights and the noise, it seemed as though you were dancing only for me. You had that look—" He paused deliberately, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes with a smirk. "The same one you have right now. Like you’re waiting for me to give you an order."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't an invitation; it was an absolute command, as precise and sharp as his scalpel. His thumbs finished adjusting your cap with a possessive firmness that stole your breath for a second longer than you’d ever admit aloud.
"So, now, you are going to finish prepping for surgery. And when we’re done, you’re going to gather your things and wait for me in the parking lot. Do you understand me, Doll?" His voice dropped to a register so low it made you shudder to your core.
He didn't wait for a response. He stepped away with utter indifference, moving with a slow, deliberate grace. He unfastened his Rolex—the same one you’d seen gleaming against the dark, stained wood of the bar at Dixie’s—and set it on the counter. He stepped on the water pedal, letting the jet drench his hands before he began scrubbing with antiseptic soap. You stood there, his command echoing in your mind. The parking lot? This game was only just beginning.
"Dr. L/N," he interrupted your train of thought, never breaking his rhythm. "Stop thinking and start acting. I won’t have you entering in my OR with your mind elsewhere. Wash your hands. Now."
His bark made you jump. You began removing your rings awkwardly, placing them next to his Rolex. The contrast was painful; your cheap jewelry looked pathetic next to a timepiece that screamed wealth. How much did a watch like that cost? Ten thousand? Twenty? It was likely more than you earned in a year of grueling double-shifts.
Park didn't blink at the clatter of your rings, but you noticed his blue eyes drift for a millisecond to your bare hands before returning to the water.
The surgery was a litmus test. For two hours, Dr. Park reconstructed the biker’s leg with a precision that kept you enthralled. Watching him operate was like watching an artist devoted to a masterpiece—a bloody, perfect masterpiece. Every time he requested an instrument in that deep, authoritative voice, you felt an unprofessional jolt of electricity. He tested you constantly, firing off technical questions as he worked: insertion angles, screw types, embolism risks. His eyes remained locked on yours above his mask, assessing not just your knowledge, but your ability to remain unshaken under his scrutiny.
"Suture, Dr. L/N," he ordered suddenly, stepping back to make room. "Let’s see how you handle those stitches."
You took the needle holder, a cocktail of exhaustion and adrenaline surging through your veins. You felt his massive presence right behind you, watching every millimeter of your technique as you closed the incision. The precision he demanded was unparalleled, but you finished with a cleanliness that seemed to surprise even him, judging by the low grunt of approval he gave.
"Passable, Doll," he muttered dangerously close to your ear—a tone meant for you and you alone—before he turned and strode out of the OR.
You stood for a moment, processing his words before following with a lingering clumsiness. When you entered the scrub room, he was already snapping off his gloves. He turned, catching your gaze as the water rushed again.
"Be a good girl. Don't keep me waiting in the car," he whispered, his arm brushing yours as he reached for paper towels. He dried his hands, retrieved his Rolex, and walked past you toward the locker room.
You stood frozen, the skin on your arm bristling. That "good girl" had sounded like a claim. As if he had already decided you were his, whether you consented or not. And truth be told, you wanted it more than anything.
Fifteen minutes later, you stepped out into the cool afternoon air. Dr. Park’s BMW X6 was idling in its reserved spot—one of the many privileges of being a star surgeon. As you approached, the window glided down, and he gave a minimal gesture for you to get in. The interior smelled of expensive leather and that intoxicating sandalwood-and-cedar cologne you’d noticed in the elevator.
You sank into the black leather seat, the central locking system engaging with a heavy thud. He didn't drive away immediately. He sat in silence, his large hands resting on the steering wheel, letting the tension thicken until the air felt scarce. You shuddered, not from the cold, but from sheer excitement. You hated to admit it, but you had been turned on for hours. You didn't know if it was the secret, the nickname, or the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel to restrain himself from touching you.
"You look exhausted, Doll," he blurted out, his voice carrying a sharp, possessive edge. "I imagine dancing in a pole until three, starting a shift at seven, and assisting in a reconstruction at ten isn't the 'healthy lifestyle' they recommend in med school."
He turned slowly toward you, resting a muscular arm on the back of your seat, invading your space once again. His blue eyes swept over the dark circles under your eyes before settling on your lips.
"Tell me something... how much exactly do you have to pay off the student debt that forces you to parade yourself in front of men who don't even know who you are? Because that’s what this is about, isn't it?"
You swallowed hard. Hearing the raw reality of your financial ruin coming from him made it feel even more humiliating. It made you feel... vulnerable.
"You work at that club because you can't survive on an R4's paycheck," he continued, and this time his hand left the wheel to clamp onto your thigh. His grip was firm—the kind of possessive pressure that would surely leave a mark by morning. "And you have no idea how insulting it is to me that one of the best residents at this hospital is wasting her talent in a seedy dive when she should be focused on her residency."
"I don't—" you tried to protest, but one look from him silenced you. His pupils were dilated, darkening that icy blue into something feral.
"$96,000," you confessed, the words feeling like lead. "Happy? I’m drowning. I pay as much as I can, but the interest just keeps climbing."
Feeling his hand squeeze your thigh as you admitted your ruin made you feel small, but his gaze wasn't one of pity. It was one of absolute ownership. You couldn't bear the silence, or the way his mind seemed to be racing a thousand miles an hour, calculating.
Before he could speak another word, you lunged. You had to shut him up. Your hands tangled in the collar of his linen shirt—absurdly expensive—and you pulled him to you with a desperation that shocked you, sealing his lips with a hungry kiss that tasted like hot chocolate, black coffee, and pure, unadulterated danger.
It was like kissing your executioner.
He let out a guttural growl—a primal mix of surprise and triumph. His free hand surged from the steering wheel to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair and pulling back just enough to force your head up. The kiss wasn't tender; it was a collision of wills, a violent meeting between the absolute power he wielded and the desire you’d been suppressing since the moment you saw him at Dixie’s.
He pulled back just a fraction of an inch. With his forehead still pressed against yours, his ragged breathing fanned across your face in the gloom of the BMW.
"That number just disappeared, Doll," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with the promise of consequences. "But from now on, whenever you feel the urge to show off, you’ll do it for me alone. Consider your contract bought... and your exclusivity guaranteed. You’re mine now. I don't share. It's just not in my nature"
He didn't wait for you to process his words. He shifted into gear with a sharp, aggressive motion, and the BMW X6 roared out of the PTMC parking lot, devouring the asphalt as he headed toward his penthouse.
During the journey, the silence was a living thing, broken only by the weight of his hand, which didn't leave your thigh for a second. He squeezed possessively every time traffic forced him to brake, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your center until he felt the damp heat that betrayed your composure.
"You can’t just..." you began, finally realizing he meant to wipe out your six-figure debt in exchange for your total surrender.
He slammed on the brakes in front of the gate of a private underground garage in one of downtown Pittsburgh’s luxury towers, the tires let out a sharp screech. He turned to you, and the mockery was gone, replaced by an icy determination that made the hair on your arms stand up.
"You’re wrong, Doll. The moment you locked eyes with me from that stage while you were undressing, you gave me permission. The moment you let me adjust your surgical cap and shuddered under my touch, you gave me control." His hand rose with predatory slowness, trapping your chin to force your gaze to his. "I’m not buying a fourth-year resident; I’m removing the distractions that keep you from being the doctor I know you can be. If the price of you being mine—and mine alone—is a six-figure check, it’s the easiest one I’ve ever written. Understood? From this moment on, your body belongs to me. If you want to dance, you’ll do it in my living room. If you want someone to look at you, it’s me. If you need money, you come to me—not the owner of Dixie’s. ME."
"Got it, Dr. Park."
"Brendon," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he maneuvered the car into his private stall. "When we’re alone, you call me Brendon, Doll. No 'Dr. Park,' no 'Daddy,' no 'Sir.' Just Brendon. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Brendon. I understand," you gasped. When you had woken up that morning, you had prepared for every disaster—administration finding out, being fired, being shamed—but never this.
"Such a good girl when you listen," Brendon murmured before killing the engine.
The silence that followed wasn't a calm; it was the eye of a storm. He didn't say another word. He simply rounded the car and opened your door, his grip on your hand firm and non-negotiable.
He led you to the private elevator. As the steel doors slid shut, sealing you off from the world, the air seemed to ionize with tension. Brendon cornered you against the mirrored back wall, his blue eyes alight with a triumphant, predatory hunger.
Before you could catch your breath, his hand—massive and skilled—descended with impetuous confidence. You felt the button of your trousers give way under his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand beneath the fabric, seeking out the heat that had betrayed you during the drive.
A muffled groan escaped you as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His large, rough fingers finally found what they were looking for: the soaked silk of your lingerie.
"You're dripping, Doll," he growled, sounding utterly amused. "How long have you been like this? My poor, beautiful little doll..."
Brendon didn't hesitate. He slid two fingers deep inside you, stretching you with a determination that stole the air from your lungs.
"So tight. So fucking perfect. And all mine"
The invasion of his wide, expert fingers drew a sob from your throat, which he immediately stifled by crushing his lips to yours. It wasn't a kiss of comfort; it was a claim. The scent of cedar and sandalwood mingled obscenely with your own musk in the cramped space of the elevator.
"Brendon," you gasped, unable to fight the sensation as he began to fuck you with his fingers right there, in the middle of his building. "Fuck... I..."
"What about you, Doll? Finish the sentence," he demanded, his thrusts gaining a relentless strength that made you dig your nails into his forearms.
You were balanced on a knife's edge; your climax was hanging by a single thread. Your inner walls twitched desperately against him, growing wetter with every motion.
"Cum for me, Doll," he commanded against your ear, his voice a whip-crack as the elevator vibrated against your spine. "I want to feel you come on my fingers. Be a good girl for me."
His hand moved hungrily, claiming every inch of you, as if he were physically erasing the memory of every other gaze that had landed on you at the club. You couldn't take any more. The orgasm hit with a violence that sent your head back against the mirror with a dull thud. A scream died in your throat, muffled by his mouth, as your body buckled and soaked his hand.
Brendon didn't pull away. He held you—one hand firm on your neck, the other still buried deep within you—feeling the tremors of your surrender.
"Brendon..." you sighed as he rewarded you with a sharp, possessive nip to the sensitive skin of your neck—leaving a mark that promised you were his.
"Such a good girl. From now on, no one but me sees this body. Not these tits, not this ass, and especially not this perfect, tight pussy. Right?"
The elevator chimed, finally reaching the penthouse. He withdrew his fingers and, with an insulting slowness, brought them to his mouth to savor the taste of your climax just as the doors slid open.
"God, Doll... you're exactly how I imagined you'd be," he whispered, his voice an animalistic growl.
"How long?" you managed to ask, watching him lick his lips with a leisurely, dark satisfaction. "How long have you been imagining this?"
Brendon didn't deign to answer yet. He rested that heavy hand—the one that had just ruined you—at the small of your back and guided you firmly into the apartment. He engaged the electronic lock, the heavy door sliding shut with a final, metallic click.
He tossed his keys onto a dark wooden console, taking his time to watch you as you shed your jacket and surveyed the luxury of his home.
"You asked me how long?" he said finally, his voice echoing through the foyer as he began unbuttoning his linen cuffs. "Since the first time I walked into the ER for a consult and saw you there, splattered with a patient's blood. Your ponytail was crooked, and you were struggling to hold a lead while the residents sedated a pacer. I remember the patient even scratched you. I've wanted you since that very moment."
You froze, your jacket still clutched in your hands. You remembered that shift perfectly: an aggressive psychiatric patient who had leaped from a third-floor balcony when her caregiver turned away. There had been blood everywhere—on your scrubs, your skin—amidst the frantic, sensory overload of the ER. But you had no memory of him watching you from the doorframe.
"You stood there, your cheek marked by that scratch, and you didn't even blink," he continued. He took a slow, calculated step toward you as he finished rolling up his sleeves, revealing the powerful forearms you’d admired so many times during his consultations. "I watched you wipe the blood from your face with the back of your hand and keep working. It was in that moment I knew you had to be mine. Seeing you last night in that seedy club... it incensed me. You should never have been driven to such extremes over a debt."
He closed the remaining distance in one long stride, his hand snaring your waist. He forced you to drop your jacket; it hit the floor with a metallic clink as the zipper struck the hardwood. With his other hand, he traced the nearly invisible line of the scratch on your cheek with his thumb.
"And I thought Trinity was joking when she said you were softer with me than with the other residents..." you whispered, your voice barely audible in his proximity.
"I wasn't joking, Doll. What Dr Santos didn't know was that every time you stood beside me to get a better look at my work, I was fighting the urge to drag you into my office and lock the door," he confessed, his blue eyes darkened with a lust that seemed to devour you. "I treated you gently because you are the only thing of value I want to keep. But seeing you on that stage last night... undressing for pocket change... it made my blood boil. So, I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to. Starting with this..."
In a reflexive surge of insecurity, you tried to press your legs together, your hands reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself as he knelt before you.
"Oh, I see... No one has ever worshipped you properly, have they, my sweet little doll?"
"I... my ex didn't like it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked away. "He said... he said it took too long, and that his jaw would get tired..."
"It’s a mercy you left him, then, because the man was an imbecile," he murmured with thinly veiled contempt. "I’m certain he had no such complaints when he made you suck his cock until he finished in that pretty mouth of yours, right?"
Your silence was the only confirmation he needed. Brendon let out a low, dangerous growl—a cocktail of fury at your past treatment and possessive satisfaction that he would be the one to right the wrong.
"I am nothing like him. You’re going to spread those gorgeous legs, and you’re going to let me taste you until I decide I’ve had enough. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"
His hands tugged firmly at your trousers and lace; he didn't wait for you to find your pride. He slid them down your thighs, parting you with an authority that made you gasp, before forcing you back until your bare skin met the edge of the wooden console. You were utterly exposed under the foyer lights, pinned by his hungry gaze.
"Look at me, Doll," he commanded. His voice vibrated in the narrow space between your bodies, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. "I want you to see exactly who the man is who is going to spend as long as it takes between your legs until you ache. That idiot didn't know what he had; I do."
Without warning, he buried his face between your thighs. The first contact of his tongue was an electric shock—a long, firm stroke that made you arch your back and cry out. He savored the sound, his lips curling into a smirk against your innermost flesh. It wasn't subtle; it was a claim. His movements were deep and rhythmic, possessing the anatomical precision of a man who knew every nerve ending by heart.
"Was his jaw tired?" he murmured against your wet folds, his hot breath sent a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. "I could stay here until dawn just to hear you beg for more."
You clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt as the world outside the apartment faded into nothingness. The hospital, the rotations, the debt, Dixie’s—none of it mattered. There was only the pressure of his tongue, the firmness of his hands holding you open, and the overwhelming certainty that Brendon wouldn't stop until he had erased the memory of every other man who had ever dared to touch you.
The pace intensified. His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, dragging you toward an abyss you had no desire to escape.
"Let it go for me," he growled against you. "I want you to see me in the ER tomorrow and still feel my tongue taking you to the edge."
"Brendon!" You screamed his name as you came with a violence that stole your breath. He didn't pull away, even as your muscles began to slacken; he remained there, savoring your surrender, ensuring every drop of your pleasure belonged to him alone.
"There it is, Doll. Do you see the difference when someone actually cares for your pleasure?" he muttered against your inner thigh, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.
He rose slowly, his towering figure looming over you as you slumped against the console, your legs trembling. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, catching the trace of your climax with a dark, leisurely satisfaction that made you blush to your roots. There was no fatigue in his expression—only a triumphant, predatory hunger.
"That man was an amateur. A nuisance who didn't deserve a second of your time, let alone your body," he said, taking your chin in his hand to force you to meet his eyes.
He pulled you flush against him, forcing you to feel the rigid length of his arousal through his dress slacks. Even in his state of obvious excitement, he maintained that iron, terrifying control. He held you there for a few seconds, enjoying the post-coital closeness, before delivering a firm, resounding swat to your bare hip. The impact drew a sharp gasp of surprise from you—a final mark of ownership.
"Into the bedroom, Doll," he whispered, lifting you effortlessly. To him, you weighed nothing at all.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hiding your face in his neck as he strode toward the master suite. Every step was a statement of intent. As you crossed the threshold, the scent of sandalwood and clean linens enveloped you. He set you down in the center of the king-sized bed with a delicacy that stood in stark contrast to the storm in his blue eyes. You felt small against the expensive Egyptian cotton, pinned by his gaze as he stepped back to undress.
Each garment he discarded—an uncharacteristic mess for a man so meticulous—revealed a new expanse of taut, powerful muscle. When he finally stepped out of his underwear, the sheer magnitude of him claimed your full attention. He was imposing, thick, and intimidating; compared to the power of his anatomy, your previous experiences seemed like a distant, fragile memory. Your ex certainly would have had much to envy in Brendon Park.
He stood proud, his skin taut, a single bead of moisture glistening at the tip in the dim light. The sight made you swallow hard, acutely aware that this man was a force of nature about to claim every inch of you.
"Take off your shirt and bra, Doll."
Your hands shook, but you obeyed. You felt the weight of his darkened eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin. When the clothes fell away, you were left vulnerable on his sheets—your chest rising and falling with your frantic breathing.
Brendon didn't move immediately. He stood at the edge of the bed, savoring the sight of you offered up to him while he slowly stroked himself.
"Perfect. Even better than you were on that stage," he whispered, the possessiveness in his tone shaking you more than a shout ever could. "I’ve spent so long imagining you like this. I wondered if you’d be as soft as you looked in those black scrubs."
He climbed onto the bed, crawling over you until you were trapped in his shadow. The heat radiating from him was visceral—a scorching promise of what was to come. His hands—the hands of a surgeon, capable of both breaking and mending—snared your wrists and pinned them above your head, forcing your chest to arch toward him in a silent, desperate offering.
"Brendon, please..." you whimpered, unable to contain the longing a moment longer.
His lips caught yours in an overwhelming kiss, a seal that told you from this moment on, you were his. His tongue claimed your mouth with the same dark authority with which he had claimed you in the hallway. His body, heavy and burning, pressed into yours, forcing you to feel every inch of his impressive anatomy against your own fragile frame.
"Now you're going to learn the difference between a boy who gets tired and a man who knows exactly what to do with every inch of the jewel he’s acquired," he growled. He brushed the tip of his erection against your slick folds, where the moisture he had coaxed out first with his fingers and then his tongue now overflowed. "And I promise you, Doll, by the time I'm done with you, you won't even be able to stand for the shift change tomorrow morning."
He lowered his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips, sucking with a force that drew a hoarse gasp from your throat. Simultaneously, he began to drive inside you, his weight pressing your pelvis deep into the mattress, reminding you that in this territory, he was the only rightful owner.
"You're so perfect... so tight," he muttered against your skin, his voice vibrating through your chest. "And best of all, you're entirely mine. My perfect little doll. Right, Doll?"
"Yes..." you managed to gasp, your voice breaking into a high-pitched whisper as you arched your back, instinctively seeking more contact as he began to thrust with a relentless, forceful rhythm. "Yours, Bren. I'm yours. Please... don't stop."
Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, tracing the tense muscles you'd so often imagined beneath his surgical scrubs. The contrast of his brute strength against your vulnerability created an electric surrender unlike anything you had ever experienced.
"I wouldn't dream of stopping," Brendon growled, his voice a low vibration between your lips. His hips struck yours with a merciless cadence, increasing in speed as he searched for the exact depth that made you shudder. "This is what you missed while you were with a child seeking his own pleasure. You needed a real man. And this is what it feels like when that man has been lusting after you for months and finally claims what is his."
"I... fuck... I'm going to..." You gasped, hiding your face in his bicep as you felt the orgasm surging. You sunk your nails into his shoulder blades even harder, leaving frantic scratch marks in his skin.
"Good girl, Doll. Leave your mark on me, so tomorrow I can feel exactly where you touched me every time I move in my uniform."
The pace became frenetic. Brendon gripped your thighs with a force that would surely leave prints, lifting you so he could drive deeper, colonizing every bit of you. The pleasure was so acute, so wild, that your eyes rolled back in your head.
"Bren!" You shouted his name, your body tensing like a violin string pulled to the snapping point. Your legs trembled in his grip, your toes curling at the overwhelming sensation.
The first wave of your orgasm hit—one violent contraction after another that squeezed him with desperate force. He didn't stop; instead, he accelerated, using every spasm inside you to propel you further across the abyss.
"That's it, good girl! Come for me! Come all over my cock!" he roared, his own control shattering as he reached his breaking point.
He sank into you one last time with a power that drew a sob of pure pleasure from your lips. He stayed there, buried at your absolute limit, as he finished heavily, filling you completely. His body, sweat-slicked and heavy, collapsed on top of yours, pinning you to the mattress as you both fought to find the breath that had seemingly vanished from the room.
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by your synchronized, ragged breathing. Brendon buried his face between your breasts, inhaling your scent mixed with the trail of your combined heat and his cedarwood cologne. Before pulling away, he pressed a lingering, possessive kiss right over your heart—claiming that heartbeat, and every one that would follow, as his own.
"You're mine now," he whispered, his voice regaining that cold, authoritarian edge that usually intimidated you in the ER. "I will settle your debts. You are never stepping foot in that club again. There's only you, me, and the fact that I have a hip replacement scheduled for eight o'clock tomorrow..."
"You're an idiot, Brendon Park," you murmured, a soft smile touching your lips as you gently stroked his natural curly hair, amused by his clinical way of breaking the post-coital quiet.
"What a shame for you, Doll. You’ll have to put up with this idiot for the rest of your life," he replied, settling his weight comfortably over you. He made no move to withdraw or lift his head from your chest. "Because now that you're mine"
"I’m never letting you go. Doll"
HIIII! Luna here! hofully you arrived at the end and you liked this post since it was really hard to translate and edit so everyone liked the story (it was even harder for me since it was really hot in here while edditing)
Give a thumbs up and comment this post if you want more of the daddy sharky
About: After his divorce and getting clean, Frank finds himself incredibly horny all of the time. You, being the amazing roommate you are, offer to help your friend out on his problems.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, roommates, best friend reader, free use kink, mutually beneficial agreements, oral (f), fingering (f), horny!frank langdon, etc. any other tags will be in other parts!
Word Count: 3.9k
Read On AO3
Notes: i hope you guys enjoyed the first part of four of this lil series!! requests are open but i’m currently very slow at getting to them simply because the end of the semester is nearing and im three weeks away from getting my bachelors lol. but please spam my inbox!! don’t forget to like, reblog, and comment!
gif credit | part two | part three | part four
When Frank had first gotten divorced, he knew it was for good reason. He hadn't been a good husband to Abby, having always been away from home, prioritizing work over being with his wife, and the addiction was just the nail in the coffin. The two had constantly fought, arguing about menial things like what to have for dinner or what show to watch on the television. Abby would buy Frank some gift he never used for anniversaries and he'd do nothing more than buy flowers and maybe a nice dinner. Their sex life had gotten to be nonexistent in the last year they had been married, with Frank taking benzos and Abby running off to do god knows what.
And when Frank was suffering in rehab, the only person who had put in the effort to visit him and be there for him was you. You were always kind and understanding. While his thirty day inpatient program turned into sixty days which in turn became ninety, you had been there to support him like any best friend would. And when he got out, you had welcomed him with open arms and an offer to stay in your apartment for as long as he needs to until he got back on his feet. It were as though you were an angel sent from the Heavens to shine light back into his dark and dull life.
They always say no major changes in the first year of sobriety but in all honesty, it was a good thing that Frank and Abby had gotten divorced a few months after he got out of rehab. A fresh start, that is what he needed. Something where he could take full control back on his life.
Living with you had been a breath of fresh air. Not only was your apartment nice and spacious but you were always kind and supportive. With Frank no longer working, focusing primarily on healing himself, you never made him feel judged for being unable to pay rent or not doing much during his days. With you still working in the ER, Frank got to live vicariously through your stories, smiling when you would tell a joke that Perlah had said to you or holding you after you had lost a patient.
During his time in your apartment, Frank made himself useful by cooking, cleaning, packing your lunches, and simply being there for you too. There was a domesticity to it that Frank hadn't ever felt in any of his years of living.
By the time Frank had gone back to work, after a long ten months of not doing much, he had felt alive again. Morning trips to Dunkin, carpooling with you, the busy rush of the ER, his brain clear and ready to tackle on cases, therapy every week, and NA meetings two times a week, he no longer felt weighed down by his addiction. The fog he used to get, the high, was something he no longer wanted. Of course, there were cravings, those never go away.
There was only one true issue Frank had been having the last few months that he just couldn't fully comprehend as to why he was having this issue. He was constantly horny at any and all times. Frank had never had the most extensive sex life. His main priorities had always been getting through undergrad, then med school, and then focusing on his residency. But now things were going good for him and his libido was on overdrive.
"I just don't understand why I'm so horny all of the time," He sighed as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. The two of you finally had a day off after working six twelve hour shifts in a row. The both of you were still in your pajamas, having just woken up a little while ago.
"Are you like constantly jerking your shit?" You asked with a barely suppressed laugh as you placed the coffee pot back on the counter.
Frank pressed his lips together and glared at you. "I'm being serious," He said.
You finished making your coffee and looked at Frank. "And I think it's a valid question," You shrugged your shoulders before taking a sip from the mug.
"What I do with my free time and my right hand is none of your business," Frank replied. It was rare to have a friendship where he could simply open up about such intimate details. But you had seen Frank at his worst and he had seen you at yours. And there comes a time when you're living with someone when you get comfortable with them. You were his best friend just as he was yours.
Not to mention the fact that just the other week, you had come home from a date to tell Frank all the ways the guy had failed to get you off.
So really it wasn't too big of a deal to talk about these things. There's no shame in being open about your sexuality.
"Have you thought about hooking up with someone to maybe just get the urge out of you?" You asked with a smirk of amusement on your face.
Frank took a deep breath and sighed. "Of course I have," He replied. "I even thought about downloading Tinder to do so. But my fear of STDs and STIs outweighs my need for sex."
You hummed in understanding. "The amount of patients we get who need emergency STD treatment is quite a lot," You nodded your head, placing your mug on the counter.
"It's just like every since I got clean, all I want to do is get off," Frank groaned. "I don't know how to combat it."
You pursed your lips, a silence overcoming you as you thought carefully about a solution for Frank. You straightened your back and cleared your throat. "I mean," You began. "You could always use me," You offered, trying to sound nonchalant. "To get off, I mean."
Frank choked on his coffee, placing his mug down on the counter. He put a hand to his mouth as he coughed, recovering from the liquid going down the wrong pipe. "God," he rasped out, recovering from his coughing fit.
"Sorry," You apologized with an apologetic expression.
"It's fine," He cleared his throat and took another sip from his mug before continuing. "You just-" He paused. "Don't say things you don't mean or you're going to give a guy a heart attack."
Frank's heart raced in his chest as he came down from the adrenaline of the coughing fit. Many images had appeared in his mind from your simple offer, ones that he tried to repress but always failed to do so. It wasn't as though he wasn't attracted to you. He'd be blind if he wasn't. But you had been his person, his only support system during his time in rehab and after, that it never quite crossed his mind to do anything with you other than remain platonic. He didn't want anything to jeopardize your friendship because losing you would mean losing the only person he truly cared about.
"But I do mean it," You said replied, furrowing your eyebrows. "You have a problem, I have a solution," You shrugged your shoulders.
Frank remained quiet as he processed what you were saying. He really shouldn't agree to it. He should be rational. He should laugh it off and pretend as though this hasn't happened. A "haha that's so funny" before he would move to go on with his day. But instead, the words that left his mouth were not what he should've done because at the end of the day, Frank Langdon was a selfish man and extremely fucking horny.
"What-" Frank cleared his throat once again. "What would that entail?" He asked, averting his gaze from yours, distracting himself by looking at the marble counter top.
You let out a small huff, almost a laugh, as the tension between the two of you grew. It was soft, tender, but also with the underlying anxiety of the situation. Frank wanted you, he knew he did, just as you wanted him. "Whatever you'd like it to," You said softly. "We can discuss parameters, kinks, consent. And I would like to preface this by saying that our friendship comes before anything." You took a deep breath before continuing. "If we need to communicate about an issue or feel overwhelmed by it, we can talk about it in a healthy manner."
Frank forced himself to look at you once again. His eyes softened at your last statement. "I-I should admit that if we do any of this that I'd be scared," He said softly. "You're my best friend and the person who's anchored me through everything. I don't ever want to lose you over something as stupid as getting my dick wet."
You scoffed at Frank's crudeness, rolling your eyes as you did so. You reached for one of Frank's hands, intertwining your fingers with his. "We've seen one another at our worst," You gave him a small smile. "I don't think something like having sex could ruin our friendship. But if we begin to feel like it's ruining anything, we'll talk about it like the adults we are."
Frank let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Okay," He whispered. "Then what else should we discuss?"
And so, a good portion of the day had been spent in the living room, sitting on the couch, and discussing the parameters of your situation. Whenever Frank felt the urge to have sex, he could always come and find you. But he ensured that it wouldn't just be about his pleasure, how he loved going down on a woman and making them cum in a multitude of ways. It was a perfect arrangement, really. Frank got to have sex and you'd finally be able to have someone make you orgasm whenever you wanted.
Later that night, when dinner rolled around, Frank had ordered take out for the both of you. He wanted to make sure you were fed, happy, and comfortable before engaging in anything remotely sexual. Dinner had been a normal accordance. The two of you ate on the couch in the living room. But rather than watching a show, as per usual, you guys spoke to each other.
And by the end of the night, once you had finished eating, you and Frank were sat side by side, his thighs brushing against yours as he had an arm laid across the back of the couch behind you.
"Sometimes I randomly remember the furry we had to treat all those months ago in July, on the day you came back," You spoke, sharing your thoughts with Frank as the two of you usually did. "Like good for them for having fun but I could never dress in a fur-"
"I'm going to kiss you," Frank interrupted, placing his fingers underneath your chin and guiding you to look at him.
Right, the agreement, the discussion that had only concluded a little while ago. The one in which you both agreed to simply be friends with benefits who use one another for pleasure. Kissing, sex, oral, almost anything was on the table. And anytime either of you needed it, the other would put out, with consent of course. "An orgasm for an orgasm" was how Frank had put it earlier and you had laughed.
"Okay," You replied softly, suddenly unable to remember the train of thought you had before as you looked into Frank's eyes. He was handsome, unbelievably so. In the privacy of your thoughts, late at night in your bedroom, you would think of Frank as you got yourself off. And in the morning, you'd pretend nothing happened, going on with your day and simply forgetting about it. But now, you didn't need to.
Frank leaned in and gently placed his lips on top of yours. The kiss was soft and tentative, as though fearful that you'd realize this wasn't something you truly wanted and pull away and act as though nothing happened. But instead, you had kissed him back, deepening the kiss just enough for the both of you to get used to kissing one another.
You weren't sure exactly how long the two of you had been kissing but by the time Frank had pulled away, he dipped his head, pressing kisses along your jaw before kissing your neck. "Thank you," He murmured against your skin. He nipped at your pulse, causing you to gasp.
"You don't need to thank me," You whispered, tilting your head to the side to give Frank better access.
"Yes, I do," He whispered, his breath fanning your skin. He sucked the skin on your pulse point, eliciting a small whine from your lips as you brought a hand to Frank's hair, entangling your fingers in the strands. Frank groaned against your skin as you tugged on his hair, pressing himself against you.
"Thank you," He murmured against your skin once again, his fingers moving to the hem of your shirt. The coolness from his fingers were a stark contrast from the warmth of your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "Can I take this off of you?" Frank asked.
"Yes, please," You replied in a murmur, not trusting of your voice in that moment.
It was foreign to be so turned on by something so simple. You've been turned on before, of course you had, and you've had sex with a few people. But you had never done it with someone you were close to.
Frank pulled off your shirt, throwing the material somewhere in the living room. As it had been both of your guys' day off, neither of you bothered to get dressed into anything fancy. You had been in sweatpants and a t-shirt all day, no bra underneath, while Frank was dressed similarly.
Frank whispered a "Fuck," before pressing kisses all along your collarbone. "Thank you," He breathed against you once again. at your chest. "Noticed you weren't wearing a bra all day," His voice was rough and raspy, as though he were holding back just how truly turned on he was. "Had to stop myself from jerking off in the shower earlier just thinking about you."
The featherlight kisses produced goosebumps along your arms, tickling your skin in just the right way. You allowed yourself to simply just feel, to simply relish in Frank's touch. Your previous sexual endeavors hadn't ever been this gentle or soft with you. They had always prioritized themselves, uncaring on whether it was really good for you or not. But in this moment, this change in dynamic with Frank, it were as though he was worshiping you. And you adored that feeling. His words sent a pulse to your core. You sighed at the image in your head. The idea of Frank standing in the shower, water cascading down his body, while he had a hand wrapped around his cock, was enticing. You wanted nothing more than to have seen it, to have walked in on him touching himself. Maybe at some point, with this agreement the two of you now had, you'd be able to.
Frank took his time kissing you all over, slowly sliding off of the couch until he was kneeling in front of you. With each brush of his lips, a small "thank you" came with it, thanking you for the opportunity to let out his sexual desires on you.
It hadn't taken long before you were completely naked, Frank having lost his shirt. He kneeled in front of your legs, looking up at you with dilated pupils. "I thought this agreement was about your need to get your dick wet," You breathed out, looking down at Frank.
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Perhaps," He said before licking his lips.
"So you don't need to go down on me if you don't want to," You replied, a bit shy due to the position the both of you were in.
Frank only hummed in response before placing a kiss on each knee. "And if I selfishly admit that I get off on going down on a woman?" He asked, resting his chin your knees, his eyebrows raised while he had a small smirk on his face.
You couldn't help the heat you felt pooling between your thighs. You bit your bottom lip, thinking about what he had just said. You've never slept with a guy who got off on eating pussy. It was a rarity, in your opinion, as most guys only do it for a few minutes and then focus more on their own pleasure. But Frank seemed so earnest in how he expressed himself. And really, who are you to deny him of a pleasure when he's the one that's been so sexually frustrated? The agreement was mutual pleasure, after all.
"Then I shouldn't deny you of your pleasures," You replied smoothly. parted them slightly. Frank lifted his head from your lap and placed his hands on your knees.
Your lips parted at the praise, eyes widening just a fraction.
"Good girl," He murmured and winked, trying to lighten the tension a bit but instead, your breath hitched in response. Frank quirked an eyebrow and smirked. "You like that, don't you?"
You licked your lips and nodded your head.
He hummed in response, as though locking that piece of information away. Frank began kissing up your leg, slow and sensually. His eyes closed as he pressed his lips against your skin, gently pulling your legs apart to expose your glistening cunt. As his lips reached your inner thigh, he stopped to look at your exposed core.
"God, you're so fucking wet," Frank lowly groaned, his eyes fixated on your cunt. He licked his lips almost unconsciously, like he was transfixed with the idea of tasting you.
Maybe he wasn't wrong about getting off on the idea of going down on you.
And without any warning, Frank inched closer before diving right into it. You gasped and let out a high pitched noise as Frank's tongue began lapping all around your pussy. You heard a deep inhale from his nose as he breathed you in, taking in your scent.
You whined loudly as your fingers grasped Frank's hair and tugged on the strands. Frank whined against your cunt, his eyes opening to look at you, the blue orbs were glossy and dilated. It was quite obvious to tell that Frank was turned on, especially with the way he was bucking his hips into nothing. The sight before you was extremely attractive.
"Oh my god," You threw your head back in pleasure as Frank began to suck on your clit, grazing the nub ever-so-slightly with his teeth. Frank looped one of his arms under your thigh, bringing your leg to rest over his shoulder.
You hadn't ever had anyone focus primarily on your pleasure before. And the fact that Frank was prioritizing yours, despite this whole endeavor being about his, was more than enough to get that fire igniting deep inside of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each suck of your clit.
You felt Frank's finger prodding your entrance. You let out a shaky breath and as he slowly inserted the digit, you bucked your hips in pleasure. His finger moved in and out of you slowly, getting you used to the feeling as he licked and sucked on your clit. "Frank," You whimpered out, his name falling from your lips like you were made to moan his name in such a way.
Frank groaned against your cunt as he added another digit, curling his fingers to hit your g-spot. You gasped loudly before letting out a choked moan. His fingers moved in and out of you at a quick pace, matching with each suck and flick of Frank's tongue. You felt yourself growing closer with each movement.
"I-I'm so close," You whined, uncaring of how hard you were tugging on Frank's hair. You were far too gone to care about potentially hurting him. Even so, with the way he was groaning and moaning against you, it likely wasn't hurting him at all. Or if it was, it was in a pleasurable way. Regardless, it didn't matter when you felt as though you were entering cloud nine.
Being pleasured by Frank felt almost euphoric, as if he were a drug far too good to resist. It was unlike any other sexual encounter you have had in the past and the moment you began cumming was when you realized this agreement was exactly what both of you needed.
"Oh my go-Frank!" You moaned out, your thighs trying to clamp shut as your orgasm overcame you. It was such an intense orgasm with your body tensing and quivering as you gasped for a breath, moaning Frank's name in a mantra.
When you finally came down from your high, you relaxed against the couch. Frank pulled away from your cunt, his cheeks red, his eyes glossy, and his face glistening with your juices. He looked at blissed out as you felt. Heavy breathing filled the living room as the two of you took a moment to simply look at one another. After a few moments, you licked your lips before speaking. "Let me take care of you," You breathed out, your voice slightly rough.
Frank let out a shaky chuckle as he rested his cheek on your right thigh. "I-uh-" He cleared his throat. "I feel like a teenager with how I came in my pants simply from eating you out.”
Your eyes widened and before you could help yourself, you chuckled. "Oh," You replied. "So you weren't lying when you said you get off on pleasuring a woman," You said with a teasing smile.
Frank looked at you and rolled his eyes. He moved to stand up, placing his hands on your thighs and groaning as he stood up. You couldn't help but look at the wet splotch in his grey sweatpants, evidence that he had truly came in his pants. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, moving your gaze back to Frank's face. He smirked at you and leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. "Thank you," He murmured once more. "I'm going to go change my pants. Do you want to watch a movie after you get changed?"
"You don't want to have sex?" You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.
Frank smiled at you and shook his head. "I'm satiated right now," He murmured. "And perhaps I'd like to ease into it with you. Is that alright?"
You smiled and nodded your head. "Yes," You replied.
"See you in a few minutes," He said before walking away towards his bedroom.
As he walked away, you sat there for just a moment, naked and exposed, as you gathered your thoughts. You ignored the fluttering in your chest as you took a deep breath before standing up. You gathered your clothes from around the living room and went to your room to change.
Once the both of you were ready, you had spent the rest of the night as you usually did. Sat on the couch, the both of you on your own spots, watching some movie that you had chosen, as if nothing had happened on that very couch. And after the movie had finished, the both of you moved as if you were about to go to bed. That was until Frank grabbed your hand and gently guided you to his bedroom and he spent the night fucking you softly, thanking you for the opportunity to have you in such a way.
And once again, you ignored that persistent fluttering in your chest.
Surprisingly, one of Jack's favorite moments while you ride him is when you get tired, and he can hear your sleepy squeaks under the smacking of your wet, gripping cunt that sounds out with every bounce.
Well, the noises differ. It's less smacking and more squelching when you decide to roll your hips instead.
Sleepy always keeps him on his toes.
"Getting tired, kid. Want Daddy to take over?"
"No."
He almost laughs. You're devoted. He'll give you that.
"Okay, well—just don't knock yourself out before you cum."
If he's truly concerned for you and your fatigue, Jack won't give you the choice. He’ll pull you off his cock as you whine despite your low-lidded eyes and limply limbs. But if he’s curious, he’ll see how you can last.
That is if you don’t milk the shit out of him before you give out.
“You…you look so beautiful from up here, Jackie.”
…Yeah, kiddo’s dog-tired.
Being under your writhing, rhythmic body, he can’t be fucked under a flattering angle, especially with all the grunt and bucking up, and the sweat beads on his face that drip as much as your walls probably don’t help.
Jack smiles.
“Here comes Daddy’s favorite part.”
“What…”
You huff, slowing down in your already uneven bounces before coming to a complete stop. Not having the fat of your ass come down on him as he gropes and grips is some sort of sorrow, but what you do next in your fatigue is makes up for you.
“I got you.”
You collapse right into him, your tits smashing his chest, and he swallows a grown when your nipple brushes his as they do.
You manage to keep his cock inside your pulsing, needy walls as you try to snake his legs under his. Just to lock yourself in place.
Your cheek and mouth rubs, rubs, rubs along his face and jaw.
“Jackie…”
He pulls in you tight, arms wrapping your back and hands finding your neck. A loving suffocation that he would’ve hated himself for a long time ago.
“There you go, Sleepy.”
Yeah. There’s a reason why Jack tries to end up having you ride him after a long ass shift. A mess like this is bound to happen, and God, does he love cleaning it up.
Because Jack's so insistent that you spend his money, you decide to buy yourself bundles of lingerie with his card.
“Spend it. Stop pretending you don’t want nice things.”
To show your gratitude, you try on everything for him in front of him.
“The material is French lace. It’s surprisingly supportive. But the cut…it leaves pretty much everything visible. Do you like it?”
"I like the...suggestion of it." His eyes don't leave your crotch, which is, yeah. It's pretty much visible. "It's...it's elegant."
It's gonna make Daddy's cock fall off, Sleepy.
“Good. Because there’s more.”
"Fuck."
Somehow, this ends with you jerking Jack off while his favorite piece of lingerie you modeled is tied around his balls. The only reason you're not wearing it is that it always comes off at some point, and you're too damn cheeky in coming up with new ways to torture him into an orgasm.
It's white and lace, adding a perfect, tightening pressure to the way your tongue circles the cum-painted tip of his cock. He loves you in white. And purple. Purple's cute. It's hard to stay focused and keep his cock where it is when you wear lavender-shaded scrubs for Free Scrub Friday.
“I think the beads hanging around my thighs with the last gown really make the fit.”
Your eyes lock with his as you pump away. Your hands can barely wrap around him.
“Don’t you, Daddy?”
Jack groans, and when he presses his thumb to your lips, you know it's an order to open and let him gag you. You open. You suck.
"You could wear a fucking potato sack, and I'd think I was the luckiest man on earth. That's all I know. Don't ask Daddy for a more fashionable opinion."
If that's what he has to complain about, though, trying not to get an erection during shift because kiddo's just so pretty in purple? Feeling bad that he can't care about each people of lingerie besides the fact all of them are pretty on kiddo but white's the best?
The terrible edging of your seethrough nightgown choking his sack the way he chokes your throat?
summary: jack abbot has made it his life's mission to take care of you, so obviously he doesn't take it very well when he finds out you've been living on the abandoned floor of the ptmc. (3k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, roommate whitsantos crumbs
contents: sugar daddy jack abbot universe, established relationship, protective!jack, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of harassment and allusion to smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
There is nothing about you that Jack Abbot wouldn’t immediately notice.
He nurses a sweaty can of beer in his right fist from where he sits on the opposite side of the park bench, keeping several agonizing inches of space between you in front of the rest of your coworkers. It leaves a wet ring on the thigh of his camo fatigues when he forgets to drink it, far too busy looking at you looking at Whitaker, who rants about a hefty surcharge on his Lyft account across the way.
“I thought she was a nice old lady! How was I supposed to know she was racist?”
“Well, you know what they say,” Santos croons from beside him, cheers-ing with her near-empty can. “No good deed, St. Fuckleberry…”
Jack knows you’re about to laugh before you’ve even done it. He’s got it down to a science, almost. He knows the signs too well: the way your eyes crinkle at the edges first, and the way your nose bridge scrunches slightly second. A laugh sputters from your mouth a second later, coated in sunshine and painting the starry night a vivid shade of flaxen gold.
The rays hit him square in the chest.
He can almost time when you’re about to take a drink, too — the way your fingers fidget around the chilled aluminum, right before your tongue darts out to wet your mouth. You tip your head back with the can to take a quick sip, then lick your lips again when you bring the beer to your lap again.
It’s subtle and mostly unconscious, but Jack can’t help but notice all of it.
The same way he can’t help but notice how flustered you get when he asks, “Did you get that dress I bought you?”
Your head snaps in his direction. Your eyes widen with a set of owlish blinks. The smile you had before softens slightly as your shoulders tuck in, going painfully shy in a flicker.
It’s not so much the reminder that Jack scoured the internet for the butter-yellow dress Kate Hudson wore in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — after a passing comment you made about it during movie night some weeks back. It’s more so the reminder that you didn’t get it because you no longer had a real address to receive it at.
Because you’d rather die than tell him you’ve been sleeping in the PTMC for the past week.
“Uh… No. I-I don’t think so,” you stammer.
Jack’s brows lower. “Really? The e-mail said it was delivered yesterday.”
You glance away again — fingers fidgeting, tongue darting. “Maybe it went to the wrong place?” you shrug and bring the can up to your mouth again.
Jack notices how you shift awkwardly on the bench beside him; how you struggle suddenly to meet his gaze, and how you try and fail to tune back into Whitaker’s rambling. There’s something more going on inside your head, something more you’re not telling him, but he figures prying after a twelve-hour shift probably isn’t the best idea.
“Yeah…” he says slowly. “Maybe…”
There’s a long beat of silence between you thereafter, filled by members of the dayshift exchanging staggered goodbyes. Jack takes a quick sip of his beer. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and turns to you with the sheen of alcohol coating his lips.
“I should probably start heading out to,” he clears his throat. “Want me to walk you home?”
You fake a shy smile, instead of telling him that you have no real home to go to.
“I’m a big girl, Abbot. I think I can get there on my own,” you lilt drily. Jack’s stare hardens into an unwavering deadpan; not mean, just firm. You cave with a roll of your eyes. “You go ahead. I’ll walk with Trinity and Whitaker— They live closer to me, anyway.”
Jack hesitates for a lingering beat.
He wants to tell you that it makes him feel better when he walks with you, that sometimes he thinks he lives and breathes only to protect you, but he’s self-aware enough to know how insane that sounds. So he just nods with a slow exhale.
“Okay… Just— Call me when you get home?”
You give him a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Of course.”
Jack takes the long way out to give you enough time to pack up your things and head out in the opposite direction with Santos and Whitaker.
He cuts around the block instead of heading straight out, positioning himself just far enough away from the entrance that he can still see it. When he turns the corner, he spots you brushing shoulders with Trinity and tipping your head back to laugh at something he can’t hear from here.
The sound of your giggling is carried on the summer’s evening breeze, along with your words as you veer suddenly towards the side of the hospital again. “Shit— I left my keys in my locker. You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”
You slip inside through the automatic doors.
Jack straightens his back and tightens his hold on the strap of the camo bag slung over his shoulder. He gets a strange feeling in his chest that he just can’t shake and decides to follow you back inside the PTMC. He figures it’s better to be safe than sorry — better to seem insane by following you like a creep instead of risking something bad happening to you, anyway.
He weaves through the noisy emergency department with strong shoulders and a sharp gaze. He checks for you in the locker room first, then the break room second, then doubles back for Shen at the workstation.
“Said she left something up in ortho,” the attending shrugs through a short sip of his iced coffee. Then he jokes,“What do you wanna bet she’s screwing around with Park the Shark?”
Jack's chest flares, but he tries not to let it faze him as he makes a beeline for the elevators.
He knows you’re lying — you wouldn’t have said something different to Trinity otherwise — not unless you really were sneaking around with Dr. Park, that is. Jack has to shake the thought physically from his head, which Shen had unknowingly planted there, the entire ride up to the eighth floor.
No one goes up there anymore — no one other than you and Jack — and it’s the only other place he hasn’t yet looked to find you. The west wing of the upper floor has been nothing short of abandoned, and is eerily quiet compared to the E.D. below, save for the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights that are bound to die out any day now.
As he passes the old rooms, left clean and untouched, he hears a faint song playing from behind a shut door. One of those old 2000s pop songs you always play in the car when you’re together. He knocks first and, when he receives no answer, pushes it slowly open with a call of your name.
This room, unlike the others, is not abandoned. Not exactly. There are blankets folded neatly on the edge of the bed; a duffel bag tucked in the corner by the nightstand; and a pile of books stacked on the windowsill. A laptop sits open on the pillows, where music spills from its speakers.
“‘Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling; and every time we kiss, I swear I could fly—!”
It’s all so organized, so lived in. Jack feels his chest tighten accordingly. He wonders how long you’ve been staying here, how long you’ve been lying to him.
The drumming water faucet shuts off from behind the closed bathroom door. He hears your voice behind it, singing softly to the music, and freezes when the door clicks open a few moments later.
“Can’t you hear my heart beat so, I can’t let you go! Want you in my—” You cut yourself off with a scream when you find a figure standing in front of your bed.
Your hand rises instinctively to your mouth to muffle the sound. Your chest deflates with a breath of relief when you realize it’s Jack, then tightens again when you realize that it’s Jack.
“Fuck…” you huff. “You scared me…”
Your free hand readjusts the fluffy white towel wrapped around your body, still warm from the shower and glistening with droplets of water. As the steam rolls out from behind you, he gets a whiff of your sweet body wash — and, as you shift awkwardly on your feet, he notices that you’re wearing a fluffy pair of house slippers. All of which tells him you’ve been staying here for way, way longer than he initially thought.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack squints, a little harsher than he means to be.
“What are you doing here?” you retort. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I was worried about you,” the man shoots back, firm hands propped on his hips as he sways slightly on his aching prosthetic. “And obviously for good reason— What is this? Are you living here?”
Your mouth opens to argue, but you hesitate with a wavering breath in. You adjust the towel on your naked form and fight back a shiver as the humming AC cools the water on your skin.
“I’m… I’m just… I’m in between places right now. That’s all.”
Jack lets a short, disbelieving chuckle. His stern stare never wavers as you duck past him for the desk across the room, where your pajamas sit on the back of the chair.
“In between places?” he echoes. “What does the even mean?”
You sigh, gaze averted, and try to get dressed without dropping your towel.
“You remember when I told you about my creepy landlord? You know, the one who won’t stop calling me?” you ramble, sliding on a pair of underwear before reaching for your sweatpants. “Well, I was going to move to a new place, and I had already started the process of moving out, but I didn’t get approved for the apartment I wanted—”
The canvas of your bare back is revealed to him when you throw the towel to the side and reach for the sweatshirt laid out before you. Your voice goes slightly muffled as you shove it over your head.
“—And I can’t go back to my old place, obviously, so I just… Moved in here. You know. For the time being.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack presses. “I would’ve helped you.”
“I know,” you roll your eyes. “Because you’re always helping me. Because I can’t do anything for myself—”
“That’s not what I said—”
“You don’t have to say it,” you snap, flashing him a wide-eyed glare. “That’s just what it is. And I can’t keep going to you every single time I have a problem that needs fixing.”
Jack shrugs, oblivious. “Why not?”
Your face twists at his confusion.
“Because I can’t just rely on you for the rest of my life, Jack! That’s not— sustainable,” you rant, gesturing wildly with your hands. “I mean, what if you get bored of me? What if this stops— being fun for you, and I become a burden? Then where does that leave me?”
The words hang in the quiet, still, sweet-smelling air between you for several long moments.
Jack’s stern expression melts into something softer as a white-hot feeling sears his chest from the inside out.
“You aren’t a burden to me, honey— You’ve never been a burden to me,” he tells you, closing the distance between you in a few short strides.
You peek through your lashes to meet his gaze when he towers over you. The corner of his mouth flickers into a smile as he huffs a breathless laugh.
“I mean, not to sound like a selfish asshole here, kid, but this is more for me than it is for you… I don’t buy you stuff just because you want me to; I do it because it makes me happy. I take care of you because it makes me feel good…” Jack trails off, going foreignly sheepish as he crosses his arms and bounces his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Us being in love with each other is just a… super cool bonus.”
You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “And you know what would make me feel really good?”
You hesitate for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “…What?”
“If you stopped squatting in an abandoned hospital room, and come stay with me at my place,” Jack says. “And if not with me, then at least in my guest room. That way, I know you’re sleeping in an actual bed. And have access to a real kitchen— What have you been eating, anyway?”
You cower under his squinted stare.
“I don’t know... Uber Eats on a good day. And whatever’s in the vending machine on a bad day…” you answer shyly. “And cafeteria food on a really bad day…”
Jack nods slowly, smacking his lips against his teeth.
“Yep,” he deadpans. “You’re coming home with me.”
Home, as it turns out, wasn’t so bad.
You had been to Jack’s place before, to be sure, but never with the intention of staying long term. It makes the place feel a bit foreign to you as you try to find your footing within it, when you arrive with nothing but a bathroom bag and your haphazardly-packed duffel, ‘cause Jack assured you he’d get all the rest of it for you later.
You leave your things in his guest room while he orders you something for dinner. You eat together in his living room, like usual, and wind up inevitably in his bedroom before the night is over.
Casino plays on the television, bathing the dark room in its flickering neon glow. You lie on your stomach with your legs kicked up behind you, while Jack slouches against the headboard, legs spread to accommodate your body between them. He holds your right foot against his chest with a pair of wide hands, massaging the ache in the ball of it with his fingers.
“God, I would die for that coat…” he hears you mumble to yourself, as Robert De Niro slides the white fur over Sharon Stone’s shoulders. (He makes a mental note to find that one for you, too, and send an email to recover the dress from yesterday.)
“Isn’t this so much better than a hospital bed?” Jack wonders aloud.
You scoff a faint laugh, lifting your heavy head from your fist to flash him a deadpan look. “I think the floor would be better than that hospital bed.”
Jack chuckles quietly to himself before realizing, “…That’s why you’ve been complaining about your back so much, isn’t it?”
You feel him shift behind you, bed frame creaking under his weight. Your foot falls to the mattress as he sits between your legs, careful to keep the weight off his amputated limb as he kneels on the mattress.
His warm, calloused hands smooth under the fabric of your sweatshirt. His thumbs dig into the unrelenting ache between your shoulder blades. You exhale a slow sigh and drop your head between your arms, melting under his touch.
You don’t realize he’s leaning over you until his lips brush your neck. You fight back a shiver when his silver scruff brushes the delicate skin.
“From now on…” Jack mumbles against you, low and quiet and just shy of menacing. “I want you to come to me the next time you need or want anything, alright? Anything.”
Your breath catches. Something warm pools in the pit of your stomach.
“Don’t keep it from me… Don’t brush me off…” Jack continues with a voice like honey as his hands press firmly against your back. “Come to me— directly. That’s my job now. Understand?”
You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod in response. Jack can feel it with his lips still pressed against your skin. You can feel his mouth curling into a smile as his hands smooth down the length of your spine, with a tenderness that sends chills pebbling across your skin in his wake.
You forget how to breathe when his fingers curl in the hem of your sweatpants.
“Who takes care of you, honey?” he murmurs lowly in your ear.
“You do…” you hear yourself say, half-muffled with your head still bowed.
Jack grins. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear down the curve of your ass in one fell swoop.
“Can’t hear you, baby,” he says in gritty monotone before sitting back on his haunches.
You lift your heavy head, blinking away the haze of desire clouding your vision when you glance at the man behind you. You find him kneeling there, with a hand shoved down his pajama bottoms, massaging himself the rest of the way hard.
Jack smiles wider when he catches you staring. He feels his cock twitching in his fist at your heavy-eyed and wanting gaze.
“Who takes care of you?” he echoes, more firmly this time, but with a teasing squint in his light eyes.
The corner of your mouth lifts in a mischievous half-smile. “You do,” you repeat, more eager this time.
Jack nods once, almost approvingly so, and sighs as he squeezes hard at his stiffening cock. “Hell yeah, I do…” he murmurs to himself, proud.
♡ synopsis: after catching you on tinder at work, jack puts himself on a mission to get you off of the obnoxious app & into a meaningful relationship with him instead before it's too late. learning you've never so much as been on a date before & are doubtful about ever finding someone worthwhile, he expends every effort to win you over.
♡ content: jealous!jack, jack treats you to dinner on the roof, buys you flowers, spoils you with attention etc, fingering, dacryphilia (kinda), pet names, teasing, flirting
♡ a/n: based off this request, ty!
With forearms planted atop the back of the office chair you occupy, Santos peers over your shoulder as you swipe left.
And left.
And left.
And—
"Oh, he's cute," she remarks.
Looking up from the rolling computer cart Jack stands at, he eyes the two of you from over the rim of his glasses.
Pushing the phone back in her direction for a closer look, you half turn toward her with a raised brow.
"I was talking about the dog," Trinity explains.
You roll your eyes, then swipe again.
"Honestly, you'd have a better time picking up a guy from Chairs than Tinder. Least that way you can test him for drugs and STDs before taking him home like a stray." After drumming her hands against the back of your seat, she steps away.
"Hey!" Jack calls from a few feet away.
Your head jerks up.
Stalking over to the nurse's station, he plants his hands on his hips. "Get off the phone. No more...Tindering," he spits.
You blink twice, then lock the device before storing it away in your pocket. "Sorry," you mumble, now humiliated.
"Look at me," he commands.
You do as instructed and shrink beneath his authoritative gaze.
Jack leans forward. "I catch you on it again, and I'm taking it away. Understood?"
You nod before dropping your chin in shame.
"Only man you should be giving your attention to is me: your attending," he grumbles.
You shift uncomfortably, praying he'll soon walk away in search of someone else to berate instead.
"C'mon, follow me. Time for you to put your hands to uses other than clicking through your Tinder."
Your shoulders slump, but you nevertheless rise and follow his lead.
Once you've finished wrapping the forehead of a ten-year-old girl in soft white gauze who was nothing short of a trooper while you administered seven stitches, due to a nasty skateboarding accident, you grant her a smile. "You were so brave today. But don't hesitate to tell your parents if your head starts hurting, alright? I'm going to give them some medicine to take home just incase."
A concussion was the first thing Diaz ruled out when she was brought back, thankfully.
The girl nods and sends slick black curls bouncing from the motion. "Okay."
You grin, then turn to look at Abbot.
Bumping the back of your head against his abdomen because he's standing that close to you, you mutter a quiet apology.
"Somethin' you need?" Jack asks while uncrossing his arms.
"Yeah. Can you, uh... Get me the jar of suckers from the shelf behind you? And a roll of stickers, too?"
He nods before turning around to retrieve the requested items. "Sure."
Handing you the jar first, his fingers linger against the warmth of your palm. When you glance up to him with an inquisitive brow, he merely takes a small step back while nodding toward your adorable patient. "I'll give you the stickers next."
You blink, then return your attentions to her. "Alright, sweetie, which flavor?"
"You were good with her," Jack says while cupping his hand around the crown of your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Ignoring the vibrating phone in your pocket, you smile softly. "Kids are easier, I think. Adults are the ones who think they know everything. Or just know better than us because they have a degree from Google University."
He snorts. "It's why cellphones are such a bad idea," he says matter-of-factly while shrugging casually.
You roll your eyes. "I promise to save my 'Tindering' only for breaks and after-hours," you reply while rounding a corner and heading in the direction of your computer so that you can get back to charting.
Sliding his hand from your shoulder to the small of your back, Jack's lips tug into a frown. "I mean, I don't exactly know a lot about it, but isn't that some kind of a hookup app?" He leans in close to your ear. "Where people go to get laid?" He whispers lowly.
It sends a shiver up your spine.
Breaking from his side, you make a beeline for your desktop. "It's...It's the most popular dating app there is, which is the only reason I'm on it. Not everyone uses it for...that, though." You flush. "Most men seem to," you complain with a frown. "But I have what I want outlined in my bio. Then again, that would require them to bother reading it."
You shake your head, then plop down in your seat and toss your phone face-down beside you.
Jack slides his forearms atop the counter in front of you. "Let me take a peek," he says with beckoning fingers.
You think you may fall out of your chair. "I—What? You wanna see my Tinder profile?" You ask incredulously.
He lays his palms face-up and shrugs before clasping them together. "I mean, I could give you a male opinion. Help you figure out why all you're catching are minnows instead of trout."
Your brows knit together. "Who... Who is the trout in this scenario?"
Leaning over the counter, he snatches away your phone. You make to grab for it in a panic, but promptly seat yourself again with the reassurance that he doesn't know your pin. Thus, no entry will be gained.
Wiggling from satisfaction from atop your chair, you roll forward.
A sobering expression crosses his face at the sight. Clearing his throat, Abbot pulls out his glasses and settles them atop the bridge of his nose.
You watch with amusement as he holds the phone at a distance to see properly before pulling up the lockscreen.
"Pin?" He questions while studying you.
You busy yourself with charting. "Never."
He considers for a moment, then turns the phone around to face you. He whistles to gain your attention. "Look here, sweetheart."
The moment you glance up, the home screen reveals itself. "Hey! That's cheating!" You shout while trying to swipe the device from his hands yet again.
"Never said I had any intention of playing fair," he drawls before thumbing through... You worry as to what he's looking at, actually. Like cutesy Pinterest boards dedicated to a dream wedding you'll probably never have.
"Not gonna find any dirty photos on here, am I?" He asks while pressing the screen with his index finger. Who uses digits other than their thumbs on touchscreens, anyway? Besides geriatrics.
Your face grows warm. "No!" You hiss. "Course not!"
He purses his lips. "Here's to hopin'."
Your jaw falls slightly open, and he chuckles.
"Just kidding." He continues searching for the app in question. "Or am I?" He mumbles. "I meant to ask, you ever considered going into peds?"
You pull up your recent patient's chart. "I have. It's just that... The day will inevitably come when a child in my care..." You swallow thickly. "Dies in my care," you finish. "I don't know if I can survive that."
Jack reaches forward and slides his index finger under your chin and tilts your head back until your eyes to meet his own. "That's going to happen if you stay in emergency care anyway, baby. You have to go where the heart calls."
He returns his hand to holding the side of your phone, leaving your skin tingling from the abandoned contact.
"Ah!" He exclaims. "Here we go. Tinder," he purrs.
You focus strictly on the computer screen ahead of you while sliding a hand over the back of your tensed-up neck.
Jack remains quiet for a moment and you peer at him covertly. You will never have your personal phone out while at work ever again from this day forward. Even for emergencies. The landlines provided will do just fine.
You watch as a corner of Jack's mouth twitches before verging into full-on smirking territory.
He's going to make fun of you, you can feel it.
And then he begins to swipe.
"W-what're you doing?"
"Trying to get rid of all these assholes," he mutters. "God, how long does it go on for?"
"I have my radius set pretty wide, so—"
He lowers his head and stares at you with wide eyes. "Your what?"
"R-Radius? Like, miles around me. If men are within the search radius—"
He rolls his eyes. "Got it."
Swipe, swipe, swipe.
You glower. "One of those could be my future husband, you know?"
He jeers. "What? These douchebags? Unlikely."
You've never seen him so irritable. Who peed in his Cheerios this afternoon?
With a sigh, he tosses it down beside you onto a stack of paperwork. "You're never going to find what you're looking for on there. I know you know this."
You swiftly shove the device in your pocket. "It's my only option. It's not like it was in the olden days when people met at the market, y'know?" You commentate a tad snidely. But if he's going to shame you for trying to find someone to love, then he deserves a bit of attitude in return.
It's none of his concern, anyway.
He chuckles. "How old do you think I am, honey?"
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Ancient."
Rounding the counter he occupies, Jack grips the back of your chair with one hand and the desk you sit at with the other. Leaning down, he brings himself level with your ear. "I read your little bio," he rumbles. "Looking for someone to settle down with," he quotes. "To start a life with, yada yada. Those are things a man provides." He slides his hand to the back of your neck. "All I saw were boys."
His fingers tugs gently at the base of your scalp. "You wanna meet someone the old-fashioned way? Take a long, hard look at what's in your immediate vicinity."
Jack steps back then and you loose a ragged breath in an attempt to calm your thready heart.
"Just remember what I said," he states while heading into Trauma 2. "I catch you on it again..." He sucks his teeth. "Probably be better if you just removed the temptation and delete the account altogether, you ask me."
He's practically fuming while slyly spying on you from across the parking lot—watching as you smile down at your phone with an index finger gently bit between your teeth.
It's like you're trying to set him off.
Happy-go-lucky guy that Abbot normally is, after today's whole Tinder fiasco, he found himself snapping at residents in the style of Robinavitch at every turn. He's meant to be the fun dad, and yet...
He tosses his bag in the backseat of his truck and cringes when the metal zipper clips the window. Not seeing a chip in the glass, however, he slams the door shut while shaking his head.
He keeps taking his piss-poor attitude out on his vehicle and he'll really have something to be ticked off about when it starts falling apart on the damn interstate.
He plants his palms atop the passenger seat and hangs his head between his shoulders. "Let it go, old man. You're too old for this shit," he mutters. "She's not interested. She's not interested. She's not—"
With a huff, he shuts the door before heading in your direction. "Hey, you hungry?"
Jack watches with a satiated look on his face as you munch on a basket of hot wings.
"It's really pretty up here," you say between hearty bites. "With all the lights. Quiet, too." Turning to face him, you begin wiping your hands with cheap napkins.
It's nothing fancy—the two of you are seated upon bare asphalt after all. But facing each other while making idle conversation is admittedly a lot nicer alternative to being stuck inside a noisy ED.
He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.
"What?" You ask, sucking on a saucy finger.
A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You, uh, you've got some—"
Your hand flutters toward your face. When Jack scoots closer, you promptly drop it into your lap when he runs the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth.
"T-Thanks," you squeak before taking a pull from your water.
Leaning back against the railing behind him, Jack studies you for a moment. "You can do better than online dating."
Your eyes flit to his.
Holding his hands up, he continues. "I get it. It's just the way it is nowadays. But, sweetheart, the guys I saw on there?"
You interrupt him. Occupying yourself with a packet of wet-wipes, you start scrubbing at your hands. Otherwise you might just nibble them down to the bone the sauce was so yummy.
"I...I'm lonely," you whisper. "And I feel like I've fallen behind somehow." You worry your lower lip between your teeth. "I've never so much as been on a date before. There was just...never time. First, it was graduate from high school, then college, then an internship, now residency. After that, fellowship and—" You shake your head. "I told myself that once I was settled in my career and happy with my living arrangements is when I would put myself out there."
You sniffle while toying with your plastic water bottle, listening idly as the water sloshes around as you turn it one way, then the other. "I don't think I can wait that long. I don't want to. I want someone of my own to love. To call after I've had a bad day. Arms to fall asleep in, a chest to lay against when I feel scared. A body to come home to."
You shrug and wipe at yours eyes. "Then again, how many people do we work with—patients do we meet—who tell us the horror stories that are their relationships and marriages?" You frown. "Hardly makes commitment sound all that tempting."
Jack leans his head to the side, then cups your cheek in his palm. "That's why you don't settle for any less than someone who worships you. Who constantly thinks about you. Who'd kill to keep you safe."
A quiet click sounds at the back of your throat when you swallow.
He brushes his thumb along the apple of your cheek. "You've never been on a date?"
You shake your head.
He smiles softly, leans forward, then murmurs "What're we doing right now, then?" before pressing his lips to yours.
Jack never explicitly asked to enter into a relationship with you. Instead, it seems to be a decision he simply makes without warning.
On the one hand, it's so incredibly flattering to be desired by the Jack Abbot of all people. Of all men. Doctors, even. On the other, he's your attending. As well as someone who seems beyond comfortable in his own skin and abilities as a healer while you otherwise feel like you're stumbling through life.
You truly have no understanding of his decision.
There's nothing particularly special about you. You're not a young prodigy like Javadi, fast as a whip like Santos (not that he exactly seems like her type), as lovely as Mohan, or as intelligent as Mel.
The list goes on.
Maybe he's like all the rest, then? Just having fun while the iron is hot?
You dislike the thought.
It makes you feel cheap; pathetic; used.
It's why when at work...you sort of continue keeping your distance. At least initially.
Intent on hovering and crowding and smothering and touching you, however, Abbot is there nearly every time you turn around.
"I get that you're busy," he tells you one day—his hand sliding from your shoulder blade to your lower back; dangerously close to another body part. "But if you wanna keep playing hard to get even though you're already mine, then I'm happy to keep chasing."
And then he'd leaned close, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. "Tell you the truth, the whole thing is giving my Viagra a run for its money."
Instead of it turning you on, as was clearly his intention, it'd only made you feel sick. Because you were right after all: he only saw you as a collection of parts to...objectify.
You had scurried away after, leaving him a bit perplexed.
It's only been a few days since the rooftop, so granted not much has happened thus far, but forcing yourself to have an awkward conversation with Jack where you innocently inquire What are we? feels out of the question. Not to mention humiliating. You're here to work, not star in a rom-com.
Whatever he's after, he clearly needs to start looking elsewhere.
But instead of being a damn adult about the entire ordeal and pulling him aside to talk like grown-ups...you sort of latch onto Robby instead. Not in a flirtatious sort of way. Just as a mentor and mentee one. By otherwise being occupied with learning from him, maybe Jack will move on? Grow bored? As much is inevitable, you figure.
When Jack stumbles across you all but pressed against Robby's side in Trauma 4 one day, however, it's like the pin in a grenade is pulled. All that's left is to release the lever.
He never took you for a tease, but he'll be damned if he's not going to mark his territory as a last resort before throwing in the towel.
Entering the Pitt Friday evening, you're greeted by a vision. A lovely floral arrangement sits atop the nurse's station in a crystal vase; its blooms sprouting in every direction.
You smile at Dana while walking past. "Looks like Benji is quite the romantic."
"Not for me, doll. Had to sign for 'em, but they're for you."
Halting in your tracks—causing your tennis shoes to squeak against the polished tile floor beneath you—you turn and pad over to it. Plucking the enclosure card from the plastic cardette, you read it over.
Meet me where I made you mine. — J
You glance up to Dana who throws a hand up while dialing the phone in front of her with the other. "Didn't read it. Hand to God, kid."
"Could you...keep this here for me until the end of my shift?"
Sliding it back toward herself, she nods. "You got it."
"We couldn't have done this downstairs?"
Standing just behind the railing positioned at the edge of the rooftop, Jack turns back to you with folded arms. "Felt like this should be a private conversation," he replies while stepping unsteadily toward you.
Perhaps his leg is giving him fits tonight.
Matching his strides, you meet him halfway.
He remains silent, with a thoughtful look etched upon his face. "Am I just not what you're looking for, then?"
Your brows furrow as you bat your lashes. "What?"
He huffs. "You've barely spoken to me in the last week, sweetheart. I'm getting mixed signals. You put on your Tinder," he says with an upwards wave of his hand, "that you want essentially the same things that I do. But I try to get close—give you my attention—and you glue your ass to Robby's side instead."
You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it a moment later as he continues.
"Look, I get it. I've been out of the game for awhile, so maybe I don't really know what goes nowadays. I tried giving you attention and that backfired. I flirted and I got the same result. So now I'm going old-fashioned with flowers and clandestine meetings on rooftops. I just—" he steps forward. "I need you to tell me whether to stay or go. Because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I'd thought we were together, but if you've changed your mind about commitment and settling down—"
"I haven't," you blurt out.
He quiets.
"You... You never asked me."
He raises a silver brow.
"To be...yours. I wasn't sure what we were. And I felt stupid at the idea of even asking. And then with the Viagra comment," you say with a flush. "It seemed like I was back to online dating, but in real life this time."
He hangs his head and sighs. "That's on me." He raises it. "I can have a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. Guess it gets even worse when I'm making a come-on."
Sliding his hand along the back of your neck, he holds you close. "I didn't think it needed saying after the night we were together up here. I just assumed we were on the same page. So I am truly sorry that I never bothered to ask if you wanted to be—" His mouth quirks to the side as he thinks. "Boyfriend and girlfriend are way too juvenile for me," he mumbles. "Partners, then."
He slides his hand to your shoulder. "Everything you listed is what I have to offer; what I want to give you."
You nervously rub at your arm. "I just didn't want to make assumptions."
He grins. "Too late."
Your eyes flit to his.
"I already did for the both of us, sweetheart. Listen, I'm not some kid on the internet throwing darts at a board until something sticks and I get a consolation prize out of it. I want you, and only you. I have since the day you were first assigned to me."
"Oh," you say, leaving your lips slightly parted.
"So," he begins while running a calloused palm down your arm before gripping your fingertips. Lifting them to his lips, he brushes a kiss along the back of your hand. "We're clear on what we're doing this time, then? That you belong to me and me alone, and I to you?"
You glance away while heat rushes to your cheeks.
You nod. "Yes, I think so."
He chuckles. "Good."
Jack wraps you in his arms and holds you firm against his chest. "Because if I see you with Robby again, I'm throwing my leg at him in the parking lot."
You cackle while burying your face in his chest and inhaling the calming, woodsy scent of his cologne.
It takes some adjusting to: being Jack's girl. From him assigning himself to being your designated driver to and from work, to cooking for you in the comfort of his well-stocked kitchen, to asking rather sheepishly if you'll rub his leg at night—what begins with butterflies and nervous laughter, ends in routine and comfortability.
The only excitement is at the ED. Because outside of it, you each share quiet nights in. Ones where you lie atop his chest on the couch while he watches TV... Or the one where he finally coaxes you out of your shirt and bra so that he can run his palms along the soft skin of your back.
He says it feels nice, since they can ache at times from arthritis.
The scratchy sensation makes your skin sing in the best of ways.
He seems rather pleased, after having moved you in before long, when you finally take liberty in using what's his, but for yourself. Like his t-shirts for sleeping in, his razor for shaving (men's are superior, you tell him), his truck for picking up groceries and his credit card to pay for them, and... Well... His stethoscope on the nights the two of you play doctor in the bedroom.
So, yes, physical intimacy is a facet of your relationship which does develop naturally in due time. And to his credit, Jack is endlessly patient with you as he teaches you all about it.
Insecurity about inexperience in every arena—sexual or otherwise—had certainly been of much concern to you. Perhaps he'd prefer someone who had familiarity with partnership, you'd worried. But he made clear that being able to claim you in every way there is stroked his masculine ego like nothing else.
And being the first to put hands on you...?
It doesn't take long for you to learn that you really enjoy extra attention being paid to your breasts, for example, when he laps at them with his tongue while his fingers explore the sopping folds between your legs. Gruffly, he says things which get you dripping with little effort applied: "That feel good, sweetheart?", "Spread your legs for me, baby.", "C'mere and lie back on the bed so that I can take your clothes off, angel."
You'd once asked shyly from atop your shared bed if he could please wear his dog tags during. With a grin, he muttered quietly "Yeah, honey, I can do that," before obliging your request.
As if he's Pavloved you, he sometimes teases even while at work just to get a rise out of you. Like when he seats himself next to you as you chart—sliding a palm along your inner thigh until it's right against your heat. Jack merely leaves it there, and smirks every time you make a typo.
Or when you do a job well done with a patient and he'll mutter "Good girl." before stepping away.
By the time the two of you get home, you're feral with want, and care little to none about waiting for his Viagra to kick in.
So, he typically makes use of his tongue instead until he's able to achieve manhood. He usually challenges himself in getting you to come twice on it before finally sinking his cock between your fluttering walls and kissing away your tears, you're that overstimulated from him rutting away between your thighs.
You'd been so afraid before—paranoid, even—of winding up in an unhealthy, and deeply unhappy relationship, but with all the love and tenderness he gives you, you can scarcely imagine ever wanting another.
Besides, Jack tells you that just the thought of you with someone else is likely to make his head explode. So, for better or worse, you're stuck with him.
You find that you're just fine with that fact. Especially at night when he holds your naked body close to his—his arms wrapped tightly around you—and as you drift off to sleep, he whispers how he's never letting you go now that he's found you.
three time that jack abbot proves he is your friend, the one conversation that has you questioning everything, and the moment he tells you he wants more
PAIRINGS: jack abbot x fem!reader, night shift x platonic!reader
WARNINGS: oblivious reader, smitten abbot, 'i'll pay for it' mentality, they're so cute istg, observant abbot, cursing, reader is described as shorter than abbot, john shen (in an endearing way), trinity santos (also in an endearing way), confession in a storage closet
WORD COUNT: 4.08k
🎶 : about you - the 1975
AN: 🩵💗 - i am obsessed with this man. it's bad. also i think this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written. ENJOY!!
one: the coffee
“I seriously think I’m going through withdrawals.” The urge to scoff has never hit you harder than now as you shake your head at Shen’s whines. “If I don’t have a coffee in my hand in the next ten minutes I’ll pass out.”
“You big baby.” You tease, speaking with as much faux pity as you can muster. “Life is just so hard for you, isn’t it?”
“And to think-” Shen smirks. “I was gonna offer to buy you one too.”
“How chivalrous.” You grin, nudging him in the side playfully. “I take back everything I’ve ever said about you.”
Lena sighed. “Do I need to separate the two of you, or are you finished?”
“Finished.” You smiled. “What do you have for us?”
“Sunburn victim.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You’ll love it.”
“Oh goody.” Shen laughs, walking away as you follow after. “Thanks Lena!”
“But seriously though,” You smile at your coworkers as you skirt through the halls. “If someone-” Shen groans. “Were to buy me a coffee, I would have no choice but to love them forever.”
“Good thing I know your heart already belongs to me.”
You scoff, muttering under your breath as you pull back the curtain. “You wish.”
Your eyes doth deceive you.
Sitting before you, in all its glory, is what you can only describe as a Dunkin buffet. “Shen, I love you.”
“Wish I could take credit, but this wasn’t me.” He stared in awe. “You’ve literally been with me this entire time. When would I have had time to get my phone out?”
“Well who was it then?” You raise a brow as you peruse through the contents of the afro-mentioned buffet. “God?”
“Don’t know if I like that nickname.”
You swear that man’s voice could make your insides turn to mush if you let it. Arguably the hottest man you’d ever seen, Jack Abbot has been haunting your thoughts since you’d started working here four years ago. Even when you worked the day shift, you’d find yourself lingering after under the ruse of ‘finishing your charting’ just to catch a glimpse of the night shift attending.
He was now unfortunately your boss. And friend, you guess. It was complicated.
“Haha.” You stuck your tongue out. “That was a pretty good joke for someone of your ripe age.”
His hand clutched his heart. “That hurts.”
Behind you, Shen was rolling his eyes. Both of you had been flirting since the day you started, according to Shen and Ellis (the timeline was messy). Even Lena called you out on it, going so far as to call you ‘a pair of lovestruck fools’. It happened so often you found yourself replying automatically: we’re just friends, that’s just the way Dr. Abbot is. Because, unfortunately for you and your hopes for more, that is how he was. Caring, and kind to a fault.
Shen was eager, his eyes glowing at the Dunkin similarly to that of Smeagol and his ring. “What’d you get?”
“Your usual.” Abbot gestured to the large latte. “And there’s a bacon egg and cheese somewhere in there. Some munchkins too.”
You watched with mild fascination as the (almost forty year old) man dug through the bag like a dog. That was one of your best friends, you realized. A laugh escaped your lips, knowing that while he was one of the goofiest people you knew, he was also one of the most competent doctors in this ER. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“How’d you know I wanted coffee?” You leaned against the counter. “Was I that obnoxious about it?”
“You’re not obnoxious.” He frowned. “I heard through the grapevine that Shen was getting cranky. Thought I’d save you from his wrath.”
“My hero.” You dramatically batted your eyelashes. “Good thing you acted fast.” Your stomach grumbled as your gaze fell towards the buffet. “Did you happen to get a-”
“Iced vanilla latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso?” His eyes sparkled (maybe you were imagining it) as he spoke. “Yes I did.”
“You know my order.” Your voice was soft. “How-” Reminding yourself that publicly lusting after your boss was widely frowned upon, you pulled yourself together, muttering under your breath. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
There was something so horribly handsome about a man so casual about acts of service. Your back was turned to him as you grabbed your drink. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
The butterflies were back. “Dr. Abbot-”
“My treat.” He insisted, his voice never wavering. Was there anything he did that didn’t make you a bundle of nerves? Answer: no.
You hid your smile behind your straw. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
A look of pure adoration adorned your face. “What a gentleman.”
two: the parking garage
When you first started your night shift rotations, a man had followed you into the hospital, always two steps behind you. Every time you sped up, he sped up. Every time you slowed down or took a turn, he did the same.
It got to the point that you decided sprinting the rest of the way to work would be smarter than waiting to see if this man was going to try anything.
You looked so shaken when you got into the building, that Abbot swore then and there to walk you to and from your car for every shift the two of you shared. An act of a boss who cares about his employees, you told yourself. An act of a man who’s obsessed with you, said Trinity.
Now you were a resident, lucky enough to stay at The Pitt, and lucky enough to work almost exclusively night shifts.
Jack Abbot stayed good on his promise, not that you were shocked by it. He tended to be a man of his word, yet another quality you admired about him.
So here you were, walking from your car to your shared shift with the object of your affections. “How was your day?”
You smiled. “Fine. Slept like the dead, had some ramen for lunch, and watched tv.”
“Sounds busy.” He teased. “Fancy ramen, or cup of noodles?”
“Fancy.” You replied. “Fried an egg, cut up some chives, and put some pork, carrots, and bok choy on top.”
“Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling of becoming a chef?” Jack laughs, holding the door open for you.
You ignore the way heat rises to your cheeks, smiling gratefully. “If only I knew how to make anything but fancy ramen. I’d be like Gordon Ramsay.”
“Or maybe Wolfgang Puck.”
“Maybe.” You fought the urge to tease him about ‘showing his age.’
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight?” Honestly, you had no idea. Princess and Perlah wanted to take you out for breakfast, but you hadn’t set a date on it yet. You had a sneaking suspicion they asked you to hang out because of your ‘relationship’ with Dr. Abbot. They were horrible gossips, those two. You loved it. “I don’t think I’m doing anything.” Admitting out loud that you had nothing to do was more depressing than you thought it would be. “Kind of always doing nothing, to be honest.”
“Well if you want a break from doing nothing, you could give me a call.”
“Yeah?” You felt much too vulnerable as you looked up at him.
He nodded, a soft smile etched on his lips. “Yeah. There’s this jazz festival happening downtown I was thinking of going to.” He shrugged like he wasn’t short circuiting at all the horrible ways you could turn him down. “Could be fun.”
“I love live music.” His heart clenched as you smiled so gently he felt what could only be described as cuteness aggression. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Jack.”
“So nice of you to join us.” Shen spun around in his chair, shaking his head like a disappointed father who’d been waiting for his daughter to show up before curfew. “Where have you been?”
“Your mom’s house.” You giggled, eyes subconsciously drifting over to Abbot to see his reaction. The attending huffed, a small smile on his lips. Your laughter only grew as a result. “Sorry, that was cheap.”
“Very, and disgusting.”
“See, it’s funny because that’s exactly how your mother likes it-”
“Go put your things away, you animal.” John pushed you toward the lockers, watching Abbot stare at your disappearing frame. “When are you gonna tell her?”
“Tell her what?” Jack’s usual air of nonchalance dared to crack.
“I’ll protect you, kid.” Shen’s voice grew gruff as he tried to imitate his fellow attending. “I was in the military, and was a bodyguard in a past life-”
“I don’t sound like that.” Jack almost sounded offended. Almost. He had a small smile on his lips, like he was enjoying watching his friend make a fool of himself.
“Oh, big strong Abbot-” Shen’s voice now grew high, pitchy as he tried, and miserably failed, to imitate you. “What would I do without you?”
“Alright.” Jack glared. “When you’re done with whatever this is, come find me.”
three: the cookout
You had a rare day off, a day you’d only dreamt about. Your plans were to literally do nothing, to lay on your abnormally comfortable couch and mindlessly stare at whatever sitcom was trending. Or go on a walk, you honestly didn’t know. That was the beauty of your day off, you could do anything you wanted, which included getting away from work and your coworkers.
But then Jack Abbot gave you his signature smile, and your knees buckled as he invited you to a cookout at his house, his voice all gruff and sincere, and, dare you say, eager.
All of the sudden, you had plans.
His house was perfect, there was no other way to put it. The neighborhood was cute, not boring, but not loud. Close to the hustle of the city, but far enough away that it felt secluded. His grass was perfectly green, everything just as it should be, but not sterile. It was lived in, and it was homey.
It was Jack Abbot.
You nervously sat beside Victoria on one of his many lawn chairs, watching him grill from afar. “He’s gonna look up and see that you’re staring at him.”
“I’m sure he already knows.” Whittaker mumbles. “You’re not exactly subtle about it- ow!” He glared at Victoria. “What was that for?”
“Is Trin coming?” Your voice sounded far away, distracted and detached from reality.
“No.” Whittaker smirked. “She’s too busy taking an extra shift just so she can possibly see Garcia.”
“Oh that poor girl.” You frowned, as you tore your eyes away from the older man. “Hot take: I don’t like the way Garcia is treating her.”
“Santos isn’t exactly setting any clear boundaries about how she wants the relationship to go-”
“Right.” You nodded. “But still, I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone who most definitely does not return them in the same way. It’s rough.”
“I feel like we’re moving on too quickly from the whole ‘I know what it’s like’ thing.” Vic mumbled.
“You know what I mean.” Your eyes fell to your hands. “It’s not like my pining will result in anything, and-”
“Not trying to ruin this beautiful moment of delusion or freak you out-” Vic whispered. “But he’s staring at you.”
You stood up, straightening out your sundress. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh really?” Whittaker scoffed. “How convenient.”
“Shut it, you.” You hissed, turning around. “How do I look?”
“You look great.” He smiled, pushing you towards the table of food. “Good luck.”
Ellis stood beside Jack, waving at you as you approached. “Hey.” Jack nodded. “Having a good time?”
“The best.” You smiled. “Thanks for having me. Your house is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” His cheeks were pink. Probably from the sun, you told yourself. “You know you’re welcome anytime.”
Ellis crossed her arms. “Long time no see.”
“Tell me about it. Eight hours is far too long.”
“Want something to eat?” Ellis gestured to the array in front of you. “I made fruit salad.”
“Ooh.” You wiggled your eyebrows. “What kind of fruit are we working with here?”
“Mango, pineapple, kiwi-” Oh, shit. You frowned.
“Actually Ellis, I’m-”
“She’s allergic to kiwis.” Jack muttered.
Ellis turned around, tilting her head. “Sorry?”
“She’s allergic to kiwis.”
You were staring, you could feel yourself doing it. “How did you-”
“Remembered.”
“From when?” Curiosity killed the cat, or in this instance, curiosity killed your composure.
“Shen’s birthday cake.”
“The-” Your lungs emptied. “The cake you got him two years ago?”
“Yeah.” He nodded like it was no big deal.
And then, the most horrifying, disgusting sound left your lips. It could only be described as a sort of shrill screech, something that your body did when you were either laughing so hard you couldn’t breath, or, apparently, when Jack Abbot remembered things about you and caught you off guard. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide.
Ellis was cackling, clutching her stomach with tears in her eyes. “What is wrong with you?”
You spun on your heel, stalking back towards safety - towards a place without Jack Abbot’s presence looming over you. “Holy shit, I’m a freak.”
“Explain.” Whittaker leaned forward.
“Did you not just hear that witch’s cackle I let out?” Your voice was muffled as you hid your face in your hands. “That was humiliating.”
“What happened?” Vic laughed. “It can’t be that bad.”
“He knew I was allergic to kiwis.”
“And that’s significant because-”
“He remembered something I said in passing two years ago.” You pulled your hands away, your expression crazed. “Who remembers things from that long ago?”
“Dr. Abbot does, apparently.” Vic muttered under her breath. “This is like something out of a fanfiction, I swear.”
“Alright, miss retired fanfiction writer.” You hissed. “Hold your horses-” Your eyes widened as she darted for her phone, most definitely writing down this interaction in her notes app for future inspiration.
“You are so lucky Santos isn’t here. She would never let you forget this.”
“It gets so much worse. I was so caught off guard by him remembering that I screeched, like a fucking hawk.”
“Oh no.” Vic sounded almost as worried as you did. “Do you want to leave? We can totally-”
“You forgot to get your food.” Catching a break was not in the cards for today. Curse Jack Abbot and his kind nature. “So I made you a plate. No fruit salad, I promise.” You turned around, hoping your body would refrain from combusting until after he left.
“Not trying to get rid of me?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Too valuable. Who would keep Shen entertained with all your TikTak-”
“TikTok.” You corrected.
“TikTok lingo?” He finished, holding out the plate toward you. “Night shift would be lost without you.”
“Well-” Your fingers grazed his as you took the peace offer. “I don’t know about that.”
“Whittaker, Javadi.” Jack looked over your shoulders, smirking. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No ghosts here.” Whittaker replied, equal parts amused and horrified at the situation you’d found yourself in.
“Uh huh.” He nodded slowly. “I’ll leave you kids to it.”
“Oh my god.” Victoria murmured as he walked away. “That was-”
“Something.” Whittaker agreed. “Santos is gonna be so mad she missed this.”
the conversation…
The coffee shop was bustling, full of hungover college students, finance bros, and tired mothers desperate for something to put some pep in their step. You, Victoria, Whittaker, and Santos sat in the corner by the window, huddled as you told them everything Abbot had done recently.
“Last month-” You almost whispered, fearful that someone you knew would walk in and overhear. “Shen and I were complaining about not having any coffee, and thirty minutes later, Abbot had bought an entire Dunkin buffet for us.”
“Okay.” Santos laughed. “That’s sort of a stretch.”
“But then-” You continued, desperate for them to fuel your delusions. “A week after that, when he was walking me into our shift-”
“Still not over that whole arrangement.” Santos muttered under her breath.
“He asked me what I was doing that night.”
Vic choked on her coffee, eyes wide as she coughed. Whittaker patted her back comfortingly. “Breathe, Vic.”
“I said that I wasn’t doing anything. And then-” Your cheeks felt like they were about to explode. “He may or may not have invited me to a jazz festival.”
“And did you go?”
You shrunk into your seat. “No?”
“Oh my god.” Santos groaned. “That was so obviously him asking you out.”
“Not necessarily.” You weakly defended your actions, because deep down, you knew she was right. That had been your chance, and you’d missed it. Completely and utterly missed it.
“Tell her what happened at the cookout.”
“Huckleberry told me the gist.” Santos laughed. “I heard you completely embarrassed yourself.”
“Dennis!” You gasped. “What the hell-”
“I didn’t say that!” He glared at Trinity. “I did not say that! I told you what happened. You came to that opinion all by yourself.”
“I screeched like a hawk.” You groaned. “I screeched because he remembered that I’m allergic to kiwis.”
“He’s a doctor.”
“I told him I was allergic two years ago.”
“Ah.” She nodded slowly.
“And-” Victoria added. “He told her that the night shift wouldn’t survive without her.”
“So let me get this straight.” Trinity sat forward in her seat. “Abbot has bought you a coffee, walks you to and from all of your shifts, knows your allergic to kiwis, told you how the night shift can’t live without you, and you think that it’s-”
“What any friend would do?” You nodded. “I would do the same for you, or Vic, or even Whittaker.”
“I’m sorry.” Dennis sounded highly offended. “Even me? Why so hesitant?”
“If I assume that all of these actions are because of something else-”
“Which they definitely are.”
“He’s just being nice. What if I say something and I’m so drastically off that he ignores me and then asks for me to be taken off the night shift and it’s awkward forever-”
“Alright.” Trinity interrupted. “I’m confused. At the beginning of this conversation, it was like you were trying to convince me he was doing things because he likes you, and now-” She scoffed. “You wanna know what I think your issue is?”
“Please.” You took a sip of your coffee. “Diagnose me, doctor.”
“I think you’re scared of admitting that you actually want something to happen. I think-” She sounded much too pleased with herself. “You would rather stay in ‘what if’ land than actually try and do something about all of this. Because what you’re describing to me is Abbot being obvious about his feelings, and you avoiding something serious by blaming it on his kind nature.” Trinity sat back. “Am I wrong?”
“I hate you.” You whined. “I’m actually fucked.”
“You could be.” Victoria teased. “If you let yourself confess your feelings for a certain salt and pepper haired attending.”
“Javadi!” Trinity gasped, looking at her friend proudly as she nodded in agreement. “That man does not want to be your friend, I promise.”
the moment that changes everything…
One second, you were walking through the halls, the next, you were being pulled into the storage closet.
Life was odd.
Jack Abbot stood in front of the door, arms crossed, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt dangerously. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He says. It’s a statement, not a question, like he’s been watching you long enough that he knows when something is wrong and when something is right.
“Avoiding you?” You laughed. “We were just treating a patient together not even thirty minutes ago-”
“You know what I mean.” He took a step forward, and suddenly the rather large storage closet felt much too small. “What’s going on?”
Perhaps this hadn’t been your smartest move. Your conversation with Trinity, Victoria, and Whittaker had made you realize things, things that you were much too scared to face. So instead of taking Trinity’s advice and addressing it, you thought the best course of action would be to cut off all casual conversation with Dr. Abbot.
A strictly professional relationship.
That proved harder than you thought.
“Nothing’s going on.”
“For the past two weeks, every time I try to talk to you, there’s something else of more importance.”
Well shit. This is not how you wanted this to go. Your heart clenched at the thought of your actions causing him distress. “That is how an ER works.”
“Yeah?” He tilted his head. “I didn’t know.”
“Okay, Mr. Sarcastic.” Your body was freaking out, fighting your thoughts of jumping up and kissing him, and your more logical thoughts of staying professional. “I’m sorry that I’m busy.”
“Did I do something?”
Fuck. He looked like a kicked puppy. “No, you didn’t do anything.” You took a step back, holding yourself back from reaching out to put a comforting hand on his arm. “You never do anything wrong.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just-” God, you weren’t helping yourself at all. “You're a good person, that's all I meant.”
“Are you sure I didn’t do anything?”
“Yes.” Another step back, followed by another step towards you by Jack.
“Really?” Now he looked smug. “Because earlier, Santos and Javadi were giggling when they were leaving.”
“They giggle all the time.” You reasoned.
“Santos was pointing at us.” He raised a brow, like he was daring you to fight back again.
“Ah.” You nodded slowly. “That’s my fault.” He didn’t reply, he simply stared, like he was waiting for you to explain. “They’ve been making fun of me because-” You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for rejection. “Because I told them that we’re just friends.”
“Friends?” He was frowning. Shit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them to stop.” He took another step towards you, the distance between you now too close to remain entirely professional. “Rather inappropriate of them.”
“You think we’re just friends.”
“Do you not think so?”
He nodded. “I’m gonna have to disagree with you on this one.”
“Oh.” Your throat began to close up, and you suddenly wished you could look anywhere other than his dreamy brown eyes. “Okay.”
“You sound upset.”
“Well yeah.” Tears began to build at your waterline, and you squeezed your fist, willing yourself not to cry. No need for further embarrassment. “You just told me that we aren’t friends, Dr. Abbot. I think I’m allowed to be upset.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What?” Your back was now against the storage closet shelves.
“I said we weren’t just friends.”
“I’m not following.” Your mind was on red alert, all of your senses running on overdrive as you tried to decipher what he was saying. There was no way in hell that he-
“What would you say if I-” His voice was just above a whisper, his breath intertwining with yours. “If I said that I want to be more?”
Your breath caught. “More than friends?”
He nodded, the very picture of patience as he waited for you to realize what he thought had been obvious all along.
“I-” Your eyes fell to his lips, stomach flipping at the mere thought of his lips on yours. “I would say that I agree.”
“Yeah?” His eyes twinkled as he looked you up and down. This was not real.
“Yeah.” Holy shit, was he about to-
“Good.” He stepped back, smiling brightly. “Glad we cleared that up.”
He started to walk away, something that confused you greatly. What the hell? “Hold on.” He stopped, turning back towards you. “You’re not gonna kiss me?” Your voice bordered on a whine. “After all of that, you’re just gonna walk away?”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Obviously.” You raised an eyebrow, as if you were saying ‘what’s taking you so long.’ He immediately rose to the challenge, closing the space between you in two steps. His lips slammed against yours, groaning. You grinned, clutching his scrubs. His hands pawed at your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Jack-”
“Holy shit.” Your heart stopped as your eyes peaked over Jack’s shoulder at the foreign voice. There Ellis stood, her own eyes wide. “I fucking knew it.”
“Ellis-” Jack tried his best to sound stern. “Don’t-”
“You two just won me a bet.” She grinned, grabbed what she needed, and walked away. “Thank you!”
having the most nonchalant conversation about work or errands or fucking whatever with jack abbot while dry humping on your living room couch.
he’s listening, he swears. looking up at you, neck strained but who cares, with a pointed stare that tries to peel you apart by sight alone. his hands knead your hips to glide you back in forth across the bulge under his sweats as he absorbs your words. moving you through deliberate, sluggish grinds until your center in nudging him in a way that hitches your breath while you speak.
“you promise you had a good day?” jack asks the question without looking away from you, your lips. tugging you again and again. “nobody i need to beat up or anything?”
a huff laugh from you lifts the corners of his lips. with arm around his neck, you shake your head.
“s’okay. i’ll take ‘em to the ed right after. get ‘em all fixed up. maybe,” he shrugs, dragging his hand to press into your ass. with his prosthetic off since he’d arrived at your house, jack uses his left leg to buck upwards while pushing you down. hard enough for you to really feel him knock into your slit.
“oh, can—mmm—your off for a few days, right?”
“yep. all yours.” jack rasps the promise, nosing at your neck and inhaling before licking across the skin.
“can you run to the store for me? m’ a little low on some stuff… toothpaste, toilet paper, shit like that.”
jack keeps lapping at you, breaths turning loud and rough at the fact that you need him for something.
“yeah, baby. just send me the list. i’ll pay for it.”
Jack putting you in a headlock doesn't always happen during a rough, fast fuck. Really, it's best when he's choking you out lazily.
He's flat on his back while you're squirming on top of him, legs apart and using his frontside like a bed. One arm snakes over your waist, hand trailing up to grope your tit rhythmically.
You're both exhausted to all hell, but Jack's got enough energy to have his other arm lock you in by the neck with the crook of his elbow, and by squirming, you're only by your legs.
The rest of you is completely limp and losing air in Jack's tight hold.
"Jack, faster. Please."
"I'm going as fast as you need me to be."
The thrusts up into your hot, needy must be so fucking slow just so Jack can feel yourself stretch in swallowing him.
And when you're emptying as he decides to slip out of you n' play with your folds and clit by smearing his tip all over.
"Don't fall asleep before you cum, baby. You did well this shift. You deserve reward."
When Jack slips his cock out of your leaky, needy grip, he kisses your cheek. He nuzzles his nose there.
"I think I deserve something, too. Was a good attending today, for the most part. Good co-worker to you. Not to toot my own horn."
You let a soft sight escape you.
"...Wanna stick it in my ass?"
Jack nearly snorts. You whimper at how that's basically a no.
"Maybe later, kid. We're trying to put you to sleep, not wake you up with a bang."
He rubs your belly.
You gasp at the headlock growing tighter. The warmth of your wheezy breath finds Jack's thick, rounded bicep.
"Just touch me."
You don't need to be told twice. You take his shaft in your hands and pump. You pump and twist the sticky, dripping skin with a slow, even pace.
"Gonna torture me to sleep now?"
You're sure Jack's referring to the torturous, edging speed---or lack thereof, you're laying on his cock.
You slap his fat, reddened tip against your gaping whore-mess of a slit. That's meant to be some sort of answer.
You feel Jack smile against your cheek. You feel more of your breath leave you.
"Mhm. It's only fair, Daddy."
You're not even sure you could pick up the pace if you wanted to, you're about to pass out, and not just because you're so, so tired.
But because with every twisting, wet pump, the crook of his elbow chokes you out a little bit more.
"Daddy's not complaining, baby."
Nowhere else to die but here, Dr. Abbot. No better way to end a shift.
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