summary you join PTMC as their slightly uptight, sharp hospital lawyer and catch the attention of night shift attending jack abbot.
tags/warnings age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s), slow burn (no burn yet soz, just talky), fluff, workplace romance(?), bit a flirting bit of tension too who is she!, reader's a bit girly - skirts, pink, that vibe, bit dorky think amy santiago from b99 lowkey
wc 3.8k
When Jack first saw you, he thought you were too… squirrely.
A little too polished. Way too awake for 7:05AM.
He leaned over to Parker, muttering just for her to hear. "She's gonna get eaten alive."
Parker scoffed a chuckle at that, the rest of the crew seemed to be thinking the same, furrowed brows as you stood out under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights .
“Team, I just wanted to introduce our newest recruit with legal. She’ll be working closely with the ER—handling complaints, risk management, patient disputes,” Gloria said, as the early morning day shift hovered around the nurses’ station. “She’ll be reviewing incident reports, advising on liability, and stepping in when anything escalates.”
A couple of them groaned quietly at that. Gloria ignored it.
“She’s your first point of contact for anything legal or ethical. Reports to the head office, but she’s based upstairs. Available during the day—and on nights if needed.”
You stood beside her, posture straight, hands clasped neatly in front of you—fingers fidgeting just slightly against each other, like you’re holding them there on purpose. Hair slightly messy in a way that felt unintentional, Mary Jane heels, peppered with pink and off-whites, skirt and all. Bright eyes. A smile that was just a touch too careful.
“Really nice to meet you all,” you said, well rehearsed, polite as ever. “I’ve interned at VA hospitals, children’s hospitals, so I’ve dealt with a... diverse range of people” You paused, a small, self-aware breath. “I’m just, you know, here to help keep things from turning into lawsuits, basically.”
That got a few more looks.
Gloria continued—something about OFIs—but most of them had checked out. Some nodded politely, some looked half-dead from night shift, others clung to their coffee like it was life support.
PTMC has a... somewhat sliming legal team. The budget is already parsed through to not be given to nurses and other staff.
Your eyes moved across the group, taking them in, assessing.
They landed on Jack. Just a second longer. Then moved on.
He frowned faintly, not thinking much of it as he leaned toward Ellis.
“Think she’ll last?” he murmured.
Parker shrugged, zipping her bag. “Maybe. Looks a bit uptight.”
“Probably why Gloria likes her,” he muttered.
He glanced back—caught you looking again.
You looked away quickly this time, your smile slipping for half a second before it reset, a little tighter.
★★★
He didn’t see you again for a few weeks.
He heard about you, though.
From both shifts. Little things.
You’d diffused a situation with a patient’s family threatening legal action. Sat in on a complaint review and apparently tore apart the timeline in ten minutes. Got someone to rewrite an incident report because, according to a nurse, “it read like a drunk text.”
You, in fact, had not been eaten alive. Despite the carefully put-together, polite, slightly squirrelly exterior, you were apparently… well-suited for PTMC.
Robby had filled him in one morning, leaning back in his chair with his coffee, eyes wide as if he were still in disbelief. “It’s ridiculous,” he said. “Some guy comes in complaining I nearly got his wife killed over the flu. He wants to sue for millions. I go up to her office—he’s there, she’s there—and twenty minutes later, it’s sorted. I even get to go back with time off because she noticed I’d been on sixteen hours. Nothing to hold against me, nothing to hold against the hospital.”
Jack furrowed his brows, amused, impressed, confused all at once. “Seriously?”
“Yup,” Robby said, leaning back further. “All my years here, I don’t think I’ve worked with a lawyer this young who can actually handle the shit we put up with without even cracking. Gotten used to... ambulance chasers and Gloria's pitbulls.”
Parker quickly changed her attitude on you when she'd come right up to your shared office, solely with the intent of trying to figure out where she could change her contract. You managed to negotiate her a pay rise with Gloria after a figuring out she'd had a particularly rough shift.
You existed somewhere in the building. Just not in the Pitt, not usually.
Until one night.
Sometime past 3AM, he's finishing a report when he hears you before he sees you. The soft, precise tap of heels against linoleum.
“Hey, sorry—um, I’m looking for Doctor Abbot?”
A nurse pointed across the floor. “Right over there, sweets.”
“Thanks!" You say quickly, already heading his way.
He straightened slightly as you approached.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, closing out his tab.
You smile, a little breathless but contained. “Hi—sorry, I don’t think we’ve properly met.”
You hold your hand out.
He hesitates—not long, just enough to take you in properly this time.
Your hair’s come a little loose now—flyaways catching the light, a hint of frizz where it’s fallen out of whatever you did to tame it hours ago. There’s pen ink smudged across your fingers, even faintly along your forearm, like you’ve been working faster than you can keep up with.
Still neat. Still put-together. Maybe not quite holding as the night ticked away.
Your skirt sits just right, tailored and careful, and your button-up—something soft, a little too pretty for this place—has its sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Practical, but not by design. Like you didn’t plan to be here this long.
He shakes your hand. You give your full name, your title, crisp and practiced.
“Yeah,” he nods. “Know who you are.” He stepped around you, already moving. You followed immediately, hot on his heels. “Heard plenty.”
“Great,” you say, a small laugh. “Good things, I hope.”
“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” he mentions, stopping at a screen.
You nearly walk into him.
He glances down as you caught yourself, just a fraction too close before you stepped neatly to his side, smoothing your skirt like it didn’t happen.
“Right, uh—” you mutter, then recover. “Well. Sleep’s for losers.”
“That’s what I keep telling the day shift,” he remarks.
That got a real smile out of you. He couldn’t help but think of it as a win. This close, he can smell your perfume. It's far from the smell of sanitiser and every kind of bodily fluid of the ER. It's sweet, something with strawberries maybe. Whatever it is, it's made him want you around longer.
“Anyway,” you continue, reining yourself back in, “I realised we hadn’t actually met. You know, properly. I’ve been working mostly with Dr. Robinvatich—reviewing incident reports, flagging potential liability issues, sitting in on complaint escalations—so I thought it made sense to acquaint myself with the night attending as well. I've heard a lot about you as well.”
“Good things, I hope,” he echoes, scanning the screen, arms crossed over his chest.
Then he looks at you. You're already looking at him—open, curious, intent. He holds your gaze a second longer than necessary. A precise beat passes as his own curiosity gets the best of him. Bright eyed, seemingly angelic young lawyer... at PTMC.
“How old are you?”
You blink, caught off guard. “Sorry?”
“You mentioned you interned around. Don’t know many lawyers who do that unless they’re fresh out.”
“Right—yeah. I’m 24,” you answer. “I went straight into law school, then did about a year of hospital placements. I do want to specialise further—medical law, likely. I actually enjoy working with doctors, mostly, they can be… an acquired taste, but—” you gave a quick, self-conscious smile, remembering who you were speaking too. “—I think I’ve got the stomach for it.”
You stop, eventually, maybe a beat too late. "I didn't... I'm 24, is the point. Qualified, I swear it."
"I don't doubt it." He nods.
He watches it happen again—the shift. The way your confidence dips when you realise you’ve said too much.
Amused, he bites back a smile.
“You?” you add quickly. “I mean—how old are you? I heard you were military, so—”
“Guess.”
You let out a small laugh. “Older than me.”
“By a bit.”
"...40?" You try.
"Flattery will get you far, kid. 45." He corrects, chuckling at that. "But I'm not qualified for this. Just put on gloves and they let me at it."
You grin and nod. "'Course. You've got the look down. Could've convinced me."
He tilts his head a bit at that. He opens his mouth to respond, before he's interrupted.
“Abbot! Need you over here. Kid’s got some… centipede or some shit in his ear,” Parker calls out from Central 4.
Parker's face relaxes when she sees you, she calls your name out and gives a small wave. You give a polite wave back.
He exhales through his nose, already halfway moving. “Alright, be right there.”
He looks back at you, like a kid he’s been stuck with supervising.
“You’re welcome to… hang around,” he adds, a little rough around the edges. “Nurses won’t bite. Unless you ask ‘em to.”
There’s the faintest hint of something in his tone—dry, but not entirely joking.
You nod, a little too quickly. “Cool. Yep. I’ll just be… around here. I did actually need to speak to you about something, so, whenever you have the chance."
He gives you a once-over—quick, but not careless—then heads off, already scrubbing sanitiser into his hands. "I wouldn't wait up, sweetheart." He tells over his shoulder to you.
Your hand tightens slightly around the notebook in your hands at the petname.
It takes a while till you get the chance to chat with him again.
A call comes in, barely minutes later—car accident, five people, a few blocks out—and suddenly the whole floor shifts. People moving faster, voices sharper, stretchers rolling in before you’ve even fully registered what’s happening.
You stay. You tell yourself it’s observational. Useful. Context for your job. You probably should've just ditched for your own office at some point, leave the doctors to do their work. But it’s quiet in your office. You share it with two other people, and they aren’t exactly staying back till 3AM.
You keep out of the way, mostly. Hover near the station, ask the occasional question, get a few curious looks in return.
At one point Shen ends up next to you, mid-charting, clearly thinking out loud.
“So if a patient refuses treatment but they’re being, like… objectively stupid about it—”
“That would not legally be discrimination,” you tell him, glancing up from the notes you’re pretending to read. “But it would be rude to tell them that they're being stupid... even if they are.”
He snorts. “Great. Good to know.”
“Also,” you add, a little primly, “document this. You’d be shocked how often ‘we told them’ doesn’t actually appear anywhere.”
“Got it, thanks,” he mutters, typing faster.
Across the room, Jack catches that.
Just a flash of it—your posture, the way you tilt your head when you’re explaining something, hands clasped like you’re holding yourself in place. Eventually, once the worst has passed, as it reaches 5AM, he manages to find his way back over to you.
Inbetween the flashes of bodies around you, people quickly going between patients, bandages, surgeons coming down to move patients.
"What did you wanna talk to me about, again?" He recalls to you as he's filling out a chart.
"Patient, three days, Ronny Jones. Remember him?" You ask quickly with this second of spare time he seems to have, notebook out.
"...Broken arm?" he tries.
"Yes. And..." You trail off as you try to translate your own handwriting.
He looks over at your notebook, squinting at your scrawl. You might not be a doctor but you have the handwriting of one, he notes. “...Compound fracture of the distal radius, open reduction internal fixation yesterday. Why? Something off with the chart?”
“Yep,” you say, flipping a few pages. “I was reviewing the incident report. It says he was discharged yesterday afternoon, but the orthopedic note says he needs post-op neurovascular checks every four hours. The discharge paperwork doesn’t reflect that. Liability risk if he comes back with... compartment syndrome or some sort of nerve compromise. I just need clarification—was the follow-up actually ordered, or did someone skip it?”
Jack straightens his back slightly, clearing his throat, tapping his pen onto his palm quickly. “Uh, the ortho team documented it in their EMR, but it didn’t make it onto the discharge instructions for nursing. That’s on me for not double-checking before signing out... Not ideal.”
You scribble quickly, biting your lip. “Right, okay. So legally, if Ronny returns with a preventable complication and the discharge instructions didn’t match the physician orders… technically, that’s a risk. Could be framed as a deviation from standard of care. I just want to make sure we document the corrective steps. Maybe an addendum or clarification note?”
Jack pauses, glancing at you, then back at the chart. He can’t really argue with that.
“Yeah, that’ll—” he nods once. “Sounds right. You need me to… sign anything, or—?”
“Yeah, once I draft it,” you say, already halfway through another note. “I’ll bring it down. I just—” you hesitate for a second, then add, almost as an afterthought, “I use my favourite printer. The formatting comes out cleaner.”
There’s a beat.
“…You have a favourite printer?”
You pause, pen hovering, like you’ve just realised how that sounds.
“…Mhm.”
Another beat. Jack exhales a quiet, amused breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. ‘Course you do," He says. "Good catch on the Ronny guy. Slipped my mind entirely."
You smile at that. "Thanks"
He shakes his head slightly, looking around the ER, seeing he is very much needed away from this conversation, as Emery calls out a code for their stroke patient past Central Six.
“Alright. I’ll put in the clarification note, and send an updated discharge instruction to nursing. That way, if he comes back with any problems, documentation's all straight.” He tells.
You relax a fraction, but only a fraction. “Perfect. Thanks, Doctor Abbot. I… I just want to make sure nobody gets blindsided.”
Jack smirks, stepping back into the flow of the ER. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got that covered, kid.”
You watch him move through the chaos, sharp and efficient, and scribble a few more notes. Even in the middle of an ER storm, he’s methodical. Impressive. And exhausting.
You end up just finishing your work in a space set up for you at the nurses' station, making conversation whilst you write up documentation templates. You had to keep your head down at points to stop seeing people be brought in with their leg half off, crying and panic from people. Hearing doctors call out a million different solutions.
By the time it slows, it’s morning.
Not properly morning—grey light bleeding through the windows, fluorescent lights still doing most of the work—but enough that the edge comes off everything.
7AM creeps in quietly, Day Shift enters with ease.
People start peeling off.
Handovers. Half-finished coffees abandoned. The kind of tiredness that settles into bones.
Jack finishes his last chart, shoulders heavier now that he’s standing still. When he finally steps away from the computer, he spots you again. Still here.
Perched on the edge of a chair, one leg crossed over the other, heels dangling slightly off your foot now like you’ve given up on pretending to be fully put together. Your hair’s loose in places. There’s a crease in your skirt you probably don’t know about. You’ve managed to move most of your work down here, laptop out as you scramble something in your notebook.
You look… exhausted.
He walks over.
“You always stay this early,” he asks, voice low, “or am I just lucky?”
You look up, a second slower than before, like your brain has to catch up.
“Oh—hi.” A small blink. Then you straighten a bit, reflexively. “No, I—this is not standard practice. I promise I don’t just linger.”
“Shame,” he says.
If you had another brain cell available after being up for too long, you’d think that was a flirt. You hesitate, then huff a quiet laugh, rubbing at your eye before you remember you’re wearing makeup and stop halfway through.
“Yeah, well,” you murmur, “I got a bit sidetracked.”
He nods, glancing out over the floor.
“You saw the fun part.”
“That’s one word for it,” you say. Your voice is softer now, a little less tightly wound. “I think I prefer reading about it, actually.”
“Give it time,” he replies. “You’ll start missing it.”
You look at him like he’s insane. “I sincerely hope not. That looked stressful as fuck. Excuse my language.”
That gets a faint smile out of him.
A beat passes.
You shift slightly, slipping your heels back on properly, smoothing your skirt like you’re putting yourself back together piece by piece.
“I should probably head out,” you say. “Before I fall asleep on one of these chairs and become a liability issue.”
“Mhm,” he nods. “Paperwork on that’d be a nightmare.”
You smile—small, but sincere. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for letting me… you know. Linger.”
“Any time,” he shrugs. “You alright to get home?”
“Uh-huh,” you say, standing, gathering your things. “Bus is always late, so.”
He nods, slowly. Watches you for a second too long—hair a little out of place now, smudged ink still on your wrist.
He speaks before he can overthink it.
“I’ll give you a lift.”
You blink. “No, really, I don’t—”
“—It’s no trouble. I insist,” he cuts in, not harsh, just firm. “Grab your things. I’ll be right outside.”
You hesitate.
It’s subtle—just a second. Fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook, your teeth catching your lower lip like you’re weighing it properly.
He notices that. Of course he does.
“…Fine,” you say finally, a little quieter. “Sure. Thank you, I mean.”
He gives a short nod, like it’s already settled, and turns to head out.
★★★
The morning air is colder than it looks.
He waits outside, sitting on a bench, arms folded, watching the automatic doors slide open and shut. Staff trickling out. Shift changes. The usual.
Then you.
You step out, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, pausing for half a second when you spot him—like you weren’t entirely convinced he’d actually be there.
He stays seated on the bench..
“You always take this long,” he asks, “or just keeping me waiting for fun?”
You huff a quiet laugh, walking over. “I was considering making a run for it, actually.”
“Yeah?” he pushes himself up, a slight hitch in the movement, subtle, but there.
You notice it without really thinking, hand coming out instinctively, light on his arm for a second. “Oh—sorry, I—”
He steadies, more out of habit than need, glancing down at your hand briefly before looking back at you. “You wouldn’t get far in those shoes anyway.”
You pull your hand back, smoothing it over your skirt like you didn’t just do that. The two of you start toward his truck.
You glance down at your heels, then back at him.
“Watch it. These are Louboutin,” you point out as he opens the passenger door for you.
“My point stands.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile as you slide into the seat. He shuts the door behind you, walks around, gets in.
The car’s quiet when it starts. Low hum of the engine, early morning stillness bleeding in through the windows.
You give him your address—quick, efficient. He nods, pulls out.
A few minutes pass. You aren’t too far from the hospital. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly. Just… new. All your time working around doctors, and not one of them has ever offered to drive you home.
You sit a little straighter than you need to. Hands folded in your lap, then not, then back again—like you can’t quite decide how you’re meant to exist in this space.
"You don't seem forty five." You remark, seemingly out of nowhere.
He glances at you briefly, then back to the road, slowing at a red light.
“Is that right?” he hums.
“My dad hit fifty the other day,” you add. “He’s way grumpier.”
A beat.
“You’re a ray of sunshine in comparison.”
That gets something out of him—barely there, but real. The corner of his mouth pulls, just slightly.
He hums. “Give it time.”
You smile faintly at that, glancing over.
Up close like this, it’s different. You notice things you didn’t before—grey through his hair, not just at the sides. The lines around his eyes. The way he sits, solid, like he’s used to holding himself together through long hours. His arms. Just... he has nice arms, you note.
Your gaze drops—brief, unintentional—to his hands on the wheel.
You look back out the window quickly.
“You don’t act like it either,” you add, a little softer, like you’re correcting yourself.
“Act like what?”
“Forty five,” you say. “I mean—” you huff a small breath, already backtracking, “not that forty five is old, obviously, I just—”
He glances at you again, something almost amused there.
“No, really, go 'head,” he insists.
You press your lips together, trying not to smile. “I’m saying that… you know, you’re… I don’t know, a person. I’ve met a lot of doctors your age, they lose a lot of that humanity as they…”
“Get old as shit?” He finished as you trailed off.
“Yeah, that,” You sigh.
He nods, actually appreciative of that. “Never a met a lawyer who hangs around the Pitt willingly.”
You shrug. “It's lonely upstairs.” You say simply.
The light turns green. He pulls forward.
You shift slightly in your seat, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, then immediately smoothing your skirt again like you’ve remembered yourself.
You go on, a little stiff. “Besides, it’s part of the job. I should understand what actually happens down there. Not just what ends up in reports.”
“Mm.”
“I mean, if I’m going to defend you people,” you add, a little more animated now, “I should probably know what I’m defending.”
“You people,” he repeats.
You wince slightly. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
You look over at him, trying to read if he’s serious. He’s not giving you much.
“I just mean—doctors,” you say. “Not… you specifically.”
“You don't wanna defend me?” he wonders, teasing.
You snicker at that. You look at him properly this time. There’s something in your expression, curious, a little thrown, interested.
“Are you always this charming at seven in the morning?” You ask, sarcastic.
“Only when I haven’t slept,” he says.
“Ah. So this is you at your worst.”
“Pretty much.”
You nod, like you’re filing that away. “Good to know.”
A small silence settles again, but it’s lighter now. Easier.
The car slows as he pulls up outside your place. You unbuckle, but linger for half a second, fingers still on the seatbelt.
“Thank you,” you say. “Really, Doctor Abbot, I appreciate it. The lift, I mean.”
He nods. “Get some sleep. And just… Jack’s fine, sweetheart.”
“Alright. Thanks, Jack.”
You step out, shutting the door behind you.
He watches you briefly, making sure you get into the apartment building before driving off, your perfume lingering around his car.
part two | strawberry + part three | optics + part four | luck + part five | orbit + part six | observations
a/n: omg hi first the pitt fic… girls i truly finna be in the pitt, like put me in coach !! okay so havent seen season 2 yet. ANY of yall spoil shit for me i'm throwing a fit. i'm rewatching s1 now w my friend who hasnt seen, then we doing s2 together. i dont know much except that robby got a motorbike for whatever reason. anyway. this is just a lil cute thing, workshopping this. def wanna do like a little series of this or somethin like. idk. if yall are feeling it cool, if not.. im probably gonna do it regardless. i def wanna make a little moodboard for this lawyer girly reader, i fuck w her vibe heavy. im also in law school so manifesting this. except i dont wanna do health law that shit is messy. ok anyway ! have a good day/night :3
edit like 2 mins late: made a little moodboard for her if ur curious !
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x toddler!daughter x diabetic!wife!reader
Warnings: angst, hypoglycemia, panicked toddler, ambulance ride, crying, happy ending.
Summary: A routine grocery shopping trip ends up with you and Maya in the ER. And Jack thinks he's hallucinating when he hears the familiar voice of a toddler girl crying and calls for her dad in trauma 2.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 Based on this request 🎀
more diabetic!reader ; dad!abbot
Today had been relentless. Maya had skipped her afternoon nap, Jack had been called in early for a massive trauma shift, and you had thought a quick run to grab dinner ingredients would be manageable.
You were wrong.
"Mommy! Want the blue ones!"
Three years old Maya was standing up in the shopping cart, her small face flushed red as she reached wildly for a box of sugary cereal on a shelf way out of reach.
"Maya, baby, sit down please," you said, your voice sounding strange to your own ears. It felt thick. "We have cereal at home. Sit down before you fall."
"No! Want!" She began to kick her legs, her lower lip trembling into a full blown meltdown.
You rubbed your forehead. A cold prickle of sweat broke out along the back of your neck. You felt hot, then suddenly freezing. Your brain felt sluggish.
I need to check my phone, you thought vaguely. The sensor...
Maya let out a piercing shriek, tears bursting from her eyes as she tried to climb out of the cart entirely.
Panic spiked in your chest.
"Okay, okay, calm down, come here," you breathed, stepping forward to lift her out.
The moment you bent down and scooped Maya into your arms, the world tilted sideways.
Your knees gave out instantly. The physical exertion of lifting her hit your body, draining whatever trace of glucose was left in your bloodstream.
Oh god, you thought, terror seizing you. Not now. Not with her.
You collapsed in slow motion, sliding down the side of the metal shelf and hitting the floor, pulling Maya tightly against your chest so she wouldn't hit the ground.
Maya tumbled onto your lap, unharmed but terrified by the sudden drop. Her tiny fingers clutched your shirt as she began to sob hysterically. "Mommy? Mommy, up! Up!"
You couldn't move. Your body was betraying you at a terrifying speed. Heavy, leaden weakness pinned you to the floor. Your heart was hammering an irregular rhythm against your ribs, and a violent tremor took over your hands.
"M-Maya..." you rasped. Your tongue felt twice its normal size.
You fumbled blindly for the phone in your pocket, your hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it twice. With blurred vision, you tapped the screen. The glucose sensor app opened, flashing a bright red warning with a single word:
LOW
No number.
Just LOW.
It meant you were under 40 mg/dL and dropping fast.
You knew you were crashing, hard.
The cold metal of the lowest shelf bit into your back, but it was the only thing keeping you upright. You were sat slumped against it, legs stretched uselessly out on the floor. The heavy weight of severe hypoglycemia was pulling you under.
But you were still conscious. Still clinging to the edges of awareness by a thread.
Maya wasn't throwing a tantrum anymore, she was scared. Her tiny world had completely shattered in the span of three seconds.
Mama was the person who fixed scraped knees, who rocked her to sleep, who always made things okay. Seeing you sitting limply on the floor, trembling, broke something inside her.
"Mama! Mommy!"
Maya was on her knees in front of you, her small hands tugging frantically at your sleeves. Her face was soaked in tears, her little body shaking with terror.
"Help! Help my mommy!" she shrieked, turning her eyes toward the strangers gathering at the end of the aisle. "She sick!"
"Sweetheart, don't pull on her, okay? It's okay," a woman knelt down beside you. "Can you hear me? Can you stand?"
"N-no..." The word fought its way past your heavy tongue. You managed a tiny shake of your head, your eyes were glassy with panic. "Can't... Low."
With hands shaking violently you could barely coordinate your fingers but you held up your phone. The screen flickered, displaying the blood sugar monitor app with the bold LOW reading.
"Oh you're diabetic!" the woman gasped, reading the screen. She looked up and yelled down the aisle to an employee, "Call an ambulance! Her blood sugar is crashing!"
"Mommy, up!" Maya sobbed, patting your arm. She was hiccuping hysterically. "Mama, please... want Daddy... help my Mommy!"
"It's okay, baby... I'm... I'm here..." you slurred, every single word costing an immense amount of energy. You squeezed her as tight as your failing muscles allowed. "Mama's... here..."
A shopper ran up, breathlessly dropping a bottle of orange juice beside you. "Here! This could work, is she conscious?"
"Yes, but barely," the woman said frantically. She twisted the cap off the juice, her hands trembling as she brought it to your lips. "I need you to take a sip, okay? Can you swallow?"
"M-yeah..." you breathed as the woman carefully tipped the juice into your mouth.
The sirens cut through the supermarket parking lot. By the time the two paramedics rushed in, the orange juice had started to trickling a tiny fraction of glucose back into you. The pitch fog was beginning to lift, though your body still felt like lead.
"Give us some room, please," the lead paramedic called out as he dropped to his knees beside you.
You were still sitting slumped against the shelf, but your eyes were clearer now, no longer completely unfocused. You held Maya tightly against your lap her sobbing had quieted into hiccups, she refused to let go of you.
"Hey there, I'm Marcus," the paramedic said gently. "Store manager said you're diabetic?"
"Yes, Type 1," you murmured, your voice raspy and weak, but coherent. "My sensor read LOW."
"Okay. We're going to check you out," the second paramedic, Sarah, said as she pulled out a glucometer and a blood pressure cuff. "You managed to get some juice down?"
"A few sips... maybe half the bottle," you whispered, resting your head against the metal shelf behind you.
Sarah prepped a finger stick test to confirm the numbers while the other paramedic wrapped the cuff around your arm. "Alright, let's see where we're at... Okay, 57. It's coming up. Blood pressure is pretty low, 90 over 60, and your heart rate is running fast."
Maya fixed her eyes on the paramedics with fresh panic. "Don't hurt my Mommy" she whimpered.
"It's okay, baby... they're helping..." you soothed weakly.
Marcus eye leveled with Maya, offering her a smile. "Hey little one, we're not going to hurt her, I promise. We're just making sure she's safe."
He looked back up at you, his tone shifting to professional concern. "Because your sugar dropped so fast, along with your pressure, we can't just leave you here. With a drop that severe, your body is depleted. You could easily rebound crash in another twenty minutes once that juice wears off."
"I... I can just go home," you tried to plead softly, feeling an anxious lump form in your throat. "I just need to..."
"I hear you, but medical protocol for a severe symptomatic hypo like this requires a full evaluation," Marcus explained firmly but kindly. "We need to get you to the hospital for a full check-up to monitor you."
That ment take you to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Your stomach flipped. Jack was on duty right now, probably in the middle of a chaotic shift, completely unaware that his wife had collapsed in a grocery store with their baby girl screaming beside her.
"Okay," you breathed. "Just... please don't separate me from my daughter."
"Not a chance," Sarah smiled warmly, reaching out to help lift you carefully onto the gurney while Marcus gently guided Maya.
On the back of the ambulance, you were propped up on the stretcher with an IV line taped securely to the back of your hand.
Beside you, sitting safely, Maya was still holding onto you.
"How are we feeling?" Sarah asked from across the cabin, adjusting the monitor that tapped out your steadying heart rate.
"Better," you breathed, giving her a smile. "A lot better."
"Good. Blood sugar is up to 70 now, but we'll let the hospital team get you fully stabilized." Sarah turned her attention to Maya, the toddler'a little chest was occasionally catching on a residual hiccup. "And how about you, little lady? You were pretty brave back there."
Maya blinked at the woman. "Mommy... my mommy 's okay?"
"Mama is doing great, sweetie. We just need to do a little check up," Sarah reached into a cabinet and pulled out a latex glove, blowing it up like a balloon and tying off the end. With a marker, she quickly drew a smiley face on it. "Here. A glove pal to guard Mama."
Maya stared at the puffy rubber hand. She slowly reached out her hands to take it. "Silly hand," she whispered.
"Silly hand is on duty," Sarah smiled warmly. "He's going to help us drive to the hospital."
"My Daddy work at hospital," Maya offered suddenly, hugging the glove face to her chest. "Daddy fix people."
Sarah chuckled softly, assuming it was just toddler imagination. "Is that right? Well, today the doctors are going to fix up your mommy."
Minutes later, the ambulance entered the hospital. it's was late afternoon so day shift were swapping charts with night shift staff. The paramedics pushed your stretcher through the automatic doors, Marcus holding your IV bag high while Sarah guided Maya, who was tightly clutching her blown up glove.
"Trauma 2 is open! Bring her there," Dana called out, waving the paramedics down without looking at them.
They wheeled you into Trauma 2, rapidly transferring you to the hospital bed while Sarah began her handoff to the day shift residents, waiting for an attending. "Female, mid-thirties, severe symptomatic hypoglycemia, Type 1 diabetic..."
Just across the hall, Trauma 1 was emptying out after treating a heart attack.
Jack let out a sigh, removed his surgical gloves, and threw them into the container. He rubbed his tired eyes with his palms for a moment. It had taken about half an hour to stabilize the victim, but they had managed to save his life. The shift change was in twenty minutes, and all he wanted was to clock in, and go home to Maya and you before heading back for his night shift.
That was when he heard it.
A piercing sound echoed down the ER.
"DADDY!"
Jack blinked, shaking his head slightly.
I'm hallucinating, he thought. I'm just exhausted.
"MOMMY! WANT DADDY!"
That voice was unmistakable for him. It was the distinct, desperate, pitch voice of his daughter.
Jack spun around and, directly across from him, the doors to Trauma 2 were wide open. A primary care nurse and a paramedic were standing near the foot of a gurney, while a second nurse was trying gently to comfort a hysterical toddler who was kicking her tiny sneakers against the floor.
"Maya?!" Jack’s voice cracked.
The little girl turned at the sound of his voice. Her red teared face lit up, and she instantly broke away from the nurse's gentle grip, sprinting clumsily across the floor with her arms stretched out.
"DADDY!" she sobbed, throwing her entire body against him. "Daddy! Help Mama! Mama sick!"
He lifted his head, his gaze shooting into Trauma 2. There, with an IV line running into the back of your hand, was you.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he scooped Maya up into his arms, pulling her tightly against his neck as he strode straight into Trauma 2, his eyes never leaving your face.
You looked completely exhausted, your lips still slightly pale, but your eyes locked onto his.
"Jack..." you whispered softly, giving him a small smile.
"Dr. Abbot?" the nurse in Trauma 2 blinked in total confusion, holding your chart. "Oh, says Mrs Abbot, wait... is this your family?"
"Yes," Jack said. "Yes, she’s my wife."
He didn't wait for the nurse's shocked reaction. Jack pulled Maya deeper into his chest, her small frame still trembling violently with sobs.
"I've got you, bug. Daddy's here," Jack murmured into her hair. His free hand reached out, his thumb sweeping gently over your cheek. "Jesus. What happened, baby?"
"Dropped... fast, again," you breathed, leaning your head weakly into his touch. "We were at the store... I couldn't stop it in time."
Before Jack could ask anything else, Robby arrived alongside Dr. Santos. Robby took one look at Jack holding a crying toddler, looked at you on the gurney, and pieced it together in half a second.
"Oh, well, look who we got here." Robby said smoothly. "You know the rules, brother. You're family on this one. Let us work."
"Robby, she has been-" Jack started.
"Jack. I know. Step aside," Robby interrupted firmly, placing a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder, steering him a step back from the bed. "We got her. Santos, let's do a complete analysis: full blood count, complete metabolic profile, blood glucose, the whole basic protocol for hyperglycemia. Let's make sure she doesn't suffer a rebound effect or develop DKA, just fluids for a moment untilyou check her glucose."
"On it," Dr. Santos quickly agreed, pulling out a new glucometer and prepping a kit while Robby grabbed a stethoscope to listen to your lungs and heart.
"Stop scaring Abbot with this episodes, it's like the third hypo this week, isn't it?"
"You know I can't fully control them, Robinavitch."
"Last name, okay, seems like you're breathing good."
"Shut up." you said to him, you had this hate-love friend relationship with your husband's friend.
Maya saw Santos reaching for your arm with a needle and let out a whisper. "NO! Don't hurt Mama! Daddy, stop them!"
Jack held her tighter, soothing her.
"Shh, bug, it's okay," Jack pleaded softly, he wiped a tear from her flushed cheek with his thumb. "They're helping Mommy, okay? Remember Dr. Robby? He's Daddy's friend. He's just making sure her blood sugar goes back to where it belongs."
"Is Mom sick?" Maya hiccuped, her fingers digging into the collar of his scrubs.
"Mama's sugar just got super low, bug," Jack whispered, kissing the top of her head while keeping his eyes glued to the monitor over your head as Santos drew your blood. "She's going to be okay."
You watched them, feeling the sting of the lab draw on your arm, but the sight of Jack cradling Maya brought a reassuring warmth and calm into your chest.
--
The soft lighting of the private exam room was a welcome relief from the bright lights of the trauma bay.
By the time Dr. Robby signed off on your discharge papers, your blood sugar and pressure had safely stabilized. The weakness in your body had dissolved into fatigue, and the color had fully returned to your face.
"All right, sweetheart, labs look great, balanced, and you are officially cleared to go home," Robby said, flashing a warm smile as he handed the discharge summary to Jack. He clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Take her home, brother. I will cover you tonight."
"Thanks, man. I owe you one," Jack said.
Minutes later, after a nurse came to take off your IV, the door creaked open, and in marched Maya, carrying a paper bag from the hospital cafeteria with both hands held high.
"Mama! Look! Look what I got!" she squealed, her previous terror completely forgotten.
Jack followed close behind her, holding a cup of coffee with a smile playing on his lips. "Someone got an award in the cafeteria for helping Mom today," he murmured, coming closer to the bed, sitting Maya on the bed and putting his arm around your waist, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. "Are you okay, beautiful?"
"I'm feeling better," you smiled, leaning into his touch before turning to your daughter. "What do you have there, my love?"
Maya carefully reached into the bag and pulled out a wrapped bakery item. "A cookie!" she announced proudly, showing off a giant chocolate chip cookie.
Then, she reached back into the bag and pulled out a second wrapped oat pastry. She shoved it toward your hands. "And this one for you! Daddy said no... no sugar cookie for Mama's sugar!"
You blinked, looking up at Jack, who rubbed your hip with care.
"She refused to leave the cafeteria until she picked one out specifically for you," Jack explained softly. "She told the cashier, 'Mama's sugar crashed, and now she has sugar on her, so she needs the special one.'"
Your heart melted right there. "Oh, baby... thank you."
Maya giggled, happily. "Mama better!"
"Yeah, baby, Mama is good now," Jack whispered, leaning down to scoop Maya into his lap and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Alright," Jack said. "Let's go, my little monster. Mama needs to go home and get some sleep, and I'm taking the night off."
Jack lifted Maya in his arms and sat her on his hip. He put the discharge papers in his backpack pocket as you stood up.
Maya’s eyes went wide, her hands instantly clapping together. "Daddy staying home?! No hospital?"
"No hospital," Jack confirmed, smiling. "I'm all yours."
Maya leaned against him and then she turned on the full force of her irresistible puppy dog eyes. "Can we have hamburgers, Daddy? Please? Big hamburgers?"
Jack groaned rolling his eyes playfully. "Hamburgers? Well... I suppose after the afternoon you've had, we can manage hamburgers."
You shook your head, a laugh bubbling up from your chest as you took his free hand and leaned against his shoulder, walking slowly toward the exit.
"She has you totally wrapped around her finger, Abbot," you murmured. "You're lucky I'm too exhausted to fight you on it."
Jack looked at you, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm lucky," he whispered, pulling you a little closer to his side to kiss the top of your head. "In every important way."
summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.
wc: 9.5k
a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3
credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!
It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny.
You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster.
Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem.
Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment.
And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now.
That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you.
So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was.
It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule.
But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven.
You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably.
You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed.
The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it.
It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message.
Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.
You settled on:
you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;)
You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out.
What a mistake.
Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen.
Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them.
Why?
Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you.
Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing.
You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either.
And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him.
It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably).
He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway.
Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.
You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress.
It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun.
What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot.
Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo.
Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually.
Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened.
There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up.
Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare.
Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo.
Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with.
You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off.
You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you.
You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it.
You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that.
You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios.
In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation.
But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…
Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you?
A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification.
Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍
It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance.
You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days.
You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.
You woke up two days later and ran through your options.
Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)
Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble)
Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?)
Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible.
That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay.
You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started.
“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask,
“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.
“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing.
Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis.
Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done.
“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.
“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second.
He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own.
And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze.
When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile.
Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work.
This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.
Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either.
His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more.
But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.
And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former.
As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling.
Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.
The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse.
To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom.
Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night.
You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through.
“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient.
The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15.
“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.
You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room.
“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now.
You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life.
“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his.
“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”
Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.”
“BP is down to 60!”
“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.
Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty.
“Must be the belly,” Santos said.
“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?”
You shook your head.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.
Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin.
“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked.
“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway.
Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked.
“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.
Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student.
Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there.
“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.
You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot.
“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact.
You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder.
“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them.
You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to.
He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat.
“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin.
“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face.
Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.
Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips.
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought.
“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.”
“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.
He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked.
A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there.
You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence.
“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin.
You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.”
He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending.
You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.
He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.
You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top.
His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly.
You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks.
“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face.
You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top.
He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you.
You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.
The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency.
It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you?
He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy.
“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.
His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.
You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art.
But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools.
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself.
You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine.
The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation.
“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it.
You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”
You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale.
“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face.
“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile.
He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you.
The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours.
He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?”
You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said.
“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop.
“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?”
You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign.
“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it.
“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone.
A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits.
Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him.
“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now.
He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.
His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face.
He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway.
Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing.
“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?”
No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there.
He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden.
He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.
“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”
“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.
And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much.
He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve.
“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.
“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb.
“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger. Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes.
Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.
And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.
Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.
You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve.
“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.”
You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome.
“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit.
You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out.
“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout.
“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore.
He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him.
Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.
A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time.
Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy.
The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.
You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy.
“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.
Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm.
It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him.
Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could.
Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought.
Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath.
Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up.
He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together.
“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you.
“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice.
“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.”
You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s.
“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!
When Trinity invites you to the PTMC emergency staff's camping trip and leaves you without a tent, you'll have to make do by sharing with Jack and Robby.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x fem!social worker!reader x Michael Robinavitch
WORD COUNT: 5.5k
CONTENT: 18+ MDNI, trinity santos is reader's best friend, trinity is a schemer and a plotter, reader has to share a tent w/ rabbot, a lot of staring at the reader’s ass, threesome, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), a lot of cum
This is a NO-AI account!!! I do not fuck with AI and will never use it to write.
You had just come off of a long and tiring week at work—it was one of those with one tough case after another. You wanted nothing more than to hunker down in your apartment with a bag of chips and a good TV show to binge, but instead you were arriving at a campground for a weekend of “team bonding.”
You wouldn’t have even bothered to join if Trinity hadn’t told you the trip was “going to be super chill, a few cool people.” She’d acted as if it would be a small girls trip—just the two of you and maybe Mel.
Instead, you were joining in on a camping trip that Dr. Robby hosted yearly to bring the emergency physicians and nurses closer together and boost team morale. You’re not quite sure how spending a weekend in the cold wilderness could make their team like each other more, but there’s no sense in questioning it too much now that you’re stuck with them.
You’ve been driving for two and a half hours, so despite your frustration with Trinity over her deception, you’re glad to be able to stretch your legs. The parking lot is full of emergency physicians pulling camping gear out of their car trunks—you notice that Whitaker is pulling both his and Trinity’s gear out of her car, Langdon is pulling a large backpack onto his back as he hands a smaller one to Mel, and it seems like Samira, Javadi, and Ellis all carpooled with Dr. McKay.
“Donnie and Mateo should be here soon. Seems like Robby and Dr. Abbot are running a little bit behind too,” Trinity tells you. She doesn’t seem at all concerned that Whitaker is hunched under the weight of both of their backpacks as he makes his way over to the two of you.
“Y/N! How was the drive?” Whitaker asks as he lowers their gear to the ground.
“Not too bad, although I didn’t realize it would be so far. Trin left out a few convenient details when she invited me to join.” He cringes as you speak, clearly aware of Trinity’s scheming.
“Well, at least the hike isn’t too long. Only about thirty or forty minutes, then we can settle down and relax.”
“The hike?” You turn to Trinity, eyes piercing her with blame. She never said anything about hiking from the parking lot to the campsite. When you saw that the parking lot was separate from the actual site you just assumed it would be a short walk to get there.
“Woops?” She shrugs her shoulders as if it was an honest mistake before quickly becoming apologetic. “I’m just glad you came along. I’m sorry Y/N, I thought you might say no if I told you that there would be hiking or people. I know you don’t like socializing or , but I think you’ll have fun this weekend!”
“If I hadn’t spent all morning driving here, I would turn around and drive right back to Pittsburgh and spend the weekend in bed,” you tell her sternly. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and I love you.”
“Yes! It’s going to be great!” She throws herself at you in celebration, and your arms reach up to awkwardly wrap around her.
“Looks like the party’s started without us,” a deep voice—one you recognize as Robby—says from behind you. Extracting yourself from Trinity’s arms, you turn to see him lifting the door to the trunk of the car as Dr. Abbot steps out of the driver’s seat. Behind them, Mateo’s car pulls into a parking spot.
“We’re just so excited for a weekend of team bonding,” Trinity says sarcastically. Robby gives her a stern look before focusing on the bags in the back of his car.
You pull your backpack from the passenger seat of your car—it’s full of clothes and all the random emergency supplies you thought you might need on a camping trip. Now that you know you’ll have to hike to the campground, you’re regretting the romance novel and e-reader that you packed.
Once everybody seems ready, the group starts heading toward the trail—it starts at the far end of the parking lot, flat at first but quickly becoming more steep. You hadn’t thought to pack hiking shoes (you don’t even have hiking shoes), so you’re wearing a pair of tennis shoes that rarely see the outside of your closet.
As you get farther down the trail, it becomes clear that you can’t keep pace with the rest of the group. Robby leads the pack, quickly navigating his way up the stairs that have been carved into the dirt of the trail, while Dr. Abbot brings up the rear of the group. At this point, Robby and most of the group have long since left you and Dr. Abbot behind.
Dr. Abbot walks behind you, careful but sure as he takes each step. At first you thought that he was staying behind because of his leg, but you soon realize that he’s completely capable of keeping up with the group.
In fact, he’s only hiking slowly because he’s keeping an eye on you.
And for good reason, because the trail is a little moist and you’re not used to hiking. So when you step on a particularly slippery patch of mud, your foot can’t ground itself and your backpack adds a little too much weight to balance. You’re unable to stop yourself from taking a fall—but Dr. Abbot is.
Before you can find yourself on the muddy floor of the forest, you feel a firm hand take your elbow and pull you up to safety. He runs his hands over both of your arms, seemingly trying to calm you down.
“Careful. Those shoes don’t look like they were made for hiking.” His arms fall to his side as he grimaces at your feet. “Don’t want you to fall, considering most of the people who could help have decided they need to race to the top.”
“I think you’re capable of patching me up,” you joke to him. He cracks a small smile before reaching toward you, gesturing at your backpack.
“Here. Let me take that. Can’t have you falling.” You hesitate, weary about giving up your things, but eventually relent and let him take your bag. From there, it’s a significantly easier hike. You notice that Dr. Abbot barely breaks a sweat and seems to have no issue carrying the extra weight of your backpack. What you don’t notice, though, is that he struggles to keep his eyes off of your ass as you walk in front of him. The steep climb of the trail offers the perfect angle for him to watch your hips sway as you walk.
Everybody else is already setting up their tents and arranging their gear when you and Abbot finally arrive at the campsite. You thank Dr. Abbot and take your backpack from him before making your way to Trinity and Whitaker. Trinity is taking tent stakes out of her backpack when you walk up to her, and when she notices you’re there she looks up at you slowly with a sheepish look on her face.
“So… I know I told you I had a tent for you to camp in. But I think I left it on my kitchen counter when I was reorganizing my things this morning. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“Okay,” you respond. “So we’ll have to squeeze into your tent? That’s what I thought we were doing, anyways.”
“Well, I promised Whitaker he could stay in the tent with me since I thought I would have a tent for you to keep to yourself. But I can kick him out if you want? I’m sure he could figure it out… or something.” You shake your head, not interested in coming between Trinity and Whitaker—it already baffled you that the two of them were able to live together, and you don’t want to instigate any sort of tension.
“No, no,” you say. “I’ll just ask some of the others if they have space. I’m sure someone will.”
You decide to ask Samira if she has space first. You know all of the emergency staff, but Trinity, Mel, and Samira are the only ones that you have a true friendship with. And you’d much rather share a tent with someone who you consider a friend than a colleague.
But Samira is already sharing a small tent with Ellis, and there’s truly no way you’d be able to fit three people in the tiny space they had. You consider asking Mel if she has space, but it becomes clear quickly that it isn’t an option when you see Langdon setting up one tent for the both of them. Javadi and McKay are also paired up in a small tent, and Donnie and Mateo are paired up as well. You can’t even bring yourself to ask any of them if they could make room for you to squeeze in—you’re already self conscious about joining their team trip, much less being so incredibly underprepared.
“Jack and I have a pretty big tent. You’re welcome to join us, if you need somewhere to crash.” You cringe as you swing around to look at Robby, who’s gesturing at the tent that he’s already set up. It is pretty big, and could definitely fit three or four people in it, but you have no idea how you’ll get over the embarrassment of having to share a room with two male attendings for a weekend. What the hell would Gloria say if she caught wind of something like that?
“Um… I don’t know if that would be appropriate. I can just–” You don’t bother finishing your sentence, instead hitching your thumb in the direction of the trail and shrugging. It would be a massive pain to have to turn around and hike back down—and then drive all the way back to Pittsburgh—but it might be a better option than this.
“No, really,” he says. “Camping is an outdoor activity. We’ll only be in the tent to sleep, and it’s hard to sleep out here anyways. There’s really no harm in sharing, and we have extra gear—it doesn’t seem like you brought much.” You think about it for a moment, and the dread of having to make the hike back to the parking lot gets to you. You nod your head in acceptance.
“Okay,” you say. “I’m really sorry about this. Trin said she would have a tent for me, and she also told me this would just be a small girls trip, and I had no idea I was intruding on some sort of yearly tradition. I would have never–”
“No need to apologize. This is really less of a team-bonding trip and more of a vacation for Jack and I. We started inviting everyone else about three years ago after Langdon got jealous about not being invited, and then Mel decided to join, and then everybody else decided to tag along.” You nod, your shoulders lowering from your chin and your stress dissolving slightly. Robby takes the backpack from your shoulders (he must have gotten that trick from Dr. Abbot) and places it inside of the tent before returning outside.
After all the tents are set up and everybody has gotten their bearings, you find yourself standing in a circle with the rest of the group as Robby lets everybody know about the plan for the day. And the plan… is that there is no plan. It seems like Robby just assumed everybody would find something to do, so now the group is standing around and simply staring at each other.
Not one to linger in awkward silence for too long, Trinity speaks up to offer an activity: “Y/N is a great yoga instructor, and there’s an area we could set up for some yoga nearby.” You glare at her for volunteering you, though you have to admit to yourself that a little bit of yoga could do your nerves some good right now.
“That’s a great idea!” Mel says, grabbing Langdon’s hand and pulling his arm excitedly. “We would love to join for some yoga.” Langdon doesn’t seem nearly as interested as Mel, but he nods in acceptance when he sees her excitement.
“Yeah, we’re down,” Ellis says, looking around for agreement from the other women in the group. When Donnie and Mateo agree to join as well, Robby looks at Abbot with a shrug before following Trinity.
“Okay,” you say. “Let me get my mat.”
“It’s in your backpack, right? I saw it sticking out of the top,” Dr. Abbot says. “Be right back—I’ll grab it.” He jogs off before you can reply and tell him that you’ll get it, and he returns quickly with the mat in his hands. You get a sense of déjà vu as you’re once again left behind the rest of the group to walk slowly with Abbot.
You lead the group through a flow of stretches and a gentle sequence that seems to work for everyone. Almost everyone is goofing around and laughing with each other while they follow your instructions, but Robby seems focused on getting the poses right. When you see he’s struggling to stretch into one of the poses you cue, you walk over and kneel next to him. You place one hand on the back of his neck and one on the back of his thigh, gently pushing into his muscles to help loosen his posture.
“You’re a little bit tight right here,” you whisper. “Just let go and allow your body to fall into the pose, instead of forcing it to comply with your will. Not everything is a matter of control, Robby.” He huffs quietly, but follows your instructions, limbs softening under your hands and facial expression relaxing.
“Good,” you say. “Well done.” You move back toward the front of the group, not noticing Abbot and Robby’s eyes on you as you settle into the pose on your own mat and begin giving the next cue for the group.
The rest of the day consists of chatting with Mel and Trinity, trying to make a fire with Mateo to use for making dinner, and hiding away from the others so you could have some quiet to read the romance novel you’d shoved into your backpack. You were settled on a blanket beneath a tree, deep into a chapter with a relatively high level of spice, when you heard steps coming up behind you.
“Oh, sorry Y/N. I’m just looking for some dry limbs to use for this fire,” Robby says apologetically. “Somebody was trying to use wet sticks earlier to make the fire—no wonder they couldn’t get one started.”
“Oh, that was Mateo and I,” you say, cringing. “I’m sorry, I’ve never made a fire before.” He shakes his head, eyes going wide as he realizes his mistake.
“No, no. It’s not your fault at all. Honestly, it’s just good that you wanted to try,” he says. He scratches the top of his head awkwardly with one hand before shrugging. “I could show you how to make one, if you want?”
“Oh yeah, sure! Just let me find something I can use as a bookmark. I hate dog-earing pages,” you laugh as you push yourself up from your position on the ground. He reaches into his pockets, digging around until he pulls a small piece of paper out and handing it to you. You look down at it before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my God. You’re giving me a receipt for condoms as a bookmark?” His eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly as you continue to laugh at him.
“They aren’t for me,” he says. “I started buying them for the trip after…well…an incident a couple years ago when King and Langdon first got together. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it—you said you needed a bookmark and I just remembered I had a receipt in my pocket.”
“Jesus, Robby. Way to give a girl a good laugh.” You place the receipt in your book and shut it, still laughing as you follow him to the sad-looking fire pit. Abbot is sitting on a camping chair next to it, eyebrows furrowing as he notices Robby’s sheepish expression and your uncontrollable laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, you know,” you say. “Condoms.” You burst into another round of laughter, covering your mouth and shaking your head. Abbot gives you a quizzical look, but moves on when Robby hands him a stack of dry twigs.
“Okay,” Robby says. “When you’re making a fire, you need to make sure you’re using dry kindling.” He removes the moist logs that you and Mateo had placed earlier and proceeds to explain the fire-making process to you. You’re listening, but it’s hard to pay attention to everything he says when his arms flex as he adjusts the firewood. And you don’t notice when Abbot sees you looking so intently at Robby’s physique—or when Abbot looks at yours.
Once the fire is built, Robby works on cooking dinner while you and Abbot sit comfortably around the fire. You’re unsure what it is, but it smells delicious and you’re starving from the long day of outdoor activities.
“How long have the two of you had yearly camping trips, Dr. Abbot?”
“Oh, about five years or so. And you should call me Jack,” he says, “considering we’ll be sharing a bedroom tonight.” You look down at the ground and blush, unsure how to respond to his brazen statement, but nod.
“Jack it is,” you say quietly.
Dinner is lively, and maybe the loudest meal you’ve ever attended. Trinity argues with Langdon over a medical procedure that you barely understand, Donnie and Mateo almost get into a food fight when Mateo takes the last serving left in the pot, and Dr. McKay and Whitaker have an animated discussion about some television show you haven’t seen.
When dinner is over, Trinity offers herself and Whitaker to clean up the mess (in apologies for her deception… and forgetting your tent). She pushes you away when you try to help, and simply tells you to go relax and get ready for bed.
You beat both Robby and Jack to the tent and decide that you have enough time to change before they get back—no need to bring your clothes all the way to the semi-outdoor bathrooms when you can just change in the tent. You peel your pants and shirt off, shivering as soon as the chill hits your skin and bending down to pick up the thin pair of pajamas you had packed—you hadn’t realized it would be so cold. When you hear a soft unzipping noise, you immediately spring up to standing and turn around, arms crossed over your chest as if you could hide your inadequately clothed body from the two men standing in the doorway of the tent.
Robby’s mouth is wide open in shock as he looks at you, too consumed with the shape of your breasts and hips to consider looking away. Jack is less shocked than Robby, but is just as appreciative. He gives you a small smirk—one that silently says “It seems like you did this on purpose”—before he puts a hand on Robby’s shoulder and gestures for him to look away from your panties.
“Sorry about that, doll,” he says. “We didn’t realize you were already getting ready for bed. We’ll give you a second.” Before you can apologize for your exceptionally unprofessional state of dress, Jack zips the door to the tent again and you hear them walk away from the tent together in quiet conversation. You feel certain they’re talking about you, and you frantically pull on your pajamas to avoid another awkward moment. You’re not sure whether you should just lay down and try to sleep or if you should wait until they come back so you can apologize profusely. Regardless, you know the shame of being seen near-naked by men you work with will gnaw at you for the rest of the trip.
You decide to lay beneath the thin blanket you packed in your backpack—at least you had the foresight to pack an extra layer to sleep with, knowing that if you shared with Trinity you would be fighting over the covers all night. You use your backpack as a makeshift pillow and close your eyes, an image of Jack and Robby staring at your bare skin flashing through your head over and over and over and–
“Knock knock,” you hear Robby’s voice call from outside the tent. “Safe to come in?” You raise your head slightly, sitting up to respond with a short “Yep! All clear!” Your voice breaks slightly as you speak, betraying your nerves and making you cringe as Robby and Jack both enter the tent. They’re both wearing the same clothes as they were at dinner, and they look exhausted. They make quick work of looking through their bags to find pajamas—or, in Jack’s case, a pair of grey sweatpants. Well, that’s going to be a problem.
“I’m so sorry,” you say. “That was so inappropriate, and I should have just gone to change in the restrooms. I didn’t realize you two would be back so soon. I just really appreciate that you’re willing to share a tent, but I completely understand if you aren’t comfortable with that anymore. I don’t want to make either of you feel–”
“That’s okay, Y/N, it was an honest mistake. And we should have checked to be sure you were decent first,” Robby says. He looks at Jack for a moment before looking back at you, a look in his eyes that you can’t quite read.
“But, you know, fair is fair,” Jack says, and your eyes widen as they both start undressing in front of you. And they make eye contact with you the whole. fucking. time.
Jack pulls the grey sweatpants he was holding over a pair of boxer-briefs, and Robby pulls on a pair of green flannel pajama pants over boxers. Neither bothers to put on a shirt, gifting you with an eyeful of every flex of their muscles—and you’re pretty sure most of the movement is for your benefit.
Each of them pulls a thick sleeping pad and blanket out of their bags, and Jack gestures for you to stand up from the sad sleeping situation you had set up for yourself. They place the sleeping pads on the floor of the tent so they meet with each other to make one large space to sleep, and then throw their blankets and your blanket on top.
“Go on,” Robby says, gesturing toward the middle of the sleeping pads. “That’ll be much more comfortable to sleep on than the ground.” You nod and move towards the bedding, settling toward the far side of the tent.
“We’re both pretty possessive sleepers,” Jack says. “If you sleep over there, you’re going to end up with no blankets and cold all night. And those pajamas don’t look very suited for the cold, doll.”
“Go ahead and take the middle,” Robby says. You nod slowly, so stressed at this point that you don’t even question the inappropriateness of sleeping between your coworkers who have just seen you in your underwear. You crawl to the middle of the mattress and settle under the blankets.
They quickly join you on the mattress, Robby on your right and Jack on your left, and settle in with you beneath the blankets. Jack has his body turned toward yours while Robby is on his back with his hands under the back of his head. You feel crowded but you’re thankful to be warm—they’re generating significantly more heat than the three blankets.
“Okay… well, goodnight,” you say. You turn on your side to face Robby, tucking one arm under your head and moving your legs up into your torso—you’ve never been able to sleep in any other position. You hear them both murmur soft goodnights in response.
You’re hardly comfortable on a thin sleeping pad with no pillow, but it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself drifting to sleep. You’re in that odd space between awake and asleep where you find your thoughts moving away from daily stress or to-do lists and toward random ideas. Ideas like Jack wrapping an arm around your stomach and pulling you back against his hard chest—a position where you can also feel his very hard cock.
Your eyes shoot open as you process that you’re not just imagining his body pressed to your back. He’s actually pressed against you, and you can feel exactly how big he is. Instinctively, you move further back against him, grinding your ass lightly on him.
“Careful, doll,” he warns. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” In your slightly-sleepy haze, you decide not to heed his warning and continue pushing your ass back. He gives you a moment to have your way before laughing softly and gripping your hips tightly. Before you can process the movement, he has you on your back beneath him, and you can see the hard tent of his cock in his sweats. Your eyes widen as you process exactly how big he looks from this angle. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you get the chance.
“Don’t act shy now,” he says. “You wanted to rub all over my dick a minute ago. I bet if I reached into your panties right now you would be dripping wet for me.” He raises his eyebrows in question, hesitating briefly as he reaches toward your waistband. You nod your head toward his hand in agreement, and he takes his time moving his hands down your stomach, on the bare skin of your hips, and then to grip an ass cheek in each hand. He kneads your ass with both hands, covering each cheek with a large hand and jiggling slightly. He gives your ass a light slap before moving a hand toward your pussy. When he feels the wet warmth waiting for him, his lips turn up to give you a cocky grin.
“You’re going to need to feel this, Michael. She’s dripping,” he says. Your eyes widen as you realize you hadn’t even checked if Robby was awake. You turn to your side and see Robby’s eyes flitting between your heaving chest and the hand Jack has in your pants. His flannel pants are tented with the outline of his hard cock, which he has one hand on over his pants. You subconsciously lick your lips at the sight.
“Yeah?” he asks. “You need me to touch you, sweetheart?” You nod quickly, one hand reaching up to rake your fingernails down Jack’s arm while the other one finds Robby’s wrist and guides it to your legs. As Robby’s fingers reach into your panties and make their way to your clit, Jack’s move down to your entrance. You’re unable to stop yourself from letting out a soft “Oh!” when one finger pushes into you.
You can barely fucking think when you feel Robby’s lips on yours, nipping softly at your bottom lip and meeting your tongue with his. He puts pressure on your clit as he circles it, creating a delicious friction with the pads of his fingers. He increases the pressure when you moan into his mouth, and Jack pulls out of your pussy to fuck you with another finger.
“You want to use that mouth on Michael, doll? Make him feel good?” You can’t find the words to respond, too overstimulated by their hands on your pussy and Robby’s lips on yours—in fact, you didn’t even notice when one of them pulled your pants and underwear down to your ankles. You try to nod and make a noise of agreement, but instead you end up mewling into Robby’s mouth and letting out a pathetic, needy gasp. When you reach toward Robby’s cock, he tugs the waistband of his pants down so you can see exactly how big he is.
And oh boy is he big.
He’s red and thick, the tip glistening with the wet shine of pre-cum. You pay close attention to the prominent veins running to the bottom of him, where his hand fists the base. You immediately sit up, ignoring the awkward placement of their hands as you maneuver from your back to get onto all fours. Both men look at you with hooded eyes, nothing but appreciation for the show you’re giving them. Jack reaches for the bottom of your shirt and pulls it off in one quick swoop, and then they’re both sitting back and waiting for you.
And you’re so fucking ready that you crawl to put yourself between Robby’s legs. He adjusts to give Jack more space to continue fingering your pussy, and then reaches one hand out to your face. You lean your cheek into his hand, and when his thumb nears your mouth you don’t wait for him—you take it in your mouth and suck, keeping eye contact with him. When Jack’s fingers push into you, you take Robby’s thumb deeper in your mouth. After a moment, he replaces his thumb with two fingers and hooks them at the knuckles behind your teeth and gently pulls your face down so you’re eye level with his cock.
He laughs softly when you move your mouth towards the tip immediately, swirling your tongue over the sticky liquid leaking out of him. He pulls his cock away from your mouth, softly tapping you on your open mouth with it before guiding it into your mouth. When the tip hits the back of your throat and you start to gag, you feel Jack place himself against your back. His chest meets your back and you feel his cock against your ass as he slowly moves one hand up and down his length. When you feel his fingers crook inside your cunt, you involuntarily gasp and Robby is able to push even deeper into your throat.
You can barely think, focused on how fucking full you feel and how good it feels to just let go and let them use you. When you feel the pressure building up low in your stomach, you grind back onto Jack’s fingers and moan around Robby.
“You gonna come for us, doll?” Jack asks. “Want Robby to come in your mouth? You’ve got him so close. Look at how good you’re making him feel.” He continues fucking into you with his fingers and grinds the palm of his hand on your clit. Robby threads his fingers into your hair and pushes you down even farther on his dick, his other hand pinching your nipple as he fucks into your mouth. You can’t even find the energy to respond to the question, trusting that he can tell how fucking bad you want it from the movement of your hips and your eager, sloppy treatment of Robby’s cock.
“Fuck,” Robby whispers. “I’m going to come, sweetheart. You can take it, yeah?” He thrusts into your mouth, cum spurting into the back of your throat as you try desperately not to gag on his length. And then you feel the pressure at your clit release, moaning softly and pressing into Jack’s fingers as you swallow everything Robby gives you. As you take your mouth off of his softening length, you feel wet strings of cum land on your back and hear Jack sigh in relief.
You can’t even begin to think about where to move—you’re still on all fours between Robby’s legs, cum on your back and clothes somewhere on the floor of the tent. You let Robby maneuver you so that you’re laying on the mattress on your stomach, and Jack pulls on his sweatpants to slip out of the tent.
When he comes back, he has a wet t-shirt to wipe your back and sex. After cleaning you up, they move you back on your side and press close to you. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to close as you drift into sleep.
When you wake up in the morning, you’re burning up with the heat of both men surrounding you. They each have an arm thrown over your naked torso, and their eyes are open. There’s no telling how long they’ve been waiting for you to wake up.
“Oh my fucking God,” you say. “What have we done?” Jack and Robby look a bit nervous, but each grins as they make eye contact with each other from either side of you. Robby rises from his position next to you and moves toward your legs, placing himself between them and lowering his head to the apex of your thighs. Jack leans down to press his lips against yours softly before answering your question.
i want to be sexy to someone
is it too much to ask?
sexy to somebody, it would help me out
– sexy to someone, Clairo
summary: you finally put yourself back out there and set up a date for your night off. to your utter humiliation, you get stood up. the night takes a turn when you see your attending, Jack Abbot, who suggests you have dinner together since you're already all dressed up.
tags/warnings: age gap (reader is a resident), oral (f + m receiving), dacryphilia, protected piv sex, dry humping, crybaby!reader, idiots in love, ER references because I can't help myself :), the tiniest hint of puppy play, discussions of jack's amputation,
wc: 10k
a/n: I'm realizing that I have a tendency to write about jack abbot saving reader from mediocre and shitty men... and you know what he would!!!! genuinely thought this would be a cute lil 5k fic and then... oh well!! being short-winded is not my thing lol
credits: gif credits to @wesandresons
8:21.
You checked your phone for the millionth time.
You were supposed to meet him at the restaurant at 7pm, and he was almost an hour and a half late.
Well, you hoped he was late. You hadn’t yet accepted the probable fact that you’d been stood up. I mean, you were no stranger to chaotic schedules, unplanned overtime, and last minute catastrophes that had to be dealt with. Residency often rendered your social life moot; you could barely keep up with your commitments at the hospital, let alone a vibrant dating life. Maybe he had an equally demanding job; maybe there was a plausible excuse for why he left you stranded in this Italian restaurant without the decency of a “sorry, not interested anymore” text.
You looked at your phone again–8:26. Okay, you’d give him 4 more minutes before you decide to pack it up. You try to subtly survey the restaurant for any sign of him, but are met only with the pitying looks of the waitstaff, who would, in all likelihood, be the only ones benefitting from this humiliation ritual. The hostess checked in with you at the bar regularly, the bartender had given you a glass of merlot on the house, and a very kind server brought you a charcuterie board to nibble on–had even brought you extra olives when you commented on how they were your favorite. They were all getting fat tips–or at least as fat as you could afford.
8:31. Despite your best efforts you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your throat got that tight, achy feeling that precedes a sob. You felt so foolish.
You looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away and tried to even out your breathing.
You didn’t even want to go on this date. You’d all but sworn off of dating, the ROI not worth the emotional whiplash you were subjected to more often than not. It was becoming harder and harder as you got older to open up to people, expose your vulnerabilities and greatest fears, only to have them spit back in your face when things didn’t go their way.
So you stopped with the apps, stopped the meaningless dates that were nothing more than a hookup vehicle for most. But your friends had convinced you that you needed to get back out there, that things would be better in Pittsburgh–the proverbial ocean filled with different, better fish than your hometown. And perhaps they were tired of hearing you wax poetic about the hazel-eyed night shift attending that you had no chance with.
But you did want to find that person. As much as you were an independent, capable woman–doctor, even–the truth was you were lonely. Your days consisted of going to work, where you spent 12+ hours caring for Pittsburgh’s sickest, and coming home to microwave whatever sad frozen meal you had in your freezer. Sometimes you had the energy to join some of the night shift for post-shift breakfast, but that was about it.
You wanted someone to share your life with, to ask about your day or if you’ve eaten. Someone who knew that your favorite flower was lily of the valley, but since they were too expensive you would settle for a bouquet of peonies; that you loved horror movies even though they scared the daylights out of you; that knew you loved olives but hated pickles. Someone who knew you, inside and out.
There was a chasm in your chest that ached, that yearned for someone to take care of you–not financially, though you wouldn’t be opposed to that–but emotionally. To tell you that you were good, worthy, that you weren’t too much or too clingy. That wanted you as much as you wanted them. That felt the tension leave their shoulders when they looked at you, because you just being there made things better.
Was that too much to ask for?
It’d been so long since someone had even flirted with you, and even longer since you’d hooked up with anybody. Your dry spell was bordering on sahara levels of arid. Hell, at this point, you think you’d cum for the next guy who called you pretty.
You shake yourself out of your pity party, dabbing your eyes with a napkin and gathering up the courage to ask for the bill, when you hear someone calling your name. Great. You’re halfway to a breakdown over some stupid guy who stood you up, and now you would have to sit through pleasantries with someone when you desperately wanted to go home and cry into a bottle of wine.
You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.
The person you least expect to see is the aforementioned hazel-eyed attending. He’s standing by the hostess stand, off to the side, dressed in dark blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was unfair, really, how good the man could look in the most basic outfit. His shirt was pulled taut across his chest, muscles straining against the fabric and outlining the planes of his pecs. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his strong, freckled arms on display, and sinful thoughts ran through your head at how those arms would feel around you.
You smiled and waved at him, reluctantly making your way over. It’s not like you can avoid him at this point, though these are less than ideal circumstances to meet him outside of work.
“Small world,” he joked as you approached, a soft smile gracing his features.
“I guess so,” you said sullenly, not up to your usual banter.
“Big plans for the night?” he asked, eyes skating over your form, taking in the pretty red dress you’d donned for the evening, the light coat of makeup you applied, the hairstyle you wrangled your locks into. In any other scenario, you’d be preening under his watchful eye, giddy that he was eyeing you up and down.
Now, though, you wilted under the attention. The humiliation from the night and the tingly feeling pooling in your gut at his gaze swirled together in some rancid amalgamation of emotions. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry or both, but ideally not in front of him.
Your silence, apparently, concerned him. He looked at you seriously now, his eyes getting that clinical, assessing look in them as he took you in, “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his features.
It was the one question you did not want to be asked. Because, for some reason, you could keep it all inside, bury the feelings as deep as they’d go, as long as someone didn’t ask if you were okay. The barest expression of concern had your lip trembling, throat tight as you managed to squeak out a meek, “I’m fine!”
You could feel a tear tracing down your cheek, and you wiped it away furiously. Your eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder, unable to bear the pitying look that was undoubtedly on his face.
“You don’t look fine,” he said softly, hand coming up to rest lightly on your upper arm.
You shook your head, powerless to staunch the flow of tears now running down your face. “Sorry, I just, uh, I had a date tonight and he didn’t show, so,” you made a helpless gesture, your shoulders shrugging in feigned nonchalance. You felt ridiculous, crying over being stood up in front of your attending who was just trying to make small talk with you.
You let out a garbled laugh, “Shit, sorry,” you hiccup, “this isn’t your problem, I don’t wanna interrupt your night any more than I already have. Have a good night,” you said, moving to push past him and scurry out the door.
He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, his body blocking your exit.
“You’re not interrupting. I was just about to place a to-go order,” he said, a hesitant look crossing his face before he continued, “But, uh… would you like to have dinner with me instead?”
You're taken aback. It’s the last thing you expected him to ask you. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t thought about him in this context. On the contrary, Jack Abbot had been the subject of many a ‘boyfriend’ dream over the past year you’d worked with him. He was kind and generous and funny, his humor as dark as yours. He was steady in the face of chaos, a lighthouse in the foggiest of days–a man you could depend on when shit hit the fan. It’s part of the reason you switched to nights. You always felt calmer in his presence, more assured of your capabilities because he believed in you.
And he was undeniably gorgeous–his fine wrinkles and graying curls set your body ablaze each time you looked at him, your panties soaking through in record time. You loved especially when he went a day or two longer without shaving, his scruffy cheeks looking like a delectable place to sit.
Your mind was plagued by obscene fantasies of him, the sinful images assaulting you at the most inopportune times. You knew he’d treat you right, wouldn’t prioritize his pleasure over yours. He was older, experienced, not a kid fumbling around in the dark, searching for your most sensitive spots and coming up empty. You imagined the way his stubble would feel on your skin, his jaw scraping down your neck as he pressed kisses there, moving lower and lower until he was nestled between your thighs, mouth hot against your aching pussy. The way he would stretch you out and fill you up, have you desperate and begging for more.
You’re snapped out of your lustful daydream when he says your name, an inquiring tone meant to prompt a response. Oh right, he asked you a question.
You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to have dinner with him, but because you didn’t want to do so under these conditions; you didn’t want to be a charity case.
“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to have a pity dinner with me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little rejection.”
“It wouldn’t be a pity dinner,” he shook his head immediately, “come on, you got all dressed up, let me at least buy you dinner for your trouble.”
He cleared his throat, “Unless you really don’t want to, obviously, and I’ll let it go,” he said, “but I’d hate to see you go home cryin’.” And he looked so sincere, his pretty eyes so soft and squishy, all but pleading for you to accept his offer.
You chewed on your lip, considering it. It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend your night. As of now your plans for the rest of the night were getting sadder by the moment. Things could only go up from here, you supposed. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure,” you nodded.
“I’m positive,” he said, hand coming up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you back up to the hostess stand. “Table for two, please.”
The two of you were sat at a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, the section secluded and not too loud. It was a classic Italian restaurant–warm, dim lighting illuminated the space from antique sconces on the wall, the walls were a beautiful exposed red brick, and the tables were candlelit and laid with red and white checkered cloths. The leather of the booth was soft but worn, the cracks spidering out and indenting into the back of your thighs a sign of how well loved this place was.
The booth forced you close together, your thighs not quite touching each other, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His scent is intoxicating, all warm amber and oud, mixed with a hint of citrus and his natural musk. It took all your power not to burrow your nose into his neck and inhale deeply.
You were lucky to have the same waitress that checked on you at the bar, though you did have to assure her that this was not the man who stood you up. You were honestly a little concerned at the death glare she gave him at first–a true girls girl.
“So, Dr. Abbot, how was your day off?” you asked, fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress. Despite your easy rapport at work, it felt awkward to be sitting here with your attending, especially when you were desperately trying to keep your feelings for him at bay.
“Oh it was fine, picked up a shift with the SWAT unit and didn’t get shot at, so, you know, all things considered,” he said, then waved his hand dismissively, “and please, call me Jack. We're not at work,” a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Okay, Jack,” you laughed, the tension easing a bit as you threw formalities out the window.
“I would ask you how your day off was, but I think I have a pretty good idea,” he said with a teasing lilt.
“Yeah, not my best moment. This is partially why I stopped dating, I hate getting my hopes up,” you said, a little more vulnerable than you intended but you supposed you were past that now.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think whatever man decided to let you slip through their fingers is a fuckin’ idiot.”
You sputtered a bit at that, your cheeks heating up. It was a kind platitude, and you wished that it made you feel better, but it did little to alleviate the pit in your stomach that made you feel small; that screamed that you weren’t good enough.
“But enough about that asshole. Do you want to order an appetizer?” he asked, scanning the menu.
“Oh no, I’m okay, thank you.”
“You sure? My treat, remember, don’t worry about prices.” he looked up, concerned.
“I’m fine, really,” you bit your cheek, reluctant to spit it out, “our waitress may or may not have given me a pity charcuterie board at the bar.”
His face was still for a moment before you saw the edge of his mouth betray him, quirking up in a suppressed smile.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned, your own resolve already breaking as you took in how pathetic the situation actually was. “It’s not funny!” you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the menu.
“No, no, definitely not,” he intoned, a look of mock-seriousness on his face before he broke out into a laugh, “I’m sorry! But it is objectively a little funny,” he hedged, hands held out defensively to block another menu attack.
“It is not! It means that the poor waitress had to go talk to her boss and ask if they could comp an appetizer for the miserable sad sack at the bar!”
“She probably didn’t call you a miserable sad sack. Maybe sad puppy dog girl, but not miserable sad sack,” he teased.
You gasped exaggeratedly, “I am not a sad puppy dog girl!”
“Oh yes you are. It’s the eyes. And the general obedient demeanor," he smirked.
Oh. Your tummy twisted at that, but you quickly filed it under things that I simply do not have enough time to unpack right now.
“You’re mean,” you pouted, lip jutting out and arms crossed. You weren’t really upset, but it felt fun to play it up a little bit.
“Aww,” he pouted back at you, his tone just a tad condescending, “let me make it up to you. What do you say to some good wine and garlic knots?”
You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, “what the hell, let's do it. It’s not like I’m going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,” you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss.
“You never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,” he joked, not looking up from the wine menu.
You were a little stunned at that. Was he… flirting? No. Definitely not. This was a strictly platonic date. Right? I mean, the puppy comment you could explain away, but this… this was different, wasn’t it? Who just jokes like that about the most romantic canine kiss in history? A joke, you settled on. Because you’d already gotten your hopes up enough for one night.
Dinner was nice. Really nice.
Conversation flowed freely, starting out in neutral territory with updates about patients, work gossip, whatever the fuck was going on with Robby. But you soon moved out of the work realm and into personal matters. You told him about your childhood–where you grew up, your favorite childhood pets, how much trouble you got into as a teen.
And you learned a lot about Jack. That he came from a military family that moved around a lot, but spent a large chunk of time in North Carolina. He had two sisters, both older than him. One stayed in North Carolina and the other lived in West Virginia. Both married to military men, and both notorious for giving Jack shit about everything. But they were his rocks when he lost his leg, and then again when he lost his wife, and he was endlessly grateful for them.
You both loved 90s alternative rock, which surprised you because you took Jack to be more of a classic rock fan, to which he merely glared at you and said that he wasn’t that old. You both had childhood crushes on Winona Ryder; his borne from her role in Heathers, and yours from Girl, Interrupted. He surprised you with the fact that he was a good cook, a fact that seemed unfathomable to you based on his general vibe.
Now, though, you’d moved to med school stories, and Jack was regaling you with stories about him and Robby back in the day.
“We must have been… god, I must have been a third year med student, and Robby was… an R2? and he had really pissed me off that night. I don’t even remember what he did, I just remember being so annoyed at him,” he laughed, shaking his head at the memory, “It was a quiet night, so he snuck off to the on-call room to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me to do all the scut. So, I recruited the help of the charge nurse, Carol, and our attending, Mark, and we applied a cast to his right leg while he was knocked out.”
He’s cackling now, almost unable to finish his story between wheezing gasps of air, “we paged him, like, 10 times until he answered, and next thing we know he’s bursting out of the on-call room and onto his ass before he even realized what happened!”
You’re laughing hard now, too, trying to picture a younger version of Robby gracelessly tripping over an unnecessary leg cast in his hurry to answer his page. It sounded so unlike the self-assured, stoic version you knew him to be.
“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “how mad was he?”
“Oh he was pissed. Not because of the cast, but because 5 minutes after we paged him, a 15-car pile up came in and he got benched until he could get the cast off. He had to wait for it to dry before he could saw it off, and the whole time he just sat there glaring at me.”
“Did he get you back?” you asked, hungry for more crumbs of their life before you, before the Pitt as it was now.
“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “the fucker taped nails to his shirt, took an x-ray, and switched out the real film for the fake before I noticed. I was freaking out to Mark, yelling about how this patient needed surgery before they perfed. Meanwhile Mark was in on it, and made me feel crazy when he pulled out the perfectly normal x-ray for my patient. He said, ‘I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but this looks like a perfectly normal x-ray,’” he said, in an impersonation you could only assume was Mark.
“That’s fucking crazy,” you giggled, “can you imagine someone doing something like that in the Pitt? I think Robby’d actually have an aneurysm.”
“Yeah, the old man’s lost a bit of his whimsy over the years,” he shook his head.
“Old man, huh? Those are fighting words from a man merely 3 years younger than him,” you teased, “and much grayer,” you added with a wink.
“Watch it, missy,” he warned, then, quieter, “not too old to teach you some manners.”
Feeling emboldened by the wine, you leaned a little closer, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Tracing the rim of your wine glass, you looked up at him. You swear his eyes drifted to your lips, but before you could do anything about it, he cleared his throat, steering the conversation back into safer waters.
“So, why did you get into emergency medicine?”
You thought about it for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be. “I wanted to meet people where they were at, help them in a real, immediate way. The traumas are great and exciting, and there’s nothing like making a pickup that saves someone’s life. But I like the less exciting stuff, too. The mundane care that doesn’t save a life, but makes someone feel better. Helps them get over a cold, or helps soothe a burn; suturing up a lac, or removing foreign objects from patients and not making them feel worse about their predicament. That stuff is just as important as the traumas.
Especially with how fucked healthcare is in this country, people come to us when they’re at their most vulnerable, and usually don’t want to be there. I just hope that I can make things less scary for patients when they come in, make sure they feel like they’re cared about and not being judged for coming to us.”
It’d been a long time since you’d answered that question honestly. Usually, you had your stock answer that you pulled out, which was a more eloquent version of “I want to save lives!” And that was still true, but there was so much more to working in the emergency department than just saving lives. It was paperwork and insurance and bed shortages and nursing shortages and all the other fucked up shit in the world that inevitably contributed to the cases you saw come through the doors at the Pitt.
“What about you? Was emergency medicine always it for you, or did you ever consider going into something else?” you asked.
He shook his head, “Not seriously, no. Considered switching to critical care after my leg. I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the hustle and bustle of the emergency room after that. But it was the only place I wanted to be, so I figured it out, did what I needed to do to get back to where I was before the accident.”
“Well, for what it's worth, I’m glad you stuck with EM. I couldn’t imagine working at the Pitt without you. I don’t think I’d be half the doctor I am without you,” you said, looking up at him.
You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten, his arm slung over the back of the booth and your thighs pressed against each other.
“Don’t sell yourself short, you’d be amazing with or without me,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “You know, I’ve taught a lot of residents in my years, and you… you’re really cut out for this. Not everyone is.”
The praise made you preen, the proximity of his hand to your face doing nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart. For a brief moment, you think he might lean in, might press those pillowy pink lips to yours, kiss you until you can’t think stra–
“Hi, sorry to interrupt but we’ll be closing in 15 minutes. Here’s your check when you’re ready,” the waitress said, setting the check down and scurrying away.
You checked the time on your phone: 11:15. Did you really spend almost 3 hours talking to Jack? It certainly didn’t feel like it.
“I guess we should get out of here before they kick us out,” Jack said, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.
You’re giggling at another one of Jack’s jokes as you leave the restaurant, the bill graciously paid by him despite your best efforts to split it. Your limbs were loose from the wine, goosebumps springing up on your arms from the early summer air turned chilly.
“Thank you for dinner. You salvaged an otherwise shitty night,” you laughed.
“It was no problem, really. I had a nice time,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed.
You mirrored him, shoulder scraping against the gritty brick, and looked up at him.
“Hold on, I think you have a little sauce on your face,” he said, and before you could grab a tissue from your purse, he reached out. His thumb gathered the sauce at the corner of your lips, going further to brush the pad of it across your bottom lip. The movement dragged your lower lip down slightly, your mouth parting involuntarily with it. You’re not sure why, but your tongue darted out, licked the pad of his thumb and the residual sauce.
Jack’s breath hitched, the sharp intake of air the only thing you could hear despite the sounds of car alarms and drunk party girls on a Friday night in downtown Pittsburgh.
You looked up at him, tongue still pressed flat against his thumb, and searched his eyes for a sign that the heat building between you is mutual.
Fuck it, you decided.
Without thinking about it too much, you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. And god, did they feel nice. They were soft, but firm, and he tasted faintly of the wine you’d shared earlier mixed with the slight acidity of the tomato sauce from his dinner. Your hand tangled in the curls at the base of his neck, and they’re so soft, but also a little stiff. You wondered, briefly, if he uses mousse, or hairspray, or if he’s got a whole curly girl routine down before realizing that oh my god he wasn’t kissing you back. Oh no, oh fuck.
How did you misread this situation so horrifically? You thought you were getting all the right signals, thought that he liked being with you, that he was flirting with you. But maybe it really was just a courtesy, a pity dinner.
Your cheeks are hot when you pull away from him, shame sitting thick and heavy in your stomach, numbness prickling up your arms in staticky goosebumps. And Jack is just standing there, the dumbfounded look on his face doing nothing to assuage your embarrassment.
You backed up, trying to create some distance, to lower the temperature between you that apparently only you felt.
Looking down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact, you babbled out, “I-I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and I don’t know why I-” your voice cracked and it felt like your lungs weren’t properly inflating with oxygen, “I don’t know how I misread things, but I guess I did so again, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go home and pretend this never happened,” you said, turning around and starting down the street, despite the fact that you most certainly needed to Uber home, not walk.
You’re trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that night when you hear him calling your name, “Wait!”
He caught up with you, only a few strides away from where you were standing, and grasped your arm gently. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, a little breathless, “I just… you surprised me.”
“Surprised you?” you laughed, “I damn near sucked your thumb, Jack,” you said, genuinely confused how a man like Jack Abbot could be surprised that a woman would try to kiss him; that the next logical step from erotic thumbsucking would be a kiss. “And you flirted with me all night! You made a Lady and the Tramp joke! How else am I supposed to take that?”
He rubbed at his jaw anxiously, a slight blush coating his cheeks, “I mean, yeah, I was surprised. I’ve liked you for a while now but then I heard you talking to Santos about how you didn’t want to go out with that cardiology attending and just assumed I didn’t have a shot,” he admitted sheepishly. “And maybe I got a little brazen with my flirting because I thought you didn’t see me like that anyway, figured it couldn’t hurt.”
It’s your turn to be surprised now. You hadn’t realized he heard that conversation, or that he’d taken the wrong idea from it; the opposite idea, actually.
You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers finding his curls again, “Well, if you recall, snoopy, I said that part of the problem was that I just didn’t want to fuck that cardiology attending,” you said, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes, “that isn’t the case with you.”
He looked shocked, but recovered quickly, his confident air returning to him. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, lips quirking up into a smile as he backed you up against the rough brick wall. His hand rested on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip, stroking you through your dress.
“In that case, please allow me to make up for my rude behavior,” he said, dipping down to kiss you properly this time.
You’d pictured this moment countless times before, but nothing compared to the real thing. Jack Abbot is a no nonsense man–a wartorn vet who understands more than most the importance of not wasting time. You expected your first kiss with him to be hungry, maybe a little sloppy, but when his lips meet yours, he’s achingly tender. It wasn’t uncertain–there was no question underlying his kiss–it was deep and languorous, like he was content to take his time up against this brick wall and savor the slide of your lips against his because he knew he had you right where he wanted you, finally.
He commanded you, his hand cupping your jaw to angle your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened up for him. The slide of his tongue against yours was delicious, the slick muscle curling around yours before moving back to your lips, sucking at your bottom lip and biting down gently. Your mind felt fuzzy at the way he handled you, guiding and taking you how he saw fit.
Some of his restraint dissipated, your mouths moving feverishly against each other. You couldn’t get enough of him; you pulled him into you and hooked your leg around his waist to draw him as close to you as possible. Pathetic, embarrassing whines and whimpers escaped you involuntarily, your body unable to mask how this man was making a mess of you.
His hand fell to the thigh wrapped around him, calloused fingers sliding up under your dress and gripping the bare flesh. He pulled you close, his pelvis rolling against yours sinfully. You could feel the hard outline of his cock against your cunt, your hips thrusting forward to meet the friction. A frustrated moan fell from your lips at the clothes separating you, at the inability to feel his skin against yours.
You pulled away only when air was necessary–and because you were very close to being cited for public indecency if things went any further.
“Sorry, I probably taste like garlic,” you said dumbly, fingers tracing over your spit slick lips, numb and swollen from Jack’s attention.
He laughed, forehead resting against yours, “you taste incredible,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, and then under your ear. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but my place is a couple blocks from here, if you’d like to come home with me.”
You nodded, a giddy smile breaking out across your face, “I would very much like to go home with you,” you said, already grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street.
The entryway is dark as you stumbled into Jack’s townhouse, the walk talking longer than it should have due to your need to drag him into searing kiss after searing kiss every dozen or so steps.
Jack navigated the two of you through the dark, your bodies unceremoniously plopping down on his couch. You fell onto his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushions and thighs stretching over the wide berth of his hips. Your kisses had devolved from slow and deep to fast and hungry, teeth nipping and clashing against one another, your breathing ragged from the exertion.
He was rock-hard and throbbing under you, the outline of his cock pressing deliciously against your pussy. The only articles of clothing separating you were the thin, lacy excuse for panties you were wearing and his jeans. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ground your hips down on him, the combination of rough denim and the drag of his cock on your aching cunt forcing loud moans and whimpers from your lips.
Jack was just as loud, his hips canting up to meet your rolling hips. His hand travelled to the back of your dress, fingers playing with the zipper, “this okay, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. You nodded, too caught up in his lips to give a verbal answer.
He chuckled as he pulled the zipper down, easing the sleeves down next and pulling away to get a look at you. He let out a sharp breath, the air stolen from his lungs as he took you in, hands gripping your waist tight and rolling his hips hard against you.
Your pretty tits were held up in an unlined white bra, your hardened nipples peaking through the barely there lace. He threw his head back against the couch, pupils blown wide as they fixated on your chest. ““My pretty, pretty girl. Was this all for him?” he asked, thumbs running in circles around your areolas. You nodded shyly, a bit embarrassed that you’d put on your good lingerie for some random guy. But it wasn’t all for nought, if Jack’s reaction was any indication.
“What a fuckin’ idiot,” he mumbled before enveloping your nipple between his lips, sucking the bud through the lace. He captured the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and pinching it, then soothing it over in soft circles. The sensation was dizzying. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, and he knew exactly the right pressure to ride the line between pleasure and pain.
But the lace was getting in the way; you couldn’t feel the scratch of his stubble like you’d dreamed of for so long. You unclasped your bra, tugging on his curls and pulling his face back just enough to let the garment fall down between you.
A guttural sound left him as he dove back in, lips suctioning onto your nipple and sucking hard, cheeks hollowed out and tongue swirling around the bud. Your hand tightened in his curls, arching your back and pushing your chest against his mouth. He alternated between the two, sucking, licking, and biting at one and kneading, flicking, and pinching the other. You could finally feel the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hips doubled their effort, grinding hard against his cock.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, “you know how hard it’s been keepin’ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time you’ve been hidin’ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,” he shook his head in disbelief, “don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything other than stuffin’ my face between these tits when I see you at work.”
His lips returned to your chest while his unoccupied hand moved under your dress, his rough palm gripping the fat of your ass and guiding you over his length faster. Every grind of your hips had your clit bumping up against the head of his cock, the pressure exquisite. Your slick was dripping down your thighs and seeping into his jeans, the schlick schlick schlick steady background noise among your moans and groans.
You didn’t realize how fast your orgasm was building until you were nearly on the precipice of it, letting out a strangled moan and, “I’m gonna–” before the wave crested. Your thighs trembled, a dull ache forming from keeping them stretched around Jack’s bulk, but it only added to the pleasure that zipped through you. That staticky feeling radiated through you, your pussy contracting and fluttering around nothing.
You’re panting into the crook of his neck as you ride out the aftershocks, your hips still grinding against his clothed cock, your lips letting out tiny gasps and whines.
“Did you… did you just cum, sweetheart?” Jack asked, a stunned look on his face.
You could feel how hot your cheeks were, shame curling through you because yes, you did cum from a little nipple play and grinding on his cock.
“I-i’m sorry, it’s just been a long time and no one’s touched me in so long and you feel so good, I didn’t think that would happen so quickly,” you said, panicked, “I’m sorry if I ruined things.”
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears you weren’t even aware had fallen, “you didn’t ruin anything, okay? I was just surprised, is all. I’m sorry if anyone’s made you feel that way, but you don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me. Never,” The sincerity of his words triggered a new bout of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck again, his scent a calming balm to your nerves.
“Plus, do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know I had such a pretty girl cummin’ on lap in under five minutes? That’s the stuff of dreams, baby,” he teased, pulling you out from your hiding spot and pressing kisses to your cheeks.
You laughed, still sniffling a bit, “gosh, I’m sorry I’ve been such a crybaby tonight.”
“It’s okay, honey,” he said, then, teasing, “but I can think of much better reasons for you to be cryin’, and none of them have anything to do with you being sad or embarrassed,” he said, kissing you properly now, tongue licking deep into your mouth.
You moaned into his mouth, then squealed as he hoisted you up, carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down at the edge of the bed, then properly removed your dress from where it was awkwardly gathered at your waist.
He didn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees and parting your legs, pushing them up toward your chest. “Hold 'em there for me, baby, wanna take a good look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp fabric between your legs. You did as he told you, hooking your hands under your knees and spreading yourself open for him. You felt exposed, but the awestruck look in his eye as he examined your pussy sent shockwaves through your body.
“This all because of me?” he asked, thumbing at your center over the fabric, pressing lightly against your clit with each stroke. Your panties were soaked through, the tiny scrap of fabric doing nothing to obscure your puffy folds that were sticky with a mix of your slick and cum. “What a mess you made, honey. Guess I’m gonna have to clean you up,” he said, pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit.
You moaned, hips lifting off the bed and chasing his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue on your cool flesh was blistering. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there and stopping any movement of your hips. You whined at the restriction, your hands fisting in the soft sheets instead.
“Waited so long for this honey, shit, fuckin’ dreamed about how you’d taste,” he moaned into your pussy, mouth lapping and sucking at your folds, gathering all the spend and slick and swallowing it down like nectar. His face was nestled deep into your cunt, tongue exploring every crease and crevice your cunt had to offer, licking, sucking, biting–and taking note of what made you scream.
And once he discovered it, he didn’t just eat you, he devoured you. He was a man possessed, with no regard for his own need for air. His tongue assaulted your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles around it, short kitten licks, and long, languorous licks that had him shaking his head between your thighs. Every now and again he wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled it, the light leaving your body every time. Your hips rocked against his mouth despite his hold on you, wrecked moans falling from your lips.
“Fuck, jack, please–r-right there!”
“That’s it, baby, let me hear you, tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he said, pulling back just far enough to spit onto your cunt before running two fingers up your slit, pushing them in without preamble. The stretch was delicious, his thick fingers curling deep into your wet heat and finding that sweet spot in no time. He exploited it mercilessly, massaging it with the pads of his fingers. His lips returned to your clit, sucking harshly now, giving you no reprieve from his ministrations.
“Feels so good Jack! Never felt this good before!” you cried.
The slurping and squelching was lewd, your moans and breathless cries of his name intermingled to create an obscene symphony that you’re sure the entire population of Pittsburgh could hear.
“You gonna cum on my face, honey? Gonna give me another one?” he asked, fingers massaging your g-spot. “Wanna–fuck–wanna feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers when she cums.”
“Y-yes, please Jack, ‘m gonna cum, feels sosososo good” you cried out, your second orgasm crashing over you. Stars burst behind your eyes, back arching uncomfortably off the bed and walls clenching so hard around his fingers you’re not sure how he hasn’t lost circulation. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him there as you rode out your orgasm, hips rutting against his mouth and fingers. He didn’t mind, licking and sucking you through it, his fingers keeping pressure on your g-spot until you were pushing him away.
He peppered your body with kisses as you came down, starting at your thighs and making his way up over your tummy, ribs, and breasts. He came to rest above you, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled him in for a lazy kiss. His face was soaked with your spend and you could taste the tang on his tongue when he kissed you.
“You’re stupidly good at that,” you whispered, body still boneless and floaty.
“Yeah? Want me to show you want else I’m stupidly good at?” he asked while finally shucking his shirt off.
“Yeah?” you said absentmindedly, eyes glazed over at the majesty that was Jack Abbot’s chest. You immediately began pressing kisses across the newly exposed skin–to his neck, collarbone, pecs, and tummy. You’re even able to scrape your teeth across a nipple before he holds you back at arms length, laughing.
“Yeah, honey,” he laughed between your frantic kisses, “but you gotta let me breathe for a sec, gotta take care of my leg.”
“Let me,” you said, slipping down to the floor and sitting back on your heels. You ran your palms up his thighs, hands coming to rest on his belt before going any further.
“You don’t have to do that, honey.”
“I know,” you said softly, “but I want to. If you’re okay with that.”
He cradled your face in his hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand to assure him that you wanted to do this.
“I care about you Jack, and this is part of you. I just wanna help you, wanna make you feel good,” you said earnestly, giving him your puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah. Okay, honey, go ahead,” he nodded, sitting back on his elbows to watch you. You grasped his belt again, unfastening the buckle and pulling the belt through the loops, discarding it somewhere behind you. You moved to the button of his jeans, deftly popping it open and hooking your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down with Jack’s help.
Your breath hitched at the sight of his dark gray boxers, a wet spot front and center that made your mouth water. You learned forward and kissed the damp fabric, moaning at the slight taste of precum that danced across your lips.
“Careful, sweetheart…” he warned, but there wasn’t much heat behind his words.
You just grinned up at him before getting back to the task at hand. Your fingers travelled down to the sleek metal attached to him, getting a feel for the mechanism before unlocking and twisting it off. The liner came next, tossed to the side before you pressed your fingertips into his skin, massaging the skin to get some blood flow back into the residual limb. You pressed sweet kisses to his flesh, from the front of his knee to the scarred flesh of his leg, tongue dipping out to trace the prominent scar just above his amputation site.
Jack breathed heavily above you, tiny groans escaping him unbidden. A look flickered across his face, and you think, briefly, that this may be the first time you’ve seen him truly vulnerable. It wasn’t a secret that he’d lost the lower portion of his leg in the war, but he didn’t flaunt it either. You wondered if there was an insecurity that lay deep within him, despite his overt confidence; if other women had reacted differently, cruelly even to the sight of his prosthesis. It made your heart ache to think about it, to think of someone doing anything but worshipping his beautiful body the way he deserved.
“So pretty, Jack,” you whispered, kisses inching higher up his thigh now, “wanna taste you now.”
When you’re met with the sight of Jack’s cock, you’re well and truly speechless. You knew he was big from your time on the couch, but seeing it was different. He was thick and veiny, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking precum furiously. It rested against his belly, curving slightly to the left. And did you mention that he was thick? Mouth agape, you wondered how you were going to fit him in your mouth. Or pussy.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, hands perched against his thighs, just staring at his cock, until Jack tilts your head back, fingers tightening in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck.
“Thought you wanted a taste, honey. You just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?” he asked, a smug smile on his lips.
“Maybe,” you mumbled, tongue darting out to wet your lips.
Before you can do anything of your own accord, his hand is guiding your head forward, the head of his cock pushing gently against the seam of your lips. You take over from there, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his tip, the precum gathered there salty and sticky against your lips. Your tongue dipped out to caress the spot just below his head, running the flat of your tongue along it before moving back to his head, spitting a glob of spit onto him and wrapping a hand around his base. You started with long, slow strokes, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, your hand meeting your lips where they suckled at his tip.
You moaned at the steady stream of precum invading your mouth, “taste so good Jack,” you said before taking more of him into your mouth. You're only about halfway down and your lips are already stretched tight around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth in filthy waterfalls. You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue massaging the underside of his cock.
“Fuck, baby, who knew you had such a filthy fuckin’ mouth on you,” he groaned, hips rutting up slightly.
His tip occasionally hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and tears to prick behind your eyes, but you don’t care; the feeling of him weighing heavy on your tongue is reward enough.
You feel a light pressure applied to the back of your head, “deeper, baby, know you can take it,” he groaned. You obliged, breathing deep through your nose and sinking down further onto his cock until you felt him hit the back of your throat and your nose was nestled in the trimmed grey curls at his base. Your hand grappled for his where it was perched on your head, using it to push harder against your head, trying to convey to him that you wanted him to take over; to fuck your face.
He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily as he realized what you wanted. He gathered your hair in his hands, hips shallowly trusting into the wet heat of your mouth. His mouth was slack, grunts and groans loud as he fucked your face. His pace builds, his cock roughly pistoning in and out of your mouth. Tears are falling freely now, your mouth stretched to capacity and throat being used and abused by his fat cock.
“See? These tears are much prettier, baby,” he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. “So fuckin’ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.”
You moaned around him at that, the praise and shame swirling in your tummy. Your hand came up to cup his balls, massaging and squeezing them gently between your fingers.
You’re suddenly pulled up off his cock and into his lap, spit stringing from your shiny, swollen lips. You whined at the loss of him, your mouth feeling uncomfortably empty now.
“Fuck–you feel too good, honey,” he grunted, setting you back against his pillows, “can’t cum in that pretty little mouth tonight, need to be inside you.”
He grabbed a condom out of his drawer before moving back to you, sitting back on his knees and rolling the condom on. You let out an annoyed whine. You’ve never hated the more rational side of your brain more than you do right now. You craved to feel him bare inside you–to feel him cum deep inside you, the hot white ropes painting your walls. And while you trusted him implicitly, you knew safety was of the utmost importance, so condom it was.
“Don’t worry, baby, soon as we get tested, you won’t be able to stop me from fuckin’ this pussy raw,” he groaned, settling between your spread thighs. His body was a soothing weight above you, the warmth he emanated relieving any anxiety you had.
He gripped the base of his cock and ran it through your sopping folds a few times, the tip catching slightly on your entrance on each pass. “Please, Jack, need to feel you,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close.
He cursed before giving in, notching the head of his cock against your entrance and entering you slowly, letting you feel and adjust to every inch on its own. Your head fell back into his plush pillows as he sank fully into you, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your walls were tight around him, clenching viciously at the intrusion–you’d never been stretched so wide, or filled so thoroughly. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs and replaced by his cock. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your short nails biting at his skin.
You were still for a moment, both your chests heaving as you adjusted to the feeling of one another. Then, once Jack composed himself, he started to move–slow, shallow thrusts at first, your pussy still clenching tight around him, sucking him in greedily with each thrust.
“Relax for me, honey, that’s it, doin’ so good for me,” he grunted, eyes closed, “pussy feels so good.”
You willed your body to relax, for your muscles to go lax around him. You shifted your legs up higher, the heels of your feet digging into the soft flesh of his ass.
“There you go, so good for me,” he moaned, “knew you’d be so good for me.”
He pulled out again, easier this time, until only the tip remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward. His thrusts were slow but hard, his hips slamming against you each time he bottomed out. The drag of his cock against your walls felt so good, his thick, throbbing length rubbing up against every sensitive spot. You felt every thick vein and ridge, as if they were imprinting into your walls, making a home there. You moaned at the thought of eternity, of Jack making your pussy his again and again and again.
He was watching you with a wondrous look on his face, his eyes flitting between your blissed out face and bouncing tits. “So fuckin’ sexy, baby, you don’t even understand how fuckin’ gorgeous you are,” he groaned, hips picking up speed, fucking you faster and harder.
The adrenaline and emotions from the night came crashing down around you. The feeling of his cock dragging through your walls mixed with the sweet words he was whispering into your ear had you feeling exposed and vulnerable, made you feel seen. Your hands were frantic, running over every bit of skin you could get your hands on, needing to feel his skin against yours. You pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, the friction it provided to your nipples dizzying.
You didn’t notice the tears until Jack was kissing away the salty tracks, his tongue sneaking out to lick up the length of your cheek. “You’re my little crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked, a sweet hint of condescension in his tone, “just can’t help babbling over my cock, huh, baby?”
You could only whimper at that. The words should feel shameful, degrading, even, but the fondness on his face, the constant reassurance he’d been giving you all night only made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because you weren’t a crybaby, you were his crybaby.
The coil in your stomach tightened, your orgasm fast approaching. He was fucking you hard and fast now, his balls slapping against your ass with a wet smack. “Jaack, I’m gonna–fffuck–I need–” you gasped at a particularly hard thrust, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
But Jack knew what you needed before you did, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against it, and you were done for. Your toes curled, heels pressing harder into his ass as you came, white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Your walls spasmed wildly, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You were absolutely drenched, your pussy gushing around his cock, leaking down your ass and onto the bed.
Jack wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as your walls seized his cock in a vise grip. “F-fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, his hips going into overdrive now, chasing his climax and fucking you hard and deep.
"Cum for me, Jack, wanna make you feel good," you cried.
He ground his hips into one last time, cumming with a loud moan, cock buried deep inside you and hips pressed flush against yours.
He collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest. He pressed lazy kisses to your sternum, collarbone, the soft flesh of your breasts–whatever he could get his lips on from this angle. Your fingers carded through his curls, the motion soothing as you tried to catch your breath.
Eventually, though, you had to part.
You whined as he pulled out, your cunt empty and cold now that he’d taken his warmth away. He grabbed his arm crutches, disposing of the condom and retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and began cleaning you up, gently wiping at your swollen pussy and sticky thighs, making sure you were comfortable before tossing the rag in the hamper.
He slid back into bed when he was finished, laying on his side and pulling you close against his chest. Your head was cushioned by this arm as you curled into him, your sweat slick bodies cool to the touch now that the heat had dissipated.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, fingers brushing up and down your ribs, the touch featherlight.
“Mmm probably as long as I have,” you said, snuggling closer to him.
“Really? When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?”
You didn’t have to think about it at all. “My birthday, on the roof. I gave you a cupcake and you got frosting all over you,” you giggled at the memory, “and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss it all off of your stupidly handsome face.”
He laughed with you, the creases around his eyes deepening as he did. He was so pretty, you thought for the thousandth time that night.
“I remember that,” he smiled, “I remember being so proud that I made you laugh that night.”
“What about you?” you asked.
He thought about it for a minute. “I think the need to kiss you has been simmering in me since I met you, but the first time I had the conscious thought was when you patched me up after that patient clocked me in the head,” he said, his hand now on your cheek, stroking the bone there, “you were standin’ between my legs, stitchin’ up my forehead, and all I could think about was pulling you close and kissing you until I couldn’t breathe.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He sighed, “I’m your superior and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't feel the same way.” You knew he didn’t want to delve into the ‘superior’ thing right now, didn’t want to have the long, complicated conversation that was sure to come in the following days.
“And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself once I started,” he said, lightening the mood a bit.
You giggled at that, rolling your eyes affectionately. But something nagged in your head about what he said.
“Wait…” you said, piecing together a timeline, “that was nearly a year ago! You’re telling me we could have been doing this for a year!?” you exclaimed, slapping him on the chest lightly.
He shook his head at you, a sheepish look on his face. You were both idiots.
“Well, I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for, then, don’t we?” he said cheekily, capturing your lips again and pushing you onto your back, determined to make you a very happy woman.
a/n: thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it <33
jack abbot the type to constantly refer to his wife as “my super hot wife” even in most casual conversations. “i was busy with my super hot wife” “my super hot wife told me too”
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - dacryphilia, dry humping, dom!jack x sub!reader, reader is sleepy (it’s still completely consensual, she is begging for it), jack cums in his pants, i don’t think i missed anything! lmk if i did
a/n: ninth prompt ! prompt: dacryphilia, jack abbot. this one was more of a self indulgent than anything tbh. not proofread, lmk about any mistakes
masterlist | jack abbot masterlist
20 prompts for 100
you always seemed to get emotional whenever you were tired.
it wasn’t something you could control, you just felt teary when you got sleepy. it was one of jack’s favourite things about you.
you were lying in bed, cuddled up to jack’s side after a long shift. he knew the feeling of exhaustion and guilt after a particularly harsh shift all too well.
“you okay, baby?” he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
you sighed and pressed your head into his shoulder in response. “i’m fine. i just want you right now.”
jack blinked and shifted in surprise as he felt you begin to grind against his good leg. “what? sweetheart, you should sleep. we can do whatever else you want when you’re not so tired.” he gently tried to coax, only to be met with a whine and a sloppy kiss to his jaw.
“no, i need you now. i’ll sleep after.” you promised, fingers curling tightly against his sleep shirt as you rocked your hips back and forth in a steady pattern.
he didn’t protest. he knew once you set your mind on something that you wouldn’t stop until you got it.
jack dipped his head down to meet your lips, his hands reaching to guide your hips.
you moaned against his mouth as your clit throbbed, the friction was almost overwhelming when you were tired.
unfortunately for you, the way jack was holding and kissing you so intimately and letting you use his body to get yourself off, made you feel emotional. the pleasure and love that came from the way jack licked into your mouth made you tear up. you felt unbelievably silly when you realised it.
you pulled away with a gasp, quickly burying your head into his chest while you rutted against him.
“what’s wrong, sweetheart? too much?” jack cooed, gently running his fingers through your hair. “are you almost there?”
you barely registered his words as the tears fell down your cheek, soaking his shirt. you whimpered against his chest, hips stuttering in their rhythm.
jack immediately pulled your head from his chest, his eyes widening as he saw your wet cheeks and glistening eyes.
before he could even process it, a groan escaped his throat as his hips jerked forward, head falling back as he squeezed your waist.
“w- what? jack- did you just cum?” you asked in confusion, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wiping away your tears.
“shit, baby. i’m so sorry.” he panted as he met your eyes again, frowning at the fact that just happened. “i can’t remember the last time i- i came in my pants like that.”
you shook your head as he apologised, moving to lace your hand with his. “did me crying make you..?” you asked quietly, watching his face for a reaction.
jack nodded sheepishly, pulling you close to his body. “you just- you looked so pretty.”
After a car accident, you're having trouble remembering an important aspect of your life—that you're engaged to Jack Abbot.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.6k
WARNINGS/CONTENT: MDNI 18+ only, amnesia, concussion, medical inaccuracies, car accident, age gap pairing
This is a NO-AI account!!! I do not fuck with AI and will never use it to write.
You feel groggy when you come to, eyes squinting against the bright overhead lights above your bed. Except it quickly becomes clear that the bed you’re laying in isn’t really yours, and the lights are bright because you’re in a hospital. After a glance around the room, it becomes clear that you aren’t in just any hospital, you’re at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center—the hospital you work at.
“Oh! You’re awake!” You’re relieved to see that the exclamation comes from Dana, who is both the daytime charge nurse and one of your favorite coworkers. Standing slightly behind her is Emma Nolan, a quiet yet funny nursing student. “Emma, will you go and tell Abbot?”
“What happened?” Your voice cracks as you ask, and you’re barely able to speak above a whisper. Dana quickly rushes to give you water before answering your question.
“Car accident. Well, car versus pedestrian, really. Do you remember what you were doing beforehand?”
“I was trying to get some grocery shopping done. Trader Joes didn’t have any of the dumplings I usually like.”
“That might be the second-most tragic thing I’ve heard today,” Dana laughs. After a moment, there’s a short knock on the door before Dr. Abbot walks into the room. He seems more on edge than his usual calm and confident attitude, and you hope that The Pitt isn’t in the middle of handling some sort of MCI.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Headache? Nausea? Aches or pains? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I left the room at the worst possible time, but I came back as soon as they told me you were awake.” He pulls a rolling stool over to the side of the hospital bed and runs his hand back and forth over your arm, watching your eyes as he waits for your response.
“A little bit of a headache. I don’t really remember what happened. I’m really sorry for all this trouble—do you think I could go soon? I don’t know what time it is, and I have to get back before six to feed my cat. She gets really angry if she can’t eat until late.” He laughs a little bit before shaking his head.
“Ginger will be fine for a little while,” he says. “From Robby’s exam, it seemed like you just got knocked out when you hit the ground. You’ve got a bit of a concussion and some scrapes, but we’ll get you home when my shift ends.”
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Dr. Robby says from the doorway as he rubs sanitizer between his hands. “I’m just going to check you one more time, and then we’ll keep you a little while for observation before you can go home.” He walks over to the opposite side of my bed and pulls out his stethoscope before asking you to lean forward so he can listen to your heartbeat. Dr. Abbot doesn’t move much as Robby performs various tests, but he keeps his hand on your arm and chats with Robby about how severe your concussion is.
“Everything looks good except for your head,” Robby says. “I’d recommend rest for 24 to 48 hours, no stressful activities for a week or so, and Tylenol if you feel any pain.”
“I’ve already got your shifts worked out for the next few days, doll,” Dana chimes in. “And if you end up needing extra time off, we’ll work it out. You just need to focus on feeling better.”
“We’ll sort out getting Shen to cover your next few shifts,” Robby says to Dr. Abbot. You turn to him in confusion, but don’t bother questioning his statement. You must have missed something they were talking about earlier. Your head does feel a little fuzzy.
“I appreciate that you both are checking on me,” you say, “but I don’t think you need to have two attendings covering a low-level concussion. I’m totally okay.” Robby laughs and shakes his head.
“Nah, you know that Gloria would lose her mind if she heard that Jack was taking your case—even if it was for something as small as a broken fingernail.”
“What? Why would she care if Dr. Abbot was helping with my care?” Dr. Abbot’s eyes quickly swing from your face to Robby’s, then to look at Dana. His eyes are wide and he seems upset as he mouths your words to himself: “Dr. Abbot.”
Dana has a rare look of concern on her face as she answers your question with another question. “Y/N, how long have you been working here?”
“What? Four years this fall. What the hell is going on?” You’re starting to freak out a little bit, and it’s becoming clear to you that the concussion you have has done more than just make your head a little fuzzy.
“Can you tell me anything about your day yesterday? What do you remember?” Robby asks gently.
“Jesus, you were there. We had a stressful day shift and then I went home and laid around all night. I watched Friends and ate pizza rolls for dinner.” You’re getting more frustrated by the second, as it’s clear they’re not telling you something.
“What do you remember about me?” Dr. Abbot asks softly. You realize that his hand has traveled from the top of your arm to your hand, which he’s clutching tightly. Your eyes flick from your joined hands to his eyes before looking back at Dana and Robby in panic.
“You’re a good doctor? We work together on the night shift a lot, and one time you changed my tire when I ran over a pothole in the parking lot. It was raining pretty hard. I remember that.” He nods slowly before asking his next question.
“And what happened after that? After I changed your tire?”
“I probably went home and passed out. It had been a pretty long shift, from what I remember. Although that was almost two years ago.” Dr. Abbot takes his hand out of yours before running it through his hair and shoving himself up from his stool. He stalks out of the room without another word. Robby gives Dana a quick look before walking out of the room behind him.
“Okay, it’s a common side effect. It will take a few days, but you’ll get all your memories back with no problem. Everything is going to be fine.”
“What am I forgetting? Dr. Abbot seemed upset.” You think about the expecting look in his eyes when he asked you what you remember about him, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my God. Dana. Have I been dating him or something?”
“Well, doll,” she says with hesitation, “you’re engaged to him.” Your eyes widen as you process the information. You’re engaged. How do you forget about an engagement? How do you forget about a whole relationship?
Your breathing becomes shorter as you consider everything you might have forgotten. Dates, arguments, sex. You realize that when you mentioned feeding your cat, Dr. Abbot just already knew Ginger’s name. And—oh my God—he’s almost fifteen years older than you.
You crane your neck to see if you can see Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby through the window of your room. Dr. Abbot is pacing around the hallway as Robby visibly tries to calm him down. You can hear parts of their conversation from the room.
“She doesn’t remember anything about our lives together–”
“Jack, you know this is a temporary symptom–”
“What if she doesn’t ever remember me? What am I supposed to do?”
“Dana is talking to her right now. We need to go back–”
“You’re right. I’ll go talk to her. If she isn’t able to remember, I at least need to tell her about our lives together. About how much I love her.” He stops pacing, turns around, and quickly makes his way back to the door of my room. He barges in and starts talking without waiting to see if you have anything to say.
“Y/N, I know you don’t remember right now, but I love you. I’ve spent the last two years—hell, four years—falling in love with you. I would do anything to go back in time and stop myself from agreeing to cover the day shift today. And I’m so fucking sorry that I ate the last of your dumplings last night—you wouldn’t have even been near that car today if you hadn’t needed to get more from the store.”
You try to cut in and respond to him: “No, no. Don’t blame yourself for somebody else’s bad driving. You couldn’t have–”
“You’re going to remember everything, Y/N. I need you to remember everything. I’m so fucking sorry,” he says. His knees are on the floor next to your bed now, and he’s gathered both of your hands between his. You have to look down to meet his eyes, which wet with unshed tears. Your own eyes water as you realize how sincerely he means all of it. There’s not much you can do to reassure him when you can’t even remember any of your relationship with him. When you don't even remember calling him by his first name. But…
You laugh, tears freeing themselves from your eyes and rushing down your face before you flip your hands in his and squeeze back. “I’ve had a crush on you since I started working here... Jack. I may not remember being your fiance, but I’m not surprised at all that I fell in love with you.”
After a drunken one-night stand, Jack and Isabella part ways with the expectation that Jack will call. While Jack has a rare week away from work, Isabella spends time becoming acqainted with her new job as night-shift charge nurse at PTMC. Jack's texts to Isabella receive no response, and Isabella waits patiently in hopes that he'll message her. When they finally end up on a night shift together, the confusion will unfold.
link to part one
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x nurse!ofc
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
WARNINGS/CONTENT: MDNI—18+ only, mature themes, sexual tension, smut, violence towards nurses/doctors—warnings will be updated as series continues
“Chairs and triage in the back there, and then Trauma One and Trauma Two are on your right. Everything else is going to be a learn-as-you-go situation. You got it, doll?” I nod quickly in response to Dana’s question, although I’m not sure I’ve got any of it yet. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center has a completely different setup than Westbridge.
“Has Gloria bothered to speak with you yet? I’m surprised she asked you to start on the day shift while you’re still finishing up night shifts at Westbridge,” Dana says.
“Well, she didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I laugh. “She said if I wanted the position then I’d need to start this week. And she wasn’t happy when I told her I couldn’t actually spend a couple night shifts working with Lena before she leaves. I assume I’ll see Gloria at some point.”
“Don’t be too sure. The Pitt might be her least favorite place in the hospital,” a deep voice says. He stands behind the command station, speaking as he types on the computer below him. He reaches out a hand to shake as he looks up to make eye contact. “Robby. You must be Lena’s replacement. Isabella, right?”
“Or Bella, either is fine. Y’all call it The Pitt?”
“It’s a fitting nickname. You’ll see,” Robby says. “You’re in good hands with Dana. She’ll get you comfortable before you start on nights.” He shoots a quick thumbs up at the two of us before walking away with his hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie.
“We better get going,” Dana says. “This place never runs out of patients.”
♡♡♡
The first couple hours of the day consist of relatively simple intake and procedure. Dana seems tough, but she’s clearly kind and cares deeply about her job. I meet up with her at the command station to check in every once in a while, but after the first few patients it makes sense to separate so I can try getting used to taking charge. It feels incredibly odd stepping into a charge nurse role in a hospital that I’ve never been in before.
Navigating The Pitt gets easier as the day goes on, though the sandwich cart seems to move to a new location every half hour and one of the residents—I think his name was Whit-something?—pointed me toward the wrong rooms for two different cases. After that, I stopped bothering to ask him for directions and started making my way back to Dana for help locating patients.
By five p.m., my brain feels like mush. I’d never worked with so many patients in one day at Westbridge. Add that to navigating an ER I’d never been in and meeting a group of day-shift nurses and doctors that I knew I was barely even going to work with? I’m ready for a 24-hour nap before my night shift across town.
“Bella!” Dana shouts at me from halfway across The Pitt, her voice sailing over the room’s chatter.
“Everything okay?” I ask once I’m standing in front of her. Her glasses are perched on the edge of her nose as she looks down at the list of patient information on a computer screen.
“You’ve done great work today,” she says without looking up. “Go on home and rest. I’ll see you in a couple days for your next shift.”
“Day shift doesn’t end until seven, right? I’m happy to stick around until then,” I say. “There’s a lot of patients still in chairs. I hate to go home now when you all could still use my help.” She looks up and smiles as she shakes her head.
“It never clears up around here. You need to go home and get some sleep—you need it if you’re going to spend the week between two hospitals.”
“Thanks, Dana. I’m supposed to work with you again on Friday before they switch me to charge on nights. By then I’ll be completely finished over at West and I won’t be so exhausted, I swear.” She shakes her head and laughs before waving her hand in dismissal.
My first day in The Pitt was busier than I’m used to, but it sure could have been worse.
♡♡♡
Before walking up to my apartment, I check the mailroom to see if any of the books I’ve ordered recently had arrived. No such luck, but I do take my time looking through the bin of packages designated for tenants living on my floor. Admittedly, I kind of hope that a certain silver-haired neighbor walks through the door. It’s not like I know which apartment he lives in, so the mail room seems like the only place in the building I might run into him.
He hadn’t texted me while I was working either. Maybe he took offense to my forgetting his name, or maybe he didn’t actually intend to call me. It’s only been 12 hours since I gave him my number anyways.
God, needy much? It had been months since the last time I hooked up with anyone, and I certainly hadn’t intended to take anyone home last night—especially considering I was only planning to have one drink with Cara, my best friend, to celebrate quitting at Westbridge. But Jack had been so funny and attractive and, well, he looked lonely. I couldn’t help but rope him into our festivities, and when one thing led to another…
Well, hopefully he’ll call.
I make my way up to my apartment, stripping off my dirty scrubs as soon as the door is locked behind me. I’m too exhausted to cook anything more complex than a microwaved dinner, which burns my tongue as I eat it. Before I can make my way towards my bathroom to take a much needed shower, I’m stopped short by the vibration of a phone call. Cara—no doubt calling to ask about my first day of work… or to catch up on everything she missed after we parted ways last night.
“Are you alive? I seem to remember Mateo basically dragging you into the car when he picked you up last night,” I say in greeting.
“Oh, lord. Teo just worries too much. I was basically sober by the time we got home,” she says. “Are you alive? Or did you overdose on Vitamin D last night?” She barely makes it through the question before erupting in a fit of laughter that quickly turns into a choked cough. “Get it? Vitamin D? Like his di–”
“Oh my god, Cara. Yes, yes, I get it.”
“So? He seemed a little old for you, but there’s nothing wrong with a man who’s more… experienced.”
“It was good,” I respond.
“Just good?”
“Okay, it was more than good. And he was really nice,” I say. “Like weirdly nice. Like so nice that he asked if he could change the lightbulb in my bathroom before he fell asleep last night.” Cara is silent for a moment before responding.
“He slept over?”
“It was fine. It was kind of an accident that he fell asleep. I mean, we were sort of exhausted.”
“And you were fine with him sleeping over?”
“I didn’t have any nightmares, if that’s what you mean.”
“Wow,” she says. “That’s big, Isa.” We sit in silence for a few moments before she continues speaking. “Did you get his number? Are you going to call him?”
“He asked for my number, but nothing yet. It’s been less than a day, but I really hope he calls. Or else it would be awkward if I ran into him at some point, you know?”
“Well, yeah,” she says with a laugh. “It would be hard not to run into him, considering you live in the same building. Don’t worry, Isa. He’s going to call.”
After a drunken one-night stand, Jack and Isabella part ways with the expectation that Jack will call. While Jack has a rare week away from work, Isabella spends time becoming acqainted with her new job as night-shift charge nurse at PTMC. Jack's texts to Isabella receive no response, and Isabella waits patiently in hopes that he'll message her. When they finally end up on a night shift together, the confusion will unfold.
WORD COUNT: 640
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x nurse!ofc
WARNINGS/CONTENT: MDNI—18+ only, mature themes, sexual tension, smut, violence towards nurses/doctors—warnings will be updated as series continues
“I’m starting a new job, and I really can’t risk being late on my first day,” I say, huffing as I jump to pull an ironed pair of dark trousers on. It feels weird to turn around before putting on a bra, seeing as he’s already seen—and had his mouth on—my breasts, but the morning light and slight headache behind my temples certainly changes the situation. Once fully dressed, I turn around to face the silver-haired man laying across my couch.
It’s almost unfair how attractive he looks, especially considering the bedhead I faced when I first woke up this morning. He’s splayed across the couch, abdominal muscles on show and a small trail of hair visible from the bottom of his stomach to the blanket wrapped around his waist.
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “You told me that about three times last night as you dragged me into your apartment.”
“Jesus,” I roll my eyes as I grab my small duffel bag from one of the stools next to the kitchen counter. “I cannot believe I let Cara convince me to have that many shots last night. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He stares dryly, and it takes a second to think back through what I just said.
“Oh my god! Not to say that, you know, you’re super old. Because I’m not that old and you’re definitely not old or anything.” It’s hard to read the look on his face. “And obviously I was, like, still sober when I started talking to you. I didn’t mean to say I was too drunk to take you home or anything or that I didn’t enjoy it or that I don’t want to see you again—”
“Do you want to see me again?”
“Um. I definitely wouldn’t say no,” I say, cringing. “But I’ve obviously embarrassed myself and I really do have to go. I’m sorry to kick you out so early in the morning.”
“I don’t sleep much anyway,” he responds. “You got something to write on?” I turn around to dig through a drawer, pulling out a wrinkled pad of sticky notes and a purple pen to shove across the counter at him.
He stands, letting the blanket fall from his waist and back onto the couch before he turns around to walk towards the bedroom. And holy shit—it’s impossible not to stare at his ass as he walks away.
“Leave your number on it for me?”
“Alright.” I have to lean in close to scribble my phone number. After a minute, he emerges from the bedroom with clothes on and a pair of glasses in hand. My glasses.
“Oh! Thanks,” I say in surprise, trading the sticky note in my hand for the glasses in his. “I really do have to go now, though. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He follows out the door and stands behind me as I turn to lock my apartment. When we get in the elevator, he doesn’t bother pressing the button for his floor, instead opting to ride the elevator all the way down with me. After a moment of silence between us, the doors open to the lobby of the building. I step out, offering a wave goodbye and what feels like a very awkward smile as the doors close.
“Oh my god!” I reach into the small crack between the elevator doors, and thankfully they spring open instead of crushing my hand. “I’m so sorry. It was pretty loud at the bar last night, and then I was drunk. I sound like such an asshole, but… what’s your name again?”
He stares at me, a little bit of disbelief and a little bit of amusement on his face as he presses the button for his floor.
