summary: jack abbot has made it his life's mission to take care of you, so obviously he doesn't take it very well when he finds out you've been living on the abandoned floor of the ptmc. (3k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, roommate whitsantos crumbs
contents: sugar daddy jack abbot universe, established relationship, protective!jack, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of harassment and allusion to smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
There is nothing about you that Jack Abbot wouldnât immediately notice.
He nurses a sweaty can of beer in his right fist from where he sits on the opposite side of the park bench, keeping several agonizing inches of space between you in front of the rest of your coworkers. It leaves a wet ring on the thigh of his camo fatigues when he forgets to drink it, far too busy looking at you looking at Whitaker, who rants about a hefty surcharge on his Lyft account across the way.
âI thought she was a nice old lady! How was I supposed to know she was racist?â
âWell, you know what they say,â Santos croons from beside him, cheers-ing with her near-empty can. âNo good deed, St. FuckleberryâŠâ
Jack knows youâre about to laugh before youâve even done it. Heâs got it down to a science, almost. He knows the signs too well: the way your eyes crinkle at the edges first, and the way your nose bridge scrunches slightly second. A laugh sputters from your mouth a second later, coated in sunshine and painting the starry night a vivid shade of flaxen gold.Â
The rays hit him square in the chest.
He can almost time when youâre about to take a drink, too â the way your fingers fidget around the chilled aluminum, right before your tongue darts out to wet your mouth. You tip your head back with the can to take a quick sip, then lick your lips again when you bring the beer to your lap again.
Itâs subtle and mostly unconscious, but Jack canât help but notice all of it.
The same way he canât help but notice how flustered you get when he asks, âDid you get that dress I bought you?âÂ
Your head snaps in his direction. Your eyes widen with a set of owlish blinks. The smile you had before softens slightly as your shoulders tuck in, going painfully shy in a flicker.Â
Itâs not so much the reminder that Jack scoured the internet for the butter-yellow dress Kate Hudson wore in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days â after a passing comment you made about it during movie night some weeks back. Itâs more so the reminder that you didnât get it because you no longer had a real address to receive it at.
Because youâd rather die than tell him youâve been sleeping in the PTMC for the past week.
âUh⊠No. I-I donât think so,â you stammer.
Jackâs brows lower. âReally? The e-mail said it was delivered yesterday.â
You glance away again â fingers fidgeting, tongue darting. âMaybe it went to the wrong place?â you shrug and bring the can up to your mouth again.
Jack notices how you shift awkwardly on the bench beside him; how you struggle suddenly to meet his gaze, and how you try and fail to tune back into Whitakerâs rambling. Thereâs something more going on inside your head, something more youâre not telling him, but he figures prying after a twelve-hour shift probably isnât the best idea.
âYeahâŠâ he says slowly. âMaybeâŠâ
Thereâs a long beat of silence between you thereafter, filled by members of the dayshift exchanging staggered goodbyes. Jack takes a quick sip of his beer. He swallows hard, adamâs apple bobbing, and turns to you with the sheen of alcohol coating his lips.
âI should probably start heading out to,â he clears his throat. âWant me to walk you home?â
You fake a shy smile, instead of telling him that you have no real home to go to.
âIâm a big girl, Abbot. I think I can get there on my own,â you lilt drily. Jackâs stare hardens into an unwavering deadpan; not mean, just firm. You cave with a roll of your eyes. âYou go ahead. Iâll walk with Trinity and Whitakerâ They live closer to me, anyway.â
Jack hesitates for a lingering beat.Â
He wants to tell you that it makes him feel better when he walks with you, that sometimes he thinks he lives and breathes only to protect you, but heâs self-aware enough to know how insane that sounds. So he just nods with a slow exhale.
âOkay⊠Justâ Call me when you get home?â
You give him a soft smile that doesnât quite meet your eyes. âOf course.â
Jack takes the long way out to give you enough time to pack up your things and head out in the opposite direction with Santos and Whitaker.Â
He cuts around the block instead of heading straight out, positioning himself just far enough away from the entrance that he can still see it. When he turns the corner, he spots you brushing shoulders with Trinity and tipping your head back to laugh at something he canât hear from here.
The sound of your giggling is carried on the summerâs evening breeze, along with your words as you veer suddenly towards the side of the hospital again. âShitâ I left my keys in my locker. You guys go ahead, Iâll catch up with you.â
You slip inside through the automatic doors.
Jack straightens his back and tightens his hold on the strap of the camo bag slung over his shoulder. He gets a strange feeling in his chest that he just canât shake and decides to follow you back inside the PTMC. He figures itâs better to be safe than sorry â better to seem insane by following you like a creep instead of risking something bad happening to you, anyway.
He weaves through the noisy emergency department with strong shoulders and a sharp gaze. He checks for you in the locker room first, then the break room second, then doubles back for Shen at the workstation.
âSaid she left something up in ortho,â the attending shrugs through a short sip of his iced coffee. Then he jokes,âWhat do you wanna bet sheâs screwing around with Park the Shark?â
Jack's chest flares, but he tries not to let it faze him as he makes a beeline for the elevators.Â
He knows youâre lying â you wouldnât have said something different to Trinity otherwise â not unless you really were sneaking around with Dr. Park, that is. Jack has to shake the thought physically from his head, which Shen had unknowingly planted there, the entire ride up to the eighth floor.
No one goes up there anymore â no one other than you and Jack â and itâs the only other place he hasnât yet looked to find you. The west wing of the upper floor has been nothing short of abandoned, and is eerily quiet compared to the E.D. below, save for the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights that are bound to die out any day now.
As he passes the old rooms, left clean and untouched, he hears a faint song playing from behind a shut door. One of those old 2000s pop songs you always play in the car when youâre together. He knocks first and, when he receives no answer, pushes it slowly open with a call of your name.
This room, unlike the others, is not abandoned. Not exactly. There are blankets folded neatly on the edge of the bed; a duffel bag tucked in the corner by the nightstand; and a pile of books stacked on the windowsill. A laptop sits open on the pillows, where music spills from its speakers.
ââCause every time we touch, I get this feeling; and every time we kiss, I swear I could flyâ!â
Itâs all so organized, so lived in. Jack feels his chest tighten accordingly. He wonders how long youâve been staying here, how long youâve been lying to him.
The drumming water faucet shuts off from behind the closed bathroom door. He hears your voice behind it, singing softly to the music, and freezes when the door clicks open a few moments later.
âCanât you hear my heart beat so, I canât let you go! Want you in myââ You cut yourself off with a scream when you find a figure standing in front of your bed.Â
Your hand rises instinctively to your mouth to muffle the sound. Your chest deflates with a breath of relief when you realize itâs Jack, then tightens again when you realize that itâs Jack.Â
âFuckâŠâ you huff. âYou scared meâŠâ
Your free hand readjusts the fluffy white towel wrapped around your body, still warm from the shower and glistening with droplets of water. As the steam rolls out from behind you, he gets a whiff of your sweet body wash â and, as you shift awkwardly on your feet, he notices that youâre wearing a fluffy pair of house slippers. All of which tells him youâve been staying here for way, way longer than he initially thought.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â Jack squints, a little harsher than he means to be.
âWhat are you doing here?â you retort. âYou scared the shit out of me.â
âI was worried about you,â the man shoots back, firm hands propped on his hips as he sways slightly on his aching prosthetic. âAnd obviously for good reasonâ What is this? Are you living here?â
Your mouth opens to argue, but you hesitate with a wavering breath in. You adjust the towel on your naked form and fight back a shiver as the humming AC cools the water on your skin.
âIâm⊠Iâm just⊠Iâm in between places right now. Thatâs all.â
Jack lets a short, disbelieving chuckle. His stern stare never wavers as you duck past him for the desk across the room, where your pajamas sit on the back of the chair.
âIn between places?â he echoes. âWhat does the even mean?â
You sigh, gaze averted, and try to get dressed without dropping your towel.
âYou remember when I told you about my creepy landlord? You know, the one who wonât stop calling me?â you ramble, sliding on a pair of underwear before reaching for your sweatpants. âWell, I was going to move to a new place, and I had already started the process of moving out, but I didnât get approved for the apartment I wantedââ
The canvas of your bare back is revealed to him when you throw the towel to the side and reach for the sweatshirt laid out before you. Your voice goes slightly muffled as you shove it over your head.
ââAnd I canât go back to my old place, obviously, so I just⊠Moved in here. You know. For the time being.â
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Jack presses. âI wouldâve helped you.â
âI know,â you roll your eyes. âBecause youâre always helping me. Because I canât do anything for myselfââ
âThatâs not what I saidââ
âYou donât have to say it,â you snap, flashing him a wide-eyed glare. âThatâs just what it is. And I canât keep going to you every single time I have a problem that needs fixing.â
Jack shrugs, oblivious. âWhy not?â
Your face twists at his confusion.Â
âBecause I canât just rely on you for the rest of my life, Jack! Thatâs notâ sustainable,â you rant, gesturing wildly with your hands. âI mean, what if you get bored of me? What if this stopsâ being fun for you, and I become a burden? Then where does that leave me?â
The words hang in the quiet, still, sweet-smelling air between you for several long moments.
Jackâs stern expression melts into something softer as a white-hot feeling sears his chest from the inside out.
âYou arenât a burden to me, honeyâ Youâve never been a burden to me,â he tells you, closing the distance between you in a few short strides.Â
You peek through your lashes to meet his gaze when he towers over you. The corner of his mouth flickers into a smile as he huffs a breathless laugh.Â
âI mean, not to sound like a selfish asshole here, kid, but this is more for me than it is for you⊠I donât buy you stuff just because you want me to; I do it because it makes me happy. I take care of you because it makes me feel goodâŠâ Jack trails off, going foreignly sheepish as he crosses his arms and bounces his shoulders in a lazy shrug. âUs being in love with each other is just a⊠super cool bonus.â
You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. âReally?â
âYeah,â he nods. âAnd you know what would make me feel really good?â
You hesitate for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. ââŠWhat?â
âIf you stopped squatting in an abandoned hospital room, and come stay with me at my place,â Jack says. âAnd if not with me, then at least in my guest room. That way, I know youâre sleeping in an actual bed. And have access to a real kitchenâ What have you been eating, anyway?â
You cower under his squinted stare.
âI donât know... Uber Eats on a good day. And whateverâs in the vending machine on a bad dayâŠâ you answer shyly. âAnd cafeteria food on a really bad dayâŠâ
Jack nods slowly, smacking his lips against his teeth.
âYep,â he deadpans. âYouâre coming home with me.â
Home, as it turns out, wasnât so bad.
You had been to Jackâs place before, to be sure, but never with the intention of staying long term. It makes the place feel a bit foreign to you as you try to find your footing within it, when you arrive with nothing but a bathroom bag and your haphazardly-packed duffel, âcause Jack assured you heâd get all the rest of it for you later.
You leave your things in his guest room while he orders you something for dinner. You eat together in his living room, like usual, and wind up inevitably in his bedroom before the night is over.Â
Casino plays on the television, bathing the dark room in its flickering neon glow. You lie on your stomach with your legs kicked up behind you, while Jack slouches against the headboard, legs spread to accommodate your body between them. He holds your right foot against his chest with a pair of wide hands, massaging the ache in the ball of it with his fingers.
âGod, I would die for that coatâŠâ he hears you mumble to yourself, as Robert De Niro slides the white fur over Sharon Stoneâs shoulders. (He makes a mental note to find that one for you, too, and send an email to recover the dress from yesterday.)
âIsnât this so much better than a hospital bed?â Jack wonders aloud.
You scoff a faint laugh, lifting your heavy head from your fist to flash him a deadpan look. âI think the floor would be better than that hospital bed.â
Jack chuckles quietly to himself before realizing, ââŠThatâs why youâve been complaining about your back so much, isnât it?â
You feel him shift behind you, bed frame creaking under his weight. Your foot falls to the mattress as he sits between your legs, careful to keep the weight off his amputated limb as he kneels on the mattress.Â
His warm, calloused hands smooth under the fabric of your sweatshirt. His thumbs dig into the unrelenting ache between your shoulder blades. You exhale a slow sigh and drop your head between your arms, melting under his touch.
You donât realize heâs leaning over you until his lips brush your neck. You fight back a shiver when his silver scruff brushes the delicate skin.
âFrom now onâŠâ Jack mumbles against you, low and quiet and just shy of menacing. âI want you to come to me the next time you need or want anything, alright? Anything.â
Your breath catches. Something warm pools in the pit of your stomach.
âDonât keep it from me⊠Donât brush me offâŠâ Jack continues with a voice like honey as his hands press firmly against your back. âCome to meâ directly. Thatâs my job now. Understand?â
You donât trust your voice, so you just nod in response. Jack can feel it with his lips still pressed against your skin. You can feel his mouth curling into a smile as his hands smooth down the length of your spine, with a tenderness that sends chills pebbling across your skin in his wake.Â
You forget how to breathe when his fingers curl in the hem of your sweatpants.Â
âWho takes care of you, honey?â he murmurs lowly in your ear.
âYou doâŠâ you hear yourself say, half-muffled with your head still bowed.
Jack grins. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear down the curve of your ass in one fell swoop.
âCanât hear you, baby,â he says in gritty monotone before sitting back on his haunches.Â
You lift your heavy head, blinking away the haze of desire clouding your vision when you glance at the man behind you. You find him kneeling there, with a hand shoved down his pajama bottoms, massaging himself the rest of the way hard.
Jack smiles wider when he catches you staring. He feels his cock twitching in his fist at your heavy-eyed and wanting gaze.
âWho takes care of you?â he echoes, more firmly this time, but with a teasing squint in his light eyes.
The corner of your mouth lifts in a mischievous half-smile. âYou do,â you repeat, more eager this time.
Jack nods once, almost approvingly so, and sighs as he squeezes hard at his stiffening cock. âHell yeah, I doâŠâ he murmurs to himself, proud.
summary: your relationship with jack has always been 50/50: he buys you everything, and you let him. this arrangement, as he calls it, works perfectly - until you start to worry that you may not be the only one who's doing it with. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, mentor!michael robinavitch, baran al-hashimi, samira mohan
contents: friends with benefits, sugar daddy!jack, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, so much sexual tension cw for mentions of injuries, medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, heavy mentions of smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Jack Abbot rushes into the ER with a high-velocity GSW, a close call of his own, and a terribly smart mouth.Â
Splotches of dark crimson stain the camo of heavy-duty tactical gear as he bursts through the double doors of the ambulance bay, squeezing rhythmically at the intubation bag he holds in a bloodied hand. You rush instantly from the work station to meet him halfway without a second thought.
âI thought you were off today,â you tell him, in lieu of a greeting, as you escort him to the nearest open trauma room from the opposite side of the gurney.
âWell, my therapist said I needed a hobby, soâŠâ he quips, with sweat dripping from his greying curls. He manages to flash you a playful look in the midst of all the chaos as you situate the unconscious policeman in the center of the room. âWhat about you, huh? Youâre supposed to be off, tooâ Whatâs your excuse?â
âWell, I had a strange feeling that I might see a pretty man in uniform today,â you shrug, slipping on a pair of gloves. âSo I decided to work a doubleâ See if my wish would come true.â
The corner of Jackâs mouth lifts into a crooked, tight-lipped smile. âWell, if you like this, you should see me as a flight attendantââ
Robby rushes in with Dr. Al-Hashimi just behind him a second later, shattering the playful tension between the two of you with a thousand different questions. Youâre left as the only resident in a sea of attendings and nurses; Dr. Al passes you the reins accordingly. âThis is a learning hospital, right? Time for you to learn how to be the boss, R4.â
âHear that, Abbot?â you joke as the older man migrates inevitably to your side, smelling of blood and sweat and the cologne he always leaves on your pillow. âIâm the boss here.â
âWell, you could try to be a little more humble about it, sweetheart,â he squints and tugs on a disposable PPE gown, which Perlah helps him tie in the back. âLetâs do some skin hooksâ 4 Shiley. Sound good?â
You hiss through your teeth and drag the clear blue sleeves of your own gown over your shoulders, while Robby stands behind you to knot the garment in place. âI donât really like the curve of a Shiley⊠Especially not if weâre about to rush him up to the O.R.â
âI didnât know you were so picky.â
âWell, you should know better than anyone, Dr. Abbot,â you grin. âCut me an ET tube, will you? 6-0?â
âYes, maâamâŠâ the older man nods and holds back his giddy grin until he turns away from you.
Robby grumbles a noise of disgust in the back of his throat in the meanwhile â quickly realizing that the two of you were much easier to stomach when you were working night shifts together, and he only had to see you for half an hour in passing, at most.Â
âJesus Christâ Get a room, you two.â
âWell, technically, this is a room,â Jack quips distantly as he returns to your side with the endotracheal tube in tow. You make room for him at the head of the gurney on instinct, and drape a thin blue cloth over the patientâs neck, centering the aperture over the gushing wound.Â
Robby moves to the opposite side of the bed and pulls the haphazardly placed intubation bag from the manâs mouth with careful hands. âOne without me in it, preferably,â he argues.
âOohâŠâ you lilt. âDonât threaten me with a good time, Dr. Robby.â
âJust focus,â he scolds in a gritty tone of voice.
âYou need to find the second and third tracheal rings,â Dr. Al instructs, sliding between the crowd and motioning to his neck with her gloved pinky. âYouâll be able to feel them with your fingersâ just make the incision through the cricoid cartilage and be careful to avoid hitting the vocal cords, yeah?â
She flashes you a dark, doe-eyed, and distantly unamused look, seemingly immune to the playful banter surrounding her.Â
You nod once, scalpel in hand. âYes, maâam.â
You make the incision while Jack preps the tube. You work together with deft hands and a relative silence, aside from a few procedural directions. For the most part, the two of you communicate without words â you locate the manâs ruptured trachea in a sea of bright red blood while Jack slides the thin tubing to make an airway.
âIâm in,â he blurts after a few tense minutes. âBalloon up.â
The rapid beeping of his dropping SATs begins to even out almost instantly.Â
âIâll sew the tracheal to the skin,â you announce within a sigh of relief. â2-0 silk, please.â
Jack passes you the round of sutures with a proud nod and a quiet smile. âNot too shabby, Doc⊠We make a pretty good team.â
âOr maybe Iâm just really good at telling you what to do, Abbot,â you quip.
âYeah,â he shrugs. âThat, too.â
Robby and Dr. Al take their leave when the chaos dissipates, and Garcia comes down from the O.R. for a consultation. They trade the crowded trauma room for an equally crowded emergency department â slowly filling to the brim, like a pot bound to boil over. But, even still, itâs not nearly as tense as whatever you and Abbot have going on.
âAre they always like that?â the woman wonders aloud, nodding her tied-back curls towards the room behind them.
âYepâŠâ Robby nods with a heavy sigh, rubbing hand sanitizer between his calloused palms. âBut theyâre not usually dayshift, so⊠My philosophy isâ let the night crew deal with it.â
You and Jack decide to follow Robbyâs advice and find a room of your own â on the half-abandoned wing of the eighth floor, where everything smells like dust and time gone by, and the dying overhead lights only work a quarter of the time. Itâs a good enough place to be alone with him, though; it gives you ample time to patch up the wound on his shoulder, and saves Jack the trouble of getting caught with the injury and being forced to fill out a mountain of paperwork accordingly.
He sits on the edge of the hospital bed with his shirt off and his broad arms crossed over his chest. The tendons in his freckled back twitch despite himself when you smooth a fresh bandage over his freshly cleaned scrape.
âDoes it feel okay?â you ask him.
âYepâŠâ he nods once, trying and failing to get a peek of the gauze from over his shoulder. âFine.â
Your concern doesnât waver. Your brows lower with it, in a palpable look of worry that etches across your face. âYouâd tell me if you were, like, in pain, though, right?â
Jack ponders for a moment, lips jutting faintly. âNo, probably not,â he answers, too blunt for his own good.
âWell. At least youâre honestâŠâ
You sigh and turn on the heel of your sneaker to chuck the dirtied napkins and crumpled wrappers into the bin across the room. Jack watches you go with something mischievous glimmering in his gaze.
âBut I am fine, thoughâ If youâre really all that worried about me,â he assures you with a quiet smile. âIâm a little banged up, but⊠Iâll survive.â
âSo I can still come over tonight?â you wonder, half-shy.
Jack nods slowly and tilts his scruffy chin to keep your gaze when you walk the short distance back over to him. âYes, sweetheartâ I still plan on buying you dinner tonight,â he answers in a dry, sarcastic lilt.
Because thatâs usually how it goes nowadays. You keep him company for a night, and he gets you food, pays off your grocery bill, or covers your rent â and then you go to work the next day like none of it ever happened.Â
It didnât always used to be that way, though, this quid pro quo thing that the two of you had struck up over time. Jack bought things for you because he cared about you, because he didnât want you to go hungry or homeless when he knew he had the money to help. It was all a part of his job, he figured, to help his residents out whenever he could. But, somewhere down the line, he became more than just your attending, and a whole lot less than your boyfriend. It was more like a secret, third thing that the two of you never bothered to put a label on.
You frown. âThatâs not why I was asking, smartass.â
âWell, thatâs the arrangement, though, right?â
âCalling it an arrangement makes it sound like Iâm yourâ mail-order bride or something,â you scoff and cross your arms over his chest, following his form with a squinted gaze as he reaches for his discarded shirt. âYou donât have to make it sound so formal, Jack. I know this is fun for you, too.â
âWell, I wouldnât be here if it wasnâtâŠâ he quips with a faint wince as he slides the thin black t-shirt over his head, grimacing at the burn that blooms beneath the bandage as he does so.
âAnd no pressure or anything, obviously, but, uhâŠâ You trail off and swallow hard, struggling to find the courage to continue as your eyes flit everywhere but at the man before you. âMy student loans are about to hit for this month, and Iââ
âI know,â Jack interjects with a polite nod. âI already took care of it.â
You lose your breath almost instantly, for a reason you canât quite name.
ââŠSeriously?â
He scoffs like itâs obvious and rises from the bed, towering several inches over you. âWell, yeah. I told you, sweetheartâ You donât have to worry about that stuff anymore. As per the arrangement...â he croons lowly, with a playful half-smile, before bending softly at the waist to press a fleeting kiss to your lips.
Youâre too busy trying to remember how to breathe to respond.
You struggle to finish the rest of your charting through the thoughts of Jack still plaguing your mind. You donât think youâve been so taken care of before; so seen, so held. Youâre not entirely sure what to do with all of it now â these feelings that youâre harboring for your boss, of which youâre almost certain there is no room for in such an arrangement, as he so lovingly calls it.Â
Because he doesnât take care of you because he loves you. He takes care of you so youâll come over at the end of every night, and remind him what it feels like to be a little less lonely. And even still, you run hopelessly to his side anyway â half-ashamed because you donât even care that heâs using you; half-ashamed because you like it.
âHave you seen Dr. Abbot?â Samira wonders through panted breaths, disrupting your distracted train of thought. She enters your tunnel vision from the opposite side of the desk, and all of a sudden, youâre back in the E.R. The distant droning of constant noise fills your ears when youâre shoved back to reality again. âIâve been trying to find him for, like, ten minutes at this point.â
âUh⊠Noâ Not recently, no,â you stammer.
Her chest deflates with an exhaled breath. âShitâŠâ
Your eyes narrow as they scan over her form, frazzled and sweaty, with dark curls falling out of her claw clip to frame either side of her face. âYou okay? What happened?â
She sighs and leans her elbows on the desk in front of her.
âNothing, I just⊠I shouldâve planned this better,â she murmurs, mostly to herself. She talks with her hands as she rambles, âMy patient doesnât have any insurance. And heâs already in a mountain of medical debt as it is, so I was gonna send him home with some supplies, right? But then I lost him, and I was gonna Uber the stuff to his house, but then Dr. Abbot said heâd pay for it, and⊠Now I canât find either of them, soâŠâ
She trails off with a deep huff.
You forget that itâs your turn to respond, too hung up on the fact that Jack had offered to help her pay. It shouldnât bother you as much as it does, but it hits you like a punch to the stomach all the same. Because you werenât special, Jack was just kind; and youâre only realizing now that this arrangement of yours was never exactly exclusive.
âSorry,â Samira shakes her head. âI know Iâm rambling. Itâs just⊠been a long day.â
You blink rapidly, clearing the haze of hurt from your eyes. âNo, Iâ I totally get it. You should check upstairs. He might be with Hiro in the O.R.â
âThanks,â she says with a smile that doesnât quite reach her eyes, that disappears the second she heads back for the elevator across the room.
You return to your charting when sheâs gone, but forget to do any of it. You lose yourself in the void of the stark white computer screen, instead, while your hurt and distant jealousy scratches at your chest from the inside out.
Robby watches from afar, giving you a few minutes alone, before dismissing himself from the interns and shattering your cynical stream of consciousness. âHowâs the charting coming along?â he asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks to stand at your side.
âGreat,â you deadpan, muffled into the hands holding up your heavy head.
He scoffs out a quiet laugh. âNot to say I told you so, but⊠I did kinda tell you soâŠâ
You turn slowly, peeking at him with one glaring eye as he leans against the desk beside you with his arm crossed over his chest. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you question in a gritty monotone.
âI told you not to get involved with Abbot,â Robby shrugs. âNot until you were done with your residencyâ âcause you already repeated one year, and if you want that neuro fellowship, you canât have Jack screwing with your head.â
âOh, yeah?â you squint, feigning interest as you slouch back in your chair. âThe same way you screwed with Heatherâs? When you got her pregnant when she was your resident?â
You say it to hurt him, and you can tell that it does, though it doesnât feel as rewarding as you thought it would.
âYeah, actuallyâŠâ Robby nods and scratches at the greying patch in his beard. Thereâs a hurt look swimming in his dark eyes that almost makes you cower when he peers down at you. âLook, kid. I donât care what you and Abbot get up to in your free time. Thatâs not what this is. But Iâve known you since you were an MS3â and I know youâre gonna go off to do great things, because Iâm the one that taught you, right?â
Your frown deepens.
He smiles wider. âI just donât want some relationship getting in your head, thatâs all.â
âWell, itâs not, soâŠâ you trail off with a less than convincing waver in your voice.Â
âReally?â he hums, eyes narrowing in a challenging squint. âHave you checked in with that fellowship you wanted?â
You smack your lips against your teeth. âNot yetâŠâ
âAnd whyâs that?â
âWhen did you become my mom, exactly, Dr. Robby?â you joke and spin in your chair to face him. ââCause it feels a little like youâre reprimanding me hereââ
âI am reprimanding you,â he tells you, only partially joking, before turning at the distant call of his name. He stands to full height again and flashes you a playfully stern look as he walks away. âTake care of it, alright? Or else Iâm grounding you.â
âFor how long?â you call after him.
âHowever long it takes to get your head out of your assââ
Youâre left reeling for the rest of the day, trapped in a merciless cycle of want and unwavering doubt.Â
Jack is not yet close enough, even when heâs all but smothering you in the center of his bed, pressing you into the mussed sheets below with his broad body propped on top of yours. He smells distinctly of sweat, stale cologne, and the steak dinner he took you to after your shift ended.Â
You wrap your arms around his freckled shoulders in a feeble attempt to pull him impossibly closer, careful to avoid the bandage still stuck on his left shoulder blade. You bury your nose in his greying curls while he sprinkles warm, wet kisses along the tendons of your neck, relishing in the salty tang of sweat staining your skin.
But even as he slots himself between your spread thighs, even as he marks his territory in the lovebites he litters on your collarbone, you canât shake the feeling that heâd rather be somewhere else â that thereâs someone else heâs thinking of, someone else heâll call after youâve left for home, someone else heâll take care of when youâre gone.
The train of thought leads you inevitably back to the root of your cynicism, which you struggle to shake out of your mind once the visual has entered it.
âDid you ever find Samira?â you hear yourself ask, shattering the honeyed quiet of his lamplit bedroom.Â
Jackâs head is far too cloudy to hear you properly the first time.Â
He pulls away from you with a quiet smack and sits back on his haunches. Your hands fall to your stomach, clad only in a thin white tank top, while his rest over your bare thighs, propped on either side of his waist. Your cotton panties are the only thing keeping you hidden from him now, and his form-fitting boxers cradle a hardening length that threatens to make your mouth water.
He wears a swirled look of confusion across his scruffy face, along with his spit on his swollen, kissbitten mouth, as he asks, âDid I ever find what?â
âSamira,â you echo, brows raised to your hairline. âShe was looking for you a little bit before we leftâ Said she needed your help paying for something.â
âOh. Yeah,â Jack hums, pale shoulders bouncing in a lazy shrug. âHer patient needed some supplies Ubered to his house, so⊠I took care of it. No big deal.â
He bends down to kiss you again, but freezes with his nose pressed against the bridge of yours when he feels you tense below him. His heavy sigh fans warm across your jaw before he sits back again, features screwed in a faint grimace.
âAnd Iâm realizing now that thatâs probably not the best phrase to use, but⊠I was just helping out a friendâ a patient, actually,â he rambles. âThatâs it.â
Your eyes narrow in a playful squint.Â
âThatâs it?â you echo.
âTrust me, sweetheart,â Jack scoffs and shifts between your thighs, lifting your hips with his wide hands cradling your ass and bending at the waist to press his mouth over the bow in the center of your underwear. âThe only girl getting her student loans paid off by me, is you.â
He leaves another chaste kiss on the cotton of your panties, right over the place where you throb like a heartbeat for him. Your stomach blooms with warmth.
âBecause Iâm special or because you donât have the money to afford anyone else?â you ask.
Jack squints, light eyes glimmering with mischief in the low light. âBecause youâre special and because I donât have the money to afford anyone else. How about that?â
You roll your eyes despite the soft smile hinting at the corners of your mouth. âJust get to work, Dr. Abbot,â you scold in a distant monotone.
âWith pleasure,â he mumbles, right before sliding his fingers through the hem of your underwear, pulling them to the side, and kissing your glittering pussy the way he would your mouth.
The lamplit bedroom swells with panted breaths and the heavy scent of sex.Â
Jack slouches against the headboard, heavy-eyed and wearing a mixture of your cum and spit down to his scruffy chin. His toned chest is coated in a thin layer of hair and glittering sweat. You watch a rogue bead trail down his sternum from where youâre perched on top of him â with the sheets bunched around your hips, and your thighs straddling his waist. Your pussy still clenches with the aftershocks of your orgasm while his spent cock softens slowly inside of you.Â
His calloused hands trail slowly up and down the length of your torso â from your shoulder blades, down to your ribs, over the bend of your waist, and up again. His touch is softer than summer rain, warmer than the cum leaking slowly out of you now.
âDo you think you could write me a letter of recommendation?â you ask, tracing the freckles on his chest with your pointer finger. âYou know, for the neuro fellowship we talked about?â
âWowâŠâ Jack croons drily, brows raised to his hairline. His words slur slightly together as he comes down from the remnants of his high. âNo aftercare, huh? Not even a little pillow talk? Just⊠straight to the point?â
You flash him a playfully stern look from beneath your lashes, lips quirking in a shy smile. ââM just asking a questionâŠâ
âYeah, while Iâm still inside you,â he scoffs a tired laugh. âYou know you donât have to sex with me to get what you wantââ
You frown. âThatâs not what I wasââ
ââYou can just ask.â
âIâm having sex with you because I like it, Jack,â you blurt, very foreignly stern with him, as your eyes harden in a glare. âAnd Iâm asking you for a letter of rec because I respect your opinionââ
âAnd because you donât trust Robby to give you a good one, Iâm assuming?â he quips with an arched brow.
âExactly,â you nod.
Jack laughs. You can feel it rumbling in his chest beneath your palms. âIâll e-mail it to you later. How about that?â
âThereâs no rush,â you assure him. âSeriously. I havenât even applied for it yetââ
âDonât worry about it. I already wrote it.â
He steals the breath from your lungs for the second, third, or hundredth time that day.
âYou already wrote it?â you echo, brows furrowed. âWhen?â
âWhen you told me about it the first time,â he confesses, bouncing a bare shoulder in a lazy shrug. âI knew youâd need a letter of rec eventually, so... I wrote while I had some free time and just⊠waited for you to ask, I guess.â
Your face screws with skepticism. It burns somewhere in your chest, too.Â
Even with him softening inside of you, leaking out of you, you canât help but feel slightly suspicious of his sincerity. You still canât quite believe that he cares about you this much.
ââŠReally?â
âYeah,â he laughs and squeezes gently at your sides. âWhy do you look so shocked? I do care about you outside of⊠all this. You know that, right?â
âI didnâtâŠâ you confess, painfully shy, and lacking the courage to meet his gaze for several long moments. You focus instead on your hands, and the shapes you trace along his chest. âNot until nowâŠâ
âWell, what do I gotta do to prove it to you, huh?â Jack asks within a huff as he rises from his slouched position against the headboard.Â
The mattress creaks softly as his weight shifts. His warm chest presses firmly to yours, smothering your breasts against his heartbeat, as he cradles you to his chest. His glittering eyes dart back and forth between the two of yours as he says, âIâve already given you everything, sweetheartâŠâ
âI donât want everything,â you murmur with a shake of your head, unable to tear your gaze from his attentive one. âI just want you.âÂ
a/n: bratty son of a millionaire CEO aerion being readerâs toxic ex boyfriend. english is not my first language
[optional] lore with valarr
ââââàšà§ââââ
âŽïž you hated his fucking guts. he is a total jerk. pathetic, whiny spoiled brat who never lifted a finger in his golden life
âŽïž he is just a useless idiot, who got a job at his fatherâs company with his own spacious cabinet, his own corporate throne that he definitely did not deserve but still got because daddy wanted him to be a part of his legacy or some bullshit
âŽïž you think you broke up because of something stupid, when in reality your relationship were the epitome of a disaster. like his regular tantrums of jealousy, or his habit of picking up fights out of nothing, or how annoyingly irresponsible he was, or how he never forgot to remind you of his high status. it was a constant wild push and pull with him
âŽïž oh, the way aerion gaslighted and twisted everything he said or did, truly believing to outplay you, trying to make you apologise for the way you made him feel in the first place. the way you pushed back, calling him out on his bullshit, the way you yelled at him and the way he rolled his eyes. the way he guilt tripped you because of the money he has spent on you and the way you told he to go fuck himself with all the things he bought you. they way he pinned you to the wall, hissing in pure anger that you belong to him and the way you shoved his chest
âŽïž so eventually you broke up. loudly and violently. with screams and things flying around the room. it was catastrophic and final. and yet, aerion still was rearranging your guts every night, at least twice
âŽïž aerion was an awful boyfriend. truly. but he was a phenomenal fuck. you didnât even know why it felt so good and hated him more for it, but the hatred was settling down very quickly, especially with his head between your legs, groaning against your core, greedy tongue lapping and teasing. eating you out was always his ultimate alternative to an apology. not that he didnât eat you out on other occasions, the man was ready to nuzzle in between your thighs literally any given moment, no matter in what mood or condition he was. angry, frustrated, irritated, jealous, sad, affectionate, sadistic - he ate your pussy like it was his last meal
âŽïž it was also hard to be mad at him when he was splitting you in half at the backseat of his aston martin vantage. aerion's hands gripping your hips with a bruising force, his mouth lapping on your moving breasts as you ride him, his hand pressed firmly against your mouth to suppress the obscene moans that are coming out of you
âŽïž but still, you were not dating anymore
âŽïž you are not dating, he is just sending you videos of him fisting his cock and pornographically moaning your name, making you slam your phone screen down on the table during a work meeting
âŽïž you are definitely not dating, he just books you two a private villa because you âdeserve vacationâ and he knows exactly how to make you relax just right
âŽïž aerion is still a dick though. even when he is not your boyfriend anymore, he views you as his woman, because you certainly didnât mean all the things you said to him. aerion considers your breakup a âtantrumâ and lets you âplayâ in it, but he makes sure no other person sees you as available ever. so dating or even seeing someone else is out of the question, he just takes up so much space in your life you physically donât have time for other things except work, which he hates as well by the way
âŽïž in his eyes it is absolutely ridiculous that you have to spend so much of your time in the office doing nonsense while he is bored and misses you. aerion sabotaged your days many times by slutting out and making you stay home with him. he would kiss your neck, purring like a cat that if you were his wife, you would never have to work, he would pull you in his lap, while his hand snakes in between your legs, reminding you how good it would feel to give in and stay with him
âŽïž you still fight and argue a lot. mostly about his manipulations and arrogance, sometimes because of how jealous he is, occasionally because of you being ungrateful for everything he has ever done for you. aerion always tries to manipulate through luxury and the crazy rich lifestyle he provides. you yelled at him that you donât want to see him again? expect a diamond bracelet at your door in two hours. you tell him you donât want to see him? he sends ridiculous amounts of your favourite flowers to your apartment and work office. you tell him you need a break and it is better for both of you to not see each other for a while? he is already ready to fly you to france on his private jet
âŽïž when you refuse his every attempt at bribery, he just comes up himself and waits near your door, talking you into opening up and saying he will stay until you let him in, even if it means staying there till morning. aerion will use every tactic literally. he will sweet talk, threaten, beg, guilt trip, gaslight, seduce, bargain, you name it, he has done it
âŽïž no one ever told this mother fucker ânoâ in his perfect rich life. it is simply an absurd concept to him, he always gets everything he wants, from all the stuff his daddy bought him to, very literally, you. aerion is sure one day he will put a ring on your finger and treats it as an inevitable thing. maybe it is
wc: 7k
cw: miscommunication, big unspecified age gap, daddy kink (hate me all u want i don't gaf, I'm living my truth), no use of y/n, dom!Jack, sub!reader, degradation, praise, dry humping, breastplay, fingering, oral (m receiving) unprotected sex , p in v
a/n: a little late, but MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! midterms and finals knocked me outttt cold!! But I am back, and I finally watched The Pitt, hence this fic.
contains: Jack invites you and your father to his lake house for the holidays, where youâre forced to confront an unfinished summer fling and feelings you can't bury anymore.
Snow crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the cabin, your shoulders slumped forward with the weight of your bags. The smell of pine and woodsmoke drifted through the crisp winter air as your father led you up the porch and rang the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately. Jack stood there in a thick sweater and worn jeans, casual in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, relaxed. For a split second, his expression was polite, familiar, all warmth meant for your dad, until his gaze dropped to you. The corners of his eyes creased with laugh lines that only made him look sharper, more alive when he greeted you. The gray on his hair caught the warm light above him, broad shoulders, a jaw dusted with stubble, hands that moved with quiet, effortless control, every part of him drew your attention, made your chest tighten, made heat pool low and unbidden in your abdomen. Something flickered then, quick and carefully hidden. It was recognition, a reminder of the late summer nights you had shared by the same lake, his hands firm on your waist or between your thighs, his voice low and commanding, with only the water at your feet and the stars overhead to bear witness to his affection.
"You made it," Jack said at last, stepping aside to let you both in, his voice steady. He clapped your father on the shoulder in greeting, easy and practiced, before his eyes returned to you for just a moment longer than necessary. You couldnât help but notice the way his gaze trailed your body, taking in every inch of you, lingering for just a second on your lips or your cleavage. Your skin felt hot under his scrutiny.
"Long drive?" He closed the door behind you, a hand carefully brushing your waist, guiding you further into the house. The warmth of the cabin closed around you, fire crackling somewhere deeper inside, and for a moment it felt exactly like it had in July, except now there was snow on the ground, Christmas lights in the windows, and the awkward presence of your dad.
He answered for you, laughed about christmas traffic as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat. Jack's eyes stayed glued to you. You were standing there, beautiful, with snow on your hair and a tired slouch in your posture, you looked slightly older, different in a way that felt sudden and unfair, like time had skipped ahead without asking him, like he should have been there to see it.
You were still the girl who used to trail behind him in the summer, barefoot on the dock, with wet hair and frayed shorts on, showing off your tan. You were still the girl who asked about his job, scrunched your nose at the gruesome details, laughter bubbling out of you at his jokes. Still the girl he'd kissed on a hot summer night when you'd both drank too much.
Jack had missed you, he had missed being able to press you against him, hold you down, hear you whimper his name like you had done in the past, sweet and breathless. He had missed the way your cunt felt around him, warm and tight. He had missed the way you looked at him through your lashes, the way you listened to him, did whatever he told you because he knew better, you had nothing to worry about. But unlike last summer, he hid itâ the want, the need for youâ not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because you were standing next to your father. Because it was Christmas. Because the lights glowed in the windows, the fireplace crackled, and all he wanted to do was taste you, but he shouldn't.
"Let me show you to your rooms, that way you can get all set for dinner." He cleared his throat, a futile attempt to clear his mind. The image of you on your knees, mouth open and waiting so sweetly for him, hadnât left his thoughts since you had last seen each other. It lingered in the back of his eyes when he tried to sleep, stuck in every corner of his brain at the hospital, followed him on dates, and even crept in when he spoke to your father. All he could think about was you.
The wind, cold and persistent, howled outside the guest bedroom window rattling the panes and making the room feel even smaller. You laid in bed, the unpacked bags scattered at your feet, mind spinning. You couldnât stop thinking about him. About Jack. About the way his eyes had landed on you earlier, and then how quickly heâd looked away, too fast, like he was trying to erase the heat heâd clearly felt. Did he still want you, or had it all been a mistake? Was he disgusted with you for what happened during the summer, for the way youâd begged him, the way youâd given yourself over so willingly? Your stomach twisted just imagining it. What if all the sweet words heâd spared for you were only that, words, with no depth or meaning, just a beautiful trap for a dumb girl like you?
Under the dim lights of the bedroom, you thought back to every detailâ the set of his jaw, the way he had clapped your father on the shoulder, the soft, almost imperceptible brush of his hand at your waistâ trying to find its meaning. What if he hated you? What if he thought you were reckless, stupid, or worseâeasy? Every memory of his hands on you, his voice, his touch, rose up in your mind.
You pressed your face into the pillow, willing the thoughts away, but it was no use. You could still feel the ghost of his hands sliding over your skin, still hear the rasp of his voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
A sudden knock at the door made you jump, heart hammering. "Dad?" you called, voice shaking slightly.
"Not exactly," came his low, familiar voice, measured but not casual. Your stomach flipped. "Look, kid⊠we canâwe should talk later. But for now, just come downstairs. Dinner's ready."
"Okay," You sighed and got out of bed. Your limbs felt heavy from lack of sleep and an excess of worry, both caused by the man waiting on the other side of the door. When you opened it and your eyes met his, you could have sworn you were back in that one fateful weekend in July.
Jack stood in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly tense like he was bracing himself. The light from the stairwell caught the lines at the corners of his eyes, the familiar set of his jaw. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He looked at you the way he always had when he was trying not to give something away, gaze steady, mouth tight with restraint.
"Foodâs getting cold," he said finally, voice low, careful. His eyes flicked past you into the room, then back again, lingering on your lips just a beat too long.
He stood to the side to let you pass, his arm quick and careful brushing against yours, guiding you towards the stairs. You followed him down, each step slow, aware of his presence just ahead of you, the broad line of his back, the way his shoulders stayed tense as if he were holding himself in place with sheer stubbornness.
Your father was already at the table when you came downstairs, a drink in his hand. Jack offered you a beer; you glanced at your father, and when he nodded in approval, you nodded too.
Jack crossed the room to hand it to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took the bottle, a spark of heat shooting up your arm at the brief, deliberate contact. Your eyes met for a second before he looked away. You were tired of playing cat and mouse, but you couldn't speak up yet.
Dinner settled into an easy rhythm. Your father talked the most, as he usually did, relaxed in a way you rarely saw him at home. He spoke about work, about long flights and unfamiliar cities, about the exhaustion that came with being a surgeon, about never staying in one place too long. He and Jack fell easily into old stories, med school memories traded back and forth with the comfort of men who had known each other for decades.
You wished you had known him when he was young and reckless, with crooked teeth and ginger curls and a temper just as sharp as it was now. You thought he had made mistakes and taken risks the way you could only imagine. And somewhere deep down, the thought made your pulse quicken, wondering which of that recklessness still lingered beneath the controlled, calm exterior you saw tonight.
You listened, picking at your food, learning things you already half-knew. How theyâd met young, how theyâd survived brutal training together, how Jackâs lake house had always been the place your father trusted when he couldnât be around. That was why youâd stayed there last July, used to having the place mostly to yourself, that was why everything had started with you and Jack.
He didnât say much about it. He let your father talk, nodding along, smiling at the right moments. But every so often, his attention drifted back to you. A glance held a second too long. A knee angled just slightly in your direction, nudging your thigh under the table. Small things, controlled things, that made it impossible to ignore his proximity.
The conversation meandered through work, travel, and trivial updates, but your fatherâs curiosity eventually took a sharper turn. "So⊠how did you two get along last summer?" he asked casually, lifting his glass.
You stilled for a second, "Fine, I guess. Jack wasn't home much." You offered a noncommittal answer, simple and concise. A brief smile in Jack's direction, polite, as if to prove a point, to prove that you didn't dislike him, but you hadn't gotten close.
His hand tightened just slightly on your thigh beneath the table, pressing firmly enough that your breath hitched. His eyebrow rose, asking without words, really? Just âfineâ?
Your pulse jumped, heat pooling low. You could feel him watching you, could feel him notice every small movement, every flicker of expression. The casual chatter around the table seemed to fade, replaced by the sharp awareness of him sitting just inches away, his warm hand atop your thigh.
Jack leaned back slightly, still maintaining the mask of polite attention, but there was a subtle curve to his lips, a glint in his eyes, that told you he remembered everything, that you had been wrong earlier and he did not regret it, that maybe he was willing to do it again.
Your father continued talking, oblivious, about a case he had handled overseas, but you barely heard him. All you could register was Jackâthe brush of his hand, the pressure of his knee, the quiet, deliberate way he made sure you knew he was still in control. He yawned mid-sentence, stretching his arms out lazily. âI think Iâm going to call it a night,â he said, voice thick with exhaustion. âYou two carry onâsee you in the morning, sweetheart.â With that, he pushed back from the table and headed upstairs, leaving you and Jack alone in the dimly lit dining room.
You waited quietly until you heard the soft click of the bedroom door, the final sound of your father disappearing for the night. The room seemed to shrink around you, the low light from the fireplace casting long shadows over the table. Your heart pounded.
Jack leaned back on his chair again, a nervous tic. His knee nudged yours under the table again, deliberate and teasing, and your stomach twisted with the familiar ache you hadnât dared to feel all week.
"So," you said, hesitant, "we⊠really need to talk."
He got up from the table, "If we're actually doing this, I need another drink."
Jack moved to the sideboard, grabbing two glasses and reaching for a whiskey bottle. The firelight flickered over his profile, catching the angles of his jaw, the faint lines around his eyes, the silver at his templesâeverything you had loved last summer, everything that made your stomach twist just by looking at him.
Jack poured slowly, the liquid catching the light as it filled the glasses. He didnât rush it. Everything about him felt deliberate now, like he was bracing himself for impact, like there was inevitable heartbreak looming over his shoulder. When he turned back toward you, he didnât hand the glass right away. He stood there for a moment, studying your face, the way your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the way your lips twitched up with the ghost of a smile when you locked eyes with him.
He sat back down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. Then he passed you the glass. This time his fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, thumb warm against your knuckles.
"Alright," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the fire rather than you. "Letâs talk."
What now? What were you supposed to tell him? That it had started out as just sex, as summer fun without consequences but you had yet to stop thinking about him? You swallowed, fingers tightening around the glass as if it could anchor you.
"I just...want it to be like the summer again." Your voice shook with nerves, and a sense of impending doom that you couldn't quite shake.
"It's not summer anymore." Jack spoke matter-of-factly, a smirk grazing his lips.
You looked up at him then. "I know," you said softly. "I can read a calendar."
He turned to you, smile fading, his expression turning into something calculated, lacking the warmth he had been showing you earlier. "Youâre talking about it like it was a place. Like we can just step back into that same rhythm."
"Well, why canât we?" you asked, too quickly. You didnât look away. You refused to. "It worked. We worked."
His jaw tightened. "It worked because it wasnât real life," He let out a slow breath, setting his glass down with care, like he didnât trust his hands. "You were on break. You didnât have responsibilities, expectations. You werenât thinking past the end of the week."
You frowned. That was what youâd thought too, that it was just a fling with an older guy, something youâd tell your college friends about after the break, something theyâd cheer at or gasp over, maybe worry about for a second before laughing it off. That would be it.
You hadnât expected this. Hadnât expected to still be thinking about the way his hands, warm and calloused, had roamed over your body, or how thirty minutes apart had felt unbearable. How youâd grown used to the steady heat of Jack beside you, or behind you, the quiet gravity of him pulling you back in, his mouth at your throat, lingering there like he had nowhere else to be.
"And you were?" you challenged.
"Yes. But I was aware it had to be over. Look, you're young, you're pretty, there's probably a line of capable young men waiting to take you outâ"
"You say that like Iâm supposed to want them."
He glared at you then, brief and sharp. "You should."
You should. The words landed heavier than you expected, they stayed with you, lodged somewhere behind your ribs where it hurt to breathe. He had been so careful, as if you were a child reaching for a hot stove, dangerous and out of reach.
You tried, briefly, to imagine them. Men your age, with sharp tongues only good for lying, with inexpert hands and vacant eyes. It was so hard to want them when you'd had Jack.
Jack, who asked about your feelings and your interests, who listened as you rambled about something he did not care about, and yes, sometimes he'd get distracted when your sweater slipped off your shoulder or when your tongue darted out to wet your lips, but he tried so hard to stay focused, you were just too beautiful for your own good.
And that was the cruelest part of it, how easily your mind catalogued the ways he had ruined you for anyone else. Not in some dramatic, tragic sense, but quietly, through accumulation. Through the way he paid attention. Through the way he made space. Through the way his hand had settled on your thigh earlier, heavy and familiar, like it belonged there. The way he still called you sweetheart, kid, the same soft names heâd used when the days had been long and sun-warmed and uncomplicated. The way his eyes softened when he forgot himself, when he thought you werenât looking, when you laughed at something small and stupid and he reacted on instinct instead of principle.
It made your chest ache, your heart heavy.
ââàšà§ââàšà§ââ
You thought about that week in the summer, back when it had all started. The cabin smelled different then, of vanilla and sunscreen, of chlorine and lake water.
You remembered waking up before him, padding barefoot across the cool floorboards, the quiet domesticity of it all making your heart feel too big for your body. How youâd stood at the counter with a mug between your hands while he moved around behind you, unhurried, brushing past you just to do it, just to remind you he was there.
You remembered the taste of toasted bread, eaten standing up, shared unceremoniously. The sound of the screen door slamming as you ran down to the dock, the sun already hot on your shoulders. The way heâd watched you swim, not hungry, but caring, attentive. The hungry looks came later, when you climbed out of the water and all but ran towards him in your bikini, wet hair over your shoulder, laughter bubbling out of you easily. Nights spent tangled up on the couch followed, legs draped over his, the television murmuring in the background while his fingers traced patterns on your skin absentmindedly, grounding you. The same fingers that traced your entrance slowly, same fingers that curled up inside you and made your legs shake and your throat sore from screaming his name.
"You make this place feel different," heâd said back then, with your head laying on his chest, breathing soft.
That was what hurt the most. Not just that he was pulling away now, but that he was doing it while everything else stayed the same. His hands hadnât forgotten you. His eyes hadnât changed. His voice still softened when he said your name. And yet he spoke like the future was already decided, like you were a chapter heâd enjoyed but fully intended to close.
ââàšà§ââàšà§ââ
"Kid⊠you should. You really should. Iâm not⊠Iâm not the one you should be thinking about." Jack's words snapped you out of your daydream.
"And if I donât want them?" you asked softly, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger, watching the amber liquid swirl and catch the glow of the fireplace.
Jackâs lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didnât reach his eyes. "You donât understand what youâre asking for," he said, his tone condescending, almost tender.
The fire crackled low, a steady rhythm against the quiet hum of the cabin. Its light threw long, wavering shadows across the wooden floor and the stone hearth, catching the amber of the whiskey in your glass.
"I do understand, Jack, I just don't care. I want to go back to the way things were because I miss it, I miss you."
Jack went very still. You didn't care, you missed him.
It was subtle, the kind of stillness you only noticed if you were looking for it. His shoulders stopped resisting. His jaw unclenched. Even the air between you seemed to pause, thick with unsaid things and firewood smoke.
He looked at you then, really looked. You. Curled beside him on the wooden chair, knees angled toward his, glass forgotten in your hand. The fire cast shadows across your face, gold and amber specks of light caught in your eyes. You looked so sure. Too sure. And God help him, he loved that about you.
"Christ," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. When he dropped it, his palm rested on top of your thigh. He was casual about it, as if he had placed it there out of sheer luck, as if his heart wasn't threatening to burst out of his chest, as if his cock wasn't waging (and currently losing) a war against the zipper of his jeansâ all thanks to you.
"Jack, youâre not being fair." Your eyes stayed glued to his rough hand, kneading the flesh of your thigh. He was playing dangerous, touching you only to pull away again, pushing you back with gentle words and steady eye contact that made your chest ache.
"You sit there," he said, voice tight, "looking at me like that, talking about summer, about fairness like I owe you it, and Iâm supposed to⊠what? Be reasonable?"
You tilted your head, just a fraction, the smallest smile pulling at your mouth. Yes. "I don't know. Youâre the one touching me."
Jack had passed the point of reasoning ten minutes ago. Maybe longer. Maybe sometime last summer, when heâd realized the wanting hadnât faded, only sharpened. Sitting beside you now, feeling the familiar weight of your leg under his hand, he understood the truth with a clarity that scared him. This wasnât about temptation or nostalgia or bad judgment. It was about the way you saw him. The way you challenged him without fear. The way you filled the quiet spaces in his life without trying.
His chest tightened at the truth he refused to say aloud: he didnât care about the age gap, or the rules, or the consequences. He wanted you. All of you. Every last piece of you. And heâd spent hours pretending otherwise, pretending that he could hold the line, keep you at armâs length, act like a reasonable, responsible adult while his own body betrayed him at every turn. The way you looked at him, the tilt of your head, the bite of your lip, the little smirks you threw his way.
Something in his expression changed, his restraint slipped. Not entirely, just enough to lean in closer to you, so close his breath fanned your face. His hand slid an inch higher, then stopped, like heâd caught himself mid-step at the edge of a cliff.
"Iâm still trying to convince myself this is a bad idea," he murmured, voice low, nearly strangled by restraint.
"And howâs that going?" Your voice was soft, teasing.
His eyes drifted down to your lips for a second. "Terribly," he laughed.
"Iâve been trying," he continued, voice low, steady, the kind of calm that came right before a decision, "to do the right thing. Give you space, forget about all this."
"Jack, I don't want space, in factâŠI would like it very much if there was no space between us right now." You spoke quickly, let the words leave your mouth awkwardly and quickly in a burst of confidence that was now making you blush.
Jack laughed. "Your wish is my command," he spoke against your lips before leaning in and kissing you, soft and tentative at first.
It grew more intense as your fingers threaded through his silver curls, pulling him closer, your tongue pressing insistently against his lips. Jack parted his mouth, letting you deepen the kiss, and drew you onto his lap, his hands settling possessively on your ass. You moaned softly against him, a sound that made him pull back just slightly to look at you, eyes dark, hungry, and calculating.
Jack didn't rush you, his hands stayed put on your lower back and he let you explore, let your soft fingertips trace the veins in his arms, let them move under his shirt and up his chest until they rested on his pecs. That's when he broke the kiss, which you chased with a soft whine, before he spoke.
"Get up." His voice was rough, his breathing uneven, and he looked at you like it would pain him to look away.
You followed his instructions, you always did. Jack stood up too, quietly eyeing you for a minute before he nudged you towards the hallway with a smile.
"You know the way, come on." He murmured as you stepped onto the stairs.
Your stomach flipped, you giggled, like you had last summer.
He took the steps slowly, deliberately, one behind you, close enough that you could feel him, warm and grounding. When you reached his bedroom, he opened the door just wide enough for you to slip inside before closing it again with an almost exaggerated softness. The click of the latch sounded final, the tension thick and sweet like honey.
The room smelled like him. Clean, like lavender and something woody, musky and familiar. He didnât touch you right away. Instead, he leaned back against the door, arms crossed, watching you roam around the room like a hunter watches his prey.
You turned around to face him, tilting your head to the side, beckoning him closer with your hands, reaching for him. Jack walked over to you a smile pulling at his lips again, reaching his eyes.
His hands sat at your waist. "You remember how thin these walls are, right?" he asked calmly, his lips grazing your jugular.
You hummed in agreement, the sound barely there.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still firm at your waist. "Use your words."
"Yes," you said, softer now.
"Thatâs better."
That was slightly better. But not yet what he wanted. Jack could already see where this would end, the way he always could. He knew how easily you folded when given structure, how naturally you softened under pressure. Last summer had taught him that. Taught him exactly how to guide you there, slow and patient, until resistance melted into something sweeter.
Youâd get there again. He was sure of it.
"So, you've got to keep it down, 'kay, sweetheart?" He walked you towards the bed, sat you on his lap before his mouth latched onto your warm throat again. Jack's hands slipped under your sweater, tracing a path up your stomach, groping your tits until you moaned, breathy, in his ear.
He took your sweater off and threw it aside unceremoniously, right before pulling off his own sweater. He didnât slow down after that. His hands slid to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric joined the rest on the floor.
You barely had time to react before he did the same with his, tugging it off and dropping it without looking, settling back against you again as if this was the only place he meant to be.
Jack pulled you closer against him, his grip iron-tight. You could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, twitching when it pressed into the heat of your clothed cunt. His hands slid up your back, fingers unhooking your bra with practiced ease. The fabric pooled at your elbows, and his mouth was on your tits before it even hit the floorâsucking, biting, proving to you how much he had missed you.
You shuddered, arching your back to rub against him. A whimper tore from your throat as you rolled your hips, grinding your soaked panties against the hard length of him. Jack groaned against your nipple, teeth scraping the peak before he sucked hard enough to make your knees buckle.
Jack unlatched himself from your chest, kissing and sucking his way up your neck. Your breath hitched when he tilted your head to meet his gaze. Jack had always liked holding eye contact, more so if it made you squirm and blush, if it made your heart beat that much faster.
"I missed you," he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. "I missed being able to touch you, to hold you."
"Missed you too..."
Jack's hands slid down your waist, gripping the hem of your skirt and bunching it up around your hips. The fabric of your tights stretched taut against his palms as he traced the curve of your thighs, his fingertips dipping beneath the waistband. "Always so pretty for me," he murmured, dragging his teeth over your collarbone.
You gasped as his fingers pressed harder, the thin material of your tights dampening where his touch teased your clothed cunt. He hummed approvingly, rolling his hips against yoursâthe friction of his jeans against the lace of your panties, the heat of him trapped beneath layers of fabric.
Jack made a soft, pitying noise as he hooked his thumbs into your tights, peeling them down with exaggerated care. "Oh, look at you," he murmured, fingers brushing your inner thighs as the fabric slipped past your knees and down your legs.
His hips rolled against yours again, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against your soaked panties in lazy, taunting circles. You arched against him with a whine, and he tsked, gripping your waist to still you. "You remember what I said about being quiet? Wouldn't want your dad to hear us, huh?"
"n-no, I mean, yes, I do. Uhm...sorry..."
Jack smirked, slow and deliberate, at the stutter in your voice. He liked that soundâyour breath hitching, the way your lashes fluttered when he touched you just right. But he loved this even moreâthe way you squirmed under his control, the way you struggled to stay quiet when he tested you.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you still as he rolled his cock against you again, the rough fabric of his jeans dragging over the lace of your panties, still soaked from earlier.
"Good girl." He pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. "But we can do better than sorry, canât we?"
You whimpered, arching into him instinctivelyâonly for his grip to tighten, stopping you.
"Ah-ah." He tutted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, pressing down slightly. "You know what I want to hear."
"Jack..." You whined, face flushed with embarrassment. You knewâof course you did. Heâd teased it out of you before, in the dark of his bedroom last summer, when his hands were buried in your hair and his cock was buried deeper inside you. But nowâwith your father just down the hallâthe word felt heavier, more dangerous.
Jackâs hand slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, teasing your slit. "Câmon, sweetheart," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Just wanna hear you say it."
"'m sorry, daddy...didn't mean to be loud." You buried your face against his neck, breathing him in as you ground against him, the friction leaving his jeans slick with your arousal.
He groaned at the feeling, his head falling forward until his forehead was resting against your shoulder. "Just like that," his hand slid from your underwear up to your hair, fisting a handful of it and tugging, just enough to tip your head back so he could look at youâat your wide eyes, full lips, red cheeks.
For a heartbeat, he just watched: the way your pulse fluttered in your throat, how your chest rose with each ragged breath, how your hips kept rolling against him, desperate.
Your fingers bit into his biceps, using them as leverage as your movements grew frantic, that tight coil in your belly winding hotter, sharper.
His fingers dug deeper into your hips, dragging you harder against the rough denim of his jeans with each slow, filthy roll of his body. "Fuckâfeel how wet you are?" His lips curled against your ear, breath ragged. "Soaking through your pretty little panties just from grinding on me like a desperate slut."
Jack had never spoken to you this way, it had never been so filthy, so mean yet sweet it was giving you whiplash, and getting you closer to the edge every second that went by.
His hand abruptly slipped between you, two fingers hooking under the soaked lace to press firmly against your clitâcircling once, twiceâbefore dipping lower to push inside without warning.
You arched against him with a choked gasp, nails biting into his arms as he worked you open with slow, punishing strokes. He picked up his pace and the moment your whimper hit his ears his free hand moved to cradled your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Shhh, pretty girl, I knowâŠfeels good, huh?"
His fingers curled just right inside you, wrenching a sob from your throat as your hips jerked. "Thatâs it, babyâlet me feel you." He pressed his forehead to yours, breath fanning your face as his thumb circled your clit in tight strokes.
"Daddyâ Iâm so closeâŠ" You whined, breathy and soft.
His breath stuttered, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "I know, baby," he rasped. "I can feel it. Just let go for me."
When you came, your head slumped forward against his shoulder, vision blurring as pleasure crackled through you, electric and overwhelming. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close as he murmured against your hair: "Fuck, look at you. So fucking pretty when you come."
You were still trembling when he pulled his fingers free, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead before guiding your hips up just enoughâhis cock nudging against you, slick and impatient.
"C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. His voice was rough when he praised you.
"You can take one more, for me. I need to feel you riding my cock just like this."
His cock slid into you with one smooth thrust, your body welcoming him effortlessly. The stretch burned just right, pulling a gasp from your lips as you braced your hands against his chest.
His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sharp pull sent a jolt down your spine, your hips rocking faster in responseâlike heâd flipped a switch inside you. You chased the friction, the heat, the way his cock filled you perfectly, over and over.
His grip tightened, guiding your pace as his other hand slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. Your lips crashed together, messy and desperate, tongues tangling between panting breaths. Every thrust drove the kiss deeper, your moans swallowed by his mouth.
"feel how deep I am inside you, baby?" Jack panted out, his palm pressed firm against your lower stomach, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimperâeach thrust punctuated by the dull ache of his touch, reminding you exactly where he reached. Your hips stuttered, thighs shaking as the pressure built impossibly tighter, every nerve alight.
"Jackâ" Your voice cracked, hands scrambling for purchase against his sweat-slicked skin.
"I know, sweetheart," he rasped, teeth grazing your earlobe. "Let go. Fuck, I wanna feel you come on my cock."
And you didâa broken cry tearing from your throat as you clenched around him, his groan ragged against your shoulder while he chased his own release, driving into you deep, deeper, until he stopped abruptly, pulling out of you with a groan.
"Get on your knees for me, baby." He muttered, thumb swiping over your spit-slick lips.
You didnât hesitate, sinking to your knees as he leaned back against the headboard. His cock was hot against your tongue, already dripping with pre-cumâyou swirled your tongue over the tip before taking him deep, one hand working his shaft in quick, tight strokes.
Jack cursed, hips jerking. "Fuckâ Just like that...Good girl."
You felt him tense up suddenly, felt him twitch in your mouth when you moaned around it. Your lips stretched taut against him, nose pressed against his skin. His hips jerked, a ragged curse tearing from his throat as he came in your mouthâbitter and thick, but you swallowed greedily, fingers tightening on his thighs.
You looked up at him when you were done, glassy-eyed and grinning.
Jackâs thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, wiping away a stray drop before nudging it back into your mouth. "Christ," he muttered, his voice still wrecked. His other hand slid from your hair to cradle your jaw, calloused fingers tracing the hinge like he was committing it to memory.
You nuzzled into his palm, all lazy satisfaction, while his breathing slowly evened out.
"I should go to the guest bedroom," you said after a moment. "I need to sleep."
The next morning came slowly, filtered through frost-edged windows and thin curtains that glowed pale gold with early light. You woke up first, to the sound of birds chirping outside, and soft rain pattering against the window.
You were curled against Jackâs side, one leg draped over his thigh without remembering when it had happened, your cheek pressed to his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, warm and grounding. He was stretched out on his back, plaid pajama pants low on his hips, shirtless and snoring loudly, careless and relaxed in a way that made you want to be there forever. One arm was slung loosely around you, heavy and possessive even in sleep, his hand resting at the small of your back. You blinked, disoriented for a second, then it all came rushing back.
The way he'd kissed you like he meant it, fucked you right and asked you to stay in his room. Careful not to wake him, you shifted just enough to look at his face.
He looked different like this. Softer. The lines at the corners of his eyes relaxed, mouth slightly parted, lashes darker against his skin. You traced the shape of his jaw with your eyes, the faint stubble already growing back, the freckles youâd memorized last summer. This was the Jack you never got to see in daylight, the Jack you always missed.
You wondered, briefly, if this was what it would be like to wake up beside him every morning. If youâd get used to the weight of his arm, the quiet hum of his presence. If this feeling, warm and safe and terrifying, could last.
As if he sensed you staring, Jack stirred.
He inhaled slowly, his arm tightening just a little at your back, pulling you closer without waking fully. His chin dipped, brushing the top of your head. You froze, heart racing, then relaxed when he didnât pull away.
"Morninâ, kid," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
You smiled before you could stop yourself. "Morning, daddy."
His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Steady.
"You sleep okay?"
You nodded, "Better than I have in a while."
It was true, you hadn't slept like that in ages, with the comfortable warmth of another body, with a mouth against your collarbones and an arm around your waist. You hadn't been so spent, so tired that you felt weightless, in a long time. And you hadn't woken up beside Jack in months, not since you'd spent the summer there, when your dad was travelingâ oh, shit, your dad.
âJack,â you whispered.
He hummed in response, eyes half-closed, thumb still tracing your back. âMm?â
âMy dad,â you said softly. âHeâs⊠literally next door. Do you think he heard?â
That got his attention.
âHe didnât hear,â Jack said quietly, certainty slipping into his voice like armor. âIf he had, we wouldnât be having this conversation.â
You let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding, forehead dropping briefly against his chest. He smelled like soap and sleep and something unmistakably him. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
Jack tipped your chin up with two fingers, gentle but unmistakably directive. âHey. Look at me.â
You tilted your face up to see him.
"Here's what we're going to do," he said quietly, slipping back into that calm, controlled tone you knew so well. âYouâre gonna get dressed,â he continued, gentle but firm.
"I am dressed."
"Sweetheart the only thing you're wearing is my shirt, it's freezing out, too. I'll go downstairs with your father while you change."
You nodded, even though part of you hated the idea of putting distance back between you. âOkay.â
He leaned down then, pressing a quick, careful kiss to your forehead.
He pulled back just enough to look at you one more time, thumb still warm beneath your chin, eyes steady and serious like he was committing the moment to memory. The house was waking up around you, pipes humming, floorboards settling, reality knocking politely but insistently.
ââ . ⊠⯠đ SUMMARY đ in which your father invites jack to your annual father daughter lake house trip as a thank you for watching out for you while he was deployed. jack is very strict on his "no fucking at the lake house" rule. you aim to break it â aka 10/3 special : toys with dbf!jack abbot x social worker!reader wc 5.9k
⟠â.Ë TRIGGER WARNINGS .á lowercase intended!!!! â age gap relationship ( 20s and 40s ) â dbf!jack â toys â emotional manipulation â jack tries to act like he doesnt care and he is a little mean and implies that reader is a fling ( but only bc he scared of commitment ) â mean!dom!jack â brat!reader â multiple orgasms ( like a lot ) â overstimulation â lil bit of oral ( fem!rec ) â clit heavy stimulation
kinktober masterlist â âŸ âŠ âŻ inbox
youâre sprawled across jackâs bed, naked and flushed and utterly wrecked. still catching your breath. your thighs are sticky with him. his cum is cooling on your skin, but youâre too boneless to care.
heâs sitting at the edge of the bed, tugging his prosthetic leg back on like itâs just another tuesday, towel draped over one shoulder, jaw clenched.
youâre watching him, dreamy and dazed. âyou good?â he grumbles, without looking back. you hum a lazy mmhmm, shifting onto your side so your cheek squishes against the pillow.
youâre smiling. because why wouldnât you be? youâre in his bed. youâre full of him. youâre glowing.
and then he says it. âjust so weâre clearâthereâs not gonna be any of this shit at the lake house this weekend.â
you blink. âwhat?â
he turns now and levels you with a look. something serious and stern.âiâm not fucking you this weekend.â you laughâbecause what the fuck kind of joke is that?
âyouâre notâjack, we justâwhat?â
âi said what i said.â
you sit up, blinking the haze from your eyes. âwhy the hell not?â he stands. starts wiping himself down like heâs trying to get your scent off of him.
âbecause itâs your fatherâs house. and heâs my best friend. and iâve got enough sins on my conscience without fucking his daughter under his goddamn roof.â
youâre reeling, because how can he go from giving you one of the best orgasms of you life ( only second to the one he gave the day after you were stabbed.) âso being with me is a sin now? weâve already done it, jack.â
âexactly, you think Iâm proud of that?â
you scoff. âyes, actually.â
he tosses the towel onto the floor and stalks over to the dresser, yanking open a drawer like itâs offended him. âiâm not proud. iâmâtrying. you get that? this is me trying not to fuck up your life more than i already have.
you tug the sheet up over your chestânot because youâre embarrassed, but because suddenly, you feel exposed in a whole different way.
âyouâre not fucking up my life.â
he gives you a long look. one that lands like a hand around your throat. not cruel. just true. âgive it time.â
you frown. âyou donât really believe that.â
he doesnât answer. he just clenches his jaw. shuts the drawer. and you realizeâheâs scared. not of your dad. not of being caught. heâs scared of you. scared of how much he wants you. scared of how much heâs already yours.
but he doesn't say another word before leaving the bedroom and stalking towards the bathroom.
the truck tires crunch against gravel, thick pine shadows dancing across the windshield as the late afternoon sun cuts down through the trees.
itâs peaceful out here. quiet. perfect for family timeâand perfect for war.
you donât speak much on the drive up. jackâs in the passenger seat. your fatherâs driving, tapping the steering wheel to some old country song, completely oblivious to the tension simmering beside him.
you, curled in the backseat with your earbuds in and your legs stretched outâbare thighs on display, foot propped on the cooler between the seatsâpretend not to notice the way jack keeps adjusting himself.
the shorts are an inch shorter than they were last summer. the tank top? white and tight fitted. so thin that one breeze would reveal both your hard nipples.
because fuck him.
because when he looked you in the eye two nights agoânaked, sweaty, still shaking from coming on his tongueâand told you he wasnât going to fuck you this weekend, you almost laughed in his face.
youâve been livid ever since.
the lake house emerges at the edge of the treeline like some postcard from another lifeâwraparound porch, old cedar siding, little flag flapping on the dock.
your dad cuts the engine, claps jack on the shoulder.
âcâmon, weâll unload the truck and get some beers goinâ.â
you hop out last. purposefully. you stretch slowâarms overhead, tank pulling up to show your ribs, your stomach, the soft curve of underboob. it's risky as fuck but your father is already stepping into the house with a handful of groceries when you moan just a little as your spine cracks.
and jackâstill bent into the truck bedâfreezes. he straightens, then looks at you. his jaw clenches like it hurts. âcareful,â he says low, voice all gravel. âthat shirtâs thin as hell.â
you feign surprise. glance down like you hadnât noticed the way your nipples harden under the cotton. tilt your head just enough to catch his eye. âthen donât fucking look at me.â you hear him gasp but you don't care.
then you walk away.
jack had already gone upstairs, his duffle slung over his shoulder. you didnât have to guess where he was headed. you waited for the creak of floorboards, the squeak of hinges, the soft thud of his door shutting. then you picked the room next to his.
your voice echoed up the stairs as you climbed them slowly, fingers dragging along the railing with calculated nonchalance. âoh, just my luck,â you chirped. âlooks like we share a bathroom, jackie.â
there was no lock on the bathroom door. youâd checked.
jack emerged from his room just in time to hear it. his jaw was set, lips thinned into something that almost resembled pain. you didnât give him the satisfaction of eye contactâjust breezed past him into the shared bathroom with your overnight bag in tow.
you unpacked in silence, humming a lazy tune under your breath, like you hadnât already planned every piece of this before you even stepped out of his truck.
the first thing you laid out were your thongs. neatly folded. color coordinated. each one a weapon. the dark red lace pairâhis favoriteâwas placed right at the center like a crown jewel. you didnât even glance at the mirror, but you felt the weight of jackâs gaze as he passed behind you, pausing just long enough to punish himself.
next came the bra. black. sheer. a little bow in the center. the same one he once tugged between his teeth before you yanked him onto your bed. you didnât hang it up like a normal person. you draped it over the towel rackâhis towel rack. heâd have to move it if he wanted to shower.
the bikini came last. tiny black triangles with thread-thin strings that wouldnât survive a strong breeze. you placed it just barely sticking out of your toiletries bag, the straps arranged carelessly as though you hadn't spent five full minutes getting them just right.
heâd recognize it instantly. because the last time you wore it, his hand had been between your thighs and the water jets had been loud enough to mask your moans.
but it was the final item that made it art.
you placed the vibratorâyour vibrator, the one you hadn't touched in months, the one he'd silently replaced without askingâright on the bathroom counter beside the soap. pink. clean. innocent in appearance, but unmistakably yours. you didnât say a word. just flicked it on for a single second to make sure it still workedâbuzzâthen turned it off and left it there.
you didnât look at jack as you walked out of the bathroom. didnât acknowledge his presence when you passed him in the hall. didnât close your door when you disappeared into your bedroom.
you didnât have to. youâd already won.
jack hadnât meant to linger in the hallway. heâd just needed to wash his hands before supper. that was all. something innocent. quick.
heâd opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. and then he saw it.
at first, it was just your stuff. clothes, toiletries, that peach-scented lotion he knew too well. he could smell you in the steam of the shower that hadnât even run yet. and that alone was enough to put a knot in his stomach.
but then his eyes dropped.
the thongs. not packed away. not folded into drawers like they shouldâve been, but drapedâon purposeâlike little silk traps across the counter and towel rack. black lace. red satin. pale lilac he remembered pushing to the side with his thumb.
and the bra. jesus christ, the bra.
he was sweating. actually sweating. his jaw clenched so tight it made his head ache. and when his eyes finally landed on the tiny black bikini, that familiar tie-string little thing peeking out of your bagâthat was when he realized you were trying to kill him.
you knew what that suit did to him. you knew what you were doing.
but the vibrator?
that was actually an act of war.
there it sat. barely concealed. almost proud in its little pink audacity. like a dare. like a slap in the face. like a reminder that if he wasnât going to fuck you this weekend, youâd just do it yourselfâin the shared bathroom you both had to use. right under his goddamn nose.
he shouldâve walked away. shouldâve shut the door and taken a cold shower and prayed for deliverance. but insteadâhe snatched it.
quick. quiet. tucked it into his hoodie pocket like contraband. he didnât think about why. not yet. he just knew that you werenât going to win. not that easily.
he stood there for a second longer, hand still curled around the warm shape of it in his pocket, head tipped back as he exhaled through his nose.
âfuck me,â he muttered under his breath.
he adjusted himself through his jeansâpainfullyâand tried to think about anything else. dead fish. car accidents. your father, who was literally downstairs and making dinner like jack hadnât just had a full-blown crisis three feet away from his daughterâs panties.
it took every ounce of willpower he had to wipe the look off his face and head downstairs like he wasnât hiding a sex toy in his hoodie pocket and a near-painful erection behind his fly.
but when he got to the bottom of the stairs, your father clapped a hand on his shoulder, and jack just about died on the spot.
âyou alright, brother? look a little flushed.â
jack cleared his throat. âallergies.â your father raised a brow. jack added, âpollenâs a bitch.â
the smell of grilled steak didnât help.
jack sat stiff as a board at the dinner table, one elbow braced on the arm of the chair, fork untouched, and eyes absolutely anywhere but on you.
because youâyou, who had spent the better part of the afternoon parading around in those microscopic shorts, you who had bent over your chair to âplug in your phoneâ at the perfect angle, you who were now sitting across the table with no bra and that goddamn bikini strap peeking from beneath your necklineâwere currently smiling politely while your father passed the potatoes.
âjack, you want some?â your dad asked, mid-scoop.
He blinked. âhuh?â
you bit back a grin. your father handed over the bowl. âpotatoes,â he said, chuckling. âyou alright, brother? youâve been out of it all day.â
âyeah.â jack cleared his throat. âjustâlong drive. thatâs all.â
he didnât even like potatoes. but he took a mound anyway.
you leaned over your plate, fork poised, lips parted in that faux-innocent way that made his jaw clench and his thigh twitch under the table.
âso, jack,â you asked sweetly. âdid you end up unpacking after your nap?â his eyes lifted. met yours. you knew.
he knew you knew he hadnât been napping. heâd spent an hour in his room trying not to explode in his jeans and trying even harder not to go back into that bathroom and bend you over the sink like he wanted to.
your father chuckled. âhe naps now?â
âapparently,â you said. âDidnât even hear me making a racket across the hallway.â
jackâs fork scraped his plate a little too hard.
your father didnât notice.
but you did.
you were buttering a roll now. slow, deliberate. a little swirl of your wrist. a dab of jam. nothing overt. nothing actionable. just subtle enough to look innocent. just slow enough to feel pornographic.
jack bit the inside of his cheek and turned his eyes to the water pitcher.
you sat back in your chair with a soft little hum. crossed your legs under the table. and with the most casual of movements, you dragged your foot across the floor and up his calf.
he choked.
coughed into his fist. hard. tried to cover it with a sip of water. âyou alright, man?â your father asked again. you smiled and blinked wide. âoh no, did you choke?â
jack grabbed the water glass again and nodded. âwent down wrong.â
you pressed your bare foot higherâup his shin, under the tablecloth, brushing against his knee.
he stared you down like he might kill you. or fuck you. or both. then your father stood. âgotta go check the grill. be right back.â the door hadnât even shut before jackâs voice dropped low. firm. rough with restraint.
âyouâre outta your fuckinâ mind.â
you sipped your drink. âpardon?â
jack gritted his teeth. âkeep it up and i swearââ
âwhat?â you leaned forward just an inch. just enough. âyouâll send me to bed without supper?â
his eye twitched.
you cocked your head, all butter-wouldnât-melt. âor maybe youâll finally give me something else to eat?â
jackâs fists clenched under the table.
you gave him one final, devastating smileâthe smile, the one that haunted himâand popped a piece of cornbread into your mouth like you hadnât just given him a boner in front of your actual father.
he was going to kill you.
or fuck you.
maybe both.
you were a saint at dinner.
well, mostly.
you smiled. chewed. didnât say a word when jackâs fork nearly cracked his plate. you even made polite conversation while trailing your foot up his leg like it wasnât the same leg that once pinned you to a hospital headboard in a locked on call room.
no funny business this weekend, my ass.
you ascended the stairs with the grace of a girl who absolutely wasnât done playing this game. not even close. because you had one more move to make before bed. a little personal ritual.
your skincare routine. and then your orgasm.
because jack might be trying to do the right thing, but you? you were doing the right thing for yourself.
you padded into the shared bathroom between your rooms, humming under your breath. the light flicked on soft and gold. your bag was right where you left itâopen on the counter, skincare laid out in order like sacred tools. you reached for your cleanser first.
then toner. serum. cream.
your eyes flicked casually to the side. the same spot you left it. but the spot was empty. you froze.
no fucking way.
you pushed aside your bra, the lace barely hiding the ache in your chest. then the hairbrush. then the lip balm. you bent slightly to look underneath the counter.
gone.
you stood up slowly, blinking at your reflection. your jaw tensed. a sudden heat bloomed behind your ribs.
he didnât.
he didnât.
he took it.
you stormed into your room, palms clammy with disbelief. youâd left it on purpose. out in the open. strategically placed. because if Jack wasnât going to touch you this weekend, you at least wanted him to remember how you touched yourself.
but apparently that was too much for his moral code.
apparently withholding orgasms was part of his fucking friendship duties.
you collapsed onto the edge of your bed, vibrating with rage.
âoh, so heâs not fucking me, but i canât fuck me either?â you whispered sharply to no one, glaring at the wall like it had betrayed you. you rubbed your face with both hands, but the fury didnât leave.
not even close.
in fact, it crystallized.
sharp and glittering and then you smiled because it dawned on you. fine. he wanted war? he just declared it. and boy, he had no idea what he was up against.
you are woman on a mission. you donât knock. you slam the door open.
"where is it?"
jack doesnât flinch. not even a little. just lifts his gaze slowly from the book in his lapâhis stupid fucking book, glasses perched low on his nose like heâs actually reading and not sitting there with your orgasm in his sock drawer.
he blinks. mild. annoyingly mild.
âeveninâ, sweetheart.â
oh hell no.
âdonât you âsweetheartâ me. where the fuck is it.â
jack closes the book carefully. precisely. like heâs got all the time in the goddamn world. his forearm flexes as he rests it on the arm of the chair. casual. relaxed. a little, if not a lot, smug.
you want to throttle him.
âiâm gonna need a little more context than that.â
you laugh. one of those high, breathless, hysterical laughs that makes men nervous. âthree days, jack.â
he raises an eyebrow. âi havenât come in three fucking days.â
that gets him. a twitch. barely thereâbut you know him too well. his jaw ticks. his nostrils flare. the corners of his mouth threaten a smirk. âi didnât realize that was my problem.â
you lunge.
or at least you start toâuntil he lifts a single hand, palm up, as if youâre a wild animal heâs trying to settle.
âyouâre not gonna find it,â he says calmly.
âso you did take it.â
he shrugs. âdidnât want your father stumbling on it.â
âcould close the bathroom door! or put in my night bag that was on the counter?!â
another shrug. âcouldnât risk it.â
âyou couldâve put it in my roomââ
âcouldâve.â
you are vibrating. full body. from your teeth to your thighs. âyou are keeping me hostage in my own fucking clit cage,â you whisper furiously, âand for what? some noble cause?â
his eyes glint.
âi told you. no funny business this weekend.â
you stare at him. you want to cry. or scream. or throw something. or ride him until he begs.
instead, you march to the dresser and yank the top drawer open. âuh-uh.â heâs up in a flash, big hand closing over your wrist. ânot so fast.â
âyouâre out of your mind if you think iâm sleeping tonight without it.â
âyou are.â the nerve. it sets you on fire.
you go still, eyes narrow. his voice drops an octave. âyou think i donât know what youâre doing? those little shorts. no bra. sashaying around like youâre trying to make me lose my fucking mind?â
your mouth opens. then shuts. then opens again. he leans in.
âiâm not touching you because i care about you,â he says, low and fierce. ânot because i donât want to. god knows i want to. but if i start again, iâm not stopping. and iâm not making you come on your little toy like some camp counselor with a curfew. you want to come? you wait until the fucking weekend is over.â
silence.
the room spins.
and then youâyou, the girl who stormed in ready to commit a federal crime over a stolen vibratorâyou whimper.
a pathetic, needy sound. betraying everything. because why was that so fucking frustrating and hot at the same time. and jack just smiles.
for a moment, you donât blink.
you donât move.
except your hand.
sliding down. casually and most certainly deliberately. right into your shorts.
jack stiffens. his eyes drop instinctivelyâthen snap back up.
you cock your head, saccharine-sweet. âyou really think i need the toy to get off?â
he doesnât answer, doesnât breathe. but the muscle in his jaw flexes. hard. you smile because for a moment you think your winning. because then you do it. right there. in front of him.
fingers dip past lace and slick warmth, your breath hitching just a little as you drag through wetnessâyour wetnessâthat he caused. all day. all night. every time he looked at you and didnât touch.
you donât break eye contact. not once. your voice drops to a whisper. âiâm so fucking wet, jack.â his throat bobs. his knuckles go white on the arm of the chair.
you drag your fingers over your clit onceâtwiceâand gasp like it surprises you. it doesnât. you knew youâd be close. youâve been riding this edge for days.
and now heâs watching you do what he refused to. all because heâs noble. because heâs scared. because he thinks staying away is protecting you.
well fuck that.
âbet you wish you had the balls to do it yourself,â you murmur.
jack blinks, slow. then leans back in the chair. âgo on, then,â he says. âfinish.â it's not a command, its a dare.
your breath catches. âyou sure?â you breathe. he nods once. âletâs see it.â you press harder. a endless cycle of circle, grind, moan.
eyes flutter, hips roll and he doesnât move.
the room is thick with tension. your ragged breaths. the slick sound of your fingers. the sharp bite of your nails in your thigh to keep yourself grounded. balanced. present. because this isnât just about getting off.
this is a show.
for him.
for the man whoâs been edging you with his mouth and then telling you to be good. for the man who pretends he canât touch you just because heâs scared of who might find out.
you're going to break him.
or youâre going to come trying. either way, you'll win.
you gasp againâhigh, sweet, strung-out. Youâre right there.
you bite your lip, sway slightly as you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. you know you shouldn't. but you just can't help yourself as the coil winds tighter and tighter.
then your coming on your fingers.
right there. on your own fingers. in front of him. without his permission. without his help.
and jack abbottâyour dadâs best friend, the man who swore he wouldnât touch you this weekend, the man who spoiled you rotten with orgasms and praise and everything in betweenâis livid.
he doesnât speak. doesnât blink. doesnât move. not until your breath finally steadies, your hand slipping slowly from your shorts, slick and trembling, like a ribbon of sin.
not until you smile at himâsmug and breathlessâand whisper, âsee? guess i donât need you after all."
you don't even know whats happened. that how fast everything changed. the fucking whiplash gets the better of you. because jack moves fast.
the chair screeches as itâs shoved back. the drawer to his nightstand is ripped open. and there it is. your vibrator. held tight in his fist like heâs wielding a goddamn weapon.
"you wanna come so bad?" his voice is low and guttural. he is absolutely wrecked as he grinds out, "fine."
your lips part.
"get. on. the bed."
you move like your body knows better than to disobey.
because somethingâs shifted. heâs not teasing anymore. not toying. not testing. he is punishing. the toy buzzes to life in his hand with a high, merciless hum.
youâre still in your little sleep shorts and ruined panties, thighs sticky and flushed from your solo stunt, heart pounding like you just summoned the devil.
and jackâs jaw is tight. his glasses still on. his shirt rolled to his elbows. a vein in his neck throbbing. âi told you i wasnât gonna fuck you this weekend,â he says, tone flat. âdidnât say a damn thing about making you beg.â
you squirm.
he climbs onto the bed, knees caging your thighs, pressing the toy between your folds without preambleâstill clothed, right on your clit that is still so fucking angry. "you're done being a little brat, y'hear?"
you cry out. loud. sharp. jack doesn't flinch. "your at one, already," he murmurs. "letâs see how many times it takes before you really learn who you belong to.â
heâs straddling your thighsânot between them, because heâs not giving you that satisfaction. heâs keeping his distance. a reminder that this is punishment.
you squirm under him, hips trying to chase the buzz of the toy as he presses it against your clothed pussy.
the lace barrier does nothing to dull the sensation. in fact, it might be worse. slickness makes the vibrations wet and messy, sends jolts right through your core.
âjackââ you breathe it like a prayer. he leans down, one hand gripping your jaw, the other still holding the toy. âno. you wanted to come so bad. you did. now youâll come the when i say.â
the vibrator shifts just slightly, angled higherâright back on your clit. you jolt. âmmmâjack, please, iââ
he tsks. âyouâre not even trying to be quiet, sweetheart.â your eyes widen. the bedroom walls feel thin. your father is just downstairs.
"guess i'll help," he mutters.
and then he rips your panties downâjust enough to get what he needsâand shoves them in your mouth.
soft, damp, silken cottonâstuffed deep, curling over your tongue, your own taste flooding your mouth. âhold that there,â he growls. âyou make a sound? i stop. got it?â
you nod, desperate and wrecked.
jack presses the toy back to your clit, this time direct and unfiltered, the hum angrier now. you arch. you whimperâmuted by the soaked gag. "it's ok, baby, you can come." your hips buck wildly, legs twitching, thighs squeezing. but he pins you downâbig hands braced on your waistârock solid and relentless.
âthatâs two,â he grunts as your climax hits like a freight train.
you scream into the gag, eyes wide and teary, thighs trembling beneath him.
and he doesn't even blink because he's not done. not even close.
you're wrecked. you should be satisfied. two orgasms in and youâre already trembling, thighs soaked and twitching beneath jackâs heavy weight.
but he hasnât touched you with anything but the toy. not his fingers. not his cock. just that damn vibrator he yanked from your bag and now wields like punishment.
your ruined panties are still packed into your mouth, your own taste bleeding across your tongue.
âready for number three,â he murmurs. his voice is so low it vibrates through the meat of your thigh where his palm rests.
you try to shake your headâplease, itâs too muchâbut you donât really mean it.
youâre soaked. youâre crying. and he hasnât even started the third yet.
he sees your hesitationâyour squirmingâand it makes him smile. that cruel, smug little half-smirk that says:Â i knew youâd break first.
and thenâhe doesnât give you time to prepare.
he drops the toy between your folds, direct to skin, dragging it slowly along your overstimulated clit for the umpteenth time. not hard. not fast. just enough to tease that raw bundle of nerves back to life.
you arch and shriek into the gag. your hips try to twist away and he grabs you by the waistâholds you down.
âuh-uh,â he growls. âyou come on this again. you take it.â tears spill from the corners of your eyes. youâre nodding. youâre whimpering. you'll do anything he says at this point.
the buzz gets meaner. jack shifts it lower, dragging it down your slit, then up again, circling, never giving the same pressure twice.
your legs kick and yo pant. you fucking sob into the gag. and still he doesnât stop. âyou gonna cry about it?â he sneers, voice like sandpaper over honey. âyou didnât need the toy, huh? thought you were in control?â
the toy hits your clit again and stays. your back bows off the mattress. your muffled scream nearly shatters your throat.
âthatâs three.â
your whole body shakes. you collapse into the mattress, arms useless, brain foggy, completely gone.
he pulls the toy away, finally a reprieve.
three orgasms in, your limbs like overcooked noodles, your pussy so puffy and swollen you can feel every pulse of blood in your clit.
your pantiesâstill shoved in your mouthâare soaked with saliva and slick. and jack is rock-hard above you. still fully clothed. still not fucking you.
he watches you cry through the high. watches you shiver and gasp and twitch as the aftershocks settle deep in your bones. he lets you come down, just a little.
just enough. then, "one more," he says softly. not cruel this time. not mocking. just final. you blink up at him, dazed. you try to shake your head but you barely manage a whimper.
your eyes plead:Â no more, please, i can'tâ
he reaches for the toy again. but this time, he doesnât go for your clit. your almost relieved but then he parts your thighs with his palm and presses the tip of the vibrator against your entrance. not buzzing. just resting.
your breath stutters in your throat. he meets your gaze.
"color?" you nod. once, then twice. a muffled green around the gag.
and thatâs all he needs. he turns it on, just a low hum, and slowlyâso slowlyâhe presses it inside.
the toy glides in smooth. You're so fucking wet that its so easy. so used to him.
but itâs not him.
it's not thick like his fingers.
not curved like his cock.
itâs plastic. cold, cruel, unfair. and you almost want to beg him to put you out of your misery and just fuck you already. it'd be a mercy. but when jack has got him mind set, there is no changing it so you let him have his fun.
your body doesnât know the difference between him and the toy, at least not right now. you gasp around the panties as he slides it inâinch by inchâthen pauses with just the head tucked inside.
his opposite thumb circles your clit and a cry tears from your throat.
then, deeper. he feeds it in until you're stretched wide, cunt throbbing around the firm little toy. "you want it, baby? huh?" he murmurs. âwanna come on this, too? wanna come stuffed full of plastic like some bratty little fuckdoll?â
you sob.
you nod.
youâre so close already.
he starts to fuck it in and out. shallow strokes. just enough to make you twitch.
he presses the toy against your front wallâjust right. he knows the spot. your back arches off the bed.
you cry outâ
itâs too muchâ
itâs not enoughâ
he presses harder. faster. and you scream into the gag as your fourth orgasm crashes through youâbody convulsing around the toy inside you.
you come so hard you go numb. stars burst behind your eyes. your toes curl. your pussy spasms around the intruder, greedy and twitching, trying to milk it like itâs him.
jack yanks it out while youâre still shaking. he tosses it on the nightstand and reaches downâfinallyâpulling the gag from your mouth. you're gasping, sobbing, whimpering his name.
you donât even notice him at first. youâre too far gone. âJust a taste, sweetheartâŠâ
your body still convulses with aftershocks, little tremors rolling through your thighs. you're boneless. melted into the sheets. whimpering softly as your cunt pulses and flutters around nothing.
you think heâs done. you think heâs walking away.
but jack doesnât leave. he shifts. you feel the mattress move. and thenâa warm breath. between your legs.
your hips jerk.
you manage to lift your head just in time to see itâjack, now on his knees on the floor, the lamp behind him casting his silhouette against your trembling body. his shoulders broad. his handsâlarge, sureâparting your thighs.
his tongue licks up your slit in one slow, reverent stroke.
you screamânot in volume, but in shock.
âjackââ itâs more of a gasp. a prayer. a warning. a sob. but he doesnât stop. his fingers dig into your hips to hold you down and he dives back inâtongue flattening, curling, tasting. he groans against you.
âfucking hell,â he rasps into your pussy, voice wrecked with hunger. âyou taste so good, baby.â his mouth seals over your clit. you jerkâyour legs kickâyour body tries to escape the pleasure.
but he holds you there.
âyou donât need to come,â he growls, licking again. âjust wanna taste.â
his tongue laps through your folds, over and over, wet and insistent.
and godâ the pressure is building again. you didnât think you had anything left. but with his mouth on you? you could die like this.
you sob into your hand, chest rising and falling, hips trying to rollâ jack doesnât let you.
he licks. he sucks. he groans. he tastes everything he gave you.
you cry his name. he looks up from between your legsâmouth slick with your come. his lips kiss your inner thigh like a benediction.
âm'sorry, needed a taste, baby,â he murmurs.
you're barely coherent.
sweaty, and spent and wrung out. your eyes are glassy. cheeks flushed. your panties are still shoved in your mouth, soaked from where he gagged youâ
from where you whimpered and sobbed and came again and again and again.
heâs calm, steady. mean in the quietest ways.
his fingers reach for your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. "you're done for tonight."
you nod. and only then does he lean inâpressing a sweet, almost condescending kiss to your forehead as he slowly, slowly pulls the gag from your mouth.
your panties come away damp and sticky, a string of your spit still connecting the fabric to your lip. he watches it fall. watches you breathe.
and thenâwithout a wordâhe unfolds the ruined lace. gently. like itâs precious.
his fingers find your ankles and he slides the panties back upâpulling them over your thighs, between your legs, covering the mess he made.
not to clean you. oh no. jack wants you marinating in it.
your come. his spit. the sticky vibrations of every orgasm you werenât supposed to have. he tugs the fabric snug over your puffy cunt, lets it settle against you wet and clinging, then smooths his palm over it once in firm, lingering finality.
"perfect," he murmurs under his breath.
you blinkâhazy, confused, boneless. but heâs already moving. you hear the rustle of fabric. a belt unbuckling. pants sliding off. you catch a flash of pale thighs andâ
yeah.
heâs hard. so hard. his cock dark and aching and twitching just from watching you unravel.
but he doesnât touch himself.
he doesnât need to.
he climbs into bed behind you, pulling the covers up with mechanical precision. then, with all the audacity of a man whoâs just ruined you with a toy and his tongueâhe spoons you.
and you feel it. god, you feel it. his cock. hot and thick. pressed up against the swell of your ass.
he shifts his hipsâsubtleârubs himself against you once. just once. enough to prove a point. enough to make you whimper again, overstimulated and needy.
then he exhales.
you feel his breath against the back of your neck.
âget some sleep, sweetheart, you did a lot tonight.â you jerk slightly in his arms. âbutâjackââ his hand flattens over your stomach. he pulls you tighter. his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, lips warm and infuriating.
ânot fucking you this weekend,â he reminds you, gentle and smug. âtold you that already.â and he settles. cocksure and satisfied.
meanwhileâyouâre wet, shaking, and still clenching around nothing.
and jack sleeps with a boner against your ass and a smirk on his lips like he didnât just edge and destroy you under your dadâs roof.
warnings .á 18+ mdni. smut. dry humping. oral over clothing. finger sucking (everyone scream!) sexual intercourse. unsafe sex (wrap it b4 you tap it irl plsss people). reader is dr. robbyâs âdaughterâ - theyâre not biologically related but she sees him as a father figure. age gap (reader is in her middle to late 20s). reader is close friends with trinity. both jack & reader are soooo flirty. he calls reader kid + many other pet names. reader calls robby âdadâ sometimes. horribly inaccurate medical jargon.
summary .á the 3 times jack has to pull himself from crossing that line that would change everything between yourself and him + the 1 time he throws caution to the wind and does something about his feelings.
authors note .á i listened to my moon my man whilst writing this âïž
part 2
The first time Jack realises just how fucked he truly is, is when you show up with the sweetest smile, warmest cheeks and what seemed to him, the raunchiest navy blue and white polka dot mini dress heâs seen in a long while.
He has a firm grip on the Bud Light can in his hand, nearly denting it as his eyes follow you across Michaelâs backyard, flitting around with a smile and the swish of that damn dress as you greet Trinity, then Dennis, snorting when Trinity laid a playful smack to your ass, his grey eyes watching shamelessly as your pert ass recoiled under the smack, the ends of your dress lifting just slightly, already sending his perverted mind into overdrive. "Jesus christ man, get a fucking grip," He huffed under his breath to himself, shaking his head, as well as trying to shake away the less-than appropriate image of you in his head, busying himself with the beer in his hand, taking a sip to quench the thirst in his throat.
This thing he had for you, this crush (although he wouldn't dare admit that out loud due to how ridiculous it sounded - I mean a man his age having a crush was just humiliating, he thought) he'd begun harbouring, he knew it was wrong, he knew it was shameful - you were basically Michael's kid, not only that but he had scars older than you - everything about this little infatuation should've been pushed down to the deepest, darkest parts of his brain, but that weren't the case.
So deep in thought, he hadn't even realised that you were standing right in front of him, your greetings falling on deaf ears, "Earth to Jack - helloooo!" You smiled, your head tilted and eyes wide as you waved your manicured hand in front of his face, pulling him from his trance with an airy giggle.
"Hey kid, when'd you get here mhm?" He hummed, inhaling sharply as he feigned indifference, smiling as he brought you in for a hug, your vanilla perfume hitting him like a drug. "Got here a bit ago actually, had to take my things upstairs cause I'm stayin' here for the weekend - ooh what're you drinkin?" You hummed, mindlessly reaching for the can, taking a swig of it only to pull a face at the sour taste on your tongue, handing it back to him immediately, "Ew, tastes like burnt asshole," You snorted, pulling a smirk from Jack himself, shaking his head at your antics. "What? Can't handle a little beer? Thought you were a big girl," He cleared his throat, his eyes staying locked on yours as he took a sip from his drink now, his lips where yours previously were, the lipstick stain on the rim of the can a testament to that, "You know I am," You chuckled, quiet enough for only him to hear.
A beat of silence passed, that signature Jack Abbot stare prompting your thighs to press together, quickly looking over your shoulder to collect yourself, face warm to the touch.
With that, you conjured up the shittiest excuse to get away, leaving for the bathroom to pull yourself together, Jack needing to do a similar thing as he stepped inside the kitchen to seek refuge, adjusting his semi over his jeans before clearing his throat.
God, you were going to be the death of him for sure.
The second time Jack realises just how in over his head he really is, is the day of the Fourth of July.
Visiting the ED to see Dr. Robby was something you frequently did, staying at the hub by Danaâs desk as you chatted with the nurses, residents or med students, spilling gossip with Perlah and Princess, catching up with Langdon when he had a second to spare and bothering Dennis and Trinity whenever they didnât seem so busy - hell your visits were so regular, Dana had a picture of you and her tapped to her station along with the pictures she had of her family.
What you donât expect however, is to see Jack Abbot, decked out in what seemed to be the hottest uniform anyoneâs ever worn, rush into the ED along side another officer on a gurney, your eyes widening, body - jesus everything perked up.
âHoly shit,â you huffed, more to yourself that to anyone else, brows shooting up to your hairline, Princess giggled alongside you, âHoly shit is right - cause if I got my hands on him-â she chuckled loudly, prompting you to laugh along with her, lightly elbowing her side.
âWhatâs so funny, I wanna laugh too?â Trinity hummed from beside you, chewing the skin on her bottom lip as her eyes searched yours and Princessâ for any hint of what the joke couldâve been, only to follow your eyes and what seemed to be drool in the corner of your mouth, to a very sweaty, hot and bothered Jack Abbot sauntering off into an empty room by himself.
âSeriously?â she chortled, nearly doubling over with laughter, âDidnât peg you for the dilf loving type, thought you liked the ratty lookinâ ones - like Huckleberry over there!â She laughed even louder, pointing to Dennis, cracking herself up with her own joke, only eliciting a not so gentle yet still playful shove from yourself.
âShut up! And technically heâs not a dilf - silver fox though? Fuck yes,â you played into the joke, sticking your tongue out playfully before closing your mouth abruptly at the sight of Robby behind Trinity. âWhatâs a dilf?â He cleared his throat, moving past Trinity to place his hands on your shoulders, brows furrowed as he looked over your shoulders and down at you.
Trinityâs eyes widened before skilfully slipping away, your eyes wide in panic as you mouthed a hushed âfuck you,â to her as you turned in Danaâs swivel chair to face Robby, âUhhh I am not havinâ this conversation with you, god no, go ask someone else - also, I saw Jack earlier-â You huffed, looking over your shoulder to the room heâd slipped into, âHe okay?â You asked, chewing the inside of your cheek as you looked up at Robby.
âYeah heâs right as rain - bullet just grazed his shoulder,â Robby hummed, nonchalantly reaching for a mint in his pocket. Your eyes widened, brows furrowed to the Gods in worry, âHe was shot? Is he okay? Shouldnât someone be attending to him or something?â You worried, standing abruptly from the swivel chair youâd been sitting in.
Robbyâs head tilted inconspicuously at your worried demeanour, his eyes narrowing before clearing his throat, âHeâs a doctor himself sweetie remember? Heâll be fine - but youâre more than welcome to go ask him if youâre that worried mhm,â He almost teased, still suspiciously eyeing you and the manner in which you basically bolted from the hub and toward the room heâd gone in to, eventually shrugging it off and chalking it up to you being worried about a family friend (he was horribly wrong).
You knocked on the door to announce your entrance, clearing your throat, âJack, hey itâs me - Robby uh - he told me you got shot and I just, I dunno - just wanted to come see if youâre okay,â You spoke softly, chewing the inside of your cheek with your hands crossed behind your back, rocking back and forth on your cowboy boots, waiting for him to either open the curtain or politely tell you to leave.
Jack went with the former, pulling the curtain open, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the man youâve been crushing on for god knows how long, shirtless, âOh,â you whispered to yourself, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your mind had to will your gaze away from his very distracting pecs, mentally face palming yourself for making your attraction towards him so glaringly obvious.
Jack only smirked, that soft but firm one he reserved for you only, âHey kid - uh I was shot at - bullet proof vest remember, but thanks for the concern,â He softly laughed, distracted himself by the too-short, denim shorts you were wearing, his own mind wondering to dangerous places at the star and stripes of your bikini top peeking out from under your white tank top.
You nodded, rounding the cot to check his back, the wound nasty looking but nothing too serious youâd hoped, âYouâre sure youâre okay?â You murmured, chewing your bottom lip - a horrible habit of yours, as you came back to face his front, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, lashes fluttering as you blinked.
Jack swore you were tempting him right now - that goddamn look in your eyes had him wanting to profess his love to you right then and there, the thought of ruining his friendship with Robby, pushed to the back of his mind with how your eyes roamed his, then flitted down to sneak a peek at his bare chest. God you were killing him.
âYouâre cute when youâre all worried, anyone ever tell you that?â He muttered nonchalantly, keeping up his facade with his eyes downcast to the medical supplies on the tray before him, picking up a cotton swab doused in some sort of cream for his graze. You scoffed, lips parting to speak but his words had you speechless, your mind mush as it replayed âyouâre cute,â on loop.
âWhy do you do all this anyway - what, being an ER doctor isn't enough of an adrenaline rush for ER cowboy, Jack Abbot?" You teased, messing with a loose strand of fabric on your jean shorts, the softest smile on your lips as you picked your eyes up from your lap to Jack's, his eyes already on you, something flashing through them - something reckless, something that made you wanna jump his damn bones.
He huffed a laugh out, finishing up with his bullet graze wound, "Uh my therapist said I needed a hobby," He shrugged, raising his brows almost suggestively. You snorted, shaking your head, "Really? That's what you're calling it - risking your life like that is not a hobby, it's a death sentence," you scoffed, once again chewing the skin on your bottom lip.
Jack smiled, that same smile that made your cheeks flush, your ears warm and your thighs clench, "I can handle myself, stop worryin' so much," He cleared his throat, reaching for a clean shirt, sliding it over his frame, much to your distaste. Another beat of silence passed as he promptly pulled the shirt over, his salt and pepper curls a little disheveled, somewhat giving him a boyish charm, only serving to make you swoon even more.
"I take it you have plans," He hummed, swiftly changing the topic as he nodded toward your very skimpy, very distracting outfit, "Yes, uhm - Iâm goin to a lake house with some friends, just came here to say bye to dad then I needa get back to my apartment to pack the last of my things," You hummed, mindlessly tracing shapes into the hospital bed. Jack couldn't help but wonder whether these friends of yours were boys, boys he was certain, no absolutely positive, he could treat you better than, that familiar raging green monster simmering just beneath the surface - god you were really messing him up.
"You need a ride back? Iâm headed out anyway, could drop you off," He almost whispered, disposing of any used medical supplies before standing up, hissing under his breath at just how short those shorts of yours were, his adam's apple bobbing as he tried to remain composed - you had this ability to make him lose his cool like a teenager trying to talk to their first crush, it was bordering on embarrassing for a man his age.
You didn't miss the hitch in his breath, somewhat proud of yourself, "I actually drove here - I know surprising - but thank you Jackie, I'll take you up on that offer another time though," You giggled, fishing for your phone in your back pocket to check the time, "Shoot I should actually get goin - buttt do me a favour and get a less nerve wracking hobby please - see you later Jack," You beamed, winking as you turned on your heels, hips swaying as you left, most definitely hypnotizing that poor old man, waving over your shoulder before finding Robby.
Jack watched you saunter off, jaw clenched, eyes pierced and cock most definitely hard, "Nice talk kid," he scoffed to himself, shaking his head.
The third time happens when you're visiting PTMC's ED for a completely different reason.
You'd been at a bar with friends, a little tipsy (tipsy's a lie, you were flat out drunk off of your ass) when some guy repeatedly kept coming up to you, talking about showing you a good time even after you politely declined, multiple times at that; at one point he'd even gotten a little handsy, right when his apparent girlfriend decided to show up and in the flash of an eye you were being shoved against the bar, a right hook to your nose and the words "skank", "bitch" and "homewrecking slut" sounding through the air above the ringing in your ears, your own scream drowned out due to the stabbing, shooting pain going down your nose, towards your eyes.
"Jesus fuck!" You yelled out in agony, doubling over as your head started spinning, blood trickling down from your nose, warm and metallic as it gushed over your parted lips, seeping and soiling the cute white top you donned with the crimson colour of your blood. Your breath quickened as your vision grew blotchy, stumbling around on your vintage heels as your friends called out your name repeatedly, their pleas falling on deaf ears as your body gave out, vision going completely blank as you passed out.
Meanwhile back at the ED, it was nearing the time for the night shift to switch with the day shift, the limp in Jack's step a testament to the gruelling night himself and the rest of the doctors and nurses had that shift, his prosthetic giving him problems again. Just as he thought it'd all quieted down, in you came, well a very disorientated, clearly hurt you, hauled in on a gurney, your friend Alex at your side as Jack and a few nurses rushed up to you.
"Woah woah - what the fuck happened here kid?" He stressed, already at your side as the paramedics explained your condition, his eyes searching yours for anything else that might have been wrong. You simply groaned, eyes teary at the terrible pain in your nose, the blood that had been streaming from it now to a halt, dried sticky against your face and chest, "I'm fine - shouldn't even be here - this isn't necessary," You slurred, still a little out of it as they rushed you into a room, Jack assuring the paramedics that he had it from here, brushing you off when you let him know you could get off from the gurney and onto the bed yourself, breath hitching in your throat as Jack effortlessly picked you up and set you down onto the cot.
"Please don't tell Robby - I don't even wanna be here cause he'll just make a fuss and I just-just wanna go home and sleep Jack," You swallowed, wincing slightly as he took your face between his palms, "Okay, okay hush now kid, none of us will tell him but you gotta let me help you okay? Now tell me again what happened here," He softly spoke, his gentle tutting and the warmth of his hands on your skin calming you down to an extent.
"Some lunatic girl punched her square in the nose cause she thought she was flirting with her boyfriend - who was actully just harassing us and then she got all woozy and fainted and I panicked and called 911 cause I wasn't sure what to do," Your friend piped up from the seat she was in, hugging herself.
"That's good - it's good that she was brought in thank you," He hummed as he looked over his shoulder at your friend, smiling briefly before turning his attention back to you, lifting his one hand from your face, holding his index finger up and moving it side to side to assess your cranial nerves and eye muscle function, your hazy eyes following as best as you could.
"Okay now Iâm gonna press my thumbs alongside your nose and you're gonna let me know when it starts to hurt alright? Then from there its up for a CT do we can see what weâre really working with here - you still with me sweetheart?" He cleared his throat, bringing his other hand back to your cheek, his thumb lightly caressing the plush skin there before softly pressing his thumbs along your nasal cavity up toward you eye, groaning and wincing once his thumbs reached your corneas.
"Doesn't seem to bad - took that punch like a champ, pretty badass if you ask me," He attempted to lighten the mood, peeking his head out to call on Princess, who had just started her shift, to take you up for a CT scan, only for your hand to wrap around his wrist, swallowing as you looked up at him with the neediest eyes he's ever seen, "Stay with me - please," You pleaded, your bottom lip jutted out, still tipsy and your entire face still throbbing.
Jack hesitated, his eyes locked on your smaller hand around his wrist, his scrubs suddenly getting too hot, "Yeah - okay I can take you up," He cleared his throat, helping you into the wheelchair and hauling you up for the CT scan.
Once you were done, you were back in the ED, already having assured Alex that she could go home and that you'd uber back to your apartment - the poor girl was exhausted and still drunk out of her mind, and her girlfriend had been waiting outside for her so you didn't see why not. In the meantime, Jack took to cleaning your face of the dried blood, his touch tender and reserved, apologising profusely when he'd apply too much pressure in an area close to your nose, his thumb once again tracing slow circles into your jaw as he worked to get you clean.
You sobered up real quick in that moment, your eyes darting all around the room but at the one thing you really wanted to look at; a stillness fell over the space, your heart beating pathetically fast, the cardiac monitor announcing it to the rest of the world along with it, pulling a particularly cocky smile from the man before you.
"So, good news is, there's a slight fracture, but it's nothing your body can't fix on it's own with some time and rest - bad news, no more bar fights for the next few weeks Rocky Balboa," He smiled, eliciting a snort from yourself, your shoulders bouncing as you hysterically laughed at his terrible joke. "What? I'm serious kid - or else you'll start to look like an MMA fighter, then next thing you know we're draining your cauliflower ears," He chuckled, your forehead connecting with his shoulder as your body fell forward with laughter.
"If the pain ever gets too much, a Tylenol should work - now lets get you out of here before Robby shows up," He called his hands, standing up from the edge of the bed, holding out his hand for you to take, like the gentleman he was, and you did, his hand dwarfing yours in size, something he tried really hard not to think about as he helped you stand.
"It okay if I take you home - cause Iâm not lettingâ you take an Uber like this, and I gotta be out of here soon anyway," He hummed, your hand still in his, his touch grounding you as you nodded, knowing that fighting him on this would only waste time. With that he led you out, trailing on his heels only to be stopped by Dennis and Trinity who were clocking in for their shift.
"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Trinity gasped, her hand on your shoulder to look you over, "You should see the other guy," You jested, your eyes heavy with sleep as you squeezed Trinity's arm, assuring her and Dennis that you were fine.
"Okay well let us know if you need anythin' okay?" Dennis hummed, hugging you before walking up to the hub, Trinity only raised her brows suggestively as she gestured with her head to Jack who had stood and waited for you, your lips twitching as you tried your best to not burst out laughing, hugging her before walking alongside Jack to his car. "My favourite shirt's ruined," You sighed in passing, more to yourself than to him, still tipsy as you looked down at your white shirt that was now stained red.
He turned to look at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he opened the passenger side door for you, "I'll get you a new one," He muttered casually, once again biting back your smile as you got into his car, sucking your cheeks in as you thought over the entire interaction, your fractured nose the last thing on your mind, storing it into that special place you kept all your memories of Jack in.
The final straw snaps on a night you should've been on a date with some lame guy your age.
You'd been excitedly waiting for him, already having ordered a cocktail at the quaint Italian place he suggested, decked out in an all new wardrobe, feeling good about this particular one.
An hour had passed and youâd already regretted your earlier feelings, the other side of the table still empty, the complimentary rolls eaten and your pornstar martiniâs glass empty, your eyes stinging with tears as you realised youâd been stood up, the messages to his number not going through anymore.
You felt humiliated as you stormed out of the restaurant, scolding yourself for thinking this one would be better than the others, kitten heels clacking against the pavement as you tried to collect yourself, looking up to the night sky to try and calm down, not wanting to spill any tears on a man that didn't deserve them in the first place.
You fumbled for your phone in your leather purse, nostrils flaring as your hurt simmered under the surface of your skin, your thumb hovering over the Uber app, your mind overthinking to the worst possible scenario before decidedly exiting it and clicking on your contacts, scrolling and scrolling until you had no one else to call, chewing the skin on the inside of your cheeks till a metallic taste hit your tongue, scrolling back up until your thumb hovered over his name, Jack Abbot. You stared down at your phone for what felt like an hour, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you finally worked up the courage and pressed call, sniffling as you held the phone up to your ear.
Jack had been on his couch for the evening, his off day spent catching up with sleep and watching whatever bullshit was on the TV, massaging his leg as his prosthetic lay against the foot of the couch - that was until your name flashed across his phone screen, answering it with a sense of urgency only an ER doctor would have.
"Hey kid, what's up?" He hummed, clearing his throat as he flexed his unoccupied hand, the smile wiped from his face at the sound of your laboured breathing and stuffy nose from the other end. "Hey Jackie," You sighed, your jaw twitching as you looked up once again, inhaling a deep breath to stop yourself from crying, wiping under your eyes as you sniffled before speaking into your phone again, "Sorry for callin so late but I-I don't know who else t'call - Robby's on his stupid sabbatical thing and it's-fuck- its too god damn humiliating too call one of my friends right now and-shit you're probably busy, I shouldnt have called I'm sorry," You croaked out, hiccupping as you spiraled, hands shaky and your worlds a jumbled up mess as you realised what you were really doing.
Jack's brows furrowed at your frantic rambling, shaking his head as he held his phone between his ear and his shoulder, reaching to put his prosthetic back on, "Woah, hey-hey sweetheart slow down - okay you gotta breathe for me or else I can't help you kid - now take a minute, then tell me what's wrong - never too busy for you," He hummed softly, his voice immediately calming you down.
You inhaled sharply, swallowing the bile rising in your throat before trying again, "Okay uhm - was supposed to have a date t'night but the guy uh - he stood me up and I took an uber here, and I wouldv'e uber'd back but its so late and I just - I didn't know who else to call," You sighed exasperatedly, looking up at your surroundings again.
Without wasting any time, Jack sprung up from his couch, tugging on a quarter zip as he looked for his wallet and car keys, "Send me your location, stay where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can okay honey?" He huffed, only ending the call after you confirmed you heard him with a hum, looking down at his phone to see you'd sent the location of the restaurant you were hauled up at.
đà§
You sat on the curb, legs crossed and hugging yourself against the chilly evening wind, your eyeliner slightly smudged due to the few tears you'd spilled, only looking up when the familiar roar of Jack's car sounded out, climbing out and urgently walking up to you, "Oh sweetheart," He cooed, gently lifting you to stand from your underarms, your bottom lip wobbling as the flood gates immediately broke open, bringing you to his chest, strong arms wrapping around your neck to keep you close, "I know baby, I know," He whispered, the pet name rolling off of his tongue with ease, rocking you back and forth in his embrace as he shushed your cries, pulling back as his hands slid to your jaw, his eyes falling to your teary ones - he hated seeing you cry.
"Hey hey, look at me - no more crying okay? Any guy would be lucky t'be yours, you know that right? He doesnât know what heâs missing out on,â He murmured, the rough pad of his thumb stroking from your cheek down to your jawline, his other hand wiping profusely at your fallen tears, "That dick just shot himself in the foot standing you up - just shows he didn't deserve you in the first place," He huffed, pulling you in to press a kiss to your forehead, "Jesus you're freezing," He laughed softly, letting go of you briefly to pull his quarter zip over his head, his black undershirt riding up, revealing his freckled lower stomach. Your breath caught in the back of your throat, not even registering that he'd moved your arms above your head, sliding the quarter zip over, his cologne overriding your senses, his hands working deftly to pull your hair out from the sweater and back over your shoulders.
"C'mon lets get you home," He quipped, hand at the small of your back as he brought you to the passenger side, opening the door and helping you in, reaching over you for the seatbelt, "I can do that myself y'know?" You whispered, voice hoarse from crying. Jack snickered, pulling the seatbelt across your body and into place, "I know - but I like takin' care of you so sue me," He smirked, closing the door before rounding the car for the drivers door, the life coming back to your eyes as you melted in his sweater, head falling against the headrest with the stupidest smile on your face, the asshole who stood you up already forgotten.
đà§
The drive to your place was quiet and easy, the radio playing softly in the background as Jack checked up on you every now and again, saying the stupidest jokes to lift your spirits; the car soon came to a halt in your apartment parking lot, Jack opening the door for you like before.
He walked you up to your apartment, hand hovering over the small of your back but still remaining close, digging for your keys in your purse as you came to a stop in front of your door, opening it before turning to him, swallowing as you worked up the courage to spit out the words burning on the tip of your tongue, "Do youâŠmaybe wanna come in?" You murmured, looking up at him with those eyes again, paired with you in his clothes had him throwing all caution to the wind and nodding before his mind could even catch up to him, closing the door behind himself.
"You want something to drink?" You murmured from the kitchen, standing with your hands behind your back as you looked at him, looking like a puppy that just got kicked out onto the street, tugging at his heart strings, "Uhh yeah sure - what d'ya got?" He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a seat on your couch, his eyes darting across your living space, everything so uniquely you - a framed photo of you and Robby on the mantle above the fireplace along with a few others of you with family and friends, the photo of Robby seemingly staring him down, acting as the angel on his shoulder, reminding him of how âwrongâ his love for you was.
"I've got water, cranberry juice, redbull and a beer?" You scrunched your nose up, your head tilted as you peered from the side of the fridge door, looking at Jack for an answer. "Beer's fine - thank you," He cleared his throat, taking his phone and wallet out from his pants pockets and setting them on your coffee table.
You handed him the can of beer, taking a seat next to him, your bare knee brushing his, your eyes flitting from his hand holding the beer, to the lines at the corners of his eyes and then back down to his mouth as he took a sip, unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.
A somewhat awkward silence passed, the tick of the hands of your clock loud in your ears as you chewed the skin on your bottom lip, looking everywhere but at the man before you; "I meant what I said earlier - I wasn't just saying it to make you feel better," He spoke, his tone of voice low as he set the beer down, flexing his hands as he turned to you, "Look at me, please?" He practically begged, your body willing you to face him, almost as if there were a magnetic pull between you two.
His words from earlier wrang through your head like a broken tape record, lips slightly parted as you thought them over, the thinly veiled desperation behind those words clear to you now - he wanted to be yours and you wanted to be his.
The silence dragged on, and through it he could see the cogs whirring in your head, the picture of Robby on your mantle taunting him, telling him to stick to his word and not go against his better judgment - but how could he not? That dangerous line you both teetered on seemed to get thinner and thinner by the second, practically nonexistent with the way you were eyeing him, those sad eyes of yours pulling him in until the line was justâŠ
Gone.
Before you knew it, his lips were on yours, sensually kissing you, large hands flexing on your waist as he hoisted you into his lap, desperately tugging at your (his) sweater and pulling it over your head, his lips falling back into place as he desperately found your mouth again, panting into one another as he moved all your hair over your shoulder, trailing his hungry lips down your jawline and to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, your eyes fluttering as he paid extra attention to the sensitive skin there.
âYou have no idea how long Iâve been wanting to do this, youâve been driving me crazy for as long as I can remember,â He mumbled into your skin, his right hand moving to bunch your skirt up at your waist, his left hand at the back of your neck, straightening your head to look at him.
And you did, your pupils blown with lust as you stared at him, brows furrowed as he began rocking your hips for you with the grip he held on your skirt, his bulge catching on your clothed clit so deliciously it made your head spin; âYeah?â You huffed out breathlessly, letting out the cutest moan as he bucked up into you, âYeah kid - should fucking hate myself for wantinâ you but I canât,â He groaned, his forehead pressing against yours, your scent and touch all around him, making his cock even harder if possible.
You smiled, biting your lip as you looked at him, your hands in his grey curls, tugging at them as your hips continued working, âBedroom, now please,â You whimpered, Jack smiling as he nodded, wasting no time hoisting you up with one arm, biceps bulging as he did so, his other hand on your bare thigh as he caressed and grabbed at it, getting lost in your mouth as he navigated through your apartment like a man on a mission, moaning into his mouth as his belt buckle rubbed up against your wet cunt.
After what felt like forever, your back finally met your cool silk sheets, his knee sliding between your legs on instinct as he hovered over you, his hand reaching out for the pink stuffed bunny you had on your bed at all times, looking at it with a meticulous gaze, âCute,â He commented before tossing it, shaking your head and getting all shy as you leaned up to kiss him again, swiftly turning you both over so you were on top, your hands fiddling with his shirt, âOff - want this off,â You murmured into his mouth, his tongue claiming yours before scoffing at your needy demeanour, âSo demanding,â He chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head, your lips swollen and kiss bitten as you pulled away, rolling your hips again as you looked down at his shirtless frame, bottom lip wedged between your teeth as you stared.
âWhat?â He smiled, leaning up on his elbows, growing slightly self conscious. You giggled, your nails trailing over his pecs, leaning down to press a few kisses to the freckles scattered like constellations across his chest, playfully nipping at one of his pecs before sitting back up again, âYouâre just really sexy,â You shrugged, smiling as you manoeuvred off of his lap to undo his belt, moving further down south to take off his prosthetic.
âYou donât have to,â He hummed, running a hand through his messy hair - he hadnât been with anyone since his late wife, and the thought of a younger, beautiful woman being saddled with his issues had him feeling just the slightest bit insecure, and you could see that, with the way his brows furrowed - but you were quick to wash all those thoughts away as you shook your head, âI want to, so let me,â You smiled saccharine sweet, little demanding thing you were, as you pulled up his pant leg to gently remove it, pressing a kiss to his leg once it was off then removing his pants and underwear altogether.
Your eyes widened at the length of him, lips parted in want as you eyed his cock standing at attention, pussy gushing around nothing as you sat between his open legs, âGet up here,â he huffed, quickly wiggling out of your skirt before his hand reached for yours, tugging you back up and onto his lap, his bare cock bucking into your soaked white lace panties, your desperation growing more intense by the second. âFuck youâre so beautiful,â He hummed, looking up at you with hazy eyes, smiling as you removed your top, tossing it aside as his hands slowly inched from your waist up toward your bare breasts, grabbing handfuls and eagerly squeezing at the flesh.
You whimpered at the feeling, calloused hands rough against your sensitive nipples, his index finger and thumb rolling the pert skin between them, tugging harshly at them, only serving to soak your panties even further. His other hand fisted through your hair, bringing you down to his lips, this kiss messy, portraying the want, no the need, you both had for one another, teeth and tongue clashing, saliva dripping down your chin. âThis-â He breathed heavily, panting into your mouth, the precum leaking from his tip allowing for your clothed pussy to glide along the length of his aching hard cock; âIs why, you donât mess around with boys baby - they wouldnât know what to do with all this but I do,â He smirked against your lips, his hands working deftly as they moved you down onto your back again, giggling as he kissed his way from your lips, down your jaw, along the column of your throat and down toward your naval, his right hand smoothing along your thigh, bringing it over his shoulder, your sex right in front of his face. âYou still listening baby?â He huffed, his unoccupied hand slapping slightly against your clothed clit, pussy weeping in response. You nodded, thighs threatening to close around him but his broad shoulders prevented it, âYeah Jack - always listeninâ to you,â You quivered, somehow feeling him smirk at your response.
âYâgot the prettiest pussy honey,â He hummed, clearing his throat as he placed a kiss to your thigh, then right over your clothed clit, the wet patch right over your entrance an indication of just how badly you needed this, how badly you needed him.
âThis all for me mhm?â He hummed against your cunt, darting out to lick a stripe along your covered entrance, the friction of the lace against your clit and his nose nudging into it as he mouthed at your entrance, sending your mind into overdrive as he ate it over your panties, using his left hand to pull the fabric taught along your pussy from the waistband, the stimulation stealing the breath from your lungs.
âFuck fuck fuck, yes! All for you, only for you,â You mumbled breathlessly, your hands fisting the sheets as he messily lapped at the wet patch on your panties, growing hungry for the real thing as he hazardously pulled your underwear aside, his tongue making contact with your bare clit now, stars shooting behind your eyes at the feeling of him sucking your sensitive pearl into his mouth. âJust the sweetest thing ever kid,â He hummed around his mouthful, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your raw pussy, his eyes on your writhing form, smiling in satisfaction before diving back in, all but making out with your sopping cunt.
Your thighs started shaking, back arching off of the bed as he continued eating you out like his life depended on it, his right hand still tentatively stroking your outer thigh whilst his left hand snaked back up to your breasts, flicking and pinching at your stiffened peaks, that coil in your belly snapping at the added stimulation, white hot shooting through your veins as you breathed rapidly, his tongue still massaging your folds as he worked you through your orgasm.
Your chest heaved, smiling as he lifted himself from between your legs, now hovering over you, one hand beside your head to keep him up, his head dipping down to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your nose and then finally your mouth, the sweet moment halted by tasting yourself on his tongue, your arms rounding the back of his neck, bringing him in even closer if that was possible. âYou still okay?â He hummed against your lips, pulling back to smooth your hair from your face, thumbing your cheek, âBetter than okay,â You giggled, pecking his lips again.
âThatâs real great - cause as much as I loved tastinâ her - want you to ride me honey, you think you can do that fâme?â He whispered, blown pupils boring into yours, almost enough to push you through your second orgasm of the night, his chin glistening with your essence.
And thatâs exactly what you did, the feeling of him sliding into your spent pussy more euphoric than anything you could have ever imagined, your hands on his chest as you rode him, thighs burning as you moaned out like a bitch in heat, the sounds coming from your room bordering on pornographic - your neighbours would surely send in a noise complaint tomorrow.
âThatâs it, youâre doing so good for me baby,â He huffed, his hands on your hips as he helped you, tears pricking at your waterline as the feeling was all too much, the tuft of hair at his base deliciously rubbing against your worn clit with each roll of your hips, his cock hitting that spongy spot that made your vision blurry and sent your pussy gushing, your head thrown back at the feeling.
âCanât-itâs too much Jackie-canât,â You cried out, Jackâs voice cooing as he hushed you, chest heaving as he panted, âNah youâve got this sweetheart, I know you do, câmon just a little longer - you wanted this kid now you gotta take it like the good girl I know you are,â He murmured, his hand snaking to cup your cheek, tilting your head so you were looking back down at him again, hips still rolling even through the overstimulation.
Your eyes dragged up to find his, dopily smiling through the pleasure, âThere she is,â He cockily spoke, his thumb dragging along your bottom lip, before sliding it into your hot mouth, your lips immediately wrapping around the digit, tongue sliding along the rough pad as you moaned around it, sucking his thumb as you would his cock, picking your pace up.
âFuck,â He almost growled, the sight of you on top of him, in your own little world with his thumb between your plush lips, your breasts bouncing with each thrust up as his large cock bullied through your swollen pussy, the âshlickâ, squelching sound coming from where your sex were connected sending him reeling, his breath heavy as he used his unoccupied hand on your hip to keep you bouncing.
âIâm close - you still with me honey?â He huffed out, searching your pleasure clouded eyes for an answer. You hummed around his thumb, nimble fingers wrapped around his wrist to keep him there, increasing your pace to push you both just over that edge, your breath caught in your throat.
That line snapped with the last buck of your hips, his left hand digging into the skin on your hip whilst his thumb stayed between your lips, unintentionally quietening your moans as you did so around his digit, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your thighs spasmed around him, body shaking. Jack felt woozy on his own, fucking whimpering as spurts of his hot cum painted your insides, coming down from his borderline bone chilling high, pulling his thumb from your lips and dragging it down till his right hand joined his left on your hips, manoeuvring you until you slid off of his softening length, placing you right on his bare stomach, urging you with a hum and a hand on the back of your neck now, to lay your head to his chest.
And you stayed there, head tucked under his chin, his hand stroking any patch of skin he could find, murmuring sweet nothings and solid promises to you, lulling your overexerted body to sleep.
And finally when you were, your eyes rested, breathing even and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, the situation dawned on him - that picture of Robby flashing through his mind again, playing on his guilt - but that selfish part of him didnât care - how could he when the sweetest girl was clinging to him, making him feel alive for the first time in a long while.
With a kiss to your forehead and a soft, âI love you,â against the sweat slicked skin there, he realised he didnât care - you were worth everything and all of it, and heâd be dammed to let you go - Robby would just have to deal with it.
đđ THANK YOU FOR READING đȘœ
đđ TAGS: @voidsuites @pittsick @cinnamoncunt @missmanlykink @deansdeer @millersdoll @martiansodas-blog @peachyparkerr @emo6thing @honestlystop @tinythebunni @3w-guts @rookieclair @eyve-5 @dollieluver @moodshiftandrandomtoughts @serrendiipty @verouys @piscesfairyyy @txmblatnight @beausling @fanficluvr04 @superloser @true1411 @pintobug @ovaryacted @teenage-iridescence @dilflover-3 @prettysurethatsakidney @imnotdatboii @222col @glindaupland-apologist (just tagged those that asked to be tagged, this isnât an official taglist)
đđ WANT TO JOIN MY TAGLIST?
đđ ALL LIKES, COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED đŠą
You werenât exactly sure where the need for perfection even came from. It might have been something you were innately born with or maybe it was nurtured by the indifference on your parentâs faces whenever you came home with your report cards.
At first you had tried rebellion but that didnât even get an eye blinked in your direction so you figured you had to switch it up, go as hard as you could for as long as you were able to handle and then maybe youâd be able to satisfy the itch to be something better than whatever you were.
Eventually the need to prove yourself to your parents went away but the lack of tolerance for mistakes didnât, growing heavier and heavier until your back was aching over your desk and your migraines were almost constant from lack of sleep.
You made it through school with barely a single conversation held that was beyond surface level, your entire being obsessed with studying and what your talents could bring to the table even if nobody knew or cared enough about you to even be sitting at it.
Emergency medicine wasnât your first choice, it was actually pretty close to the last but you realized quickly that a large amount of med students were just as anal as you about being perfect and your studying habits didnât seem as outrageous when surrounded by your actual peers. There was no more casualness and the sudden feeling of genuine competition was almost beyond what you were able to push through.
It didnât take long for your first round picks to be taken by somebody who worked harder, came from a better family, or just had more natural talent. And then your second and third were filled too and before you knew it you were three years deep into your time at the PTMC.
You didnât dislike it and you figured the long grueling hours were just par for the course in this career, you even felt a sense of relief when you got home and felt the ache in your body and saw the bruises coloring your skin.
To you it felt like a small victory, visible proof that you had worked harder than anybody might have assumed you were capable of if they had bothered to assume anything about you at all.
You werenât really sure why it hurt you so bad when you were suddenly moved to a different shift last week. You didnât have any real friends in the department, not even somebody youâd feel comfortable enough to borrow a protein bar from but the routine was something youâd become used to and youâd just started to perfect your way around any avoidable social situations.
The scowl on your face mustâve been more prominent than you realized when you walked in on your first day on the night shift, hand curled tightly around the single backpack strap were wearing.
You saw all of the same faces you had seen each morning for the last three years but now they looked weathered and tired in the way they did when you typically bid them a quick goodnight nod. Finishing their shifts as you began yours, a new normal that didnât seem to disturb the flow of things at all for anybody minus you.
Robby gave you a nearly sympathetic look when he passed by you in a hurry and you didnât meet his gaze out of anger, not necessarily at him since you knew the lack of staffing for the night shift wasnât his fault but you felt a weird sense of betrayal.
âHe feels bad you know.â The low voice to your left would have made you jump if you werenât so exhausted already, failing to properly flip your schedule in the two days youâd had to prepare for such a drastic change.
âYeah I bet.â You replied back to Ellis, barely giving her a once over as she leaned on the desk next to where you were currently frozen in place.
Your voice was flat and laced with irritation that you almost felt bad about. You knew these people well enough, been through shift change talk throughs hundreds of times and even sat around for a few awkward drinks on the nights out you were forced to go to by the newer student doctors.
There was an uncomfortable feeling when her face fell and she sighed softly, hating the fact you were being so standoffish and ruining any chance of making a friend before you even really started. You tried to loosen your posture a little to look more approachable and even half planned to tell her you were just tired before she was walking off with a pitying smile pointed your way.
You groaned inaudibly as you kept walking and made your way to the locker room, instinctively trying your old one with your code before remembering halfway that theyâd moved you. One of the night shift doctors already had yours and had you beat in seniority by nearly a decade.
The deep breath left you shakier than you intended and you rested your forehead against the cold metal for a few more, letting the grates press hard into your skin to try and wake yourself up.
âHeard coffee is effective.â
You knew who the low drawl belonged to without turning around so you didnât bother, eyes opening and another louder sigh leaving you with intention.
âReally? You should patent that.â You only responded after a few seconds went by without the sound of departing footsteps, turning around at the end of your sentence to raise an eyebrow at the man who was standing leaned against the door with his arm crossed.
Jack Abbot was one of the only faces on the night shift that wasnât a near stranger. He spent enough time picking up unnecessary hours and lingering around the desk long after his shift ended to talk to Robby so youâd had your fair share of encounters with the older man.
He gave you a barely noticeable smile at your quick comment back, his ankles crossing over each other as he relaxed in the doorway.
âYou used to smile more when I first met you.â He said in return and you fully rolled your eyes at this, ignoring the lack of professionalism considering you knew he didnât care for it much anyways.
You turned again to open your new locker, trying not to fumble with the code under his watchful eye from behind you. Abbot was a direct opposite of Robby who felt like such a natural leader in every decision he made down to the tone of his voice, that cadence that some people were just born with.
Abbot seemed like he was always trying to leave a room as unnoticed as possible and despite being charming and as personable as anyone working the graveyard shift could be, he was more prone to quick nods of approval and silent pats on the back when someone was in desperate need of encouragement.
Sarcastic quips replaced the inspirational speeches Robby would give after a hard day and you didnât need to work a full shift with him to understand that his methods were something youâd clash with.
You were self admittedly very sensitive, slow to understand a joke especially when you were the butt of it and unable to hide the insecurity in your chest that seemed to be clawing its way out almost constantly.
âNo I didnât.â You replied back and you finished putting your things away, closing your locker softly and walking past him in the doorway.
There was no surprise when he followed behind you, both because he was your new first in charge and also because he was never really one to let a conversation end so briefly when you were in a sour mood.
âHe really does feel like shit about this whole thing.â He continued on and you kept your gaze forward as you slid into one of the rolling chairs behind the main desk and scanned your badge. He leaned forward onto the counter in front of you, the hair on his arms just barely visible out of the top of your eyes as he folded them together. âRobby.â
âHe doesnât have to.â You said smoothly with a light shrug like it wasnât something that had been keeping you up for the last two nights wondering what you had done wrong to get booted at the first chance.
âHe said youâre his best.â Abbot continued on and now you finally stopped the fast paced typing youâd barely been paying any attention to, eyes flickering up to him as he watched you with a sense of knowing that made you feel nauseous suddenly.
âHe also said not to listen to anything you said about him.â You said flatly once you finally had your light dinner back down your throat, looking at him beneath your lashes to catch his reaction and feeling a bit smug when he snorted a small laugh and nodded as he looked off towards the entrance.
âFair.â He replied in a softer tone as he pushed himself up off the counter and took a few steps back, pointing in your direction until your eyes rolled again.
You figured you saw Abbot a few dozen times during your shift but it was such a blur of red and stark white that you barely registered him, your medical vocabulary rolling off in autopilot and your hands moving through procedures before your brain could catch up.
It wasnât until the fourth hour in, nonstop damage control from the shift change off and post dinner rush in the waiting room leaving you feeling dizzy when you stood still, that you actually got a chance to focus on his presence again.
Robby had a sort of nervous energy to him that followed him around the room like a static, catching the attention of his staff and keeping you in your toes.
Abbot was nearly the polar opposite in this way too.
He felt like a solid force in your corner, there enough to remind you that you were supported but letting you do the leg work as much as possible. The night shift certainly had a different level of darkness and chaos to it but the staff themselves seemed to be operating in a way that left you a little awed.
They almost seemed to be finding downtime in the endless stream of injuries and traumas, including Abbot who was currently leaning back on the counter and fidgeting with the corner of a file cover.
You were a similar position as you were before when he was giving you a half assed attempt at helping you understand Robby, but now you were on the other side of the counter.
It had to have been the delirium that left you leaning on the space next to him, enough distance between you for two people to fit but still more comfortable than you probably would have been after a power nap. He sent you a glance from the side of his eye that made a sigh leave you.
âYou knowâŠâ He started slowly and his voice graveled in a way that made the traitorous hair on your arms stand up. âItâs okay if you take a breath, nobody is going to sue you.â
âDonât jinx it.â You say back and your gaze lands on him, staying there until he meets it and then looking away with the new feeling of his eyes on the side of your head.
âWe are happy to have you here.â He adds suddenly and you feel your eyebrows furrow at the sincerity of it, feeling like itâs misplaced considering you hadnât exactly been a delight the entire night. âHey.â
Itâs a call for attention and you give it to him, picking up your gaze to lock with his and trying not to sink into yourself at the intensity of it. He gives you a firm nod like youâd passed some invisible test you didnât understand and yet you still feel a surge of pride blossoming deep in your chest.
âReally?â You had really meant to quip something smart back at him but instead you croaked out the single desperate word and clenched the counter in a tight fist.
âI mean it.â He says back and itâs nearly soft now, halfway to a whisper and your head starts to buzz beneath the sleep deprivation. He doesnât even slightly shy away from the eye contact, not that you expected him to considering you had definitely noticed it was a habit of his. âHope you stick around.â
He was gone before you could let out another breath and you let your head sink down against the chilled counter top, pressing your forehead down until it turned red and you felt a dull ache.
Then you were picking yourself up and getting back to work.
â
The first three weeks flew by and you felt yourself adjusting to the changed shift way faster than you had anticipated. Youâd picked up one or two day shifts when needed and your rhythm there was now awkward, fumbling around more than you ever had and finding yourself longing for the nights instead.
You felt beyond relieved that your brain and body seemingly decided they were okay with your new assignment and it was a breeze to sleep through the daylight now.
You knew part of it was because the staff and their demeanor, another half dedicated to your own hard work and your determination to make the most out of it. But there was a large portion that was reserved for the man currently standing in front of the room and talking calmly.
Abbot was leaned back against the desk, somewhere he apparently frequented considering it always seemed to be where you found him. He was talking with his hands outstretched and his posture as straight and military as it had been since the day you met him, favoring the side without his prosthetic leg.
To his left was Robby, nodding along with a drained expression that made you think he was barely listening to the brief. You couldnât necessarily judge him considering you were pretty sure you hadnât heard a single word that was said in the last five minutes but you figured you could ask Ellis later since the two of you actually managed to become sort of friends after your interaction on your first day.
It wasnât like you to get distracted so easily and you had spent the better part of the last few weeks beating yourself up over whatever the actual fuck was happening to you whenever your attending looked proudly in your direction.
Youâd sought after Robbyâs approval yes, beamed under his praise and blossomed when you felt like he was truly trusting you to save lives, but whatever it was that you felt deep in your chest when his other half merely gave you an approving nod was nearly dangerous for your career.
Crushes were not something you had any experience with considering how study focused you were your entire teenage years, youâd felt a flutter here and there but you had never let your eyes linger too long and it was almost criminal to have your thoughts entertained by any fairytale fantasies.
So the fact the entire staff was dispersing without your awareness, leaving you standing in place staring at Jack Abbot like a lovesick puppy, was a serious problem.
You shook your head to try and get yourself together, hurrying away to busy your hands and mind with low risk patient cases. You spent the first half of the night talking to sick old ladies and stitching up simple knife wounds that any student doctor could do with ease.
It was a little after midnight when you were stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder, freezing you in place with a sharp breath as you turned around to see Abbot looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.
âCouldâve used you in trauma two.â He said lowly and you felt shame immediately rush over you like cold water. âWhere were you hiding out at?â
âIâŠâ You trailed off in an automatic lie that got caught in your throat, sighing and letting your shoulders deflate under his palm. He removed it but only to slide down your arm and briefly cup your elbow before letting it hang back at his side. âIâm sorry I wasnât trying to hide. I just⊠needed to slow the pace down a little.â
âNo you donât.â He replied immediately and now it was your turn to furrow your brows as you watched him crossed his arms and adjust his posture. âYou can handle it and I need you by my side when the hard cases come in because I know you can.â
You looked down at your feet as he half scolded and half praised you, not sure if you were touched by your own apparent importance or embarrassed that he had realized what you were trying to do so easily.
The embarrassment mustâve shown clearer on your face because his gaze softened and he exhaled, rubbing a palm over his stubble and looking towards the busy hub where some student doctors were currently fussing over the ever growing patient chart.
âPass off your easy patients to the newbies.â He said and his voice dropped down into a whisper, leaning in just enough for your cheeks to momentarily inflate from the way you suddenly held your breath. âLet them learn something, you know plenty.â
âIsnât this a teaching hospital?â You finally managed to get your voice back and you glanced upwards at him just in time to see the amusement pass over his face. âTechnically I could always learn more.â
It was silent for a few seconds long enough for you to regret making a sarcastic joke when he was clearly trying to make you understand a legitimate point about your abilities. You almost started to apologize, already internally beating yourself up for thinking his usual dry humor was appropriate at any time when his low chuckle stopped you short.
âYeah I guess youâre right.â He nodded slowly as he spoke, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes stayed locked on the movement. His gaze drifted back to you and you hoped the way your eyes widened was minuscule enough he wouldnât notice. âBut let me teach you. Deal?â
You didnât even notice his hand had extended inbetween your bodies until the tips of his fingers lightly brushed your scrub top, head turning down to identify the feeling and laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all.
Your hand wrapped around his much larger one, trying not to flush at the roughness of his palm against your soft skin. You squeezed around it and he returned the action before you shook them between you. Yours was retracted and stuffed into your pocket after barely three seconds of touching but it was enough for you to press your nails deep into your skin once it was out of sight.
âDeal.â You gave him a firm nod that you hoped looked more professional than that little moment felt.
The rest of the shift consisted of following behind Abbot from trauma to trauma and trying to act like his steady voice and calm demeanor wasnât still somehow sending you into a state of nerves despite it having the completely opposite intentions.
â
You didnât spend as much time in the ambulance bay as some of the others did on a hard night, from the nurses with smoking habits they couldnât kick to the students who felt like they couldnât breathe around their eight hour.
But now you were on your fifth minute of standing outside the automatic doors with tense shoulders nearly up to your ears, breathing in and out so audibly you would have felt self conscious if there was anybody else around.
It really wasnât that grand of an offense considering your shift was ending in less than ten, the sun already peeking around the cement pillars and making your headache sting even sharper than you thought was possible. Plus it had actually been a relatively slow night when it came to the flow of foot traffic but that hadnât made it any easier.
Youâd lost somebody young before it had even hit midnight and the entire ER felt the typical shift that came along with something like that for the rest of your time there.
Then thereâd been a drunk man getting rough on his way in that had sent you and two nurses flying against one of the environmental carts, insisting you were fine and rushing to glove up to attempt to assist him with the beer bottle currently sticking into his thigh.
Youâd been stopped by a sharp glare from Abbot that you knew wasnât necessarily directed towards you but it still made your throat tighten with the urge to cry.
He didnât even need to say a word to dismiss you, head hanging low as you ripped off the glove youâd gotten on halfway and threw it roughly into the trash can on your way out.
After that you spent the next few hours taking patient after patient as the ache in your ribs built steadily. You hadnât even noticed it at first in the chaos but a trip to the bathroom around five alerted you to the large bruise forming under your chest, wincing as you tugged your undershirt back down and splashed some water on your face.
So you didnât feel too awful for standing outside and taking a nearly meditative amount of breaths while the shift change happened somewhere in the building behind you.
The doors sliding open didnât alarm you nearly as much as the slow measured footsteps did, the slight drag of one of them making you stop your breathing entirely. You knew Abbot by his stride on a regular day and even more-so when he had been on his feet beyond comfortability and his leg started to bother him, the slight limp he adopted nearly unnoticeable if you werenât paying as much attention as you always seemed to be.
Next was the smell of him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with you, the fabric of his shirt barely brushing your hoodie sleeve. He carried the same sterile scent you all did after a long night but there was the unmistakeable musk and light cologne hidden underneath it.
âYou know what that was about right?â He said lowly and you pursed your lips at the sound of his voice, not realizing how close youâd been to crying until the silence was broken.
âYou donât need to explain to me.â You replied as smoothly as possible but your voice was tight and lacking any air.
âBut Iâm going to.â He shook his head and stepped forward so he could turn and be in front of you, giving you no choice but to stare at some part of him as he blocked the sun coming up behind his solid frame. âIt wasnât about your ability as a doctor but your safety as a member of my team.â
You didnât want to talk because you knew you were tired enough to try and argue with him that you had been fine, that you didnât need to be wordlessly booted out of the trauma room in front of half a dozen people like you were an intern. You almost wished he had yelled at you for a mistake rather than that disapproving look he gave you when he saw you gloving up.
Your silence must have bothered him into boldness because suddenly his hand was moving between you, sliding under the undone zipper track of your hoodie and pressing lightly around your rib cage. You immediately hissed in pain and shrunk away from his touch, nearly taking a full step backwards from the sensation.
âThatâs what it was about. Do you understand that?â He asked quietly and you kept your mouth closed shut tightly as the scratchy sob like feeling continued to build. He pressed on the area a few more times in a wider range like he was trying to examine how far the bruise stretched out under your clothes.
You stayed quiet and let him do the same routine youâd done hundreds of times in your career, heart racing only a few inches above where his fingers were softly pressing.
âHow bad was it?â He continued to whisper in that low tone as you avoided looking at him.
âItâs fine.â You said back because you knew the silence was pointless and you were partially paranoid he was concerned enough to look himself if you didnât answer soon. âI looked at it a few hours ago and it wasnât anything to worry about, just tender.â
âYou of all people know how misleading a bruise can be.â He shook his head and you sighed again at the light show of disappointment even if it was as light hearted and casual as a comment could be from your boss. âI filed a report. For the two nurses too.â
Your back tightened up and you reached down to grab his wrist loosely, just enough to get him to stop touching you so you could focus on the conversation. His arm tensed and his gaze left your midsection to watch your expressions closely at the touch.
âYou didnât have to do that, he was drunk and probably confused. It wasnât that big of a deal and I really would rather not deal with the paperwork.â You were nearly rambling but you couldnât handle the thought of this becoming a larger issue than it already was.
You felt a sudden sense of humiliation despite the fact you hadnât done anything wrong, it was almost a selfish feeling considering there had been other people affected to but you wanted the situation to be left behind with the rest of the shitty shift.
âThen Iâll handle the paperwork.â He said firmly and his voice took on that stern tone you hated so much. âDrunk or not, he hurt you.â
You knew his words and actions were coming from his place as a concerned boss, protecting you and the nurses as a mass collective being his only determination to carry out a consequence for what had happened, but you still felt almost touched by his want to handle this.
It was much easier to finish off the final few minutes of your shift after that conversation with the single delusional thought stuck in your head and the phantom feeling of his fingertips pressing against your clothing sending shivers down your spine.
â
You had the terrible habit of spending any day off you had in your bed scrolling on your phone until your eyes stung, possibly making up for the years in school you spent solely studying before you fell asleep.
It wasnât something you had felt the need to break your first few years considering you thought friends were a distraction but youâd drastically changed your tune lately when it came to your social interactions. You felt nice when Ellis greeted you comfortably and a buzz of optimism when Shen remembered your coffee order three weeks in, the sudden desire to have friends hitting you.
So this time around, when you were invited to get drinks with some of the team, you actually accepted.
It had become a formality to just invite you regardless of the knowledge youâd decline so they all seemed thrown when you actually arrived.
The bar was smaller than it looked when you investigated it on google reviews before leaving and the music was a little too loud for it to be as casual as Ellis had suggested. She similarly had a day off and was sitting with a few of the day shift students you recognized more than the others.
Santos and Whitaker were in a quiet debate about something you couldnât pick up, pushing a nearly full glass back and forth between each other like it was moderating their argument.
Youâd expected to look at the other half of the circular booth seat to see Ellis by herself and ready to greet you but you froze halfway across the room when you saw who was currently occupying the spot.
Jack Abbot was not included in the list of names Ellis had casually said might be here tonight so youâd fully lowered your defenses that typically needed to be enabled to withstand being in a room with him.
You considered turning around and leaving before they spotted you, well aware that they wouldnât be too shocked or disappointed to learn you werenât coming. It was already too late considering Santos was glancing upwards and waving you over as soon as she saw you, mouth moving rapidly like she was trying to call you over.
You sucked in a breath, gathering as much air as you could manage to stuff into your lungs before heading over to them. Your greetings were stiff and awkward but they seemed to be buzzed enough to not notice, other than the older man who was watching you with a careful eye.
Abbot didnât look much different outside of the hospital, black t-shirt pulled tightly around his biceps and the jeans worn out in a way you knew was from actual use and not design. You could see the shine of a belt buckle if you looked too hard under the table but you decided not to when you landed on his boots.
There was no where else to sit other than beside him but you perched nearly halfway off the booth seats to avoid touching him in any way.
âI never thought Iâd see the day you actually spoke to us outside work hours.â Santos was quick to start her comments as soon as you settled down and got mildly comfortable. She was smiling as she spoke and you retuned it tensely even though it gave you a similar feeling to cruel comments youâd heard in high school.
âDonât take it personally, Iâm just boring.â You said back with a bashful laugh, glancing downwards as you picked at the loose wood under the tabletop.
Whitaker, whoâd insisted you called him Dennis after youâd greeted him by his last name, was already shaking his head before you could finish your self deprecating statement.
âWe think youâre cool.â He said simply and you gave him a disbelieving look. âSeriously, even Santos.â
You sent the same look her way and she shrugged her shoulders with a buzzed grin that made you laugh a little. You felt yourself growing comfortable with the small group which you were extremely thankful for, not sure youâd feel the same ease if anybody else had been there instead.
Although you hadnât even begun addressing the quiet presence beside you, staying silent even when you all dove into conversation after conversation. You listened and added on occasionally, genuinely interested in their lives outside of work and fascinated by their dynamics, but he barely spoke a word at all.
Youâd almost forgotten he was there by the time you slipped out of the booth to go to the bar and order a drink for yourself, barely sliding into the stool before his arm was in your line of vision.
He had it resting on the counter beside you, slightly caging you in unless you wanted to squeeze out the other direction past the large man who already was rocking drunkenly back and forth.
âI thought you worked tonight.â You said softly, feeling a wave of shyness you had never felt before in your entire career.
Being in the ER with Abbot came with clear guidelines on how to interact and a long list of boundaries that didnât give you many opportunities to embarrass yourself. However, being in a dingy bar with him smelling too much like that rich cologne was a whole different playing field you had no idea how to navigate.
You figured talking first would soften the damage on whatever he was planning to say but you didnât think it would matter anyways.
âScheduling error.â He replied back simply, eyes on the side of your face as you desperately and silently willed the bartender to head in your direction so you could get back to the booth. âDisappointed?â
You sent him a confused glance, shifting on the circular seat. âNo, of course not. Why would I be?â
âNot everyone wants to hang out with their boss.â He said and tilted his head down enough to try and catch your eye again.
You turned a little in your seat so you could actually give him a clear view of your face, enough so he could hopefully tell your next comment was meant to be a joke.
âIsnât Robby technically my boss?â Your voice was mockingly curious and you felt a surge of pride when he laughed lowly. âNo offense Dr. Abbot.â
His nose scrunched up at the sound of the title falling from your lips, something heâd asked you to avoid on your first day and you hadnât missed the lack of it coming from the other residents.
âJack works fine.â He said softly and his fingers tapped against the wood as the bartender passed.
You followed the movement as you listened to him order another drink, mumbling your own preferred one when he casually asked you what you wanted. You barely processed he had added your drink to his tab before it was placed in front of you.
You looked back at him to find him already watching you closely, hand curled around his glass but not taking a sip yet. You felt awkward drinking from yours under his gaze but you also craved the extroverted feeling alcohol gave you so you took a bigger sip than you probably should have, keeping eye contact as you slightly tipped your head back.
The glass touched the wood with a soft clink when you set it down and his hand move his own towards yours, lightly dragging it by the rim closer to him. It wasnât out of your reach but enough so youâd have to lean your arm into his space to grab it.
You gave him a curious look but didnât outwardly question it, like it made perfect sense to you that he would control where your drink was.
âYou look different with your hair down.â He said suddenly and you watched his eyes track over your head and down past your shoulders.
It took you a second to respond and by the time you were starting to his hand was already lifted and softly touching the ends of your hair, not pulling or even really grasping but just letting it tickle his fingertips. You laughed at the way he stared, making his hand freeze in the air and his eyes go back up to you.
âHow much have you had to drink?â You asked him with a smile you definitely had never showcased in the walls of the hospital before, a bit looser knowing he must be drunker than he seemed to be touching you so casually.
His hand on your ribs was a different story, the way it snuck under your hoodie may have felt historic but it was simply his doctor brain taking the lead in his decision making. Even the lingering hand shake had been sourced from a legitimate professional interaction, at worst just a bit too friendly.
This however, was completely unnecessary and out of character.
âIâve been drinking since before you were born.â He rasped back and you felt a shiver run over your entire body, gaze narrowing a bit when his fingers started to move again just to twirl a strand of your hair. âIâm fine.â
The reminder of your age gap, not that you really needed one considering it was absolutely impossible to ignore, made you feel drunker than any amount of drinks could have even attempted.
You tensed up when the man next to you was attempting to get off of his stool, tipping sloppily in your direction and leaning against your side. You hissed in pain at the pressure and waved him off when he started to slur out an incoherent apology.
Jack went similarly rigid, standing to his full height from where heâd been leaning until the man stumbled away and then shrinking down a little to get a better look at you. Suddenly his hand was back on your ribs, large and encompassing almost the entire injured side of your midsection.
It felt different now than it had outside in the ambulance bay, the professional aura of the hospital surrounding you and layers of scrub and undershirt blocking out the warmth from his skin. Now you were in an intimately sized bar with a thin long sleeve pulled tight on your body, already feeling heated from the quick chug of your drink youâd done without the added effects of his touch.
âStill bothering you?â He said lowly and his eyes were locked on where he was touching, pressing lightly with his fingers tips and not backing off when you squirmed uncontrollably.
âItâs really not that bad itâs just sore when you touch it.â You breathed back, wincing again when he pressed down on the center of your large bruise. âThat hurts you know.â
âDoes it?â He hummed in response, his eyes meeting yours despite the fact his hand didnât stop its light pulsing against your side.
You felt your throat tighten up and you knew you wouldnât be able to speak even if you wanted to, not sure what words you could even say in this moment. This was clearly not appropriate for about a dozen reasons but the hidden school girl in you was ecstatic that a man like Jack Abbot was actually possibly flirting with you in a bar right now.
His fingers stopped pressing down on your bruise but he didnât move his hand right away, letting the warmth of his palm cover your ribs until you squirmed on the stool.
âIâve noticed something.â He hummed out and your eyebrows furrowed at him, gaze darting around to escape his intense staring.
âYeah?â You hated that you sounded a little breathy and you halfway considered ripping his hand away from you just so you could focus for a second or two. âWhatâs your observation Dr. Abbot?â
His eyes darkened just enough to be noticeable and not for the first time, you wondered if you were making a mistake. You couldnât tell enough to figure out if he had drank a lot before you came, his gaze seemed as steady as anyoneâs could be but the way he shifted closer made you search for any sign of intoxication.
âYou perform better when youâre told so.â He said it slowly like it was an indisputable fact and you watched him closely, trying to think of a way to deny what he was saying. âYou like it.â
âWho doesnât like it?â You whisper back, the only tone you could take without letting your shaky voice show.
âEveryone likes it but you need it.â He continued on easily and you inhaled sharply as his fingers started to lightly press on your bruise again. His lips curled up in a slight smile when your face contorted in a pained wince. âThat okay sweetheart?â
You should have felt embarrassed for the near gasp that left you in response, head nodding rapidly the only translation to what the noise might have meant.
The pet name was spinning on a loop in your head and you were sure you looked completely ridiculous by now, seconds from falling off the stool if it meant being any closer to him. You could smell his cologne now under the faint scent of the whiskey heâd been sipping on since you got there and it was a nice change from the typical sterile smell you all carried at work.
âIâm not sure this is a good idea.â You found yourself whispering and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips and his hand was retracting back down to his side.
He cleared his throat, stood up straighter and you knew right away that you had messed it up.
Jack Abbot may be a flirt and he clearly had some sort of interest in you, youâd be stupid to try and deny that after how he was just looking at you a few second ago, but he was a good man above that all. You had signaled wanting to stop and he had done so right away without any hesitation.
He was a gentleman and that much was clear but more importantly, he was your boss.
Youâd given him shit about it actually being Robby but you knew the specifics wouldnât matter to HR and all they would see is the indisputable fact that he was your superior, both in rank and in age. You wanted to protest and take the words right back from where they sat awkwardly in the air but you didnât know how to.
âYouâre right.â He said gruffly and he didnât look at all upset with you, just mildly disappointed and maybe even a little sheepish like he hadnât realized just how far heâd taken it until you said something. âItâs not.â
â
The effects of that night out were carried with you to your next shift, sitting heavy in your chest and making it nearly impossible to get anything right.
Jack hadnât said anything out of the ordinary to you but it was the absence of his usual banter and quick check ins that made your stomach turn. He wasnât being cold, wasnât even giving you any weird looks that would indicate he was ever in a bar with his hand on your ribs, but something was missing and you knew it was your own fault.
You were slow with your response time, fumbling around when you needed to quickly grab tools or make space for another set of hands in an operation. You were acting like a complete idiot and although you were still preforming above the average quality for any other doctor around, it was below your usual standards and obvious to anybody used to you and how you normally carried yourself.
At first you had been attempting to avoid Jack but you realized that was pointless considering he was removing himself from any room you were in anyways before you got the chance.
You knew him well enough to know he wasnât upset with you but rather himself, he believed he had made you uncomfortable and you were the reason he thought that.
The trauma one room was heated with loud frustrated voices, overlapping commands and hypothesis about what could be wrong with the little boy currently seizing on the table below you. Your brain completely blanked out, something that almost never happened to you and you barely registered one of the nurses yelling for another attending to help.
You moved over on autopilot out of the way of whoever had arrived, lightly bumping into Shen on the other side and only coming back down to earth when you felt a hand brush against your back.
âCâmon kid.â The low rasp from next to you sent you spiraling right back down to reality and your head snapped up and over to lock eyes with Jack. He had worry all over his face from the way youâd seemingly gone absent for a few long seconds at a crucial moment. âYou know what to do.â
It wasnât a question but a solid and trusted statement.
You hesitated for a breath before nodding firmly at him and turning back to face the room, your brain finally catching up with your mouth as you easily spout out the steps to take to help the boy settle down enough to continue his care safely.
There isnât another moment to breathe until heâs sent up to the ICU and youâre able to leave the room, barely able to get your gloves off before youâre slumping against one of the hallway walls.
You donât need to open your tightly shut eyes to know who the approaching footsteps belong to, reluctantly opening them again to meet with Jacks concerned face. He looks hesitant to even be in a slightly private space with you, looking over his shoulder like he needs an exit plan.
âYou did good.â He says it softly and your shoulders deflate a little in a large breath followed by a scoff.
âI could have killed him.â You say back in denial, voice painfully tight as you run a shaky hand over your messy hair to try and smooth the flyaways.
âYou couldnât have.â He denies as he takes a step closer and you want to correct him, to tell him all the ways it was possible and remind him of the times it had happened before regardless if it was directly your fault or not. Instead you just fall silent and give him a long pitiful look. âAnd I wouldnât have let you. But you did good on your own, you pulled it together.â
Now itâs your turn to take a step closer even though you immediately miss the support of the wall against your back. He peers down at you and your chest tightens.
âIâm sorry.â You say it so softly itâs barely audible under the chaos of the night and the beeping of machines, his eyebrows furrowing just enough to be noticeable but the rest of his face impossible to read. âFor the other night.â
âDonât.â He says immediately once he understands what youâre referring to. âThat was my fault. I should be the one apologizing for making you uncomfortable.â
You shake your head and somehow gather enough courage to let your hand raise and land on his bicep, squeezing softly to try and communicate with him through some sort of physical touch morse code. Thankfully he softens a little at the feeling and you can brave yourself through an actual audible sentence.
âI wasnât uncomfortable Jack.â You reassure as sincerely as you can even though you see the contemplation passing over his features, like heâs not sure if youâre just trying to save face or if you actually mean it. âI was nervous. I just⊠I havenât really done that.â
âFlirted with your boss in a shitty bar?â He rasps as he steps closer and you know heâs joking, especially considering the way his lips curl up in a soft smile, but you feel a little sick knowing youâll have to explain yourself further.
âJack.â You sigh out, eyes locked on his before glancing away nervously and squeezing his arm a few more times.
Youâre not sure if itâs just something about you that leads him to understand what you mean, an inexperienced nature that youâre sure could be relatively obvious to anybody interested in you, or if he had just came to the conclusion on his own but his lips part in realization as he slowly nods.
Your face flushes and you drop your hand from his arm, not losing contact for long considering heâs immediately bringing his own much large palm back up to your ribs, his thumb rubbing back and forth right under where your bras underwire starts.
âThatâs alright sweetheart.â He says in a soft whisper and you suddenly feel like you want to cry.
Both from the adrenaline of everything thatâs happened in the last few hours, the way he avoided you throughout the day, and especially from how embarrassing it feels to get such an automatic relief just at the sound of the pet name coming from his mouth.
You hope you donât look as visibly torn up as you feel but youâre sure he can see it on your face, his eyes softening even more if that was possible.
âYeah?â You find yourself whispering back in desperate need for reassurance and heâs quick to give it, nodding his head and shifting close enough that your chest could brush if he moved his hand and leaned forward. âThat doesnât⊠freak you out?â
âAre you kidding me?â He laughs a little but itâs lacking any real humor, like he finds you genuinely ridiculous for ever thinking along those lines. âNobodyâs ever touched you right sweetheart?â
It takes a few seconds before youâre nodding your head and biting at your bottom lip from nerves, face undoubtedly bright red from the blunt way he put it.
âI promise that does the opposite of freak me out.â He rasped back and your eyes reluctantly met his again just to make sure he was being honest with you, finding whatever you were searching for in his gaze almost immediately.
His eyes are actually a little darker than you expected and you feel your cheeks flush immediately at the mere idea of him being the first one to touch you like that. Not some drunk hookup with a guy who can barely pay his taxes, not a stiff and awkward first time with a boy your age who isnât focused on your pleasure at all.
Instead you finally let yourself imagine what it would be like with Jack.
Jack and his rough weathered hands and low rasp, his decades of experience that started before you were even a thought in your motherâs mind. His never ending attentiveness and easy dominance that he carried through the ED without ever needing to raise his voice or assert himself, the thought out and specific praise he gifted you whenever he could sense you needed it.
You knew the direction your mind had gone was probably written all over your face, his amusement leaving his own as soon as he registered what it was you were so quiet about.
âSweetheart.â It was low, the lowest youâd heard from him and your slightly watery eyes immediately darted back up this face despite you not even realizing theyâd been drifting down his broad chest. âYou have a few more hours to go.â
He kissed his teeth like he was disapproving and you felt a little sick at how eager you were to fix that.
Who knew Jack Abbot could so easily slip into the role of a complete menace the second he realized you were interested in him that way?
You nodded your head and visibly gulped, straightening out your scrubs and doing your best to avoid contact with him in any way as you turned to leave the hallway.
â
There was almost a sense of fear as the end of your shift approached although you still had your doubts Jack would ever cross that professional line with you.
You knew he wanted to, he wasnât being very subtle anymore with the very hungry gaze he kept fixated on you whenever you were in a room together for the rest of the night, but wanting and doing were two very different things.
A large part of you hoped youâd just be able to leave the hospital and head home to obsess over him in your own bed like any good doctor with a raging crush should do, stuff it down and keep living your life solely for the medicine and the job. You didnât have time for this, you didnât have the ability to make the time for it either.
But Jack Abbot was somebody who walked around like they had all the time in the world, shoulders relaxed after a brutal shift and humor dry and witty as ever behind you as he said goodbye to the day shift.
Youâd expected him to walk past you, maybe give you a light parting statement possibly accompanied by another knowing half smile in your direction.
Instead you felt his warm hand on your lower back, wordlessly guiding you with him out the doors. You didnât bother telling him that you hadnât even grabbed your backpack yet, absolutely no protest coming from your lips as you walked with him.
You wondered what you might look like to any other staff members, maybe just like a mentor giving you a ride home and guiding your exhausted body to keep you upright. A caring boss who was providing comfort after a long night.
His truck was parked further back than necessary, high up on the parking ramp and in one of the corners youâd only use on a really full staff day. You didnât have time to fixate on the minuscule details of what this meant about his character, willingly walking extra minutes uphill just to be parked in solitude on the highest point of the ramp.
You barely even had the time to gasp when he was turning you around, suddenly in front of you with his hand on your hip as he gently backed you up against the driver side door of his truck.
Your eyes must have been wide and unfocused because he made sure to take his time, gaze raking over you and your messy hair that he was brushing behind your ear. He let his calloused hand cup your cheek after the hair was tucked neatly and you instinctively leaned against it.
âYou sure baby?â He asked softly, croaked out in a gentle way you didnât even know his voice could produce.
You didnât even really know what he was referring to but you could definitely make a few guess and after running through a handful, you realized there was very little you would deny Jack Abbot of.
Your head moved into a half nod before he was surging forward and pressing his lips against yours.
