synopsis casual by chapell roan but (kinda) happy i guess?
warnings MDNI! smut!, afab reader, sex in a public place, lesbian sex in a car - thats it, thats the tweet
words 1,431
notes my obsession with Ellis Parker/Ayesha Harris knows no bounds - this is the result of that. Oh also english isn't my first language so pls be nice :)
The windows were already starting to fog up, and you prayed to every god you could name that all of Parkerâs coworkers had parked closer to the entrance of the hospital. Right now, you could only see the dark locs of the woman. The rest of her body was somehow folded into the legroom in front of you, her face buried in your pussy. One of your legs was over her shoulder, bouncing against the dashboard; the other was angled awkwardly over the center console, your foot resting on the driverâs seat. So, in short: you were spread wide open in the corner of the PTMC parking lot while one of their residents pumped two of her perfect fucking fingers into you. Your sweatpants and underwear had landed somewhere in the car, but at least you still had your shirt and sweatshirt on. That, of course, didnât stop Parker from reaching under your clothes with her free hand.
You moaned a little too loud when she pinched your left nipple and suckedâalmost harshlyâon your already swollen clit at the same time. The sounds coming from between your legs were straight-up pornographic, and just hearing them had you teetering on the edge of your second orgasm. Parker was never satisfied with one. In the four months youâd been seeing each other, youâd only left a meet-up with less than two orgasms onceâand the only reason was because sheâd gotten a call from the hospital and had to leave as soon as possible. Sheâd made it up tenfold the next time you saw her.
Her head shifted, and the suction on your clit stopped when Parker looked up at you. A few of her locs had fallen out of her bun, and the entire lower half of her face was covered in spit and⊠well, you. The street lantern a few feet away threw shadows over her face and made your release glisten and sparkle in the shallow darkness of your car. She looked downright sinful.
âYou enjoying yourself, baby?â she asked, still pumping her fingers into you. You could only whine in response. âHow long do we have, baby?â It took your brain an embarrassing amount of time to catch up. Parker giggled low as you reached for your phone. The screen read 6:37. You angled it so she could see.
Her smile turned devilish. âCould be enough for two, huh.â She flicked your clit with her tongue a few times, making you swear. âOh yeah.â She chuckled. âGonna make you come two more times. âKnow you can do that for me. And when you pick me up tomorrow morning, itâs still gonna smell like us in here. And Iâll drive you home and make your apartment smell like us too.â
The pumping of her fingers never slowed, and her words only made everything worseâwhich she knew. She always fucking knew. Her fingers curled up, and the strong pull in your lower abdomen finally let go. You could feel the walls of your pussy contracting around Parkerâs fingers. Your legs shook as you threw your head back, mouth open in a silent whine. Your body went rigid before slumping in on itself. Your brain barely registered the satisfied growl Parker made in the back of her throat.
You only came back to yourself when she pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you empty and suddenly cold. You whined, displeased, only to get shushed before she pushed her slick-covered fingers into your mouth.
âAnd you wanna tell me that this is casual, huh.â
Her words didnât make it to the part of your brain responsible for deciphering information as you lapped at her fingers. Fuck, you loved her fingers. They were nice and long and thick and always reached all the right places.
âYou whine like a bitch in heat when I donât touch you for too long.â She pulled her slick- and spit-covered fingers out of your mouth and pushed them back inside you. You barely jumped, your pussy stretched open so nicely it was barely a stretch anymore. âYou drive me to work and pick me up.â Her fingers set a punishing pace inside you, the squelching noises drowning out everything but her words. âHalf of my clothes live in your apartment. Had to come to you today because my favorite braâs been living in your dresser.â
You finally realized what she was trying to say. âParker,â you whined, incapable of anything else with her fingers hitting your G-spot over and over again. âDonât sayââ
You were rudely interrupted by three fingers between your lips. The hand that had been playing with your nipple was now in your mouth, shutting you up effectively. âShut up.â She grunted, like she needed to reinforce her point. Youâd never admit it, but the words alone had already sent you right to your next orgasm, literal inches away from falling apart for her again. âKnow you love it. Know you love me. Fuck, even your mum fucking loves me.â
The fingers in your mouth pressed deeper; the fingers in your pussy went faster. She was back to licking circles over your clit, making you literally see stars. She somehow managed to lick your clit and still talk at the same time. The only explanation your horny, orgasm-laced brain could come up with was that she had to be a witch.
âTaking me home, taking me to meet your friends, letting me fuck you wherever I wantâhow fucking casual of you, sweetheart.â The sounds out of your mouth became more desperate, your entire body shaking.
âLet go for me, baby.â Her voice gentled into that deep, reassuring rumble youâd become absolutely obsessed with. âCum for me one more time so I can have a good shift and you can have a good sleep.âHer words got more and more slurred as she buried her face deeper into your cunt, until they were nothing but a mumbled chant of, âCome on, baby. Cum for me like a good girl.â
So you did. Not like you had much of a choice.
When you came to, you realized that last orgasm had quite literally knocked you out. Your head was slumped to the side, Parkerâs wet hands holding your face up. âThere you are,â she whispered, pressing the sweetest kiss onto your slack lips. âSuch a good girl for me. Came so hard it knocked you out, huh. So good to me.â The second kiss was longer, but you could barely react; your brain had somehow turned to mush. You watched Parker go through the motions of wiping her face with a wipe, then doing the same with her hands and your legs. One quick look at her phone set her into motion. Her suddenly quicker movements startled you for a second, but your brain managed to register that Parker had less than ten minutes until her shift started. âIâm sorry, baby, I gotta go. Youâll pick me up at like 7:30, right?â she asked, not really waiting for an answer. She knew youâd be there. Casual my ass.
She opened the door, the cold winter air making you shiver immediately. Parker hopped out, then leaned in one more time to press yet another kiss to your lips.
âSleep well, sweet cheeks.â
She was about to close the door when she took a second to really take you in. It was pretty dark in the corner of the parking lot youâd picked, but her eyes had gotten used to it by now. You hadnât moved, eyes somehow tired and wide from pleasure. You were still sitting there, legs spread wide, giving her a perfect view of your beautiful pussy, still glistening.
She couldnât help herself. She opened the door again, just a little, and poked her head into the car.
âHey Siri,â she waited for the signature sound, âplay âCasualâ by Chappell Roan.â Parker winked at you, shut the door, and walked away toward the illuminated doors of the hospital, leaving you behind, covered in your own cum and her spit, your pants and underwear somewhere in the car, a new tender spot forming next to all the others on your inner thigh. Chappell Roanâs desperate, sad voice filled the space, and you realized you really, really wanted Parker Ellis to be your girlfriend.
pairing â dr. jack abbot x bi!f!reader; dr. parker ellis x bi!f!reader
rating âexplicit. minors dni
wc â 7.9k
summary â jack is the type of man that does everything for the ones he loves, and he loves you so much that he always tries to give you the world. thatâs exactly what he does when he thinks you miss being with women.
warnings â the tiniest bit of angst, fluff and a lot of SMUT. age gap (reader is in her early thirties, jack is on his late forties). bi reader. angst towards supposed biphobia (nothing happens to reader). jack is so sweet and loving, all he wants to do is pamper her, so basically undisclosed sugar daddy!jack. dom!jack and stone top!parker. teasing, jackâs dirty talk, bush supremacy, cuckold, oral (f receiving), use of strap-on and other sex toys, strap on sucking, light breath play, squirting. jack and parker do NOT engage in sexual acts with each other.
she/her pronouns and afab!reader. no specific descriptions of body type, race or ethnicity, but reader is described to have a soft tummy. all lowercase for styling purposes.
a/n â hello, my loves! this is extremely self indulgent and self inserty, and iâm not even one bit sorry about it since thatâs whatâs fanfic is all about, right? jack and parker make my bi ass go into overdrive and 2x07 and 2x08 made me completely insane. i need them both (at the same time if possible). feedback is appreciated! hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading đ€
dividers by @/uzmacchiato
jack prided himself on being an observant man. it was second nature to him, automatic.Â
his observational skills werenât exclusive to one person or one case only, it was with everything and everyone in his life. jack could predict what the driver in front of him would do minutes before, just by paying attention to their driving patterns. he knew things would go south in a shift just by the influx of patients on triage; if things are slow between 09 and 11:00p.m., be sure that shit is going to hit the fan when 01:00a.m. rolls around. he knew robby was having a difficult time just by how this one expression line of his crowâs feet on his right eye would tick, and, of course, that extended to you, his girlfriend (or life partner, as he likes to call it).
the two of you met two years ago. as per his therapist's suggestion, jack visited a loss and grief support group for a therapy session. he visited it with no ulterior motives, saw it as a tool to understand what he had bottled up for the last twelve months. maybe talking with people who are on the same page as me will help, he thought.Â
it was on a wednesday after a grueling shift. 08:30 in the morning in a stuffy and probably moldy basement of a catholic church nearby the PTMC. his therapist had to reassure him it wasnât a religious thing, that it was just a free space that a volunteer therapist had gotten as a way to give back to society.Â
you were the last to arrive that day at 08:35, just on the brink of the end of the extra time the therapist had given for the arrivals. you sat on the chair right in front of him, murmured a good morning and gave him a short nod. people started giving their testimonies, the others in attendance gave a comforting word or two, but you kept quiet, with downturned eyes and picking the skin of your fingers with your teeth.Â
jackâs turn came and he spoke in true jack fashion; slow paced, raspy voice, cracking jokes on his own expanse that made you chuckle and, for the first time since you arrived and sat down, look up smiling. jack took that as his first win.Â
he never expected to open up like he did, to tell everyone about how it was to meet liz, about them getting married just before he left for the war, about how supportive she was, how that support came in tenfold when he lost his leg and how his world fell apart when she suddenly passed from cancer. almost fifteen years together that simply vanished in just three months. that had been a year ago, a year of emotions bottled in shattered glass that was being held together by endless ER shifts.Â
in a place where everyone said supporting, comforting words, your small nod and gentle smile were the ones that warmed him the most.Â
âwho is next?â brian, the therapist asked. he was young, not much older than you and that somehow made things easier.Â
you raised your hand shyly and jack gave you a little âgo onâ nod when he saw you falter. you smiled and mimicked him. âhi,â you gave them your name, voice breaking with emotion. you took a deep breath, inhaled for four, released in six. âlost my dad four months ago and iâ it sucksâ you started crying. embarrassment filled your body when everyone started cooing at you, their words of affirmation mortifying you, but jack gave you another reassuring nod and a lopsided smile and that gave you enough strength to go on. âsorry, iâm not always like this.â you laughed, scratched your eyebrow with your pinky in a self soothing move. âitâs just the whole thing with my dad, and being new to the city. i moved here a month ago after breaking up with my girlfriend and i know not one soul in pittsburgh and iâm starting a new job today so, you know, a lot is going on.â you laughed, genuinely, and the whole room laughed with you. and without crying again, looking straight into jack's eyes all the time as he sent you small, barely perceptible nods while you spoke, you told them your story.
your dad had been a victim of medical malpractice. three years before his death, on a simple, almost routine surgery, too much contrast media was administered and the veins and arteries of his kidneys glued shut, turning him into a dialysis patient. the once healthy, active man turned into a completely different version of himself, one that was attached to a filtering machine three times a week that made him weak and that helped him lose his will to live bit by bit. he withered himself away, did everything the doctors told him not to with the excuses he would die anyway if he followed the rules the doctors said he had to or not, so lived his life like his past, healthy self would. he was your person, the one you felt safe talking about anything, the one that always welcomed you, and the loss, that you knew was inevitable, was hitting you too strongly.Â
you exhaled hard when you finished your testimony, the weight finally lifting off your shoulders.Â
jack went after you when the session was over, finding you by the water fountain just outside the room you had shared moments ago. he asked you if you had eaten anything, to which you said no, and he told he had just left his shift, that he was dying for breakfast and that thereâs a really good diner just around the corner.Â
talking to jack was easy, light. he joked, told you stories about liz, you told some of your dadâs and you ended up having a lot in common, despite the age difference and the different upbringings.Â
next thing you knew, you were back at his place, face down on his sheets as jack pounded you hard from the back after having eaten you out on his kitchen counter.Â
you left shortly after, without exchanging phones, only a âsee you aroundâ and a peck on his lips, with the excuse that you had to solve some things before your shift. jackâs ego was awfully bruised, the first one night stand he got since college and the first woman he got with after his wife passing simply left with a half assed goodbye.Â
the fact that he got completely whipped with that little smile you gave him earlier that morning had nothing to do with it, clearly.Â
but he went on with his day, and so did you with yours.Â
and imagine his surprise, after ordering an x-ray for a young man that visited his ED after falling off a ten foot height while drunk parkouring, you arrive, the new radiology tech parker had mentioned earlier. heat took over your face, eyes went wide like saucers and voice faltered as you greeted him, making jack smirk, the sleazy smile growing as he noticed the poorly concealed hickey on your neck that he gave you earlier that morning. after you finished your work, jack pulled you aside, asked you out on a date that you said yes instantly. he made sure to get your number this time, with a shitty joke of not letting you escape again.Â
and he didnât. two years later and too many dates that you had lost count, itâs on his bed you wake up daily. a few dates in, he asked why you left so suddenly, and you said âthe day wet met you heard me talk, in depth, about the worst time of my life, saw me crying like crazy and iâm an fucking ugly crier and half an hour later you were pounding me deep in my guts, calling me a good girl, jack. i freaked out.â
he makes fun of you for it to this day.Â
jack prided himself on being an observant man. and one of the objects of his observational skills is parker ellis, his fourth year resident.Â
jack has great care for parker. he thinks sheâs smart, actually, scratch that, he knows sheâs smart, one of the few that is actually cut for the job that being a night shift doctor is, sheâs funny, attentive of her patients and a great friend to him and shen. he has also noticed that she has a really soft, almost mushy spot for you.
jack had noticed it for the first time the day you arrived at the ER, the gossipy tone parker usually held while talking about the new hires was gone, quickly being replaced by surprise, mixed with a hint of admiration and undertones of desire that finally made sense later that night, when jack finally found out the new radiology tech was you.Â
parker never tried anything, knew the two of you were dating from the beginning, but still, jack noticed the lingering looks, the hands on your elbows or how flirty she would get sometimes. and it never bothered him, if anything, it stroked his ego. just like it did when some young guy tried to make a move on you when you were out with jack, you would laugh, pass it off and say âno, thanksâ rolling your eyes with the most annoyed look on your face, only to find jack smiling like a lunatic, waiting for you. he loves that you have eyes for him and him only.Â
jack loves how you wear your heart on your sleeve, how open and honest you are with him and the world, and he only ever felt that before with his late wife. he had always been sure of himself, always knew what a great catch he is and rarely ever felt the need to be and act jealous. but it changed a bit as he grew older and tired, sometimes he would question if he was too old to pursue a relationship after everything he went through, let alone with someone younger than him, but the way you expressed yourself, the way youâre always so honest about your feelings and intentions made him feel at ease, feel like he deserved it, like he still got it. and it only made his ego bigger.Â
so, as soon as things started getting more serious, the first thing you discussed with jack was your sexuality.Â
it happened on your sixth date, jack took you out for drinks in one of those gentrified breweries robby kept raving about. the place was really nice, great beer and good food, but he liked seeing robby get all flushed when he pointed out his extravagant tendencies when it comes to beer.Â
you sat on a high top table near the bar, with a bowl of wings and two beer flights, sampling the new styles they released for the summer. a live band played a set list of dad rock songs, all of which jack knew, of course. you made a joke or two about his age, that backfired when he whispered in your ear, with that low, raspy voice of his âbut you like it, donât you? you love it when this old man cock is deep inside you, reaching places your exes never did.â
heat pooled on your face and on your pussy, and the only thing that came out of your lips was a whispered âjackâ and a nervous giggle. he kissed the junction of your neck and shoulder, lips cold from the IPA he just had making you shiver. jack tucked a stray hair behind your ear, eyes searching for yours to ask you the most important question so far âhow about we take this to the next step? do you wanna be my girlfriend? my partner?â
you wanted to say yes instantly, but the reminder of trouble after the honeymoon phase when your previous partners started using your sexuality as a weapon flooded your brain and you held yourself.Â
âjack, you know iâm bisexual, right?â
âand?â he shrugged and took a sip of the stout.Â
âand i just wanted to make sure that this isnât going to be a problem in the future.â
he noticed your nervousness. the way you licked your lips and how you tapped your nails against the wooden table. jack shook his head, brought his right hand to your face, cradling it. his thumb pressed against your lip, lightly caressing it. âi donât know what type of idiots you dated, but i know that your sexuality does not define your character and i know that it doesnât mean you are going to cheat on me or whatever those fuckers accused you of.â he nodded, dropping his face to look for your eyes again. his intense need for eye contact always threw you off a bit. âyeah?â
âyeah.â you nodded and smiled.Â
âgood. now, do you want to be my partner or not?â
you nodded once again, this time with more intent, happier. âiâd love to.â
jack prided himself on being an observant man. he always used this skill of his to pay attention to your likes, wants and needs. ever since you started living with him, youâve never ran out of tampons, an order for your favourite japanese hair care products is placed before the bottles even reach the middle and that one swiss chocolate you mentioned liking once is always in the pantry.Â
he knew your favourite artists, had google alerts to know when they would be in the city or near, always surprising you with concert tickets. jack fed your love for reading too, buying books you either mentioned or ones he thought you would like, but, most important of all, he took interest in your interests. he listened to your favourite music, searched for the articles you mentioned in conversations and read at least the summary of the books you were reading to talk to you about it.Â
and being the observant man that he is, jack noticed that the last three books youâve read this past month are sapphic romance novels.Â
he didnât think much of it at first, knew you read anything from autobiographies to monster porn, and youâve read sapphic books once or twice before. but what caught his eye was the frequency this time.Â
itâs your day off, one of the rare ones you have together in the month. the two of you woke up late, both too lazy to do anything other than stay in bed together and watch tv. jackâs phone is in your hands as you scroll through grubhub looking for something to eat for lunch. you are so entertained with the task in hand that you donât notice that he has stepped out of the shower and is standing under the threshold that separates the bedroom and its en-suite, looking at you.Â
âfound anything you like?â he asks.Â
his voice startles you a bit, making you look up. the sight youâre met with makes you bite the inside of your cheek; a shirtless jack, dark grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips, strong arms flexing as he towel dries his salt and pepper hair. his crutches sit on the wall beside him, one being used to prop his right arm as he looks at you. a content sigh leaves your lips and jack smiles at you softly. you thought you would be used by now, but itâs always surprising seeing how hot your boyfriend is.Â
âumm, donât know. i was thinking about thai, but iâm also craving some tiramisu so i donât know.â you pout.Â
âthen order both, honey.â jack says like itâs the most obvious thing.Â
âyeah, but theyâll charge you two delivery fees.â you ponder, only to receive an eyebrow raise in return, his âdo itâ sign. âokay, ordering them.â
âgood girl.â
you shake your head and hide your face on the thigh you have propped up. itâs jackâs nature, the compliments, the commanding voice and the way he does everything you wish, you know it is, but god, it always lights up this flame inside of you that turns you into a giggly teen in seconds, itâs almost embarrassing.Â
jack sets his crutches beside his nightstand, finally joining you in bed, pulling you to his chest as you finish ordering your lunch. his hand is on your hair, gently petting it and lips kissing the top of your head.Â
âETA forty to sixty minutes.â you tell him as you block his phone and set it on his night stand.Â
âhoney, do you miss being with other women?â jack asks you, so casually it caught you off guard. you get up from your place on his chest, eyes wide as you stare at him.Â
âwhere is this coming from, jack?â your voice is small, the conversation all too familiar. itâs too good to be true, jack and his caring ways, you mean. you dread the feeling that starts rising from the pit of your stomach, knew you should have listened to that little voice two years ago, the one that told you wouldâve this conversation sooner or later. your hands start shaking and youâre pretty sure you look like a deer in headlights.Â
jack notices the change in your mood, instantly sits up, straightening his back against the headboard as he grabs your hand, pulling you closer to him and kissing them.Â
âiâm sorry, baby. didnât mean it like that. itâs justââ he sighs. itâs the first time you see him lose a bit of the calm, sure of himself composure he always had towards you. âi donât know how to say this without sounding like an idiot. the last three books you read are about lesbian relationships, so i thought that maybe you missed being in one.â
you give him a pointed look.
âok, that didnât make it any better.â
âit didnât.â you say, shaking your head.Â
jack exhales, scratches his head trying to find a way to word his thoughts better. âiâm not trying to accuse you of anything, i know you would never cheat or anything like that. you show me everyday how much you love me and sometimes i doubt if i deserve someone like you, what iâm trying to ask is do you miss it? like, the feel of it, is there something i could do about it?â
you look at jack, only to find a completely different man than what you are used to. the cocky demeanour is gone, and now you see the insecurity he never lets you see, always hidden deep inside.his eyes are soft, almost scared, afraid that he did something wrong. his face, neck and chest are red, probably from embarrassment.
âthe books are for the book club, the girls wanted to read sapphic stories. and iâm happy with you, jack, you fulfill me in ways iâve never experienced before, not only in sex, but in our daily lives too. being with another person isnât something i really think about.â
jack nods, looks around like he is choosing his next words. âitâs different, right?â
you smile and agree with a head shake. âeverything is different. the feeling, the touch, taste, smell. everything.â jack pursues his lips and itâs like you can see his brain working. you kiss his chest. âbe direct, baby.â
he laughs. âwhat if i told you i wanted you to be with another woman?â
thereâs a pause. you stretch the silence for a while. itâs not the first time a male partner has offered you this, but itâs the first time itâs done in a respectful manner. âwhatâs the catch?â
âthereâs no catch, honey. one time thing, donât even have to watch it, but i choose who.â
you feel like thereâs two wolves inside of you; one that thinks you shouldnât accept it, that even if you have his blessing, things could backfire and your relationship would come to an end. the other wolf feels excited, wants to say yes and wants him to watch it, of course it does, but you wonât tell him that right now. âalright. who do you have in mind?â
âparker.â
convincing you took some time. and itâs not that you didnât want or that you had problems with parker, you and jack had talked about people you find attractive at work lots of times before, had discussed kinks and fetishes early on in the relationship, you had even reached a common ground with threesomes. but talking about it is one thing and acting on it is another. and this isnât a threesome, itâs jack giving you the green light to fuck someone else, someone he would choose, and that someone is a co-worker, his mentee, a friend. obviously, anxiety hit, the trauma of past relationships spoke louder and jack had to reassure you that:
1â he loves you no matter what;
2â he wants to you to have fun and for you to be happy;
3â this is him spoiling you;
4â this is just a way of spicing your sex lives, like you always do;
5â and that you donât have to do anything you donât want to.Â
so you agreed, jack kissed you and told you not to worry about talking to ellis.Â
and thatâs why jack finds himself on the roof of the pitt at three in the morning with a very confused looking parker ellis staring back at him, mouth agape, trying to find the words to question him.Â
it was around one in the morning when jack had first told parker he needed to talk to her, assuring her it was nothing serious, just some personal stuff. parker even joked, asked if he was having lady problems and if he needed help and all jack did was smirk. but before he could pull his resident aside to talk, a trauma came in; an eighteen year old girl that got caught on a hit and run. she arrived talking, but coded within minutes and jack spent almost two hours trying to stabilize the internal bleeding before sending her up to walsh. when they were finally finished, jack told ellis to grab some coffee for herself and meet him on the roof in five.Â
and in true jack fashion, as direct as he always is, jack asked parker if she wanted to fuck you.Â
âw- what?â she splutters.Â
âyeah.â jack nods and repeats the question. âiâve seen how you look at her, i remember how you sounded when told me about the new radiology tech on her first day. itâs alright parker, she wants it too.â
ellis stares at him, shakes her head a bit, clearing her thoughts. she laughs incredulously before speaking. âyou know what, iâm not going to over think this. fuck yes, i want it.â
âgreat.â
three thirty rolls around and you are almost falling asleep at your desk when the noise of your phone vibrating against metal wakes you up. you frown when you realise itâs a text from jack as he never texts when you two are on shift, always opting for a quick phone call when he needs to talk to you.Â
jackie baby: Talked to Parker, itâs a yes from her. Sheâs off on saturday too. You could go on a date, see how things go. Is 1900 good?
you stare at the phone with your jaw on the floor, that anxious feeling you once had is now a heat that grows low on your belly, making you press your legs together to ease it for a bit.Â
â you really thought all of this through, huh?
â thatâs so hot, you have no idea
â but yes, 7 is perfect!
jackie baby: Good. Things are slow here, I can come up and help you cool off a bit.Â
â please đȘ
saturday came like any other day. you woke up earlier than usual, around 02:00p.m. the noise coming from the kitchen signaled that jack had beaten you to it, never really being able to get his full eight hours of sleep.Â
the smells that spread around the house are enough to make you get up.
your footsteps are silent against the wooden floor and jack is so immersed in his cooking that he doesnât feel you arriving. the sight is one that always makes you weak: a shirtless jack abbot, freckles out in their full glory, a dishrag thrown over his shoulder and sweatpants so low you can see his back dimples.Â
jack always loved cooking. a habit that started out as a necessity in college turned into a love language, one he kept locked deep inside of him after his wife died and only brought it back when you came into his life.Â
finally, you circle your arms around his waist, the kiss you press in the middle of his spine making goosebumps rise all over his body.Â
âdid you sleep well, honey?â he asks, head turning slightly to look at you.Â
âmhm.â you nod, head still pressed against his back.Â
jack laughs softly. âstill sleepy, arenât you?â
âyeah, but the smell was soooo good that i had to get up.â you squeeze him a bit harder. âwhat are you cooking?â
âsteak with that blue cheese sauce you like, homemade fries and your girl dinner salad.â
jack had come to the knowledge of girl dinner on one of your first shifts together. you were mid chomp when he called just to talk the tiredness off. jack asked what you were eating and your answer was âgirl dinnerâ, to which he replied âand what could that possibly be?â so you explained to him what girl dinner was, that it varies from woman to woman, but itâs always similar. always something quick that you could make with whatever ingredients you have at home. to you, it was what you liked to call an âeverything saladâ. plain penne, some crunchy lettuce, shredded chicken or bacon, corn, pickles, some carrots and any other vegetable you have available, cheese, boiled eggs and some dressing, ranch, honey mustard or whatever. itâs what saved you after a gruesome shift or when nothing seemed appetizing to you. jack laughed, thought the concept of girl dinner was kinda genius, and started making it to you often, with his own twist.Â
âsometimes i wonder what i did to get so lucky.â you tell him, slapping his ass as you steal a fry.Â
jack shakes his head, faking a stern look as he plates your food. âsit down, baby.â
you do as he says and he promptly sets your plate in front of you. jack kisses your head. âenjoy.â
you wait for him to get back before you start eating and as soon as he sits down by your side, you engage in a soft conversation. like usual, you praise his cooking skills, telling him everything is perfect, he asks about your shift, and you say that it was super slow, not that many broken bones last night. he updates you on robbyâs sabbatical, shows you the latest pictures his friend had sent.Â
and thatâs how lunch goes, you updating each other on what happened in the past hours.Â
jack is scooping your favourite ice cream when he finally asks you, ânervous for tonight?â
you consider his question. âi wouldnât say nervous. just a lot of mixed emotions.â
âare they good? you know you donât have to do this, right?â he says, hand you your cone.Â
âi know, handsome.â you lick some of the ice cream they started to melt. âand they are good, itâs just that nervousness before you do something for the first time.â
jack nods and you finish your ice cream in silence.Â
the bathroom smells faintly of your lavender soap and the white flowers candle you lit. after cuddling for a bit with jack, catching up on love island and whatnot, you headed out to your everything shower.Â
and it truly was an everything shower.
washed, applied treatment and conditioned your hair, shaved your legs and pits, bush only got trimmed or jack would have a heart attack, and exfoliated your whole body, even your soul. eyebrows got tinted and plucked, and your whole body got hydrated. you blow dried your hair, opting to leave it down and taking your trusty claw clip with you if it gets in your way.Â
youâre finishing your make up when jack knocks on the door and enters your shared en-suite. âcome in!â
and jack does. heâs walking slow, swinging a bit as if his prosthesis bothers him. his hands are behind his back, and you can see the outline of a sturdy paper bag hidden.
he kisses your neck, learned the hard way to not touch your face while youâre still applying your make up. you exchange looks through the mirror, jackâs eyes are low, looking like a kid that got caught doing something naughty when he sets the bag on the counter in front of you.Â
you know that bag very well, you had seen that black and white before. i.d sarrieri, the british lingerie brand that jack had gifted you countless times before, too expensive to be given unless it was a special occasion.Â
âjackâŠâ you whisper.Â
jack shushes you, kisses your neck again just enough to make you weak so you donât complain about him being extravagant again.Â
âopen it, honey.â
the sight makes you gasp. inside the black box lies the full set of the royal jewel collection, in deep green. itâs gorgeous, the work is so intricate that you are afraid of using and ruining it.Â
âjack!â you scream now, doing a little happy dance. going against your own rules, you kiss him.Â
you had pinned the set on your pinterest a while back, had been waiting for it to go on sale to justify buying it. itâs not the first time jack did this, he often went through your âone dayâ folder to see the things you wanted to buy when you were able to, had even confessed to you that he had asked victoria how the app worked so he could get to see your pins.
it was tricky to accept his gifting tendencies in the beginning, your stubborn and prideful brain thought he was belittling you by waving his big attending money around, but soon you learned that it was just one of the many love languages jack has.Â
you make a mental note of privating the folder. just like you did whenever this happened. you probably wonât.Â
âthis is gorgeous.â you say, fingers gently rubbing the fabric. âlook at this colour.â
âcanât wait to see you dressed in it. i think itâs going to be my favourite now.â
something you love about jack is that he, differently from your male partners before, branched out from the typical black/white/red lingerie. he had gifted you lace in all colours of the rainbow, all depending on what his mood of the month was.Â
you finally make your way out of the bathroom, only to find jack sitting by the end of the bed waiting for you. he looks at you like you hang the moon and stars and you twirl, showing him how good you look. âwhat do you think, baby?â
âyou look fucking incredible.â jack beckons you, pulling you to him. âi think parker will like it too.â he purrs when you run your nails through his hair.
âdonât you find this a little bit weird? like youâre basically gift wrapping your girlfriend to somebody else unwrap?â
jack laughs. âif it were anyone else, this would never happen. but iâm strangely ok with doing this with parker.â
you peck his lips. âi donât think i could ever do this, sorry.â
âdonât be, honey. i donât see myself being with anyone but you.â
you shake your head and peck his lips again before getting out of his embrace to get dressed.Â
you opt for a little black dress with a sweetheart neckline that stops mid thigh, mary janes and a small purse. itâs summer and you and parker are going to an outdoor bar, no need for layers.Â
jack meets you in your living room as you look for him to say goodbye. he hugs you, kisses your lips once more and lift his fingers, giving his credit card to you.Â
âhave fun, pretty girl.â
parker is waiting for you just outside of the bar when you arrive. youâve basically arrived together, she had texted you that she had dropped off in front of the bar right when your uber was turning into the street, and she looks incredible.Â
white t-shirt, a bit to the tighter side, well fitted. black pants and checkered vans. her locs are down, tucked a bit to her right.Â
âyou look great!â you say in unison.Â
âthanks!â you say in unison once again.
you shake your head and laugh, parker following you. sheâs sweet, puts a hand on your back to guide you inside the bar. the table you choose is out back on their open area because itâs less crowded and the music is just loud enough that you can hear each other without having to shout.Â
besides, itâs a beautiful night. the moon is high and the fresh autumn breeze is starting to say hi.Â
the night goes incredibly well. parker is kind enough to order a tequila shot for each of you, for that liquid courage. the rest of the night you nurse on limoncello spritzâs and parker sticks to beers.Â
parker is great. sheâs even funnier outside of work, that charming but a tad bit sarcastic tone always slipping, making you light headed. she talks about growing up in atlanta and how she liked getting matched to the PTMC, you tell her how difficult it was to move from the west coast to the east, but you are now loving it. you share childhood stories, favourite movies and music, even agreed that lullaby is the cureâs best song and that fka twigs deserved better from robert pattinson.Â
itâs when your nachos and third round of drinks arrive that parker touches the subject. âdidnât know you were for the girls too. or is just something you want to try and see how it is.â
you laugh, nod your head as you clean your hands on a napkin. âiâm for the girls. my last two relationships before i got with jack were with women. iâm bi, thought he had told you that.â
itâs parkerâs turn to laugh now. âyou know how your boyfriend is, he asked me if i wanted to fuck you and that was it.â she looks at your stunned face and laughs again and repeats his question word for word.
âgod, heâs so blunt sometimes that it still catches me off guard. but i guess it works for his old ass.â
âso how did this little⊠predicament came to be?â parker asks you.Â
so you explain to her. tell her how you are in a book club with friends and you have been reading sapphic books for the past three months because you and the girls wanted to diversify your reading. you tell her that jack, being the great partner that he is, tries to read the full book or at least read the summary and watch reviews of what youâre reading to talk to you about it and noticed a pattern and thought you missed being with women. how it was this full conversation, that he wanted you to do this because he wanted you to be happy, but he just wanted to choose who. you point to her. âhe wanted it to be you.â
âthatâs awfully sweet and attentive of him.â she tells you.Â
âmhm.â you nod. âin a very straight forward, jack way. but i love it and him and wouldnât change it for anything.â
silence falls before you, comfortably. you eat, sip your drinks and look at the people around you. parker finally breaks it a couple of minutes later.Â
âhe knows i used to have a crush on you.â parker says and stops mid sentence when you shoot her a surprised look. âthatâs why he wanted it to be me. i think.â
âreally? why? how come you never told me?â
âi was stunned by you on your first day. you were a little shy but still talkative and i thought you were gorgeous. apparently jack noticed how i talked about you. then you two showed up together so it didnât make sense for me to go after the bossâ girl.â she shrugs and you nod. âi still think youâre got as fuck though.â
you smile. âgood, âcause i think you are so fucking hot too.â
âreally?â
âmhm.â
parker looks behind her, a live band had started playing some time ago and a small crowd had gathered around them to dance.Â
she points her head in their direction. âwanna dance?â
you get up and turn around the table, making your way to her with your hand extended. âcâmon.â
it starts upbeat, the band plays an actually nice rendition of paradise by sade. youâre dancing awfully close when didnât cha know by erykah badu is playing. marvin gayeâs i want you starts playing while you and parker are standing in a dim lit corner near the restroom. your back is to the wall, parkerâs left hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her right squeezes your soft waist and her lips whisper sweet nothings on your ear. the intermission started some time ago, the dj set had started and you didnât even notice that all mine by portishead had started playing. her lips are on yours in a torturously slow kiss, your hands are splayed on her back, bringing her closer to you. parker had slotted her right thigh between yours a couple of songs ago, teasing your core with the ghost of its presence. her hand is making her way up your thigh, closer and closer by the second to where you want it. her fingers trace the intricate lace of your panties where it covers your mound. you sigh in delight when you feel them work their way down, index finger finally reaching inside the fabric, so close to your clit when a group of giggling drunk girls bump into you, bursting your bubble.Â
âsorry!â a short blonde shouts in a slurry voice.
âfuck.â parker whispers.Â
you giggle and bring your lips back to hers to steal a quick kiss. âmaybe we should get back to mine, yeah?â
she nods. âiâll close our tab.â
you shake your head, reach out and hold her hand to stop her. âjack gave me his credit card.â
âalright, then. boss man really thought this through.â she laughs. âiâll call our uber.â
the drive was fast, the bar being only five minutes away from the house you shared with jack. it was silent, the two of you too horny to say anything. parkerâs hand stayed glued to your thigh, only leaving it to tease you through your undies.Â
the car finally arrives. you leave, but not before thanking your driver. you are on your last step when you stop to question parker. âdo you mind if jack was in the room with us?â you bite your lip. âitâs ok if you donât want to.â
she smiles, shakes her head before kissing you again. âitâs fine, beautiful. always thought he would be.â
you make your way inside the house with parker trailing behind you. the home is dark except for the accent lights. the living room is quiet, noise is coming from the tv room and you follow it, only to find jack accompanied by a couple of beers watching the piratesâ game rerun.Â
âhi, baby.â you say, grabbing jackâs attention. he gets up.
âhi, honey.â jack says, hugging and kissing you. he nods to parker, greeting her with a handshake and half hug like they usually did. âdid you two have a good night?â
âmhm.â you answer. you look up at him, eyes sparkly with mischief. âwe are heading upstairs.â
âgreat, baby. have fun.â he kisses you again, thinking heâs going to keep watching his game.
âyou are coming with us.â parker intervenes, and a knowing look is exchanged between them. you try not to overthink it.
jack leads the way, opens the door to your bedroom and sits on your bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard.
parker is on you the moment you cross the threshold, kissing and nipping your lips, hands lifting your dress, finally seeing how jack had gift wrapped you.
your back is against her chest, expert hands kneading your chest, making you whimper. she sucks a hickey on the junction of your neck and shoulder and finally asks, âwhatâs in the bag, boss?â
jack tips his chin towards the black paper bag. âdo the honours.â
you sit on the bed, eagerly opening the bag and inside of it lies three boxes. the first one is a new suction toy for you, the satisfyer curvy 2. next is a dildo. itâs pink, the length and girth way too familiar. jack probably spent too much time looking for the perfect one.
you wouldnât put it past him on having it modeled after him though.
the base is flared and you know, instantly, whatâs in the next box. a harness, black. the material is soft, with buckles to easily adjust on parkerâs body.
you giggle. âyou are insane, jack.â
âcâmon, beautiful. letâs put it to good use.â parker says and pulls you to her again, catching you in a bruising kiss.
sheâs fast, and when you finally realise, your bra and panties are thrown somewhere on your bedroom, and the only thing that still adorns your body is the beautiful suspender belt that came with the lingerie set. your back is against jackâs clothed chest and you can feel his hardness pressing against you. you try to kiss him, only to have him gently grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks a bit as he turns your. âeyes on parker, honey.â
he kisses the top of your head when you moan.
parker lays between your thighs, brings your legs to her shoulders as she begins to eat you out. she starts slow, alternates between kissing and sucking your clit, testing what makes you lose yourself faster. you are so wet you barely feel parker sliding her index finger, only realising when she starts working it in a come hither motion against your spongy spot.
âfuck.â you whimper.
jack feels you start shivering, and your moans are getting whinier and whinier. parker gets meaner too, putting more pressure on her sucking and on her finger.
âyou should add another one.â your boyfriend says above you.
âjack.â you whine.
âdonât act like you canât take it because you know you can take more than two.â
parker smiles like the confession is music to her ears. she adds another finger, pumps you once, twice and adds a third, filling you up so good that your orgasm sneaks up on you, making you come with a long, drawn out whine. she keeps sucking on your clit, helping you ride it out until it gets unbearable. parker gives you a little peck before getting up.
youâre a little light headed, still feeling like you are walking on the clouds when you realise sheâs taking her pants off. you rise on wobbly knees, tries to make your way to her only to fall on all fours on the bed, making you giggle.
âcan i eat you out? please?â you ask parker.
she smiles at you, shakes her head in an almost condescending way. âno, but iâll let you suck the strap if you cream it right. know, go back to jack.â
âfine.â you pout, back make you way back to him anyway. âcan i suck you, baby?â
jack smirks and shakes his head, denying you. he pulls you back to him, positions you against his chest once again and you complain. âyou are both still too dressed, i canât suck anyone off⊠did you plan on torturing me?â
your bratty behaviour gets a rise from jack and parker. jack never undressed, still has his black t-shirt and cargo shorts on. parker has a bit less on her, the only pieces adorning her body are her boxer briefs and her sports bra. âhere,â jack presses his thumb against your lips, hard enough to make you open them. âsuck on this.â
parker finishes adjusting the strap, closes her hand around the silicone member to test the weight. she looks back at jack. âgot any lube?â
he points to the nightstand on his right. âtop drawer.â
parker grabs the bottle, squirts a good amount of the jelly, watery liquid against the pink shaft. she makes her way to you, walking like a predator hunting her prey. parkerâs smile is wolfish and you feel yourself getting wetter. jack chuckles when you moan around his thumb.
âyou good?â parker asks when as she starts rubbing the tip against your pussy.
all you can do is nod.
parker enters you so slow you feel like itâs torture but soon picks up her pace, setting a staccato rhythm. your brain is all fuzzy, jack is whispering on your ears, but all you can make out are the good girls he throws here and there. parker is praising you too, telling jack how lucky he is to have such good pussy everyday. you whine again, harder this time, losing yourself in an all too consuming feeling.
you tell them you are about to come, hoping they understand what youâre saying with how muffled your voice is by jackâs fingers. parker picks up her pace, the head of the dildo hitting your g-spot with such precision that your orgasm finally hits you.
âkeep going.â jack tells her. his fingers finally leave your mouth and his hand go around your neck. a soft buzzing noise starts, and when you realise, jack has brought the sucking toy to your clit.
parkerâs pace never falters, jackâs hand squeezes your neck hard enough to make you light headed and the toy is sucking your clit into oblivion.
itâs too much, all of your senses are heightened, their touches feel like fire, the chill of the air conditioner almost freezes you, and when you feel like you are about to pass out from overstimulation, your third orgasm of the night squirts out of you.
jack lets go of your neck, making you pull a deep breath. he turns the toy off and parker slides from you. everything is wet, your thighs, the sheets and parkerâs briefs. you giggle when you feel the white fabric of the sheets sticking to your bum.
when you open your eyes, you are met with the pink headed dildo near your lips, creamed like parker had asked.
you suck it like your life depends on it, take each inch inside your lips just like you do with jack, who pulls you into a bruising kiss as soon as you let go of parkerâs shaft.
âare you happy, honey?â he asks, lips still pressed to yours.
A/N: I donât even know what to say for myself here. Itâs the middle of the night and I am clearly delirious.
â¶â„â¶â„â¶
Parker never really wanted kids.
Donât get her wrong, it wasnât something she felt strongly about, at least not in the way some people do. She didnât hate kids, she actually really liked them. But she also didnât feel strongly about having them, you know, like the kind of people with lists of baby names saved on their phones and timelines mapped out before theyâre thirty. If anything, it was something she could take or leave. A hypothetical version of herself might have wanted them. Or not.
When she came out, the question drifted even further away. Kids belonged to another script, one she wasnât following anymore.
Then med school swallowed what little space was left. Residency devoured the rest. Long shifts, overnights on call, and the bone-deep exhaustion that lived inside her permanently didnât leave room for hypotheticals. Parkerâs future became clear: rotations completed, exams passed, hours survived.
And then she met you.
Right out of college, when everything was still provisional and bright-edged. You were easy in a way nothing else in her life was. No games, no drama, no need to explain the sharp corners of her personality or the long silences she slipped into after difficult shifts.
You wanted the same things she did: partnership, independence, a life built by yourselves instead of inherited. A small condo that felt like yours. Shared groceries. Late-night takeout on the floor because you couldnât afford a dining room table fresh out of med school.
Kids werenât a loss. They just werenât part of the plan.
And Parker liked the plan.
Years later, she still does: the quiet routines youâve built, the ease of moving around each other in the kitchen, the way you reach for her all the time without looking. The life youâve built is full and exactly what sheâs ever wanted.
Which is why the tightness of her chest now feels so unfamiliar.
The backyard is strung with warm lights and the low hum of conversation. Someone has a speaker playing music near the sliding glass door, the music loud enough to hear but soft enough to not bother the neighbors. Laughter rises in pockets around the patio â people playing cornhole, the easy laughter of people who have known each other since they were barely adults.
Her college friends have aged into themselves the same way she has. Theyâre softer around the edges without the stress that came with higher education. One of them is arguing about grilling technique, another is balancing a paper plate and a sweating beer while telling a story Parker has heard at least three times in the last few years.Â
She should be listening.
Instead, sheâs looking at you.
You stand near the patio, half-turned toward the house, bathed in the amber glow spilling from the kitchen windows. Someone has pressed a bundled weight into your arms, small and wrapped in a pale blanket, and youâd accepted without hesitation, like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
You donât look uncomfortable, youâre not stiff or fumbling or awkward.Â
You adjust, settling the baby against your chest as you sway without thinking to the beat of the music.
The babyâs fist curls into your shirt and you smile down at it, and Parker watches as you duck your head and your mouth moves as you say something to the baby with an animated expression on your face.Â
âCareful,â a voice says from beside her. âYou keep staring like that and people are gonna talk.â
Parker doesnât look away from you as she responds, âIâm not staring.â
Tre chuckles quietly and bumps his shoulder against hers anyway. Heâs holding two beers, handing one over to her without looking.Â
âThatâs my kid, Ellis,â he says. âYou look like youâre planning a heist.â
Parker finally glances at him out of her peripheral. âRelax, I donât even like kids.â
Tre snorts. âYeah? Coulda fooled me.â
Across the yard, Hallie sets something on the patio table, keeping half an eye on you holding her baby the way all parents do â alert, and trying to hover without hovering. But she doesnât move to take the baby back. Youâve gotten comfortable too easily, the sway of your body is absentminded and rhythmic.
Tre follows Parkerâs line of sight to you.
âShe looks real good with one, though,â he says casually. âA natural.â
The agreement leaves Parker before she can stop it. âYeah,â she says softly.
Tre goes quiet.Â
Parker feels it a second too late, the way it sounded. Intrigued instead of dismissive.
He turns his head slowly. âYou two next?â
Itâs meant as a joke, the same kind thatâs been lobbed around her friend group for years. He isnât the first to make jokes about Parker having kids.Â
She opens her mouth to say something dry, something deflecting. Something that fits the version of her that her friends know and expect.
But then you laugh at something the baby does and the sound cuts through her like a wire pulled tight.Â
The babyâs fist is still tangled in the front of your shirt, and your hand is spread instinctively over its back.
You lookâŠ
God, you look right.Â
âCâmon,â Tre nudges her again with a laugh. âYouâd be a scary PTA mom.â
Parkerâs jaw sets. âIâd never survive the bake sales,â she mutters.
But she doesnât say no.
Try studies her for another moment then tsks as he looks away, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he thinks heâs seen.Â
âHallie would lose her damn mind if she heard you even considering it,â he says. âSheâs already planning playdates with babies that donât even exist.â
Parker doesnât answer because she isnât thinking about playdates. Sheâs thinking about you, about the curve of your hands holding that baby, about the warmth in your face right now, about the way you adjust your stance without thinking to accommodate that baby.
About what you would look like â
She swallows hard.
No.
She takes a drink of her beer instead.
Across the yard, Hallie finally comes to reclaim her baby. You hand the bundle back with visible reluctance, but the smile lingering on your face.Â
The rest of the party is a blur.
Parker answers questions on autopilot. She laughs in the right places, she corrects someoneâs wildly inaccurate retelling of a college story, and nods through a half-baked debate about hospital administration policies with her med school friends.
But her attention keeps drifting to you.
To your hands when you gesture, to the way your shirt settles when you sit. To your stomach when you stretch.
Every time someone mentions the baby - sleeping schedules, daycare waitlists, pediatricians - something tightens in her chest instead of recoiling the way it used to.
She doesnât understand it, nor does she try to. In fact, she tries not to think about it.
By the time you say your goodbyes, the sky is fully dark and the air has cooled.
You slip your hand into hers as you leave your friendsâ house and she holds on tighter than usual.
The drive home is weirdly quiet. Itâs not awkward or tense, or heavy, justâŠquiet.
The city lights smear across the windows as you drive. Parker sits in the passenger seat, her elbow braced against the window, clearly lost in thought.Â
She hasnât said much since you left.
You glance at her when you stop at a red, and sheâs staring straight ahead.
âYou okay?â you ask lightly.
âYeah.â
Her answer comes too quick. You hum, unconvinced, and turn back to the road.
Sheâs been like this all evening, distracted and distant in a way that isnât normal for her. At first you thought it was exhaustion, after all she works nights and sheâs been up almost all day. But she doesnât look tired, she looks like sheâs thinking hard.
You catch her looking at you twice in the reflection of the glass. But not at your face, at something lower.
The light turns green and you start to go.
âYouâve been weird since the party,â you say softly. âDid something happen?â
Thereâs a long pause and she shifts in her seat.Â
âNo,â she says finally. ââŠbut you looked real good tonight.â
When you pull into the driveway, the quiet is still just as noticeable.
Parker unbuckles her seatbelt but doesnât get out of the car right away. The light in your kitchen that you always leave on glows from the second-story window and throws a warm cone of yellow light across the hood of the car.
You nudge her knee with yours. âCâmon, doctor.â
Inside, the air still smells a little like the candle you burned that morning. You kick off your shoes near the entryway, dropping your keys into the little ceramic bowl out of habit.
Usually, Parker would reach for you the second you were in the door. Maybe slide an arm around your waist, tug you in for a kiss. But instead, she lingers near the kitchen counter, her hands resting against the edge like she doesnât know what to do with herself.
You follow her into the kitchen and lean back against the island, watching her.
âOkay,â you say gently. âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â
âNothing.â
You raise an eyebrow.Â
âParker.â
You push off the island and step closer, caging her in against the opposite counter, you body pushed up against hers.
You tilt your head, studying her. ââŠwas it the baby?â
Her shoulders tense up.
There it is.
Your eyes light up with recognition. âI knew it.â
She looks away from you.
âYouâve been weird since the baby,â you go on.
âI have not.â
âYou have,â you insist, your hands settling on either side of her waist. âYou went so quiet, you even stopped making fun of Tre. That alone was suspicious.â
âI make fun of Tre all the time.â
âNot tonight, you didnât.â
She opens her mouth and then closes it again, still refusing to look at you.
You grin triumphantly. âOh my god, it was the baby.â
âIt was not the baby.â
You soften, your fingers digging gently into her shirt. âItâs not a crime to think babies are cute.â
Parkerâs throat bobs as she swallows, her hands coming up to brush your arms just below your shoulders. Finally, she looks at you, but you watch in real time as her gaze travels from your face, down your neck, over your chest, and finally settles on your stomach.Â
Your pulse kicks as you manage a, âWhatâs this about?â
She closes her eyes and exhales slowly through her nose, like sheâs holding herself back from something.Â
âItâs about you,â she says quietly.Â
That shocks you.
âMe?â
One hand travels from your arm down to your side, before settling low on your abdomen. Her palm flat, the warmth from it heavy even through your shirt, fingers splayed just below your belly button.
Your breath catches in your throat.
Parker leans in until sheâs right next to your ear.
âI care about you,â she mutters, âlooking like that because of me.â
Oh.
The words are heavier than youâre used to hearing from her. Thereâs no teasing, no deflection. You feel it low in your belly.
âAre you serious?â you breathe.
Her thumb traces a slow, absent line just below your navel.Â
âI canât stop thinking about it.â Her gaze lifts to yours again, her usually warm brown eyes almost completely swallowed by black, pupils blown with lust. âAbout puttinâ a baby in you.â
âParker,â you breathe, moving to stand next to her at the counter, though it doesnât slow your heart rate back down.
Your deflection doesnât go unnoticed. Parkerâs lips part as her tongue darts out to wet them.Â
âYou like that?â she husks, watching you practically wither under her gaze as you do your best not to make eye contact with her.Â
She moves to stand behind you and now itâs your turn, caged between her body at your back and the counter in front of you. Her hands find your hips and she pulls you back until your ass is flush with her.
âYou want me to fill you up?â Her hand travels to your front, holding just under your navel again as she breathes into your ear, âYouâd look so good swollen here with my baby.â
You let out a whine as your head tilts back and you grind against her. The heat in your belly has become a flame, her hands traveling over your waist, your hips, like she can already picture it. Itâs not one-sided, either, Parker is pushing right back against you, her face buried in your hair just behind your ear, rubbing herself on your ass.Â
âYou wanna get me pregnant, Parker?â
She freezes behind you.Â
Her hips stop moving, hands stop travelling, feet rooted to the floor as you can hear the little gasp she lets out.
âDonât stop,â you whine, grinding back against her. âYouâre gonna make me feel good, arenât you? Gonna fill me up?â
That does it.
She moves so quick you donât even register her hands popping the button of your jeans, only when she rips them down your body do you realize how fast sheâs moving. With one hand between your shoulderblades, she practically shoves you down onto the counter, the other pulling your jeans and your panties down to your ankles.Â
She drops to her knees without warning, burying her face in your pussy from behind.Â
The yelp you let out at the sudden pleasure is loud and youâre grateful you have an entire floor to yourselves.
Parker drags her tongue from your clit to your hole, moaning as the taste of you floods her mouth. Her fingers dig into the sides of your thighs as her tongue alternates fucking into you and flicking at your clit and then repeating.Â
âFuck, Parker,â you cry out, your hand reaching back to fist the bun sheâs tied her locs into. You know sheâll give you shit for it if you mess up her hair, but you couldnât care less at this moment as you grind back onto her tongue.Â
Her fingers trail up your inner thigh, slick gathering beneath them as she uses it to start circling your clit in tight little circles while her tongue pushes deep into you.
âGod, fuck, P -â you choke on your own words as her tongue curls inside of you. âGonna cum!â
Her mouth works overtime, licking and sucking like sheâs starved for you, the circles her fingers were making becoming messy and desperate.Â
The heat rises inside you, the burn of your release sending your mind reeling and when you come itâs messy â your thighs shaking desperately around Parkerâs head as she pulls away from you, her face shining with your slick.
But she isnât finished with you, a fact that she makes abundantly clear as she stands, arms wrapping around your middle and hauling you to your bedroom. Sheâs not gentle as she drops you to the bed haphazardly, and you scramble to rid yourself of the rest of your clothes, desperate to feel her skin against yours.
Your wife strips herself of her own clothes, but you only have a second to appreciate the sharp lines of her body before sheâs turned her back to you, digging in a drawer for the strap. She retrieves the harness and deep brown silicone and slips it on in record time, desperation apparent on her face as she climbs onto the bed over you.Â
You hold out a hand to her sternum, stopping her. Confusion flashes across her face before you push her down onto her back instead. She nestles comfortably into the pillows, a dark little smirk on her face as you climb on top of her.
You grind down against the fake cock, letting your slit rub over it until the tip bumps your clit deliciously.Â
Parker groans at the sight, gripping your hips with bruising strength and pulling you up just enough to position the tip at your entrance before slowly pulling you down onto her.
Your head tilts back and you let out a sound thatâs half-moan, half-sigh. Despite how wet you are, the stretch is overwhelming, the foreplay not opening you up enough for the size of Parkerâs strap. Still, you slide down carefully until youâre fully seated on her, your lips parted and breath heavy as you try your best to focus on adjusting to the size with patience you donât have.
Once the sting gives way to the feeling of fullness, you start to move. Alternating between circles with your hips and fully sliding up and down along the silicone, youâre slow as you search for that spot inside you, the one Parker always seems to find so easily.
âFuck, baby, thatâs it.â
Speaking of Parker, she lays below you, still holding onto your hips but not guiding you, letting you have full control.Â
Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you struggle to find it, feeling good but not good enough, not as good as Parker fucks you. You whine loudly, your hands kneading at Parkerâs breasts below you even as she starts to lift her hips to meet yours, fucking up into you.
The moment she puts in the effort, the strap rams into that spot immediately and your vision nearly whites out. You cry out loudly, your hips beginning to cant back and forth as you find a rhythm that keeps the silicone nudging that spot over and over.
âFuck!â you moan, head still thrown back as that coil begins to pull taught in your belly once more. âPut a baby in me, please, Parker -â
You hear the gasp from underneath you, and itâs followed by a harsh grip on your waist as Parker manages to flip the two of you over without sliding out of you. You land on your stomach and Parker shoves her pillow under your hips for leverage.
She grips your ass, spreading you wide to get a good view of the faux cock sliding in and out of your cunt before setting a brutal pace.
âTakinâ it so good, gonna fill this pussy up,â she pants, somehow managing to keep her pace up and talk at the same time. The sight is driving Parker feral, dirty words beginning to flow out of her mouth like water. âYouâre gonna look so good all swollen and full of me.â
Her words send shivers up your spine, pussy clenching tightly around the strap as a white ring begins to form around the base every time she pulls out.Â
âGonna be the prettiest baby mama Iâve ever seen.â Parker accentuates her words with a sharp smack on your ass, the crack echoing through the room accompanied by your squeal.
Her hips begin to stutter, momentum faltering just a fraction. Her clit has been grinding against the bumpher relentlessly, driving her toward her own orgasm, and sheâs practically doubled over you, trying to force an orgasm out of you before cumming herself.Â
âCâmon, baby,â Parker pants, pulling you back to meet her thrusts. âYouâre gonna cum for me one more time, and then Iâm gonna fill this pussy up.â
The movement from being pulled back and forth has your clit rubbing against Parkerâs pillow underneath you and the slick sounds coming from between your legs grow louder as she drills into you at an unrelenting pace.Â
Your body begins to shake uncontrollably as you cum again and you canât stop the broken âOh my god!â that falls loudly from your lips.
Parkerâs thrusts never falter, the pace brutal as she continues to fuck into you, chasing the feeling of the silicone against her clit.Â
âFuuuuuck, baby, right there,â she groans, her thrusts dissolving into grinding as she nears her own edge. âGonna â put a baby in you -â
It doesnât take long before her legs lock up as her own orgasm overtakes her, grinding into the bumpher and nudging the tip of the strap into that spot inside you as overstimulation rears its head.Â
She hovers above you, catching her breath, before collapsing onto the bed next to you, her chest heaving with exertion.Â
Her attention is caught when she hears your muffled voice coming from your face-down form next to her.
âWhat?â
You lift your head just enough for her to see your exhausted grin as you let out a weak chuckle, âThink it worked?â
synopsis one of your old boyfriends had a pretty bad shift. lucky for him, your other old boyfriend left him a pretty gift with a nice bow on top at home.
warnings MDNI! smut, bondage, fingering, anal, etc, horny old men, afab reader with long hair, praise kink, honestly just alot of horny shit so....do with that what you will
words 4,649
notes wrote a very self indulgend fic after finishing season two and thought ppl might enjoy it lul. I did some reasearch on having sex as an amputee and from what I have gathered it's different for everybody (like wheter you want to take your prosthetic off or leave it on etc.). So this is just me guessing what I think Jack would (be) like during sex but I obviously dont know. So if you have any input on this topic (or in general) pls share! oh also english is not my first language so pls be nice :)
A heavy hand on his shoulder made Jack look up from his charting. He turned his head slightly, catching the tired face of his coworker in his periphery.
âMorning, Doctor Abbot.â
The older man almost whispered the words into Jackâs ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Jack cleared his throat before he spoke. âMorning, Doctor Robby,â he answered, fully turning his body toward him. Robbyâs hand moved with him and never lost contact. They were, by all measures, far too close to each other. But the ED was a busy place, and they were just two guys who had known each other for too long, at least, thatâs what they were to everybody else. âHow was the shift?â Robby asked, the crowâs-feet by his eyes deepening with his smile. Jack loved them. Always had. It took a lot of strength not to run his fingertips over his loverâs face, or lean forward and press a kiss onto warm skin. âIt was alright,â he mumbled instead, images of the past twelve hours flashing through his mind. Heâd had far worse shifts, but theyâd still lost two patients tonight. One of them had only been in their mid-twenties and reminded Jack way too much of you. He shoved the image of the young, bloody woman from his mind and gently nudged Robbyâs waist âCome on.â He stepped to the side and almost whined when Robbyâs hand dropped from his shoulder. âIâll show you what Iâve got for you.â He heard Robbyâs heavy steps beside him as they started their rounds.
Twenty minutes later, the two men stood next to each other in the break room. Robby poured his first coffee of the day into a white mug that read âBest Mum,â while Jack poured the remnants of his last coffee into the sink. Robby did a quick sweep of the small room before taking a step toward Jack until their shoulders touched. âTell me about your night, tonight?â he asked, somehow knowing the shift hadnât been as easy as Jack had pretended. Jack could only manage a nod, which earned him a satisfied grumble from Robby. Jack felt it more than he heard it. âOh, and alsoâŠâ Robby angled his taller body toward Jack and leaned down, his mouth level with Jackâs ear. âI left you a little gift at home. Should be waiting for you on our bed.â
He didnât give Jack a chance to respond. Robby pressed a quick kiss just below Jackâs ear and left the room, immediately swallowed by the chaos that was the Pitt. The younger man froze for a minute before he started moving, almost frantic. Coming home to you was the best part of his day. Coming home to you probably naked, or in Lord knows what precarious situation Robby had left you in, was a whole other story.
The drive to their townhouse usually took him twenty-ish minutes. Today it was almost thirty, and Jack felt like he was going to jump out of his skin by the time he pulled onto the road. Heâd always loved Robbyâs street. It was one of those really old streets lined with trees and brick townhouses. He started loving it even more the more time he spent there. And in the past two years, well, heâd been there almost every day. He put the car into park on the street so Robby could use his designated parking spot later, and adjusted his half-hard dick in his pants before jumping out. He really didnât need to give Mrs. Cowelay from one house over a heart attack at eight in the morning when she was just trying to get some steps in during her morning stroll. He also knew her real reason for that stroll was to see if she could get some gossip for her weekly dinners with her friends. And Jack really didnât need his dick to be part of that dinner, either.
So he greeted her politely before climbing the wide steps that led to the front door. He unlocked the old wooden door and was met with silence and the familiar smell of your shared space. He remembered Robbyâs face when the older man had come home after a long shift and realized his home had started smelling different, like the two of you. It had been a long night, with lots of tears and almost as many orgasms.
Jack put his things away where they belongedâshoes on the shelf, jacket on the hanger, backpack in its designated spot next to the benchâbefore finally making his way down the hall to the bedroom. It was his favorite place in the house, and he knew it had also been the main selling point for Robby. Big, curved windows facing the tiny backyard, with a little seating areaâjust big enough to fit you on there for naps. Or three people, if you tried really hard.The bed sat opposite the windows. Thatâs where Jack found you. He froze, taking in the picture in front of him. Sunlight filtered through the old windows, hitting the bed. You were curled up on the foot of it, the light catching you just right, making you look like you were glowing. You were on your side, facing Jack. Your eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, soft puffs of air leaving you in your sleep. Long strands of hair lay around you, some of them covering your face.
Jack noted the room was warm. Heâd worried Robby had left you and you wouldâve been cold while you waited naked for Jack. Robby was good at taking care of you. But he was also a horny old fuck and sometimes forgot how quickly you got coldâor uncomfortable. Jack would bring it up later, already knowing the man would only respond by telling him he was too soft on you. And maybe he was right. Jack took a picture of the roomâtoo beautiful not to save foreverâand send it to Robby. He sent ânsfwâ first, a term heâd learned from you. Then the picture, with a simple: âthank you.â He set his phone gently on the nightstand before staring at you some more. Robby had, as per usual, done a beautiful job tying you up. You were in a position called the crab tie, as Jack had learned, and it was one of his favorites. Tying you up and getting his way with you was one of Robbyâs favorite things. Jack didnât really have any interest in the slow, meticulous process of winding rope around you and making knots in the right places, but heâd never complain about also getting his way with you. And removing the rope from your body had quickly become one of his favorite things. Robby tied you together, and Jack got to take you apartâand take care of you. Truly a gift.
He walked slowly around the bed so he could take you in from every angle. You were curled upâthough you didnât have much of a choiceâwith your knees tucked toward your chest. Your wrists were tied to each of your ankles, letting Jack know your left arm was probably going to hurt later from the awkward pressure of lying on top of it. He took another step to get a better look at your pussy and ass, always so perfectly presented this way. An involuntary groan left him at the sight. Your pussy glistened with yours and Robbyâs joined cum. None of it had really dried, telling Jack just how shortly Robby had had his fun with you before leaving for work. But what had Jack moaning wasnât your pretty cuntâit was the buttplug nestled between your cheeks. Theyâd started slowly with anal when you first began dating, you inexperienced in that regard. And while he loved your pussy with his whole being, Jack had developed a more or less healthy obsession with your ass. So seeing you, asleep, waiting for him with a heart-shaped buttplug heâd gotten you for Valentineâs Day.
Holy shit. Robby had really left him a gift today.
His hand moved on its own as he reached out for you. His index finger gently brushed the cool material of the plug, making it wiggle inside you.
Jack was too entranced by the view right in front of him to notice you stirring and slowly opening your eyes. It took you a couple of seconds to come back to your body. Robby had tied you up at an ungodly hour. Heâd coaxed you out of sleep by making you come on his fingers. Once you were literal putty in his hands, heâd pulled the ropes out from under the bed, tied you up, and left you there while he got ready. And then, in true Robby fashion, heâd fucked youâquick and hard, his hand around your throat and his scrub pants pooling around his ankles. He only came inside you after youâd come around his cock twice. After that, he tucked his dickâstill covered in a mix of yours and his cumâback into his pants, pressed a kiss against your wet lips, and told you to rest before Jack came home. That was it. And youâd loved every second of it. Your favorite thing about your relationship was how different your two lovers were, and how they always knew which one of them you needed. Robby was an asshole. He liked it rough and fast and mean. It made a part of you glow that youâd buried deep insideâone no one had touched before him because youâd been too scared to show anybody.
Jack was the opposite. He was equally horny, but he was also attentive and kind and so, so sweet. Sometimes the two men gave you whiplash, but you wouldnât have it any other way. So there you were, tied up on this ginormous bed Robby had bought after heâd fallen out of the old one one night. You could still feel the imprint of Robby inside your pussy, but you could also feel the plug heâd pushed inside you last night,wiggling in your ass, making you groan. Jackâs head popped up beside you, a sheepish, apologetic smile spreading across his tired, beautiful face. You wanted to stretch out and touch him, pouting when you were remindedâharshlyâof your situation. Jackâs smile somehow grew even more fond, and he moved quickly so you were properly face to face, then pressed a long kiss to your lips. His tongue swept over your mouth, making both of you groan, before he pulled back.
âDid Robby already make you cry this morning, sweet pea?â he whispered, gently running a hand under your eyes where your tears had dried only hours prior. All you could do was nod, not trusting your voice yet. âBet you looked so pretty for him, huh.â He kept caressing your face while watching you glow under his praise. âEyes all big and shiny, pretty cunt on full display while you take his cock like a good girl.â If you could, you wouldâve started purring right then and there. âWanna see you, hm. Can I see you, sweetheart?â
This time you managed a weak, âYes, of course,â voice raspy and small, before moving with Jackâs help. You rolled onto your back, legs falling open, revealing all of you to Jackâand the sunlight filtering into the room through the sheer curtains. Jackâs eyes wandered across your body, completely entranced. Red streaks marked your neck and tits from Robbyâs earlier treatment, and Jack made a mental note to tend to those later. Your tummy was so soft and perfect in the morning sun that Jack had to lean forward and bite the flesh gently. Your gasp made him look up, then shift lower, keeping his eyes on yours. He went on his knees in front of you so he could finally get a proper look at the gift Robby had left him.
You groaned again, louder this time, as he licked a long stripe from your perineum to your clit. Your sound mixed with the moan Jack let out at the taste. Tasting the pleasure of both of his lovers at the same time was always a bit of an out-of-body experience for Jack. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, enjoying the taste and the slight shivers he could feel from your abused body. Tending to you after Robby had his way with you was Jackâs favorite thing in the world. Jack had always been a fixer. Fixing situations, problems, woundsâyou name it. But nothing felt as good as fixing you. Wiping away tear stains, licking swollen flesh softly, massaging knots out of muscles, cleaning up Robbyâs messes. It left Jack with a primal feeling that was most definitely concerning (to feminism), but he couldnât make himself care when his face was buried in your pussy. You started wiggling your ass, which made Jack pause and look up at you, questioning. You had to bend your head at an awkward angle to look back at him, a shy smile making Jack cock his head, trying to figure out what you needed. âWhatâs up, sweet girl?â He kept his voice low, a little growly on purpose. It was pretty much his superpowerâone heâd learned a few months ago. Youâd come home from bottomless brunch with a bunch of friends and felt⊠honest. That was also the day he learned youâd mostly had one-night stands with women, and that you were pretty sure youâd been a house cat in your past life. Intriguing stuff.
âWhat do you need from me? Come onâI need words, honey.â You squirmed for a few more seconds, but Jack stayed quiet, waiting patiently. âRobby said it was your gift.â Your eyes dropped between your legs. âThe plug. He said he wasnât going to touch my ass because it was all for you. That you deserved it after your shift.â Your eyes wandered back to hisâso big and trusting and teary that Jack almost came in his pants at the sight.
âNeed you in me, Jack. Please.â
It clicked for Jack. Yes, you wanted to be railed nicely, but youâd been given instructions, and you needed to follow them. Robby had told you to take care of Jack, and now you were getting antsy, the need to please both of your men growing by the second. Jack pushed himself back up. He slotted himself between your legs, covering your whole body with his before pressing a searing kiss onto your open, spit-covered mouth. If he tried really hard, he could taste Robby there too. You relaxed immediately under the kiss and the pressure of his body, making Jack smile. He loved that he was at a point where he always knew what you needed. Pressure made you relaxâhence the weighted blanket on the couch downstairs. Praise made you glow, while slight degradation made you shiver with need. And you had a very interesting thing with oral fixation that he and Robby hadnât quite figured out yet, but they would. âHereâs whatâs gonna happen, darling,â he mumbled against your lips. âIâm gonna have some fun with that plug, and youâre gonna have at least one pretty orgasm for me, huh. And then Iâm going to fuck your pretty little ass until weâre both happy, yeah?â You nodded against his mouth, your tongue kitten-licking every part of him you could reach. âAnd then whatâs gonna happen after that, honey? Need you to tell me. Need to know that you know.â âYouâre gonna take care of me. Gonna untie me and clean me up and feed me and make me feel so good.â âThatâs right, sweet girl. Gonna take such good care of you, yeah? You ready for me?â
Jack moved before you could answer, but you started protesting. âNot on your knees, Jackie. Itâs gonna hurt.â He was so close to protesting, to telling you how you deserved to be worshiped with a man on his knees in front of you. But he appreciated your concern, and if he was honestâhe was an old fuck who was down about a third of a leg, and his knees were hurting after that stupid fucking shift. So he nodded and helped you shuffle up the bed, secretly happy you got to lay your precious head on the soft pillows at the headboard. Now he could finally lie on his stomach, eye level with the sparkly little plug in your ass. âWhat happens if something hurts or gets too uncomfortable for you, sweet pea?â he asked, not looking at you, eyes fixed on the plug. âI speak up,â you answeredâpracticed words you could say in your sleep And Jack finally, finally got to work.
His fingers started circling the heart shape of the plug slowly. He was going to take his time with his gift today. Jack could feel your eyes on himâintrigued, horny, pleased. He took another minute just to look at you. He could tell Robby had been rough with your clit, the tender flesh red and swollen. He pulled it back into his mouth, gentle but firm enough to make you gasp. His fingers found the base of the plug, and Jack paused, letting you feel the loss of his mouth for a moment. He wanted to watch. He stared, transfixed, as he slowly pulled. The ring of muscle stretched around the flared base before it finally slipped free and clenched behind the little toy. Jackâs groan mixed with your moans. âRobby stretch you for me, honey?â he asked, looking up to make sure you heard him. âOr just the plug?â âJust the plug,â you breathed. âSaid it was all yours.â How very thoughtful, Jack thought, before nodding and pushing it back in. He spent a few minutes like thatâteasing the plug, making you stretch around itâwatching as your moans grew louder and your pussy started dripping onto his fingers. He only stopped when your sounds turned desperate. âSo pretty for me, baby. That beautiful ass all for me.â
He pulled the plug out one last time and tossed it onto the bed. There was lube on the bedside table on Robbyâs side, and Jack made quick work of coating two fingers before pressing them into you. Your head lolled to the side as Jack really went to work, pumping in and out, making sure you were soft and open for him. His mouth returned to your clit, and you were falling apart in no time. Jack noted all the telltale signsâyour legs trembling around his head, your moans turning sharper, your neck stretching as your head rolled from side to side. One last cry tore from you before your body went still for a heartbeat. Jack kept happily sucking as your muscles finally let go and you started shaking instead, his name spilling from your mouth in a broken chant. âWant you inside, Jack,â you pleaded. âPleaseâneed my ass filled. Please, Jackie⊠baby, please.â
How was he supposed to say no to that?
He stripped his pants and boxers off in one quick motion. He considered taking his prosthetic off, but decided to leave it on; it depended on the day, and he liked the freedom it gave him. He crawled back up to you, lining himself up at your entrance. He slicked you and himself with more lube, then pushed in slowly. Jack didnât believe in God, but he would gladly worship youâyour perfect fucking body taking him like youâd been made for this. His brain went offline for a moment, focused only on you and the way you made him feel. Then he started moving. Your whole body rocked with his thrusts, hair unruly and spilling everywhere, tits bouncing as the sounds you made filled the room. Jack loved youâso much.
âLove you, baby,â he all but whimpered. âLove being inside you, love making you feel good. Fuuck.â
His hands worked at the knots along the sides of your legs, freeing your arms while your legs stayed tied. Your hands immediately found their way into Jackâs hair, pulling him down until his body covered yours and his mouth claimed yours. Jack stayed there, careful to let his weight settle on you the way you liked, without crushing you. He whispered sweet nothings against your lips as he filled you at a punishing pace. It didnât take long for both of your breathing to speed up even more. âCum for me, honey. Milk my dick. Wanna fill you up so good.â That was enough. Jackâs words were always enough. For the fourth time today, the muscles in your abdomen finally gave out, and you came with a loud, desperate whine from the back of your throat. You heard and felt Jack follow right after you. His mouth latched onto yours, and your only thought was that you could stay like this foreverâwith him on top and inside of you.
Both of your breathing finally started to slow, and you raised your head so you could get a proper look at Jack. He looked tiredâthe kind of tired that only came from a long shift, the kind that seemed to settle in his and Robbyâs bones and stay there for days. But no matter how tired he was, aftercare was his love language. So he gently pulled himself out of you, watching as a thick stream of cum leaked out of your ass, making him groan yet again. âToo fucking perfect,â he grunted as he undid the ropes around your legs. He gently kneaded the irritated flesh as you stretched your limbs out. This was probably your second favorite thing about being tied up. The first was how much it put you at your loversâ mercy. But getting to watch Jack take the ropes off and care for youâand getting to stretch your limbs after being stuck in the same position for hoursâwas almost as good as an orgasm. But only almost. Once Jack was satisfied, he gestured toward the ensuite bathroom.
You helped him as you both moved slowly into the bathroom. You knew Robby had renovated it right after buying the house, before he and Jack had even been a thing. It had nice tiles, a huge walk-in shower with a tiled bench along the back wall, and a ginormous bathtub heâd inherited from the previous owners. Jack loved that fucking tub. Soaking in it with you was his go-to aftercare move. The tub itself was one of those jacuzzi ones, and youâd always thought it was ugly as hellâbut the three of you fit in there, so it was perfect. Jack loved it when all three of you were bunched up together, you leaning against one of them while the other massaged your sore legs from whatever bondage situation Robby had put you in.
âHow about we take a shower now and a bath with Robby later, honey? I really need to sleep.â You pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek before rubbing your face into his neck. âOf course, Jackie. You know I donât mind. Iâm also doing two lessons later, so Iâd need a bath anyway.â Jack hummed happily, and you two went through the motions, both comforted by the familiarity and routines youâd built over the past year. You helped Jack get his prosthesis off and helped him hop into the shower, where he sat on the bench. You turned on the water spilling from the rain shower and let Jack pull you close by your hips. You shampooed his hair while he made sure to get his, yours, and Robbyâs cum off your body. Robby always joked that Jack had the perfect vantage point to make sure your pussy and ass were nice and clean for them. Jack finished washing his own body, and you did the same with yours before stepping out to dry off. Then you got Jackâs crutches to help him do the same. You went through your whole moisturizer-oil-body-and-hair routine before joining Jack back in the bedroom. The older man was already curled up in bed, clearly trying to fight off sleep just to get a few more minutes with you. So you pulled on a pair of underwear and one of Robbyâs huge old shirts before crawling under the sheets to join your boyfriend. He pulled you close with a content smile and started snoring seconds after.
The sun cast the room in a brighter, more golden light when Jack woke up. He was alone in the giant bed, the smell of your beauty products still lingering. One look at the clock told Jack you should already be home, and that Robby would be soon too. He couldnât see his prosthetic, which probably meant it was in the closet where he liked to keep it, but his crutches were in their designated spot next to Jackâs side of the bed. He reached for them, moved through the room to at least put on some shorts, then made his way down the hall. The smell of something warm and spicy hit him halfway down the hallway, so Jack followed it. Your back was turned to him, facing the stove. You were still in workout gear from the yoga classes youâd taught earlier, hair in a high ponytail bopping along to the music wafting through the space. Jack watched you for a moment before following his urge to touch you. He walks up behind you, ducks his head, and presses a kiss to the bare skin of your neck. You jump slightly at his scruff brushing your sensitive skin before turning to face him. Your face is glowing from your earlier workout, your eyes big and soft as you take in his tired expression.
âHi, baby,â you mumble, hands snaking around his waist. You press a sweet kiss to his mouth, a sigh leaving both of you at almost the same time. âDid you sleep well?â you ask, gently rubbing your nose against his and making Jack think you might be right about having been a cat in your past life. âSure did. You knocked me right out, sweetheart.âYou smile shyly at that. âRight back at you.â Your grin turns beaming, and Jack can already feel his dick stirring in his pants again. One glance over your shoulder confirms his suspicion that dinner is almost done. The pasta sauce is bubbling, there are no other ingredients left on the bench, and the spaghetti is already finished. The oven clock tells him there are still a few minutes until Robby gets homeâtraffic can be pretty shit at this time of day.
summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just canât seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words ânever have i ever finished during sexâ ever again.
notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)
warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.
word count: 18889
Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.
Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.
He had never really had anything to be jealous of.
Until now.
Now there are far too many things.
Like the pen between your lipsâand the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Danaâs notes.
Or Dana herself, and the way youâre looking at herâsoft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jackâs chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.
Or your scrubsâGod, your scrubsâand the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.
So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous manâuntil you came along.
âDr. Abbot,â Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. âYouâre early.â
Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.
âDr. Abbot,â you say, like you canât quite help yourself.
Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nursesâ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why heâs at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.
âYeah, Iâve got some stuff I didnât get to wrap up this morning,â he lies.
Princess pops up from behind the desk. âI thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?â
Jackâs gaze cuts to her. âYes. But I forgot something.â
Dana narrows her eyes. âMhm. Whatâd you forget?â
âA few notes from the three a.m. GSW,â he replies quicklyâtoo quickly.
Itâs weak and he knows it, but thereâs nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.
Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. âRight. Two hours early for a few notes.â
Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks pastâand he doesnât look back until heâs safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.
God. Itâs ridiculous, really. Heâs a grown man.
More than thatâhe's an old man.
Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesnât quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?
He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reachâthen spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.
And itâs only been two weeks.
But the absolute worst part?
He doesnât even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.
At first he wondered if it was his faultâif maybe youâd simply decided you didnât like working with him.
But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and heâs still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bayâwhich apparently happens much more often during the day shift.
And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridgeâbecause he knows how much you love feeding that cat.
âWhatâre you doing here?â
Jackâs head whips around at the sound of his friendâs voice.
âIâuhâcame in early to fix up a few notes,â he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.
Robbyâs brows lift. âTwo hours for notes?â
Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. âAre you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?â
Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. âI wasnât judging.â
âGood,â Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. âAnything I need to know?â
Robby falls into step beside him. âNorth Threeâs waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Danaâs still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.â
They both stop at the nursesâ station, glancing up at the board.
âOtherwise itâs been unusually calm,â Robby adds. âWhich probably means youâre about to get slammed.â
Jack gives him a flat look. âThanks.â
âAnytime.â Robby claps him on the shoulder. âOhâand that R2 you gave me?â
âWhat about her?â
Robby shrugs. âSheâs great.â
âI know,â Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.
Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone elseâs.
âWeâre alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,â he says after a moment, already turning away. âOr go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.â
Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. âI hate you.â
Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. âThen why are you here two hours early?â
Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.
âNotes,â he says, a little louder than necessary.
Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.
For a moment, Jack doesnât move. He lingers at the nursesâ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princessâboth of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someoneâs about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.
Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break roomâtrying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.
And trying not to be disappointed when he doesnât.
The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the tableânext to someoneâs half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine containerâand grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.
Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morningâbefore Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.
He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.
âShit, sorry,â you say quickly, stepping toward the table.
Jackâs pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.
âWhat are you sorry for?â he asks, as if it isnât obvious.
Youâve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.
âI only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,â you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. âThis is gross. Iâm so sorry.â
Jack shifts in his chair. âIâve seen worse in here, I promise.â
You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. âReally?â
He nods. âReally.â
He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldnât be going down the drain anyway.
Jack clears his throat. âButâuhâLean Cuisine? Really?â
You look back at him again, brows drawn. âWhatâs wrong with Lean Cuisine?â
âNothing,â he says lightly. âIf youâre trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.â
You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. âI actually managed to eat lunch today. Thatâs already a win.â
âItâs mostly sodium and sadness,â he adds, almost absently. âNot much protein.â
You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. âAlright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, Iâll let you know.â
Jack opens his mouthâthen closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.
But it comes out anyway.
ââŠI cook.â
You blink.
âYou cook?â
Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.
âYeah. Well.â He shrugs. âIâve been told Iâm reasonably good at it.â
You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.
âWell,â you say with a quick smile, âI guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.â
Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.
âSorry again for the mess.â
Then youâre goneâleaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.
-
âIs that Dr. Abbot in the break room?â Santos asks, falling into step beside you.
You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.
âYep.â
She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.
âBut night shift doesnât start for like two more hours.â
âIâm aware.â
âSo, why is he here?â
You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. âI donât know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.â
She snorts. âOr maybe because he likes you.â
You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. âPlease donât start.â
âIâm not starting anything,â she insists. âI seriously think that old man has a thing for you.â
âDonât call him that,â you mutter.
âOkay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,â she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. âAnd we all know how you feel about him, soââ
âNo,â you snap. âWe donât all know how I feel about JaâDr. Abbot.â
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
âBesides,â you go on, dropping into a chair. âI swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctorâso could you please stop distracting me?â
She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. âAnd donât you think thatâs a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shiftâwhat, two weeks ago?â
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. âAnd?â
âAnd,â she says dramatically, âfor the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.â
Your gaze slides back to the computer. âSo?â
She sighs, exasperated. âItâs not a coincidence.â
âActually, I think it is,â you argue.
She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre annoying.â
She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. âWhatever. Youâre still coming out tomorrow night, right?â
Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. âUhâIâm not sure yet.â
âDr. Ellis is the only person from night shift thatâll be there,â she says.
You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
âFine,â you mutter. âIâll come.â
âGood.â She grins, already turning away. âCome to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.â
âWhy canât I get ready at home?â you ask.
âBecause,â she calls over her shoulder, âI get to pick what you wear.â
And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.
âGreat,â you mumble, turning back to the computer. âCanât wait.â
Itâs not like youâre not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that youâre no longer on the night shift.
You are. Youâre just... nervous.
Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMCâeven though youâve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.
Which is exactly why sheâs pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending whoâs had you completely undone since the day you first met.
God.
Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.
Not only is he stupidly hot, but heâs also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.
Heâs also the very reason youâre terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally canât function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.
His damn jacket.
That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shiftsâbecause Dr. Shen couldnât look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.
Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeingâwhich means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things youâve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.
The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if⊠it might not be working yet.
Because now you canât just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You canât have him step up beside you when youâre unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. Heâs not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isnât a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three oâclock lull.
Now you just⊠think about him instead.
But itâs only temporary. Youâre sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.
Which⊠you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.
Youâre pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe thatâs exactly what you need to doâget under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man whoâs nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.
You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.
When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give herâand only herâthe rundown on your patients.
By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nursesâ station.
âDid you drive today?â Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.
âYeah,â you reply. âNeed a ride?â
He nods sheepishly. âThatâd be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.â
You roll your eyes. âYeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.â
Whitaker winces. âI just hope theyâre at Garciaâs tonight.â
You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. âYou ready?â
He nods.
You both turn and start back toward centralâbut just as you reach the nursesâ station, his steps slow.
âDo you need toâŠ?â
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
You frown. âNeed to what?â
He hesitates. âDonât you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?â
Your eyes widen slowly. âUhâno. Why would you say that?â
He shrugs. âI donât know. I just thought you two were close.â
âWeâre not close,â you say, a little too quick.
âSorry,â he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. âI justâI donât know. I thought because you were his resident you two were⊠close.â
âIâm not his resident,â you snap. âIâm just⊠a resident. I donât belong to him.â
âOkay,â he says slowly, brows drawing together. âIâm sorry, I just thoughtââ
âYou thought wrong,â you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.
Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.
âLetâs just go.â
You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you passâcompletely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.
The car ride to Santos and Whitakerâs isnât long. Whitaker fills most of it anywayârambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.
You wave him off each time.
âItâs fine, Whitaker.â
âSeriously though,â he says as you pull up outside their building. âI really appreciate it.â
He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.
The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediatelyâinevitablyâyour brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.
Jack Abbot. Of course.
You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.
The rest of the night passes the way most nights doâwith a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.
When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself youâre too tired to think about him. Itâs been a long dayâlong weekâand all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.
But that doesnât stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nursesâ station or leaning over a chart.
Heâs in a kitchen. Cooking.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospitalâlike he knows exactly what heâs doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.
And in the dream, you do.
You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself youâre just observing. Just curious. Just learning.
He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staringâand says something you canât quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But heâs smiling.
Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend toâlogic slipping sideways until suddenly youâre standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever heâs cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.
His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.
Your back meets the edge of the counter.
And when his mouth brushes your neckâ
You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.
âFuck,â you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.
So much for getting him out of your head.
For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.
At some point you realise youâre still replaying the dream in your head.
The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.
You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.
âGet a fucking grip.â
Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.
Your small apartment is always quietâbut this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.
Jack Abbot.
After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.
It doesnât.
But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that youâre excited about tonight. That youâre going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.
The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.
Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means itâs probably time to start getting ready if youâre actually going to make it to Santosâ place before she decides youâre bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.
So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the doorâtrying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift whoâs going to be at the bar tonight.
It really is for the best.
You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.
âAlright, Iâm ready,â Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
You, Javadi, and Whitakerâwho have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beerâlook up.
âAw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,â Javadi says. âIt just doesnât suit my eye shape.â
âDonât look too close,â Santos mutters. âItâs super uneven, but I donât have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.â
She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.
Whitakerâs eyes go wide. âMe?â
Santos scoffs. âNot you, Huckleberry. God, I donât have enough time in the world to fix whateverâs going on there.â
Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. âWhatâs wrong with this?â
Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. âIs it really that bad?â
Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. âThereâs nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.â
You pat his shoulder. âItâs fine, really. Sheâs justââ
The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.
Javadi tilts her head. âWhatâs that?â
Santos grins. âA dress.â
Whitaker chokes on his beer. âThatâs⊠not a dress. Thatâs a glittery napkin.â
âOh my God.â Javadi snorts. âMy mom would kill me just for buying that.â
âI didnât buy it,â Santos says lightly. âA friend in college gave it to me, but itâs never fit quite right.â
She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.
âBut I know youâll be able to pull it off,â she adds, her grin sharpening.
You stare at itâglinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.
âSantos⊠this is a work thing,â you mutter.
She rolls her eyes. âItâs not a work thing. Itâs just an outing with people from work.â
âIsnât that the same thing?â Whitaker asks.
Santos sighs. âNo, itâs not. And are you forgetting our main objective?â
You blink at her.
âTo get you laid.â
Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.
âCome on,â Santos says. âJust put it on and if it doesnât work, we try something else.â
You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.
âFine,â you say at last, pushing off the couch. âIâll try it on, but that does not mean Iâm wearing it.â
Santosâ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe itâs just the dress.
âThatâs my girl.â
You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go onâbut once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric youâve ever worn.
And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dressâshort, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where itâs supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.
âSo?â
For a moment, no one says anything.
Whitakerâs mouth falls open.
Javadiâs eyebrows lift. âOh.â
Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.
âI knew it,â she says smugly.
Whitaker blinks. âThat is not a dress.â
Javadi elbows him. âStop talking.â
You tug awkwardly at the hemâwhich doesnât actually move much because there isnât very much hem to tug.
âSantos,â you say carefully, âIâm not sureââ
âRelax,â she says. âYou look incredible.â
She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.
âAnd youâre definitely going to get laid.â
âI feel like I shouldnât be here,â Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.
Santos rolls her eyes. âYouâre only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridgeâweâre going to need some liquid courage before we head out.â
After two shots of tequila and Santosâ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santosâ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.
You donât really plan on taking it off for the rest of the nightâeven if it isnât that cold.
The ride to the bar isnât nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that sheâs twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.
You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldnât have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldnât be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where youâd rather be tonightâthe bar or the ER with Dr. Abbotâyour honest answer would be incredibly depressing.
Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?
âWeâre here,â Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.
You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.
âRelax,â she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. âYou donât need this.â
She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until itâs bunched at your elbows.
âI feel naked,â you mutter. âLike this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.â
Whitaker snorts. âNot far from it.â
Santos rolls her eyes. âWell, youâre not at work. Youâre at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.â
Right. Fun.
That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isnât Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.
Completely achievable.
Right?
âFine.â
You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.
âSee?â she says. âMuch better.â
âLetâs just go inside before I change my mind,â you mutter, already starting toward the door.
Javadi loops her arm through yours. âYou look amazing. Seriously.â
You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.
Itâs just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. Youâll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.
You glance through the front window as you approachâmore out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.
People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.
Andâ
Your brain stalls.
Because thereâs a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.
A familiar someone.
Dr. Ellis.
And the manâ
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Your stomach plummets.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.
Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.
Because he looksâ
He looks so good.
Relaxed in a way youâve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.
And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.
âSantos,â you say again, your voice almost breaking.
She glances over her shoulder. âHm?â
âYou knew.â
She stops, her hand hovering near the door.
Whitaker glances between the two of you. âWhatâs happening?â
âTechnically,â Santos says slowly, âI didnât know. I just... suspected.â
âYou said Ellis was the only one from night shift whoâd be here.â
She winces. âI did, but what I meant is⊠Ellis is the only one who actually told me sheâd be here.â
You stare at her. âSo you did know?â
âI knew it was his night off.â
âSantos, Iââ You glance back at him through the bar window. âI canât go in there like this.â
âLike what?â she asks. âSmoking hot?â
âHalf naked.â
She rolls her eyes. âYes, you can.â
âI will actually die.â
âNo, you wonât,â she says firmly. âYouâre an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.â
She pulls the door open.
âNow stop panicking and get in the bar.â
-
âHe swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks heâd had that night,â Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, âwhich was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.â
Jack snorts softly. âAnd did you believe him?â
Ellisâ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms theyâre currently experiencing.
Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and thenâbut mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because heâs not stupid enough to ask anyone if youâre going to be here tonight, but he is naĂŻve enough to hope you will be.
He wasnât even supposed to be here tonightâhis first night off in two weeks.
He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasureâinvolving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.
But heâs not.
Heâs here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just⊠waiting.
For you.
Heâd wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonightâbefore he agreed to joinâbut heâd barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didnât even say goodbye. Which isnât unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then heâd overheard your conversation with Whitakerâand something about it made his chest feel too tight.
It wasnât anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you donât belong to him. Even if Robby calls you âhis R2â and Whitaker thinks youâre close because youâre his residentânone of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.
Which is ridiculous. He knows it.
He shouldnât feel territorial. He shouldnât want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tightâa slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he canât make it not matter.
âOh.â Ellis glances over her shoulder. âLooks like Santos and the others are here.â
Jackâs gaze flicks back to the door.
He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if heâs bracing for somethingâbut he can already feel his composure slipping.
Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then itâs Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks atâ
You.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Jack stops breathing.
His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.
Itâs you. Of course itâs you. Youâre perfect.
But thenâ
That dress.
God.
That dressâshort, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.
Itâs all too much.
He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldnât be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.
He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.
And thatâs when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.
He hates them all.
He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he seesâand feel a fraction of what he feels.
And he hates, more than anything right now, that youâre not his.
âDr. Abbot,â Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. âWhatâs your poison tonight?â
Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. âScotch.â
Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. âYou might not want to have too many of those.â
Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.
âAlright,â Ellis says, pushing off the bar. âIâm going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.â
Jack nods, but he doesnât follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. Theyâre muttering to each other, leaning in, voices lowâbut nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.
One of themâthe dumbest looking one, Jackâs already decidedâslowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.
Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket youâd been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.
And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jackâs pulse starts racing.
âDr. Abbot,â Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. âFancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.â
âI do have a life outside of work, you know,â he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.
âLike playing bingo at the senior centre?â Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.
You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like theyâre the most interesting thing in the room.
âBingoâs on Wednesdays,â he says mildly. âTry to keep up.â
Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dipâjust slightlyâand you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.
Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.
Because youâre listening.
And apparently⊠you think heâs funny.
âAlright,â Santos says, lifting a hand. âI think we need some tequila over here.â
The bartender steps away from where heâd been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesnât really need wiping.
âSo,â he says to you, not Santos. âWhat are you drinking tonight?â
Santos blinks.
âI just told you,â she says flatly. âTequila.â
The bartender barely glances at her.
Jackâs jaw tightens.
You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.
âUhâwhatever she orders is fine.â
âYeah. Tequila,â Santos repeats, slower this time.
The bartender laughs like sheâs jokingâand Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.
His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way heâs watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.
And by the way you shift a little closer to Santosâpulling your jacket tighter around yourselfâhe knows youâre uncomfortable.
His hand clenches at his side.
Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.
âEasy, tiger,â he mutters. âShe can handle herself.â
âI know,â Jack says, voice low. âDoesnât mean she has to.â
Robby gives him a lookâa brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. âCareful.â
Jack doesnât respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he canât help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.
âOkay,â Santos says. âI need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.â
The bartender nods, already reaching for another glassâand before he can even ask if youâd like another drink, someone else steals your attention.
âHey,â the guy says, stepping up beside you. âCan I get you another one?â
He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noiseâbut itâs still too close.
You shift slightly, angling toward him. âOh. Uhâsure.â
Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.
She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.
Her brows lift. âYou really gonna let that happen?â
Jack frowns. âWhatââ
But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.
Where Jack should be headed tooâbecause thereâs no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure youâre okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like thatâs going to change anything.
Itâs not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, heâd take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldnât need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. Heâd take that shot with you even when youâre tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. Heâd take it any time. Any place.
But Jack doesnât get that shot.
Because youâre young. You donât have baggage. And youâre a residentâmaybe not his resident, but still a resident.
Itâs just too inappropriate.
Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessaryâand the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if heâd like another, but Jack just shakes his head.
His eyes flick back to you. To the way youâre smiling nowâsoft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.
Then you laughâlight, easyâand something in Jackâs chest tightens again.
He looks away. He canât keep standing here. Heâs not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.
Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.
Half an hour later, most of PTMCâs day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every roundâbut Jack doesnât order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until itâs too warm to enjoy.
Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the tableâpretending to follow the conversation, pretending heâs paying attentionâwhen really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a manâs bicep when he says something that makes you blush.
Not the same man as before, either. Noâthis one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.
Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.
He knows he shouldnât. He knows itâs none of his business. But he canât stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.
Not that heâs any better.
âAbbot.â Robby nudges his side. âHungry?â
Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.
âHm?â
âAre you hungry?â Ellis asks. âIâm going to order some wings.â
Jack frowns. âUhâno. Iâm good. Thanks.â
Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.
Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. âYou might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.â
Jack doesnât even look at him. âFunny.â
âIâm serious,â Robby says mildly. âYouâve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?â
âI heard her,â Jack mutters. âI was just... thinking.â
Robby hums like he doesnât believe that for a second.
Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. âIâm gonna hit the head.â
Robbyâs brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.
âMm,â he says. âSure you are.â
Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms firstâmostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.
He locks himself in the accessible bathroomânot that he needs it, but itâs more private than the menâsâand stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.
This is ridiculous, and he knows it.
Heâs a grown man. He shouldnât be acting like this.
This is trivial shit, for Godâs sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.
So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?
Why are you undoing him like this?
He lifts his head and stares at his reflectionâjaw tight, shoulders rigidâtrying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who canât keep his shit together.
His gaze drifts across his faceâthe day-old stubble, peppered hairâthen to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.
Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.
HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WONâT.
Jack tilts his head.
Thatâs not exactly... subtle.
But thatâs the thing, isnât it?
He doesnât hesitate.
Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someoneâs life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.
So what the hell is this?
This⊠standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.
Like he doesnât know what he wants. Like he hasnât already made up his mind.
He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head onceâsharp, annoyed.
âJesus Christ.â
Itâs not caution. Itâs avoidance.
With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them togetherâquick and thoroughâthen turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the barâfinding you immediately.
Youâre still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. Thereâs a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jackâs eyes narrow.
The manâs hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think youâre okay with itâbut Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.
Good thing Jack doesnât mind being rude.
Heâs already moving before heâs fully decided to. Just a few long strides and heâs thereâclose enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He looks at you. Just you.
âHey.â
Your head turns immediatelyâand the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.
âOhâhey,â you say, a little breathless.
And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anythingâbut enough to make Jackâs pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.
âHey, man,â the guy says, holding out a hand. âIâm Trent.â
Jack ignores him.
âYou alright?â he asks you.
You nod slowly. âI am now.â
Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a secondâlike you didnât even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.
Jack goes still.
Trent clears his throat. âSorryâuhâwho are you?â
You glance at him with a tight smile. âThis is my attending.â
Jack likes being called your attending.
Trent frowns. âWhat?â
âRemember how I said I was a doctor?â
Trent just stares at you.
âWell, Dr. Abbot is my attending,â you go on anyway. âHeâs like my supervisor. Iâm his resident.â
His resident.
âRight,â Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. âCool. Soâyouâre a doctor?â
Jack doesnât even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.
âAre you hungry?â he asks. âEllis is ordering wingsâwe can grab a menu.â
âStarving,â you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.
âGreat.â His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. âLetâs get back to the others.â
âWait,â Trent says. âAre youââ
âIt was nice meeting you,â you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.
He keeps his arm around your shoulders until youâre halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.
âThanks for that,â you murmur. âHe just wouldnât take a hint.â
Jack nods. âI noticed.â
He doesnât look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robbyâbecause if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.
And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay heâs felt all night.
Because youâre here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKayâand not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.
But only for twenty minutesâbecause once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.
Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.
Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he canât focusânot when your hand settles lightly on this new guyâs shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.
He tells himself heâs not going to. That he shouldnât.
But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.
He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.
âHey,â he says, voice raised over the music.
Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant wayâlike youâre waiting for him to say whatever it is thatâs so important he had to stop you right here.
Jack clears his throat. âHave you been drinking water?â
You frown. âUm. Not really.â
âYou should really drink some water,â he says, tipping his head toward the bar.
You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.
Then you look back at Jack.
âUh, yeah. Okay. Water.â
He knows he shouldnât have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-drivenâbut he canât help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.
The music is too loud for conversationâand even if it wasnât, heâs not sure what heâd say. Not when youâre looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.
God. This has the be the finest form of torture.
Because here you areâso young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that heâs just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that youâre not his. That they think youâre fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.
And the fact that heâs not going to let them anywhere near you.
-
The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as youâre about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the barâjust for some airâbut then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.
You donât mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.
So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.
The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, youâre just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump intoâbut before you can even take the manâs hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.
Which, fine. Whatever.
But by the fifth interruption, youâre starting to notice a pattern.
And youâre getting a little annoyed.
âOh my God,â Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBAâs Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. âWe have to dance. Come on!â
You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before sheâs dragging you onto the dancefloorâinto the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.
The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateoâs round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappearedâand now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.
The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospectsâplenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.
If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like heâs doing you a favour.
At some point during the secondâor maybe thirdâchorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. Youâre not even entirely sure how. One second youâre dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next heâs thereâclose enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like heâs trying to decide where to put them.
You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?
This is the plan.
He leans in and says something you donât quite catch over the music, but you laugh anywayâmore out of obligation than anything else.
Then his attention shifts.
His eyes flick past you. And just like thatâhe falters.
Itâs subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.
âUhâactually,â he mutters, already stepping away. âIâyeah. Sorry.â
Then heâs gone.
You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder andâ
Of course.
Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.
Not angry. Not exactly.
But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels⊠deliberate.
You stare at him for a secondâfrustration flickering across your faceâthen turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.
You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. âYour plan isnât working!â
She turns to face you, frowning. âWhat do you mean itâs not working?â
You stare at her. âThe plan to get me laid? Itâs not working.â
âWhy not?â
You huff out a laugh, incredulous.
âBecause of him,â you say, nodding toward Jack. âBecause I let him save me from one bad interaction and now heâs justâhovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.â
Santosâ mouth twitches.
âI think he thinks heâs being helpful,â you add, shaking your head. âLike heâs doing me a favour or something, butâGod, Iâm never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.â
Santos just looks at you for a secondâthen smiles. Slow. Knowing.
âAnd what part of my plan isnât working?â
You frown. âAre you even listening to me?â
âI said I was going to get you laid,â she says, lifting her drink to her lips. âI never said anything about going home with a stranger.â
It doesnât land straight away.
You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logicâbecause that doesnât make sense, thatâs not the plan. If youâre not going home with a stranger, then whoâ
And then it clicks.
Your stomach drops.
âWaitâSantos,â you start, eyes widening. âYou donât meanââ
Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like sheâs been waiting for this exact moment all night.
You glance toward the side of the dancefloor againâto the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesnât even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.
âActually,â Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. âI think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come onââ she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, âletâs play a game.â
A game?
Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.
The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like sheâd been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.
âAlright,â Santos announces, picking up someoneâs abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, âweâre playing a game.â
Whitaker leans forward. âA game?â
âYes, Huckleberry. A game.â Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. âItâs called Never Have I Ever.â
Mateo snorts. âThatâs a middle school sleepover game.â
âGreat,â Santos replies. âThen it should be easy for you.â
Thereâs a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.
âCan I start?â Mohan pipes up beside Santos. âIâve got a good one.â
Santos nods. âBe my guest.â
Youâre not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since heâd been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now youâre suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behindâand now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.
âOkay,â Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. âNever have I ever⊠called in sick when I wasnât actually sick.â
McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.
âReally?â Santos says. âThat was your good one?â
Mohan shrugs. âI thoughtââ
âNever mind,â Santos cuts her off. âMy turn.â
Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.
âNever have I ever,â she starts slowly, âfantasised about someone else sitting at this table.â
Whitaker frowns. âYouâve accidentally fantasised about someone here?â
He shrugs. âSometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?â
Santos rolls her eyes. âOh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.â
Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hersâand you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.
Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.
âAlright, Iâve got one,â she says, grinning. âNever have I ever⊠faked it.â
Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.
âNever?â Ellis asks, eyes wide. âSo you alwaysââ
âOh, God, no,â McKay laughs. âDefinitely not. I just refuse to fake it.â
Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.
You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.
âOkay, my turn,â Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. âNever have I ever⊠hooked up with someone at work.â
The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance upâbecause Jack is already looking at you.
Not surprised. Not amused.
Just⊠watching.
He doesnât laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.
And something sharp twists in your chest.
âWhatâve you got, Langdon?â McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.
Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a momentâthen sighs.
âAlright, I already know Iâm going to get shit for this, butââ He clears his throat. âNever have I ever⊠had sex in public.â
McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.
Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like itâs nothing.
And that sharp twist in your chest doesnât ease.
Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.
And youâ
You catch Santosâ gaze from the other end of the tableâsharp, knowing, daring.
Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.
And before you can talk yourself out of itâ
âOkay, my turn,â you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.
Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.
âNever have I ever,â you say slowly, ââŠfinished during sex.â
For a secondânothing.
Then the table erupts.
âWhatânoââ Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks youâre joking. âYouâre kidding.â
Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. âWait, seriously?â
âOh my God,â McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like sheâs trying to figure out if youâre lying.
Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. âWell⊠thatâs unfortunate.â
Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesnât quite know what to do with that information.
Santos doesnât say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.
And across from youâ
Jack just goes still.
Completely still.
His expression doesnât change, but something in his eyes doesâsharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesnât stop just because it feels like your heart did.
Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebelliousâand blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.
And so it goes on.
You know it does.
You can hear itâvoices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing theyâre being misrepresentedâbut it all feels⊠distant.
Like itâs happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way heâs hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.
At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughsâbut you donât catch the words. Youâre too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jackâs jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.
Another round starts. Then another.
Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactionsâbut it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.
Time stretches. Blurs.
Your drink empties, refills, empties again.
People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.
Then suddenlyâ
âYou ready?â
You blink.
Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.
âReady?â you echo.
She nods toward the door. âTime to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.â
You glance around at the empty table. âOh.â
Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. Youâre still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skinâwhich, in this dress, is a lot of skin.
âThe Uberâs just around the corner,â Whitaker says.
âGreat,â Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. âIâm freezing.â
Youâre not sure if itâs the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but youâre not nearly as cold as you should be.
âYou sure you donât mind if I stay over tonight?â Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.
Santos shrugs. âAs long as you donât mind the couchâand Dr. Shamsi isnât going to have us arrested for kidnapping.â
Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. âUhâno. Itâs totally fine. I told my dad.â
âAre you working tomorrow?â Whitaker asks.
Javadi shakes her head. âDay off. You?â
Whitaker sighs. âYeah.â
âSo am I,â Santos adds. âAnd if I donât get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other peopleâs lives.â
âThatâs reassuring,â Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.
He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. Thereâs a faint hitch in his stepâsomething you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when heâs been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.
âThis is us,â Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.
Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seatâand Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forwardâthen hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.
âWait.â Your pulse jumps. âThereâs too manyââ
âYouâre with Dr. Abbot,â Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like sheâs trying not to smile.
Your stomach drops.
âIâIâm what?â
Santos shrugs. âJavadiâs staying over and Mohanâs place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.â
Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.
âSee you tomorrow!â
Thereâs a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curbâand the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
For a second, you donât turn around. You canât. Not now that youâre alone with him.
Thenâ
âIâm this way,â he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.
You nod, but donât dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.
The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the barâand it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.
Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that youâre aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so youâre walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.
Neither of you says anything.
Itâs not awkward. Itâs just⊠quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.
Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and youâre suddenly, painfully aware of everythingâthe way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasnât quite settled.
You feel too sober. Too aware.
When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightlyâjust enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.
God. Heâs so annoyingly considerate.
You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way thatâs subtle but unmistakableâclean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you canât quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like youâre not entirely sure where to put them.
Itâs his.
All of it.
The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like heâd discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.
The sound of the driverâs side door opening almost startles you.
You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.
The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way thatâs almost stifling.
You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.
Waiting.
For the engine to start. For the car to move.
But nothing happens.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.
And thenâ
âYou canât say shit like that around me.â
You blink, finally turning toward himâand regretting it immediately. Heâs so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.
âSay what?â you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.
He looks at youânot fully, just turning his head slightly.
âYou know what,â he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.
And you do.
You know exactly what he means.
But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silenceâand he doesnât move to turn it off, doesnât even turn it down. He just drives.
The radio reporterâs voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something youâre not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.
You can still hear his voice.
You canât say shit like that around me.
The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.
Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop itâpulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.
Because what does that even mean?
You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missedâbut heâs focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didnât just change everything with eight little words.
You look away again.
No. He didnât mean it like that.
Heâs justâheâs your attending. Heâs responsible. Of course heâd say something. Of course heâdâ
Except he didnât say it like that.
Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.
The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way heâd been watching you. The way he didnât laugh, didnât joke, didnât let it go.
The way he said it.
Around me.
Not here. Not in front of people.
Around me.
Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between youâof how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in andâ
No.
No, thatâs notâ
You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
Youâre just reading into it. You have to be.
Because the alternativeâ
Your pulse jumps.
God. The alternative is too much to even consider.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavierâpulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this timeâuntilâ
The car stopsâand you blink.
For a moment, you donât move. You canât.
Then Jack clears his throat.
âOhâuhâthanks,â you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.
He nods once. âAnytime.â
You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight wordsâeight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.
You hesitateâone hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.
God.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This isâ
âDo youââ You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. âDo you want to come up?â
He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like heâs not quite sure he heard you right.
âYou canât be serious.â
Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it backârewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.
What the hell were you thinking?
âYeah,â you say, a little too quickly. âNo, that wasâthat was stupid.â
You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You donât look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.
It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.
This door has never been your friend. Itâs old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been jankyâbut now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think thatâs funny, because it wonât budge.
You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.
Thenâ
âHere.â
His voice is low. Close.
Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your backâthe solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.
His fingers brush yours as he takes the keyâand the lock turns easily this time.
Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.
His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs toâthen he pushes the door open.
You donât even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shutâbut heâs still holding it, barely a step behind you.
He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. âGo.â
Itâs quiet. Controlled.
Not a suggestion.
Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitateâlong enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between youâ
Then you turn and keep walking.
And he follows.
He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock itâalmost like he doesnât think you know how doors work nowâbut the key turns smoothly this time.
You push the door open and step inside.
The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and itâs a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like heâs a man on the edgeâ
And youâre daring him to jump.
âDrink?â you offer, keeping your voice lightâinnocent.
He clears his throat. âWater, please.â
You canât help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.
âSo polite,â you murmur.
He doesnât move, doesnât shiftâbut you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.
You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way thatâs totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, heâs turned away completely.
You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.
âHere,â you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.
He turns hesitantly, taking it. âThank you.â
Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.
You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.
Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.
âAre you working tomorrow?â he asks.
You glance up, still leaned forward, and itâs hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.
âIsnât that something you should already know?â
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he canât quite help himself.
âYouâre impossible. You know that?â
Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says itâshort, sharp, loadedâand you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.
âAm I?â you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. âOnly one way to find out.â
He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottleâand it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.
âI should go,â he mutters, voice low and clipped.
He takes a step toward the doorâand you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.
âWaitâuhâbefore you go,â you say, stepping toward him, âcould you help me with something?â
He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.
You move until youâre almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.
âCould you help me out of my dress?â
The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.
Jackâs jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way youâre offering him something he never thought heâd be allowed to have.
He nods onceâcareful, controlledâbut the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.
Your stomach flips.
Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.
You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through youâhot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skinâwarm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.
âHow do you do it?â you whisper, voice catching slightly. âHow are you always so⊠unaffected by everything?â
âUnaffected?â he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.
His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper endsâbut he doesnât stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.
âYou have no idea,â he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, âhow much you affect me.â
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.
You turn before you can stop yourselfâand heâs closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.
For a second, neither of you move.
And then his hand finds your neckâ
Not rough, not rushedâjust firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that youâre real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.
He hesitates, just for a breath. Like heâs giving himself one last chance to walk away.
Then he kisses you.
Itâs not tentative. Thereâs nothing careful about it. It lands like something heâs been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.
His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quicklyâhis stomach, his chestâanything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of itâGod, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraintâmakes something in your stomach flip hard.
His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but thereâs tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like heâs still tryingâstillâto hold the line even as he pulls you closer.
It doesnât work.
Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.
He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like youâve just undone him, and for a second the kiss faltersânot because heâs pulling away, but because heâs trying to.
You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.
Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.
âDonât,â you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.
And something in him gives.
You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.
When he kisses you again, itâs deeper.
Less restrained.
Like heâs finally stopped pretending this isnât exactly what he wants.
Itâs different nowâharder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.
Your back meets the door with a soft thud.
He doesnât stop.
If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let himâGod, you let himâtilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.
His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.
And you can feel itâhow close he is.
Itâs in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he canât quite stop himself from taking more.
Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like heâs tryingâone last timeâto get a handle on this.
He doesnât.
His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first placeâand it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.
His breath catches, and his gaze dropsâjust for a second, but itâs enough.
âTell me to stop,â he says, voice low, roughânothing steady about it now.
You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.
âBedroom,â you murmur.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Something in his expression shiftsâtightensâlike that word landed exactly where it shouldnât. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.
But he doesnât find any.
He nods onceâand you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before youâve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like heâs not about to let you get too far ahead of him.
Itâs barely a walk.
More like being guidedâpulledâacross the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what youâve just set in motion.
The door barely makes it closed before heâs on you again.
Not rushedânever rushedâbut certain, like the decision has already been made and thereâs no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.
Your breath catches as you look up at him. Thereâs something in his expression youâve never seen before. Itâs not soft, not gentleâjust stripped of whatever distance heâd been holding onto all night.
Gone.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time thereâs nothing in the way of itânothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer itâand the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.
âStill want this?â he asks, voice rough, quieter nowâbut it lands heavier here.
You donât answer. You just step into him.
And itâs all the permission he needs.
His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentionalâlike heâs choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like heâs letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.
His grip shiftsâfirmer nowâguiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way heâs kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like heâs not about to let this get away from him.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.
Not hesitation. Control.
Or what little he has left of it.
âLast chance,â he murmurs, quieter now.
You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.
âIâm not the one holding back.â
You barely have time to move up the mattress before heâs there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instantâreplaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.
His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from youâbut itâs different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.
Like heâs learning you.
The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomachâbut they donât stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.
His fingers close around itânot tight, not forcefulâjust certain, guiding.
He lifts your hand above your head.
âJack,â you whisper. âIââ
He shushes you.
âLet me do this, okay?â His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath itâsomething that makes your stomach knot. âIâve got you.â
And you believe him.
His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hipâeach touch deliberate, like heâs taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs. âGood girl.â
The words go straight through you.
You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says itâthe way his voice dropsâmakes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you canât quite reach.
Chasing him.
And he notices. Of course he does.
You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where heâs touching youâwhere he isnât touching you.
His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.
He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like heâs feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to moveâslow, circling, testingâwhile his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.
With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.
Soft. Unsteady. Needy.
And he loves it.
You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rockâslow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim thatâs more suggestion than friction.
âJackââ your voice catches, breaking on his name. âPlease. I wantââ
âTell me, sweetheart,â he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.
âMore,â you manage, breath shaking. âNeed more.â
He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he canât stand.
Then his hand shifts.
Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Your whole body jolts. âFuckâJackââ
The reaction pulls something from himâa sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.
Youâve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.
And youâve never wanted anyone like this before.
âGod,â he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. âYouâre so wet for me, sweetheart.â
All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the wordsâand he gives it to you. Of course he does.
His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel itâthe stretch, the heatâbefore he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.
And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.
Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.
Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediateâdevastating.
You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.
You canât answerânot when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he canât decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.
âPlease,â you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. âPlease, Iâneed you.â
He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.
âYou sure?â
You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.
âNever have I ever finished during sex, remember?â you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. âYou gonna fix that, or what?â
Something feral flickers across his face.
And then itâs goneâreplaced by something heavier. Something decided.
He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint heâs been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but itâs replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.
âFuck,â he breathes, like he canât quite believe it.
He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. Thereâs a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.
Heâs already hardâfully, heavilyâflushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.
âFuckââ he chokes, the word breaking out of him. âI havenât been this hard inââ His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. ââever.â
It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he triesâtriesâto hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.
You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.
âIâll buy you new ones,â he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before itâs gone. âPromise.â
And then the fabric gives.
The sound of it tearingâsharp, suddenâgoes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.
It shouldnât be as hot as it is.
But it is.
Jack Abbotâcontrolled, composed, always holding the lineâlosing it enough to rip your panties off you?
Fuck.
He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretchâthe sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is himâhere, now, inside you.
For a moment, you just breatheâpant, reallyâeyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like youâre trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.
âYouâfuckâyouâre so tight, sweetheart,â he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. âIâm not gonna lastââ
âThen donât,â you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. âJust fuck me. Please, Jack.â
A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on himâand before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.
âFuckââ you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. âJackââ
He doesnât stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like heâs checking, like he needs to see it.
The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.
âMhm,â you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isnât enough.
For a secondâjust a secondâyouâre distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of himâ
And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.
Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loudâtoo loudâechoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.
But not now.
Right now, you donât care who hears. Not when it feels like this.
His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. Heâs barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.
His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shiftâsmall as it isâhits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds youâre both making.
And then his hand moves between you.
You feel it immediatelyâthe change, the focusâas his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way heâs losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until itâs too much, not enough, everything all at once.
âJackââ you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. âFuck, Iââ
âI know, sweetheart,â he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. âCome on my cock, yeah?â
Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm heâs set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way heâs working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesnât falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.
Itâs never felt like this before. Youâve never felt like this before.
Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you canât hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.
You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.
The release hits all at onceâsharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you canât stop, like you donât want to.
âFuck,â he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside youâslower now, but deeper, like heâs chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesnât want to miss a second of it. âThatâs it. Thatâs my girl.â
His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completelyâa broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.
You feel itâevery part of itâthe way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where youâre pressed together.
It takes a moment to come back downâa long one.
But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breatheâbut you donât mind.
Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.
-
For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isnât stupidly early for his shift. He couldnât be, really. Because heâd woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spinâand that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.
If it was up to him, he wouldnât have left at allâbut he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbourâs cat to feed, and sleep he shouldâve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesnât need to be early to see you, because youâre going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.
With him.
And he really shouldnât be looking forward to that as much as he is.
âAfternoon, Dr. Abbot,â Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. âWasnât sure weâd see you today. Arenât you usually here by now?â
âIâm on time,â Jack mutters. âIâm a busy man.â
Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.
Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nursesâ station. He shouldnât be this anxious to see you againânot in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs wonât quite fill until youâre near him again.
âSheâs not here,â Dana says without looking up from her chart. âWasnât feeling well, so Ellis came in early.â
Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say somethingâdefend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking forâbut he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldnât incriminate him further.
So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
Heâd seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he leftâbut you hadnât said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.
Jack doesnât stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadnât texted you today because he knew heâd see you tonight and didnât want to seem⊠overbearing. Even now, heâs not sure if he shouldâbut he feels off in a way he hasnât in years, like heâs waiting on something he canât control and itâs making him feel sick.
What if last night hadnât meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was justâ
âHey, kid,â Dana calls from the nursesâ station. âBig night?â
Jackâs head snaps upâand there you are.
The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadnât realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.
âYou donât know the half of it,â you mutter.
Dana huffs a short laugh. âI have a feeling I donât want to know.â
Jack canât help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. Thereâs a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside himânot too close, but enough to make his breath catch.
You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.
âMiss me?â
Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.
âThought you were sick.â
You lift one shoulder. âA little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.â
For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at youâand you look right back, like you both know exactly whatâs changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.
âAnd I missed the night shift attending,â you say finally.
Thenâbefore he can respond, before heâs even fully processed what you saidâyou lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.
But it feels like everything.
And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isnât yours.