content warning (minors do not interact)— p in v sex, yoga positions, daddy kink, proofread (but by a very sleepy cherry), needy!reader & obsessed!jack <3
this all started with stretching on your pink yoga mat with jack, go figure. he’s lightly pressing your back in frog pose, sade playing softly in the background of your bedroom.
jack’s wearing a soft pair of gray sweats and white socks, house slippers abandoned the second he came back from the kitchen with your mugs and saw you. “‘s that good baby? you feel that stretch, hm?”
a burn, as pleasant as the first time you took jack’s fingers, settles into your tummy. swells up to your neck, a warm stretch of muscles as your knees dig into the plush mat.
your wavering breath & eyes fluttering closed have jack huffing a bit as he pulls over his favorite stool. sleek, deep mahogany with a bar running across the bottom for him to alleviate the pressure of his prosthetic. his big hand smoothes up and down your back— jack knows yoga is an emotional release just as much as it is physical.
which is why it’s no surprise to him when you turn, teary eyed and a bit breathless from the stress and tension melting away, whimpering a question with no verbal answer, “jackie?”
monday morning yoga should always end this way, you think. with jack pushing you into the mattress, thick bicep wrapped around your throat as he holds you in the frog pose once again– knees outward, hips up. his chest plaps against your back, sweat and devotion; a combination so powerful that your body trembles with the headrest.
jack, the comforter, the lover, the provider, can’t help himself as he kisses at your cheek. he knows the stress you carry, not just in your hips, and he knows when to step in. never needs to be asked. “get all those thoughts outta your head, only want you thinkin of daddy, ya hear me?”
your shuddering breath is his answer, hands coming up to clutch his forearm as you slobber on his freckled skin. with kisses to the back of your head, now damp with the early-morning movement, jack’s other hand comes to hold onto your hip. three squeezes, i, love, and you simmer onto your warm flesh, a wail of pleasure bubbling out of you.
clit kisses, jack’s middle and ring finger reach around to paw at you as he pushes his cock deeper, if possible. the slick noise has both of your jaws dropping, sensuality and shaking knees erupting out of you both. “i found ‘er, i got you baby… that’s the spot, huh?” jack drops his head into your hair, squeezing his tricep as he tries to maintain his composure.
your warmth, your smell, the way the softness of your tummy presses into the top of your thighs– the perfect nook for his spit (he makes a mental note to lick on the crease, later), it’s all too much.
“yeah, you’re gonna cum baby, gonna feel so good. you ready? you ready, honey?” jack’s earnest adoration into your ear is met with your own gasps as you smack at his tightening forearm in warning.
two more swirls of the thick pads of his fingers and you’re crying out– limp in his hold as he comforts you through the waves of pleasure. “oh, that’s my good girl. let it out, such a– fuck, such a good fuckin girl.”
sloppy thrusts and a lick to your cheek, your salty sweat mingling on his tongue, and jack’s finishing on top of you with a loud groan. despite his exhaustion, the heavy weight of him the warmest blanket, he eases your hips out of the pose. big hands kneading the fat your thighs as he settles on top of you, hands covering your ears so you can bask in the feeling of his love.
and it’s bulky, and thick, and creamy, and adoring and all consuming– a mirror to the military man kissing at the back of your neck now.
free use with jack abbot means he’s sliding into your cunt at 3 am, when he can’t sleep and is so hard he could cry, pressing deep deep deep while you whine and drool into your tempur pedic pillow. it means making breakfast and getting hauled onto the kitchen counter so jack can eat your cunt at a comfortable height, fingers jabbing toward the back of your throat as you gurgle and cry. it means getting shoved to your knees as jack watches a pirates game, ignoring you as he holds your head down on his cock, letting your throat work him as you gag. it means getting pulled onto his lap in the shower, bouncing your hips up and down on him while he lounges in his shower chair, barking an occasional order to “keep going” or “faster” when you start to get tired. it means tying your legs over your head, fastening them to the headboard and watching you get wetter and wetter as his cock barely grazes your folds. you cry when he comes all over your needy cunt. you cry harder when you realize you’re not coming that night.
Summary: You’re getting ready for a night out with the day-shift girls when you decide to show them the new black satin lingerie set you bought that afternoon. There’s just one problem. You send the pictures to Jack Abbot instead. You and Jack have been flirting for weeks without either of you actually doing anything about it, so once the initial mortification wears off and you realize Jack is having a very difficult time forgetting what he saw… your girls’ night suddenly becomes a lot less important.
Warnings: 18+ only, accidental lingerie photos, mutual attraction, age gap, flirting, suggestive texting, reader lies about having a headache to ditch girls’ night lol, kissing/making out, lingerie, nudity, sexual content, fingering, protected sex, condom use, Jack talks you through it, praise, teasing, Jack being smug, reader being a menace, enthusiastic consent throughout
Author’s Note: This one tied in the poll with “how women actually sext” fic, which means you’re getting BOTH. 😂 Apparently we all collectively decided Jack Abbot deserves to suffer through two separate technological disasters involving a woman he’s attracted to. So: Wrong Chat, Right Man is here, and the sexting fic will be posted too. Consider it a little double treat for my lovelies.
Xoxo, Del
You were halfway through finishing your eyeliner when your phone buzzed for what had to be the twentieth time in ten minutes.
You ignored it.
For approximately four seconds.
Then the chorus kicked in from the speaker on your dresser, and you abandoned the eyeliner entirely to dance your way across the bedroom in your robe, one hand wrapped around the makeup brush you had apparently decided was now a microphone.
Your plans for the evening were going very well.
Your makeup was half finished. Your hair was mostly done. There were three different outfits spread across your bed, two pairs of shoes on the floor, and a shopping bag from earlier that afternoon sitting open near the foot of the mattress.
You had absolutely no idea what you were wearing.
But you were having a fantastic time figuring it out.
Your phone buzzed again. Then twice more in rapid succession.
You finally snatched it off the dresser and looked down. The girls’ group chat had accumulated nine new messages.
Of course it had.
Mel had sent a picture of two different tops laid out on her bed and demanded a vote. Santos had already replied that neither of them were acceptable because apparently tonight required cleavage. Javadi had sent a single, deeply unhelpful message informing everyone that she was ready and therefore better than all of you.
You smiled and typed back with one thumb.
You: Javadi, I say this with love, but shut up.
Her response came almost immediately.
Javadi: Jealousy is ugly on you.
You rolled your eyes.
You: Some of us require preparation.
Santos reacted to the message with a heart before another text appeared.
Santos: Some of us bought new underwear today and have yet to provide photographic evidence.
You stopped.
Slowly, your eyes drifted toward the shopping bag on the bed.
Traitor.
You had made the mistake of mentioning the purchase during the afternoon shopping trip.
The set had not even been part of the plan.
You had gone out looking for something to wear tonight and somehow walked out with a black satin bra trimmed in lace and matching underwear that had cost enough to make you briefly reconsider every financial decision you had ever made.
They were also gorgeous.
Which was how you had justified it. Mostly.
Your phone buzzed again.
Mel: Wait, you actually bought it??
You grinned.
You: Maybe…
Three dots immediately appeared.
Santos: SHOW US
Another message landed beneath it.
Javadi: You cannot announce lingerie and then withhold evidence. There are rules.
You laughed, tossing the phone onto the bed.
“Crazy,” you muttered fondly to the empty room.
Your phone buzzed again before it had even stopped bouncing against the comforter.
You reached for it, expecting another demand from the girls.
Instead, Jack Abbot’s name appeared across the screen.
And, embarrassingly, your smile changed. It had been doing that all day. Actually, it had been doing that for several weeks.
You and Jack had reached some strange, undefined place where conversations that had once existed almost entirely inside PTMC now followed you home.
It had happened gradually enough that neither of you had acknowledged it.
A text about a patient update turned into a complaint about the hospital coffee. A complaint about hospital coffee became Jack sending you a picture of an offensively bad vending machine sandwich at two in the morning.
Somewhere along the way, you had started texting him when you were bored.
And he always answered.
Today had been particularly bad. Or good. Depending on how willing you were to admit that you had checked your phone every single time his name appeared.
You opened the message.
Jack: Still alive?
Your smile widened.
He had known you were going shopping because you had mentioned it during the last hour of your shift that morning.
You typed back.
You: Barely.
His response arrived less than a minute later.
Jack: Tragic.
You wandered back toward the mirror and picked up your eyeliner again.
You: You say that like you wouldn’t miss me.
The typing bubble appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.
You waited.
Jack: The department would be quieter.
You snorted.
You: Wow.
You: So you would miss me…
Another pause.
Jack: Didn’t say that.
You smiled at yourself in the mirror.
“You didn’t have to,” you murmured.
You finished one eye while your phone rested beside the sink.
It buzzed again.
Jack: Find anything good?
Your gaze shifted toward the shopping bag again. You immediately decided Jack did not need to know about that purchase.
You: Found an outfit for tonight.
You considered that. Then added:
You: I think.
His reply came back.
Jack: Inspiring confidence.
You capped your eyeliner.
You: It is inspiring. I survived the mall.
Jack: Congratulations.
You: Thank you.
You: I know malls can be intimidating for men your age.
There was a noticeably longer pause this time. You bit back a laugh. Finally, his message appeared.
Jack: My age.
You practically heard the flatness in his voice.
You: Yeah.
You leaned against the dresser, fully committed now.
You: You know…
You: Mall walkers.
Another pause. You could picture his expression perfectly. That made it worse. Or better. Definitely better.
You: Little white sneakers…
You: Power walking before the stores open…
You: Getting your steps in with the other retirees…
His response came so quickly you laughed out loud.
Jack: I’m fifty, not eighty.
You grinned.
You: Exactly what an eighty-year-old would say.
Jack: You’re enjoying this too much.
You: Immensely.
The typing indicator appeared.
Jack: Keep it up.
You stared at that one.
Something warm curled low in your stomach.
Because that was the problem with Jack.
Half the time, you genuinely had no idea whether he knew how he sounded. The other half, you were increasingly certain he knew exactly how he sounded.
You typed carefully.
You: Is that a threat, Dr. Abbot?
The bubble appeared almost immediately.
Jack: Depends.
Your eyebrows lifted.
You: On?
This pause was longer. Long enough that you found yourself staring at the screen instead of finishing your makeup. Then his response appeared.
Jack: How brave you’re feeling.
Your lips parted.
“Oh,” you whispered.
That was— Okay.
You looked at yourself in the mirror.
Then back at the phone. Weeks. You had been doing this for weeks. Little looks across the nurses’ station. Jack standing just a little too close while pretending to read something over your shoulder. You finding increasingly flimsy reasons to bother him. Him pretending to be annoyed when both of you knew damn well he wasn’t.
Nothing had happened.
Not really.
But lately, it felt like both of you were standing at the edge of something and waiting to see who moved first.
Your phone buzzed again. This time, the girls’ group chat reclaimed your attention.
Santos: HELLO???
Santos: underwear
Mel: We’re waiting.
Javadi: I’m beginning to think she lied.
You laughed and set Jack’s conversation aside before he could say anything else capable of making you reconsider leaving the house entirely.
You: Fine.
You: Give me five minutes.
The reactions came instantly.
You shook your head, smiling as you tossed the phone onto the bed and finally reached for the shopping bag.
The black satin caught the light as you pulled the set free.
You held it up. Still gorgeous. Still completely unnecessary. Still worth it.
Probably.
You glanced toward the mirror.
Then toward your phone.
You slipped out of your robe and pulled on the black satin bra first, adjusting the straps before reaching for the matching underwear.
The second you straightened, you understood why you had bought it.
The satin caught the light every time you moved, smooth and dark against your skin, the lace along the cups softening the sharp lines just enough. The matching bottoms sat high against your hips, edged in the same black lace.
You turned slightly in front of the mirror.
“Oh,” you murmured.
Okay. That was—
Really fucking cute.
You smoothed your hands over your hips, turning a little farther to check the fit from the side.
Worth it. Definitely worth it.
You grabbed your phone and opened the camera.
The first picture was simple.
A full-length mirror shot, your phone partially covering your face, one hip tilted slightly as you angled yourself toward the mirror.
You looked at it. Not bad. You took another.
This one was closer, catching more of the satin and lace detailing.
Better.
Your phone buzzed again while you were looking between the two. A notification from the girls’ chat slid across the top of the screen.
Javadi: Five minutes is up.
You laughed.
“Demanding,” you muttered.
Another notification appeared almost immediately beneath it.
Jack Abbot: You’re awfully quiet.
Your thumb hovered over the screen. You smiled despite yourself. Of course he noticed. You tapped away from the camera and into your messages.
You selected both pictures.
Added:
You: okay fine
Then hit send.
Satisfied, you tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back toward the mirror.
Now you actually needed clothes.
You reached for the black top you had been considering earlier, holding it against yourself while you debated whether it worked better with jeans or the skirt currently hanging halfway off the edge of the mattress.
After another few seconds, you glanced back at your phone.
The girls had been demanding pictures for the last ten minutes. Surely somebody had responded by now.
You picked it up and unlocked the screen.
Then froze.
The conversation at the top of the screen did not say Day Shift Disaster.
It said:
Jack Abbot
Your entire body went cold. “No.”
You stared at the screen. Two photographs. Sent. To Jack.
You shook your head. “No, no, no.”
Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you had missed a step.
You tapped frantically at the pictures as though there might somehow be a magical button that could pull them back through the internet and return them to your camera roll.
There was not. Obviously.
“Oh my God.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard.
You: oh my god
You sent it.
You: JACK
Sent.
You: DELETE THIS CONVERSATION.
You: DO NOT LOOK AT THOSE PICS!!!!!
You stared at the screen.
For one hopeful, beautiful second, nothing happened. Then the status beneath the photographs changed.
Read
Your soul left your body. “No.”
You dropped backward onto the edge of the bed. “No, no, no, no.”
The typing bubble appeared.
You covered your face with one hand. “This is how I die.”
The bubble disappeared. Then a message came through.
Jack: Little late for that.
You made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper and fell completely backward onto the mattress.
The ceiling offered no assistance.
Your phone buzzed against your stomach. You lifted it with both hands.
You: I AM SO SORRY
You sent another before he could answer.
You: Those were for the girls.
The typing bubble appeared. You wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, you stared at it like it contained your test results. His reply finally appeared.
Jack: Figured.
You blinked.
That was it?
No joke. No comment. No attempt to make this worse. Another message came through.
Jack: You okay?
Some of the panic loosened immediately.
You let out the breath you had apparently been holding.
Of course. Of course that was what he asked.
You sat up again, pulling your robe around yourself despite the fact that Jack was nowhere near you.
You: Yes.
You hesitated. Then added:
You: Just considering changing my name and leaving the state…
His response appeared quickly.
Jack: Seems excessive.
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself.
You: You just saw me in my underwear.
There was a pause. Then:
Jack: I’m aware.
Heat rushed straight into your face. “Jesus Christ.”
You stared at the message.
There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about it.
And yet.
Something about knowing Jack Abbot was sitting somewhere right now fully aware of exactly what you looked like in black satin made your stomach flip.
You swallowed.
You: Please forget you ever saw those.
This time, he took longer to answer. Long enough that you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Finally, his message appeared.
Jack: That may be difficult.
You went very still.
The room suddenly felt warmer.
Your eyes moved over the words again. Then once more.
That may be difficult.
Not don’t worry about it.
Not already forgotten.
Not even I’ll try.
Your lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
A different kind of heat curled low in your stomach.
You looked down at yourself. At the black satin. At the lace. Then back at Jack’s message.
And for the first time since realizing what you had done, embarrassment was not the only thing you felt.
Your phone remained warm in your hand.
You stared at Jack’s last message for another few seconds, pulse beating a little faster than it had any right to.
Then the typing bubble appeared again. You stopped breathing. It disappeared. Appeared again. Whatever Jack was debating saying, apparently he was actually debating it.
Finally, another message came through.
Jack: You sure you still want to go out tonight?
Your eyebrows lifted. You read it twice.
There were several perfectly reasonable ways to interpret that question.
You ignored all of them.
You: Why?
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Jack: Just asking.
You smiled. Absolutely not. He did not get to send that may be difficult and then pretend he was making casual conversation.
You: No you’re not.
A pause followed. Then:
Jack: No?
You shifted farther back onto the bed, crossing one leg beneath you.
You: No.
You hesitated for half a second before typing again.
You: What exactly are you suggesting Dr. Abbot?
This time, Jack made you wait.
Five seconds. Ten. Long enough for you to become painfully aware that you were still sitting on your bed in the exact black satin lingerie he had just seen. Then his message appeared.
Jack: You could go out with the girls…
You frowned at the screen. Another message arrived before you could respond.
Jack: Or you could come over here.
Your stomach flipped.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
There it was.
After weeks of flirting. Weeks of looks across the department. Weeks of finding excuses to stand beside each other, tease each other, text each other after shifts that neither of you wanted to admit had absolutely nothing to do with work.
There it fucking was.
You stared at the screen, trying very hard to behave like a woman who had not just been offered exactly what she had wanted for weeks.
You: And what exactly would happen if I came over?
You watched the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Then:
Jack: You really want me to answer that?
A grin pulled at your mouth.
You: I asked.
His answer took longer this time. When it finally appeared, every remaining thought about bars, drinks, or girls’ night evaporated.
Jack: I could do something about those pictures.
Your mouth fell open. “Fuck.”
That was it.
There was no deliberation. No sensible internal debate. No attempt to remind yourself that you had plans.
You immediately backed out of Jack’s conversation and opened the girls’ group chat.
Mel had sent another outfit picture. Santos had apparently changed shoes twice. Javadi had sent a message informing everyone that if you made her wait more than 15 minutes, she would leave without you. You typed with both thumbs.
You: Guys, I think I’m gonna stay home.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Mel: What??
Another message followed.
Santos: you were literally fine twenty minutes ago
You glanced back at Jack’s conversation.
Your pulse skipped.
Fine was becoming an increasingly complicated word.
You: Headache.
There was a pause.
Then:
Javadi: A headache.
You could practically hear her saying it.
You: Yes.
Mel: Are you okay?
A tiny stab of guilt got through the haze.
You: Yeah totally fine just don’t think drinks will help.
Santos responded next.
Santos: you spent all afternoon shopping for tonight
You bit your lip. That was unfortunately true.
You: I know…
You: Sorry 😭
For several seconds, nobody answered. Then Javadi sent:
Javadi: Okay...
You narrowed your eyes. Even through text, the suspicion was obvious.
You: What does that mean?
Javadi: Nothing.
Santos: it means she doesn’t believe you
Javadi: I did not say that.
Mel: You definitely implied it.
You laughed despite yourself.
You: I have a headache.
Santos reacted with a skeptical emoji.
Santos: Fine. Feel better.
Mel followed with a heart.
Mel: We’ll miss you. Text if you need anything.
Javadi’s response came last.
Javadi: I remain suspicious, but feel better.
You smiled.
They had no idea. Thank God.
You backed out of the chat before your conscience could develop any stronger objections and reopened Jack’s conversation. His last message was still sitting there.
I could do something about those pictures.
You stared at it. Then typed:
You: What’s your address?
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
You laughed under your breath.
Apparently Jack had been waiting. His address came through a second later. Then another message.
Jack: Thought you were going out.
You rolled your eyes. Smug bastard.
You: Headache.
There was a pause. Then:
Jack: Miraculous recovery expected?
You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.
You: Depends…
You waited just long enough to make him suffer.
You: What kind of treatment are you offering?
His response came back almost immediately.
Jack: Get over here and find out.
You stared at the screen.
Then slowly looked down at the black satin still covering your body.
A smile spread across your face.
Maybe you had bought the right thing today after all.
You did not overthink it.
Mostly because if you gave yourself enough time to overthink it, there was a very real chance you would never leave the apartment.
You pulled on the jeans you had abandoned earlier, dragged a black top over your head, shoved your feet into shoes, grabbed your bag, and left before your common sense had a chance to catch up.
The drive across town felt much longer than it actually was.
Your heart sat somewhere between your stomach and your throat the entire way.
By the time you pulled up outside Jack’s place, your palms were warm against the steering wheel, and you had become painfully aware of every place the black satin and lace sat beneath your clothes.
You checked his address one more time. Then looked at the house. Then back at the address.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.
You were really doing this.
You got out before you could change your mind.
The walk to his front door somehow felt worse than the drive.
Every step made the denim drag lightly against your thighs, made you think about what you were wearing underneath it, made Jack’s message replay in your head.
I could do something about those pictures.
Your thighs pressed together reflexively.
“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself.
You knocked.
For one terrible second, nothing happened.
Then you heard movement inside.
The door opened.
And there was Jack.
Barefoot. Gray sweatpants. A plain T-shirt stretched across his chest.
Hair slightly mussed like he had run a hand through it at some point.
Completely fucking casual.
You stared at him.
This man had made you cancel your plans, lie badly to your friends, drive across town with your heart in your stomach and your thighs pressed together—
and he looked like he had been sitting on the couch watching television.
Jack leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.
His eyes moved over you once.
Slowly. Not crude. Not hurried. Just enough to make every nerve in your body light up.
Then his gaze came back to your face.
“Thought you had a headache,” Jack said.
You narrowed your eyes.
He was enjoying this.
You could see it in the slight pull at the corner of his mouth.
“It got better,” you replied.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
“Fast recovery,” he observed.
You shifted your weight and looked him over pointedly. “You seem disappointed.”
Jack’s mouth curved.
“Do I?” he asked.
Your stomach flipped.
This had been easier over text. Much easier. Over text, you had been able to stare at his messages, grin at your phone, type something bold and pretend your pulse was not racing.
Now he was standing directly in front of you.
Warm. Solid. Real.
And looking at you like he knew exactly why you had come.
You suddenly became very aware of your hands. Your breathing. The fact that beneath your jeans and top, you were still wearing the same lingerie he had already seen.
Jack watched you for another second.
Something in his expression shifted. The teasing softened just slightly.
“You can still change your mind,” he said.
There it was.
The out.
Simple. No pressure. No assumption that showing up meant anything beyond showing up.
You looked at him.
At the bare feet. At the sweatpants. At the maddeningly casual T-shirt. Then back at his face.
“I drove across town,” you pointed out.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“That wasn’t an answer,” he said.
You felt your own smile start.
“No,” you told him. “I’m not changing my mind.”
Jack held your gaze.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
One word. Certain.
Then he stepped back from the doorway.
You walked inside.
Jack closed the door behind you.
The click of the latch sounded strangely loud.
You turned.
He was already looking at you.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Jack glanced down at your jeans.
Back up.
His expression stayed perfectly controlled.
Which somehow made it worse.
“So,” Jack said, drawing the word out slightly.
You folded your arms loosely across your chest. “So.”
His mouth curved again.
“Feeling better?” Jack asked.
You laughed under your breath. “You are incredibly pleased with yourself right now.”
Jack shrugged.
“You came over,” he reminded you.
“You invited me,” you countered.
“I gave you an option,” Jack corrected.
You stared at him.
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” you asked.
Jack took one slow step closer.
“That’s what happened,” he said.
You tipped your chin up.
“You told me to come over,” you reminded him.
Jack took another step closer. “I did.”
You blinked at the easy admission.
His mouth curved. “You’re still the one who got in the car.”
Your pulse jumped.
“You seem pretty pleased about that,” you murmured.
Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth.
“Extremely,” he said.
For a second, you just looked at him.
Then something in you steadied.
Maybe it was the smug little curve of his mouth.
Maybe it was the fact that you had already survived accidentally sending Jack Abbot two pictures of yourself in lingerie and somehow still ended up standing in his living room.
Either way, some of your nerve came back.
You tipped your chin up.
“Well,” you said, letting your eyes move over him slowly, “I’m here.”
Jack’s expression shifted.
Just slightly.
You took a small step closer.
“So what are you going to do about it?” you asked.
His eyes held yours.
There.
That did it.
The teasing did not disappear exactly.
It sharpened.
Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth again, slower this time, before traveling briefly down the length of you.
When he looked back up, his jaw had tightened.
“You sure you want to ask me that?” Jack asked quietly.
Your stomach flipped.
“You seemed pretty sure over text,” you pointed out.
Jack gave a low huff of amusement.
“Over text, you were across town,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “And now?”
Jack stepped into the last bit of space between you.
“Now you’re standing in my living room,” he said.
His voice had dropped low enough that you felt it more than heard it.
You swallowed, but refused to look away.
“Still waiting on an answer,” you murmured.
Jack stared at you for another beat.
Then his hand came up, slow enough that you could have moved away, and settled lightly at your waist.
“You always this impatient?” he asked.
You smiled.
“Only when somebody makes promises he hasn’t kept yet,” you said.
Jack’s thumb moved once against your side. His eyes narrowed.
“I made a promise?” he asked.
“You said you could do something about those pictures,” you reminded him.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“Right,” he said softly.
His gaze dropped to your lips one more time. “Those pictures.”
And suddenly you were very aware of the black satin underneath your clothes.
You held his gaze.
“Still difficult to forget?” you asked softly.
Jack’s thumb stilled against your waist. For one second, neither of you moved. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth.
“Very,” he said.
That single word went straight through you.
You barely had time to inhale before Jack’s hand slid from your waist to the side of your neck.
He moved slowly. Deliberately.
Giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
Instead, you leaned into his touch.
That was all it took.
Jack kissed you.
And Jesus Christ.
Weeks of flirting had not prepared you for this.
His mouth was warm and firm against yours, the first kiss almost careful despite everything that had led you here.
Then you grabbed the front of his T-shirt.
Jack made a low sound against your mouth.
The kiss changed.
His hand moved around to the back of your neck, holding you there as he kissed you deeper.
You stepped closer until there was no space left between you.
Jack’s other hand settled at your waist.
Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt.
This.
This was what every lingering look across the department had been building toward.
Every late-night text. Every sarcastic comment that lasted just a little too long. Every time Jack had stood close enough for you to wonder what would happen if you stopped pretending you didn’t notice.
You pulled back just enough to breathe.
Jack followed you.
His mouth brushed yours once.
Then again.
You smiled against his lips.
“You’re awfully controlled for someone who told me to come over,” you murmured.
Jack gave a quiet laugh against your mouth.
“I’m trying,” he said.
You slid your hands up his chest.
“You don’t have to try that hard,” you told him.
Jack went still. His eyes opened. You met his gaze. There was nothing playful in his expression now.
“Careful,” he said quietly.
Your stomach tightened. You let your fingers curl into his shirt again.
“Why?” you asked.
Jack’s mouth curved just slightly. “Because I might believe you.”
You smiled. “Maybe you should.”
Something in his face changed.
Then he kissed you again.
Harder this time.
Your back met the wall before you even realized the two of you had moved.
Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt. His palm was warm against your bare skin.
You inhaled sharply.
His fingers spread over your waist.
Then moved higher.
And stopped.
Jack froze.
You knew exactly what he had felt. The smooth edge of black satin.
Slowly, Jack pulled back.
His forehead nearly touched yours. His hand stayed beneath your shirt. His fingertips traced the satin once. Very lightly.
Then his eyes lifted to yours.
“No,” he murmured.
Your lips twitched.
“What?” you asked, fighting a smile.
Jack’s fingers moved over the edge again. Recognition settled across his face.
“You did not,” he said.
You tried for innocence. It lasted approximately half a second.
“What?” You asked again.
Jack stared at you.
Then his mouth curved. “You wore it over here.”
Heat climbed into your face.
You lifted one shoulder. “Maybe.”
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
You laughed softly. That made him look at you again.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked.
“A little,” you admitted.
Jack’s hand tightened gently at your waist.
“You send me those pictures by accident,” he said, “then show up at my house wearing the same thing underneath your clothes.”
You tipped your chin up. “I thought you said you liked the pictures.”
Jack let out a slow breath. “I did.”
Your smile widened.
“Then what’s the problem?” you asked.
Jack looked at you for a long second.
His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then lower. To the place where his hand disappeared beneath your shirt. When he looked back up, whatever restraint he had been clinging to looked considerably thinner.
“The problem,” Jack said quietly, “is that the pictures were already distracting enough.”
Your pulse jumped.
His thumb moved once over the satin.
“And now?” you asked.
Jack leaned closer until his mouth hovered beside your ear. “Now I know you wore it here for me.”
You shivered.
Jack felt it. Of course he did. His mouth brushed lightly along your jaw.
“You did, didn’t you?” he asked.
You swallowed. Then nodded.
Jack pulled back just enough to see your face.
“Say it,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“I wore it for you,” you admitted.
Jack’s eyes darkened.
There.
That was the moment. The last little piece of control gave way.
He kissed you again, one hand still beneath your shirt while the other slid around your waist and pulled you firmly against him.
You laughed softly into his mouth, arms winding around his neck.
Jack kissed the laugh right out of you.
Then he pulled back.
His breathing was heavier now. So was yours.
Jack looked at you.
“Bedroom,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow.
“That a question?” you asked.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
He loosened his hold on you just enough to give you space.
“It can be,” he said.
You held his gaze for one beat.
Then you reached for his hand.
“It doesn’t need to be,” you said.
Jack looked down at your joined hands. Then back at you. And smiled.
“Come on,” he said.
Jack led you down the hallway and into his bedroom.
The second you crossed the threshold, whatever fragile little thread of restraint had still been holding between you seemed to snap.
Jack turned toward you.
You barely had time to look at him before his hand found your waist again and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was different now.
Deeper.
Hungrier.
Still controlled enough that you could feel the effort behind it, but only barely.
You slid your hands up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his T-shirt as Jack backed you slowly toward the bed.
His mouth moved from yours to your jaw. Then lower. A kiss beneath your ear. Another along the side of your neck.
You tipped your head instinctively, giving him more room.
Jack took it.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt again, palm spreading over your waist before his fingers found the satin underneath.
This time he did not stop in surprise.
This time he explored.
His fingertips traced the smooth edge of the bra, following the line of satin until it disappeared beneath the lace.
You shivered.
Jack’s mouth paused against your neck.
“Sensitive?” he murmured.
You swallowed.
“A little,” you admitted.
Jack’s thumb moved slowly over the lace.
“Good to know,” he said.
You made a quiet sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a breath.
“Are you taking notes?” you asked.
Jack lifted his head. His eyes met yours.
“Absolutely,” he said.
The answer should not have affected you as much as it did.
It did anyway.
You grabbed the hem of your shirt.
Jack stepped back just enough to let you pull it over your head.
The fabric hit the floor.
Silence.
You looked at him.
Jack looked at you. His gaze moved from your face to the black satin and lace now completely exposed. Then lower. Over the strip of skin between the bra and your jeans. Back up again.
He exhaled through his nose.
You smiled despite the heat already spreading across your chest.
“What?” you asked.
Jack’s eyes lifted to yours.
“The picture wasn’t good enough,” he said.
Your smile widened.
“You were having trouble forgetting it five minutes ago,” you reminded him.
“I was,” Jack said.
He stepped closer again.
One hand settled at your bare waist.
His thumb traced slowly over your skin. “This is worse.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“Worse?” you repeated.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“For me,” he clarified.
You laughed softly.
Then Jack kissed you again.
His hands moved differently now that there was nothing between them and your skin.
One slid around your waist.
The other traced slowly along the lace at the bottom of the bra.
Not rushing.
Not immediately trying to remove it. Just touching. Learning.
His fingertips followed the edge where satin met skin, then drifted across your ribs before returning to the lace.
You could feel every pass.
Every slight drag of his fingers. Every place his palm warmed your skin.
Jack kissed along your jaw again while his hand moved over your side.
You let your eyes close.
This was somehow more overwhelming than if he had simply started stripping you.
The fact that he was taking a moment.
Looking. Touching. Appreciating exactly what he had only been allowed to see by accident an hour ago.
His fingertips traced one of the lace edges again.
“You really bought this today?” Jack asked against your skin.
You nodded before remembering he could not see you.
“Yeah,” you said.
Jack lifted his head.
“For tonight?” he asked.
You smiled. “For me.”
Something in his expression softened for half a second.
Then you added, “Originally.”
Jack gave you a look. You laughed.
“You weren’t part of the shopping plan,” you explained.
“No?” Jack asked.
You shook your head. “Not even a little.”
His thumb moved across your waist again. “And yet here you are.”
You narrowed your eyes. “There’s that smug thing again.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“You wore the lingerie over here,” he reminded you.
You slid your hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt. “And you’re still talking.”
That got him.
Jack laughed once, low and surprised.
Then your palms met warm skin. Your breath caught slightly.
You had seen Jack in scrubs.
You had seen him in tight T-shirts beneath jackets.
You had spent an embarrassing amount of time pretending not to notice exactly how broad his shoulders were.
None of that had prepared you for actually touching him.
You flattened your hands against his stomach.
Jack went very still.
Your fingers moved upward. Slowly. Over firm muscle. Across his chest. You watched his expression change as your hands explored him with the same freedom he had been using on you.
“Fair?” you asked.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
“Fair?” he repeated.
“You get to touch.” You pushed his shirt higher. “So do I.”
Jack looked down at your hands. Then back at you.
“I’m not stopping you,” he said.
You nodded once. “Good.”
You dragged his shirt higher.
Jack lifted his arms and let you pull it over his head.
You dropped it somewhere behind you.
And then it was your turn to stare.
Jack noticed immediately. Of course he did. His mouth curved.
“You okay?” he asked.
You looked back at his face.
“Shut up,” you muttered.
Jack laughed. “Oh, now who’s staring?”
You put both hands on his chest. “I said shut up.”
Jack caught your waist as you pushed him backward.
“Touchy,” he said.
You kissed him before he could say anything else.
Jack’s laugh disappeared into your mouth.
Your palms slid over his shoulders. Down his chest. Back up again.
You wanted to know what all of him felt like.
Weeks of looking. Weeks of flirting. Weeks of pretending neither of you was imagining exactly this.
Jack’s hands settled on your hips. Then moved to the button of your jeans. He pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Can I?” he asked.
Your heart kicked.
You nodded. “Yes.”
Jack held your gaze for another second. Then he opened the button. Lowered the zipper. His fingers hooked lightly into the waistband.
The jeans slid over your thighs. Then your knees. Then hit the floor. You stepped out of them.
Jack looked down.
Black satin. Matching lace. The exact set from the pictures.
Except now there was no screen between you.
You shifted slightly beneath the intensity of his gaze.
Jack noticed that too. His hands settled gently at your hips.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “Don’t what?”
Jack’s thumbs traced lightly along the lace. “Get shy now.”
Your stomach flipped.
“I’m not shy,” you said.
Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “No?”
You caught the waistband of his sweatpants between two fingers. “No.”
Jack’s eyes darkened.
You smiled.
“Your turn,” you said.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
“My turn?” he asked.
You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“You’ve seen considerably more of me than I’ve seen of you,” you pointed out.
Jack glanced down at your hand, then back at you.
“Keeping score?” he asked.
You gave him a small smile. “Absolutely.”
His mouth twitched.
“Thought you had a headache,” Jack reminded you.
You started pushing the sweatpants down.
“Keep talking, and it might come back,” you warned.
Jack laughed under his breath.
Then you stopped paying attention to his expression entirely.
Your hands moved over warm skin, along his waist and the hard lines of his stomach as you pushed the fabric lower.
Jack watched you. The amusement in his face slowly disappeared.
You looked up at him. “What?”
Jack’s gaze stayed on you.
“Nothing,” he said.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re staring.”
“So were you,” Jack pointed out.
You shook your head. “That’s different.”
Jack’s hands settled around your waist.
“Sure it is,” he murmured.
You opened your mouth to argue.
Jack kissed you instead.
You forgot what you had been planning to say.
His hands tightened around your waist, and suddenly you were moving backward.
The backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress.
You sat down.
Jack followed.
Your hands found him again as he leaned over you, palms sliding over his shoulders and down his back while his mouth moved slowly against yours.
There was nothing tentative left in the kiss now.
Nothing uncertain.
Weeks of restraint had finally given both of you permission to disappear.
Jack’s hand slid along your side.
Over the satin. Across the lace. Then slowly behind you.
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Can I?” Jack asked quietly.
Your heart kicked.
You nodded. “Yes.”
Jack held your gaze for another second before his fingers found the clasp. The bra loosened. He drew it away slowly, like he was in absolutely no hurry now that he finally had you here.
Your breath caught beneath the way he looked at you.
Not rushed. Not greedy. Just completely focused.
You swallowed. “Jack.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“What?” he asked.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you.
“You’re doing that thing again,” you said.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“What thing?” Jack asked.
You gave him a look.
“Looking at me like that,” you said.
Jack leaned closer.
“Get used to it,” he murmured.
Then his mouth found your skin.
Your eyes closed.
He kissed slowly along your chest, over your shoulder, down your sternum.
Everywhere his mouth went, his hands followed.
Your waist. Your ribs. Your hips. The backs of your thighs.
You ran your fingers into his hair. Jack kissed lower. Your breathing changed.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand slid along your thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers reached the lace at your hip.
He looked up at you. You met his eyes and nodded.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Jack eased the last piece of black lace away.
And his fingers found you.
Warm, careful, and certain. Moving in slow, tight circles.
He learned you quickly.
Every shift of your breathing. Every place that made your fingers tighten against him. Every little movement that told him more than words could.
Your head fell back against the mattress.
“Jack,” you breathed.
He lifted his head immediately. His eyes found yours.
“What do you need?” he asked.
Your chest rose and fell beneath him. You reached for him.
“I’m ready,” you said.
Jack went still. The heat in his expression sharpened.
“You sure?” he asked.
You pulled him closer.
“I drove across town wearing lingerie you already saw by accident,” you reminded him, breathless. “I’m very sure.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Then his forehead dropped briefly against yours.
“Okay,” Jack murmured.
He kissed you again.
And this time, neither of you had any interest in slowing down.
Jack kissed you until you were breathless beneath him.
Until your fingers were tangled in his hair and his name kept slipping out between kisses. Until all those weeks of careful distance and stolen looks and deliberately harmless flirting felt almost ridiculous.
His mouth moved to your jaw. Then your neck. One of your hands slid across his shoulder, holding him close.
“Jack,” you breathed.
He lifted his head immediately.
“Right here,” Jack murmured.
Something about the answer made your stomach tighten.
Not what? Not yeah? Just— Right here.
His hand moved slowly along your side while he watched your face.
“You have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” Jack asked quietly.
You smiled, still trying to catch your breath.
“A few hours?” you teased.
Jack gave you a look. You laughed softly. His hand tightened slightly at your waist.
“Try again,” Jack said.
You traced your fingers over the back of his neck.
“A week?” you guessed.
Jack shook his head. “Longer.”
Your smile faded into something softer.
“How long?” you asked.
Jack looked at you for a moment. Then he exhaled.
“Long enough that you leaning over the desk beside me has become a problem,” he admitted.
You laughed. Jack’s mouth curved.
“You think I’m kidding,” he said.
“A little,” you admitted.
“I’m not,” Jack told you.
His thumb moved slowly against your skin.
“You walk into the department, start giving me shit before you’ve even put your bag down,” Jack continued, “and then you spend twelve hours looking at me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “I do not.”
Jack stared at you. “You absolutely do.”
You bit back a smile. “Maybe sometimes,” you conceded.
“Yeah,” Jack murmured. “Sometimes.”
His gaze dropped slowly over you. The teasing in his expression disappeared.
“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted.
Your breath caught slightly. Jack noticed. His eyes came back to yours.
“A lot,” he added.
Your fingers moved slowly over his shoulder.
“What exactly have you thought about?” you asked.
Jack gave a quiet laugh. “That feels like a dangerous question.”
“You brought it up,” you reminded him.
“I did,” Jack agreed.
His gaze stayed on yours.
Then his voice dropped. “I’ve wondered what it would be like to finally get my hands on you without having to pretend I didn’t want to.”
Your pulse jumped. Jack’s fingertips traced slowly along your waist.
“I’ve wondered what you’d feel like,” he admitted.
Your lips parted. Jack leaned closer.
“What you’d taste like,” he murmured.
You swallowed. His mouth brushed yours.
“What sounds you’d make when you stopped trying to be a smartass for five minutes,” he added.
You immediately narrowed your eyes.
“I can multitask,” you informed him.
Jack laughed against your mouth. “I’m starting to realize that.”
You kissed him again. Hard enough this time that Jack’s amusement disappeared almost immediately. His hand found your waist. Yours slid along his back.
When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathing harder. Jack rested his forehead against yours.
“I’m gonna tell you something now,” he said.
You opened your eyes.
“That sounds ominous,” you murmured.
Jack’s mouth twitched. “It’s not.”
He hesitated. For perhaps the first time all night, Jack actually looked a little sheepish. Your smile immediately appeared.
“Oh my God,” you whispered. “What?”
Jack gave you a warning look. “Don’t.”
“You’re embarrassed,” you said, delight creeping into your voice.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m reconsidering telling you.”
You tightened your arms around his shoulders.
“No, no,” you said quickly. “You started this. Finish it.”
Jack stared at you. Then sighed.
“I’m not going to last very long tonight,” he admitted.
You blinked.
There was a beat of silence. Then your mouth curved. Jack immediately narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t,” he warned again.
You tried. You really did. But the smile kept growing.
“Jack Abbot,” you murmured, “are you telling me I’ve compromised your legendary self-control?”
Jack dropped his head with a groan. You laughed.
“This is adorable,” you told him.
“Nothing about this is adorable,” Jack muttered against your shoulder.
You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I disagree.”
Jack lifted his head.
His expression had changed again. Still amused. Still Jack. But there was something rawer beneath it now.
“I’ve spent weeks thinking about you,” he said quietly.
Your smile softened. Jack held your gaze.
“Then you accidentally send me pictures of yourself wearing that,” he continued, glancing toward the discarded black satin nearby, “and an hour later you’re in my bed.”
Heat rushed through you again. His thumb brushed slowly along your side.
“So yeah,” Jack admitted. “You’re probably going to have to lower your expectations for round one.”
You stared at him.
“Round one?” you repeated.
That smug little smile finally returned.
“I’m fifty,” Jack reminded you. “Not dead.”
A laugh burst out of you.
“You’re never letting the mall thing go, are you?” you asked.
“Absolutely not,” Jack said.
You pulled him closer.
“Good,” you murmured.
Jack kissed you once. Slowly. Then again. When he pulled away, his expression turned serious.
“You still want this?” he asked.
Your answer came without hesitation.
“Yes,” you said.
Jack studied your face.
“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he said.
“I will,” you promised.
“And if you want me to stop?” Jack asked.
“I’ll tell you,” you assured him.
Jack nodded once. “Okay.”
He reached toward the nightstand.
You watched him open the drawer and retrieve a condom.
Something about that tiny, practical movement made everything suddenly feel very real.
Jack looked back at you. His expression softened when he caught whatever had crossed your face.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded.
“Yeah,” you said. “Just realizing this is actually happening.”
Jack smiled. “Having second thoughts?”
You shook your head immediately. “Not even a little.”
“Good,” Jack murmured.
He leaned down and kissed you again.
You pulled him closer.
And when the last distance between you finally disappeared and he pushed into you, Jack stayed exactly as attentive as he had promised.
He watched your face.
Kept one hand wrapped around yours.
Talked to you in that low, steady voice that somehow made everything more intense.
“There you go,” Jack murmured when your fingers tightened around his.
You let out a shaky breath. Jack kissed your temple.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.
Your free hand moved around his shoulders. Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured.
Your breath caught. Jack smiled faintly.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for weeks too.”
You pulled him down and kissed him before he could say anything else.
After weeks of wondering, weeks of flirting, weeks of both of you pretending this thing between you could stay contained…
Jack finally stopped pretending.
And he made damn sure you knew exactly how badly he had wanted you.
the alarm went off, pulling you straight out of a heavy, exhausted sleep. between the relentless back-to-back codes in the emergency department and the sheer volume of trauma rolling through the doors, your brain felt like static. you dragged yourself out of bed, and got ready for your shift, and grabbed your phone off the charger.
your thumb flicked the screen open just as you were locking the front door, and a text popped up from your situationship -
𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚: 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪.. 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨?
you let out a tired sigh, unlocking the car and tossing your bag into the passenger seat. you didn't have time for this—not with a grueling twelve-hour night shift ahead at the hospital.
your phone buzzed again against the center console as you backed out of the driveway. by the time you hit the freeway, traffic was already bumper-to-bumper, crawling at a dead stop.
panic setting in, you quickly pulled up jack abbot’s contact info and tapped out a fast text while inching forward in the gridlock -
you hit send, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and gripped the steering wheel, dreading the inevitable eye roll and sharp, clinical reprimand waiting for you when you walked through those sliding glass doors.
sure enough, jack’s reply buzzed through before you even reached the hospital parking garage -
you groaned out loud, locking your car and jogging across the lot.
the moment you stepped into the high-octane chaos of the pitt, the night dissolved into an absolute blur. it was endless adrenaline—running labs, holding pressure, dodging flying equipment, and listening to jack bark orders across the trauma bays. when you handed him a set of stat lab results a bit too flustered, he didn't just take them; he held them up, glanced between the paper and your face, and drawled, “quick with the labs. shame that urgency didn’t extend to getting here on time.”
aside from that dry jab, he kept it professional, though you spent the rest of the shift interpreting every clipped command and sharp look through your own lingering annoyance.
by hour eleven, your nerves were entirely frayed. as the shift finally wound down toward the last twenty minutes, the trauma bay quieted down into a manageable lull.
exhausted, irritable from the long hours, and just wanting to finally answer your situationship so you wouldn't have to hear about it later, you slipped away from the nurses' station and ducked into a quiet, out-of-use staff on-call bathroom down the hall.
you locked the door behind you. running on pure fatigue and a reckless spark of defiance, you didn't even think twice. you pulled your scrub top up, leaving your lace bra still securely on, and snapped a quick selfie framed from your mouth downward. one arm raised, your fingertip hovering near your mouth as you caught the edge of your nail between your teeth, your cleavage pushed together and bunched up by the pose. then, turning around, you pulled the waistband of your scrub bottoms down past the swell of your ass just to snap a second quick photo of your lower back and ass poking out over the fabric, your lace panties perfectly on display.
you tapped your messages, attached the photos and hit send -
you tucked your phone into your pocket, washed your hands, straightened your scrubs, and headed back out to finish out the last few minutes of your shift. jack was standing by the central desk, looking over a stack of discharge summaries with a deeply scowling expression.
“thought you might have abandoned ship early,” jack muttered, not even looking up as you approached.
“just stepping away to use the restroom, dr. abbot,” you bit back sweetly, a sudden, wicked rush of amusement hitting you as you realized just how close you were to walking out those doors and going home.
eventually, your shift officially ended. you clocked out, grabbed your belongings, and practically flew out to the lot. jack’s truck was parked right next to yours. you both slid behind the wheels of your respective vehicles, started them, and sank back against the headrests with long, satisfying exhales simultaneously.
you finally pulled your phone out of your pocket, and the screen lit up inside your still-open chat thread with jack -
𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩: 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩.
your blood ran ice cold. you froze, sitting stock-still behind your steering wheel, and slowly turned your head to look over at jack’s truck.
through the glass, you could see him sitting in the driver's seat, his lip slightly pulled between his teeth, his brow deeply furrowed in confusion as he stared down at his phone.
you had sent the photos to jack by accident.
panic overtaking reason, your thumbs flew across the screen -
𝙮𝙤𝙪: 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮! 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣’𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.
heat rushed into your face, burning every inch of skin.
a second later, his phone buzzed in real time. you watched him read it, his jaw tightening.
𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩: 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚.
jack backed out of the spot without another glance in your direction and pulled away. you didn’t dare look over as he left, bringing both hands up to cover your face as humiliation swallowed you whole. before you took off, you grabbed your phone and changed jack’s contact name to something impossible to miss, determined to make sure the mistake never happened again.
you slept like shit, tossing and turning. before you knew it, it was another shift with jack. you contemplated quitting by text several times, or simply not showing.
when you walked through the doors for your next shift, your stomach was already tied in painful, nauseating knots. you half-expected jack to hand you over to someone else just to get you out of his sight, or to tear into you the second you stepped foot past the threshold.
instead, he was already there by the central desk, dark, fitted scrubs molded to his broad frame. the second you walked in, his eyes locked onto yours. it wasn't a glare of professional fury; it was something heavier, something deliberate and entirely undivided.
he didn't wait for you to approach. he handed his chart off to a passing tech, closed the distance between you in a few long strides, and stepped right into your space, lowering his voice to a rough, gravel-laced murmur that barely carried over the monitors.
“you look like hell,” jack said, his gaze sweeping over your pale face, tracking every twitch of your nervous throat.
“you have a way with words… i didn't sleep well,” you whispered, staring fixedly at the collar of his scrubs, your face instantly burning. “look, dr. abbot—about yesterday—”
“don't,” he cut you off, a muscle ticking sharply in his jaw.
he took a half-step closer. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours, burning with a quiet, suppressed intensity that made your chest tighten.
“you're already on thin ice for your time management,” jack murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough around the edges, trying very hard to keep it administrative. “i don't need you losing your mind over a misdirected text. consider it a lesson in double-checking your recipients.”
“it won't happen again. i swear,” you breathed out, terrified and entirely captive to the space he was holding you in.
“good,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat too long before he finally stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “bay two needs you. no distractions.”
he turned on his heel, leaving you a nervous wreck.
a few hours later, you caught him looking.
you were bent over the central desk, scribbling something onto a chart when you glanced up and found jack’s eyes already on you from across the nurses’ station. his gaze dropped away almost immediately, jaw tightening as he reached for the nearest tablet.
“you finish the repeat labs on four?” he asked, tone clipped and entirely clinical.
you blinked at him. “five minutes ago.”
“solid work.”
the shift ground on like a slow torture. hours blurred into a chaotic mess of blood, monitors, and frantic running. by four in the morning, your bladder was screaming at you from chugging too much cheap breakroom coffee. desperate for a second to breathe, you slipped away from the floor down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the back staff bathrooms.
it was the exact same on-call bathroom. the wooden door, the narrow mirror, the stark fluorescent lights. a cold wave of phantom embarrassment crashed over you the second you stepped inside, your stomach dropping as muscle memory replayed the reckless, sleepy mistake you made just twenty-four hours ago.
you washed your hands, pulling your phone out to check the time.
right as the screen unlocked, a notification popped up.
𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙨, 𝙢.𝙙.ᐟ.ᐟ: 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚?
you rolled your eyes, a laugh slipping out when you saw the contact name you’d completely forgotten about. a sudden spark of returning adrenaline cut straight through the lingering mortification. your thumbs moved fast over the glass.
you pressed send, holding your breath as the little typing bubble flickered at the bottom of the chat thread.
for a terrifying, heart-stopping moment, you were entirely certain you had pushed it too far. you stared at the blank screen, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead suddenly feeling deafening. you pictured him somewhere out on the floor reading it, jaw tightening as he realized you’d just thrown his own words directly back in his face.
you slowly reached for the handle and pulled the door open, stepping out into the dim corridor.
jack was seated at one of the workstations, but his phone was dark in his hand, held loosely against his thigh, and his eyes were locked entirely on you as you emerged.
the air between you felt thin, pulled taut like a wire right before it snaps.
he didn't say a word, but as you walked past him back toward the chaos of the trauma bay, you didn't miss the slow drag of his gaze following every step you took—or the twitch at the corner of his mouth he was trying very hard to suppress.
➶➴ a/n: jumping on this tiktok trend because why the hell not. oh, to accidentally text 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙨, 𝙢.𝙙.ᐟ.ᐟ
the morning came too quickly. you weren't even sure you had really slept. you really came to around six in the morning with a dull, relentless ache pounding behind your eyes. for several second, you had no idea where you were. the ceiling above you was too white, whiter than your apartment. fluorescent lights glowed dimly behind a plastic panel, and somewhere beyond the curtain, there was the steady beeping of machines. voices drifted through the emergency department, nurses calling names, doctors talking amongst each other, wheels squeaking against the polished floor. you blinked slowly a few times before beginning to move, pain immediately shooting through the back of your head. you winced immediately, hand reaching to touch the bandage. everything came rushing back.
the fall. the kitchen floor. the blood. the drive through the rain. and him. andrew's face. no. not andrew. jack. you had spent the entire night replaying the conversation in your head, every word, every expression. 'because he existed. because loving someone doesn't stop just because they are gone.' you couldn't help but swallow hard as your eyes fluttered shot. the sentence had followed you into your sleep and replayed over and over again in your dreams. the curtain rustling open caused your eyes to open back up, jack stepping inside.
he looked so different in the morning. there were faint shadows underneath his eyes, his hair was slightly messier than it had been the night before, his scrubs not as crisp as they were at the beginning of his shift. one hand held a cup of coffee, the other held a clipboard with a chart. "morning," you spoke, your voice sounding so rough it scared you a little. he smiled a little, grabbing the same stool he sat in yesterday to sit at your bedside once again. "morning. how's the head?" he hummed, pulling that little flash light once again to look into your eyes. you thought about it for a moment, thought about lying. pope's voice popped in your head. don't lie. tell him the truth. "feels like someone dropped a bowling ball on it," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes a little as he pulled away, a small chuckle leaving his lips.
"that's reassuring," he mumbled, your eyes staring at him tiredly as he took a sip of his coffee. your head rested gently back against the bed, eyebrows raised slightly. "is it?" you spoke softly, arms stretching a little bit to shake the sleep form them. "no not at all," he chuckled, shaking his head quickly. a quiet laugh escaped your lips, one that surprised you. you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed without forcing yourself. jack noticed it too, his smile softening as he looked over your chart. he ran through the things you needed to do at home to care for yourself, your eyes staying shut as he talked.
"your scan was clear other than the concussion, so that's good news. the staples are holding. you're going to have a headache for awhile, probably some fatigue, maybe some light or noise sensitivity," he went on and on, your head only nodding. you were actually listening, just didn't want to continue to gawk at him. "you're going to need to rest," he spoke as he stood up, grabbing your jacket from the floor that must have fallen in your sleep to lay next to you. a loud groan left your lips as you opened your eyes to look at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "you're doing that doctor thing again," you grumbled, moving to fully sit up now.
his lips formed into a smile as he looked down his nose at you, an eyebrow raised slightly. "i am a doctor," he reminded you, your eyes rolling playfully at him as you moved to swing your legs to dangle off the bed, wincing a little bit from the pain in your head. "unfortunately," you teased, a small laugh leaving his lips. "you're lucky i didn't charge you extra for the attitude," he shot back, sliding your shoes to the side of your bed that you kicked off when you arrived. "you can't do that," you spoke as you looked up at him, a smile at the corner of your mouth. "i can emotionally," he shrugged, glancing towards the door. you couldn't help but laugh again, rubbing your arm gently. for a second, everything felt strangely normal.
"i'll get your discharge paperwork to you. someone will need to take you home," he hummed, making his way to stand in the frame of the door to your room. you were quick to shake your head as you slipped the shoes onto your feet. "i drove here. got here just fine," you shrugged, pulling the bloodied sweatshirt back over your body. "that was a terrible decision. got you here with a concussion somehow," he mumbled, shaking his head at you. a small sigh left your lips as you played with the sleeve of the hoodie, speckles of dry blood littering the fabric. "i'll call you an uber," he hummed with a nod, walking out before you could protest.
he came back rather quickly with your discharge paperwork and aftercare instructions, running over everything with you. "take this," he spoke quietly, a small piece of paper with a number scribbled down on it. you looked at it with furrowed eyebrows before slowly back up at him. he seemed suddenly uncomfortable, not exactly nervous. just careful. "i know this is probably a little unconventional but i remember what it was like," he spoke, his voice cracking a little bit as he watched you shove the piece of paper into the sweatshirt pocket. your eyebrows raised a little, your eyes slightly glossed over. "being the person everyone thinks should be okay because enough time has passed. people mean well. they call. they ask how you're doing. then they eventually stop because they think you're better," his words struck you right in the chest. they struck you so hard because they were so accurate.
"if you ever need someone to talk to, you can call. sometimes you need someone who isn't going to tell you to move on," he shrugged, his voice softening even more. like he was getting shy. you nodded slowly, forcing a small smile onto your lips as you continued to look up at him before looking away quickly. "you don't have to call. if you don't want to, that's okay too," he spoke quickly, trying his hardest not to make you uncomfortable. "i know," you whispered, nodding before he was giving you one last smile. "take care of yourself," he spoke after a moment, clearing his throat before he was making his way out into the emergency room. you stared at him as he walked off, your heart beating so fast. you had no intention of calling him. at least, that was what you told yourself.
for the next week, the number stayed in the pocket of your sweatshirt. you didn't look at it, you didn't need to. you knew it was there. and somehow, that was enough. you followed jack's instructions as much as you could. you ate when you remembered. you took the medication. you stayed away form bright screens. you even listened when the discharge paperwork told you to rest. but emotionally? emotionally you were a mess. a mess because every time you thought about jack, you felt guilty. it wasn't that you wanted him. you didn't. not really. at least, you didn't think you did.
you liked talking to him and liked the way he listened. you liked that you didn't have to explain what it felt like to wake up every morning and forget for half a second that the person you loved was dead. you liked that he understood why you still talked to andrew when you were alone. you liked that he didn't look uncomfortable when you said his name. and that terrified you. terrified you because you had spent three months trying to prove to yourself that you weren't moving on. you didn't want to move on because moving on felt like leaving pope behind. like if you laughed too much, you were forgetting him. if you had a good day, you were betraying him. if you enjoyed someone's company, you were somehow replacing him. and jack.. jack made you feel like maybe none of those things were true. that scared you more than anything. so you didn't call. you left he number untouched. until thursday.
laundry day. you were beyond exhausted, still distracted with your unpacked home, and still dealing with the occasional headache. you gathered your clothes from around the apartment and threw them into the washing machine, sweatshirt included. you didn't even think about the piece of paper that remained in the pocket. not until the washing machine had finished. you had pulled everything out and shoved it into the dryer, about to close the lid again when you noticed something white stuck against the inside of the drum. your stomach immediately dropped. the paper. "no, no, no," you immediately gasped as you pulled it out, the ink was gone. the paper had turned soft and thin and the numbers were smeared beyond recognition.
you tried everything to fix it. flattening it on the counter, drying it with the hair dryer, holding it under the kitchen light. nothing. you had ruined it. you sat down on the floor, and for some reason tears began to fill your eyes. it was ridiculous, it was just a phone number. but it wasn't. it was proof that someone had offered you something without expecting anything in return. it was a little piece of kindness and you had destroyed it. you couldn't stop staring at the ruined paper before you began to laugh through your tears. "of course," you mumbled between laughs, the tears still rolling down your cheeks. of course you had managed to wash the one thing you were supposed to keep.
you looked around your apartment, at the cheap curtains, the dying plants, the boxes you still hadn't unpacked. suddenly you realized something. you didn't want the number because you wanted something from jack. you wanted it because you wanted to say thank you. you wanted him to know that what he'd said mattered. and maybe you wanted to see him again. just once. that didn't mean anything. right? you stood slowly as you wiped your eyes, your eyes scanning around your kitchen when pope's words rang out in your ears again. cookies. do something nice. he was always the first one to encourage you to do something nice for others, himself to prideful to do it. he loved that about you, loved that you were willing to do anything for someone else.
the emergency room was just as busy as you remember. the waiting room full of people groaning, complaining and yelling. you just stood by the door, suddenly wondering if this was a terrible idea. you had spent the entire drive over telling yourself it was simple. drop off cookies. say thank you. leave. you didn't even realize you were walking right back outside until the cold pittsburgh air was hitting you in the face. "hey i remember you, you're the staples from last week," a woman's voice interrupted your thoughts, your head snapping to look at her. you looked her up and down slowly, her face familiar but you weren't sure of her name. your eyes landed on the badge that hung at her waste. 'dr. ellis" it read. you nodded a little, forcing a smile onto your lips.
"how's the head?" she spoke as she approached, eyes glancing down at the box of cookies you held before she was smiling back up at you. "it's good. i just wanted to drop these off for jack," you mumbled quickly, glancing around in hopes that for some reason he wasn't here yet. you didn't miss the smirk that fell upon her face, your cheeks immediately burning with embarrassment. "for all of you! for being so good to me," you shot immediately, a small laugh leaving her lips before she was nodding her head for you to follow. you swallowed hard as she lead you through and back through the double doors that opened up into the actual emergency room, unfamiliar faces from your night here everywhere.
she lead you right up to the nurses' station, nodding to an older blonde woman who stood there. "abbot in yet?" she spoke, the older woman looking between the both of you. god you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "should be any minute. who's this?" she hummed as she shot you a smile, your hands gripping the box of cookies so tight you felt like it was going to explode. "i'm just dropping off these cookies. he was good to me last week. just tell him i said thank you," you spoke quickly as you set the box gently on the counter, scratching at the back of your neck awkwardly. "cookies?" dana, which you read on her tag, spoke with a small smirk on her lips as doctor ellis wandered away.
it felt like you were going to crumple up and die of embarrassment as you stood there, hand shaking slightly. "not like that. can you just make sure he gets them?" you spoke quickly as you glanced around, suddenly so nervous that he was going to appear. "give what to who?" another voice interrupted, a taller older doctor coming to stand next to you. "cookies for jack," dana spoke, the man's eyebrows raising with surprise a little bit. you couldn't help the groan that left your lips as you rubbed at your eyes, glancing down at the man's name tag. robinavitch. "you made them?" he asked, a little shocked as he smiled just slightly. "yes. why does everyone sound so surprised?" you shot back, more rudely than you intended. there was that voice in your head again. be nice.
"he doesn't get cookies often. well ever actually," he laughed, your blush only getting worse. you continued to glance back at the door, eyes landing back on the nurse in front of you. "i better get going. just tell him thank you," you nodded, smiling at both of them. she nodded, the ambulance bay doors opening a few feet behind you. you noticed the way her eyes flicked past you, how the smile on dr. robinavitch's face changed. then that familiar voice spoke. "evening." your entire body went still. you slowly turned around to face him, his own face looking a bit shocked at the sight of you.
both of you stood in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. "you came back," he spoke softly, his eyes scanning your face before glancing down at the box of cookies in your hand. you didn't see the way the other doctor only slid down slightly so he was still in range that he could hear your conversation. or the way nurse dana sat down at the computer pretending to be busy but was eavesdropping every second of your conversation with him. "i brought you cookies. to say thank you," you spoke quietly, tearing your eyes away from his to stare down at the floor that seemed much more interesting now. "you didn't have to do that. you feeling okay?" he asked quietly, a warm smile on his face as he leaned against the counter next to you. you couldn't help the slight butterfly that floated in your stomach, swallowing hard to try to rid yourself of the feeling.
"following all the discharge instructions?" he spoke again, your eyes immediately looking right up at him before rolling. "don't start," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. you didn't see the way dana and robby glanced at each other before they continued to watch you and jack. "there she is," jack teased, eyes scanning around the department before they were back on you. he had a job to do. you need to leave. "well thank you again. for everything. bye," you mumbled awkwardly before you were dropping your head down, rushing back out the ambulance bay doors.
all three stood watching as you walked out, the smile never leaving jack's face as he watched you walk out. he looked down at the box of cookies before back to the door. "she made these just for you? must have been real nice to her," dana teased him, all three of them now huddled around the box of cookies. he could only shrug, the smile softening but not leaving his lips. "you gave her your number, didn't you?" robby spoke with a raised eyebrow, jack's eyes immediately rolling as he glared over at his friend. "just in case she needed to talk to someone who understands what she is going through," he shrugged, pushing open the box. "you gave a grieving patient your number," robby spoke as he rubbed his hands over his tired face. hr nightmare.
"what's that?" dana spoke as her eyes landed on the cookies, a small piece of paper shoved in the corner of the box. jack was quick to pull it out and unfold it, his eyebrows lifting a little. it was your number. robby was quick to peek at it, a small laugh leaving his lips. "you gave her your number, she apparently lost it, and now she's giving you hers," he hummed, patting his friend on the back. jack couldn't stop staring at the piece of paper, his head spinning a little bit. "shouldn't you be finish up your shift?" jack mumbled to him as he held the paper, robby only laughing. "yes, romeo," robby mumbled before he was walking away.
you didn't know what would come of leaving your number behind, but for the firs time in a while, you found yourself looking forward to finding out.
I’m allowed to cuddle my girlfriend (Jack Abbot & Tabasco)
Part 1 here
Jack Abbot x you (terrified of his dog Tabasco)
--- --- ---
The first thing you thought when you woke up was “Damn, I need to pee!” The second thought was “I shouldn’t have guzzled down a liter of water right before bed” And the thought immediately after was “Fuck, the hellhound is somewhere out there.”
For a few seconds you lay there, trying to talk your bladder down. Maybe you could just hold it in until the sun was up. Until Jack was awake. Until he could control the bloodthirsting creature he called his best friend.
The room was dark, Jack’s arm was heavy around your waist - adding extra pressure, which wasn’t exactly helpful - and his breathing was slow and even against your shoulder. It was one of his nights off which meant he had finally managed to sleep for more than a few hours at a time and you really didn’t want to disturb him.
Unfortunately your bladder had apparently decided it was in charge now.
You sighed and carefully lifted Jacks arm to slip out from underneath it. Your feet had barely touched the floor when you heard a soft rustle from the other side of the room.
You froze and looked over.
Two amber eyes were watching you from the dog bed like you were suddenly the main character in some kind of cheap horror movie.
“No” you whispered, your voice shaky.
Tabasco lifted his head.
“You stay here.”
He looked at you for a moment then stood, his eyes still fixed on you.
You shook your head. “No. You’re staying here. Tabasco, I mean it.”
His ears perked.
You pointed firmly toward his bed. “Go back to sleep.”
He took one step toward you which made you flinch. Your eyes darted between him and the bathroom door across the hall. You pressed your legs together, assessing if you really - really - needed the bathroom.
But yeah.
Eventually you stood and walked into the hallway, deliberately not looking at the dog who followed suit. You glanced over your shoulder.
“Seriously?”
The dog continued after you with the quiet, determined dignity of a bodyguard on patrol, reminding you a little of Jack.
You went into the bathroom and before you could close the door behind you - he followed.
You stared at him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
He tilted his head then sat down, a couple of feet away from the toilet, staring at you without even blinking.
You swallowed hard, then opened the toilet lid and pushed your panties down, just enough, trying to cover yourself. You tried to ignore him.
You really, really tried.
But there was something profoundly uncomfortable about attempting to pee while an eighty-pound brindle dog sat three feet away, watching every move.
You gave up.
“You’re a sick fuck” you whispered, your voice high-pitched and shaking badly.
Tabasco yawned.
You pulled your panties back up, washed your hands out of sheer habit and walked back toward the bedroom. Tabasco was on your heels.
Of course he was.
You climbed back into bed and shook Jack’s shoulder. “Jack.”
He made a sleepy noise, swatting at your hand like it was a fly.
“Jack.”
Eventually he groaned. “What?”
“Your dog is creepy.”
He opened his eyes, blinking. “Excuse me, what now?”
“Your dog is a creep.”
He groaned more and sat up, looking at Tabasco who sat in front of the bed, wagging his tail, watching you closely. “What did he do?”
“He followed me into the bathroom.”
He dragged a hand across his face. “Yeah. Okay?”
“He sat down in front of the toilet.”
“And?”
“He stared at me while I was trying to… to… to pee.” You blushed. “And I couldn’t because… that’s creepy behavior.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I see.”
“Yeah?”
He rubbed his eyes. “That’s actually why he ended up in the animal shelter.”
You stared at him. “WHAT?”
Jack shrugged. “Yeah, he has a toilet kink.”
There was a moment of complete silence while you tried to digest his words.
“Um, excuse me?”
“Yeah, a toilet kink. It’s just this thing he likes. And I thought… he’s weird, I’m weird, we’re gonna be best buddies.”
Your mind went blank.
After a moment Jack cracked. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. That was the moment you realized he was fucking with you. You slapped his arm.
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart” he managed between laughs.
“You’re not sorry.”
“No, I’m really not.”
You slapped his arm again. “My bladder is suffering and you’re making stupid jokes like you’re some kind of thirteen-years old.”
Jack finally managed to get himself under control. He leaned over and pressed a kiss onto your cheek. “Okay. Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He gave you another kiss, then looked at the dog. “Tabasco.”
The dog stood and tilted his head.
“Stay.”
He sat down again, but kept looking at you.
You looked between them. “Um, does he actually understand that?”
Jack looked nearly offended now. “Of course. He’s clever. And he understands more than some of my interns.”
You furrowed your brows and wanted to say something but Jack only sighed. “Go.”
The dog stood immediately.
“No, not you, Tabasco. Sit. I meant her.”
He sat down again.
You gave him one last look, then stood and walked toward the bathroom again. You could feel Tabasco’s eyes on you.
“Tabasco. Stay.” Jack’s voice had a certain dominant touch you couldn’t help but find attractive.
You disappeared into the bathroom and this time you managed. You could hear soft whimpers from the bedroom.
When you came back, Tabasco was still sitting exactly where Jack had left him. He gave a high-pitched bark when he saw you.
You stopped mid-movement when you heard it. “What the fuck was that?”
Jack smiled. “He’s happy you’re back.”
“I was gone for two minutes.”
“Well, you know how people say one human year is seven in dog years? Think about that and then how long two minutes must have been for him.”
You shook your head and slowly approached the bed. “Have you always been this weird or did you just develop it recently?”
Jack chuckled softly. The moment you climbed into bed he pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest.
Tabasco let out a small offended “Whiff!” then stood and walked over to his bed, where he turned around a couple of times before finally lying down.
You watched him. “He’s so weird.”
“He’s not weird.” Jack yawned.
“He wants to watch me pee” you replied without missing a beat. “That’s classified as weird on every international scale.”
He chuckled. “No, I think it’s only fair.”
“Excuse me?”
Jack shrugged and pressed a kiss against your hair. “You watch him pee when we go walkies. He watches you pee.”
The dog was instantly on his feet, his tail wagging so hard it thumped against the wall.
You stared at him. “What is wrong now?”
Jack groaned. “I said the word.”
“What word?”
“Walkies.”
Tabasco gave a small excited whine and trotted toward the bed, pressing his nose against Jacks thigh, whimpering.
“Oh my God, you activated him.”
“I know” Jack said with a deep sigh. “That was very stupid.”
You looked at the dog. “Tabasco, it’s three in the morning.”
He tilted his head, his tail still wagging.
Jack scratched his head. “Sorry, buddy, false alarm. Not happening.”
The dog’s whining intensified.
“Oh no, buddy, don’t look at me like that. It was an accident.”
The whining grew louder.
You blinked. “He’s such a drama queen."
Jack reached over and scratched him behind the ears. “Tabasco, I can’t go out with you now. I have this lovely woman I have to take care of, okay?”
The dog was still staring at him.
Jack let out a sigh. “Go back to bed.”
Tabasco stared at him.
“Tabasco, place.”
He let out a sigh then yawned and reluctantly trotted over to his bed.
You watched him curl up again.
“He’s going to hate me.”
“Why is that, sweetheart?”
“You told him I’m the reason you can’t walk him.”
Jack chuckled. “No, honey.” He kissed your forehead. “I think it’s more the opposite. I think my dog’s in love with you.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”
“No, I’m serious.” He shrugged. “He whimpers when you’re not here. He waits by the door whenever you leave. And when you come back, he follows you around like you’re the most intriguing person he’s ever met.”
You glanced at the dog bed. Tabasco was lying there but he was watching you, his chin resting on his paws.
“I think he just wants to get a closer look at his food” you said with a scoff.
Jack chuckled. “I think he kind of hates me because I’m the one mating with you.”
“OH MY GOD!” You let out a shriek. “DON’T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!”
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Jack sat up straight, looking at the dog who was already standing next to the bed. “What the actual fuck, dog? Are you really barking at me?”
Then he looked at you.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
WOOF!
“I’m allowed to play with my girlfriend!”
WOOF!
“Oh no, buddy, no, no, no. We’re not doing that here.”
You blinked. Jack’s voice was even more dominant now and you had to admit you kind of liked it.
Tabasco stood rigidly beside the bed, ears forward, staring at Jack as if he had just committed an unforgivable offense. He had made the new human scream. And as far as Tabasco was concerned that was apparently enough to make him a problem.
Jack pointed toward the dog bed. “Place.”
The dog didn’t move.
“Tabasco.”
His tail gave one stiff wag.
Jack’s voice dropped another notch. “Place. Now.”
For a moment he didn’t move. Then he turned around and walked back to his bed, reluctantly. Jack waited until Tabasco had settled down again before looking back at you.
“The audacity.” Jack let out a small scoff.
“He was… protecting me?” you asked, your voice small and confused.
Jack shrugged and glanced at the dog bed. “Yeah. And I appreciate that he cares about you but barking at me isn’t acceptable.”
Tabasco’s ears twitched.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I saw that, boy. You want to protect her? Fine. You stay close. You watch. But you don’t challenge me.”
The dog looked at you for a moment then yawned.
“Yeah, you know you just fucked up, eh?” Jack scoffed again.
“He thinks you’re boring” you whispered.
Jack smiled. “No. That’s a gesture of submission. He knows I’m in charge. He doesn’t challenge me.”
You grinned. “No. He clearly thinks you’re boring.”
Before you could escape he caught you around the waist and flipped you onto the mattress. You burst into giggles.
“Take that back, you menace.”
You shook your head, trying to fight him off. “Never!”
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE TABASCO WHAT THE HELL?” Jack exploded, sitting up straight, looking at his dog who was already standing again. “I’m allowed to cuddle my girlfriend.”
WOOF!
“Okay, that’s it.” Jack sat on the edge of his bed, already reaching for his crutches.
“Where are you going?” you asked confused, sitting up.
Jack stood up with a groan, then whistled. “Tabasco, come.”
The dog tilted his head, then followed him into the hallway.
“Jack?”
He stopped and turned back. “I’m letting him out in the backyard.”
“Um, why?”
“I’m going to piss on his favorite bush.”
You stared at him. “Excuse me, what now?”
Jack shrugged. “It’s called establishing dominance.”
“Seriously?”
He grinned. “What? Apparently I need to remind everyone who’s in charge around here. First him. And later you.”
He turned around and walked slowly toward the living room, the sound of his crutches a familiar rhythm.
You let yourself fall back into the pillows, blushing. “Fucking weirdos.”
