23 this blog has absolutely no structure i just reblog all of my hyper fixations randomly :) shout out to all the lovely writers out there, i try to reblog as much as a i can <3
summary: jack comes home to an unexpected guest—and finds them rather reminiscent of himself
cw: nothing but fluff and a little bit of excitement in the beginning
wc: 1.5k
a/n: ah, so this is not the first jack fic i’ve started, but the first one i’ve finished. hope you enjoy it. lowkey only read it over once, so ignore any mistakes, I promise they’re, um, stylistic choices.
some abbot smut is def incoming, especially after i heard shawn's second episode this morning while getting ready and almost missed my bus because of how distracted I was.
Jack prides himself on having a pretty good gut feeling about your well-being. It’s almost like a sixth sense that lets him know that you’re fine. And that sense hasn’t sounded the alarm yet, but something feels amiss.
He doesn’t get to check his phone for longer than a few seconds every time during his entire shift—only ever allowing him a glance long enough to see that you haven’t texted him.
He tells himself you’re fine. You’re most likely tucked away in bed, sound asleep and deeply unaware of all the terrible things that happen to people late at night—a privilege he’ll never get back.
But the pit in his stomach doesn’t ease up.
By the time 7 am rolls around, he’s more eager than ever to get out of the PTMC, get into his car, and drive home to check on you. He considers calling you from the car, but he doesn’t want to wake you in case everything’s fine and you’re asleep. Part of him thinks it might be some sort of PTSD kicking in, a desperate need to protect everyone around him, you at the very top of that list. He promises himself to bring this up in his next therapy session, but before that, he needs to see your face.
The quiet that greets him when he gets home is not the kind he’s used to after years of working the night shift. It’s different, thicker, more loaded.
And then it’s interrupted.
A sound he can’t quite place echoes down from upstairs. It’s like a soft pitter-patter, fast and a little uncoordinated.
Jack’s eyebrows furrow together. The noise is much too soft to be originating from your movements, but he struggles to come up with any other explanation.
He takes two steps at a time, his leg stinging quite a bit after his long work day/night, as he walks up the stairs.
The door to your shared bedroom is closed all the way—it rarely ever is.
As suspicion makes space for fear, Jack’s fingers wrap around the lamp on the side table in the landing area. He can’t imagine that a burglar would try his luck in the early morning hours, and he pays more than enough for the security system of the house, but his concern for your safety outweighs logic.
With his makeshift weapon in one hand, he takes a step forward and inhales deeply before he makes contact with the door handle.
But just as his fingers touch the cold brass, he hears something. Your voice. And you don’t sound scared at all.
“Shh, sweetie, you gotta be quiet.”
At first, he only feels relief. Then your words process. And Jack realizes you aren’t alone in there. His mouth falls open.
It’s not jealousy he feels in response to what you said—it’s immediate heartache.
It can’t be, he thinks. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t bring some stranger into the house and—he can’t even bring himself to finish the thought. But then he hears your voice again, so soft and tender as you whisper words he can’t quite make out.
You wouldn’t talk like this to a man—or woman, for that matter. Jack’s confusion grows into utter perplexity.
There’s only one thing he can do.
He pushes the door open and stares.
The scene he’s met with barely makes sense in the beginning. You’re crouched on the floor, a fluffy wand with a feather attached at its end in your hand.
The room smells a little bit like fish, and there is all this white and grey hair sticking to your black sweatshirt—no, not hair. Fur.
“Sweetheart? What’s going on here?”
Jack is frozen between rooms, the divot between his brows growing deeper. You smile sheepishly, and he instantly knows you’ve done something you weren’t supposed to.
“Hi, honey,” you mumble, your voice lowered. “I, um… I have a surprise for you?”
Jack figures this was supposed to come out like a statement, but it sounds more like a question.
“What are you doing on the floor?” he asks, extending a hand to help you up from the floor. You take it, but instead of letting him pull you to your feet, you tug on his hand (the one that’s not holding the lamp) and guide him to sit down.
“Don’t be mad, please,” you request.
He furrows his brows as if you’ve just said something utterly ridiculous.
“I won’t be mad, princess, but… what… what is going on?”
You take a deep breath, then mutter, “I found a—”
Before you can finish speaking, a fuzzy little ball of grey and white shoots out from under the bed. With its considerable speed, the furry thing knocks into the dresser, then disappears under it.
“What was that?” Jack gasps, crouching down ungracefully to peer under the furniture. “Was that a rat?”
You tut instantly and shake your head.
“That was not a rat, Jack.”
Your soft laughter fills the room, but he is still trying to get a glance at whatever was currently trying to make its home underneath his socks and underwear.
Just as you open your mouth to keep explaining, a pink nose peeks out. White whiskers are attached to said nose, and Jack has to admit that it’s much too big to be a rat.
When the rest of its furry face becomes visible, Jack’s goes a little pale.
“Baby,” he begins. “Is there a cat hiding under the dresser?”
You smile awkwardly, then nod.
“A kitten,” you reply.
He leans down even further to get a better look at the animal, then gives you a look full of disbelief.
“That’s not a kitten. That… that is a cat, in every sense of the word.”
You frown softly, and all he wants to do is kiss your face, even though you brought some possibly flea-ridden stray into his house without asking first.
“She’s a baby.”
“She? She? She is a cat—wet nose, whiskers, and four paws.”
“Three.”
Jack blinks at you, then mutters, “Excuse me?”
“She has three paws,” you explain, then whistle softly. The kitten—cat—whatever she is, peers out of her hiding place and glances between you and Jack. He receives a rather critical look, prompting him to scoff. Then she stalks out of the tight space right into your lap.
The little feline truly has only three legs and a little stump where the fourth was supposed to be.
“What happened to her?” he asks quietly, reaching out to let the cat sniff his fingers. She does that, rather disinterested though.
“I don’t know,” you mumble.
“And how old is she?” he continues.
“I don’t know. Baby age,” you repeat.
He gives you a sour glance, but if he’s honest, he is fighting a smile.
“And what is she doing here?” he questions.
You look down at the little fur ball and smile.
“I found her.”
“And decided to keep her?”
“Yep.”
Jack sighs deeply and scratches behind her ears. When she starts purring, he’s no longer able to suppress a grin.
“She’s a little sweetheart,” he mutters.
As if to contradict him, the cat swats at his fingers—at least without claws—and then turns in your lap to look away from him.
“I stand corrected,” he says. “She’s feisty. You found a little diva.”
You keep petting the cat, who has taken a much bigger liking to you than to him, and look up at him. He knows the dreaded question is coming before you even open your mouth.
“Can we keep her?”
Jack exhales audibly, then takes another look at her.
“We don’t know where she came from,” he reminds you. “She might have a family, sweetheart, people who are looking for her.”
“But she’s so thin and her- her fur’s all matted. There was no collar, and I even checked to see if there’s a tattoo in her ear, and there isn’t. We could take her to the vet and have her checked for a chip. And if—” you argue, but he stops you before you get your hopes up too high.
“Baby, wait, wait,” he says. “Alright. We’ll take her to the vet, but I… please don’t think about names and cat trees and all that just yet, okay? Let us see what we can find out about her first.”
He can’t believe he’s agreeing to this, but then adds, “And if there’s no chip and nothing else to indicate she might belong to someone else, we… we can keep her.”
The cat jumps from your lap as you fall into Jack’s arms, the biggest smile he’s ever seen on your face.
“Oh, thank you, honey,” you answer, the words a little muffled as you speak them against the side of his neck.
He gently rubs your back and shakes his head.
“I can’t believe half the things you get up to while I’m away at work.”
The cat stares at him, her yellow eyes following the movement of his hand on your back rather critically. Jack sighs again, realizing he might have just lost the number one spot in your heart to a three-legged ball of fur. But then again, you’ve always had a thing for strays with missing limbs.
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a little small talk, a smile, and baby, i was stuck
pairings: brendon park x f!reader
Park hates you, or so you think. And so what happens if one night you question him as to why?
warnings: smut. creampies. hints of robby x reader (but not really). park being readers biggest and silent supporter but posing like an opp. teasing. bantering. park's in love with her, your honour. park cooking for reader. biting kink (both!) dirty talk. park being narcissistic. a little bit of choking. banter for days. fingering. park being condescending. praise kink! excessive use of parenthesis from yours truly. aftercare from the shark <3 oh he is soooo soft for her.
notes: this is technically part one to the series! but you can definitely read it as a stand alone, as i made all the parts so! i decided to break it up because it was hella long, and i thought it would be more enjoyable this way! as always, let me know what you think!
word count: 6.1k+
based on the blurb that i did here: it started out with a kiss
dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask
There was no doubt about it, Brendon Park hated you. You had no concrete proof, but it was a feeling. You don’t think he hated you at first sight, but maybe, most definitely, the second or third time he met you.
You could feel his ire towards you whenever the two of you were in the same room. Robby often having to step in so he wouldn’t be too harsh, somehow that action eliciting more snark from the surgeon.
Which was a blow to your ego, you admired him, one of his nicknames was ‘Ortho God’ for a reason. Call it a need for approval or whatever, but you hated the fact that he seemed to hate you with no reason at all.
Not adding to the fact that you thought he was attractive, something that would never leave your mind because who in their right mind would find Park the Shark attractive? He was cocky, rude, blunt and had a God complex.
But still.
There was something about him that just made you gravitate towards him. Maybe it was his seemingly unshakeable confidence, his competency in his job, or the fact that his brain was probably as big as his forearms.
Tired of him pretending you don’t exist when he walks into the same room as you, was what brought you here today.
“Why the fuck do you hate me? You asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor and pointedly ignoring Park’s amused chuckle. “That’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you.
“That’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it. If you noticed he moved the drink so his lips could be where yours were, you didn’t say anything.
“How do you know what I drink?” Flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to Park. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I don’t hate you,” he eventually answered, in a tone that suggested that you were stupid to think that he hated you. “I hate how you act Robinavitch.”
You pulled back, “Excuse me?”
Park rolled his eyes, “You’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “I’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him, or if you think he’s around?” Park made a disgusted face and scoffed.
“You’re clueless, as if being in a trauma bay is a field trip for you, and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.”
Balking at this criticism at your person, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. You tried to remember all your encounters with Park when Robby was around. Grimacing, you could see where he was coming from.
Were you really like that? When you were with Robby? If someone like Park - who doesn’t come down that often sees it, who else does? Were you the fucking laughing stock of the ED?
Fury and embarrassment ran through you and you steeled yourself, “What’s it to you?”
“I want you to be the best,” he answered, ordering another whisky. Park turned to you and under the light you saw the intensity in his eyes, the blatant expression almost too much for you. “I know that you can be the best.”
You were stunned at his words.
“You can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that Robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” Park said truthfully.
You want to say that Brendon Park is a liar. That he uses people to gain advantage. But he doesn’t. He’s mean, crass, blunt, impatient but not a liar.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Park glanced at you, watching as you fiddled with your drink.
You scoffed, “Could have fooled me.”
“I don’t want you to waste your potential. I’ve seen too many people in this field make themselves smaller so they can have the hot shot attending,” Park explained.
“Speaking from experience?” You quipped and you mumbled an apology when he threw you a glare.
“You have promise, you could make a good Chief one day, can’t do that when you’re too busy crying in an on-call room when you found out Robinavitch was fucking Hastings,” at the mention of the two people that have been the cause of your tears for the last few weeks, Park saw you tense, and then you relaxed.
“That was one time!” You cried out.
“You’re too attractive for him anyway,” he threw out, gulping down his shot, while looking at you through his peripheral.
“Is this your way of getting into my pants?” You snipped.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked. “But no, if I wanted to fuck you I don’t need to use pretty words.”
“Oh really?” You sneered, and deep down inside you hated yourself because you knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Why because you’re such an Ortho God that me having sex with you would give me some of your godly medicinal powers?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes, trying to figure out his plan.
You followed the path of his mouth turning to a smirk, “No, I just know that you find me attractive as much as I find you attractive.”
You feigned a disgusted noise, snorting into your drink, “I never said I found you attractive.”
“Oh, so do your eyes just follow everything attending that walk through the ED?” He remarked. “And do you accidentally like years old posts on their private Instagram as well?”
“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled, downing your drink, embarrassment alive and well, digging itself into every crevice of your body.
Park laughed loudly, “Sure, baby,” the drinks making his lips a little looser. “Pretty sure I have a screenshot somewhere.”
At the nickname, you squirmed in your seat. You weren’t uncomfortable per se, just confused that Park was talking to you like this. You squinted your eyes and poked him, trying to make sure that it was him in front of you.
“What are you doing?” He leaned back, trying to figure out what you were doing.
“Why are you talking to me now?”
He took a moment to say anything to you, a silence that you filled by looking at him.
“You did well today,” he begrudgingly said. Thinking back to your day, you remembered exactly what he was talking about. Park was called down for a consult, you were the resident in charge of the case.
You caught something that the others didn’t see, that Robby didn’t see. They brushed you off at first, and you were frustrated at the lack of trust in your judgement. It wasn’t until Park came into the room and backed you up that people believed your claim.
“A compliment? From Park the Shark?” You heard him huff and you could practically hear him roll his eyes.
You didn’t know if it was the flowing of alcohol through your veins, or the fact that Park was actually talking to you, or the fact that conversing was easier than you anticipated. More comfortable and fun that you could ever imagine that you wanted to continue to talk to him.
“So, back to that screenshot,” you smiled sweetly. “You were lying about that, right?”
Park laughed and you watched, mesmerised at the rare sight. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” turning to you, a gleam in his eyes, “But if you don’t believe me, I can always show you back at my place.”
“Smooth,” you rolled your eyes but downed the rest of your drink.
You both stared at each other, knowing what each of you wanted. As if you were telepathically connected, Park paid for both of your drinks and looked expectantly at you.
“I’ll call an Uber,” Park pulled out his phone, looking at you when you let out a breath through your nose.
“You’re presumptuous,” you said but hopped off your chair, grabbing your things.
“He’s on his way, let’s go,” putting his phone back, he waited for you to go past him, his hand landing on the small of your back.
-
You were tense next to him, Park could feel it. Taking initiative, he placed his hand on your thigh squeezing once. You looked up to him, tracing his jawline with your eyes.
“If you don’t want to do this, say so,” Park said, being uncharacteristically gentle. “I can book an Uber for you when we get to my place and we don’t have to speak about this ever again.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, “Now I really know you want to get in my pants.”
Narrowing his eyes, he pinched your thigh, causing you to yelp and the Uber driver to look at you. Nodding at him reassuringly, he looked back to the road.
“Are you always this mouthy?”
Shrugging you turned to him, “Guess you just have to find a way to make me shut up.”
Park grinned and the sight of his canines made you swallow. There was something so animalistic about him when he smiled at you like that. Feeling your heart begin to race, you felt yourself lean up.
A clearing of a throat broke the two of you apart, you mumbled an apology, but didn’t move away from the warmth of Park.
-
“I hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs.
Park threw his keys by the side table and smirked at you, “I can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, he squeezed once. “Up,” he commanded and you obeyed. “Good girl,” seeing your reaction at those words, Park filed the response away in his brain, fully intending to use it within the next thirty minutes.
Lifting you up, you felt your back hit the door, and before you could complain, Park placed his mouth over yours. It was soft, softer than you thought his lips would be (not that you ever thought about his lips before this). Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
Deepening the kiss, you could feel his tongue slowly trace your bottom lip. Parting your lips, Park slowly slid his tongue, lazily allowing it to map out your mouth, your own tongue docile waiting for his command.
“So needy,” Park smirked against your mouth, his tongue collecting both of your saliva from your chin and licking it back to your mouth. Feeling emboldened you stroked the underside of his tongue with yours, earning a groan from the man. Grasping the hair at the bottom of his neck, you pulled, eliciting another groan.
Park pushed you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach, “Feel that, princess? Hope you can take it.” He swallowed your moan, this time completely taking over control, moving one hand to the back of your neck, he wrapped his hand around your hair and this time, it was him that pulled.
Licking up your exposed neck, he could hear your panting from above, wanting more of your noise, Brendon sank his teeth in gently to the meat of your shoulder.
“Brendon,” you gasped, his teeth leaving an imprint on your soft skin. You rutted against his bulge, earning a hitch of breath from the man in front of you.
“I’m not going to fuck against my door,” he said against your lips. “Come on.”
You briefly looked around his room. It was nice. Clean and precise, just how you thought Park’s room would be (again, not that you ever thought about that, definitely not), a few personal touches here and there.
Feeling laughter bubble out of you, “Is that a picture of yourself on your table?”
“I look good,” you looked back to the picture and he had you there. He did in fact look good, very good.
“You’re narcissistic,” you replied.
“I have good reasons to be,” he pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. You took a moment to look at him. The plains of his chest, the sprinkling of his chest hair, how broad his shoulders are. Just how fucking big he is. Wetting your lips, your eyes dragged down his happy trail, eyes landing on his bulge.
He closed the distance between the two of you, clashing your mouths together again. Park grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, hands straight going to your ribs. You let your hands wander around his chest, eventually landing on his belt buckle.
Biting his bottom lip, you moved your mouth down his neck, mouthing open kisses down his stomach. You heard him curse above you, spurring you on, you kissed the tent of his pants, your hands working on unbuckling his belt.
Tugging his pants down, you noted the wet spot on his underwear, kissing the outline of his cock, you felt Brendon place his hands on your head. Pulling down his briefs, you watched his length appear. Practically salivating, you couldn’t help but lick the precum on the tip of his head. You rolled the liquid in your mouth, allowing it to coat every crevice. He tasted salty, masculine, and you wanted more.
“Fucking hell,” Brendon gritted out, as his fingers gripped your hair.
Sitting back on your heels, you took a moment to look at him. He was huge, to say the least. Big and thick in all the right places, a thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You took a moment to just admire his length, fingertip trailing against a particularly prominent vein.
Licking your lips, you opened your mouth, ready to taste him properly. Before you could, you felt a tug on your upper arm. Brendon looked down at you, “Not tonight. Been thinking too long about this to not be in your pussy right now.”
“You’ve thought about this?” You cocked your head to the side, and Brendon looked down at you and a little light flared up in his chest.
Before you could think about what he meant, Park yanked you, grabbing your face and messily kissed you. Grinding his leaking cock into your stomach, you moved your hand downwards until you were able to grasp it.
He hissed as he felt your hand on him, slowly twisting your hand up and down, spreading his precum around the head of his cock. Briefly pulling away from him, you brought up your hand and locked eyes with him. Sensually licking his cum off, you watched as his nostrils flared, his breath getting heavier, looking down you could see his cock twitching.
With what could only be described as an actual growl, Park wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, and roughly yanked you back to his mouth.
“Get your fucking pants off,” he commanded against your lips.
Kicking the rest of his pants off, you did the same, almost falling when it got caught on your ankle. “Careful,” he mumbled gently, as he caught you.
Removing your pants for you, he laid you down on the edge of his bed. “Cute,” Park smirked as he stared at your underwear with cherries on there. His eyes focusing on the large wet spot.
“Shut up, I didn’t know I was going to have sex with you,” you whined, closing your legs slightly.
“So you would have worn something different if you did know?” He said arrogantly, and it took everything in you to not kick him in the head. Hot as he might be, he was still the arrogant Park you knew.
Sensing your annoyance and that you were going to say something, he leaned forward and licked you through your underwear. A moan escaped your mouth as you felt him suckle your clit through the fabric.
Tasting you, Park grunted and he felt himself subconsciously move closer to you, arms coming beneath your thighs and yanking them to his body. Kissing across the span of your pelvic area, you yelped when you felt him nip your inner thigh.
Rutting into his bed, Park would have been ashamed of his actions, acting like a teenage boy tasting his first pussy, but you were here. You were under him and he really didn’t fucking care if he came right now just from tasting you.
Having enough of the fabric in his way, he ripped the cotton, apologising by placing a soft kiss on your mound, eventually sliding down to your clit.
“Prettiest fucking pussy,” as he spread your lips, your hole clenching at his actions. “Taste so fucking good,” he said against your hole. Lapping at your slick, your hands hovering near his head before you threaded your fingers through his hair.
“Brendon, fuck,” you cried out, head falling back as you thrusted up to his face. Cupping your ass, he pulled you impossibly closer, allowing you to practically ride his tongue.
You could hear the lewd slurp of his mouth, feel his drool combining with your slick. Brendon thrust his tongue into your hole, trying to get as much essence as he could, swallowing it down like it was his life elixir.
Placing his thumb on your clit, Brendon growled as he felt you tighten even more against his tongue, moving away with an audible pop, he dragged his fingers down until he was at your entrance.
Flicking his eyes back up to you, he watched as you arched your back as he entered your hole with two fingers. He closed his eyes at your warmth, the tightness and smoothness of your channel. He pressed deeper into your heat, eventually landing on your sweet spot.
“Bren,” you sighed out as he began curling his fingers. You clenched your jaw, breath taken away from the sheer size of his fingers.
Needing his tongue on you again, he pulled out his fingers, dipping them into his mouth and moaning at your taste.
“You have the sweetest fucking pussy, baby,” he mumbled against your clit, sucking it into his mouth, Brendon almost rolled his eyes to the back of his head at the noises you were making. “Can’t believe you kept her from me.”
You usually would have hated men referring to your pussy like that but fuck if didn’t turn you even more. Running one hand through his hair, your other hand gripped onto his forearm. Brendon shifted his hand to hold yours, interlocking fingers as he pushed his face closer to your heat.
Feeling your release coming embarrassingly close, you tightened your grip on his hair and hand, your core tightening, you cried out, a long elongated noise as you felt your orgasm wash over you. You rutted your pussy against his face, prolonging the pleasure that you were receiving.
Panting and trying to regain some sort of clarity, you slowly released the grip you had on his hair. The gel completely gone, you almost felt bad at how messy he looked, but all it did was turn you on.
Sitting back up, you saw your release glisten against his face, you reached for him, needing to taste him. Crashing your mouths together, you cupped his cheeks, feeling his stubble against your palms. Dragging him down to you, you unashamedly licked around his mouth, collecting your juices and melted your mouths together again.
Practically on top of you, you felt his shaft weep against your stomach, feeling drops of his precum dropping. Sliding yourself up, you wrapped your legs around him, letting his cock slide between your folds. Grunting into your mouth, Brendon followed your movements, his cock itching to be in you.
Dragging you up his bed, Brendon reached for one of his side tables, opening up, blindly feeling around for something, all the while keeping his lips on yours. Bringing out what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut, and regretfully pulled away from you.
Moving to open the foil packet, you grabbed his hand and looked at him, and against your all medical instincts, you shook your head, “Want to feel you.”
Brendon breathed through his nose and for a second you thought you made a mistake. The next moment you saw, was him throwing the condom across his room, arms caging around your head, his weight slowly being placed on top of you.
Gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the head a couple of times, your hips jolting trying to chase the feeling. He slid against your pussy again, his pre completely dripping down to your hole. Brendon groaned as he squeezed the base of cock and moved his hand up, forcing more of his precum to land on your clit.
Spreading the liquid using the tip, you threw your head back, relishing in the feeling, as the man above you gritted his teeth.
“Brendon, please,” you begged, eyes starting to tear up. You could feel yourself clench against nothing and it was aggravating to know he wasn’t in you yet. “Please, I need you.”
He stared at you, and for a moment you felt like you were prey finally being found by the big bad predator. Park kept eye contact with you as he slowly encompassed everything that you could see, everything that you could feel.
Sliding into you slowly, Park watched as you closed your eyes at his size and the stretch. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you felt him hit home, eyes closing at the fit. When he was flushed against your hips, he let out a strangled groan of your name.
“I’m good,” you breathed out, nodding your head.
“How do you want it?”
You fluttered your eyes open and looked at the man above you, his gaze intent, “What?” You stuttered.
“How do you want me to fuck you?” He elaborated -- the way he would explain simple medical terms to the medical students, but his tone was different. It was soft.
“Slow, rough,” you gulped, a small sliver of embarrassment making a home in your chest, and you broke eye contact with him. “Hard,” you mumbled.
Squishing your cheeks together with one hand, he turned your head to lock eyes with him. “Don’t,” he breathed as he began to pull out slowly, keeping his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he plunged harder into your pussy. Hands grasping his bedsheets, you arched your back, a loud moan of his name leaving your mouth.
“That’s fucking right,” he purred against your neck, hands going to the back of your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder. Folding your legs, Brendon leaned on his forearms, as he held the rough pace. “Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.”
He was rewarded with you clenching your pussy tighter and a strangled noise coming from your mouth.
“Feel so good,” you babbled, turning your face to kiss him.
He grinned down at you, “Yeah, is that right, baby?” He pulled out to just his tip and you whined at the loss, “Who’s making you feel this way?”
“You, just you,” you cried out, your hands reaching for the back of his body. Hanging on to him, “Brendon,” you moaned, eyes clenching tight.
Roughly sinking back into your cunt, you let out a scream as you dragged your nails down his back. He kept at that rhythm, leaning on one forearm, other hand reaching towards to engulf the right side of your cheek.
Caressing it softly, he looked down at you; sweat lining your forehead, your lips parted, cupid's bow just waiting to be kissed and Brendon didn’t want to ever forget this. Teeth latching on your jaw, not biting, just holding you there, one of your hands drifted to the hair on the base of his neck.
“Where?” He mumbled against your jaw, lips moving to your lips.
“Inside,” you panted, clenching your pussy. “Birth control.”
You heard him briefly curse under his breath, his lips mouthing against your neck. “You just let anyone cum inside of you?”
“No, just you,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulder. “Just want your cum.”
At that, Park’s eyes lit up, his face twisting into an animalistic look, brutally thrusting deeper into you, “That’s fucking right,” he growled against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”
Dragging his lips down from your mouth, he licked your neck, all the way down to your shoulder. “Tell me,” he mumbled and you grew confused until you felt his teeth sink into you.
Clenching around him, you felt another rush of heat through you. “Brendon,” you gasped, breath hitching, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Fuck.”
Softening his bite, he licked the mark, thumb moving down to circle your clit. “You want me to fill you up, huh?” Brendon taunted, as his lips found yours again. “Want me to breed your little pussy?”
You nodded, tears running down your face, “Please, Brendon,” you cried out.
Dragging his cock slowly, he pushed in and gave a little grind of his hips. Crying at the sensation of the tip of his cock grinding into your g-spot, and his hair catching on your little nub, you were in a euphoric state of mind.
Breath hitching, you could feel your pussy pulse around his cock, your stomach tensing. You could feel your orgasm approaching.
“Cum around me baby,” he said against your ear, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Wanna feel you.”
Shutting your eyes, you jerked your hips upwards, “Fuck!” It was all too much, his words, his touch, his cock, everything. With one last grind against your sweet spot, you let out another scream of his name as you felt your release go through you. You squeezed his shoulders, nails breaking into the skin. Panting his name, all you could do was hold onto him, as you felt your cum coat his cock.
Pulling him to you, Brendon dropped his head to your neck, licking the sweat accumulated there. Feeling the spasms of your pussy, Brendon stuttered in his thrusts.
“Best fucking pussy,” he groaned out, hand on your neck and face nuzzled into the crook of it. “Feel like you’re made for me.”
You nodded at whatever he said, head too fuzzy to register anything with the exception that his hips were snapping faster now, trying to chase his own release. “Fucking best girl, yeah? Gonna fill you up.”
With a final growl of your name, you felt him spill inside of you. Your hips jerking as you felt him continuously fill you up. “That’s my girl,” he panted against your ear, licking the apparent tears coming from your eyes, as he felt his cock twitch a couple more times.
Placing kisses from your ear to your cheek, he travelled until he met your mouth. Grasping your face softly with his hands, he looked down at you, blue eyes blown with lust but the most gentle you’ve ever seen.
“Holy shit,” you panted, blinking rapidly trying to make sure you were still alive. “Fuck, Park.”
At your reaction, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Good to know it was good for you as well, sweetheart.”
“Good?” You asked in astonishment. “Jesus, Park. That was mind blowing.”
Grinning, he shifted his forearms, he looked down and the sight made him pause. Your slick was all over him, a white ring at the base of his cock, your wetness all over his pubic hair. Mesmerised at the sight, he leaned further back, spreading your folds, he shallowly thrust into you. Whining at the overstimulation, you grabbed his bedsheets, heart starting to race again.
“Look at you,” he said in a soft awe. He paused for a moment, to just memorise you on his bed; dishevelled, tears running down your face, his marks along your body. Fucking beautiful.
He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the same time. Slowly lowering your legs, you felt him massage your sore hips as you hissed as they hit the bed.
One hand slowly coming to caress your cheek again, Brendon couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss you. Unlike the previous times your mouths met, this time he met your lips softly. He slowly deepened the kiss, his lips working in a way that you didn’t expect from him. You felt him take his time to guide his tongue into your mouth, massaging your tongue with his.
Reluctantly parting from you, he stared at you, blue eyes locking with yours. Brushing away the strands sticking to your face, you felt your heart jump at how he was looking at you. Gulping, you reached up and traced his cheekbone, admiring how pliant he was at this moment.
“Stay,” he said softly, his tone completely different to a couple of minutes ago. Getting up he went to another room, which you presumed was the bathroom. You really tried not to admire his backside but Park truly was a god in terms of his physique alone. Watching as he walked back, you saw that even when he was soft, it was still a sight.
“Spread your legs, baby,” he asked softly, and you did so, wincing as you opened your legs for him.
You took a good look at him, as best as you could in your post sex haze. Admiring his thick thighs, you wondered what it felt like under your hands; to touch, to squeeze. Coming closer to you, you pondered on how his body would feel to just touch innocently, to have him wrapped around you.
“Thanks,” you said in appreciation, staring at the way he was so gentle around you.
Cleaning himself up, you watched as he threw the towel into his hamper. He stood by his dresser, leaning against it as he just looked at you. Running his eyes through your state.
“What?” You chuckled, and a sense of insecurity ran through you. This was after sex. After the adrenaline and horniness of it all. Wanting to wrap his bedsheets around your body, you forced yourself to just stay.
“You’re pretty,” was all he said and you were taken aback from the sincerity in his voice. Softening at his words, it was your turn to stare at him again. He stood in a way that radiated confidence, something that could never be shaken.
“Go pee,” taking you out of your thoughts, you stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“I have a spare glass on the counter. Are you happy with tap water?”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to get to you. Gently picking you up by your pits, he sat you up. “You need to pee. You should know that, being a doctor and all,” and there he was. The annoying man you’ve become accustomed to.
“I know that,” you snapped, slapping his hand away.
Ignoring the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up, and you instantly regretted it as you almost fell face first on his floor.
“Park,” you whined as you felt his hands supporting your body, you tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he wouldn’t give.
“Are you always this annoying?” You moved to slap his thigh. “Jesus, if you’re still this annoying I need to fuck you harder.”
“I’m going to pee now,” and with that you closed his bathroom door on him.
You left his bathroom, and scanned the room, trying to see if you could see your clothes. You knew what came next, and you wanted to limit the amount of awkwardness that you’d inevitably feel. Padding over to where you vaguely saw Brendon throw your shirt, you frowned as you saw nothing.
“What are you doing?” Park watched you with an impatient stare, noticing that he had put on some sweats and a shirt, you took a moment to drag your eyes down his figure.
“Uh, going home?” You scrunched your face, and began trying to find your clothes. “Where are my clothes?”
“I put them in my hamper, I’ll wash them tomorrow for you,” he jerked his head to the basket in the corner of the room.
“Why?” You asked, confused. Isn’t this the part where he kicks you out? Tell you ‘thanks but don’t ever bring this up’. “Don’t you want me to leave?”
“Did I say I want you to leave?” He got you there. But still this was the normal procedure. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to you, and dressed the extra shirt in his hand on your body.
Leading you back to his bed, he laid you down and crawled over your body, “I’m not done with you.”
-
Waking up, you turned over, hands reaching out for a warm body and opening your eyes when you didn’t find him.
You slowly walked down, clad only his shirt, you observed for a minute, just seeing Park in his natural habitat. You saw him being at ease in his kitchen, if someone told you that you would be watching Park the Shark making breakfast with only his sweats on, you would have told them that they were crazy.
Running your eyes down his back, you saw the marks that you left and pride (and a bit of embarrassment) filled you.
“Morning,” you greeted, walking right beside him.
Park ran his eyes up and down your body, “Morning. You look good.”
“Sure, Park,” you knew you looked like a mess. Hair not even brushed, his shirt on you askew, and toothpaste residue you accidentally left on said shirt.
You looked around at what he had, and you thought of what you could help with.
“Just sit,” he jerked his head to his table, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ve got it covered.”
Sitting down, you watched as Park continued to cook, you sat there in silence as you admired him. You wondered if he was like this every morning, or after every hook-up he had. Shaking your thoughts, you didn’t need to know about that.
“I don’t know what you wanted,” Park spoke as he flipped the final pancake. “I don’t do this so I just made what I would usually have,” turning the stove off, he picked up the plates.
“What? You don’t treat all your hook-ups like this?” You teased, heart lurching a bit, but you managed to ignore it.
“No,” he answered bluntly.
“Oh?” You asked, your mouth working faster than your brain.
He looked down at you. “No. If I did sleep with someone, I wouldn't take them here and I certainly wouldn't make them breakfast.”
“So what, am I special?” You teased, your heart lurching in a different way.
Brendon didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you, and an unfamiliar (but welcoming) warmth made its home in your veins.
Placing the food down, your eyes bulged and your mouth started to drool. “And I wasn’t lying,” Park said as he put your plate in front of you.
“Huh?”
“You look good.”
Silence stretched until he sat down, Park really had no reason to lie to you. He already had you last night, several times in fact, and then this morning too before both of you truly woke up.
The compliment sat on your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it. The warmth from before really hammering its presence.
“Coffee?” You asked, not seeing anything on your side.
“What do you usually have?”
“Matcha,” and at that you heard him snort, making you throw a piece of fruit at him.
“Of course, you do, princess,” Brendon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t have that,” as he made a mental note to place it on his list.
Telling him your alternative preference, he got up and walked to his machine. “I can make it,” you started, getting up from your seat.
“I got it, just eat,” and with that he turned his back to you.
Taking a couple of pancakes and a few extra bits and pieces, you began to dig in.
“Who knew that Park the Shark could cook,” you teased as you placed the pancake in your mouth. Moaning loudly, you looked to the food and to him, “Holy fucking shit, you made this?”
“My mum made sure that I could cook,” he said as he placed down your coffee. “Said that I’m not a man if I don’t know how to cook for my woman.”
Swallowing your food, you hummed, “Let me know her name and I’ll personally thank her.”
“Are you working today?” Was all he said, despite the fond smile on his face.
“No, I’m off for five starting today,” you replied, shoving another piece into your mouth.
“Good,” he looked over his coffee, eyes trained on your face. “Eat up because I’m going to fuck you all day today.”
frank coaxes an overtired tired, tipsy you into his lap and takes over the job of caring for you
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: frank langdon x er!barbie reader
WARNINGS: fluff, tipsy!reader, au where they are together and in love already!!!!!!, little PDA, lots of yearning, established relationship, protective frank langdon!, kissing, lap sitting, sleeping/passing out
PROMPT: here!
WC: 1.1k
Sometimes Frank thinks he should put you on a leash.
Get one of those toddler backpack rigs with the little animal character on it and clip you in. Maybe that would preserve what remains of his peace.
Morifying for you, humiliating for him, definitely probably a terrible look in public, but at least you’d stay within a five-foot radius and he could stop living in this permanent state of low-grade vigilance you seem to provoke as casually as breathing.
And he loves you. Deeply. Completely.
That’s the problem. Love, with you, is surveillance. It is anticipatory. It is watching for the exact point at which your glittering, social, I’m-fine performance starts to come apart at the seams while you insist it isn’t happening.
You just never seem to know when to stop.
And tonight you are all over the pool patio with a mojito slicking one hand cold and damp, dribbling little sacrificial offerings of rum and mint over the stone, while the other hand keeps straying to the bikini strap at your hip.
Restless. Fidgety. Smiling at everyone. Talking too loudly.
A little drunk, a little sleepy, and, as ever, too stubborn to concede either.
The moment you glance his way, Frank tilts his chin and crooks two fingers in a come here.
A gesture that should not, by any reasonable standard, contain so much possession in it, and yet your expression changes all at once, brightening with buzzed delight as you cross toward him.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite person to be bossed around by,” you say when you reach him, voice dipped in honey. You stop beside his lounger, smiling down at him. It’s such a pretty smile. “Did you miss me terribly?”
“I usually do.”
There’s no point in pretending otherwise.
That gets you.
“Yeah?” You tip forward a little, closing the distance with shameless interest. “Can I get a kiss, then?”
Frank’s mouth twitches. “You can get whatever you want, sweetheart.”
He lifts a hand to your jaw and draws you down, sealing his mouth over yours in a kiss that has to be brief by sheer circumstance, though not so brief he misses the cool, fizzy ghost of lime on your lips.
Sugary and faintly effervescent, the taste of it lingering for one extra second after he pulls back, temptation rendered in citrus.
Frank has never been especially talented at self-control where you are concerned.
It’s why he’s not a fan of PDA. Public affection is never only that. It is a beginning. A permission slip.
One kiss and suddenly he is keenly aware of all the ones he is not having, all the ways he would rather be kissing you if the two of you were alone.
So he stops there, because he has to, and leaves your hand at your jaw instead, thumb brushing once over your cheek.
“What do you say we go find you something to eat?”
You make a face immediately, lower lip pushing out in a sulky little pout. “‘M not hungry.”
“That’s fascinating, because you look like you’re about two minutes from falling asleep standing up.”
“You make everything sound so dire.”
Frank snorts. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Then, in a flawless little proof-of-concept, you sway backward with all the structural integrity of a wilting palm tree.
Frank moves before the thought fully forms, hands shooting out to catch the back of your thigh, fingers splaying over the soft curve just beneath your ass as he drags your forward. One quick tug and there you are, neatly slotted between his legs.
Your hands land on his shoulders and you giggle, as if nearly toppling over into a concussion is somehow charming rather than precisely the kind of thing that keeps shaving years off his life.
He squeezes once, firm and corrective.
“Okay, well, what do you say you keep me company for a while?”
He could tell you to sit down. You might even listen, eventually, but not without first delivering a brief theatrical monologue on authoritarianism and oppression and how cruel it is to stifle your sparkle.
So. Better not make it about obedience. Frank has learned this the hard way, or at least the repetitive way.
There are only so many reliable methods of keeping you where he can see you, and most of them depend on reframing the situation until it no longer sounds like containment.
You resent being managed. You respond beautifully to being needed. Especially by him.
“Mm, okay,” you murmur at once, whatever resistance you had dissolving on contact.
Before Frank can offer any further guidance, you’re already hauling yourself into his lap with spectacularly poor mechanics, all grabby hands and misfiring limbs, nudging him backward against the lounger.
And after a moment of awkward shifting and a fair amount of readjusting, you finally settle into him in a drowsy little heap, half draped across his lap and half tucked into his side.
Frank extracts the mojito from your hand just before the remainder can go down the front of his shirt, though not before a bright cold splash hits his chest anyway.
He puts the glass aside and looks back at you.
Brushes your hair off your face. Once, twice, again, until there you are properly visible beneath it.
You blink up at him, visibly straining to keep your eyes open, lashes heavy with the effort. “You know what Parker told me earlier?”
“Hmm?”
“That you’re not supposed to compliment the moon here.”
Frank’s fingers drift through your hair again. “And why’s that?”
“Apparently,” you say, lowering your voice, “it’s bad luck. Like if you say it’s pretty, then something in your life gets ruined out of jealousy.”
Your finger wanders over his shirt, drawing something looping into the cotton, your nail a shiny petal-pink that matches the sparkle dusted over your eyes.
He asks, “Should I be concerned you’ve already told it how pretty it is?”
A tiny crease appears between your brows.
“Maybe a little.” Your nail catches on his shift before drifting on again. “But it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? Because Selene is the moon, and Helios is the sun, and they’re siblings, I think, so maybe he gets weird about it… because if everyone keeps talking about how beautiful the moon is, and nobody’s complimenting the sun, that could create resentment. Familial resentment. Which is, like, one of the oldest forces in mythology.”
Frank opens his mouth, halfway to saying that while the ancient Greeks certainly contained enough familial instability to support the theory, he strongly suspects Parker is still just screwing with you, and then he looks down.
You are asleep.
He huffs a laugh through his nose, quiet enough not to disturb you, and shifts his hand higher along your back, settling you more securely against him.
This, too, is part of loving you, he thinks. The rare and fragile privilege of being where you land when the night catches up to you.
Around you, the patio goes on glowing. Voices blur. Glass clinks somewhere in the distance. Water shifts blue-black under the moonlight.
He leans his head back against the lounger and lets himself look out at it for a second. It is a pretty moon.
If Selene is listening, she can be flattered. He’ll take the risk.
this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!
summary: against better judgement, you send a letter to a man at folsom with very sad eyes. against even better judgement, you send letters every week for years until he stops replying one day. and against everything you know, when he shows up at your door, you invite him inside.
pairing: prison letters reader x andrew cody
word count: 12.4k
tags: reader is silly and does things i do not recommend. kids do not write letters to prisoners and fall in love with them. unless it's andrew cody obviously. lots of context no one asked for. nurse!reader, descriptions of wound (andrew cuts himself to get into your work because why wouldn't he!), descriptions of wound handling, smut (oral - f receiving and mating press and the tiniest hint of breeding). takes place in season one, but just imagine he's got season two's hair. you have to fully immerse yourself in the fact that it's andrew cody and then ask yourself—wouldn't you take him home too? it's not her fault!
author's note: here she is! thank you for the patience ♡
you honestly had signed up as a joke. the club was known through your campus to be run by a couple of bleeding hearts. no one had thought the school would approve their activities—letters to prisoners. it was a recipe for disaster.
you should have known better.
but a friend of a friend was involved, and you knew it would make your nursing school application look better, and honestly, you didn’t think anything would come of it. a couple of letters here and there. you had thought it’d be all anonymous, messages of motivation and prayers signed with a first name only.
until your friend—bleeding heart and hopeless romantic, trying to appeal to those very same qualities in you—had shown you the website. that’s when you should have realized it wasn’t just a recipe, it was going to be a disaster.
the prisoners recorded videos—thirty seconds, short and sweet. a name, a couple of sentences about them, hometown and hobbies. underneath the video you could see what they had been arrested for. only the ones who were in for petty crimes—drugs and robbery, things where no one else had really gotten hurt, were allowed to partake. that was good at least. didn’t need any murderers sending letters to pretty co-eds.
your friend picked the guy she thought was the cutest. you watched his video—he was handsome, you couldn’t deny it. but the more videos you watched, the less you wanted to write a letter. you could almost see it, the desperation behind their eyes. it seemed like every man had nefarious intent. like your prettily written letter would not be used for motivation and prayers of a better life outside.
you decided not to send one. you’d rather have an empty slot on your application than a bad feeling in your gut for the rest of the semester. it’s not like the prison was across the country—it was just a couple of hours away.
she asked you to give it one more chance, watch a couple more videos. just pick a cute one, she’d told you. when you’d made a noise of disapproval, she had rolled her eyes.
“okay, pick whoever seems the nicest, then.”
so you had.
the video had been labeled andrew cody. first degree robbery.
the man in the video had been incredibly genuine. you don’t remember exactly what he had said—just bits and pieces. you knew he was from oceanside, born and raised from the way he sounded. he said he had a lot of brothers and a sister back at home. that he spent his time working out and reading books to distract himself from how noisy it was inside. the first thing he’d do when he got out was go to the beach and listen to the waves and breathe in the clean salty air.
and deep down inside, you knew you were just as much of a bleeding heart as the rest of your friends. you had folded instantly.
but it wasn’t just that. you spent the next several nights thinking about him. sad eyes, a singular half-smile at his own joke and then a real one when he mentioned going to the beach once he was released. he’d followed it up with—not that it’ll be any time soon. that made you sad, in turn. you thought about what he was like before prison—did he smile more? was he always so sad?
you thought about a lot of things. more than whatever your friends did, telling you how they had sent their letters, flirty yet inherently professional, so as not to get in trouble with the advisor.
you took a while to send yours. first you couldn’t think of what to write—everything felt so stupid compared to what he must be going through. andrew would hardly want to hear about the mundaneness of your daily life, or the struggles of trying to get into the nursing program.
you thought about not sending a letter at all after the first few times you tried to put pen to paper.
and then you thought about how sad he must feel, how lonely and scared, how terrible it would be to see all the other prisoners get letters besides him.
so you drove to the beach. you surprisingly had more in common with andrew cody than you even realized when you selected him. there was nothing you loved more than the beach, which is why you had even picked your college to begin with. and now, four years later about to graduate, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
you caught the sunrise. you brought your little notebook with you to the water after setting your bag down on the bench. the seagulls were flying around, a couple of other beach-goers walking along the border where the sand met the ocean. it was a day like any other.
there were two sides of you—a hopeless romantic inside of an inherently logical girl. one side argued how stupid it was to send letters to a stranger. the other wondered if this would be the day that changes your life. you push away the thought and focus on writing the damn thing.
you thought andrew might like if the letter smelled like the salt-water. the stupid idea felt a lot less silly when you were attempting it, bringing your notebook all the way down to the water and hovering it. a slightly bigger wave caught you by surprise, the corners getting wet where it splashed up.
cursing to yourself, you walked back to the bench with sandy feet. and then you started writing.
dear andrew, and then you paused. fuck. you got out some of the introductory stuff—your first name, that you were a nursing student. it took a while to get the rest of the page filled, until you stopped for a moment and thought about what you would tell the man with the sad eyes if he was sitting next to you.
i came to the beach to write this letter. i’m sorry if the corners are wrinkled when you get it, i almost dropped it in the water trying to get it to smell like the beach so you had a little piece of home with you. i’m not near oceanside but it’s still the pacific.
i can’t imagine how hard it must be to grow up near the water and then be so far away for so long. but at least you know it’ll always be waiting for you when you get released. they want us to write motivational things but i’m not sure how motivating it would be for you reading this letter about my silly life. so i thought i’d write about the beach instead.
it’s about seven in the morning. the weather isn’t too cold and sky is pink and orange right now. the waves were calmer an hour ago when i got here but now it’s getting more intense. there’s a couple with their dog, and another man running on the sand. i’m on a bench writing this, but i’ll walk along the water again before i leave. i would try to send you a shell but i’m sure they’d take it away. maybe sand?
i love the sound of the waves too. my school isn’t close enough to hear it, but i have one of those machines that makes the noises. it helps a lot when i’m trying to sleep. maybe you can get one when you get out too.
you fill up a page, and then another page. when you fold up the letter and slip it into the envelope, you take a couple grains of sand and drop it in there. a little piece of home for him.
then you mail the letter, and think that was that.
+
two weeks later, you get a letter in the mail. you’d heard some of the other girls had also gotten responses—some had been mildly wholesome, while others had been more along the lines of what are you wearing?
but you weren’t worried when you opened yours. andrew didn’t seem the creepy type to you, it felt more like… like he would be glad to have someone to talk to.
you read it in bed, holding an old stuffed animal tightly. his handwriting is stiff and neat, the evenness of the letters and dotted i’s and crossed t’s makes you smile. the way he wrote your name, with bleeding ink like he had pressed too hard into the paper while doing so, made you smile wider.
the first line—thanks for the sand—made you laugh.
andrew writes of the book he’s just read, how the beach you described sounds just like the one in his hometown, and a request that you tell him more about your life in the next letter. his letter isn’t as long as yours, which makes sense to you. he couldn’t have that much to write about. but the last line is what really gets you—thank you for the letter. it’s nice to talk to someone.
you blink away tears, unsure when you had started crying. you reread the letter twice over the next day and a half, deciding to head back to the beach early in the morning to write the next one.
and you’ve always been bad at this. your friends have always called you a hopeless romantic—but maybe you’re just in too deep. it was the product of having been alone for your entire life, not having the dreamy, intense love that so many of your friends had already gone through once or twice at this age. the result had manifested in how you treated the world around you. every door someone held open, every nice response, every lingering gaze could mean something more. that this could be the person, that this could be your soulmate.
you knew it was stupid. nothing could be stupider than assuming that a prisoner, for god’s sake, would be anything more than just that—a prisoner you write letters to. but your heart still beats faster each time you reread the letter, and when you think of his pretty, sad eyes and earnest expression, the urge to write another letter haunts over your entire body.
dear andrew, thank you for writing back. thank you again for writing back and not being creepy (like the responses some of my friends got). i could tell you more about my life but i really wasn’t lying—it’s pretty silly and mostly boring, but since you asked so nicely i’ll try for you. right now i’m getting ready for graduation. i bought a white dress last week. i’m waiting to hear if i got into the nursing program here. i majored in nursing so I just need to do one more year and then after that i can go work in the hospital. i’m thinking about labor and delivery since i think it would be so nice to see babies all day, but one of my friends said the emergency room is always hiring. she thinks it would toughen me up. but I’m not so sure i want to be tough. just incase all of this school talk is boring you, i’ll just tell you about my day on the condition that you'll tell me about yours. yesterday i woke up early and went on a walk. i made breakfast and went to class, and then studied in the library. my friend showed me a creepy response from one of the fellow inmates (by the way, thank you again for not being creepy.) i walked to get a chai—i don't really like coffee. and then i studied, watched the bachelor. it was terrible! my favorite contestant got sent home :(. and had dinner, then I went to sleep early because i woke up early to come to the beach today to write this for you. so i went to sleep thinking about this letter and woke up thinking about it too.
you add a little bit more about your routine this time, just so he has something to read about. you try to make yourself sound interesting where you can—but you’re really not. and you don’t want to force it, make your letters sound grand and full of lies.
you don’t know why—it’s not like you’ll ever meet him. but lying to andrew feels wrong, you guess.
stupid. you’re stupid for adding the last part—but something in your heart flutters reading the line again, because you did. andrew’s sad eyes are in your mind all the time, and you know it’s just a silly infatuation, that he’s a prisoner and you’re a random student and more likely than not, he’s not going to respond to this letter. but you still keep it in.
and so you send the letter. and what’s worse—the one you get back makes your heart swell. he says that you describe your routine so well he can almost see it happening in his head like a movie. he says that he could describe his day-to-day but that it might make you sad. you’re sure it will. he seems to know a lot about you from just a handful of letters.
you reply. he sends another. you reply. and before you can even discern what’s happened, this has been going on for the better part of a year and a half.
andrew gets all the life updates—your nursing school acceptance, how the first year goes. early morning clinicals, the mean preceptor who made your life hell for a month, the baby you got to help deliver, the cat you’re thinking about getting. and the not so great stuff—despite the nursing shortage, it seems the only available job at the hospital you like is in the emergency room.
you don’t give him names but he figures it out well enough. the program you sent the letters through was smart enough not to include the university’s name in the return address, but dumb enough to use a p.o. box in the same city. and in that city, there’s only two colleges, and only one of those has a nursing program.
these are the things he uses to figure out where you are after he gets out—not that you need to know any of that just yet.
after you get the job, the letters are stamped with the mark of the local post office. you must not know that they’re doing that, now that you can’t send the letters through the school anymore. that’s the last piece of the puzzle, figuring out which emergency room you had been working in.
he keeps those letters. they’re his sanctuary—pages and pages about your life. the highs and lows of an innocent girl who thought it would be a good idea to send letters to a prisoner. letters where you asked about him, how he was feeling, how he was doing. how much time he had left, how he thinks the next parole meeting will go, how that annoying guard has been recently. how’s your family, andrew?
if he closes his eyes, he can almost see you. you’re a faceless entity, a glowing angel with a halo hovering in his mind when he really needs you. you’re too perfect to be real—and he knows you would be outside too. if you can care this much through letters, go out of your way to send them even after you graduate, he can only imagine how you’d be if you stood in front of him.
the other students who sent letters stopped after one or two. he’s likely the only one who’s still getting them, and when someone questions who they’re from, he tells a story about his girl, waiting for him outside. a nurse—smart and pretty and devoted and who never fails to send him a weekly update. lives too far to drive up here but he’ll be there one day.
and then he gets sent to solitary.
he doesn’t like to think about it, if he can avoid it. sometimes the noises of the world get to him, brings him back to days and hours he wish he could wipe from his memory. the sound machine you recommended in your very first letter helps some. but the day he goes free, there’s only one sound he knows will calm him down—your voice, the first time he’ll get to hear it.
he has to go home first. he needs a car, the internet, a couple of phone calls to make sure he’s going to the right place.
days turn into weeks. unfortunately—very unfortunately. the only thing andrew wants is to finally see you in person, to finally hear what your voice sounds like. what color is your hair? what color are your eyes? he knows you like yellow—what would he find if he saw you? yellow hair clips? painted nails? how about your apartment? would the walls be yellow?
no, probably not. you rent. you wouldn’t do anything that wouldn’t get you your security deposit back. you’re too good for that, too safe.
yellow sheets, maybe. blankets, pillows. if he closes his eyes, he can imagine himself in it.
he tries to leave after the first job but there’s too many watchful eyes, too many moving pieces. he needs to get everything together—his truck, cash and some cards, a plausible excuse. he needs to make sure no one comes following him, needs to make sure that in his quest to come find you, he doesn’t get you tangled into the web of his family instead. he’s stuck somewhere between figuring out how to keep you safe and the realization that the safest you’ll ever be is right now, before he comes for you.
but fuck, if it doesn’t haunt him. the fact that he’s finally so close to you. that you’re a car ride away. that somewhere out there is the girl who, one day, realized another letter wouldn’t be coming.
had you cried then? been upset? wondered what had happened? bothered to find out if he was dead or freed or living without you? he hates that he couldn’t get you another letter to explain himself, but he figures explaining in person would be easier, and better. in all those years, you never once wrote him about a date or a boyfriend or anything in that realm.
the way your last few letters were, it were almost as if he was your boyfriend. (he lets the thought linger inside him for a few seconds, if that. any longer and it would possess him like a demon and he’d be rendered useless. unable to work, unable to think, unable to breathe. just him and the idea that he was that important to someone else.)
+
and then one day, a couple days after a job and after being fed up with the entire world being scared of him, he leaves to find you.
that’s just the thing—no one understands him. all his life, he’s been the unstable one, the one others are worried about, frightened of. but no one understands that there’s nothing to be afraid of.
no one, except maybe you.
so he says he’ll be back in a week, and he drives down to the hospital where you work.
he hasn’t gotten a real look at you yet. he spent the first night in the parking lot of the emergency room. he watches hordes of nurses go in and out, and no one stands out. he spends some time doing research—nurses only work three times a week.
his odds of seeing you for the rest of the time he’s in town are fifty/fifty. it feels like he should be able to pick you out from a crowd, with the way he knows you so intimately, but he can’t. he keeps an eye out for yellow water bottles or shoes or lunch bags, but he doesn’t see any for two days.
so he decides that he needs to get inside.
pope keeps a pocket knife on his person, and another one hidden in the car in case of emergencies. that’s what he uses to slice his palm open so he has an excuse to get inside. not too deep—he’s not stupid. just deep enough to need stitches, shallow enough that he can still feel all his fingers and wiggle them around.
and then he goes inside, and he waits.
each time the doors open, a different nurse steps out. some are too old, others too young. no one has anything yellow on them, or the personality that he knows could only belong to you. cheery, but serious. empathetic to a fault. you would probably cry if you saw a kid crying, just like how you used to write to andrew, telling him you had cried thinking about a patient you lost and their family, cried thinking about him alone in prison.
you’ve shed tears for him. a man you’ve never even met. he has to recognize you when he sees you. he knows he will—the two of you are bonded in more ways than one. through ink and blood and tears.
“david?” a voice calls out. so lost in his thoughts, he’d not realized the doors had opened again or the name he’d given them. he looks up, making eye contact with the nurse, his nurse, and she walks closer. “david?” the voice repeats, and he raises the non-bloody hand.
you are just like he thought you’d be. your hair is pulled back, which is a shame. he wants to see what it looks like when it’s down, what it smells like when you get close enough. pieces in the front fall out from behind your ear. his finger twitches momentarily.
and, he thinks with a pleasant sort of smugness, there is yellow—the plastic band around the stethoscope, the badge reel with a smiling cartoon on it, the pens tucked neatly in your scrub top pocket.
“hi david, i’m going to be your nurse today,” you start, looking at him in the eyes. your eyebrows furrow a little, like you’re trying to remember why this man looks so familiar—it’s not like he had expected it. his hair isn’t the same anymore, longer than the video you had seen of him. if that was your benchmark, he certainly looked somewhat different. he doesn’t fault you for not recognizing him right away. in fact, it’s better this way. “if you’re ready, i can take you back now.”
you smile at him, beautifully. a bright, wide smile, like there’s nothing in this world you’d rather do than take david back, and have a look at whatever’s bothering him. it’s genuine, it’s safe, it’s warm. how do you do it? he thinks briefly to himself, how do you make everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the world? just with a smile and a couple of sentences you must say a thousand times a shift.
andrew’s not one for many words, but his thoughts run rampant—he’s always thinking. he can’t get his brain to turn off, not now, not ever. even putting pen to paper was hard for him, even for you. but you seem to understand him, just like you did back then. without words, without talking, without touching or knowing. you just know him.
you take him to a bed behind a curtain and start rattling off a list of rehearsed questions. first name, age, date of birth. the more he says, the more you seem to get a step closer to recognizing him, but he doesn’t push it.
you come closer to the bed and gesture to his wrapped up, bleeding hand.
“may i?”
“yes. yes,” andrew says, unsure of how it’ll be to feel your hands on him for the first time. you start slowly, unpeeling the layers of gauze that he had brought with him from home as a just incase. he doesn’t flinch or wince, but you still speak up.
“i’m sorry, i know it’s not very comfortable.” you apologize without needing to, and he’s sure it’s because you want him to feel better about it. “how did this happen again?” you ask, staring at his wound closely. you’re not very far from his face. he can feel your breath even against his skin.
“accident. was cutting something.”
“well, you should be more careful, david.” his middle name has always felt foreign to him, though somehow, it doesn’t seem that way coming from your lips. andrew briefly feels like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, no one else he’d rather be than david, getting his hand tended to by you.
“yeah. i should.”
“well i’m going to go ahead and get this cleaned up. just to be sure, any drug allergies?” he shakes his head. “great. we’re gonna clean it and then the doctor will be in here to stitch it up and we’ll get you on your way back home. does that sound okay?”
you look at him earnestly. as if on the off chance he said it didn’t sound okay, you’d have an answer ready to go. nothing to shame him, nothing to make him feel bad. just to comfort him and make him feel better. like there’s nothing more important than getting him back home with aid instructions for the rest of the week.
memories of your letters wash over him like a warm wave over soft sand. you’ve known from the jump that you were meant for this, but it all suddenly makes sense. how kind you are, how gentle you are with him, how you’d be with anyone.
you were meant for this, just like how you were meant for him.
“that sounds okay.”
you sit on a stool at the level of his hand. you dab with the cleaning solution and tell him you’re sorry about the sting. it’s half a dozen apologies in the short time he’s known you, and he sits and wonders, staring at your pretty hair and the undoubtedly smooth skin of your neck, that he’ll have to work you out of that habit.
you shouldn’t be apologizing for anything, much less helping people the way you do.
he stares at you while you think of another question to ask him to distract him from the pain of cleaning his wound.
and your patient is nothing if not a starer. when you got up to add something to the chart and stopped to chat with a fellow nurse and friend of yours about how long it might take the doctor to see him—calling him by his nickname, mister sliced hand in bed four—she interrupted you half way through the conversation.
“the one who’s staring at us right now?” you turned your head too quickly to see what she was talking about, and were faced with sliced-hand david, looking at you and the other nurse.
not in a creepy way, like some other past patients of yours. he’s just…looking. like he’s waiting for you to come back. his gaze doesn’t leave you, you notice. he watches your friend as though he’s watching over you.
the thought is almost… sweet.
and then you shake your head and turn around, breaking the eye contact. you have a bad habit of doing this—turning every interaction, every look into your eyes and held-open door into something more than it was.
your new friends at the hospital also call you a hopeless romantic. you knew that you were just sort of an idiot when it came to these things. it was the long-standing result of still never having been in a real relationship. you’d never felt the fireworks, never known the rom-com sort of true love and happy ending. you had never even gotten to the angst-filled third act breakup.
so maybe you were still a bit of a projector—projecting every single interaction into something more than it was. a patient with a staring problem became a man who was looking out for you, worried for you, love at first sight.
and you shake your head again. snap out of it. you had a problem, seriously.
the closest you’d even come to anything remotely related to love at first sight was the insane amount of letters you’d written to a prisoner a few years ago, and even then—
stop. it. you barely knew what the guy looked like, and yet, you found yourself wondering all the time what had happened to him. if today would finally be the day you’d find out. he could be the stranger next to you in the coffee shop. the person buying fruit next to you in the grocery store.
for all you know, he could be the next guy who walks into your life, and yet—
“you are seriously such a goner,” she says with a laugh, playfully shoving your shoulder.
“what? i-i just got lost in my thoughts.”
“a guy could blink at you and you’d be imagining your embroidered towels and baby names-”
“that is not true-”
“right, i know. you’re right. you’re just gonna hold out for mister prisoner until you’re an old lady with a bunch of cats-”
“hey! i have one cat and he is adorable, okay-”
“yeah, yeah. that’s how it always starts. one cat.”
“i’m going to go take care of my patient now.”
“don’t let him blink at you.”
you roll your eyes and make your way back to bed four, where david stares up at you with pretty, sad eyes. eyes that seem a little familiar, but it’s hour eight of twelve and you’ve taken care of half a hundred people so far. your tiredness seeps through your pores but you still smile and sit on the stool.
“sorry about that, david.”
“are you okay?” he asks, incredibly earnestly. you blink at him dumbly. once, then twice.
“yes?” you reply slowly, unsure of what he means. maybe you’re more tired than you thought. “is everything okay?”
“i saw her push you.” you blink again.
“oh. oh. no, no, she’s my friend. that was just, um-” you blank momentarily. his concern is so palpable you can feel it in the air. “-a joke. she was joking.”
“oh. okay.” david goes silent but his eyes are still on you. you decide the best course of action is to change the subject.
“so! david. this might be hard but no going in the water for at least a couple days. maybe more, depending on what the doctor says.”
“sure. can i.. can i still go sit on the beach?”
“yeah. that should be fine.” you clean out the wound further, but he doesn’t wince. “do you do that often?”
“yes. it calms me down.”
“me too. something about the sand and the waves. the air is just-”
“cleaner.” for the first time that night, david interrupts you. your eyes leave his hand to look up at his face.
“yeah,” you agree, slowly, wondering why his words feel so familiar to you. “cleaner.”
there’s a brief pause, and david doesn’t say anything. you look back down at his hand, continuing your work. but something inside of you stirs, curiosity poking and prodding at your memories. you’ve heard that before, somewhere, and even then you had thought about how no one had ever used that word to describe the ocean air before, when—
“i thought you wanted to deliver babies. do you not want to do that anymore?”
as if it was in slow motion, you retract your hands away from his. you move your head to look up at him and your jaw falls open a little—you had known david looked a little familiar, but when you had seen that thirty second video of him, his hair had been short and his skin had been a little paler, and the man sitting in front of you now—
well he wasn’t cute anymore.
he was handsome now—dark brown curls grown out. he looked like he’d spent some time in the sun, recently. his eyes—sad and pretty as they were—seemed a bit softer now. and your gaze on him made them even softer, like he was trying his best not to frighten you. how someone takes care of a skittish animal, ready to bolt at any second.
you swallow, and then bring your hands back to his, keeping the piece of soaked gauze on top of his wound gently
“i-i do. want to. this was just the only job opening when i-” you pause, sucking in a deep breath. he already knows about this—andrew. it was in one of your letters. “when i finished school.”
you feel his hand move under your touch, and then his other hand, the unwounded one, over yours. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s tense. hard. like he wants to make sure you can’t just disappear like sand between his fingers.
“i thought you might have found another job by now.”
“it-it’s hard. you get used to something and it’s hard to leave.” you pause again. there’s a million and one questions storming through your mind, but you stare into hazel eyes and they all go quiet, one by one. “you said your name is david-”
“i wanted to see if you would recognize me.”
“i’m sorry, i-”
“don’t apologize.” andrew, like his letters, speaks concisely. you should have guessed. you would send him pages just to get a few paragraphs back—and he would always say it’s because he didn’t have much to talk about, that learning about your day to day was much better than whatever he could tell you.
it was the first time your heart fluttered with the knowledge that out there, somewhere, is a man who wants to hear about your day. the closest you had ever gotten to the semblance of a real relationship. a man who cared about you, even if he never said as much. it was always clear to you, through his carefully chosen words and the things he wrote you about and how much he said he liked hearing about you.
he used to ask you questions about things from a dozen letters ago. remember to follow up after some big exam or a really hard week at work. asked you what you did to feel better. tell you what he would do to help you feel better—nothing creepy, never creepy. if you were supposed to be scared of him, you never were. he never gave you any reason to.
“are you okay?” andrew asks, and you blink yourself out of your thoughts.
“yes. yes, sorry. i just-” it’s a little ridiculous.
you’re a smart girl. you’ve always been a smart girl. you don’t do stupid things—you don’t drink yourself silly at bars and go home with random men. you don’t say yes to dates with strangers, despite how much you believe that a stranger can become a soulmate in an instant. you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t get out of.
but when it comes to andrew, you haven’t listened to a single one of your own rules. you sent him letters for ages after the other girls in your class had stopped. you had opened up about your life and wanted to learn about his life in exchange.
and despite every greater instinct, you had fallen asleep for years thinking about the day he might walk back into your life.
“did you ever get my last letter, andrew?”
you’re not even sure where the words came from—that’s the last thing you should be saying right now. how did you find me? when did you get out of prison? why are you here right now? should have all come before.
but something inside you burns, like it has for years, with the knowledge that he never sent you another letter. and you need to know why.
andrew sits up a little straighter, taking heavy breaths and staring at you. it’s the first time he’s heard you say his name, his real name. you two haven’t moved an inch, his hand still on yours. he blinks slowly at you and you don’t realize it, but you’re holding your breath.
“i did. i-i was in solitary. they don’t let you write letters there.”
“oh. i’m so sorry,” you say, and it’s second nature. you hate what andrew went through, and seeing him in front of you brings you back to the first letter you ever got back from him. how polite he was in it, how sweet the whole thing seemed. it was never meant to get this far, but it had, and you—
you are nothing if not a believer of soulmates and fate.
“that’s okay. not your fault.”
“but still. that must have been really hard.”
“i wanted to write back. i-” he stops, pulling out something from the pocket of his button-up shirt. he unfolds a piece of white notebook paper—and the breath you were holding leaves you quickly. that’s the paper you used to write him letters on.
“is that my last letter?” when andrew moves to look at you, he’s expecting it. a nervous lilt to your voice, fear in your eyes. like he’s crazy, like you’re scared.
instead he glances over hesitantly and you’re beaming up at him.
“you carry around.. my last letter?” the words come out as a smile forms on your face—pretty and genuine and sincere. you stare at him expectantly, and he doesn’t know how to respond.
“i…” the words falter. “i just wanted to ask you about it. did you, did you get that cat?”
“i did!” it comes out louder than you meant it, drawing the attention of some other nurses around you. you turn briefly, using your free hand to push the curtain so it’s closed around you two. “sorry. i did, yes. he’s so cute. i don’t have my phone or i’d show you the pictures-”
“that’s okay. you-you can show me later.”
“but i didn’t say i was getting a cat in that one. i just said i was thinking about it,” you feel breathless.
“but there was another one before that. you mentioned it then too. i figured you’d get it since you were thinking about it so much.”
“yeah. yeah, exactly.” your brain can’t seem to compute what’s going on. any fear that had been in you, if there was any of it to begin with, has completely melted away, replaced with a warm, glowing feeling in your chest, slowly spreading out to your limbs.
you had been thinking about getting a cat for ages—a thought you had mentioned to andrew maybe twice. and your justification had been just as andrew said, because you were thinking about it so much.
how did he know that?
and then the curtain opens behind you, and the doctor comes in to stitch up andrew’s hand. you have to pull away from his hand and andrew thinks you’re leaving, eyes following you and his expression shifting, but you don’t leave. you go to the cabinets to pull the supplies and help the doctor and and keep your eyes focused on the wound while his hand gets stitched up. eight stitches and not a single wince of pain or discomfort.
and though the thought makes butterflies emerge and fly around your stomach, when you finally look up at andrew, he’s been staring at you the entire time.
+
you have a tiny apartment in a shitty neighbourhood. it doesn’t feel safe at all, save for the fact that one of the houses down the street is owned by a rookie cop and his wife. there’s not that much crime, but the area inherently feels bad.
maybe it’s just that way to him—since he doesn’t want you living in a place like this.
it’s fine for now though. he’ll get you a better place soon enough. it’s by the water, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear the waves crashing on the sand. the sound alone might be enough to justify why you’d live here.
he keeps his eyes shut, just for a half dozen heartbeats, when he pulls up against your curb. he just wants to hear it before he says goodbye—it’s getting late, almost dark, and you must be exhausted. you’ve been at work all day and though you act like you’re completely fine, he knows how intense it is. there’s other letters, safely stored away, where you told him about how breaks are far and few in between, how you barely get time to drink water and eat a snack because of how busy it gets. he offered to stop and pick you up something to eat but you refused, saying you had food at home that you shouldn’t waste.
you sit in the passenger seat of his truck, staring around it as if you’re looking for some more information about it. anything would help you—half-empty drinks or gum wrappers or extra clothes in the backseat, but there’s nothing. the truck looks like he just got it yesterday, no sign of use or anything branding it as andrew’s car.
“can i walk you to your door?” you snap out of your thoughts.
okay—maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to let a virtual stranger drive you home. but when his hand was taken care of and you give him the paper instructions with way too many sample packets of antibiotic gel, all he said was that he’ll wait for you.
“wait for what?”
“to make sure you get home safely.”
and, really, what are you supposed to say to that? no, i’m good, thanks. you’d be even stupider than you already are to say that to someone who is just trying to be nice to you.
(he’s more chivalrous than any guy you’ve ever talked to, and probably more than any guy your friends have ever complained to you about. and more than that, it’d be rude to say no, especially once he realized you wait for a shoddy-at-best bus to get you home because you don’t have a car and it’s too dark to walk. he wouldn’t take no for an answer after that.)
and more than that—he waited another two hours for you to get home. every time you’d step out to bring back another patient, you’d see him, sitting there, waiting patiently for you. glancing up when the door would open to get a glimpse of you, of the small smile you shot his way before taking back whoever’s turn it was.
and he’s not a real stranger, a voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you. you’ve known him for longer than some of your coworkers have known their fiancees and husbands. and in all the time you’ve known him (meaning all the letters you’ve sent and received), you’ve never gotten a creepy word or even a fragment of a sentence that frightened you.
so you think the least you can do is let him drive you home and walk you up the two flights of stairs.
“of course. thank you, for-” your sentence gets interrupted. andrew gets out of the car and you turn to do the same, but then you see him—walking around the front of his truck, coming to your side and then opening the door for you.
oh.
your heart thuds dully in your chest at the very idea of andrew opening his car’s door for you to get out. after driving you home and politely asking to walk you up. whatever inhibitions you had melt away and you briefly think that whatever he asked of you, you’d do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.
if that made you stupid, then so be it. you’d gladly be the stupidest girl on the planet if you get to feel whatever it was that andrew cody has made you feel for the last couple of hours.
his truck is jacked up tall, and he gives you his hand, the one without the cut, to help you get down, and you accept. he closes the door for you and lets you lead the way up the stairs.
silently, you two walk up the creaky steps together. hands brush together for all of seconds and he briefly wishes seconds lasted longer, until you’re standing in front of your door.
you’d once had a cute spring-themed wreath on the door, bought on clearance from the local store after easter, and a matching door mat. your elderly neighbor had told you to get rid of it because it was basically an invitation to criminals that a young girl lived here alone. you’re stupid, but not that stupid.
and now your front door looks barren and empty. there’s a few plants you can see from the window sill but the curtains are drawn and there’s an extra dead bolt a fellow nurse from the hospital’s husband had helped you install.
you look up silently at andrew and he looks back at you. this is it—it’s supposed to be goodbye. any normal girl would know that this is where the night needs to end, that you need to process what all of this means and if you had any friends you trusted with this information, calling them and asking what to do.
but you don’t want to call your friends, because you know what they’d say—to lock your door and get a restraining order and burn andrew’s letters, the ones you kept in a cute box under your bed and reread much too often for anyone’s comfort.
and you’re not a normal girl.
“do you want to stay for dinner?”
there’s not much to study on andrew’s expression—he keeps it stern and serious for the most part. his eyes are soft when they look at you and they soften even further when you say those words.
“yes. yes, thank you.”
you think maybe he wasn’t expecting it. you think that you weren’t expecting it either, not exactly sure where the words had come from. but you still lead andrew inside, showing him the only slightly comfortable couch you had to get delivered since you didn’t have anyone to help you lug a used one up the stairs. the squeaky door that leads to the bathroom, the tiny space you called your kitchen. your bedroom is behind a closed door and andrew stares at it when you go inside to change out of your scrubs and come back out in the kind of clothes that you sleep in.
and then he stares at the shut door even after you leave, before realizing that you’ve already made your way to the space between the living room and kitchen, a narrow expanse with a small round table and some placemats with flowers on them. you set down your backpack and take your hair out of the clip that holds it back for you at work and suddenly, he’s staring again.
it’s just a little too close to everything he’s been dreaming about for years.
“i’m really sorry. i was supposed to go grocery shopping but i hate bringing everything up-”
“don’t apologize.”
“also, i’m-i’m not really a good cook. i’m sorry-”
“i don’t think anything you make can be worse than prison food.”
“i really doubt that. you’ve never had my cooking.”
you glance back him and he meets your eyes at the same time, and you both start laughing. it’s nothing crazy—andrew didn’t seem like the kind who laughs easily anyway, but he cracks a smile and the noise is indelible—all you can think of is how you can get him to laugh again.
“do you like spaghetti?”
+
if someone had told you yesterday that this time tomorrow, andrew from your letters would be sitting across from you at your dining table, eating spaghetti that you made while rushing, looking so in place in your tiny home that your heart hurts, you think you would have passed out.
you watch him while he eats, absentmindedly swirling your own noodles on the plate, unable to focus on eating when he’s really in front of you. after countless dreams and days spent wondering what had happened to him and if he was okay and if he ever thought about you. he’s… bigger than you thought he would be. shoulders broader than you had realized from that tiny video. his mannerisms interest you more than they should—how quiet he is, but how he seems to latch onto every word when you go on and on. just like the letters, it seems he’s still a listener.
(it doesn’t help matters when he tries to clear the table and wash the dishes after—you have to wrestle the plates out of his hand and tell him to go sit down, that he can’t get his bandage wet. jostling against his iron-hard body was not on the list of things you thought you’d get to do today, and the very realization that andrew is twice as strong as you on his worst day does…things to you. things that do not need to be named or explored right now. he’s still a stranger, you try to remind yourself. no he’s not.)
but it seems that he can’t sit still. he wipes down the counter and then comes back to help you dry your yellow dishes and when you both finish up, with you still smiling at him and unsure of what excuse you can conjure to get him to stay, he finds it all by himself. you tell andrew to go sit on the couch while you finish up and he does, and when you follow him out there, he’s standing in front of it. he turns his head to look at you and then back at the couch.
your cat is perched on his usual spot, and you go over to him, scratching the top of his head between his ears and making extremely childish, stupid-sounding noises at him.
“andrew this is wardy,” you say, picking him up and bringing him closer. “he’s really friendly. i promise.”
“hello, wardy.” when he says it, you look up at him with a look he can’t find words to describe. as close to love as you can get it when it’s a technically a stranger. the way he greets your cat and helps you clean and knows more about you than some of your friends and coworkers do.
there’s no words for it. it just is.
so you sit on the couch next to andrew, your cat between the two of you, and you wait for him to tell you that he wants to leave. you flick on the television, settling for whatever silly romance movie is playing on your netflix account, sitting in the almost-silence with andrew and wondering why still, it doesn’t feel necessarily uncomfortable.
eventually andrew reaches out to pet wardy, and he curls up into his touch, settling comfortably against his forearm. (his huge, thick, veiny forearm, you think briefly, before chasing the thought away with a broom. and then another one—no wonder he had bled so much at the hospital. with veins like these.)
“this area’s not the best,” andrew says, speaking as though you need to be reminded of it, to know that he doesn’t approve.
“i know. but it’s cheap and it’s near the beach.”
“but you live alone. it’s dangerous.”
“but-” you glance over at him. he takes up most of your couch, wardy’s head resting against his thigh now, while he continues petting him. he looks over at you and it’s clear—this isn’t an argument. “you’re right. but i mean, how bad can it be? if you’re here now?”
you pause. stupidly, you’ve just revealed whatever thoughts have been rattling around in your head. like the fact that you’re assuming he’s going to be here more often, when the truth is that you have no idea if that’s true.
why would it be true? you tried, in earnest, to make sure your life never seemed anything more than it really was in your letters. but andrew drives a brand new truck and wears an expensive watch and you have absolutely no idea what he was robbing or why he was doing it—and you never asked. the assumption that just because he found you, meant that he was going to keep you was completely insane. a misgiving on your part, because surely, whatever’s waiting for him back home is better than your crappy cooking and a tiny apartment and a cat that you—
“sorry, i’m sorry. that’s such a jump. we just met. i’m so sorry, i can-” you stand up, and so does andrew.
“why are you apologizing?”
“because i just.. i don’t know.” you try to pace around your apartment but you only get a few steps away before you have to come back. “this is crazy. we’re both crazy.”
you feel it in the air before you hear him say it. it gets tenser, quieter, more serious. like what you’ve both been dreading for the last few hours is about to happen.
“do…do you want me to leave?” you turn to face him quickly.
“no! no, i don’t. that’s why this is crazy. people are going to think we’re insane. i don’t want you to go. i want you stay. i want you to tell me everything i missed in the last year and a half. i want to know what you did with my letters. i want to know-”
and when andrew reaches forward to grab your forearm—gently, not meant to hurt you—you freeze in your tracks. staring up at him, all the words in your brain, every stupid thing your friends ever told you about this make-shift relationship you had concocted in your head melting away.
“i want that too.”
“oh. well, i just thought-”
and this time, he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in for a kiss that makes your knees give out. andrew’s mouth—wet and hot and on fire—kisses you like you two were made for each other.
as cheesy as the thought feels, you swallow it and wrap your arms around his neck. it’s every stupid romance movie you’ve ever seen coming to life, your life. all because of him. he doesn’t break the kiss, not even to breathe. you feel his tongue poke into your mouth and you accept it gladly. you fall back on the couch and the movement of it makes wardy scamper off, and you move your head just for a second to see where he runs off too, but andrew doesn’t stop. he lines kisses along your cheek and your jaw until you turn back and he gets your lips again.
you feel his weight on top of you, and briefly, you wonder if you should tell him.
countless nights spent wondering what this would feel like, how he would kiss you, all the things he would do to you. you have to keep reminding yourself, you’re just a stupid girl—it’s not your fault that a few nice letters was enough to make you head over heels for the last few years.
because somewhere deep down inside, you knew. you knew that it would be like this, that it would be perfect, that it would be everything you wanted. that he would take care of you and want you as badly as you want him. your crown title of hopeless romantic had finally paid off.
another thought stirs as he keeps kissing you. it’s feverish and hot and makes you warm all over—how long it’s been since he’s had someone, how he kisses you like he’s out of practice. his mouth is so hard against yours it almost hurts, but you welcome the pain. it’s like he’s proving to you that he’s really there now, that nothing can tear him away from you.
but then he does pull away. you catch your breath, hands traveling to his face and running your fingers through his hair. andrew’s pretty eyes close and you cherish it—that you made him feel like that. he leans into your touch, head resting against your hand while you both take long, heavy breaths.
andrew leans in, pressing your foreheads together.
“i-i’ve wanted to do that,” another breath. you feel butterflies continuously emerge and flutter around your chest and your stomach, all the way down to between your legs. “since your first letter.”
and then you can’t resist—leaning back in for another hard, wet kiss. you feel him shift, strong hands on your hips, but staying firmly there, not traveling despite how much you wish they would. he’s been polite again, you think. waiting for you to give him permission.
“you can-” you start, but andrew keeps pressing kisses against your neck that make it hard to finish your sentence. “you can touch me.” you expect his hands to spread—grope and grab and tease until you’re begging for more. for him to be impatient and hungry and not stop until he’s inside of you.
“i can’t believe you’re real,” he says quietly, one hand moving up to your waist and touching the soft skin there gently. he traces up your arms and then down before intertwining his fingers with yours. you stare up at him, stupid as ever. every time you think you know anything about andrew, he proves you wrong.
“i can’t believe you are, either,” you say, tilting your head up for another kiss. a short, chaste one this time. “you’re just as nice as i knew you’d be.”
“you think i’m nice?” he asks, voice low. you nod in response, words escaping you. you settle to answer with another kiss, hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself, tugging and pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth.
you push up until he understands, and he uses two huge hands to get you into his lap, sitting up with his back against your couch. you straddle him, trying your hardest to not lose your train of thought as you realize how hard he is against you.
“i think you’re too nice,” you tease, unsure where you’re finding the confidence. under you, andrew looks spacey and flushed and all kissed out, but you don’t plan to stop. you lean in to press kisses to his cheeks and work your way to his jaw and neck. when you stop to look at him again, he looks hopelessly up at you, and you think he’s waiting again, waiting for permission to do something. “i think you’re so nice that you’re not telling me everything you’ve wanted to do to me these last few years.”
the way andrew looks up at you after you said that—god. you wish you could engrain it into your memory. you’re not someone who does this often, but you might just be good at figuring out how to get andrew to crack. he looks up with some of the hunger you’d imagined there’d be, and it makes something stir inside of you.
it feels strange to be wanted the way andrew wants you right now. you’re just not used to it, not entirely sure that you’d ever feel this way. that someone would ever make you feel this way.
your thoughts are wiped again when he pulls you into another kiss, and you deepen it, moaning into his mouth. you’re being so loud that your older neighbor might be able to hear you, but you can hardly bring yourself to care right now. andrew is quiet, like you thought he would be, but each soft grunt and heavy sigh is enough to make your entire body tingle.
you think you’re being better at staying quiet yourself when andrew scoops you up into his arms, carrying you like it’s nothing for him. you yelp loudly, forgetting everything for a second, realizing how lovely it feels to be carried by him. he leads you two to your bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.
you stare at him, hovering above you, wondering how you’ll get to do this. how you’ll get his clothes off and watch out for his hurt hand and that you’ll finally get to feel him inside of you—when he just stops moving.
andrew looks up and around your bedroom, craning his neck to take in all of it. you’re not sure why, stuck in a position under him that forces you to just watch.
“is everything okay, andrew?” when you say his name, he turns back to stare down at you.
“yes. yes, it is. it’s just-” he pauses, looking back up and then down. the room is decorated with lots of pretty frames. there’s yellow curtains on the windows and your sheets are yellow under you too, just like he’d suspected. seeing it in real life almost sends him back to years ago—the first time he’d wondered what your bedroom looks like. the place from where you write your letters, the place you read them. “it looks just like i thought it would.”
and just like every other part of tonight, your reaction continues to surprise him. you smile and then laugh, holding onto his shoulder even tighter.
“spend a lot of time thinking about my bedroom, huh?” you tease, and he remains just as confused as ever.
you are such a conundrum. andrew thinks that he wants you so badly he can’t form a proper thought—and then the thoughts merge and blend and anger at the very idea that you’re so trusting of him. you should be more careful. you shouldn’t trust anyone how much you’re trusting him right now—inviting him inside your home, letting him into your bedroom.
and then you pull him down for another kiss and it all washes away like letters in the sand.
eventually he does pull away—though it takes an enormous amount of self control. the words you said on the couch haven’t completely left him yet and he still needs to answer you. you claw and pull at his shirt so he lets you take it off of him, you trace a hand down his chest, stopping at his heart and pressing your palm flat against him.
you’re staring, he thinks, but you’re really just admiring. taking in every detail, every scar and bruise so you can ask him about it later, moving your fingers down his abs and biting your lip while you stare daggers at his chest.
he moves away from your touch though, as sad as it makes you.
“you wanted to know everything i’ve thought about you?” andrew says, and the words make you tense up—thighs clenching, walls fluttering just from words alone. your fingers tighten around his bicep where you’ve been holding on, and you nod up at him dumbly. “can i show you?”
your head falls back onto your pillow with a thud. you nod again.
you let andrew set the pace—he peels off your clothes and you lift your hips and raise your arms in compliance. he starts with a kiss to your stomach that makes you whine, fingers leaving his skin and grabbing onto your sheets instead just to have something to hold on to.
you’re embarrassingly wet—you already know you are. it’s almost painful how badly you want him, even against better judgement that tells you that you could have, at the very least, taken things slowly.
you guess andrew just brings it out of you.
his kisses move south and you brace yourself, every muscle tensing up in anticipation. andrew is silent except for his deep breaths and somehow, with each one deeper than the last, they make your entire body shudder in anticipation. when he finally gets to your leaking cunt, you hear it. a strangled moan, sounding painful and from the depth of his chest and filled with want and need. just from looking at you. you can’t imagine what he’ll sound like when—
“this is what i thought about. this is always what i thought about.”
and then andrew licks down the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, and you can’t think about anything else anymore. he’s relentless, exploring you with his mouth like he’s a man starved. you can hear the noises, obscene and sloppy and wet as they are.
and then you feel it—his mouth around your clit while one finger prods at your tight opening. your back rises off the bed but he holds you down with one huge hand over your stomach. his finger slips inside you more easily than he thought it would. though you’re wetter than he imagined, he doesn’t stop teasing your clit.
your wetness coats everything—his tongue, his lips, his chin. your thighs are wet too, and he’s sure he can get your yellow sheets soaked too if he could tease you long enough. but he’s been incredibly patient all these years, unsure if he can wait any longer to get what he’s wanted.
his hand keeps you pinned down while his mouth stays on your clit and then andrew adds another finger and you thrash up against him. it’s useless against the weight of his hand holding you down, but your body moves anyways, hands wrangling into his brown curls, likely making a complete mess of them. you keep pulling and he moans between your legs and the vibration makes you thrash harder, a completely exhilarating cycle.
when he finally releases you from his grip, you think the other hand will explore up and down your body, but true to form, you’re wrong. andrew finds your hand and holds onto it, lacing your fingers with his while he keeps going.
when adds a third finger, you realize that he’s saying something against you. you can’t quite make it out with your heart thudding in your ears and how loud you’re being, but then it becomes a little clearer—
“you taste even better than i thought you would-” and you can’t stop it, the tension in your stomach winding tighter and tighter before it snaps altogether. a white hot heat washes through your body and makes you shake even harder, but andrew’s hold on you keeps you completely grounded. he works you through it, not stopping even once, not until you’re trying your hardest to pull away from him. you try to catch your breath but it’s useless. your head feels completely empty.
incoherent, you grab at andrew, murmuring something about inside, please, and he really tries to stay level headed. but one glance at your naked, writhing body and your expression while you beg for him is enough to tip him over the edge.
resisting you requires a level of self control that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to have.
andrew doesn’t think he’s ever had any self control when it comes to you. it’s why he did this, isn’t it? showed up at your hospital with your sweet letter folded up and somehow convinced you, without saying much of anything at all, to trust him and let him back into your life. he doesn’t even know how he did it—he can’t recall most of what he said to you. it plays in his head like a movie, like how your letters used to.
he doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, just knows that he’ll do whatever he has to in order to keep it forever.
andrew’s thoughts about keeping you cloud him while he lifts up your legs, manhandling your body while you squeal under him. he pushes your knees to your chest and lets your legs hang in the air while he hovers over you. all he can think about is getting inside of you—-giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for, fulfilling every fantasy he’s had about you in the last three years. the noises you’ll make. how tight and wet and warm you’ll feel around him. how you’ll look with his cum dripping out of-
“andrew, please, please,” you plead, and he’s not sure that you understand exactly what you’re asking for. it’s good that it’s him you picked for those letters, good that he’s the one who tracked you down.
someone else, well, he thinks, lining himself up with your soaking wet entrance, someone else might have had bad intentions with you. not andrew, though.
his intentions for you are only good. intentions to keep you happy and safe and move you away from this tiny apartment and make sure you get the job that you want, no matter who he has to threaten in order to do so. intentions to keep everything taken care of so the only thing you ever have to worry about again is him, just like you’d done for all those years when you wrote to him.
and as he slips inside, he knows those letters are in this bedroom somewhere, that this bed is where you read them, that these were the pretty hands that held his letters and these were the pretty eyes that read them.
you stare at him while he hovers over you, not pushing in just yet. andrew’s dick is just like the rest of him—thick and broad and so wide that you don’t know how you’ll be able to walk tomorrow. there’s veins too, just like his arms, and it’s all you can think about with him enclosed over you.
when he pushes his thick head past your fluttering walls, you make a noise like nothing he’s ever heard before. pure want and heat wrapped up with pleasure and pain. you keep begging for more but he’s not sure you can even handle it—but who is andrew to deny you?
he pushes further inside of you, now half way, and you cry out. andrew leans in to kiss you again, swallowing the noise and letting you moan against his lips.
another thrust and he’s almost all the way in. he pulls out and pushes back in, and then he starts his rhythm. your tits bounce with every thrust and he watches entranced, until his eyes go back to where you and him meet. in this position, on his knees with you folded underneath him, he can see it perfectly.
it’s enough to make him finish instantly. you look completely fucked out under him, crying out with each push of his hips.
your open your wet eyes and glance up at him. through wet lashes and blinking eyes, you get out a few words, stopped by each thrust.
“is it-” you gasp, words getting caught in your throat because andrew is so deep inside of you that you can feel him in your stomach and your chest. “is it what you imagined, andrew?”
“god, yes,” he says, and the sound is so perfect to you. it comes out broken, in the form of a gasp and a moan combined, and you want to hear it again and again. he says your name like it’s a prayer grounding him to you and you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close to you and bringing him in for another kiss. you can feel andrew’s pace start to stutter, his moans getting louder and his grip on you getting tighter. you hold his face in your hands, locking eyes again.
“inside, andrew, please, i want it inside, please, please,” and again, andrew thinks to himself, like some besotted fool, who is he to deny you? he releases whatever inhibitions he had left and fills you up with his cum—rivulets almost never ending. it leaks out around his dick, messing up your sheets and staining your thighs and making a mess of everything. he hears your heavy breaths and looks to see you smiling sweetly up at him.
and then he collapses next to you.
“hi andrew,” you say quietly next to him. your hands go to his, playing with his fingers and running the pad of your thumb over the veins on his hand. “was it how you thought it’d be?”
“it was better,” he says, breathless. you giggle and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek—and for a moment, he forgets everything. the circumstances of your introduction and the way he’d discovered you long forgotten for a few heartbeats. just you and the sound of your laugh and the promise of the future he wants with you before him.
“there’s still some things i thought about that we didn’t get to yet,” you tease, and he wonders, briefly, what he’s going to do with you.
and then you two hear it—scratching at your closed bedroom door.
“oh god,” you say, sitting up in bed.
you groan a little since your thighs are sore and it’s a wet, sticky mess between them. andrew keeps his hand on your arm and helps you sit up, and joins you in the position, like he’s preparing to help if you need something.
“warden, stop,” you say, but he doesn’t listen. you turn to andrew. “i’m gonna get him.” you try to move your legs and put weight on them, but you feel your knees buckle immediately, with andrew rushing to your side to help you back into bed.
“oh my god. you broke me.”
“i’ll get him. just-just sit down.”
andrew opens the door and picks up your cat like it’s second nature, bringing him to you on the bed before getting in right beside you. your cat is sweet but there’s not many people over at your apartment, and you worry for a moment that he won’t be nice to andrew when he wants your attention. but wardy doesn’t move from his position, staying curled up again andrew’s chest and arm, completely at ease.
“he likes you. that makes sense,” you say, smiling up at him, leaning in to pet wardy’s head.
but andrew doesn’t understand.
“warden. i thought you said his name was wardy?”
“that’s just a nickname.”
“why warden?”
“oh well. it’s silly, um-”
“tell me.”
“well, uh. well, warden is just the letters in andrew. uh, rearranged.”
“oh.”
“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, is that creepy? i was really projecting, i guess, when i got him. i just loved your letters so much and i’ve never had a boyfriend or anything like that-”
god thinking about loser jack abbot trying so hard to make intern!reader laugh at his lame jokes just because he likes to see them smile 😵💫
there are two things about you that jack abbot knows for certain.
one—you don't like night shift nearly as much as you try to convince him that you do. two—you have a beautiful smile.
you’ve been on nights for two and a half weeks now. they—and jack refers to them as such because he doesn’t really know who makes these sort of decisions about the residency program—are trying to make the intern schedule more well-rounded. the thought process behind it is something about incorporating variety early on, making sure that interns are familiar and comfortable with all staff, not just the day shifters.
the only thing they’ve managed to do is make his life a little harder.
well, that’s a stretch. you are a double-edged sword.
jack thinks that the hospital is a little brighter when you’re there. he thinks patients are easier to deal with when you’re next to him, thinks that the hours go by faster while he’s waiting to catch another glimpse of you.
(he’s still your attending—he won’t compromise your education just because he’s a little bit obsessed. okay. fine. a lot of bit.)
you work through chairs and report to your senior resident for most of the shift. you learn how jack likes things charted because parker teaches you. you learn the order that he likes cases presented in because you present to john first. and as much as he wants to, he can only reasonably pull you aside for an incoming trauma if he thinks there’s something for you to learn.
and you, well, you don’t make it any easier. a double-edged sword. when you’re not there, jack’s thinking about you. he thinks about how you’re going back to days in two short weeks. he thinks about who comforts you at home when you’ve had a terrible shift. all he thinks about is you.
sometimes he wonders if it’s better or worse when you’re actually there on a shift with him.
he thinks he knows the answer.
when you’re there, you greet him with your beautiful smile. fifteen minutes early, like always. you wear underscrubs with fun colors that he wants to compliment, but he bites his tongue.
(though it may be self defense. if he complimented you and you beamed that smile at him, he might die. and then there would be no attending for the shift, and then they’d have to call robby in, and then he’d really be in trouble.)
he sounds like—and feels like, too—a teenager in love.
he talks with you for a few minutes before sign-offs. he’s noticed it—sometimes you’re yawning, rubbing your eyes, like you tried to sleep during the day but it wasn’t entirely successful. you drink those fruity energy drinks that he would make you stop if he had a say in it, and he overhears parker talking to you about how you’ll be back to your regular sleep schedule in no time.
but quarter past midnight, when you’re finishing up your charts from the evening and taking sips of your drink, you come and find him to tell him your charts are ready for review.
there’s a lull—it’s never completely empty, but it mirrors quiet every so often. he turns away from his own screen to look at you, and he wishes he hadn’t.
smiling, ipad in hand, the long sleeves of your shirt pulled over your hands. there’s a jacket in his locker with your name written all over it, you wouldn’t be cold ever again if he could control it—and then he has to temper the thought.
he tells you he’ll take a look, and tries to stop himself from saying something else. he’s not used to this—feeling like he’ll say the wrong thing and embarrass himself. it’s an odd feeling. you standing there smiling at him, waiting for him, doesn’t help. you muddle his mind.
but before you turn to leave—
“so how do you like the night shift?”
really, jack? how do you like the night shift? what could you possibly respond with? certainly not the truth, which he already knows—
“oh, i-i like it a lot,” you answer after a brief pause, like you were surprised he asked to begin with.
“are you just saying that because your attending is asking?” your eyes widen a little, and he thinks maybe he overstepped, that maybe you are just saying that and you don’t feel entirely comfortable fessing up about it—
but then you smile and laugh. the noise is addicting—the way the corners of your eyes crinkle, the way your lips move, how you rub your arms together because you’re still cold.
“no,” you confess quietly, with another laugh. music to his ears. “not entirely. i like that there’s time to eat, and, uh, chart.”
“both true,” jack replies. he takes a second to try to understand your body language, thinking maybe he can deduce something out of this conversation, maybe something that can keep his thoughts preoccupied after the next two weeks are over. something else to mull over while he tries to get his act together.
and then you take a step closer to him, leaning on the other side of the counter. you look at him intently, the ghost of your smile still on your face, waiting for his reply. you have pretty, sparkly eyes and—
“-but i don’t think energy drinks count as eating.” he thinks he sounds like a strict dad, but you laugh again.
“i know, i know. but i’m not adjusted to this schedule yet. didn’t it take you a long time, too?”
jack shrugs.
“ah, i don’t remember.” because i’ve been working the night shift for longer than you’ve been alive.
“oh, come on. you can’t be that old.” you say it smiling, laughing. and then you stop, straightening up, eyes going wide like coins. “oh god. i didn’t mean it like that,” you trip over your own words trying to explain yourself.
“that’s okay, kid,” he says quickly. he wants to quell the thought before you can run away with it. “but i am that old. i know. shocking. you wouldn’t be able to tell with my perfectly smooth forehead and lack of gray hair.”
“lack of?”
“this is silver, not gray. totally different.”
you laugh, really laugh, with your eyes and showing him your cute, toothy smile, and your whole face lighting up.
“ri-ight. i guess you’re the expert.”
“that i am.”
“so when they talk about how this job ages us, you’re the exception to the rule?”
“well, it ages some of us. don’t tell robby i said that.”
you giggle in response, and he wants to keep you like this forever—standing in front of him, your pink sleeves resting on the counter, your hair a little messy and your smile completely contagious. he doesn’t realize he’s been smiling the whole time.
but he can’t.
“i’ll take a look at the chart. you should go finish your energy drink. don’t want you skipping meals.”
you laugh again. it won’t be your dinner—at the very least, he’ll find you a protein bar before five when things start getting busy again—but he just wanted to hear that sound again.
“thanks, dr. abbot.”
“you’re welcome, kid.”
he watches you go back to the computer you’ve been working at, yawning and rubbing your arms as you take another sip of your drink. the intrusive thought slips through—your tongue must taste like strawberry because of it. he shakes his head as if he can get rid of the idea physically.
two more weeks of this. but he can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Mel being inexperienced with girls and worrying about not knowing what to do in bed… so she goes to Trinity for advice… 😛😛😛 (Or… Trinity teaching Mel how to fuck you if you’re freaky like dat)
✉️ ABSOFREAKINGLUTELY! my two favs, I'm a santos lover till I die that woman can do no wrong! thank you for bringing this fabulous idea to me my lovely nonie, I'm giving you so many kisses through the screeeeeen <3 love u! xx
demure! threesome (kind of? mel watches), strap usage (r!receiving), spanking, mentions of nipple play, mentions of a praise kink, tiny bit of mean!trinity, tiny bit of possessive!mel, some talk of mel struggling in college </3 wc 2.6k 18+ MEN & MDNI
Mel King never would’ve asked you out if it wasn’t for Trinity Santos.
The fact was maybe irritating for her to admit. But it was only just a bit, because Mel liked to believe she was on top of things. That she could overcome the nerves and shyness that had held her back from so many milestones or events that, according to her peers, were supposed to occur at specific ages. Confidence and self-assuredness were two traits Mel had been working on ever since that first day in undergrad, when, even though practically every site on the computer in her hometown’s old library computer stated that people were desperate to make friends, she had struggled to maintain one conversation. Much less actually connect with someone.
And so, her college years were spent trying to decipher the tone of her personality that people responded best to. Sometimes she was too bright. Too happy for someone who had just failed an exam or spoke too much for an acquaintance who had just worked a 10-hour shift and just wanted to go home. Other times, she was too withdrawn. Not getting a word in during chitchats and only offering nods as responses. It had taken a while, but by the time she got to med school, Mel had thought she’d perfected how to get people to like her. Had spun her own self-reliance to support her through networking and getting close with the other students. She had felt somewhat comfortable in her skin. Enough to where it didn’t feel like she was lying anymore when she had to keep the volume of her voice in check when she got excited or restrained herself from reaching for someone when she was talking at them.
Until she came to the stunning realization that she was horrible at asking for help.
Even when she needed it, it would take multiple repetitions of what to say and a few minutes of pacing in her own mind before chalking up enough courage to ask for what she wanted. Becca’s sudden dependence on her during that point in her life didn’t help, either. Mel always had to know precisely what to do. She hated being seen as incapable, and outright expressing the fact that she was missing pieces of information gave that impression. It didn’t matter to whom. Mel would go through every possible option before caving to that humiliating feeling in her stomach that made her brain blare: WRONG WRONG WRONG, and caused her improved esteem to spiral slightly.
It clung to her even when she began her residency.
It was also why she probably fell in love with you after one week. That you never made her ask for things. That you simply just knew. A strange aspect for Mel to consider, that you understood her that well, since she’d been one for the facts ever since she was little and learned how to read. Sure, it wasn’t the only reason Mel became so enamoured (another poor habit that arose with anything or anyone that made her feel seen), but it was the first step.
You were Mel’s nurse. The only one that made oxygen easier to get in and out whenever she was attempting new procedures or was under immense stress from patients’ loved ones. She needed you because you were the first person she knew who didn’t make her feel ashamed to not have that cutthroat certainty so many demanded from her.
Mel was unmistakably vulnerable around you.
And that was originally going to be enough for her. Simply being able to exist with you in her life while being able to be her most authentic self. Enough to see you every day and to speak about what seemed to be the stupidest things that actually meant everything to Mel. As long as everything stayed the same between the two of you, Mel would be happy. Even if she wished, in moments after shifts where you would be curled up together on the couch in her apartment, that she could kiss you senseless.
Everyone at the PTMC knew about it–the affection that Mel held for you. Trinity was the first to get fed up with it, though.
Always in the same scenarios of the three of you sitting around a counter together or working a case: always you walking away first and watching hearts replace Mel’s eyes as you left. Always watching you.
“You like her?” Trinity had asked one day, her chin jerking in your direction as you’d headed off to find Dana for something. Mel hadn’t responded for a moment, her head still craned to watch you go as her elbows rested on the counter, fingers tangled together. “Mel.”
The blonde did a small double-take before snapping her head back over to her junior, eyes wide. Trinity had copied the expression with a tiny shake of her head.
“You like her.” A statement this time. It made Mel’s thick brows furrow as her mouth opened like she was going to deny it. Trinity knew she wouldn’t, though. Because Mel hated lying. Still, if Trinity maybe knew her on the same level you did, she would guess that that was the face Mel made when she was thinking about creating a fib.
“Well, I– Yes, I do like her. It’s hard not to because she’s a very good friend–”
Trinity had cut her off with a long groan and a roll of her eyes. It had been late into their shift, and exhaustion was catching up to her, weighing on her mind and making it difficult to remember the little things for her patients. “You guys are not just friends,” Trinity had pointed out. Mel had done that same weird mouth thing again as her olive colored eyes fell to where her hands were clasped. A sign she was uncomfortable, as Trinity had learned over the past few months. And while Mel could be a bit much for her at times, Trinity did enjoy having her around. “She likes you too,” she’d offered, softening her tone as she kept her eyes on Mel’s face.
Had watched as the other woman’s eyelashes fluttered before she looked back up, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Really?” And that tone of voice was so stupidly hopeful that it had made Trinity cringe just enough to actually fight another eye roll. “Did she tell you?”
And because, unlike Mel, Trinity is not above lying, and actually has eyes, she’d responded: “Yeah.” As soon as the word had left her mouth, Trinity thought that Mel was going to start hyperventilating out of excitement with the way her cheeks had gotten all red and her smile looked too wide to be natural and her hands twisted together. “Ask her out so I don’t have to watch what actual pining looks like.”
So Mel did.
And everything had been perfect after that.
Mostly.
The only issue, after having gotten past the hurdle of being emotionally intimate, was the physical intimacy. Mel wasn’t a virgin; she’d kissed her fair share of people, and even if she didn’t get those sexual urges that often, she still knew what to do to feel good. Even if the concept sometimes made her feel a bit uneasy, she was still human, and ovulation did happen to come around once a month. But during those years she’d attempted to fix her confidence, Mel had neglected the actions to back it up.
What she should’ve done in hindsight is talk to you. Express all of her worries and communicate that all she wants is to go slow and for you to tell her what you want. What you want her to give you, because Mel would give you anything as long as you loved her. Except that lump kept catching in her throat–that fear that she would screw up something so sacred between two individuals and that you would view her differently after.
Only one other thing had worked before, which is why Trinity is the person Mel asks for assistance.
“You’re gonna have to figure out what strap is gonna work best for y’Mel,” Trinity mumbles as her hands trace from gripping over your sides to settle over your hips. It’s only to pull you back further on the dildo, your toes curling the comforter from the stretch that’s still intense even after Mel worked you to two orgasms. One with Trinity’s hand on her wrist and her fingers pinching at your clit, and the other with Mel curling them with that same pace she’d been shown. The drag of faux veins as the silicone slowly buries itself into your pussy makes you whine loudly, fingernails digging into Mel’s hips like you’re trying to prevent yourself from being forced to take more. You’re whining too. Loudly.
Mel shushes you gently like an owner with a fussy pet as her hand strokes over your hair, your face pressed against her stomach. Her eyes remain on the way your skin gives against Trinity’s grasp, the other woman’s lips pressing together as she tugs you back until there’s the soft clap of skin meeting. And another squeal from you as you ease more weight from your upper half into Mel’s lap.
It had been too long since you’d been fucked. Mel would never take anything further than grinding sessions, you humping her thigh more often than not, which you didn’t mind–but you’d missed the feeling of being full. Of being stuffed with a heavy weight that forced your mind to only focus on reaching a release, and for you to be so turned on that you swelled around whatever was inside of you. Preferably, you would’ve rather had Mel between your legs, but you knew her. Knew that she was a visual learner more than anything else and that this would make her feel better in the long run. Plus, with your face pressed against her, all you could smell was her. Your eyes were forced shut, mouth open and panting into the fabric of her t-shirt, pretending that it was her bullying her strap into your cunt.
“I mean, I’ve been doing some research,” you distantly hear Mel say as the soothing pets over your head continue. Your grip on her loosens as you feel yourself begin to adjust, heavy breaths turning into a full-blown moan as your back arches, finally pushing back against Trinity instead of having her pull you. “But I’m not quite sure what her favorite type of intercourse would be yet.” And you can hear the eyebrow furrow in her tone even as you try to shift your hips back to fuck yourself. “She really loves intimacy, and I don’t want to be too rough with her–”
Mel’s cut off by a muffled yelp from you as Trinity’s hand meets your ass, the sound of the slap making Mel blink. Her first instinct is to push Trinity away from you. To gather you up in her arms and comfort you. But then, you’re nuzzling your hips back again, like you’re desperate for more of that kind of handling.
“‘Kay, well, she’s obviously impatient,” Trinity huffs as she returns to that firm grip on your hips, pulling out just so the tip is still inside of you, the drag making you shudder. You’re already sensitive, both from your previous highs and after not being fucked in so long, so the drag over your walls makes your thighs shudder. “So figure it out after I make her cum.”
Mel tenses against you as Trinity sinks back into your cunt, another sound escaping your throat as even the smallest movements ricochet pleasure throughout your body.
“If you get too in your head since, y’know, that’s kind of your specialty,” she continues as her hips roll in another slow thrust, making a wet noise resound from where you’re coupled with her and your walls to clench around the strap even harder. “You can wait for her to get worked up and start backing up on you.” Trinity sounds breathy, movements of her cock becoming a bit more shallow–deeper. Nuzzling against one spot inside of you that has you drooling against Mel’s shirt.
You’re the only one that’s naked, the other two still having clothing on their upper half, with Mel in sweatpants and Trinity in her boxers. The subtle reminder of fabric against your face warming has another rush of pleasure coursing through your veins, making your clit throb as you arch your back to try and press it against Trinity whenever she does those grinds of the strap into you.
“Mhm, like that,” Trinity mumbles, one hand leaving your hips to trail down your spine before giving your ass another tap. Lighter than the first one, but still enough to have you gushing around her. Shakily, you let go of Mel, opting to press your palms into the mattress on either side of her thighs to lift your upper half, trying to look back at Trinity.
“More–”
Her hand comes down again, making your head drop with a long moan as Trinity fucks into you hard enough to have you falling against Mel again.
“This isn’t about you,” Trinity huffs as she moves to tangle those same fingers in your hair, tugging you up for Mel’s wide eyes to come into view. The sight of your girlfriend, so stunned with flushed cheeks and slow breaths coming from her parted lips, makes you whine. “Mel’s spoiled you too much.”
“It’s not–”
The movements of the strap inside of you, coupled with Mel being in your vision while trying to object to Trinity’s words, has your brain going numb. That, and the fact that they’re talking about you like you’re not even there.
“But it is,” Trinity chuckles, releasing your hair as Mel’s eyes flick from your face to the other woman. “None of my business, obviously, but if you ever wanna try to fix that, her G-spot is right up by her cervix.”
That makes Mel’s mouth snap shut, a huff leaving her nose as a pout forms on her lips. The reaction pulls another laugh from Trinity as her pace finally evens out, probably finally working towards pushing you over the edge. “I don’t blame you,” she continues, batting Mel’s hands away from your head so she can curl her fingers around the base of your throat. You yelp as your upper half is pulled back to Trinity’s chest, tits bouncing slightly as the angle makes her thrusts feel deep enough to have you gushing. “Think it would be easy to spoil you. Yeah? Mm, yeah, you’re pretty.”
Hands are all over you. On your nipples, over your trachea, on your cheeks– You’re being hauled away from Trinity as Mel frowns at the other woman, settling you back into her lap. “You’re not kissing her.”
Right there– You’re right there. Not that either of them seems to care anymore, caught in whatever kind of staring battle they have going on as the noises leaving you get higher and higher–
“Relax, Melgisterial, let me teach you for once,” Trinity mumbles as that frown remains glued on Mel’s face. “One kiss isn’t gonna make her fall in love with me.” But the way she says it makes it feel like there’s something underlying. Something like: she will if I keep fucking her like this. Weakly, you paw at Mel’s stomach before reaching for her shoulder as words that you think aren’t even really words babble from your lips.
Her fingers return to your face, squishing your cheeks together with one hand as she leans down to kiss you, tongue forcing its way into your mouth quickly. Much harsher than she’s ever been with you before, and it has you cumming. Body tensing as stars bloom behind your eyelids.
Even as Mel’s eyes stay open, focused on Trinity as she kisses you just a little bit harder.
Brendon Park who’s secretly a little pathetic about you. Some smut, mostly aftercare. Kinda a sub drop?
Brendon Park fucks.
Obviously you expected that. You saw it coming. I mean, come on. You knew the guy. One look at him you knew he was getting laid often and putting it down. Hard. He was a hunky, charismatic, rich doctor. Whose biceps filled out his scrubs and whose ass did the same. Walked around the hospital with a cool and cocky demeanor. You saw it coming.
So yeah. You were sure he got around. And that was proved when he got you in bed.
He must have liked a challenge, that’s what it had to be. He could do better- do easier than you. But he was set on you for some reason. And now you were here, knees in your chest, ankles over those big broad shoulders as that massive fucking dick spears into you over and over again. And it’s good. It’s so fucking good. You’ve come… twice? Thrice? Already. But he’s still going. Still thumbing your clit as he fucking plows you just right. He’ had your hands pinned over your head a few minutes ago, on your knees, face in the pillows before he decided he needed to see you, hear you. He ate you out with his hands around your wrist again, keeping you at his mercy as he overstimulated you with a skilled tongue. You’ve been going for… fuck. A while. You’ve lost all track of time.
“Who’s your daddy, baby?” He panted in your ear, more like a growl. You couldn’t think, truly, not when he had you like this. But you managed to answer. “You are!”
He grunted in approval.
“Good girl.”
You had told him it took you a long time to cum sometimes before this. He said he was in no rush. You told him you didn’t like some things. He listened with an easy nod. Warned him you were the kinda girl who got clingy. He seemed unconcerned. Completely unconcerned. Told him you’ve been known to cry. He looked hungry.
Brendon Park was unfazed by every warning, and went to fucking town on you anyway.
And finally, with your ankles next to his head, he came.
He pulled out gingerly, careful and kind with his movements, easing your legs down for you, carefully rubbing your hips to ease the ache. He kissed your cheek. “I’m gonna go get a towel.” He explained, pushing himself off the bed.
Right.
You sat there awkwardly, unsure what to do with yourself as you waited. You settled on pulling your knees up to your chest against his headboard.
He looked surprised at your change in position.
“You okay?” He worried. “C’mon, lay back down and stay comfy. Lemme clean you up” he insisted, gently tugging on your ankle to coax you down. You let him, shyly. Despite him having you in every position 5 minutes ago, this was so embarrassing.
The aftermath always was.
“Don’t get shy on me, baby.” He insisted, kissing your knee. “Nothing I haven’t seen” as he swiped the towel through your tender folds, muttering an apology, kissing your knee.
He smiled at you. Hair sweat damp and wavy, skin glowing, he smiled at you.
Gone was his trademark scowl, or the focused flushed face he’d had during sex. He was smiling. And yeah, he smiled during the date, but you thought that was all part of the act. The seduction to get you into bed.
Why was he smiling now?
Once he’d cleaned you up, he was back out of bed, walking to a dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers to pull on.
Then another pair, and a tee shirt.
“You should really go pee still, but here. If you want a toothbrush I have the little goody bag from my last cleaning in my top drawer under the sink, and there’s cerave by the sink if you want to wash your face”. He rattled off, extending the clothing to you.
You looked between him and your clothes on the floor unsurely.
“What?”
“I should get going.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t drive here, remember?” He reminded you. His face fell uncertainly. Concerned. Brows creased. He came back to the bed, setting the clothes beside you and running a worried hand down your cheek.
“You feeling okay? That was kinda intense, huh?”
You ignored him.
“I’ll just… get an Uber or whatever.”
“You’re welcome to do whatever you need to but. You really don’t have to do that.” He said explicitly.
“I don’t want you in an uber like this. If you’re really uncomfortable I can drive you home, but I would rather you stayed here.” Brendon insisted.
“You would?”
He looked at you dumbly.
“Yes. Of corse I would. I want you to stay the night. But only if you’re okay with that of corse.” He said flat out.
A little smirk came to his lips.
“What, you thought I was gonna kick you out of my bed or something?”
It was a lighthearted joke to him.
Your face was straight.
His fell.
“Oh my god you thought I was just gonna kick you out of my bed?”
He looked… hurt, almost.
“Well you got what you wanted so…”
You still hadn’t taken the clothes, still naked back up against the headboard now.
He looked crushed.
“Is that the kind of guy you think I am?”
You didn’t know how to respond.
“Look, I know I’ve been known to be kinda douchey at the hospital but. I’m not like that in my personal life. Not with the women I date. I thought- we went out earlier, right? We had a nice date, we came back here and kept the fun going.” He explains, like he’s trying to prove he’s not the guy you think he is.
He looked unsure if his series of events was the same as yours.
“I don’t know how to prove it, but I’m not that guy. Really. I like you. Really like you. Have for some time.” He explained.
“I thought-“
You began. Than stopped.
He looked desperate for you to continue.
“What did you think, honey?”
Honey?
“That I was, I don’t know. Like. A challange.”
He muttered the word to himself.
“Jesus fuck. No. No you’re not just some challenge. Why the hell did you even go out with me- come home with me if you thought that?”
You shrugged.
“You’re very persuasive.”
“I was going for charming.” He dryly laughed.
“That too.”
He smiled softly.
“You’re pretty damn charming yourself.” He flirted.
You smiled shyly, and he felt a little better.
A little.
“Let me say it like this. I want you to stay the night with me. I want to cuddle and kiss you and sleep here together tonight, and in the morning I want to make you breakfast and drive you home like a gentleman, and maybe beg you to go out with me again sometimes. Is that okay?”
Shyly, you nodded.
And Brendon smiled gently.
Sighing in relief.
“We need to talk about this again, sometime. Maybe in the morning. But not right now, sweet girl”.
Dr Brendon Park is a man of science. A practitioner of medicine. A surgeon, and a good one at that.
Psychology, however, has always been above his pay grade.
This, this leaves him truly out of his element. He doesn’t like feeling out of his element, fish out of water. It goes against everything he is.
This problem of yours, the thing he doesn’t like to name exactly what it is, it’s a lot to him. It scares him, he knows the kill count it’s racked up, he’s seen it in broken bones that showed through skin long before, bones weakened by malnutrition to a bird like state. He knows what this is capable of. It terrifies him.
But if he feels out of control by it, he can only imagine how you feel? Living with this 24 hours a day 7 days a week for years.
If there’s one thing Brendon knows how to do well besides fix bones, however, it’s Dom. He’s a man of great pride. He needs to be the best at everything he does, an sex is just another thing.
If he lacks the medical training to take this burden off your shoulders, he can treat the symptoms other wise. Palliative approach.
Brendon knows when you need a firm hand, a soft hand, and hands off when it comes to this plague. He knows how to Dom you, so he’ll do that as good as he can.
He can order you around only so much until you’re reduced to a stressed ball of tears and hyperventilation. This is a slow battle. And he’ll stick around and fight it as long as it takes. But he knows when to push and when to stop.
Knows how to give you what you need when you need it.
Curled up to Brendon’s side on the couch watching TV, his tee shirt and your sweats on, it’s your usual home uniform. He’s very well behaved, every home your bra free tits press to his arm he keeps the knowledge to himself. Ignores how it drives him wild. He behaves. When you start to rub on his chest and stomach, kiss on his neck, he knows what you want. What you need. And that’s him. He doesn’t procrastinate to take you to bed. He’d never make his sweet bit do something so debasing as beg. Even if that’s just ask. (Sweet little girls don’t have to use their words. Daddy knows.)
When you get there, as he pulls off your panties with his teeth like the desperate creature he is, you ask him shyly if you can keep his shirt on tonight. Adding a shy please. As if he has any right to stop you. It’s not an unusual ask unfortunately. He accepts easily. “Of corse you can” he says in the gentlest voice he can muster. “But you know I think every inch of you is breathtaking, right?” He confirms. He knows on night like this you need a soft hand. Need him to rut into you slow and deep, mating press or prone bone. Hands sneaking up your shirt to carefully fondle those tits, kiss you deep and passionate and show you his love.
And he knows on other nights, when your glossy eyed from the torment in your head you need him to be hard. You need him to strip you bare with no room for disagreement or protest, tie you up, and make you listen to his endless praise of your perfect form as he fucks you to tears. Weather that’s from his cock or his words, he doesn’t ask. Maybe he’ll even write all the ways he loves you on your skin so you really learn.
“Can you make me dinner?” You asked with sweet doe eyes. “Of corse baby” he cooed. He was always happy when you let him cook. Let him take care of it. Turned off the voices in your head and let him make sure your body got what it needs.
Other times, he’ll see you go quiet and focused over a snack or a meal. Calculating in your head what you’d eaten that day. “Stop it.” He’ll say firmly. But he knows it’s not that easy. You can’t. Not just like that. You’re stuck in it now.
So he’ll grab you by the hair, kissing you hard and mean enough to totally push you off your train of thought, leave you gasping and mindless and confused as to how you got here after he pulls away. That’s okay.
You don’t even know what you were thinking about now, dazed and love sick.
“Finish your snack, baby.” He insisted sweetly.
Scales. Measuring tapes. All gone from your house.
Like they disappeared overnight.
And you’re not dumb enough to argue.
You’re out for a coffee.
An at first, when you order, he worries.
Becuase you like lattes.
But you order drips. Because they’re less calories.
But. You’ve been doing better. Not even ordering half sweet as much.
So he frowns when you order. A large drip.
He won’t tell you that you can’t have something. That would be counter productive. But why do you want that?
But then. Oh, then.
You walk to the counter, and not only do you use full fat cream, but for the first time in your relationship he sees you put in sugar.
Park the shark with a scent kink is so valid. I also feel like period sex is definitely on the table with him
(Hey so this possessed me so much so that I wrote this at work the moment I saw the ask. I'm not the best at writing in second person yet so it's like, half me rambling and half an attempt at a fic, plus I wrote this on my night shift and cleaned it up half asleep so apologies for any spelling or grammar errors or if it's a little clunky. Anyway, pls enjoy this lil thought blurb that kinda got away from me in length)
Park may be a little ooc but also we only saw like 30 seconds of him sooooo is it really ooc if he isn't fully fleshed out? Also it isn't super gender specific another than referencing you've got a vagina, a period, and nipples.
Word count: 3k
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Same Time Next Month?
Imagine if the Park the Shark moniker came from his frat days in college (you can pry frat bro Park from my cold dead hands) and it got around that he didn’t gaf about blood and would still fuck/eat out someone on their period. Like he’s in med school, he’s gonna be an orthopedic surgeon, why tf would something like blood deter him?
If anything it was almost like he didn’t just “not mind” it, it was that Park craved it. He got off on it just as much as whoever’s legs he was between and thus Park the Shark was born, and he wore it like a badge of fucking honor the rest of the way through school.
Just from how strenuous and demanding orthopedic residency is maybe his sex life, and subsequently the moniker, gets pushed to the back of his mind until an old frat brother comes in and calls him Park the Shark in front of everyone and now the nickname is being whispered through the halls, following him like a shadow because hospital staff thought it was because he’s brutish, cold, and a total asshole. And yeah, he is those things, but the shark moniker had once been positive, a source of pride that fed his ego, it made him an outlier among his peers and made him popular with the ladies.
He had hook ups every now and again when he found the time during his later residency years, after carving out a place for himself among the PTMC staff, but found it brought more headache than pleasure to fuck where he worked- especially when he became an attending, so he gives up and forces himself to focus on work.
Of course until you, that is.
You, a new ED resident who captures his full attention by simply walking into a room and not taking any of his shit for a millisecond, not even batting an eye under the Shark's looming figure and icy glare. You return it with a glare of your own, your lip curled in anger as you snap at him to stand up straight if he's going to talk to you like that and fuck, he’s enamored. Park wants you carnally, almost desperately, and every time you roll your eyes at him or pop your gum in his face he gets hard enough to see stars. You’re infuriating— your competency is infuriating. It would be easier to get over it if you were just stupid but no. No you just had to be top of your class with a spine made of steel and you don’t give him a single inch where he usually takes a mile. The chase takes a while, longer than any other person he's pursued in his life. You’re not an easy one to wear down and you give him hell the entire way, but he’s not quick to give up until he’s got you to say yes to "just one date".
You get to find that you actually kinda like Brendon Park outside of the hospital when he's shed the shark persona, and one date turns into two, two into three, and three into a trip to HR to update your relationship status to make sure all your bases are covered.
The first time you get your period at his house not only is he
1. Prepared with anything you need (I like to think he’s got sisters who visit so he just keeps things stocked up. Big family Park the Shark my beloved)
2. Harder than fucking diamond the moment you gently push him back and, uncharacteristically shyly, tell him you can’t do anything because of said period, and he gets to watch your pretty mouth drop open in surprise when he just shrugs and says “it’s never stopped me before.”
Like… Bren what do you mean it’s never stopped you before???? Park blanks for a half second like “oh yeah, not everybody does that” and there’s no point in him being shy about it now so he just kisses you on the mouth, a smug little smirk on his face when he pulls away—
“I didn’t get called ‘the Shark’ in college for nothing, sweetheart”
And holy fuck if that doesn’t stay in your brain for the next month. He’s put the thought it your mind now, he’ll assure you through this period that it really doesn’t bother him at all and maybe you don’t do anything about it at first, but he can see the interest growing as the days pass.
Maybe it takes a little bit of time, a little research on your end because hey, period sex is kinda out of your wheelhouse but it’s not like it's unheard of and you’re not entirely against it, just apprehensive, curious even. (As someone who’s done it, I was a lil nervous at first too and did a stupid amount of research to calm down about it lmao)
Eventually you broach the topic with him, maybe a little embarrassed because yeah it’s a natural bodily function but it’s still a lil taboo and even if Park has said he doesn’t gaf about a little blood you still need a little reassurance that he’s actually ok with it. And so you do, and he assures you that it’s fine, he’s ok with it— more than ok with it really, ever since the first time he’d mentioned it it’s all he can think about. He doesn’t tell you he’s been craving it since then, but you can see he’s eager, he’s practically vibrating with want. So maybe he drops a few “hints” here and there. It’ll help alleviate cramps, it’ll feel good because of the heightened sensitivity, it could help increase libido (not that the two of you need that), it's incredibly intimate, etc.
I think Park is a little bit of a boundary pusher in the bedroom, like things he can see you’re teetering on trying he’s gonna try and nudge you. He's not pushy, never bullying you into things, he's just…suggestive.
“We can try it, and if you hate it we won’t do it again.”
If you give him a firm no he’ll respect it, sure he’s a little bummed but it’s not gonna ruin his entire day. Brendon Park loves you and respects you, so he’d never force you into anything that is a hard no even if it’s something he likes.
However, if you say yes? Sweet love, say less because he’s already set aside everything you’d need for it just in case.
It’s a common headcanon that Brendon Park fucks, but this? This takes it to a whole new level. He’s got you spread out on his bed, a towel under your hips— oh did you think it’d be a dark towel? Not a chance. Park’s set out the bright white towels so that he can see the mess he’s gonna make with you. Ambient lighting, but not so dark he can't see anything because he wants to see everything.
He’ll get you nice and relaxed, Park’s a lover boy after all and at the end of the day he never wants you to be uncomfortable, especially with something he’s doing. He takes his time laid on top of you, letting you control how long your make out lasts, taking his time undressing you and only parting to pull your shirt over your head with his quickly following suit. You stop his hands from taking off your underwear just yet, still a little apprehensive, a little nervous, but that’s fine with him so he just kisses you again and lets you wrap your arms around his neck. He loves the feeling of your hands on his body but especially on his back, the way you trail them up the back of his neck to run your nails through the hair at the base of his scalp makes him shiver and lean more into you, a groan bubbling up from deep in his chest.
When you give him the ok to move elsewhere, his lips and teeth are everywhere. Trailing down your neck and chest leaving bites and newly forming bruises in his wake, some you can’t even see but you know you’ll feel for a while after he's done.
He relishes in the noises you make when he gets his mouth on your already sensitive nipples, now more so that he’s given them a little attention. He sucks a bruise into your hip, leaves a bite on the inside of your thigh that makes you yelp, and just chuckles when your heel connects with his back as if to reprimand him.
We’ve established that I think Park’s got a scent kink and boy does this play into it. He looks up at you, raising his eyebrows as if to ask “this ok?”, and only moves when you give him an affirmative for him to slide your underwear down your legs.
It takes everything in him not to shove your soiled underwear against his nose and inhale like it’s a fucking drug— it is, in a way, because the moment the metallic scent of blood hits his nose he’s shaking, salivating, nearly panting like a dog when he throws your legs over his shoulders and— just once more looks back up at you to make sure you’re serious about this— and buries his face into your cunt the moment you give him the go ahead.
If you thought Brendon Park was a munch before, this was nothing in comparison.
He’s ravenous, eyes rolling back at the copper tang on his tongue as he eats you out like he’s been starving for it. And maybe he has been. It’s been years since someone’s let him do this to them.
Park’s bound to leave bruises from just how tightly he’s holding your thighs— now clamped around his ears like a vice with your nails digging into his scalp as you wail.
He’s groaning at the sounds you’re making, the sounds your sticky, wet cunt was making, and he gets a little lightheaded from how quickly all of the blood in his body makes a beeline south. He's still in his briefs and they're growing wetter by the second from the precum steadily leaking out with how desperately he's grinding against the bed, hips involuntarily searching for friction before he bullies a broad shoulder between your thighs forcing you to make room for him, gasping in a breath and sliding two fingers into your slick, messy heat curling them almost viciously just to hear that sound from before and you give it to him.
Your body arches off the bed so suddenly it was as if you’d been struck by lightning, his one arm pressing down against your hips the only thing tethering you to the bed as you let out another high, pitchy wail.
Park can’t take his eyes off of you, fuck you’re stunning. You’ve got a hand latched onto his arm, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood, and your other covering your eyes as you pant and moan and chant his name like a fucking prayer, unable to squirm away with his strong arm over your hips.
Mentally Park is patting his younger self on the back for finding a place with above average sound proofing because had you been doing this at your apartment, your nosy neighbor would’ve called the cops the moment he got his mouth on you.
God he feels fucking drunk. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or maybe he really is drunk on your blood, either way he’s doing everything he knows you like to get you across the finish line.
Your hands find his hair again when you’re about to come, your breath quickening as you beg him not to stop, to keep going, to keep- keep- oh god Bren— Brendon!
He doesn’t stop, just eats you through it until your second orgasm is crashing into the aftershocks of the first making you shriek. You finally pull him away from you just as the third is ebbing into painful overstimulation territory, and make eye contact, his eyes half lidded but you can see his pupils are blown wide, the faintest hint of blue haloing them as he stares up at you from where he's still positioned between your legs and fuck if it isn’t erotic.
Half his face is covered in blood, it's smeared across his mouth and cheeks and a little ways up his nose, his sharp teeth glinting where the saliva on them catches the light as he heaves in ragged breaths, the parts of his face not covered by blood are still flushed red, his blush extending to his ears and down his neck where you know it's spread across his chest and shoulders— he looks as fucked out as you feel, and it’s so, so hot watching him fall apart from just how badly he wants you. He’s already tugging against your grip on his hair, eager to get his mouth back on you as if he can’t help but search out blood.
The sound Park makes when you pull him up by his hair to plant your lips on his is pathetic. It’s wanton and needy and he nearly comes on the spot when you lick into his mouth with a filthy moan at the taste of not only your wetness, but your own blood. Your faces slide against each other from the sheer amount of wetness on your skin. He moves over you, body nearly crushing you under his weight as his hips grind against the apex of your thighs but it's not quite the right spot— he's still got his briefs on and they're in his fucking way—
He didn't even notice your hands in his scramble to get his briefs off until you've got a hand around his shaft and he’s choking, gasping against your open mouth when you guide his cock to your folds. He bumps your clit making you jolt and mumbles out a quick “sorry, angel” before pushing in all the way.
God you’re slick and wet and so hot that the last of his self control snaps. Any other time he’d give you a second to adjust, a moment to breathe and get used to his size even after getting four fingers in you, but there’s blood in the water and he’s frenzied.
He holds you down by the backs of your thighs setting a relentless, punishing pace as he snaps his hips against yours, jackhammering like a virgin hellbent on sating his own selfish pleasure.
It’s electrifying and bordering on painful but it’s so so good—
You can’t even manage moans anymore, just broken little whimpers as you grip the pillow underneath your head, your face wet with tears, the blood already drying around your mouth— you look so fucking filthy and he loves it. He loves you.
Park plants a hand next to your waist and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, grinding his cock into you at a slower pace to yank himself from the edge he'd been hurtling towards. Sure, you've come 3 times, but he can feel one more creeping up on you by the way your walls flutter around his length. You throw your head back in a wordless scream when his thumb rubs circles around your clit, aborted, broken little sounds escaping your exposed throat as you tremble violently, Park speeding up his thrusts just as you topple over the edge so he's right behind you.
His vision darkens at the edges, a high pitched ringing in his ears as his orgasm crashes into him like a freight train nearly knocking the wind out of him. For a man who's spent a good majority of his life in the gym, and spends a current majority of his time outside of work fucking you in just about every place you'll let him, it's a rare sight to see him genuinely out of breath.
The first sound to come back to him is your pitiful sniffles and your attempts to calm your own racing heart by taking in deep, shaky breaths. He moves the two of you onto your sides, his arms wrapped securely around your waist with yours around his shoulders, not an inch of space between the two of you. A shiver runs down his spine when he feels the faintest brush of your nails at the back of his head, he rubs a hand up and down your back as he presses his lips against your exposed shoulder. Park slowly makes his way up your neck and over your jaw, kissing the spot under your left eye where he always does before he kisses your lips. You're too tired to anything more and he's not about to start anything, just needing you close as you both come down from your highs.
Exhaustion weighs him down and he knows that the two of you should get up and in the shower because if you don't he'll hear it from the moment you wake up that you're still covered in dried blood, spit, and cum, and you'll make it his problem. (He's right where he wants to be)
Try as he may, Park still dozes off for just a moment, only coming to because you're kissing his face gently and slowly, your hand scratching over the back of his head and for a second he thinks you're crying again. He gets it, Park wasn't lying when he said it was intimate and he moves your head back to wipe your tears except you're not really crying anymore, instead you're chuckling quietly to yourself.
"What are you laughing at?" Brendon mumurs, his curious gaze sweeping over your face as you chuckled while tears dripped down your face. The headboard had been hitting the wall pretty hard but he was still sure that you hadn't bumped your head somehow, even if you bumped it against the headboard it was tufted leather on the side facing the bed so you shouldn't have gotten a head injury—
"So," you pause, your voice pulling him out of his slight spiral about a possible head injury, your pretty eyes roaming over his face and down to his chest where dried blood is smudged on the side of his neck and collarbone, your fingers gently brushing against some of it making it flake away before your eyes trail back up to meet his through your thick lashes, a teasing grin spreading across your lips as you lean your head onto the pillow he's half on. "Same time next month?"
He blinks, not fully registering what you've said until your teeth are digging into your lower lip in an attempt to hold back your giggles, a grin stretching across his face as he leans in to kiss you, swallowing down your giggles before pulling back and gently nudging your nose with his own.
"Yeah sweetheart, same time next month."
(oh my god that was so much longer than I meant it to be. I started my period and apparently this was exactly what my brain wanted to focus on. Anyways happy birthday to me I'm gonna go take a nap, k love you bye 💖🌕🪼)
summary: a collection of their first times together. connected to my other shy!reader fic, but can be read as a standalone!
content: explicit 18+ MDNI. smut, oral (f receiving), tad of dry humping, unprotected p in v. brief mention of sexual assault (a patient, not reader), reader is a SANE.
wc: 8.9k
notes: thank u for the love on my first fic!! i thought id write a lil extra fic of this dynamic bc i also adore them.
masterlists
First Date
Jack is a traditional man, you’ve come to realise.
After the kiss, the invisible boundary stopping him from taking care of you the way he wanted had been broken, and he promises to care for you to the fullest extent, for as long as you’d let him.
Your schedules never seemed to align to both have a day off, and Jack was getting antsy at the prospect that he had kissed you days ago, but couldn’t take his girl out for a date.
A particularly stressful case one evening broke his patience.
An MVC trauma case had rolled in just before his shift was about to end, the man was in his late-thirties and the crash seemed to have paralysed his lower limbs. He worked to treat the most imminent problems, but Jack could tell the man knew what had happened to his legs, and was grieving silently.
Not long after he’s finished treating the man, a tall, blonde woman rushes into the trauma room just as Jack was about to exit, and the look on her face was fear followed by complete devastation. He watches her sob as she rounds the table to sit next to her partner, moving strands of hair away from his face so she can lean in and press her forehead against his.
Jack stands off to the side watching the scene unfolds, and his breath hitches as he hears the couples’ cries, their pleas of love for one another, the fear that she had almost lost him; lost him before they could finally get married, he overhears.
The woman promises that nothing could ever change the love she has for him, begging to scrap the big, fancy wedding they’d planned, wanting to elope, not bearing to waste another day of not being married to him.
Something twists low in his chest, patience wearing thin and excuses himself from the room, desperately needing to find you.
He couldn’t wait.
Jack’s shoulders are tight when he exits the trauma room, shaking his head and searching for you, hoping you hadn’t left for the day.
───
You’re zipping your bag up where it rests on your chair, when a low, familiar voice startles you from behind.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, going home and sleeping. You should try it sometime, y’know–” You begin to tease back, turning to look at him, but his face is serious, tight, making you falter. You’re about to ask what had happened, never having seen him so disturbed.
He speaks before you can ask, shaking his head and commanding,
“No. C’mon, we’re grabbing food.” His voice is gravelly as he grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before picking up your coat holding it out for you to slip into it. Your heart warms at the sweet, domestic gesture. Nervously, and heavily blushing, you turn, and let him drape you in the coat. You move to take the bag from Jack, but he shakes his head, holding it tighter.
“Let’s go.” His voice is low, and you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding you to the exit. You almost just let yourself fall into the comfort of allowing Jack to take over, enjoying not having to think for once.
“Jack– hold on.” You say a little flabbergasted. Shen and Lena give you both an amused look as you pass, clearly they seem to know what’s going on whilst you’re left in the dark.
“We’re exhausted, I look a mess right now– we just finished a 12 hour shift!” You try and reason with him as he hurriedly leads you to his truck.
“So?” He gives you a look that implies what you said has no grounds for protest, whatsoever.
You scoff, completely taken aback, and swivel to face him once you reach his truck, searching his face for an inkling of an idea as to what’s up with him.
“Jack–” You try, but he just leans past you, and opens the truck door for you, nodding his head signalling for you to hop in.
“First of all. You ain’t a mess, sweetheart.” He says, almost offended by the notion.
Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you watch as he reaches for the seatbelt and buckles you in, and before pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours and whispers, “You looking fuckin’ amazing all the time.”
You can't help but let out a flustered whine at his praise, blush covering your face as you meet his intense stare. His expression begins to soften once he looks you over, realising you’re finally here with him. He softly brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
“Diner food okay, doll?”
───
You feel the car come to a stop across the street from a 24/7 diner downtown, it’s cutesy, it has a retro feel to it. You go to open the door, but his hand gently catches your wrist mid-movement.
“Ah ah. Stay.” He commands with a soft-but-stern tone, willing you to obey.
You smile to yourself as you watch him round the hood of the truck, you’ve never received this kind of princess treatment, and your heart clenches. You thrum with anxiety as you wait for him to open your door, begging yourself to not make a fool of yourself and somehow faceplanting out of the truck.
Checking that no cars are passing, he opens the door and holds his hand out for you to take. You can’t stop your smile from growing or the heat covering your face, utterly touched by his gentlemanly gestures.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Your voice is quiet, but slightly teasing as you hop out of the truck, holding his hand. “I already like you.”
Jack sighs when looks down at you, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your hip before moving you to the inner side of the sidewalk, away from the road.
“I ain’t doing this to impress ya.” He grumbles out, bringing his lips to your temple. “It’s how you deserve to be treated, honey.”
You’re speechless.
He needs to stop making you blush, you’re already flustered and overwhelmed by all of his actions within the short span of time you’ve left the ER, and the date has barely begun.
You’re barely able to focus or think straight, which is why when you reach the doors to the diner, you mistakenly make a move to open the door, and Jack almost hangs his head in soft frustration
“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He says in disbelief. You look up at him with a confused expression, watching as he enters your space, and opens the door for you. God, he’s so traditional. Your grin is wide as you stare at him, unable to keep it off your face as you enter the Diner.
You let him order first, as you stare up at the menu above the counter. You’d heard him order a savory dish, something with eggs. It’s healthy, and though you’d wanted something sweet like pancakes you start overthinking, not wanting to look unhealthy or childish in front of Jack, completely baseless worries.
He turns to look at you, seeing your brows are furrowed and a worried look paints your face as you’re trying to decide. He reaches back, squeezing your hand tilting his head. “Honey, get whatever ya want, yeah?”
Your smile is tight and shy again when you order the pancakes, nerves wracking your body for no good reason, just another moment anxiety seems to spike randomly.
“Will that be separate or together?” The cashier asks about payment whilst finishing up the order, and both you and Jack speak at the same time.
“Separate–”
“Together.”
His tone is final as he looks at you with an incredulous expression that you even tried to offer to pay on your first date. You begin to shake your head, feeling guilty about making him pay for you, but he taps his card and gives you a stern look.
While you’re waiting for the food he wraps you in his arms and whispers into your hair.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” His voice is gentle but pleading.
Your heart clenches as you look up at him from where you’re wrapped around him, face touching his chest. Vulnerability flickers in your eyes, unsure if you should admit to Jack just yet, how hard it is for you to let go and be cared for.
But he just smiles, patting your hair, and silently, you think he already knows.
Grabbing your food, you look for a place to sit, but you notice Jack is… walking out? You frown again, catching up to him with confusion painting your face. Did he not want to eat together? Had you completely misinterpreted this as a date? Maybe he just wanted to grab food before going home.
He snorts at the confusion, back tracking a little and cupping your face with one hand, a thumb stroking back and forth across your cheek.
“You think I was gonna take ya to a diner for our first date?” He croons, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Jesus, kid, who have you been hanging around with before me?”
───
What you hadn’t expected was for him to bring you to a remote spot that overlooked the city. It was still early in the morning, a fresh spring fog coating the city from above as you sat on a bench and had breakfast.
You’re too in your own head, you know this. But you can’t stop. You’re painfully aware that this is a date, you want to act the right way, say the right things, be charming, be funny. But it inevitably leads to complete silence from you and jumpy eyes darting around focusing on anywhere but him.
Sighing, he sets his takeout container on the bench beside him, before scooting closer to you.
“Hey, what’cha worrying about over there?” He nudges his knee with yours. He meets your eyes and finds insecurity and so much shyness. He tilts your head up using his fingers on your chin, making sure you really hear him when he speaks.
“You still get me so nervous.” You breathe out shakily, laughing a little at the prospect knowing he’d already kissed you stupid days ago.
“You got no one to impress, yeah? S’just me.” He teases a little, recalling your words from earlier.
“Plus, I already got a taste of those lips, doll.” This raises a shy laugh from you and you groan while you nudge his knee back playfully, clearly calming down. He has a way of easing you, making you comfortable around him like no one ever has. You lean your head down against his shoulder, bringing your hand to trace patterns on his scrubs.
In the comfortable lull between you both, you break the silence.
“What happened today? Why were you so… worked up?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment by bringing up negative emotions.
Jack pauses, you feel him tense beside you. But he places a hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly, searching for the right words.
“I just… didn’t wanna waste any time.” He admits softly, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“I know what I want, and we’ll go as slow as you want– but I’m not waiting around to miss key moments with you.” He leans down to where you rest on his shoulder and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment after his admission.
Your breath hitches at his intensity, realising how serious he is, that he really wants this, wants you.
“Now,” he pauses, using his hand to lift your head off his shoulder. “I’ve been dreamin’ about kissing you again for days.” His rough voice whispers, searching your eyes for permission, any indication you want this as much as he does.
You don’t give him time to find it.
Immediately, you lean in and crash your lips to his, faster and passionate than your first.
Jack is genuinely taken aback by your little show of confidence, and he makes a surprised whine at feeling your lips again.
You pull back, wide eyed and shocked at what you had done. “Fuck–”
He growls at you having broken the kiss. You don’t get time to sit with embarrassment at how desperately you’d kissed him, you notice how blown out his pupils are and he immediately cups your face bringing you back in.
He had so effortlessly taken over, comforting you and pleasing you with one kiss that your worries dissipate, your body relaxes into him, and you let yourself feel it.
For the second time, Jack had kissed you stupid.
First Personality Shifts
Slowly, but surely, Jack was getting you to come out of your shell. He was discovering parts of you he hadn’t known existed, and loved it.
He was encouraging you to grow, to flourish, which is how he discovered how sassy you could get.
The night shift were working overtime, wrapping up cases here and there, during a particularly brutal shift. You’d been working around 15 hours now, exhausted but powering through.
You and Emma, a day shift nurse, were assisting a trauma case led by Jack and Dr. Robby, much to the dismay of Shen and Ellis. It was a particularly tricky case, you’d all been in that room for ages, holding your breath during a risky procedure as the room stays silent.
After a while, you watch Jack and Robby step back from the patient, letting out a breath of relief before Robby raises his thumbs, signalling everything went perfectly. You see them smile, their eyes crinkling from under the mask.
Small cheers and laughs filter through the room, the tension easing out.
“You’ve still got it, man.” Jack praises Robby.
Robby almost looks reluctant to accept the approval.
“Nah man, that’s all you.” Robby retorts, his hand patting Jack’s back whilst Robby went to leave the room.
“Take the compliment, Robby.” Jack raises his voice to reach where Robby was leaving the room, knowing how his friend gets. Robby pauses in the doorway turning to face Jack.
“No, seriously, brother. Everyone could learn a thing or two from you.” Robby says loudly enough so his residents can hear, making it a point.
You hear them go back and forth for a while, your brain is finally slowing down from exhaustion, they do this all the goddamn time, which is why you don’t even process it when you blurt out your next sentence.
“Careful, Jack’s ego is inflated enough as is.” Your voice is somewhat quiet, you really meant it for just Robby and Jack.
The room erupts in small giggles, Robby’s eyebrows lifting in surprise and smirking at Jack. He can’t help but let out a laugh.
“Oof, damn girl.” You hear Ellis joke from behind you.
Your wide eyes shoot up to meet Jack’s, your tired brain catching up and afraid you’d offended him. But he’s stood there, completely still, and grinning so hard. He almost looks proud.
Jack didn’t think he could fall for you any harder.
He was wrong.
───
You had finally gotten comfortable enough to ask for his comfort.
Before you met Jack, you couldn’t imagine asking for help for the littlest of things, afraid of inconveniencing people. Jack had reassured you, time and again, that he wants to be the person you go to when you need help.
So you do.
At first, it was adorable for Jack trying to get you to ask for help. Being a slight tease about it, encouraging you to use your words.
You’d had a rough shift, you weren’t meant to be going to Jack’s place after work, but god did you need him today more than ever.
You’d been in the room for a few trauma cases, neither of which had ended with the patients pulling through, one being a pediatric case. You’d also opted to do an evidence collection for a sexual assault patient, knowing how busy Lena had been tonight, the floor needing her more than ever, so you’d taken over for her.
Safe to say, by the end of the night, you were a wreck. You felt on the verge of tears for hours, like the littlest thing could set you off. You were emotionally depleted, you wanted to just switch off, and you knew Jack could help.
So you approached him quietly, anxiously, your hands fidgeting. He was grabbing his bag out of his locker, so you slid in next to him, your back against the lockers next to him searching his face, checking if he’s too tired, because you wouldn’t want to be a burden.
“Hey, baby.” He smiles at your appearance next to him, glancing over at you.
“Everything okay?” He says gently after noticing your stature. He can tell you’re anxious. He pauses from where he’s gathering his stuff in his lockers, turning to face you fully now. You’re staring into his eyes, you’re hesitant.
“Talk to me.” He commands gently, his hand coming to yours to break apart your nervous fidgeting.
You swallow the lump in your throat, asking for help always ended with tears for you and you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now.
“Jack.” You just whine, silently begging that he’d understand what you need without you having to vocalise it. Your eyes water slightly, needing his comfort desperately.
“C’mon, baby, use your words.” He coaxes, his hand cupping your cheek. “You can do it.” His thumb brushes back and forth across the apple of your cheek, catching any tears if they fell.
“I need you.” Your voice is shaky, broken. It’s all you can manage without completely breaking down at work.
“Yeah?” His voice is so gentle, like he’s trying not to spook you, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Atta girl.” His praise causes an involuntary, but quiet whine to leave you.
He’ll stop the teasing for tonight, he sees how much you need him and the fact you had even verbalised your need for him was progress. He’s so proud of you.
“You need me, baby? C’mere.” He opens his arms for you, beckoning you into his hold. You’re a little embarrassed as you hug him, worried someone will find you like this, all vulnerable and mushy.
“You did so good, baby, asking me for help.” He strokes your hair, comforting you. “C’mon. I’ll bring you home.”
A protesting whine escapes you before you realise, the idea of him dropping you home alone upsetting you. You had just said you needed him, hadn’t you?
“Hey, hey.” He says quickly, needing to settle you down before you get more upset. “I meant home. Our home. You’re mine, baby. Imma take care of you now.”
───
However, one particular night, he uncovered an unexpected, but one of his favourite sides of you.
It’d been a rare evening where most of the night shift were off for the day, well at least those fun enough to drink with.
You and Jack hadn’t even bothered to try and hide your relationship around your coworkers, they knew too much. It wasn’t much of a problem anyways, not that either of you were overly affectionate at work.
Lena supported you, but continued to encourage you to err on the side of caution, worried you’ll get hurt. Shen, however, lived for teasing you both.
With a few drinks in your bloodstream, you had shuffled closer to Jack within the booth, searching for his touch. Shen, sitting opposite you both kept giving you knowing looks. It’d started with your thigh against his under the table, a gentle, grounding presence. But drink after drink, it hadn’t been enough. You wrap your arms around his forearm, your head on his shoulder now.
You’re definitely feeling the drinks, tipsy if not drunk, and you’re practically all over Jack. It's like you wanted to crawl into his skin. He’s definitely enjoying how clingy you’re being tonight. He leaves soft kisses in your hair from time-to-time, not trying to go full on PDA in front of his friends. But you were making it very hard for him to keep his cool.
The drinks get to your head, making you both loose-lipped and a little sleepy.
Your eyes fall to his hands. His fingers idly trace around the condensation on his glass as he politely listens to a story Ellis is telling. Truthfully, you hadn’t been clocked into the conversation for a while now, Jack occupying so much space in your mind. Jack. Jack. Jack.
His hands just looked so good. They were so big and veiny, and his fingers were so thick. You don’t know what had gotten into you, but you were so incredibly entranced by his hands.
Without thinking, you slide your hand that rested on his bicep, down his arm until it landed on his hand, gently pulling it away from his glass. He lets you, doesn’t even look down to see what you’re doing, assuming you wanna hold his hand. But you just turn his hand over, palm facing up, and reject his attempt at intertwining your hands together.
You let out a small, short whine in protest. Keeping his hand laying flat on the table while you take your nails and gently trace your fingers in his palm, up his fingers and back down. They were so worn, tough. Nothing like your soft hands.
This touch from you makes him shiver, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. He glances down at your face, your eyes are glazed over and you seem completely infatuated by his hand. He watches you turn over his hand again, and you begin to trace his veins, like you’re completely hypnotised.
His breath comes out shakily, now completely zoned out of Ellis’ conversation.
“What’ya doing, honey?” He whispers quietly into your hair, ensuring no one else can hear him.
You peek up at him from where you rest on his shoulder. God, you’re drunk. He’s so beautiful.
“Your hands are realllyyyy hot.” You blurt out, drunkenly as you continue to toy with his hands. By the power of the universe, the table had erupted into laughter at Ellis’ story at the same time you’d blurted that out, such that no one heard.
He stills at your comment and almost barks out a laugh. He holds it in, not wanting you to get all shy on him. Not when his shy girl has gotten so confident.
“Is that so, baby?” He practically growls into your ear, lifting a drink to hide his smirk.
“Mhmmm.” You hum in affirmation. Your focus shifts from his arm to wrapping both hands around his bicep, it flexes slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. “Y’r arms too. Soooo big. Wanna bite ‘em.”
He genuinely chokes on his drink at that, something possessive stirring in his chest. His shy, sweet girl, completely fawning over Jack.
He blinks around, making sure no one heard what you said, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else hearing your desired rambles for him. Looking up, he notices Shen’s cocky smirk as he glances between the two of you. Jack’s about to tell him to mind his own business, but you beat him to it, by doubling down.
“Like it's unfairrrrr.” You mumble into his bicep.
“Unfair?” Jack asks, confused.
“How are you sooo– ugh!”
He tilts your chin to look at him, wanting to know where all this flattery is coming from, and you have a lovestruck tired expression.
You pout as you take him in, his curls, his scruff, his face.
Oh.
Something more present and aware flashes in your eyes the longer you stare at him, like you’re realising you spoke the words out loud. Your eyes widen slowly, mortified, and heat rushes to your face as you stare at him silently, replaying everything you just said. In public.
You dart your face around the table and make eye contact with Shen who's laughing under his breath. Oh fuck. You probably just embarrassed Jack and yourself.
You detach from him so quickly it gives him whiplash.
“Oh my god, I’m so–” Your voice is incredibly apologetic, horrified, and you won't even look at him in the face.
“No, hey. none of that.” Jack’s voice is firm. He brings his hands to cup your face, making you look into his eyes. “I like you like this, cheeky, confident.”
You want to be happy at his words, but you can’t help but feel guilt and nausea stir in your stomach. Your drunk brain is making it very hard to think straight. You bite your lip anxiously.
“Do you…” You hesitate, looking into his eyes. “Do you wish I was more like that?” You have to ask. Maybe sober you wouldn’t feel so insecure, but you’re tired and your mouth is still feeling braver than your brain.
“God, no, honey–” He pauses trying to find the right words, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. “I mean– Don’t apologise for this. I want you, every version of you.” His tone is pleading. You calm down a little at his words, feeling silly at how quick your mind jumped to the worst case.
“Want you even when you’re drunk outta your mind and thirsting over me like this–” He teases which gets cut off by a groan from you. You can’t help but smile as you hide your face into his neck again.
First Time
You’d been dating Jack for a little while now, but you still hadn’t had your first time together. Jack waited for your signal, he wouldn’t push, he’d wait until you were comfortable enough to be with him.
Which you were. You wanted to be intimate with Jack for so long, but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your brain, stopping you from initiating.
Your past relationships, as Jack had slowly realised, weren’t exactly the best. You weren’t ever cared for like you are with Jack, which extended to sex. Sex had never really been about you and your partner, it’d always been about his pleasure, his needs.
And now you’re with the most perfect guy, you don’t know how to navigate being intimate in a way that isn’t focused only on him.
This thought was really getting to you one evening. You and Jack were at his place, just having finished dinner, and now you sit on the couch with your legs in his lap as you absentmindedly watch TV. His hand is giving you gentle strokes up and down your leg, and you can’t stop thinking about needing to warn him about your relationship with sex.
“Jack?” You ask gently. He doesn’t look over, he continues stroking your leg whilst humming in response.
You bite your lip anxiously.
“Um– I need to tell you something.” Jack’s hand falters his motions on your leg and he turns his head quickly, concern flashing on his features. Your tone, so nervous and anxious, had worried him, his chest twisting.
“Baby, what’s going on?” He coos, but he’s definitely on edge.
“It’s nothing, really. Um–” You pause, realising you hadn’t thought about a way to approach this with him. “I just really wanna have sex with you–” You blurt out.
Oh for fuck’s sake. You wince and close your eyes in embarrassment. That’s definitely not the right way to do this
Jack’s face is even more confused, amusement flashing his features.
“Right. Baby, I’ve been waiting for you…” He reminds you gently.
“No, no, I know.” You huff frustrated. “I– it’s about that. I just– fuck.” Your frustration builds at yourself for not being able to articulate your words well.
Jack sits up now, sensing your discomfort. He brings you closer to him, leaning on his shoulder now.
“Honey, focus, you’re okay. You can tell me anything.” His voice is immediately grounding. You breathe out shakily.
Silence hangs between you both, before you finally admit it.
“I can’t finish during sex.”
Silence continues to permeate the room. You’re so mortified. You don’t turn to look at his face. You can’t.
“You mean– you haven’t or you can’t?” His voice is gentle, a hand coming to stroke your hair. He’s definitely suspicious of your confession.
“I dunno… both, I guess. I’m not saying this to make it a challenge– people have done that before and it just makes it worse. I’m just warning you beforehand my body is wired differently and I don’t want you to feel bad if you can’t make it happen–”
“Oh, honey, is this why you’ve been hesitant to have sex?” He asks softly, interrupting your rambling.
You just hum in affirmation, embarrassed.
Jack mulls over your words, he won’t argue and tell you he will make you finish but he seriously thinks this is a product of your previous boyfriends being inattentive and careless with you. Anger twists in his chest thinking about you thinking you’re somehow inadequate when it was your boyfriends who just took and took.
“Listen to me, baby.” He tilts your face to look at him now. “I don’t care about that y’hear me?” He watches your expression falter, eyes full of vulnerability.
“If you can’t? Fine. I don’t want you any less, I just wanna make you feel loved, baby.” He can tell you’re still hesitant, but you nod.
You smile shyly and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.
The days following your conversation you think over his words more, and a few days later, you tell him you wanna do it– be with him.
He checks in multiple times throughout the day, making sure you’re okay, that you’re absolutely sure. But you also notice how much more often his touches linger. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but you can’t stop thinking about him. Everything about him that day is so much more gentle and careful with you.
That evening, when he leads you onto the couch your body is thrumming with anxiety. You know what's about to happen, he knows. Why are you so scared? You’ve never been more tense, more afraid of something going wrong. This is the man you love.
When you both sit on the couch, cuddling like you always do, he doesn’t make a move. Maybe he’s waiting for you. Your leg shakes as you try to figure out what’s meant to happen, what you’re supposed to do.
Before you can overthink it, you drape yourself over his lap and crash your lips to kiss, a hungry desperate kiss.
He returns it, a grunt of surprise before melting into it. Hands coming to gently rest on your face. The kiss is almost rough, your tongue intertwining with his. You can do this, you can make him feel good. Your brain already slips into making sure he’s pleased, unable to shake the habit from the past.
You move against his lap, and he groans in pleasure. The noise he makes thrills you, wanting to hear it again, you’ve never heard him like this. You try to grind again but he pulls away breathless, shaking his head.
“Baby, slow down.” He practically laughs caressing your cheek. He can’t lose his cool already, not when he plans to make you feel good.
Fuck.
Shame floods your chest and your cheeks heat, climbing off of him and curl up next to him. You somehow messed this up, you want the couch to open and swallow you up.
“Oh, my sweet girl. C’mere.” He coos, turning to face you. He realises how his words may have come across like a rejection, and that’s the last thing he wants you to think.
“I don’t wanna rush this” He places a hand on your thigh, dipping his head trying to find your eyes. He can tell how nervous you are, how much you’re overthinking this. “Lemme take over, yeah?” He asks softly.
You meekly lift your head to meet his eyes before nodding. His eyes are blown out, he looks hungry. But there's an edge of restraint, he's holding back.
You don’t even have time to feel guilty before he cups your face and brings your lips to his again, slow, passionate.
He leans forward, crowding you back against the couch until he’s lying over you. Your heart jumps at the closeness, the position you’re in.
You become breathless, almost gasping for air between each kiss.
Jack moves from your lips, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. Your body erupts in goosebumps, you’re practically shivering at the contact. You don’t even register your hand lifting to comb through his hair, pulling him down onto your jaw for more.
You feel his lips twitch into a smirk.
“That feel good, baby?” He rasps. The low grumble of his voice has you bucking your hips into him, desperate for him. You get completely lost in his kisses–
“Words, baby.” He commands pulling away to look into your eyes. He smirks smugly as he sees how wrecked he’s made you with just his kisses.
You blink processing his request, breathless and annoyed he’s stopped kissing you.
“Yeah– please, Jack. Don’t st– ah!” You’re cut off by his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck, just below your ear. You whine as he sucks on your skin, for sure leaving a mark. Your body shivers again with the thought of him marking you that you involuntarily tug at his hair, which provokes a growl from Jack.
He detaches from your neck breathlessly dipping his head like you’ve just wrecked him with a simple tug.
“Do that again.” He commands low, before hungrily returning to your neck sucking more spots over and over.
A surge of confidence fills you knowing you have the capacity to make him feel just as wrecked as he does you. You continue to rake your hands through his curls, tugging occasionally loving his whines, as he sucks spots lower and lower down your collarbone and chest.
His hand trails under your shirt, his cold hand making contact with your tummy and you tense involuntarily. He pauses looking up from where his head rests on your chest.
“You need to slow down?” His tone is so soft, gentle, it almost makes you cry.
“Nononon– please keep going,” you almost beg “Your hand was just cold.” You laugh embarrassed while stroking his hair.
He smirks at your neediness trying not to tease you more.
He holds eye contact while his hands trail up your torso, goosebumps erupting throughout your body once again. You get flustered as he stares so intensely and you try to look away.
“Eyes on me.” He coos, bringing his fingers to tilt your head back to face him. Heat rushes in your face, your body practically shakes with anticipation.
He lifts your top off so slowly, that you almost just beg for him to hurry up, for him to touch you. His hand slowly slides up from your hips up to your breasts, a hand coming to cup you over your bra as he returns to sucking spots at your collarbone. You get lost in the sensation once more, not noticing his other hand working at removing your bra. Once you peel it off he just stares. You almost go to hide, feeling self-conscious under his stare.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans before directly leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Your hands grip the couch roughly and your back arches into him involuntarily.
“Fuck– ohmygod–” you whine at the sensation of his tongue swirling your nipples. You feel jack smirk against your breast, cocky fucker, before returning to suck on them hard.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good, you had no idea kisses and touches like this could wreck you.
His teeth unexpectedly grazes your nipple and you moan. Your body shakes with overwhelm, you bring your hands to cup jacks face needing him to pause.
His lips detach from your nipple and his pupils are black. He looks like a man starved. He tries to go back to sucking but you hold his face steady.
“Need– fuck– need a break, feels too good.” You pant.
Jack blinks and his cocky smirk returns.
“Oh yeah?” He rasps, with a mock condescending tone.
You want to even the playing field a bit so you paw at his shirt, needing him to take it off, which he complies by ripping it clean off so quickly you barely register it. He leans down to capture your lips again, but you push your body upwards into his to manoeuvre you both into sitting position. You’re on top of him now, your turn to wreck him.
His eyes narrow and smiles at your little show of dominance, and he’ll let you think you have the upper hand, for now.
You lean down to return the kisses he gave you. You test out his sensitive spots, kissing and sucking spots along his neck whilst raking your nails along his biceps, his back, his chest.
His breathing is shallow and you hear him whine.
Bingo.
You continue sucking in that spot on his neck, one hand tugging in his hair and another raking nails on his bicep. You love the sound of him falling apart.
You feel his hips involuntarily buck into your and you know you have him under your finger. It’s your turn to smirk against his neck, peppering small kisses up his jaw before locking eyes with him and grinding down straight into his lap.
His hands jolt to your waist, not roughly, but a firm presence. He holds you down as he groans loudly, coming to rest his head on your chest. You try to move again but his hands on your waists prevent it, and he sounds destroyed.
Your smug, cocky victory is short lived.
His hands are on your thighs in an instant and you’re suddenly jolted upwards, your legs wrap around his torso as you let out a startled yelp. He’s carrying you.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, baby.” He murmurs into your neck as he carries you towards his bedroom.
You’re plopped down onto his bed and you bounce a little. You don’t even get time to speak before he’s on you again, his kisses desperate.
His hands paw at your bottoms, sliding them off in one quick go before he cups your panties.
“You enjoy almost getting me to blow my load in my pants, hmmm?” He teases feeling how wet you are already. “Making me feel like a fucking teenager again–” He growls before latching onto your breast again.
His hand slides your panties off as he sucks you, and it all feels too good you whine as you paw at his belt, wanting him to take his pants off too, to be on equal playing ground.
Groaning, he reluctantly detaches again before quickly working at his belt. The sound of the clink and him sliding it through the loops has your stomach flipping as you breathlessly stare at him from the bed.
As soon as they’re off he’s on you again, his fingers coming to your clit, spreading the wetness from your folds up and making small circles. You jolt a little at the feeling, not expecting his touch there.
“Jack– fuck– what’r you doing? You don’t have to–” You begin to tell him to not waste his time on you, you already know you won't be able to cum.
“M’working you up, baby.” He coos, not slowing his motions. “No pressure to finish, yeah? Just wanna make sure it doesn’t hurt.”
You hesitate, staring into his eyes and you realise he’s being sincere. You swallow a lump in your throat, feeling extra vulnerable at the lengths of care you feel he’s taking for you. You nod before falling back against the bed, just letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his touches.
You feel the way his fingers move slow circles against your clit, how they adjust every time your breath hitches, as he’s searching for the right tempo and pressure to make you feel good.
You can hear how wet you are, you almost feel embarrassed how his fingers glide through your folds so easily. He continues to pepper gentle kisses down your neck as his fingers stroke you, they move lower and lower until they reach your entrance.
You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside you, feeling full.
You let out small whines of pleasure as he thrusts his fingers inside you. He shushes you by placing his soft lips to yours, continuing to mumble sweet words.
“Just let go for me, baby.”
“Thaaaats it.”
“Rub your clit for me.”
You reach down to add pressure to your clit and immediately jolt at the feeling. It feels different. The pressure from his fingers inside you, curling upwards and continuously thrusting at a consistent pace is getting to you.
Your lower stomach twists, he sucks on your neck as he rubs against the spongy spot inside you, you realise the pressure feels good. That the way you’re rubbing yourself as he thrusts into you while whispering is working. You try so hard to keep it there. Keep rubbing. Keep focused on the feeling. Focusing on his words–
It disappears.
“Fuck!” You huff frustrated, tears welling in your eyes. He pulls his fingers out immediately, worried he’s hurt you and you curl up into yourself. “I can’t do it.” Your voice is wobbly as you berate yourself, wiping a tear off your face.
“Hey, easy, baby.” He soothes by rubbing a hand on your back. His heart clenches at the sight of your teary eyes.
“M’sorry, Jack,” you sniffle. “You spent so much time on me and I couldn’t–”
“No. Hey.” He stops you, firmly. “No apologies. M’not mad, not upset.” He coos, moving your hair away from your face.
“I did all of that because I wanted to. You didn’t ruin anything, y’hear me?” He cups your face making you look into his eyes.
You nod shyly, but you’re still feeling low about it, he can tell.
“Jack– It’s okay if you wanna just fuck me now. M’ready. I want it too.” You whisper looking up into his eyes, still on the verge of tears.
He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence.
“No.” His tone is final.
He has an inkling that you’re in your own head too much, putting too much pressure on yourself to perform even when he told you there’s no expectations. He can feel your frustration, just wanting to fix this for you. An idea lands in his head.
“I’m not done with you.” He says gently whilst moving down your body again. “If you’ll let me, I wanna try something else, yeah?”
“But–” You begin to protest, feeling guilty he has to try so hard on you.
“It’s for me. Not for you. Humour me, okay?” He asks so politely, you don’t wanna deprive him of something he enjoys. So you nod.
“Lay back for me completely, baby.” You oblige, breathing heavily.
You feel his fingers in your folds again, they linger on your clit before he gently thrusts them back inside you. You lie back, continuing to feel the pressure but you can’t shake the guilt.
You feel his hot breath ghost over your mound. You jerk your head up, he’s staring directly at you before he places his lips directly on your clit and sucks.
Your body jolts, arching your back off the bed, your hand landing in his hair once more. You were not expecting this.
“Jack– ohgod.” You breathe as he simultaneously works his fingers inside you and tongues your clit. He smirks at your reaction.
“That feel good?” He’s cocky, but he’s also checking in on you. You nod fervently and guide his head back down. He obliges wordlessly and gets back to working your clit. You’ve never been made to finish with someone else's fingers, but no one has ever tried this.
He hears your small whines and it takes all the restraint in his body to keep focused on you, as much as he wants to just take his cock and slide it inside you, to watch your eyes widen as he fills you up, he wants you to feel good.
You feel the familiar pressure build in your lower stomach.
You start squirming, your lower half somehow both chasing his mouth but trying to get away from it. You’re getting overwhelmed, your body experiencing too much at once, and this is where you usually tap out, where it dissipates.
Jack senses it. He feels you clenching around his fingers. Feels your whines becoming more high pitched and breathless. He doesn’t want you to think too much about finishing, can’t have you waiting for the build because it’s gonna drive it away.
He doesn’t change his pace, his fingers continue thrusting, and his tongue doesn’t speed up on your clit, he keeps everything consistent.
“Jack–” You whine, feeling overwhelmed but knowing it’s not going to work, edging towards overstimulation.
He glances up to meet your eyes but doesn’t stop his motions, searching your face. He can see you’re wrecked. He’s desperate for you to fall off the edge, you’re right there.
So he distracts you.
In one smooth motion, he removes his mouth. You almost whine in sadness before he replaces them with his fingers, eliciting a stronger reaction from you, and he says, in the most casual tone:
“You finish your charting?”
What?
“My– Jack– what?” You huff out breathlessly but he doesn’t slow his fingers from toying with your clit and thrusting inside you
You try to answer his question, racking your brain.
But you can’t think.
It feels too good.
Your mind goes completely blank.
And you let go.
You fall apart completely. You clench around his fingers and your legs shake involuntarily.
“Fuck–!” You moan loudly. Jack continues to work you through your orgasm, not stopping for a minute.
He pulls the pleasure from your body, the only thing you register is the waves of pleasure crashing down on your body. Your back is arched off the bed and your eyes are squeezed shut as Jack manages the impossible.
You didn’t know it could feel this good.
You finally start squirming trying to get away, and he eases his fingers out of you. You’re practically shaking, breaths coming out heavily as you lay on the bed completely destroyed.
You feel him slide up the bed, tucking himself under you so your head rests in his lap and he just strokes your head, moving strands of hair out of your face from where they’ve stuck to you as you’ve gotten sweaty.
You slowly calm down, coming back to yourself and shyly open your eyes. He’s already staring down at you, smiling so wide.
Despite yourself, you blush. Like he hadn’t just made you completely fall apart.
“My sweet girl.” He coos, stroking your cheek.
You try to hide your face in your arms, feeling impossibly shy at his words.
“Oh, c’mere, baby.” He coaxes you out of hiding. “Y’getting all shy? After I just made you cum so hard?” He teases gently and you groan, turning around to sit in his lap, resting your head in his neck.
“Jaaaaack.” You whine.
“Okay, I hear ya, baby. No more teasin’,” he rubs a hand down your back, then his tone gets impossible quiet, like you’ve never heard before. “That was okay, right, sweetheart?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours.
You can’t help but laugh.
“Okay?” You scoff.
“Jack, that was– everything.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.
He settles down a little after that, the brief shyness leaving him.
“My turn, please.” You beg whilst reaching down to his crotch where you can feel the erection poking through from where you’re sat above him.
He grabs your wrists as you touch the waist band of his shorts, stopping you, you frown.
“Darlin’, believe me. Any other night, absolutely,” He pauses stroking your cheek. “But I need you so bad right now, need to be inside you.”
“Oh.” You whisper, a shy smile coating your face as you realise how wrecked he is. Rising from his lap and allowing him to remove his boxers, you settle back down onto the bed. He’s on top of you in an instant. “Jack– I can get on top, wanna ride you.” You say shyly.
“Fucccck,” he groans. “Baby, I want that, but I’m not gonna last. Next time. Let me feel you this way. Please.” He begs while positioning himself between your legs.
You wrap your legs around him as the tip of his cock slides through your folds. Your breath hitches when it nudges against your clit, the feel of your wet folds sliding against his cock makes it twitch against you, and he lets out a low groan at the feeling. Jack repeats the motion a few times before bringing the tip to your entrance.
You instinctively brace, knowing how painful it always is. Jack sees this, leaning down to kiss your neck and calming you down, relaxing you.
“S’okay, relax.” He coos before dipping his head into your neck, and pushing in.
He pushes in slowly, so slowly he’s losing his restraint.
But it doesn’t hurt.
He’d worked you open so well, kept you so relaxed, you just feel full.
You moan as he bottoms out, a hand tugging at his curls and the other gripping his bicep. You nod fervently,
“You can move, please, move–” You don’t even finish your begs, your permission is all he needs to start letting go and thrusting into you.
You swear you’ve never felt so good in your life, the level of intimacy is unmatched.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He whines
His eyes meet yours as he thrusts, and as always his stare is intense. His pupils are blown and he looks destroyed.
He fits so perfectly inside you, you’re so full, you can’t help but moan.
You’re clenching around him so perfectly, your breasts bouncing with every thrust and he can’t take his eyes off you.
“You’re doing so good f’me.” He praises even though he looks like he’s on the edge.
Holding himself up on one arm to continue his movements, he brings a second to your clit.
You don’t expect his touch once more, so lost in how full you feel, how heavenly it all is, that you hadn’t realised how close you were again, and his simple touch pulls a second orgasm from you.
You fall apart even more, gripping his hair, nails leaving marks on his bicep as you shake around him, clenching.
That’s all he needs to finish.
Your beautiful moans, the way you don’t break eye contact, the feel of you coming undone on his cock, he’s gone.
His thrusts stagger, becoming more desperate and frantic, his hold on your waist tightens as he grips onto you bringing you down onto his cock. His head lulls next to your head, hot breath in your ear as he groans, his seed spilling inside you.
He’s completely wrecked, his last few after-orgasm thrusts jolt you, overstimulating. He lets his body go and completely crashes down onto you like a weighted blanket, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.
You’re both breathing so heavily, he’s still inside you as your aftershocks move through you, clenching involuntarily, but he seems to enjoy the feeling even as sensitive as he is.
“Y’were perfect for me, baby.” He whispers into your ear.
Your heart clenches at his words, how soft he’d been with you the whole time. He was so caring, so focused on you, praising you throughout the whole thing, he never took, he just kept giving and giving. He made sure it didn’t hurt. You realise that you’ve been accepting subpar treatment your whole life and just brushing it off.
In your post-orgasmic blank brain, you can’t process the emotions and a few silent tears spill from your eyes at the complete overwhelm of emotions.
Your sniffles are what alert Jack, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach, panic flooding him.
“Hey, hey, talk to me.” His tone is so soft you feel guilty for worrying him. He moves to pull out, but you’re not thinking straight and you lock your legs around him, not wanting him to leave.
You just reach around and koala-bear hug him. He settles a little knowing he hasn’t hurt you, that you still wanted him touching you.
“Gotta talk to me, baby.” He pleads, cupping your face.
You’re not silent for much longer, calming down enough to stop his worry.
“You– felt so good.” Your voice is high pitched, almost shy. “You cared for me.” You sniffle.
Jack’s heart practically breaks.
“Oh, baby.” He coos, bringing you into his chest. Peppering many kisses into your hair. “M’always gonna take care of you.” He says so gently you can’t help but let out another tear, but you’re smiling now.
“I love you.” You whisper, eyes full of tears, him still inside you.
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Baby you got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” He kisses you, soft, passionately.
SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.
WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!
“I need a favor.”
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
“I need you to have sex with me.”
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
He’d picked up four after his shift that night.
“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.
“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.
“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”
“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
“I’m not doing it.”
—
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”
“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.
“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.
“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”
You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”
“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.
“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”
“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”
“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”
“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.
“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”
“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”
“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.
“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.
“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.
“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”
Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.
“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”
You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.
“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.
You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”
“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.
“Next time.”
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.
“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.
“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.
You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.
He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.
You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.
It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.
“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.
You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.
“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.
You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.
It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”
“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.
You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”
“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”
He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.
“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”
“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.
You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.
“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”
He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.
“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”
“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”
He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.
You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.
You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.
You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”
“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”
“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”
“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”
“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.
It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
“Jack stop.”
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.
You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”
“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
—
It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.
You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”
“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.
There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”
You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.
You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.
So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.
Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”
“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”
He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.
You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”
The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”
Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.
“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.
It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.
“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.
It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”
“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”
You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.
“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.
Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.
He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
pairings: brendon park x f!reader (kind of michael robinavitch x f!reader)
summary: Park hates you, or so you think.
warnings/contents: park seemingly hates her, but really doesn't. respects the reader. smut. biting kink (you and park), brat taming (kind of). implied age-gap. reader can be reader as an attending or a senior resident. jealous!park, jealous!reader. hook-up to friends to lovers <3
notes: oh lawd, i think i've fallen into the shark trap :,(. i may make a longer and more descriptive fic later on based on this, but i just needed to get this out. this was supposed to be a drabble but one thing led to another...bone apple teeth.
word count: 4.1k+ (the actual fic is going to be longer than this btw, let me know if y'all want. we're currently looking at 10k+ words)
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park the shark the attending that you’ve been hooking up with for a couple of months. who knows your body better than you do.
park the shark who at first hated your guts because you were robby’s number one. the one always by his side. the one who foolishly fell in love with her co-worker.
park the shark who hated that you dimmed your light because of your feelings to robby. he’d much rather have you showing off your skills to the man than be meek.
“why the fuck do you hate me?” you asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor. “that’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you.
“that’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it.
“how do you know what i drink?” flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to park. “and you still haven’t answered my question.”
“i don’t hate you,” he answered, as if you were stupid to think that he hated you. “i hate how you act around robinavitch.”
“excuse me?”
park rolled his eyes, “you’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “i’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him?” park made a disgusted face and rolled his eyes. “you’re clueless, as if this a field trip for you and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.”
balking at his criticism on yourself, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. were you really like that? and if park saw it, who else?
fury ran through you though and steeled yourself, “what’s it to you?”
“i want you to be the best,” he answered. “i know that you can be the best.”
you were stunned at his words.
“you can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” he sighed heavily.
park the shark who willingly took you to his place that night, something that he doesn’t do very often. and even if he did, he would usually go back to her place, not that he’d ever tell you.
“i hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs.
“i can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, “up,” he commanded, and you obeyed.
lifting you up, you felt your back hit his door and before you could complain, park placed his mouth over yours. wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer.
“so needy,” he smirked against your mouth, at his mouth you grasped his hair and pulled. park responded by pushing you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach. “feel that, princess? hope you can take it.”
park the shark who matched your freak. wasn’t judgemental with what you wanted to do in the bedroom.
“you wanna bite me?” he grinned, flashing his canines. “i thought i was the shark.”
you made a face, “why would you say that to me? i’m like, dry now.”
scoffing, his hands drifted down to your damp panties. “sure, princess,” grinding his thumb against your clit, park watched intently at the way you threw your head back, your breathing becoming laboured. “look at that.”
“brendon,” you gasped, feeling his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder, dragging your nails down his back, you could hear his grunt against you, the jerk of his hips.
removing himself away from you, brendon licked the bite languidly, a contrast to the erraticness of his hips. “look at you,” he purred, as he took in the multiple marks he’s left across your skin. “beautiful.”
you looked up at him and the meat between his neck and shoulder was practically tantalising. sensing where your attention was, park grinned to himself and lowered his shoulder. “come on, baby.”
“i’m not going to fucking break, bite me,” still a bit hesitant, you moved your mouth back to his traps, sinking your teeth slowly, you could feel brendon squeezing your hips. “that’s a girl,” encouraged.
park the shark who started to treat you slightly better at work. he wasn’t goading you like before, but he was more or less ignoring your entire existence.
“you get in my pants and then you practically ghost me when we’re at work?” you slammed his locker, refusing to back down when he glared at you.
“i didn’t realise i had to converse with you every time i saw you,” he sneered. “did you want flowers as well?”
“no,” you sputtered. “of course not. but i want you talk to me like i’m actually there.”
park sighed, “we didn’t talk before.”
“because i thought you hated me,” when he opened his mouth, you quickly interrupted, “i know that you don’t hate me.”
“i don’t understand why i have to talk to you outside of when i go downstairs.”
“it’s courtesy,” your tone was bordering on whinging you and you quickly reeled yourself back.
“what’s courtesy, princess, is me leaving hickeys where people can’t see it,” his eyes quickly flashed to your breasts, and you frowned, crossing your arms.
“don’t be gross.”
“i usually don’t talk to people i fuck,” sighing, he turned back to his locker.
“fine,” you pouted, too tired to argue, and not that you’d ever admit it, a bit hurt at his statement. “i’ll see you when we both fuck next i guess,” turning to leave, you heard make a noise before grabbing your arm.
“don’t be dramatic,” he bit out, annoyed at the whole situation. “i don’t know what to talk to you about when we’re at work.”
“the weather? the shitty but overpriced cafeteria food? the gossip?” you listed off. “it just makes me feel used, park. like i’m good enough for you to fuck but not good enough for you to talk to.”
park frowned at your statement. “i didn’t mean it like that. i thought that you would prefer for me to not talk to you.”
you couldn’t help but laugh at the miscommunication. “i like talking to you.”
park shifted, as if your words impacted him in a way he couldn’t decipher, “i like talking to you too.”
“don’t ignore me again, i swear to god, otherwise i’ll ban you from sex,” you pointed your finger at him.
he rolled his eyes and then looked around, “this is like your shitty grey’s anatomy.”
you rolled your eyes, “you like my shitty grey’s anatomy.”
“if you ever,” he threatened, a playfully mean look on his face. holding up your hands in surrender, he opened back up his locker. “what are we having tonight?”
you sat down on the bench and watched him, “i want pho,” you watched in appreciation as brendon began changing into his normal clothes. he was always so big but his movements weren’t clunky or awkward, it was always so sure.
tossing his hoodie wordlessly behind him, you barely caught it. “you’re going to get cold,” he stated and you mumbled under your breath.
“do you want to eat in? cause if so, we have to head home and shower,” he mumbled into his locker, grabbing the last of his things. he closed it and turned to you, a small smile gracing his face before it quickly dropped.
“take away?” you suggested. “i’m kinda beat,” you shrugged then stood up.
“you good?”
“tired,” before you could lift your bag to your shoulder, park grabbed it and held it for you. murmuring a ‘thanks’, you moved closer to him. “i just really want to eat pho and watch shitty grey’s anatomy.”
“you’re lucky i have netflix.”
“i have all the dvds, that won’t stop me.”
brendon park who slowly became your friend in public since that talk. he’s actually nice. he’s considerate (in and out of the bedroom), stubborn but loyal, remembers the smallest things you talk to him about and he’s sweet.
brendon park who knows how to deal with you when you’re being particularly bratty.
you weren’t seething out of jealousy, no of course not. you were just being logical. because if park was fucking other people, you needed to know because of health reasons, obviously.
you didn’t know her, she was stationed upstairs with him. but she was really pretty. soft, blonde hair, a smile that unfortunately made you fall in love. she was a stunner and you’re not an idiot, brendon probably thought she was pretty too.
his demeanor was calmer than usual. it seemed like he actually wanted to listen to what she was saying, that he wanted to be in her company.
looking up, park nodded at you in acknowledgement (which you promptly ignored) before finishing his conversation and heading over to you.
“you ready?”
giving him a terse nod, you kept eye contact with the woman from before. “who is she?” you jerked your head towards her.
“one of the or nurses,” he replied.
you hummed and tore your eyes away from her, instead looking at park. you eyed him up and down, disdain clearly on your face.
“what’s wrong with you?”
“nothing,” you said. “i’m heading home.”
“i’m going to ask you again. what’s wrong with you?”
“nothing,” you said slower this time. “i’m going home.”
“i thought we had plans,” he said, starting to get irritated at your avoidance.
before you could reply, the nurse from before came back. her blonde her swishing as she walked, her hips swaying a little bit too much, and a sultry smile on her face as she came up to the two of you. “night doctor park,” she grinned at him, not bothering to pay attention to you.
scoffing you mocked her under your breath, something that park didn’t miss. “you jealous, pup?”
“if you’re fucking her, i need to know, i’m not risking an std because you want to the fuck the entire hospital,” you snarked, tamping down the green eyed monster. you had no right to feel jealous. you were just fucking.
“i’m not robinavitch,” he spat out, as if he was offended at the thought of being with other people. at robby’s mention you frowned and you felt like he hit you in the heart. “i don’t treat the hospital like my own dating show.”
“doesn’t seem like it,” you snapped.
“fucking christ,” park exhaled deeply, and you could practically see him counting to five slowly in his head. “we’re going to my place tonight.”
-
“how the fuck do you think i have time between work and you to find time to chase some other woman,” you groaned as he punctuated his statement with a particularly mean thrust.
“brendon,” you could feel your drool pool beneath you, no doubt seeping into his mattress. clasping the fabric beneath you tightly, you were too fucked out to do anything else.
“come on, pup,” twisting his hand into your hair, brendon yanked your head next to his face. “you were so talkative before.”
gasping his name again, he slowly moved his hand to your throat, the other sneaking around to your stomach. “if you ever think that i’d go around your back,” he tightened his grip around your neck, hips snapping. “you think i want some fucking nobody, huh?”
“say who’s fucking me right now,” he growled into your ear, and when you didn’t respond quickly enough for his liking, he gave another rough jerk of his hips.
“me,” you sputtered out, your hands grasping his forearms, nails digging into the flesh.
“fuck, that’s right,” peppering kisses down your sweaty neck, the hand on your stomach moved further down, fingers latching onto your clit. “you think i fuck just anyone raw? that i just cum inside of any woman, huh?”
you shook your head, one arm going behind his neck, pulling him down to your mouth. needing him closer than you already were. you let him take control, taking whatever he wanted, you just needed him.
“come on, pup,” he goaded you, his hips no longer having a rhythm, as his fingers pressed harder, the circles against your clit becoming tighter. “cum on my cock.”
white hot orgasm rushed through your body, you would have fallen if not for brendon holding you. gasping into his mouth, you chanted his name against his lips.
spilling inside of you, he panted on your back, holding your body tight to his. softly moving you down, you melted into the bed. you never wanted to move, or think about anything ever again. you were content.
brendon hissed as he slipped out of you, his cum slowly dripping onto his sheet. moving to his bathroom, he came out with a warm and damp towel. slowly and gently cleaning you, he tossed the rag to his hamper and began slowly kissing up your neck.
“come on,” you could feel brendon lift you up and you whined in protest. “i’m not having you get a uti, you of all people should know how important this is.”
lifting you on the toilet, you didn’t want to acknowledge just how intimate this was. so, instead, you looked at him impatiently.
“what?”
“get out,” you whinged as you watched him stand next to his sink. “i’m not gonna fake pee!” you exclaimed.
brendon eyed you before nodding and leaving to go back to his bed.
walking out of his bathroom slowly, you were practically ambushed, “jesus, brendon.” without another word he lifted you up and carried you to bed. “i have legs, you know.”
“i know, but i also know that you can’t walk right now,” he grinned devilishly at you, and you couldn’t help but gather the little strength you had left, and smacked his chest.
brendon park who brought you a coffee (one from an actual cafe) and a pastry to the pitt because you said you missed breakfast and you were hungry. who gave every single person a glare as they looked at him in shock as he hunted you down and gave you the food.
“park?” you furrowed your brow, wondering if came down for a consult, but you can’t recall anyone calling for ortho in the pitt.
“pup,” he greeted, then practically shoved the contents in your hand. “eat,” he could practically see the question mark forming on the top of your head and rolled his eyes. “you haven’t eaten since you left my house. eat.”
“brendon,” you said softly, looking around the er. “I’m okay.”
“do i have to feed this to you?” when you didn’t reply, he wordlessly took the pastry back and opened it up, holding it to your face.
“park!” you chided, but nonetheless taking a small bite, very aware of the stares being thrown your way.
javadi looked around, wide-eyed, trying to see if anyone else was watching the scene unfold in front of her. finally seeing whittaker and santos across the room. gesturing with her head to where the two of you stood, she made a face.
“what the?” whittaker wondered out loud. “when did park and her become friends?”
-
“shark bait,” santos practically purred as she rounded the corner. “i always thought it’d be robby that you’d be fucking.”
rolling your eyes, you decided you were far too tired to entertain her antics at the moment. walking away, trinity followed you eagerly, her hands on her stethoscope, “so, is he mean in bed?” not answering her, you continued down the hallway.
“garcia tells me that he talks about you sometimes,” that caused you to pause your steps. smiling, trinity skipped to you, “talks about your plans together. he mentioned that you love those coconut buns from the bakery near the hospital.”
“trin,” you hissed. “stop.”
“tell me if you’re fucking him, so i can change my bet. i don’t really wanna lose fifty bucks,” she whined, rocking on the heels of her feet.
“brendon and i-,”
“brendon?” she repeated, a sly grin on her face.
“is none of your business,” and with that you began walking again, trinity trying to catch up to you.
“what’s going on?” robby held out his hands, a playful smile on his face as he saw the two of you.
“park brought her coffee and pastry because she complained she’s hungry.” eyes wide, you turned to trinity.
“oh?” robby tilted his head towards you, and trinity almost gagged as he gave you the look only reserved for you. “we could have grabbed something, if you were hungry.”
before you could answer, trinity answered for you, “when? between all the patients and nurses needing you, when?”
you both turned to her, you incredulously and robby confused. “santos,” robby snipped, “i think garcia needs a set of hands in room six.”
“shark? when did he start bringing you food?” it was an innocent question, if you didn’t know robby that well. unfortunately, for you, you knew him very well.
“he’s actually nice,” you defended. “when he likes you.”
“when has park ever liked you?” robby made a face and shook his head, “uh, sorry, not meant that way.”
you laughed at his charming awkwardness, “we became friends recently. i like him.”
“you like him?” robby arched a brow, his head tilting.
you could feel a flush approaching your cheeks, and you really didn’t want to do this right now. especially with robby. with a hurried excuse, you scampered away from him.
robby who didn’t realise why park suddenly started appearing a lot happier when he was down for a consult.
robby who could see that the two of you obviously had inside jokes together, inside stories that only the two of you were privy too - something that he once had with you.
robby who didn’t know where the nickname ‘pup’ came from, all he knew was he hated how you lit up at the name, practically preened whenever park said it to you.
robby who always had feelings for you but never wanted to do anything because you’re good. you’re kind, and you’re you. and he was too old and too weathered for someone so good.
brendon who stood by the nurses station in his normal clothes, waiting for you to finish. he ignored the looks that were thrown his way, or the appreciation in some.
he watched as you began your final chart, his eyes roaming all over you. you didn’t seem that tired compared to other days, you actually seemed to be in a pretty good mood. chatting away to him as you kept filling out forms.
“did you see that photo that i sent you during your break?” you briefly looked up to brendon, the back to the computer. “the sushi place on station square.”
“i already made reservations,” brendon simply replied. eyes scanning you and then the report briefly, tsking under his breath and pointed to the mistake.
“i was getting to that,” you snapped playfully. “and thank you.”
he looked back out to the space and saw hastings and robinavitch stopping at the station where the two of you were.
“so i was thinking of coming over tonight?” park practically rolled his eyes at the blatant flirting happening in front of him. he glanced at hastings, leaning over the counter to talk to robby and watched as the other man briefly look over to you.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” robby smiled tightly, still glancing between you now and then. not that you realised, too busy frowning at the computer as your screen decided to freeze.
“i swear, you motherfucker,” you cursed under your breath.
listening to the conversation happening right beside you, park closely kept an eye on your mood. anticipating your face scrunching up in distaste at the flirting going on in front of you
“done!” you celebrated as you stood up and slammed your folder shut. “fucking finally,” turning to brendon. “you ready to go, shark?”
brendon hopped off the desk he was leaning on, “let’s go, pup.”
“night,” you nodded to the other two before leading brendon to your locker.
brendon barely glanced at the two as he passed, but he did note gleefully the look on robby’s face.
brendon who isn’t afraid of dropping everything to make sure you’re okay…as friends
you watched mel instructing the breathing patterns and you tried your best to follow her, trying to will down the fast pace of your heart.
“that’s it,” mel encouraged, a smile on her face. “just a couple more.”
you breathed through your nose again, eyes looking around the room. a bit embarrassed at the situation that you were unfortunately placed in. you could see langdon and santos giving you a reassuring look, and robby who looked like he was about to blow a fuse.
before anyone could say anything, you could hear dana bellowing a ‘room three’ to someone and then a harsh opening of the doors. “what the fuck happened?” brendon barked at the room. his attention solely focused on you.
“i’m fine,” you called out. “just a bit of a scare.”
not removing his eyes off you, he addressed the room again.
“a patient got aggressive, said some mean shit, yanked her arm and threw her against some machines,” santos answered quickly, her eyes shifting between the two of you.
the air was charged and mel moved out of the way, eyeing park like he was a predator going to snap at any minute.
“you okay?” he asked softly, eyes running over your face and body, scowling when he saw the red print on your arm. when he saw you nod, he looked away, and then commanded, “out.”
without another word, you watched as your colleagues scurry away. robby hesitating at the door, looking at you softly, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to stay with you.
“i’m okay,” you murmured softly once everyone left. you weren’t, not really, but he didn’t have to know that.
“no, you’re not.”
“bones aren’t even broken,” you joked, trying to smile at him.
“i’m not talking about your bones,” he tsked, stepping forward.
“bren,” you said softly. your muscles relaxing as soon as you could feel his body heat radiate off him.
“we’re staying at mine tonight,” he muttered, tucking a strand of her behind your ear, then dragging down his fingers until he landed on your injured arm. tapping your fingertips with his a couple of times, he looked back up at you. “what were you doing with king before?”
“breathing exercises, helps me,” you watched as he slowly drifted both hands to your wrist and held them gently.
“show me,” he whispered. “i can hear your heartbeat all the way from here.”
brendon who felt his heart racing in his chest, who hasn’t felt this way since he was in high school asking out his first girlfriend.
“we’re dating,” he declared.
“excuse me?” you turned to him, baffled at his sudden announcement. you stopped chopping the carrot and leaned over to pause your music.
“we only have sex with each other, i know what you like, you know what i like, you’re practically over here every day, we make a point to have dinner together at least once a week,” brendon listed off reasons. “do you want me to go on?”
“since when was this us dating?”
brendon stared blankly at you, “if i had it my way, ever since i kissed you in my house. knew you were the woman for me after you yanked my hair.”
feeling yourself beginning to get flustered, you breathed out loudly. “and you kept this from me because?”
brendon shrugged, “you would have never said yes.”
“maybe you just liked me yanking your hair.”
rolling his eyes, “you want to date me.”
“you’re presumptuous,” you replied, a bit amused at his obvious nervousness.
“i’m falling in love with you,” he stated simply and that took your breath away. you looked at his face, scanning every nook and cranny that you familiarised yourself with the last six months, trying to see if he was misleading you.
but you saw none.
“unless you’re still fucking in love with robinavitch, i’m willing to wait until you love me back,” he affirmed, like those were the only two options that you could choose.
“most men ask,” you reminded. “and they usually have flowers or some gifts when they ask.”
“i’m not most men, and i bought you those flowers when we went to the market a couple of days ago,” he pointed to the beautiful flowers on your kitchen table.
“hr’s gonna have a fit,” was all you said. you watched in amusement as brendon took a while to understand your words, and when he did, a bright grin took over his face. ignoring your exclaim of his name, he wrapped you up in his arms.
“the form isn’t that long,” he murmured against your lips.
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. widower!jack abbot x charge nurse!reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
after almost two weeks off, you came back for the night shift. however with your luck, it started as a terrible night—one you could only hope would get better. (wc: 13.400)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings.
smut. fluff. domestically. age difference (eleven years). car accident (nothing major). medical inaccuracies. canon medical procedures. injuries. bruises. some insecurities. chubby reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ first part. duo masterlist. main masterlist.
It wasn't like you to be late, so you forced your legs to move faster even as sharp pain flashed through your hip and thigh. Of all days for this to happen, it had to be today—your first shift back after a week and a half of medical leave. And now you were walking into the emergency department nearly an hour late.
Of course, on the very day you were finally coming back to work, you'd been hit by a car.
It hadn't been a major accident, and it hadn't even been the driver's fault… but the impact had still been hard enough to hurt, and most likely bruise.
You'd already been running late, so you'd rushed across the street without noticing the light turned green. One second you were hurrying toward the crosswalk, the next a car had slammed into you or rather, you had slammed into it. The vehicle hadn't been going very fast, but it had hit you hard enough to knock you onto the pavement.
Your elbow had taken the fall on the concrete while your hip had taken all the car's force straight into it. On the floor, you felt the little pebbles breaking your skin while you could already imagine the giant bruise on your hip.
A crowd had gathered almost instantly, trying to assess your injuries as if you weren't a nurse yourself. Some people had even suggested calling an ambulance—which you fiercely refused, insisting you were fine and explaining you worked at a hospital anyway.
It had taken several minutes of convincing—and you showing off your nurse badge from PTMC—before the crowd and the driver finally let you leave, especially since the poor man looked terrified you were about to sue him. You'd reassured him repeatedly that you wouldn't, because the accident had absolutely been your fault and you definitely didn't have the money to pursue anything of this sort.
Still fifteen minutes away from the hospital, you'd texted Dana to let her know you were running late but were still coming in. Since being late was completely unlike you, you already had five missed calls from different staff members by the time you arrived, so you asked Dana to warn them you were coming as well. She only replied with a simply "Okay".
The moment you stepped inside, you headed straight for the staff room as quickly as you could. You shoved your dinner into the fridge, peeled off your jacket, tossing it onto the coat rack before a sharp sting shot through your elbow—the opposite side from where your hip ached.
Looking down, you realized the skin was scraped raw and streaked with drying blood.
"Argh, I don't have time for this," you muttered with a sigh, heading for the sink.
You rinsed the scrape under cold water, biting back a groan as the sting intensified, then dried it carefully with a paper towel. It had already stopped bleeding—it was only a minor wound—but it still looked rough.
Shaking your head, you grabbed the white long-sleeved shirt you always kept in your bag. As quickly as possible, and without flashing any of your coworkers, you pulled it on beneath your scrubs to cover it—hoping hard it wouldn't taint the shirt.
Finally satisfied that your injuries were hidden well enough, you left the room and headed straight for the nurses' station.
"I'm so sorry," you said as you approached Dana, who looked up at you over the rim of her glasses.
As gentle as ever, she pulled you into a quick hug and assured you it was fine—that these things happened to everyone. Even so, you could see the exhaustion on her face. It must have been a rough day shift, which usually meant an even rougher night ahead. You silently prayed for a quiet evening.
"I'll come in early next shift if you're working," you promised as she gathered her things after explaining what had happened today.
"You don't have to, sweetie. Just make sure you're alright," Dana replied with a soft smile before heading out for the night.
"Better yet, come in at seven-thirty tomorrow morning, okay? So I don't feel so bad," you teased, giving her your best puppy eyes.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, kid," she joked, shaking her head with a laugh.
After she left, you immediately went to Shen and asked how the beginning of the night had been. He assured you everything was running smoothly while sipping his usual coffee. His nonchalance used to annoy the hell out of you, but over time you'd gotten used to it. It was oddly soothing to have someone this chill and relax while everything around here always turned into chaos.
You also knew Jack was working tonight, and you were doing your absolute best to avoid him.
First, because you knew he'd immediately notice something was wrong with you as he noticed everything. And second, more importantly, because of the very last text he'd sent you.
Good girl.
Two fucking words that had haunted you for the past week and a half.
Sometimes you'd be grocery shopping or curled up on the couch reading, and suddenly your mind would drift back to that text. Instantly, warmth would spread through your entire body going straight between your legs.
It was absolutely ridiculous how two simple words could affect you so much, but you couldn't deny the reaction they triggered.
Your cheeks would burn so hot it almost felt suffocating and you'd suddenly have the overwhelming urge to slip your fingers beneath your panties.
Which was exactly why avoiding Jack Abbott seemed like the smartest possible decision.
Four days ago, when you'd returned to have your stitches removed, you'd specifically chosen to show up during the day shift, when you knew he wasn't scheduled. You knew how unpredictable he could be—showing up on his days off and lingering around the hospital for hours wasn't unusual for him—but arriving at one in the afternoon had felt like a safe bet that he'd hopefully be in bed... or just far from the hospital.
And thankfully, you had been right.
Getting the stitches removed had been quick, and you'd been more than happy to chat with Samira while she worked. You'd insisted a student nurse could handle it, but she'd waved the idea off, claiming she needed the break. Naturally, you'd indulged her.
Now, walking through the department with an iPad in hand, checking that every patient was where they should be, receiving the right treatment, eating properly, and generally comfortable, you found your thoughts drifting back to Jack once again.
The number of time you had imagined his deep voice saying those two words were shameful, but you couldn't help it. If anything it had been the bastard's fault and he should be the one feeling guilty. If guilt was even what you were feeling.
Shaking your head, you forced yourself to refocus. At home, obsessing over him was one thing—you weren't responsible for an entire staff and people's lives there. But this was work. Here, you needed to stay professional.
Hearing your name, you turned toward the sound and met Mateo's eyes. You gave him a small nod, waiting for him to speak.
"North 12 is getting discharged, and South 3 is still waiting on results, but upstairs isn't answering," Mateo explained as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them into a nearby trash can.
"Okay, I'll call when I get the time," you replied, already discharging North 12 on your iPad.
Still sensing Mateo lingering beside you, you looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"Huh…" he started, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Abbott's looking for you."
"Tell him I'm busy," you answered as casually as possible before turning back to your screen.
The second Mateo was out of sight, you bit down hard on your lip, trying to control the immediate reaction that shot through your body at the mention of the older man. You usually weren't like this. But Jack was just… something else.
Maybe it was the way he carried himself so effortlessly, never ashamed of his actions, never trying to hide his interest in you. He was confident about it—openly so—and somehow that only made him more dangerous.
God, that old man was infuriating.
After finishing your rounds, you were almost surprised by how calm the night still was despite the packed waiting room and ED. Returning to your desk, you sat down to update the department board—which beds were free, who was waiting on scans, who was ready for transfer, and who still needed treatment.
"Vivi," you called as she passed by.
She immediately stopped and turned toward you.
"North 7 needs blood test."
"On it," she replied with a bright smile before hurrying off.
Watching her leave, you shook your head fondly. You really did have an incredible team of nurses. Then you sensed someone approaching.
Looking up, you saw Abbott making his way toward your desk, hands clasped behind his back in that rigid military posture of his.
You were absolutely not prepared to talk to him, especially not in the middle of the ER but there was no escaping now. Short of divine intervention, you were trapped.
And somehow, you got exactly that.
Behind you, the red emergency phone rang loudly enough to cut through the chaos of the department. Abbott glanced toward the phone with a raised eyebrow while you immediately rolled your chair back and stood.
"PTMC Emergency, charge nurse," you answered, deliberately looking anywhere except at Jack, who remained standing directly in front of your desk.
As the paramedic spoke, your brain instantly started reorganizing the ER—eyes running everywhere in the room except on Abbot. "We'll be ready."
The second you hung up, you turned back, relieved to see Abbott had been joined by Ellis.
"Bar fight incoming," you summarized quickly, already moving toward the trauma bays. "One guy has part of a beer bottle lodged in his skull, and the other's unconscious with an open radius fracture."
Leaving the doctors behind, you pushed open the door to Trauma 1 and found Shen and Toomarian working on a patient who, thankfully, didn't seem critical.
"We need the room in two minutes," you said.
Your nurses immediately nodded.
"Alright, boss," Shen replied before looking back at his patient. "Let's go on a little trip!"
You rolled your eyes at his complete lack of seriousness while walking back toward the desk, only to hear an enthusiastic "Weeee!" behind you as Shen rolled the patient out of the room.
Taking the phone out of your breast pocket, you quickly composed the neuro number before putting the phone to your ears.
"Dr. Walsh," a voice answered on the other end of the phone a moment later.
"Was supposed to call neuro," you replied, confused as to why she had picked up instead.
"They're tied up. What have you got?" Emery asked immediately, skipping all pleasantries.
"Open head trauma with the bottle still embedded, and another patient with a open fracture," you explained while leaning over your desk and rearranging beds on the board.
"That sucks," the surgeon replied dryly, pulling a quiet laugh from you. "I'll come down in a few and page ortho on the way. Neuro's gonna be difficult tonight, but I'll see what I can do."
"You're the best," you mumbled, eyes fixed on your screen—and meaning every word.
Emery Walsh was one of the reason you missed being a surgery nurse sometimes. People found her dry and hard, but working with her, you'd learnt that she was a really good person.
"Yeah, I know. See you soon." Then the line went dead.
The phone stayed wedged between your shoulder and ear while you typed, barely noticing it anymore. Around you, the department shifted into controlled chaos as trauma rooms were cleaned, supplies restocked, and doctors prepared for the incoming patients.
Bar fights were common enough. The outcomes, however, were never predictable.
Slowly, you felt the phone slipping from your shoulder—until it disappeared completely. It didn't crash onto the desk or floor. Instead, someone gently placed it beside your keyboard.
You looked up and found Abbott standing there, right by your side, watching you with a slight smile and his head tilted faintly to the side. His eyes were soft but teasing staying on, what you were certain, were wide doe eyes.
"Walsh is coming down," you explained immediately quickly getting back on your feet while sticking strictly to work-related conversation. "Hopefully with ortho. Neuro's unavailable right now."
"We'll make it work," he said softly, voice deep and grounding.
That voice. The exact same calm, low tone your brain had replayed for a week and a half alongside those two words.
Good girl.
It was genuinely becoming a problem.
You nodded quickly and started to turn away so you could brief a few nurses, but Jack stopped you again.
"How's the hand?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Wanting to get through the conversation as quickly as possible, you answered immediately. "Never better."
"You did come, right?" he pressed, his eyes dropping toward your hand.
Ever since that text, your mind had been completely corrupted.
Even though his gaze was clearly fixed on your hand resting near your hip, your stupid brain instantly interpreted it differently… going to a very different place than you fucking hand. That absolutely did not help your obsession with that man.
"What?" you blurted out, louder than necessary.
"You didn't remove the stitches yourself, did you?" he clarified, clearly confused by your reaction.
"Oh." Your eyes widened as realization hit you. "No, no. Samira did it."
Frowning slightly, Jack looked at you with a strange twist to his smile, something dangerously close to a smirk. "Samira? From day shift?"
"Yeah, well…" You shrugged awkwardly. "I was off for more than a week. It's crazy how quickly your body adjusts back to a normal schedule."
The joke came out clumsier than intended.
You glanced at his eyes, immediately looked away, then stupidly looked back again before darting your gaze elsewhere for a third time, your anxiety practically written across your face.
"Right," Jack replied slowly, amusement clear in his expression.
"Okay," you sighed with an overly tight smile before quickly turning around and walking away.
Why did you have to be this awkward? Of course he hadn't been making some crude comment in the middle of a shift with half the ER around. Jack was bold, sure, but not that bold.
Your brain seriously needed to calm the hell down before you lost your mind completely.
Unfortunately, too distracted to pay attention to where you were going, you walked straight into Walsh as she strolled into the department.
"Wow," she blurted, eyes widening in surprise. "You good?"
"Huh? Yeah. Just getting ready for the traumas!" you called over your shoulder, not slowing down for even a second.
Forcing yourself back into work mode, you started assigning nurses to incoming cases and gathering supplies that were missing from the trauma rooms. By the time you finished restocking everything, the EMTs were already wheeling the patients in through the ambulance bay.
"Trauma 1 and 2 are clear and ready!" you shouted as the teams split apart and rushed into their assigned rooms.
Finally getting a brief moment to breathe, you called about the lab results Mateo had mentioned earlier, only to discover they'd somehow been lost in the system and were now being resent. Seconds later, the files appeared on your iPad.
Perfect timing, too, since Dr. Porat, R2 of the night shift, wasn't tied up with the trauma teams. After forwarding her the results, the front desk called your extension.
"Charge nurse speaking," you answered while scrolling through charts waiting to be reviewed.
"Jim Burlt's family is here," Chantana said softly over the line.
"Who?" you asked automatically, not recognizing the name.
"The truck driver who got electrocuted. He passed earlier, during day shift, I think." Her voice lowered so the family wouldn't overhear.
"Fuck," you whispered, letting your head fall back for a second. "Okay. I'm coming."
It wasn't that you didn't want to handle it—you just had no idea where the man's body had been taken. Dana hadn't mentioned it during handoff, and since you'd missed rounds, you were completely behind.
Pulling up his chart in the system, all you found were three cold words:
Dead on arrival.
With no better option, you headed into Trauma 1, since it sounded like the quieter room of the two. The moment you pushed open the door, Abbott looked up at you immediately—as though he'd sensed your presence before even seeing you.
"Know a Jim Burlt?" you asked, unable to stop yourself from instinctively checking the patient's vitals first. Stable.
"Yeah. Robby's patient," Jack replied, eyes already shifting back toward the trauma bed.
Patient. The word twisted uncomfortably in your chest. The man had arrived dead. There had been nothing anyone could do besides call the time.
"His family's here. Do you know where he is?"
"Morgue," Jack answered, finally looking back at you with sympathetic eyes. "And it's not a pretty sight. Especially for the family."
"Fucking perfect," you muttered under your breath before turning to leave.
As you headed toward the waiting area, a warm hand settled gently on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step.
You turned around to find Jack standing close behind you.
He'd already stripped off the bloody gown, gloves, and protective glasses from the trauma room. Without all the gear, he looked unfairly good—calm, composed, and for once actually rested.
"I'll do it," he said quietly, nodding toward the waiting room.
"It's okay. I can handle it. You clearly have your hands full." You assured him, painfully aware of the warmth spreading through your neck where his hand still rested close by on your shoulder.
"Robby already explained the case, and they don't need me in there anymore," he replied lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Even though you'd initially thought Jack was highly professional and not nearly this bold, he quickly proved you wrong as he stepped closer, leaning toward you. His lips hovered far too close to your ear—close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your neck—when he finally spoke. "But this place will fall apart without you."
"Huh…" was the only sound your brain managed to produce.
When he finally stepped back, there was a teasing smirk tugging at his lips before he simply walked away, leaving you stranded in the middle of the hallway like your system had completely rebooted.
Your eyes struggled to focus on anything.
His words. His voice. That stupid charisma. It all tangled together until your thoughts turned into static.
The loud laughter of a drunk patient somewhere down the hall finally snapped you back to reality. Within seconds, you were moving again, heading toward your desk while taking a deep shaky breath.
It was genuinely unfair how easily he could throw you completely off balance while you seemingly had nowhere near the same effect on him.
Fucking diabolical.
Hours later, after working nonstop without a break, you finally stole a few precious minutes for yourself in the stairwell. It was quieter than the break room and safer than the ambulance bay. Here, nobody bothered you.
You still kept your phone nearby in your chest pocket, and never disappeared for longer than ten minutes, but at least you could drink your coffee in peace. You'd warn the attending and your nurses before just disappearing.
Only three hours remained in your shift now. Close enough to the end that you could finally see it.
Eyes closed, head resting against the stair railing, you sipped your coffee slowly while focusing on your breathing exercises—your usual way of bleeding off the stress that came with the job.
The hospital staff were used to finding you here during night shifts, so when the stairwell door creaked open and footsteps started approaching, you barely reacted at all.
"Abbott's looking for you." Walsh's voice shattered the brief moment of peace you'd managed to find in the stairwell.
"When is he not?" you sighed, taking another sip of coffee.
You only opened your eyes when you heard Emery groan dramatically as she dropped down beside you on the steps. She looked exhausted—but then again, who in this hospital didn't? Even so, there was still something sharp and alert behind her tired eyes.
"I'd kill for a cigarette," she muttered, rubbing both hands down her face.
"Stay strong," you laughed softly. "If you relapse, you'll drag me down with you."
It wasn't entirely true, but you still remembered the nights you'd both decided to quit smoking together. Back then, she'd sneak out through the ER ambulance bay and wait for you outside. For five peaceful minutes, the two of you would talk about life, relationships—anything except the chaos happening inside.
"Oh, fuck no," she smirked, side eyeing you. "I do not need cowboy doctor on my ass."
You turned toward her immediately. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Play innocent all you want," she dismissed while standing up, brushing the non existing dust of her pants. "And please don't call me for the rest of the night."
"Not my decision," you called after her as she disappeared up the stairs.
Laughing quietly to yourself, you finally pushed yourself to your feet and stretched your stiff limbs.
Huge mistake.
Pain exploded from your hip all the way down to your knee while your elbow throbbed sharply in protest. You should've expected this. Since the second you'd been hit by that car, you hadn't stopped moving long enough for your body to fully register the damage.
Now, after ten minutes of sitting still, it absolutely had.
Walking back to the ER without limping turned out to be significantly harder than expected, but somehow you managed it. You smiled tightly at nurses, greeted techs, gave instructions to interns, the usual—all while pretending nothing hurt.
By the time you reached the sink to wash your coffee mug, you were quietly breathing through the pain. At this point, the shift simply couldn't end fast enough.
All you wanted was for Dana to arrive on time—which she always did, though you had told her she could come in late… You were fucked.
"Why are you limping?" The deep voice behind you made you flinch so hard you nearly dropped the mug.
"Jesus Christ," you let out, your heart racing.
Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with Jack Abbott, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back like always.
"I'm not limping," you dismissed immediately. "Maybe you need glasses, old man."
Not wanting to deal with his scrutinising stare, you turned back toward the sink and focused intensely on cleaning the mug.
"So that's definitely not blood on your elbow," Jack replied dryly, his tone carrying that specific kind of sarcasm that really meant don't bullshit me.
Twisting your arm enough to see your elbow, your stomach dropped. A smear of blood stained the sleeve of your white shirt. You must've bumped it against a wall without noticing. And of course you'd chosen the one white shirt you owned.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, too quietly for him to hear. Then louder: "Old stain. Hard to get out, you know how it is."
With your back still turned to him, you prayed he'd just accept the lie and leave.
But miracles clearly had limits, and you'd apparently already used yours for the night. No one interrupted. No emergencies pulled him away. So he stayed.
He didn't move closer, but you heard the irritated click of his tongue behind you.
You deliberately took far longer than necessary washing the mug, dreading the moment you'd have to turn around and face him properly. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to find out you'd been hit by a fucking car.
That would mean another medical leave. And beyond the fact that you absolutely couldn't afford more time off, you genuinely didn't want it.
"So we're lying now?" Jack asked as you finally turned toward him.
There was something unreadable in his voice, not exactly anger, not exactly amusement either. His arms were crossed over his chest now, head tilted slightly as though challenging you. Instinctively, you mirrored him, crossing your own arms while raising an eyebrow in return.
You were not about to snitch on yourself. And judging by his expression, he clearly wasn't planning on dropping it.
"I guess it's your problem if you don't believe me," you replied with a smile so forced it practically hurt.
Before Jack could answer, Sophie stepped into the room—only to freeze immediately under the weight of both your stares. Her eyes widened slightly with concern.
"I'm just getting water," she explained cautiously, like she'd accidentally interrupted something terrible.
"Of course," you replied instantly, your tone softening. "Take ten if you need."
Then you looked back at Jack. The smile you gave him this time was entirely different—tight, restrained, and far less friendly—before brushing past him and leaving the room.
As you walked away, you heard Jack reassuring Sophie that she'd done nothing wrong and that she should take whatever break she needed.
The rest of the shift passed surprisingly smoothly, even if the pain stubbornly refused to fade. It was honestly impressive how well you managed to hide it from everyone.
Everyone except Jack.
He never brought it up again, but for the remainder of the night, you could feel his eyes on you every single time you winced—even slightly. Every time your limp slipped through before you could correct it, you caught him watching with furrowed brows.
Now, finally sitting down near the end of shift, you chatted quietly with Robby while the rest of the night crew signed off one by one.
The only person still missing was Dana. Because you had stupidly told her to come in late.
At least you'd warned Robby ahead of time so he wouldn't panic about being left without a charge nurse. You kept working through the final charts and updates, determined not to leave Dana with a disaster just because you were exhausted and hurting.
You'd pushed through for hours already. There was no point falling apart now when the end was finally in sight.
The moment you saw Dana walking through the ER doors, relief washed over you so strongly you almost sighed out loud.
The older woman chewed lazily on her gum, glasses already perched low on her nose while her stethoscope hung around her neck. Even the way she walked radiated competence. The second she reached you, you wrapped your arms around her and let out a tired groan into her shoulder.
For the next ten minutes, the two of you made rounds together while you updated her on the night—who'd been admitted, who'd gone upstairs, who'd died, which beds were opening up. The usual end-of-shift rundown.
Once you finished, she gently nudged you toward the corner where you'd dumped your belongings hours ago.
"Off you go, kid," she said simply before turning back toward the department.
And honestly? Sleep had never sounded so good.
Even if getting home meant enduring a painful fifteen minute walk, you figured you could survive it. You'd spent the entire night running around nonstop—what was another few minutes on your feet?
As you headed toward the exit, already dreading having to come back later that night, you pulled out your phone to check your texts and emails.
A sharp whistle suddenly pulled your attention away from the screen. Confused, you looked up. Standing in the ambulance bay—like he'd apparently been waiting there for a while—was Jack Abbott.
Which made absolutely no sense.
He'd left on time for once, along with most of the night staff, so why the hell was he still here? Even stranger, his car was parked right beside the ambulance entrance—something nobody was allowed to do, not even for five minutes.
"Forget something?" you asked innocently, nodding toward the illegally parked car.
"You," he answered immediately.
You scoffed automatically, but the sound died quickly when you realized he wasn't joking.
"What?" you deadpanned when he made no move to smile.
"I'm taking you home," he said calmly. "And you're going to tell me what happened to you."
It wasn't phrased like a question. Not quite an order either, but there was absolutely no room for argument.
"Jack—" you started, fully prepared to fight him on it anyway.
"Nope. In the car."
Then he casually walked around and opened the passenger side door for you.
When you still didn't move, he simply tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. There really was no escaping this. With a deep sigh, you shook your head and walked toward the open door.
The second you sat down, Jack gave a satisfied little nod, like he was pleased you'd listened, before closing the door for you.
A minute later, after he climbed into the driver's seat, you noticed your address already programmed into his GPS.
"How did you…" You trailed off, pointing weakly at the screen.
"From the Uber last time," he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Right…" you murmured, smiling despite yourself.
Being trapped in such a small space with him felt oddly intimate. The car smelt like him, a smell that was oddly comforting, messing with you. And unfortunately, your exhausted brain didn't help much more, immediately fixated on his hands resting on the gear shift as he put the car into drive.
You were far too tired to stop yourself from staring for a second longer than necessary. Then a thought suddenly crossed your mind.
"Can you even drive with your leg?" you asked as the car rolled forward. "Well, I mean, obviously you can…"
That made him laugh, a real laugh. Warm and genuine enough that you immediately turned your head toward him. And honestly, if you could've seen yourself right then, you were pretty sure you would've looked completely smitten.
"Was that rude?" you asked, giggling softly when you noticed how bright his smile had become.
"Not coming from you," Jack replied gently, sending you another small smile before looking back at the road.
That alone was enough to make you grin like a teenager.
Your cheeks and neck warmed instantly, heart beating embarrassingly faster just from the softness in his voice.
Resting your elbow against the door, you propped your head against your hand and stared out the window while gently rubbing your forehead. Your elbow protested immediately, but at this point everything hurt anyway.
Your hip had been throbbing for hours, a migraine lingered behind your eyes, and all you wanted in the world was a shower and your bed.
"God, I'm so tired," you whispered, knowing perfectly well he'd hear you.
"Want to tell me what happened now?" Jack asked, still using that same quiet voice.
Rolling your eyes toward the window, you let out a long breath.
Of course he wasn't going to let it go, you should've expected this. Honestly, it had been predictable from the moment he'd noticed you limping. Still, you'd hoped exhaustion might make him back off for once.
"Seriously?" you groaned, finally turning your head toward him with narrowed eyes.
"Surprise," he shot back with a smirk, knowing deep well none of you were actually.
Closing your eyes briefly, you felt exhaustion and pain mixing together until lying almost felt too difficult to bother with anymore. And really… what was the point?
He wasn't going to stop asking.
Turning back toward the window, you watched the sunrise spill soft orange light across the quiet city streets.
"Got hit by a car," you said suddenly.
Silence filled the car immediately afterwards, which definitely wasn't a good sign. But it was peaceful while it lasted.
"Come again?" Jack asked slowly, sounding like he genuinely thought he'd misheard you.
"I got hit by a car crossing the street. My fault entirely," you clarified casually, like it wasn't a huge deal. Because honestly? It wasn't.
You were alive. Nothing was broken. Nothing life-threatening had happened.
At worst, you'd end up with an ugly bruise on your hip, a scraped elbow, and aches for a few days—it could've been so much worse.
"I landed on my elbow, which explains the blood," you continued before he could interrupt. "And my hip took most of the impact, which is why I'm limping." You shrugged weakly. "I'm alive and mostly intact, Jack. Nothing to worry about."
"You should've said something," he growled, shaking his head.
"So you could've sent me home?" you shot back immediately. "I handled the shift just fine."
"You handled it," he agreed tightly, nodding while his jaw was tightly set. "But now you're limping, and I'm willing to bet your hip's killing you."
He sent you a dark look before focusing back on the road. Before you could argue further, the car pulled up in front of your building.
You weren't about to pretend you weren't grateful not to walk the rest of the way home. Turning toward him, you opened your mouth to thank him and wish him goodnight, ready to forget it all about the previous conversation.
Only to frown when his car door slammed shut. Seconds later, he was already on your side of the car, opening your door for you.
"You don't have to—" you started while pulling your seatbelt off.
"Don't," Jack warned simply as he leaned inside to grab your bags.
It was ridiculously sweet. And it also made you feel slightly guilty because you knew his own leg had to be hurting after such a long shift too, but he didn't show even a hint of discomfort.
He just straightened back up with your bags in one hand while holding the car door open with the other, waiting patiently for you to get out.
Getting out, you knew there was no point arguing with Jack, so you simply started walking toward the building's main door. Turning back toward him, you walked straight over and reached into your bag without even asking for it back, you already knew he wouldn't give it to you.
Once your keys were in hand, you unlocked the door and headed straight for the elevator. When Jack stepped into the small space beside you, you realised he was actually walking you all the way to your front door.
It felt strange being trapped in such a narrow space with him, but he seemed completely determined to make sure you got safely inside your flat, as if something terrible might happen between his car and your front door. You supposed you never really knew, but it still felt highly unlikely.
The ride up to your floor was quiet and slightly awkward, despite how quick it was.
Standing in front of your door, you unlocked it and suddenly felt far too awkward to simply say goodbye there. So you stepped inside, leaving the door open behind you as a silent invitation.
"Want some water?" you asked, breaking the silence as you made your way toward the kitchen. "You can leave that by the door," you added, pointing to the bags still hanging from his hands.
"I'll take some water, yeah. Thanks," he replied softly.
When you returned to the living room with two glasses of water, Jack was standing in the middle of the room, relaxed as though he belonged there. He was looking around at every little detail—every book, every picture, every vinyl record—studying it all with quiet attention.
Watching him in your space made the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Your mind instantly started imagining him there all the time, as if his belongings naturally belonged beside yours, some jazz vinyl mixed in with your indie pop collection, his medical books stacked beside your fantasy novels. It would fit so perfectly.
Shaking the thought away and forcing a soft smile, you stepped closer and handed him his glass.
"Thanks," he murmured, his gaze drifting slowly from your head to your toes without the slightest hint of shame.
The two of you remained standing in the middle of the living room, slowly sipping your drinks. Locked in each other's eyes, the tension quickly became unbearable, yet neither of you looked away. Jack held your gaze openly, his expression soft and calm. Gone was the tired, sarcastic man you usually worked with. This version of him felt entirely different, but oddly comforting.
After a few seconds, he stepped closer—with a slight limp of his own—and set his glass down on the nearby table. Gently, he took your own empty glass and placed it beside his.
"I know the best treatment for your hip," Jack said, his voice low and deep. His eyes gleamed with something you couldn't quite name.
"Yeah?" you asked, your voice embarrassingly shaky. Ridiculous, you were a grown woman.
"Relaxation," he whispered, lust filling his eyes. That had been what you couldn't name before.
As soon as the word left his mouth, his hands rose to your cheeks—warm, soft, safe—before he leaned in. His lips hovered just above yours, not quite kissing you, but making no effort to hide how badly he wanted to.
The second you felt his warmth so close, your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation and, without even realising it, you rose slightly onto your tiptoes to meet him halfway. A few long seconds passed before you finally felt Jack's lips against yours.
They were soft and unhurried, as though he was trying to ease you into it while slowly pulling himself closer. His warmth completely surrounded you now, his chest pressed lightly against yours. You weren't even sure when he'd moved that close, only that it felt incredibly good.
He was everything you had imagined—steady, solid, grounding—while your own hands shook where they rested against his chest. His hands had slipped from your cheeks to your hips as carefully as possible, mindful not to hurt you while gently tugging you closer.
"Let's go sit down, yeah?" He murmured against your lips.
You hadn't even realised you'd started shaking. Your legs felt weak, your thoughts racing so fast you could barely keep up with them. No one had ever made you feel like this before—not once in your life had someone unsettled you so completely.
"Mmh," you hummed against his lips before leaning up to kiss him again.
Both of you laughed softly into the kiss as Jack began stepping backward. When the backs of his knees bumped against the couch, he paused for a second before sitting down. You moved to sit beside him, but his hand stopped you.
Spreading his legs slightly, he guided you to stand between them instead. His face hovered near your stomach, immediately making you self-conscious. But the moment his lips pressed soft kisses there through your shirt, the butterflies in your stomach only grew wilder. Your breathing turned uneven as you stared down at him.
His eyes lifted to yours while his lips continued trailing slow kisses over your stomach.
"Can I?" he asked quietly, his voice rough with restrained need.
It was unfamiliar—feeling this wanted by someone who wasn't rushing straight toward sex. There was something comforting about the patience in him, about the way he seemed to want more than just your body. His fingers rested lightly against the hem of your shirt, playing absently with it, waiting for permission.
When you nodded—a little too quickly, you'd admit—mischief flickered in Jack's eyes as he raised a single brow in silent warning. The effortless dominance he carried so naturally made your head spin.
"Yes," you managed to say, breathless, earning another quick kiss in return.
Agonisingly slowly, Jack pushed your shirt upward, his lips following the rising fabric. Once it was high enough, you tugged it off yourself, suddenly standing half-naked in front of the man you'd been hopelessly crushing on for months.
You still hadn't dared look directly at him, but the second you heard him click his tongue in disapproval, your stomach dropped. Had he imagined your body differently? Was he disgusted by what he saw? Was the soft weight on your body suddenly repulsive once shown without clothes?
"No fucking wonder you're limping," he muttered, sounding almost irritated.
Looking down quickly, you were met with a patch of darkened skin peeking out from beneath your pants. The bruising already looked terrible, staining your skin in a way that made it obvious to anyone that it hurt like hell.
"Oh," you breathed out shakily, finally releasing the breath you'd been holding.
He wasn't disgusted by you at all, he'd simply slipped into doctor mode. You weren't even sure he'd realised it, but one of his thumbs was slowly caressing the bruise while his eyes remained fixed on yours.
"Did you at least get their name?" he sighed, shaking his head.
"It wasn't his fault," you explained quietly.
"He should still pay for the medical treatment. You were a pedestrian, it was his fault anyway," Jack continued scolding gently, resting his chin against your soft stomach while keeping his eyes on you.
Scoffing, you shook your head. "What medical treatment?"
"Still," the older man muttered stubbornly before glancing back down at the bruise.
As carefully as he could, he tugged your pants down a little farther, revealing more of the dark purple mark. It wasn't pretty, but at least it was only a bruise and not a broken hip. That would've been a nightmare.
"Does it hurt?" His voice softened again, slipping back into the soothing tone he always seemed to use around you.
"Not right now," you whispered, far too distracted by the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin again.
He kissed around the bruise as though he could somehow heal it with tenderness alone. Every soft press of his mouth made your heart skip wildly in your chest—a feeling that was becoming dangerously familiar whenever he was near. At first, it had annoyed you but now, standing half-undressed in your living room, it felt exhilarating.
He chuckled softly at your answer before pressing another kiss to your skin.
Then, before doing anything else, he leaned back against the couch. His warmth barely left your body, yet you missed it instantly. Once he'd settled farther away, his hands moved to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
The sight nearly stole your breath.
This man—older than you by more than a decade—had a better body than most men your own age you'd ever been with. His chest was broad and toned, scattered with freckles that made you ache to trace every single one with your fingertips. His stomach was firm too, though softened slightly by a thin layer of fat that somehow only made him more attractive, more real. It made you want to bite into it.
And his arms, God. They'd already been distracting enough at work, but seeing them like this, bathed in the warm sunlight filtering through your curtains, was almost unfair.
"Wanna sit down now?" he teased, his thumb still stroking over your hip. "Because this must be killing you."
Nodding, you finally dragged your gaze away from his chest and smiled sheepishly when you met his eyes. You felt no embarrassment about being caught staring, and judging by the smugness on his face, he was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Then again, he had no shame either—his own eyes had drifted toward your breasts more than once already.
"How about we take these off first?" he murmured teasingly, lightly snapping the waistband of your pants against your good hip.
"Sure," you replied, feeling strangely at ease around him now. "Just warning you… I'm not wearing my best underwear today."
"Oh no," Jack said dramatically, shaking his head in fake disappointment.
His hands betrayed him completely, though, as he carefully slid your pants down your legs, making sure not to brush too hard against the bruising. Once they passed your thighs, the fabric dropped to the floor on its own.
Leaning back against the couch, Jack rested his hands low on your hips while he looked at you with quiet hunger. His gaze wandered slowly over every inch of you, from your face down to your knees, taking everything in with patient, gentle attention.
And weirdly—for probably the first time in your life—you didn't really feel self-conscious. You'd made peace with your body years ago, but old insecurities from your teens and early twenties still lingered in quiet corners of your mind.
Yet there was no judgment in his eyes. No disgust. His gaze moved over your stretch marks, your soft stomach, your love handles, the natural curve of your breasts, and the faint hair peeking out around your panties without hesitation or discomfort.
If anything, he looked captivated.
Smiling softly, he leaned forward to press another kiss against your stomach before settling back comfortably against the couch again. Once he was fully relaxed, he patted his thighs lightly, eyes never leaving you.
You hesitated awkwardly, standing there half-naked in the middle of your living room. Even if he clearly liked your body, a small part of you still worried you might be too heavy for him. Buying yourself time, you bent down to pull your socks off.
"Come on," he coaxed with an amused smirk. "You're not gonna break me."
Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn't realised your thoughts were that obvious—you'd always been good at hiding your insecurities and fears. Perhaps, it had been that your partner didn't really pay attention.
"You think too loudly, sweetheart," Jack said, his teasing smile softening. "And you're way too pretty to waste time worrying about stupid things."
As if to reassure you even more, he patted his thighs again before his hands slid back to your hips, guiding you closer inch by inch.
His gentleness and words made you smile despite yourself, your eyes dropping shyly toward the floor. Once you reached the couch, you slowly lowered yourself into his lap, your legs settling on either side of his hips. He was so broad that the stretch tugged slightly at your sore hip, painful but strangely pleasant too.
Your hands rested uncertainly on his shoulders, still hesitant to put your full weight on him even though your hip was throbbing. Jack solved the issue himself by gripping your waist and pulling you down firmly onto him.
The second your full weight settled in his lap, a sound escaped him—a rough mixture between a groan and a moan that instantly sent heat rushing through your body. As a reflex, your thighs pressed together, or tried to. Instead, the movement rocked you lightly against him, your body brushing over the hardening shape still trapped beneath his cargo pants.
The reaction it pulled from both of you was immediate—a long shared breath, shaky and warm.
The moment your eyes met, laughter burst out of you unexpectedly. Jack laughed too, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. Meanwhile, his hands slid slowly up your back. Without thinking, you melted into him, your arms slipping around his neck automatically.
The hug felt dangerously close to home.
He was so warm, so solid, comforting in a way you couldn't even explain. Like curling beneath a blanket on the coldest winter night. Safe. Easy. Real.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, your thoughts betrayed you again, instantly imagining what it would feel like to fall asleep wrapped in this warmth every night. To wake up curled into his burly arms, head lying on his chest.
"You're so warm," you whispered against his neck before pressing a soft kiss there.
Jack laughed quietly under his breath and pulled you even closer in response. He kissed the top of your head again, slow and absentminded, the kind of affectionate gesture that felt almost painfully domestic.
The hug, the forehead kisses, the quiet closeness—it made your heart race uncontrollably. And with your ear pressed against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding faster than normal too.
His hands slid from your back to settle on your ass. They didn't grope or squeeze greedily, they simply rested there, warm and steady. Grounding. And at the same time, impossible to ignore when his now hard cock was pressed right between your thighs.
Lifting your head from his neck, you kissed him again. This time the kisses turned deeper, messier, more desperate. Teeth brushed lips, tongues tangled slowly and warmth spread through your entire body until you felt dizzy with it.
When it became too much, you instinctively rolled your hips, searching for friction.
And friction was exactly what you found.
His dick, hard beneath the fabric of his pants and your panties, rubbed perfectly against your clothed clit. It had been so long since you'd felt someone against you like this that greed started creeping in before you could stop it.
Pressing your hips down harder against his, satisfaction bloomed in your chest when a rough groan escaped him. His hands remained on your ass now, kneading softly while guiding your movements, encouraging every slow grind against him.
The feeling of skin, heat and pressure was intoxicating. Too much and somehow not enough at the same time. The rough fabric of his pants against the backs of your thighs suddenly became unbearable though, you needed it gone.
Without really thinking, your hands slid from his shoulders down toward his waistband. Rising just enough, you started tugging at them.
Rising slightly, the loss of friction made you whine immediately, even though it had been your own doing. But before you could get very far, Jack's hands gently stopped yours.
You froze at once. Your fingers hovered shakily above the waistband of his pants, your stomach dropping.
"I'm sorry," you whispered quickly against his lips. "Sorry."
Your pulse thundered painfully now, not from desire but embarrassment. Maybe you'd pushed too far. Maybe kissing had been fine, touching had been fine, but this—
"Shhh." His voice was soft and immediate, reassuring. "Relax, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong."
But you still couldn't look at him. Your gaze darted everywhere except his face until one of his hands gently cupped your jaw, carefully guiding you back toward him. His eyes looked exactly the same as before: warm, patient, hungry in the gentlest way imaginable. No discomfort. No anger.
"You know about my leg, right?" Jack asked quietly. After a hesitant nod from you, he nodded too. "But you've never seen it," he continued softly. "I just don't want you to be surprised, okay?"
For a second, you simply stared at him. Then laughter burst out of you unexpectedly. Real laughter, the kind that shook your entire body.
Was he seriously worried you'd be disgusted by his prosthetic? By an amputated limb?
Jack leaned back slightly against the couch cushions, head tilted while he watched you laugh yourself to tears. A small smile tugged at his lips, like he understood you'd needed the release after panicking.
Once your laughter finally settled, tears prickling lightly at the corners of your eyes, you looked back at him. Relaxed against your couch, shirtless and warm in the dim morning light, he looked strangely comfortable there.
"You know I'm a nurse, right?" you asked in disbelief.
He answered with one slow, firm nod. Eyes blinking softly in a cat like way.
But then doubt crept in anyway, irrational and sharp. It made no sense for him to think you'd care about his injury, which meant maybe he was only saying it because he wanted to stop. And if he wanted to stop, that was okay—but the thought that he might be searching for an excuse instead of simply telling you hurt more than it should have.
Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shifted back slightly until you were sitting more on his thighs than directly against his crotch. His thumb still stroked gently along your jaw while he studied your expression carefully.
"We can stop if you want," you said softly, though the voice barely sounded like yours. "We don't have to…"
The words trailed off awkwardly. Your toes curled restlessly against his skin while you fought the urge to fidget with your fingers.
"What if I don't want to stop?" His voice dropped lower again.
You stayed quiet, only staring at him while he searched your face.
"Do you want to stop?" Jack asked.
His gaze pinned you in place, making it impossible to look away this time.
Blinking quickly, you shook your head. "No."
"Then come back here," he murmured, teasing warmth returning to his tone so suddenly it sent heat rushing between your legs again. His tone wasn't commanding, but it had that natural dominance that didn't really let you do anything but what he said.
At some point his hands had slipped back onto your ass, stroking lightly until you shifted closer once more, settling back properly against his lap. Relief flooded through you when you felt him still hard beneath you, still wanting you just as much as before.
A soft moan escaped you as you rolled against him again.
"Good girl," Jack said deeply, voice raw.
The words hit you like a lightning strike.
Your entire body reacted instantly—thighs tightening around him, your breath catching embarrassingly hard while a pathetic little moan slipped free before you could stop it. Mortified, you buried your face against his shoulder while instinctively rocking your hips again.
"Didn't you want this problem solved?" Jack teased lightly.
Between your legs, you felt his hands playing with the waistband of his cargo pants. Deliberately, the back of his hand brushed against your clothed clit, adding just enough pressure to make you whine again.
A soft laugh rumbled through his chest beneath you.
Then your next roll of your hips dragged another rough groan out of him, lower this time, almost strangled. The sound sent a thrill straight through you.
"Who's laughing now?" you asked breathlessly, unable to stop yourself from grinning.
The light smack he gave your ass was the only answer you got before his palm rubbed soothingly over the spot afterwards.
A moment later, he tapped lightly against your thigh in silent request. When you lifted yourself just enough, Jack awkwardly tugged his pants off the rest of the way beneath you.
While he worked them free, you occupied yourself by kissing along his neck and shoulder slowly, patiently. You didn't want him to feel rushed or self-conscious. Nothing about this had felt hurried from the start, and you weren't about to change that now.
Once the discarded pants landed somewhere across the living room, his hands guided you back down onto him carefully so you wouldn't strain your sore muscles for too long. Your hip was definitely starting to ache again.
Settling comfortably against him once more, you kissed him deeply while your hips resumed a slower, steadier rhythm.
The soft fabric of his boxers felt infinitely better against you than the roughness of his cargo had. Even more intoxicating was the warmth of his bare skin against the backs of your thighs.
Combined with his wandering hands and his mouth against yours, it all became overwhelming in the best possible way. You weren't inexperienced, but somehow this felt entirely new—raw and exciting enough to make you feel like you were discovering sex for the first time all over again.
Between your legs, heat and dampness had already soaked through your panties, probably staining his boxers too. Normally that thought would've embarrassed you. Right now, though, you barely cared.
Maybe Jack sensed it too, because his hand suddenly slipped between your bodies, easing beneath the cotton of your underwear.
His fingers moved slowly through the soft hair there without hesitation, without comment, simply exploring you gently. The lack of judgment alone made something in your chest loosen. No criticism, no awkward remarks.
For several long seconds he only teased you lightly, fingers wandering until a shaky moan of his name finally escaped your lips.
You felt his smirk against your mouth immediately afterwards.
Then his fingers slid lower.
The second they found your clit, your entire body jolted. You'd been half convinced he'd drag it out and tease you endlessly, but instead he touched you with immediate purpose—slow, tight circles that stole the breath straight from your lungs.
Your kisses quickly fell apart after that, little gasps and broken sounds replacing them as you struggled to focus on anything except the feeling of his fingers working between your thighs.
Soon enough, the kisses became one-sided in the best way possible. Jack simply nipped and licked lazily at your lips, a smug smile tugging at his mouth while you struggled to breathe through the pleasure rolling through you.
From watching him at work, you'd hoped his hands would be skilled—steady, strong, careful. You'd been completely right.
A man his age, as experienced as you'd imagined him to be, clearly knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't fumble around searching for your clit or rush too quickly to the point of slight pain. Everything he did felt deliberate and perfectly paced, like he already knew your body despite never touching you before.
It was insane how naturally you fit together.
Sure, you'd known each other for over a year. You'd flirted shamelessly for most of it. But you never could've imagined actually being with him would feel this good. This easy. Like two puzzle pieces assembling.
"Feels really good," you breathed out between shaky moans against his lips.
"Yeah?" he teased softly before kissing you again.
"Mhm." You nodded rapidly, biting your lip as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.
"Good." That simple word, paired with the soft kiss he pressed to your forehead afterwards, made warmth spread through your chest just as much as between your thighs.
His fingers never left your clit, never broke their steady rhythm. Eventually it became impossible to focus on anything except feeling, Jack didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He wasn't asking for anything back from you, wasn't trying to make you perform for him.
Instead, his mouth wandered lower.
You couldn't exactly blame him when you'd been arching into him shamelessly, practically pressing your chest into his face every time pleasure jolted through you. Gently, his lips moved across the swell of your breasts while his teeth tugged teasingly at the fabric of your bra, letting it snap softly back against your skin.
He did it again. And again.
Finally, blinking through the haze, you looked down at him.
His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them before—heavy with hunger. You'd seen him irritated, exhausted, sarcastic, even angry at work. But this version of him? This was entirely new.
And it was all because of you.
"Wanna take this off for me?" Jack asked, his voice calm and grounding despite the way his fingers kept working between your legs. "How does that sound?"
"Good," you moaned immediately when his touch pressed a little harder against your clit.
With trembling hands, you unclasped your bra and let it slide off. Cool air brushed over your bare skin instantly, your nipples already hard from both the temperature and the overwhelming pleasure building inside you.
The second your chest was fully exposed, Jack let out a slow breath.
"You're absolutely breathtaking," he murmured.
And then he kissed you there.
You barely even processed the compliment because the moment his mouth closed around one nipple, your thoughts scattered completely. His free hand cupped your other breast, rough thumb stroking over the sensitive peak without mercy before rolling it between it and his index finger.
It was too much. Completely overwhelming.
His mouth, his hands, his fingers between your legs—it felt like he was everywhere all at once. Yet the idea of him stopping felt unbearable too. Something tight and hot was building low in your stomach now, pressure winding tighter and tighter with every movement of his hand.
"Jack—" You moaned loudly.
The warning barely left your mouth before his teeth grazed your nipple a little harder. At the same time, his fingers sped up slightly against your clit.
That was all it took.
Pleasure crashed through you so suddenly your back arched hard against him, thighs clamping around his while your nails dug helplessly into his shoulders. The sounds leaving your throat were embarrassingly broken—high, shaky whines mixed with uneven breaths as you struggled to recover from how hard the orgasm hit you.
Recovering only became more difficult when Jack spoke again.
"Good girl," he murmured against the skin above your pounding heartbeat. "You just needed to relax."
The bastard absolutely knew what he was doing.
Especially when he could clearly feel the way your pussy clenched again at his praise while his fingers still rested between your thighs. Dropping your forehead against his shoulder, you let out a breathless laugh before lightly biting at his skin.
"You fucker."
Chuckling softly, Jack slowly slipped his fingers back out from your underwear before settling both hands comfortably on your ass again, as though they naturally belonged there. His other hand drifted soothingly along your back while he rested his head lightly against yours.
"Don't be mean now, sweetheart," he teased before giving your ass a playful slap. "You know you love it."
You opened your mouth to deny it automatically, purely out of spite, but his lips brushed against your ear before you could get the words out.
"I can still feel you clenching to it," he whispered, voice so low it sent a full-body shiver through you. As if your body wanted to prove him right, you felt your pussy involuntary clench afterwards.
"Just like that," he praised softly, along with a little laugh.
Groaning, you bit his shoulder again while trying desperately to steady your breathing.
For several quiet minutes, neither of you moved much. You simply stayed tangled together on the couch, half-dressed and warm, breathing each other in. It was soothing enough to make you sleepy.
And maybe that should've scared you—the intimacy of it, the domestic softness settling so naturally between you—but it didn't. If anything, it made you want to stay there longer.
Jack seemed perfectly content to follow your lead. Even with that effortless dominance wrapped around everything he did, he never pushed or demanded. He simply let you decide where things went next.
Still, despite the warmth and comfort, you wanted more.
Which meant eventually you had to get up.
Carefully pushing yourself to your feet, your shaky legs protested immediately as you stretched your arms over your head. Once again, you found yourself standing between his spread thighs while his gaze wandered openly over your nearly naked body.
Jack let out a low whistle of appreciation that made you roll your eyes instantly.
"Shut up," you muttered, fighting back a smile as you turned toward your bedroom. "I'll be right back."
When you returned a minute later, your heart skipped unexpectedly at the sight waiting for you.
He was still exactly where you'd left him, relaxed against the couch cushions with his legs spread comfortably. Like he belonged there, the thought crossed your mind again.
And he didn't seem remotely uncomfortable about his prosthetic being visible now that his pants were gone. The human body really was incredible in the way it adapted.
As you approached, Jack said nothing at first. He simply patted his thigh again in invitation.
Smiling softly, you settled back into his lap without hesitation this time, all your earlier self-consciousness gone. Once comfortably seated, you held up what you'd brought back with you.
A condom.
His smile widened immediately, surprise and clear approval flashing across his face.
"You're not tired?" he asked quietly.
You doubted he even noticed how instinctively his hands had already settled back onto your hips the second you sat down. It seemed neither of you could stop touching the other for very long.
"I have trouble sleeping," you teased lightly, tilting your head. "What about you, old man? Getting tired already?"
Clicking his tongue, Jack tried and failed to hide his grin. Accepting the challenge, he took the condom from your hand before pulling you firmly back against the hard length between his thighs.
"You'll get tired before I do," he warned, voice low against your lips.
And the way he kissed you afterwards made it sound dangerously close to a promise.
It was a rushed kiss, overflowing with longing and want. His tongue slipped immediately into your mouth, tangling with yours while your teeth brushed together clumsily in your desperation. His hands kept pulling you closer and closer until there was no space left between you at all.
Chest to chest, you could feel everything—his heartbeat hammering beneath your palms, the rise and fall of his breathing, the twitch of dick between your thighs whenever you rolled your hips.
It only took seconds before the grinding started again, though "dry" hardly fit anymore. Not when both of you were already flushed and overheated from everything that had happened. Anf from how soaked you felt between your legs.
One of Jack's hands tapped lightly against your ass before slipping lower, tugging your panties down as far as he could manage.
"Okay, okay," you mumbled between kisses, with a breathless laugh as you lifted yourself enough to help.
You hurriedly kicked the fabric off while Jack tugged his own underwear down as well. The second you noticed how neatly trimmed he was, self-consciousness crept back in unexpectedly.
"You don't… uh…" Your eyes dropped nervously between your legs. "You don't mind, right?"
Jack looked almost offended by the question.
"What do you take me for?" he asked seriously, immediately shutting the doubt down before it could grow. "Come here, sweetheart. Stop being silly."
The warmth in his voice made you smile despite yourself.
Settling back over him, you hovered there for a moment with your hands braced against his shoulders while he rolled the condom on carefully. You couldn't stop staring at his hands, at the way his fingers moved along himself with practiced ease. Anticipation curled low in your stomach instantly.
He wasn't the biggest man you'd ever been with, but somehow you already knew he'd fit you perfectly. No painful stretching. No discomfort. Just right.
"Ready?" he teased, stroking himself once more while his eyes gleamed mischievously up at you.
Nodding quickly, you shifted closer with a shaky breath. Your heart was pounding so hard it almost felt ridiculous. You couldn't remember the last time sleeping with someone had made you nervous like this.
Then again, you'd also never spent months hopelessly crushing on someone before finally ending up in their lap.
Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him.
The first stretch pulled a soft gasp from both of you. Just like you'd expected, he fit perfectly, full enough to make you shiver, but immediately comfortable—warm and right. Jack's fingers tightened instinctively against your hips, hard enough to make a small sound of pain slip from your mouth before he immediately let go.
"Fuck, sorry, sweetheart," he breathed, his hands dropping quickly to his own thighs.
"It's okay," you reassured him softly.
Missing his touch almost instantly, you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands upward onto your chest instead. Somewhere safer. Somewhere he wouldn't be afraid to hold you tightly.
On instinct, his palms squeezed gently while his thumbs brushed over your nipples, drawing another shaky breath from you.
Once fully seated in his lap, neither of you moved right away. You simply sat there breathing together, staring at each other as the reality of the moment settled over both of you.
Then, almost at the same time, you both laughed quietly. The nervous tension melted immediately after that, and something about knowing he was just as affected as you were made your chest ache warmly.
Unable to resist, you leaned down to kiss him again.
The kiss deepened quickly, soft turning hungry within seconds, and your hips began moving instinctively against his. At first you only rocked slowly, getting used to the feeling of him inside you.
But soon you pushed yourself up carefully on your knees, lowering yourself back down in a slow rhythm. Every movement dragged him along your walls in a way that made little moans spill helplessly from your mouth into his.
Jack wasn't much quieter.
Soft groans vibrated against your lips while his grip flexed against your body, and every now and then he hit a spot inside you that made your thighs tighten around him uncontrollably.
Still, after a few minutes, exhaustion was already catching up to you. Between your long shift, your bruised hip, and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, your body was starting to give out.
You tried to hide it by kissing him deeper, slowing your movements into lazy rolls of your hips instead of proper thrusts. But of course Jack noticed immediately.
"I told you you'd get tired first," he teased softly against your mouth.
Before you could protest, his hands slowed your hips until you were sitting still against him again. When you tried moving once more, his grip tightened gently around your waist, holding you in place.
"Jack," you whined quietly, attempting to squirm free.
"Tsk." He clicked his tongue before deliberately shifting his hips upward just enough to make you gasp. "You're exhausted and your hip hurts," he scolded calmly. "We're not pushing it."
With a defeated sigh, you finally stopped fighting him.
Searching his expression nervously, you expected to find disappointment somewhere in his face. Frustration maybe. Annoyance. Instead, all you found was softness, warmth and concern. Desire still lingering there too, but patient now instead of consuming.
The sudden tenderness made your eyes sting unexpectedly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, looking away before he could see you tearing up.
"You don't have to be." Immediately, he pulled you gently against his chest again. "You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart."
The second he wrapped his arms around you, your body seemed to finally give up entirely. Tension melted straight out of your muscles as though all you'd needed was his warmth to feel safe enough to let go.
One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other reached for the blanket tossed over the couch earlier, draping it carefully around your shoulders.
Only then did you realise you'd been trembling for the past minute.
Shock, stress, adrenaline—your body had probably been running on fumes since the accident earlier that night. Then there'd been Jack coming to your apartment, all the emotional chaos of finally crossing this line with him… It had been a lot.
"We can keep going," you whispered weakly against his skin anyway.
You felt him shake his head against your hair. "Nope."
The simple firmness in his voice somehow made you relax even more. Your eyes still sting with unshed tears, but you were finally getting your breathing back to normal. A minute later, your stomach growled loudly enough to break the silence entirely, both of you burst into laughter instantly.
"I feel sore everywhere," you complained dramatically as you finally pushed yourself upright a little.
The mood had shifted already, softer now, calmer—but you still didn't want him to leave. Some irrational part of you worried that if he walked out this morning, this whole thing would disappear with him.
"Go take a shower," Jack said gently, kissing the top of your head. "I'll make us something to eat."
"You're staying?" The question came out far more vulnerable than you intended.
Jack scoffed softly, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. His hands settled back onto your ass automatically.
"You think that little of me?" he asked quietly. There was a smile on his lips, but this time it looked faintly hurt around the edges. "I care about you for a hell of a lot more than sex, okay?"
His thumbs stroked lightly against your skin.
"If you want me gone, I'll get dressed right now," he continued gently. "But I don't think that's what you want."
It took your brain a few seconds to fully process the sincerity in his voice.
"I want you to stay," you admitted softly, suddenly embarrassed you'd doubted him at all.
Jack answered by kissing you again. Not hungry this time. Not desperate. Just soft and reassuring enough to quiet every lingering fear in your chest.
"Go take your shower then," he murmured against your lips.
Once you were finally standing again, wrapped in the blanket and still trembling slightly, you watched Jack sit forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"Do you need help?" you asked meekly, nodding subtly toward the space between his legs.
Laughing softly, he leaned closer until his forehead rested against your stomach. The edge of the blanket brushed against his skin while your fingers slipped gently into his hair. The gesture soothed both of you instantly. Soft. Familiar already.
"No, I'm fine," he replied before pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and nudging you toward the bathroom.
You disappeared down the hallway with one last glance back at him.
Once alone in the bathroom, waiting for the water to warm, you finally looked properly at the bruise blooming across your hip. It looked awful—dark spreading across your skin in uneven patches. Even brushing against it hurt. Walking had become nearly impossible without limping, and you already knew the next few days were going to suck.
After a quick shower, you returned to the living room wearing soft pyjama shorts and an oversized shirt. Your body felt heavy and relaxed now, though your hip still throbbed painfully.
The second you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped.
Jack stood by the stove, shirtless, cooking scrambled eggs like he belonged there.
You hadn't been prepared for the sheer domesticity of it. Somehow, seeing him casually cooking in your kitchen felt more intimate than everything that had happened on the couch. The fact that he was doing it shirtless only made it worse.
Now that you were dressed again and no longer overwhelmed by desire, it felt easier to slip back into yourself. Easier to joke. To breathe.
"I'm pretty sure cooking without a shirt isn't medically recommended, Doctor," you teased, leaning against the doorway.
"Don't worry," he replied without missing a beat, glancing back at you briefly before returning to the pan. "I've got the best nurse around to take care of me."
Then he winked.
You rolled your eyes instantly, fighting a smile while he turned the stove off. Dinner—breakfast or whatever this meal counted as, was ready.
As you reached into the cabinet for plates, a huge yawn escaped you. It was ridiculous how completely your body had relaxed after an orgasm, a hot shower and finally letting yourself feel safe. Earlier, you hadn't lied when you said you had a hard time falling asleep, but now it felt like you might pass out standing up.
The meal itself passed in easy conversation.
You talked about work, books stacked around your flat, music from your vinyl collection. Jack teased your taste in indie pop while pretending not to know half the artists already. The eggs were ridiculously good too, which annoyed you a little.
Once you'd finished eating, he immediately forced you back onto your seat while he cleaned up. You'd protested, arguing that if he cooked then you should do the dishes, but he'd refused the second he noticed your limp worsening.
So instead you sat there with your cheek resting against your hand, watching his broad back move beneath the warm sunlight while he washed dishes at your sink.
It was such an ordinary sight. And somehow that made it unforgettable.
"You know," you started quietly, eyes still fixed on him, "I have one of those plastic stools if you want to shower."
"Yeah?" You could hear the smile in his voice immediately.
Relieved he hadn't taken offence, you nodded awkwardly. You knew he wasn't secretive about his disability, but you still didn't want to accidentally say the wrong thing.
"It's not exactly a disability shower thing, but…" you trailed off carefully.
"I'd like that," he replied easily, turning toward you. "A stool's fine. Don't worry."
Once he reached you, he leaned down and tilted your chin upward gently. A small kiss brushed your lips. Then another. Finally, one soft kiss landed on the tip of your nose.
"You're waiting in bed, though," he murmured with a wink. "Doctor's orders."
After showing him where the stool was, locking the front door, and turning off the apartment lights, you finally made your way toward your bedroom.
The room glowed softly from the bedside lamp while the sound of running water drifted from the en-suite bathroom. You'd left him a towel and a spare toothbrush without even thinking about it. Neither of you had outright said he'd stay the night, it had simply happened naturally, like an unspoken agreement.
At some point, exhaustion dragged you under.
The sound of the bathroom door opening startled you awake. Disoriented, you blinked sleepily toward the doorway where Jack stood, shirtless and damp-haired beneath the soft light.
"Sorry," he whispered immediately.
"It's okay," you mumbled, pushing yourself up slightly. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."
Jack smiled softly before walking toward the bed. The limp in his step was more noticeable now, and guilt twisted in your chest immediately. You suddenly hated how little your apartment offered to make things easier for him.
"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, glancing toward the prosthetic.
"Been worse," he replied with a faint smirk before his expression softened. "It won't make you uncomfortable if I take it off?"
The vulnerability in his eyes startled you more than the question itself. You'd never seen Jack uncertain before. At work he was always composed, teasing, confident.
"Of course not," you answered immediately, giving him the gentlest smile you could manage.
Nodding once, he carefully removed the prosthetic and placed it beside the bed. You watched him massage along the scar absentmindedly for a moment before he finally slid beneath the blankets and leaned back against the headboard.
"I left the stool in the shower," he said after a beat, voice quieter than usual. "Hope that's okay."
"It's fine," you replied softly, reaching over to take his hand. "You can actually lie down, you know."
Laughing under his breath, he finally stretched out beside you. Slowly but visibly, his entire body relaxed more and more the longer he settled into the mattress.
"This bed is terrible," he announced after a few moments of silence.
Scoffing dramatically, you smacked his chest lightly. "Do you know how expensive mattresses are?"
Pulling his hand from yours, he wrapped his arm around your back and tugged you closer until your head rested against his chest.
"You'll come to mine next time," he murmured sleepily, eyes already half-closed.
"Next time?" you teased, tilting your head to look up at him.
Like this, relaxed and exhausted, he somehow looked younger. Softer. His freckles stood out beautifully across his face in the low light.
"Oh, definitely," Jack replied, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. "A bruise like that takes weeks to heal. Lots of relaxation."
"Oh, sure," you laughed, shaking your head. "The bruise. Right."
Still smiling, you leaned over to switch off the lamp before settling back against his chest. His breathing rocked you gently while your fingers traced lazy patterns up and down his stomach. Trying to comfort him the same way he'd comforted you all evening. And somehow, wrapped up in the warmth of the biggest crush you'd ever had, you fell asleep faster than you had in years.
All because of one stupid, unexpected accident. Honestly, you couldn't bring yourself to complain about it.
i know this one came up terribly late, but im still dealing with some depressive aftermath. hope you enjoy it though, cause i kinda rewarded your waiting with a 13k second part hihi (yes it's a pattern that they never get to cum... if you noticed, no you haven't.)
18+ mdni thinking abt robby in his garage w duke fixing up a vintage bike… you walk in in your pretty little dress and sit on the work table. you watch them where they’re crouched down, tinkering away, and ask about the bike… duke ends up saying “It’s an old Harley VRod from 2000– great year. Not just for bikes.”
And you hum and respond, casual as ever, “Hm. I wouldn’t know.”
robby mutters “jesus christ” under his breath and has to drop to a knee so he doesn’t topple over.
duke lets out a surprised chuckle and shakes his head, looks you up and down and says. “Shame you missed it, sweetheart.” And flashes robby a look
once you leave Duke looks at robby with such a goading grin. “And you act like I’m a sleazebag.”
“Oh, you are.” Robby mutters. “Why do you think we get along so well?”
♡ synopsis: when a med student accidentally sticks you with an anesthetic intended for a patient, jack sits with you until its effects wear off to ensure you don't have an allergic reaction. while under the effects of the drug, you make many confessions which he finds to be both entertaining and endearing.
♡ content: pining!robby, medical inaccuracies, reader being under the influence of anesthetics, jack gets handsy on the roof, ogilvie is on night shift for this one bc i say so
♡ a/n: based on this request by @styx03, ty!
Allowing a med student to sedate a patient was clearly not the right course of action. You're not even sure who gave them the order to, or if they just heard a command for an anesthetic to be administered and chose to take it upon theirself to be the one for the job, but either way... You've now become the patient because of their eagerness to impress.
Stumbling back on your feet, your vision swims and the room tilts while raised voices yell. You think one is Jack's. You want to tell Ogilvie that it's okay, because accidents happen and you're sure you'll be fine. Hopefully. Instead, however, your attempted words slur into something incomprehensible while your eyes cross. Just as you descend toward the floor, a strong pair of arms catch you.
Jack most assuredly ripped Ogilvie a new one. He's never been so enraged here at work, since he's a man who prides himself on the trained ability to keep his cool under duress. After all, if he could bark orders while bullets rained down on his unit overseas, then an ED would and has been a cakewalk in comparison.
Until you came along, apple of his eye.
You'd been so shy initially—presumedly because you felt intimidated—but intent on seeking you out, Jack refused to let you slip from his grasp. So he tutored you in field medicine (maybe to show his skills off, even a little), gifted you a beautiful hardback copy of Gray's Anatomy, a fancy carrying case for your stethoscope, and this year for your birthday, a $200 prepaid Visa gift card to spend as you pleased. A present you'd been insistent on giving back, until he threatened to up the amount to $300 if you didn't accept it.
The more you bonded, the more the scales tipped from teacher and student to something else that he didn't really have the words for. What is it the kids call it nowadays? He heard it from one of the residents before... Situationship. Obnoxious, but he supposes appropriate.
What else is he meant to call it when he barely even calls you by your name anymore—instead opting for sweetheart, darlin', honey, baby doll, pumpkin; any and all pet names that he can come up with which earn him a sweet, bashful smile in return?
When the two of you are on a case together, he's always at your back or side to supervise your actions and decision making while showering you in quiet praise all the while. And anytime you have a particularly hard day? Jack gathers you in his arms and holds you suffocatingly close while insisting on taking you to a quiet dinner after... Or breakfast. Whatever you wish is his command.
But it's not all heaviness and burnout. It's also joking around by snapping rubber bands at your ass and tickling you until you're begging for a reprieve—lest you wet yourself—because your smile is his favorite sight, and your musical laugh or joyous cackle his favorite sounds.
He's waiting for the day HR comes down on his head like a hammer, but he's also aware that PTMC can't exactly afford to lose his expertise, so he feels pretty comfortable in toeing the line here and there.
So when your body went stumbling back because of Ogilvie acting first and hardly thinking at all, he hit the roof.
A gurney was unnecessary when he cradled you against his chest and carried you into a private room before lying you back on a hospital bed so he could wait at your side for the medication to wear off.
He continually took your vitals every handful of minutes, afraid the substance would wreak havoc on your system. With him being unaware of any possible allergies you may or may not have, sitting idly by while watching the clock simply wasn't an option. He needed to make himself of use somehow.
While running a soothing hand over your forehead is when you finally stir and blink up at Jack from beneath drooping lids.
Loosing a long, ragged breath of relief, the tightness in Jack's chest dissipates. "Hey, sweetheart," he coos quietly. "How you feelin'?"
Your tautly drawn features quickly morph into that of a scrunched nose and a toothy grin. "You're s'handsome," you slur while lifting a wobbly hand toward his cheek.
Practically slapping it against the stubbled skin, you giggle, which is then followed by your eyes suddenly widening to the size of saucers while your lips form a perfect O. "Are you my husband?" you inquire breathlessly.
Are you taking the piss or is the injection still wearing off?
"Honey—"
You toss your head back. "Jus' kidding," you drawl. "Never be that lucky," you mumble with a pout.
Waving your hand floppily that he should lean in closer, he does so with an amused smirk.
"I think 'm in love with you," you murmur while fisting the neck of his shirt and tugging him toward you.
Suddenly pulled out of his seat, Jack stumbles forward and barely manages to catch himself by planting a hand on your hip before you guide his lips down to your own.
Thank God he pulled the curtain around to give you a bit of privacy, because if anybody caught him in such a compromising position?
He jolts when you slip your tongue in his mouth and moan lustfully while exploring the warm, wet lay of it. Not a man to take advantage, though, especially of you, Jack breaks away reluctantly. A gesture which is met with a long, drawn out No from you.
Seating himself again, he tries literally to wipe the smirk from his face by scrubbing a hand from his cheekbones to jawline, but it does him little good.
"You're s'posed to say it baaack," you whine between chattering teeth.
With a sigh, Abbot shakes his head, then reaches over you to grab the remote for the electric blanket he draped over you just incase, until you lift your head and chomp down on his forearm.
Your lips recede into a smile while you nibble on the skin between your teeth.
He barks a laugh, then slips the limb from your mouth while turning the blanket to high heat. "You're somethin' else," he commentates while tucking the edges securely around your shivering form.
"But you love me," you whisper before your eyes flutter closed.
Cupping your cheek in his hand, he smiles softly. "If only you knew how much."
When you come-to, you feel groggy and ran through. Your memory pretty well begins and ends with you passing out just after being injected with something you shouldn't have been.
You've seen the videos—funny little snippets where people divulge hilarious admittances and embarrassing secrets while under the influence—so you of course begin to panic a little when your eyes slowly draw open. What if you said or did something? Maybe you were left alone to recuperate on your own?
When your head lulls to the side, that hope is quickly shot dead at the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with an iPad held at a bit of a distance.
"Got my test results on there?" you ask quietly.
Lowering the device, the daytime attending studies you from over the rim of his glasses. Robby sets the tablet aside, then leans forward and caresses your cheek with a smile. "How you feeling?"
You blink sleepy eyes. "Tired. Which I shouldn't be if I slept long enough for you to get here."
He snorts quietly. "Being under anesthesia is hardly the same as sleeping. You know that."
You roll your eyes. "It's called sarcasm," you groan while sitting up.
"Easy," Robby mutters while settlings his hands over the crowns of your shoulders to keep you steady.
Hanging your head in exhaustion, you sigh. "Was anybody in here when you clocked in?"
"Abbot."
You wince. "Did I...do or say anything?"
His lips twitch into a smile. "If you did, he didn't tell me as much. Just asked me to sit with you so he could get back to it before his shift ended."
You lift your head. "You don't have to waste your time in here—"
He clicks his tongue while giving your chin a gentle, affectionate tap. "I'd never call it that." Robby slides a hand down the back of your head after standing. "Watching you sleep was the most peace I've gotten in..." he shakes his head while turning and pulling the curtain aside. "Too long," he mutters.
"Could have that all the time if I could only get you to come onto the dayshift with me," Robby states while turning around with hands on his hips. "Might do you some good to see a bit of daylight every once in awhile."
You grin while swinging your feet. "Are you trying to poach me from Abbot's team?"
He meets your smile. "Always." Robby walks over and grabs the iPad again. "It'd give me a reason to look forward to coming in here again every day at least."
Robby offers you a hand, which you take. Once you're standing on two feet again, you take a moment to catch your bearings.
Sliding an arm around your shoulders, Robby slowly leads you toward the door. "You're not just Abbot's favorite, you know?"
You glance up to him. "Oh?"
He presses a kiss to your brow before swinging open the door and holding it for you. "Just something for you to consider. Incase the nights ever get too long."
With your shift at an end, you decide to head in the direction of your locker to gather your things before heading home. A long soak in the tub, followed by plenty of rest sounds pretty nice. Maybe some Chinese takeout while you're at it. Or Thai.
"Robby tells me that you seem to be feeling better."
Clicking your locker shut, you turn and smile at the sight of Jack standing just a few feet away with an easy grin playing on his lips, matched by hands stuck in his pockets.
"Think so," you reply with a quiet, casual shrug.
"You heading home?" he asks while ambling closer.
"Planning on it."
Slipping your bag from your shoulder, he hefts it onto his instead. "How about," Jack begins while leading you in the direction of the elevators with your hand held in his, "You come up on the roof with me now that you're awake and let me watch you for a bit to make sure there's no residual effects."
You huff dramatically. "Jack, I really do feel fine."
Pressing the button that'll lead the two of you up, he cups the crown of your shoulder in his hand and brings you in close. "That is to still be determined."
The elevator dings and steel doors slide apart, inviting the two of you into an empty chamber.
"By me," he concludes while ushering you inside with an encouraging push.
With one arm wrapped around yourself, you settle the other over your mouth to suppress a laugh of disbelief. "Of course you and Robby have folding chairs up here," you remark with a giggle.
Popping one open, Jack nods to it, indicating it as your designated seat. "Could always look into a tent," he states while settling the other beside it. "If it meant getting you snuggled up next to me in a sleeping bag."
Plopping down in the offered chair, you rest an elbow on the fabric arm and your chin in your palm.
Jack tugs off his prosthetic, then leans back with a sigh. "That feels better."
"Maybe we get an extra big one. Or a blow-up mattress," you quip happily.
Jack clasps his hands over his belly. "Why's that, pumpkin?"
You flash a grin. "Maybe Robby can join us."
Hanging his head back, he shakes it from side to side. "Don't tell me he was making moves on my girl while I was busy saving lives this morning."
You shrug while wiggling your brows playfully.
"So..." You begin while picking nervously at your nails. "Did I say anything?"
"To me or Robby?" Jack asks while massaging his leg.
You roll your eyes. "Apart from me asking Robby to take his shirt off," you remark sarcastically.
Jack snickers and his mouth curves into a lopsided grin. "Without me there to see it?"
You remain silent as you wait for him to fess up.
"You, uh..." he trails off, then barks a laugh.
Oh no...
Jack glances at you. "You might've bit me," he says while cringing mischievously in an attempt to downplay things.
"I what?!" you cry while leaning toward him in shock.
Jack throws himself back against the chair and lies his arms palm face up. "Well, after you got done harping on my good looks, you got cold, so I went to switch on the heated blanket that I put you under and you just chomped down," he explains whole gesturing toward his right forearm with his hand drawn into the shape of a claw. "It was more like a nibble, though." He shrugs and bestows a reassuring smile. "You didn't break skin, so don't worry about it."
Burying your face in your hands, you shake your head. "Oh, this is mortifying." Dropping them into your lap, you stare at the skyline. "I'm so sorry."
Studying him from beneath your lashes, you nervously chew your lip. "Anything else?"
Please say no, please say no.
He smiles warmly—almost bashfully, in fact. "Asked if I was your husband. Then you broke character, and let me know you were just kidding."
It can't get any worse, surely.
Doubling over, you rest your elbows on your knees, then press your forehead against the heels of your palms. "Please tell me that's it."
He should let it go—leave things as they are. But Jack can't help it: wanting to hear that it wasn't just because you were high as a kite.
That feelings are mutual, and always have been.
When the sound of silence descends, you raise your head. "Jack?"
He sighs. "I just want you to know that I know it was strictly because you were out of it." Jack turns fully toward you. "That you didn't mean it."
"The more you talk, the more worried I'm getting," you reply with searching eyes.
Clasping his hands together, Jack leans forward slightly. "You..." he sighs. "You told me that you were in love with me."
His eyes flit to yours—attempting to gauge from expression alone whether it was a true utterance, or mere sarcasm. "And then you kissed me."
Your eyes pop wide open. "I—" You clam up.
Is this it? The defining moment that either makes or breaks your and Jack's...situation?
"You know how they say drunk words are sober thoughts?" you ask quietly and with a pattering heart that leaves you short of breath.
Jack's chin wobbles, but only slightly. "Yeah?"
You nod, and a sob breaks last your watery smile.
"C'mere, honey," he commands with a wave of his hand.
Rising from your seat, Jack guides your hips until you're seated on his generous lap. "Can you say it again?" he asks quietly while smoothing a hand across your brow.
You press your forehead to his and hum from the feeling of the rising sun warming your back. "I love you," you whisper while winding soft, gentle hands around his neck. "Jack."
Cupping his own around the curve of your neck, he guides your lips down to his this time. "'Bout damn time we got that outta the way," he murmurs before kissing you the way he's meant to so many times.
Jack teases your tongue with a wet, pointed tip which he slides along the underside of your own.
"How about," he pants. "I take you home just to be safe." A calloused palm scratches its way along the polyester that covers your inner thigh.
"Y-Yours or mine?" you whimper.
Squeezing your hip temptingly, he nips at your chin. "Better take you to mine to keep an eye on you. Help you in the shower," he drawls with a bored shrug. "I have a chair in there. It'll make things more comfortable when I help. Then I can fix you dinner before we go to bed. Together."
Carefully, he prods at the heat which radiates from between your thighs. "Would you like that, sweetpea?"
"Pretty dizzy all of a sudden," you sigh.
"Let me get my leg back on and I'll take you home, baby."
Rising from his lap, you stand to the side and wait for him to store he and Robby's chairs back away before following excitedly along so he can take you home for further eventful flirtations.
y’all only like night shift because their flaws have been exclusively implied in very missable throw away lines (and towards people y’all don’t sympathize with anyway).
ellis told trinity nobody gave a shit how tired, traumatized, or exhausted she was when trinity was on the fourteenth hour of her twelve hour shift. a season of that, to more universally sympathetic characters, will NOT be palatable to a lot of gen z. ellis doesn’t care if junior residents are overworked, she doesn’t coddle or encourage. she is a tough love, ‘put me in coach,’ rub some dirt on it kind of person, and the gen z viewership will become overly critical of her life philosophy that demands a lot of grit.
shen is insensitive and detached. robby was wondering where his step son was, there was a mass casualty rolling in, and shen was relaxed enough to sip on his dunkin. he was bothering robby about if he could get thanksgiving and christmas off that year. shen’s blasé attitude will start to grate on people as he extends that lack of fucks given to more patients and coworkers than just robby.
jack is not the woke guy everyone projects him to be. i believe they kept him far away from the ICE episode because the writers had no truly satisfying answer to how jack’s character would act in that situation. this man participated in imperialism for free college and healthcare (or for valor which is even worse). he continues to listen to police scanners and joins SWAT. he is on the side of the establishment as it relates to exerting force. he may have unpacked some conservative values, but there will be nuance there that will make black and white thinkers very uncomfortable.
the night shift doctors characterization is much less developed, but the seeds of complexity are there. ellis hates whining, shen is largely emotionally removed from any patient outcomes, jack is a mess of contradictions. people just can’t pick up on that because they watch the show while scrolling through their phone.
you. don’t. want. night. shift. you want to know less about the characters so you can continue to project your values onto them.
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