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oh to be laid on your back on jack’s bed, his big figure sprawled on top of you. his scruffy cheek rubbing against yours as he kisses at your neck and shoves his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. his hands frame your waist and squeeze. his neck and cheek are sooo red as he asks you, condescendingly, “you know how pretty you are, huh?” and when you giggle and the heat rushes to your face he pulls back and mirrors your smile. teasing “you know how pretty, baby? tell me. tell daddy”
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today i am plagued with thoughts of sitting outside by the grill on jack’s lap & grabbing him a beer & me a soda & he never ever lets me open my own can in fear of my nail breaking so he’s mid convo with robby, nodding along to whatever he’s saying and opening my can with a quick “here ya go, baby” before going back to the conversation </3
dr.jack abbot who is so charming with everyone else but absolutely cannot stand you. he makes it so obvious too - the constant snips, the arguments, the way he just stares at you when you’re in the room. everyone feels kind of bad for you because what in gods name could you have done to make jack of all people actively dislike you?
they don’t know how often you two end up hate fucking in almost every place. how he pushes you up against the wall and angrily pulls your clothes off just so he can get inside you as fast as possible. the way the only time he can stand to be near you is when you’re whimpering in his ear begging for more. all of this just to cast him aside the moment it’s done. he wants you, he hates that he wants you. he hates how little you seem to care about this. he doesn’t realise how you constantly keep walking away to not give away just how obsessed you are with him.
SUMMARY . . . you and jack were never going to last. well, at least not when his wife shows back up in town.
PAIRING . . . mr. jack abbot x resident!reader
WARNINGS . . . merder-esque relationship, age gap, angst, infidelity (on jack’s and part),
NOTES . . . ummmm i couldn’t help myself. i saw a merder edit to my moon my man and wanted to indulge myself with this series LOL so this is the first little bit
“A wife?” Trinity gasps, taking another hefty sip from her wine glass as you drown your sorrows in cheap moscato. Her knees are pulled to her chest, jaw dropped while she listens to you recount how the end of your shift went tonight.
All you can do is nod pathetically with a frown on your lips before taking another swig from your own glass. “Yeah,” you confirm lowly, eyes focused out the window of your apartment, “a wife.” Truthfully, you’re still reeling yourself despite telling your co-worker new friend about the situation.
You met Jack at a shitty bar not too far from your house that you’re wallowing in right now. It was the evening before you started working at PTMC as a resident, and you deserved a drink.
It was a long day of moving back into your childhood home— thank you, Mom, for leaving that mess to deal with.
And after a exhausting day, Jack was someone to talk to. He offered conversation and to buy your drinks. It didn’t hurt he was so handsome. His salt and pepper curls didn’t deter you; if anything, it was incentive. So yes, you took him home after hours together in a dim booth at the shitty bar.
It’s not like you were going to see him again.
Until you did the next day, when you were about to clock out from your first shift. He was strutting into the emergency department like he ran it, and his stride stuttered for a second when he saw you.
That was a long three months ago.
Three months of avoiding Jack, fighting with him in hallways, making out with him in elevators, rejecting his offers to take you on dates before finally saying, “fine, Jack. I’ll go out with you.”
It was tonight that you were letting yourself go to dinner with him. A date.
“And she just came out of nowhere,” you go on, shaking your head while refilling your glass, “like he was waiting for me by the ambulance bay! And this gorgeous fucking model walks in and she’s all like, ‘I heard my husband was screwing around. Didn’t realize it was with a child.’ Like what?” you reenact, flipping your hair over your shoulder dramatically.
“A child?” Trinity echoes.
“A fucking child!” you cry, “and Jack just stood there. For, like, a full minute,” you go on, “and she introduced herself. She shook my fucking hand, Santos!”
Seeing you throw your face into your hands with a sob makes Trinity cringe internally, but trying her best, she pats your back. It’s stiff and awkward, but comforting nonetheless. “It’s okay…” she says slowly, “it’s not like you’re a mistress or anything.”
You sit up.
“Am I a mistress?” you cry, “do people think I’m a mistress? I know Princess walked by with Perlah when it all went down. I’m sure they heard. Now everyone knows,” you spiral, hands haphazardly brushing your hair from your face.
“No!” Trinity huffs, “I said you’re not a mistress.”
You lift your head to fully look at her, unimpressed frown on your lips before sighing and drinking the rest of your wine to drown your sorrows. “I was really starting to like him,” you whisper against the rim of your glass. You can’t help but replay your evening, tuning out whatever unsure, half-hearted sympathies Trinity spews.
3 hours ago
Everybody knows that the best way to become the best is experience. More hours, more procedures, more education. But tonight, as soon as 7:00 rolls around, you’re quick to clock out and change into your street clothes. And because you were nice to yourself this morning, you have a nice top and skirt to dress up in.
Despite not wanting the entire staff to see you in outside clothes, you persevere and walk through the emergency department with a smile on your face because you know Jack is waiting for you in the ambulance bay. And god, he looks criminally good when the automatic doors slide open.
“You dressed up,” he smiles, adjusting his posture when you come into view as his hand happily slips into yours.
You hum a soft ‘mhm’, pecking his lips shortly. “It’s our first date— wasn’t gonna wear my scrubs,” you tell him obviously, “you dressed up too,” you comment, your free hand smoothing over his chest.
Jack’s just wearing a crisp, dress shirt that stretches across the broad expanse of his torso, but it’s nicer than the usual black t-shirt he wears or his own scrubs. “It’s our first date,” he echoes lowly, nudging your forehead with his.
“Date?”
You peel away from Jack instinctively when you hear a woman’s voice, still jumpy from months of sneaking around the hospital. Your eyes land on a woman you’ve never seen before.
She’s a beautiful stranger with pearly whites shining as she smiles her red glossed lips. Her head cocks to the side, dark hair swaying with the movement while her matching chocolate eyes trail over you.
You’re not blind. It’s an obviously judgmental look, and that’s being kind, but you push a polite albeit awkward smile onto your face. “Can I help you?” you ask her, voice a little higher than usual as you shake her outstretched hand.
“Gosh— I heard my husband was screwing around. Didn’t realize it was with a child,” she chuckles wryly as her eyes flicker behind you for a nanosecond to see Jack’s frozen form.
You can feel your heart beating harder in your chest, hear it in your head strong and weak all at once. You think maybe you’ve died; at least you’re still at PTMC. They can send you straight downstairs to the morgue.
“I’m sorry,” you manage to huff out a breath that could be perceived as a laugh if you weren’t so confused and borderline petrified, “who did you say you are exactly?”
“I didn’t,” she smiles back in response, dusting her hands off on her trench coat, “I’m Abby. Jack’s wife?”
You can no longer feel your heart beating. Only the burn in your gut as your stomach lining destroys itself. You turn over your shoulder, glassy eyes trying to find Jack’s, but he’s locked in on her. On Abby.
“Jack?” you whisper weakly, searching for any sign of explanation while simultaneously hoping that he’ll simply say this is all a mistake— a prank even.
It’s like you don’t exist. How could you when Jack’s eyes are so harshly focused on her instead of you. His brows are taught, crow’s feet more prominent with his scowl. “What are you doing here?” he asks lowly.
Usually, the baritone rasp would turn you on, but you can only step back. The movement is minute, and you pray neither of them notice while your eyes bounce back and forth between the two. You know you’ve definitely died when Abby laughs, stepping where you had just been as her hands find Jack’s strong shoulders and she kisses his cheek.
“I’m home, silly,” she answers.
Present time
You’re brought back to the moment when Trinity’s hand guides your arm down. “Okay, I’m totally aware that you’re going through it,” she begins, maneuvering the wine glass from your hand, “but you can’t chug that very full glass. We have work in the morning.”
“I quit,” you whisper, reaching for the half empty glass again.
“Shut up,” Trinity rolls her eyes, sliding it further away on the coffee table, “let’s just stalk her and make fun of her to make you feel better,” she offers instead as she unlocks her phone.
You sink into the couch, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna—“
“Abby Abbot?” she clarifies with a snort.
“Yes,” you huff. It’s your turn to roll your eyes.
“What a fucked name,” Trinity murmurs to herself with a quiet chuckle, thumbs firing away as she looks up your competitor— if there’s even really a competition when there’s already been a wedding.
She clicks and scrolls and zooms and swipes all while you manage to down the last of your wine. You listen to her quips, her digs and remarks, but even you can admit that Abby Abbot is an amazing woman. She’s educated to some of the most prestigious degrees. She’s won awards and grants.
If she wasn’t Jack’s wife, you’d seriously consider looking up to the woman professionally. So would Trinity.
“I mean— who still actively uses a red lip as their signature look?” Trinity goes on, “Taylor Swift? Abby Fake Name Abbot isn’t Taylor Swift.”
“I’m going to bed,” you grumble, pushing up weakly from the couch.
Trinity jumps when you move, tossing her phone aside. “What? No— why’s that your choice?” she complains, standing up with you, “why are you not reacting more?”
“Because he’s married, Trin!” you huff angrily, “he’s fucking married! And he’s a liar, and he sucks! So what the hell else am I supposed to do?” you snap, arms dropping at your sides in exhaustion.
“What am I supposed to do?” you repeat, softer this time.
Within the hour, Trinity managed to get Dennis, Victoria, and Mel to come over to your apartment. Within another hour, you were all more drunk than you should be considering the lot of you work at seven in the morning. Trinity’s phone is expelling music from the speakers that can only be appropriately labeled as angry-girl music.
“Honestly, I get it, girl,” Victoria sighs, leaning into you with a supportive hand on your thigh, “Dr. Abbot is really, really charming. It’s a shame,” she whispers.
“I know,” you whisper back with a whine, face scrunched up in a fond irritation.
Jack is charming. Annoyingly so. Charming enough for you to not remember he has a wife for just a second as you reimagine his lips on yours, his hands slipping beneath your scrub top.
“Okay!” you breathe out, jolting up from the couch and brushing your hair out of your face, “um— wow. Okay, um— I need a refill,” you stammer for a moment.
“Yay refill! Boo Abbot!” Trinity cheers from the living room floor.
“Boo Abbot!” The other three join in, raising their glasses.
You smile weakly down at your friends before grabbing your empty glass and heading into the kitchen. Your apartment blurs as you move through it, hand stabilizing yourself on the fridge.
It’s stupid, especially when you have early onset spins, but you let your eyes close for a moment as your fingers curl around the handle.
He’s back.
It’s less raunchy this time. His lips aren’t on yours, but they’re smiling in that easy way that melts you even when you don’t want it to. This time, his hands are far more gentle— less hurried as he traces the curve of your cheek in the morning glow of his bedroom.
“Hey!”
You gasp softly, looking towards the living room when Dennis shouts. He’s pointing at you with an accusing finger, and honestly, he might as well toss a tomato your way. “Stop thinking about him,” he calls out in reminder, “refill and come back. Mel brought cards.”
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give me reader who’s marrying robby but has been sleeping with jack for the better part of a year because robby has been so neglectful on his sabbatical.
give me 15 minutes before the ceremony begins, in your bridal suite, white gown rested on your hips as jack drives into you.
give me jack in his “best man” suit, gel melting out of his hair as he pants and paws at you.
give me your cheek pressed against the table, where your marriage certificate waits, tearing up because nothing, no-one could ever feel as good as jack.
give me jack who knows this fact, and grits his teeth to push back his own tears as he settles into a part of you so deep, that he’s never touched it before.
give me jack abbot groaning out “prettiest little bride, had to be your first wedding day fuck. so fucking beautiful, i love you so much. always will. everyday.” as you desperately try to hold his hand 💔
summary : you and jack get caught steaming up some car windows
word count : 4.6 k
warnings : workplace romance, secret relationship, SMUT, MDNI, p in v, semi-public sex, hung!jack abbot, dirty talk, praise
a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq !!
The automatic doors of the Pitt slide open and closed as shift change tears through the emergency department.
You are exhausted. Twelve hours on your feet. More charting than should be legally allowed. Three trauma activations. A headache brewing behind your eyes. And somehow, despite all of that, your attention keeps drifting toward the ambulance bay entrance.
Toward Jack Abbott.
Night shift is arriving in waves. Nurses exchange reports. Residents rush between stations. Monitors beep endlessly in the background. Then Jack walks through the doors. The second you spot him, your stomach flips.
Six months.
Six months of secret dates, late-night phone calls, and carefully planned schedules. Six months of pretending there is absolutely nothing going on whenever anyone from work is around.
Usually you're good at it. Usually.
Jack makes his way toward the nurses' station, coffee in one hand. His eyes find yours immediately. Of course they do.
"Long day?" he asks. You let out a tired laugh.
"Catastrophic." His mouth twitches.
"Sounds about right." Nobody notices the way his gaze lingers. Nobody notices the tiny smile you fight to suppress. At least, you hope they don't.
Jack reaches for a chart you're holding. Your fingers brush. The contact lasts less than a second. It shouldn't mean anything. Instead, it feels like striking a match.
You glance up.
Jack is already looking at you. His jaw tightens. A dangerous look.
One you know very, very well. You should let go. Instead, your thumb drags lightly across his knuckles. A terrible decision. His eyes narrow immediately.
"Really?" he mutters. You blink innocently.
"What?"
"You know exactly what." You grin. Unfortunately, a nurse appears beside him before he can say anything else. The moment breaks. The tension doesn't. For the next twenty minutes, every glance feels loaded. Every accidental brush of shoulders feels deliberate. Every second spent near him becomes its own form of torture. By the time you finish charting, your shift is officially over. You are gathering your things when a familiar voice speaks beside you.
"Come with me." You look up. Jack is standing there. His expression is calm. Too calm. Which is exactly how you know you're in trouble.
"Jack—"
"Now." Your heart skips. You follow him through the employee exit and into the cool evening air. The hospital noise fades behind you. The parking lot is mostly empty. Jack keeps walking. You keep following. Only when he reaches his truck does he stop and turn toward you.
"I've wanted to see you all day." He hums, his eyes softening. Your chest clenches and you look around fearfully.
"Jack.." You mutter, smiling softly. His hand reaches out and he drags you towards him, your bodies pressed tight against each other as he leans on his truck. His expression shifts immediately. That look. The one reserved only for you. Not the one he gives patients. Not the one he gives coworkers. Not even the one he gives friends. This one is different. Warmer. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way. A laugh escapes you as you plant your hands on his chest to try to push him away.
"You know we're standing in the hospital parking lot, right?"
Jack glances around.
"Pretty sure."
"Anyone could walk out here." He shrugs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips trail down your cheek, to your jaw. His hands slide down to softly grasp at your ass through your scrubs, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as his hand cups up to cup the side of your face.
"I missed you today.." He hums against your skin. "Bed was too empty. Couldn't sleep." He says, his voice rough. You hum, nodding softly. Your whole body is on high alert.
Your boss could walk out. Your boss, aka Jack's best-friend.
Your friends could walk out. God, Trinity would never let you live this down. Dana would probab;y burn you at the stake.
But the feeling of Jack's lips on your skin sends you reeling.
He spins you around pressing you against his truck, groaning against your skin. His body cages you against the cool metal of his truck. The hard surface at your back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his chest. Jack's hands move with purpose, one sliding up your side while the other remains firmly on your hip, holding you in place. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as his lips find that sensitive spot below your ear.
"We have to stop." You rasp. "You have to work. I have to- I have to go home." Jack chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. Jack's mouth crashes against yours then—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss tastes of coffee and exhaustion and something that is uniquely Jack. One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Jack rests his forehead against yours.
"Get in the truck."
"Jack—"
"Just for a little while," he interrupts softly. "I need to hold you properly, not like this." You glance around the parking lot again, your professional warring with your personal desires.
"If someone sees—"
"They won't," he promises, though you both know it's a risk. "Everyone's busy inside. We'll be quiet." His thumb traces your bottom lip. "Please?" You stare at him for a long moment. Then you groan.
"You're impossible." A grin immediately breaks across his face.
"That's not a no."
"It should be."
"But it isn't." You roll your eyes. Unfortunately, he's right. Again. Jack opens the passenger-side door before you can change your mind.
"Five minutes." You point a finger at him. "Five."
"Five."
"Jack."
"Five." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. He places a hand over his heart.
"I am deeply offended by your lack of trust." You laugh despite yourself.
"Get in the truck."
"You are the worst."
"Get in the fucking truck, baby." The inside of the truck is blessedly quiet. Away from the bright lights of the emergency department. Away from the endless noise. Away from the constant demands of the day. The moment the doors close, the world seems to exhale. Jack settles into the driver's seat. Then immediately reaches over and drags you int his lap, making you climb over the console. Like he's been waiting all day to do exactly that. Maybe he has. His head buries itself in your neck, one hand crawling on the small of your back, pushing you into hik. For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn't awkward. It never is. It's comfortable. Easy. The kind that comes from knowing someone inside and out.
"Tired?" he asks quietly into your neck. You laugh weakly.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Fair."
"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around hour nine." Jack snorts.
"You should go home."
"I know."
"You need sleep."
"I know."
"You need food." You open one eye.
"Okay, rude."
"I've known you long enough." Unfortunately, he's right. Again. A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, hospital staff move in and out of the building. Ambulances come and go. The Pitt keeps running. It always does. Inside the truck, though, everything feels still. Jack leans back slightly to look at you. His expression softens.
"You know what sucks?"
"What?"
"I get here right when you're leaving." You smile.
"The tragedy."
"I'm serious."
"I know." His gaze drops to your joined hands. "I don't like missing you." He tugs you closer, closer still, until your knees straddle either side of his lap. He's smiling with a softness that undoes you completely, a patient, stubborn smile that says he always knew you'd cave.
"You could always switch to nights," Jack offers, his voice gentler than it has any right to be at this hour. His knuckles graze your thigh, just barely, but it's enough. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps.
"You can't just— Jack, we're in the middle—"
"Of the parking lot. Yeah." Despite the steady, reasonable words, his hands are mapped out under your scrubs, palms broad and certain, heating the bare skin of your waist. For one long moment, he just looks at you—really looks, the way you never let anyone see. It's a miracle you haven't combusted yet. "Hey," he murmurs, thumb brushing circles over your ribs, "you're safe here. I'm not letting anyone see you like this. Just me." You want to tell him it's a bad idea but the words tangle behind your teeth, undone by the gravity of him, the rare silence, the rare privacy. Instead you groan as he kisses you with bruising finality. Jack’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, detouring up your back, unhooking your bra one-handed like he’s done it a thousand times before. You shiver as callused fingertips graze your spine, the low drag of his mouth setting your every nerve alight. You rock unconsciously forward, desperate to erase every inch of distance between you. He moans like it’s church, like you’re something sacred. You barely keep up as he lifts your shirt, stripping it over your head, stashing it behind you with one arm never leaving your waist. He maps your skin with his mouth, trailing kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts. Each brush of his lips makes the heat coalesce low inside you, makes your thighs tense around his hips. You scrabble at his scrub top, yanking at it until he laughs—deep, unapologetic, full of mischief—and helps you peel it off, leaving his chest bare and golden beneath the tinted dome light.
“Greedy,” Jack teases, voice taut. The word stokes something reckless in you. You dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down against him, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.
“Gonna tease me, or are you gonna let me ride you?” you whisper, nose brushing his. Jack’s eyes go black. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, kneading bruises into your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “please.” He scrambles for his fly, cursing a little when your hands get there first and help, and the two of you manage, in a mutual chaos of limbs and laughter, to free him. You shuck your own pants and underwear, grateful for the cover of rain-smeared windows and the blanket he keeps stashed in the cab. You climb back onto him, legs shaking as you nestle knees on either side, your bare ass sliding against cool vinyl. Jack’s attention is molten, fixed on your mouth, your throat, your chest, his palms guiding you as you lower onto him slow, so fucking slow, fighting the urge to rush. He leans his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You’re so tight, baby. Christ.” His words stroke pleasure up your spine, make you arch into him. You stretch around him, pulse thumping muggy-hot. The fullness burns, but you keep sinking, inch by inch, until your bodies lock together just right. Jack’s hands hold you steady, fingers shameless where they spread your thighs wider.
“Just like that,” he says, voice barely more than a gasp. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good.” You hide a whimper in the base of his throat, teeth scraping gentle. He bucks up, just barely, testing you, and you flinch at the jolt of feeling. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s the promise of relief, the bright pressure of him inside you, desperate and thick. He rocks you up and down, slow at first. You find the rhythm, bracing your arms on his shoulders, riding the push and give of his hips. Every time you lift and slide down, he groans, low and open, like he planned to worship you right here under the sterile hospital floodlights.
“That’s it, angel. Good girl. You like that?” he pants, lips grazing your ear, and you nearly sob at the endearment. No one has ever made you feel anything like this. Like the world is distilled to the backseat of a Chevy, and your body is the only urgent matter left on Earth.
“Yes,” you choke, clinging to him, heart hammering. “Yes, Jack, yes—” He leverages you up, thrusts in a little sharper. “Say it again. Want to hear you.” You do. You say it for him, say it for yourself, every word punched out on the ride of his cock. It gets easier, the wet glide, the pulse of want. He slides one hand to your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, his eyes so honest you struggle to hold his stare.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jack croons. “Best thing I’ve ever had.” Praise hits you raw, makes the ache inside impossible to control. You ride him harder, abandon the need for quiet. The truck starts to rock, subtle at first, then not—suspension groaning, windows fogging, metal biting at your back as you get lost together. Jack’s face dissolves to soft around the edges, pleasure making his lashes flutter. He helps you, of course he does, thumb finding the spot at the top of your clit, circling it in time with the pace of your hips.Every stroke is dizzy, electric. Jack’s too big for you, always has been, and he knows it—knows how you love being pressed full, stretched open, helpless to the pace he sets. He talks you through every second of it.
“That’s it, babe—” One palm on your hip, the other splayed wide across the small of your back. “You look so fucking pretty dripping on my cock.” He bites your shoulder, playful but sharp. You gasp and grind down, greedy for more, and Jack steadies you, hips working a small circle that makes your toes curl. He pets your hair, voice low and deeply satisfied.
“You’re taking it so well. God, I missed this. Missed you.” You dig in and move faster, head thrown back. His hands frame your face, thumbing away the sweat, stroking your cheek like you’re something deserving of reverence or maybe just up-close study. “There she is. Perfect. Perfect for me.” You’re losing yourself, deliciously so, chasing the high he has always offered so easily. Jack’s words tumble over your skin, a feverish litany of praise: good girl; baby, you feel like heaven; can’t get enough of you. The truck rocks harder beneath you, the air thick with sweat and rain and skin. You’re sure you’ll leave the cab smelling like fuck, and the thought of it almost unspools you completely.Jack’s face goes slack with pleasure, the line of his jaw working as he watches you fuck down onto him. You match his rhythm, making the truck bounce on its shocks, the whole world boiling down to the heat where you’re joined, the sweat running from your hairline, the feral edge of your pulse. You want to be quiet—god, you want to—but every time he hits the end of you, a raw little sound tears from your throat, and Jack answers with a grunt, more helpless each time. Your hands dig into the damp muscle of his shoulders, sinking your balance there. He lets you set the pace—the depth, the pressure, the angle—like he knows exactly how much you need to take control. His own body barely stays contained, all of him trembling under the thin veil of restraint.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groans, nipping at your neck. His praise unravels you, makes you whine as you bounce on his cock, thighs burning. “Atta girl,” he says, “just like that, Jesus, just like that.” He meets you on the upstroke and it hits perfect, a whiteout, and you clench around him like you might never let go. Jack is nothing if not strong; he lifts you to change the angle, guiding your hips so you crash down harder, deeper, again and again. The stretch is sharp, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks you slow and full, savoring every inch.
"Shh," he soothes, running his thumb down your spine. "You’re almost there. Let me hear you, angel." You can't quite control the desperate little noises that escape. He kisses your ear. "You can take it. Doing so good for me." You’re moving fast now, wild, Jack’s hips rising just enough to punch deeper every time you take him. Every inch of skin is electric, a live wire zapping your brain blank. Your orgasm builds dizzy and tight, faster and meaner than you expect. Jack catches your jaw, turning your head so you have to meet his eyes. You shudder, a hot burst of light behind your eyelids. He keeps you steady as you come, clenching tight around him. Jack groans, curses, and thrusts up into you as you milk the finish out of him, swallowing every shiver, every desperate noise. He holds you there, buried deep, for a long moment after, greedy for the afterglow. You collapse forward, boneless. Breathing each other in, foreheads pressed tight. He doesn’t let go—won’t, can’t. The whole ER could be on fire and you think he’d still have you sealed up in his lap, heartbeat sync’d to yours.
“There she is.” His voice is a blanket, the gentle drag of his hands up and down your back more soothing than the best sedative. “You okay?” You nod, unwilling to move.
“Gonna pass out,” you mumble. He laughs, wiping the hair from your face.
“We’ll just stay here,” he promises, amused. “I’m good with that.”
You shake your head.
“Jack, your shift-”
“I can be a few minutes late. Lemme hold you for a sec.” You do just that, sprawling across his chest with your pants around one ankle, everything sticky and sweet. Jack pets you absently, tracing lazy circles over your spine as you drift through the delicious aftershocks. The world is a muffled, infinite cotton ball. If time stopped, you might thank it. Maybe you even pray, a little, in the hush that follows, your heart finally un-clenching for the first time in twelve hours. The windows are fogged so thick you could sneak a corpse out of a hospital and no one would clock it, but you're not here to think about bodies or work, only Jack's hand splaying gentle wide over your ribs, the low hush of him in your ear. You almost fall asleep. And then there’s an unmistakable staccato rap on the passenger window. You freeze. For a second your brain decides it’s a hallucination, some ghost of a Code Blue haunting the concrete outside. But it happens again—a sharp, rhythmically certain knock, followed by a muffled cough. Beneath you, Jack tenses, but his laugh—muted and helpless—vibrates through your cheek and into your bones.
"Don’t look," he whispers, which of course makes you look. You squirm upright but can’t find your top, can’t find shame either; you’re still impaled on Jack, legs numb and boneless and absolutely not prepared to deal with social reality. Jack finds your shirt one-handed and holds it out, the other locked across your hips. You squirm to pull it on, body full of glowing aches. His cock softens inside you as you wriggle, but you know he’s still hard as hell everywhere else: his eyes, his voice, the way he grins as if it’s all a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. He rolls down the window a crack, like maybe it’s just a pizza delivery or one of his patients looking for their missing nurse. Rain pings the outside in fitful spatter.
Standing in the parking lot, arms crossed, is Dana.
And right behind her- Trinity. Dennis. Robby. Mateo. Princess. Perlah. Mel. Langdon.
Oh god.
Every single one of them. For one horrifying second, nobody moves.
Nobody speaks. The entire parking lot seems to fall into stunned silence. Dana's expression is completely blank. Which is somehow worse than if she were angry.
Trinity, meanwhile, looks like Christmas came early. Dennis is staring at the truck like he's trying to decide whether this is actually happening or if he's suffered some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Mateo's mouth is hanging open.
Princess looks deeply entertained.
Perlah looks seconds away from bursting into laughter.
Mel has both hands over her face.
And Robby—Robby looks directly at Jack.
Then at you. Then back at Jack.
"Oh." The single word somehow carries the weight of six months of secrets. Beside you, Jack closes his eyes. Slowly. Like a man accepting his fate.
"Jack," you whisper.
"I know."
"Jack."
"I know." Trinity immediately points.
"I knew it." The parking lot explodes.
"I told you."
"You absolutely did not," Dana shoots back.
"I literally did."
"You guessed every person in this hospital."
"And I was right eventually."
"Oh my God," you groan. You bury your face in your hands. You may never recover from this.
Ever.
Jack, apparently, has reached the same conclusion. Because he simply leans back against his seat and sighs. The sigh of a man whose life is about to become significantly more difficult. Robby rubs both hands over his face."For how long?"
Neither of you answers. Robby points.
"That silence is making me nervous."
"Six months," Jack says. The entire group erupts.
"What?"
"Six months?!"
"Six months?" Dana looks personally offended.
"Six months and nobody told me?"
"To be fair," Princess says, "that is objectively hilarious."
"It is not hilarious."
"It is a little hilarious."
"It is not." Trinity is practically vibrating.
"I need everyone to understand how validated I feel right now."
"You accused Jack of dating three different people."
"Details." You risk a glance toward Jack. To your surprise, he's smiling. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Smiling. The soft kind. The one that's been directed at you all evening. Robby notices immediately.
"Oh, that's disgusting." Jack laughs. Actually laughs. And suddenly everyone starts talking at once. Questions. Accusations. Celebrations.
A truly unreasonable amount of yelling.
The secret is officially dead. Gone. Destroyed. Burned to ashes in the employee parking lot. You should be mortified. You should be panicking. Instead, as Jack's hand finds yours beneath the chaos, a strange sense of relief settles over you. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more carefully timed exits and secret glances. Just the truth. Finally. Dana points at both of you.
"We are discussing this later." Trinity immediately points too.
"I have approximately four hundred questions." Mateo raises a hand.
"I also have questions."
---------
The first morning back at The Pitt after the parking lot incident feels different.
Not quieter.
Never quieter.
Just… louder in a very specific way. You don’t even make it past the locker room before it starts.
“Ohhh, it’s her,” Dana calls the second you walk in. You freeze.
“Please don’t start.” Trinity appears behind her like she’s been summoned by gossip itself.
“Oh, we’re starting.” You groan and shut your locker a little too hard.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Trinity says cheerfully. “You’ve just been promoted.”
“To what?”
“Main character.” Dana points at you with zero hesitation.
“Six months.” You bury your face in your hands.
“Can we not say that out loud in public areas?” Robby walks past and doesn’t even try to hide his grin.
“I, for one, support this development,” he says.
“You would,” you mutter. Down the hall, you hear it before you see it. Jack’s laugh. Low. Amused. Infuriatingly calm. He rounds the corner holding a chart, coffee in hand like nothing in your entire life has been fundamentally altered. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts. Softens. Like it always does. But now everyone sees it.
“Oh my God,” Dana whispers immediately.
“Stop,” you hiss.
“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m observing science.” Trinity leans in.
“He’s looking at you like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Like he wants to fuck you in his truck again.” You make a strangled noise. Jack walks over without hesitation. Of course he does.
“Morning,” he says, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like six months of secrets didn’t explode into chaos. Like the entire hospital didn’t witness your downfall.
“Morning,” you manage. His gaze flicks over your face.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Did you sleep?” You narrow your eyes.
“You’re not my attending.” He smiles slightly.
“I can still ask.” Behind you, Dana makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choking. Trinity is absolutely vibrating. Jack leans just a little closer.
“Did you eat?” You sigh.
“Yes.” A pause.
“Liar,” he says immediately. You glare at him.
“You don’t even know that.”
“I do.”
“How?” He glances at your locker. Then back at you.
“You didn’t pack anything.” You hate him. Deeply. Fiercely. Romantically. All at once.
“Go away,” you mutter. His mouth twitches.
“Not yet.” That does it. Dana slams a chart onto the counter.
“I cannot do this.”
“You’re not involved,” you say.
“I am emotionally involved,” she snaps. “I was lied to for six months.” Trinity raises a hand.
“I was correct for six months.”
“That’s not a personality trait,” you say.
“It is now.” Jack finally steps back, but not far. Never far. Just close enough that his presence is still there. Still grounding. Still impossible to ignore. As the shift starts, it only gets worse. Because now everyone watches. Every brush of your shoulders in the hallway. Every time he hands you a chart a second too long. Every quiet check-in that sounds suspiciously like affection disguised as medicine.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take trauma bay?” Jack asks during rounds.
“I’ve taken worse,” you reply automatically.
“I know,” he says. Too soft. Too familiar. Behind you, someone drops a pen. Hard.
By midday, it’s unbearable.
You’re charting when Robby leans over your shoulder.
“So,” he says casually, “how’s domestic life?”
“I will transfer departments.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“You absolutely will not,” Dana calls from across the desk. Trinity slides into the seat beside you.
“So do you two argue? Or is it just intense staring and violation of hospital policy?" You slowly turn your head.
“I’m going to start requesting new coworkers.”
“You’d miss us,” Trinity says confidently. You open your mouth. Then Jack appears behind her.
“Stop harassing her,” he says mildly. Trinity spins around immediately.
“Oh, now you’re protective?”
“Yes,” he says simply. That shuts everyone up for exactly half a second. Then Dana goes,
“Oh my God.” And everything falls apart again. By the end of the week, it’s official. You are no longer a person at The Pitt. You are a storyline. If you walk into a room, conversations stop mid-sentence. If Jack walks in after you, someone says “Aww” at least once. If you so much as stand near each other for more than ten seconds, Trinity starts narrating it like a documentary.
“You see here,” she whispers loudly, “the couple in their natural habitat. Dangerous. Unsupervised.”
“I’m going to file a complaint,” you say.
“To who?” Dana asks. “HR? About you dating your attending? Be serious.” Jack, of course, makes it worse. He starts showing up with your coffee without being asked. He fixes your ID badge when it flips backward. He quietly takes over your charts when you look like you’re about to pass out. Every single time, someone sees. Every single time, someone comments. And every single time, Jack just shrugs like he doesn’t care.
Which is almost worse.
One afternoon, as you’re escaping to the supply closet for exactly thirty seconds of peace, the door shuts behind you. Jack is already inside. You stare at him. He stares back.
“You followed me into a closet,” you say.
“I missed you,” he replies.
“It has been twelve minutes.”
“Exactly.” You groan.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” He steps closer.
“No,” he says simply. Then, softer— “But I’m not really trying to.”
i just need to make it known that jack abbot fucks nasty & kisses nastier. like he’s gripping your throat and slipping his tongue in & being soooooo sloppy while he fucks!!! it’s so passionate, he’s literally giving all of love to you— he wants to give you kisses to remind you that he loves you after he drills into you like he doesn’t <3
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