auggie girl

you turn slowly, meeting his gaze. those dark eyes are fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. there's something predatory in the way he's looking at you. something that has you wanting to run, causing your skin to crawl.

"sir, i should—"

"i said come here."

your feet move before your brain catches up, carrying you around the desk until you're standing in front of him. he's leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the armrest, the other resting on his thigh. he looks relaxed, in control. he always looks in control.

"sit," he says, patting his lap.

your eyes widen. "sir, i don't think—"

"that wasn't a request."

your face burns hot as you lower yourself onto his lap, perching awkwardly on his knee. his arm comes around your waist immediately, pulling you closer and more secure against him. the heat of his body seeps through the thin fabric of your uniform.

"there," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. "that's better."

you can barely breathe, your heart now pounding so hard you're sure he can feel it. his hand rests on your hip, firm grip that is keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"i'm not that scary, am i?" he asks, his tone almost conversational, feigning innocence.

you swallow hard. "n-no sir."

his other hand comes up, fingers trailing along your jaw before sliding down to your throat. your breath hitches, panic flaring in your chest—he's going to choke me—but his touch is only gentle. exploratory as his fingers press lightly against your pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

his lips curve into that sick smile, making your stomach flip and your thighs clench.

"...something tells me you're lying, little one..."

your face flushes hot. you hate how your body betrays you— the warmth pooling low in your belly, the slick growing between your thighs. you hate how much you want this, how much you've been thinking about him late at night when you're alone in your quarters.

his hand moves slowly, tracing up the column of your throat to your shoulder. his fingers brush over your collarbone, then back down, mapping the delicate skin with attention.

"so soft," he murmurs almost to himself. his eyes follow the path of his hand, hunger toying in his eye. "i've been watching you, you know. for months now."

your breath comes in short, shallow gasps. "sir—"

"every morning you bring me my coffee. every evening you serve dinner. always so proper. so obedient." his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "but i see the way you look at me when you think i'm not paying attention."

"i don't—"

"don't lie to me." his grip tightens slightly, just enough to make you gasp. "i know what you want. what you need."

and then his mouth is on your neck.

the first bite is sharp, right where your pulse hammers beneath your skin. you cry out, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders as his teeth sink into the tender flesh. it hurts—but god, it feels good too. he doesn't let up, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his tongue soothing over the sting before he moves to another spot.

"everyone's going to see these," he growls against your skin, his voice rough with need. "everyone's going to know you're mine."

he bites again, lower this time, just above your collarbone. then again on the other side of your neck. each mark calculated, placed exactly where your uniform won't hide them. where the other staff will see... anyone who looks at you will know.

"titus-" his name falls from your lips without permission, breathless and desperate.

"that's right," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, holding you steady as he continues his assault on your throat. "say my name. let me hear you."

his mouth moves to your shoulder, teeth scraping over the curve before biting down hard enough to make you whimper. but then his lips are there, soft and tender, kissing the mark he just made. the contrast makes your head spin—rough and gentle all at once.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted this," he says, his voice dropping, now vulnerable. "how many nights i've laid awake thinking about marking you. claiming you. making sure everyone knows you belong to me..."

"why me?" you whisper, your hands holding his shoulders firm.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cup your face. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his eyes intense, forcing you to meet his.

"because you're mine," he says simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "you've always been mine. i just needed to make it official."

then he's kissing you. deep and demanding, swallowing your gasp as his tongue slides against yours. his hand tangles in your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you as he takes what he needs. when he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard.

"more," he murmurs against your lips. "i need more."

his mouth returns to your neck, biting and sucking his way across your throat. he's relentless, covering every inch of exposed skin with marks. your collarbones, your shoulders, the curve where your neck meets your jaw. each bite is a claim and a promise.

you're trembling in his arms, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the possessiveness in every touch. your uniform is askew now, the collar pulled down to grant him better access. you should stop this—pull away. but you can't. you don't want to.

"perfect," he breathes, finally pulling back to admire his work. his fingers trace over the marks he's left, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. "absolutely perfect."

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window. your neck and shoulders are covered in dark red marks, already beginning to bruise. there's no hiding these. no chance at covering them up— not like he'd let you anyway—everyone will know.

"titus, i can't— the other staff will—"

"let them see." his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. "let them all see that you're mine... that you belong to me. anyone who has a problem with it can take it up with me directly."

there's a fierce protectiveness in his voice now, mixed with that edge of violence you've come to know in the danforth househould. he means it. he'll protect you from any consequences, any judgment.

"do you understand?" he asks, his thumb stroking your jaw.

you nod slowly, your heart still racing. "yes, sir."

"good girl." he presses one more kiss to your lips softly, almost tender. "now go—let everyone see what i've done. let them know."

you stand on shakey legs, your uniform wrinkled and your skin marked beyond any hope of concealment. as you reach the door, you glance back at him.

he's watching you with that same intense gaze, possessive and satisfied. his. you're his now, marked and claimed for everyone to see.

and despite everything, the danger, the power imbalance, the impossibility of it all—you wouldn't have it any other way. 🖤

no response— he just crawls on top of you, careful not to crush you but still pressing close, his weight settling over you like a warm blanket. his face buries into the crook of your neck, and he inhales—deep, desperate, as if he's been starving for the scent of you.

"pope..." you laugh softly, your hand coming up to thread through his hair. "you okay?"

quiet again. instead, his lips find your neck, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of your throat. soft at first, a tender touch. but then something shifts—his mouth opens, sucking at the sensitive skin, and you gasp.

"pope—"

he groans against you, his hands sliding up your sides, pushing your shirt higher. "missed you," he mumbles between kisses, his voice rough and needy. "missed you so fucking much."

his mouth moves lower, trailing down to your collarbone, then to the swell of your breasts. he shoves his face between them, inhaling again, he can't get enough, and you can't help but laugh—a breathless, surprised sound leaving you that turns into a soft moan when he starts kissing the skin there.

then he's shoving his head under your shirt, burying himself in your tits like it's the only place he wants to be. you feel his breath hot against your skin, his lips pressing kisses to the soft flesh between your breasts before moving over to your nipple.

when his mouth closes around it, sucking gently at first and then harder, you whimper. everything feels so much more intense right now—your body is hypersensitive, every nerve ending on fire. the cramps are still there, dull and aching as always, but his mouth on you is making everything else fade into the background.

"pope—" your voice breaks, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it all feels. "i'm—fuck—"

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, his pupils blown wide, lips wet and swollen. "you okay?" he asks, but his hands are still on you, still grabbing at your tits— cant help but touch you.

you nod, breathless. "yeah, just—sensitive."

he groans at that, his hips grinding down into the couch beneath him, and you realize he's hard—so hard—and desperate. "can i touch you?" he asks, his voice rough and pleading. "please, baby. need you."

your stomach twists. "i'm on my period..."

his hands don't stop. if anything, they tighten on your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his eyes lock on yours. "i don't mind a little blood," he says, dead serious.

you hesitate. your first instinct is to say no—to tell him it's messy, that you're cramping, and it's not a good idea. but the way he's looking at you, with his body trembling with need, voice cracking when he says need you—

"a little blood never hurt nobody..." he whispers against your skin, and that's all it takes. you nod and he’s on you immediately.

he moves fast, his hands sliding down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. he doesn't pull them off, just tugs them to the side, and then his fingers are sliding inside you, slick and warm and—

"pope!" you gasp, your back arching off the couch.

a low groan escapes him, his mouth finding your breast again as his fingers pumps into you. "fuck, baby," he mutters against your skin. "you're so warm and wet."

you can't respond—can't do anything but whimper and writhe beneath him as he works you open, his fingers curling inside you just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. his mouth is relentless on your tits, sucking and biting and licking, and you're so sensitive that every touch feels like too much and not enough all at once.

"pope—i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"

and then he stops.

his fingers slides out of you, causing you to cry out in frustration, your hips bucking up toward him for comfort— but he's already moving, fumbling with his belt, his jeans, pulling his cock out with shaking hands.

"baby need you now. now," he says, his voice wrecked, then he's pushing inside you—thick and hard and filling you so completely that you can't breathe.

"oh god—"

he doesn't give you time to adjust. he just starts moving, his hips snapping against yours, and you can feel the slickness between your legs—blood and arousal mixing together, messy and raw and so fucking intimate it makes your chest ache.

then his hand comes up, his fingers—still wet with your blood—pressing against your lips.

"open," he commands, his voice rough.

you do. you open your mouth and let him slide his fingers inside, tasting the metallic tang of your own blood mixed with your arousal. it should be gross— should be too much. but the way he's looking at you, how his cock is driving into you over and over, the groans and whimpers when you start sucking his digits—

"little more at the base baby—be good," he murmurs, his eyes dark and hungry. he’s never liked a mess before…

you moan around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, and he shudders.

"thereee she is," he breathes, his hips stuttering. "you like that taste huh? fuck, baby, you're so good for me. so fucking good."

you can feel yourself getting close again, that tight coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. his cock is hitting you just right, his fingers still in your mouth, him looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—

"gonna cum," you try to mumble around his fingers, your voice muffled.

"yeah?" he groans, his pace picking up. "cum for me baby. need to feel you."

and you do. you fall apart around him, your body clenching tight, and he follows right after—burying himself deep inside you with a broken moan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he spills into you.

with his weight heavy on top of you, you're both just breathing hard, tangled together on the couch, the nature documentary still playing softly in the background.

then he lifts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "love you," he murmurs, his voice gentle now. "missed you so much."

you smile, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "love you too, pope."

he grins— that boyish, lopsided grin that makes your heart flutter— and kisses you softly.

"a little blood never hurt nobody, huh?" you laugh softly in the kiss.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something so tender, making you fall in love all over again. "not when it's you, baby," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "never with you."

you settle back into his arms, letting you body finally go limp, the cramps fading into the background as he holds you close—

right where you belong. 🩵

he laughs like you've told a joke. "come on now, don't be like that. a beautiful woman like you shouldn't be standing here all alone."

"i'm not alone," you say, your voice dropping lower. "—and you're gonna regret it..."

but he doesn't listen. of course he doesn't. men like him never do.

"regret what? talking to a gorgeous woman?" he leans in closer, his cologne overwhelming. "listen sweetheart, i don't know who you think you are, but women like you should be grateful for the attention. especially at your age."

he reaches over, now resting his hand on top of your arm, his sweaty, grubby hand marking you now.

your blood runs cold with the absolute certainty of what's about to happen. your body goes rigid with fear.

before you can respond, you feel it. the familiar warmth of titus's presence behind you, the subtle shift in the air that always announces his arrival. his hand slides around your waist, claiming, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

"hi darling," he murmurs against your skin, his voice soft and loving. then he turns those dark eyes on the man beside you. "who's this?"

the man's face drains of color as recognition dawns. his eyes go wide, that confident smirk crumbling into something close to terror. he recoiled instantly, snatching his hand back as if your arm had burned him.

"well, i'm mr. windsor—" he stammers, taking a step back. "i didn't— i wasn't—"

"windsor?" titus tilts his head, his smile deceivingly wide. "funny, i don't recall inviting you... but since you're here..." his grip on your waist tightens slightly, a silent reassurance. "say, wanna check out the study? i've heard the windsor's own a gallery in new york... i have a great piece in there since you're such an art critic."

it's not a question—he knew it the moment his eyes fell on titus.

the man's eyes dart between you and titus, panic setting in. "i really should—"

"i insist," titus says, his voice dropping, the words cold and final. "it'll only take a moment."

the man swallows hard and nods, because what else can he do? you watch as titus releases you, pressing one more kiss to your temple before he guides the man away through the crowd. he doesn't look back.

you know better than to follow.

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an hour later, you finally make your way to his study. the party is still going strong downstairs, but you can't shake the knot of tension in your stomach. you know what titus is capable of—you've always known.

you push open the heavy oak door without knocking.

the study is dimly lit, the fireplace crackling softly in the corner. and there he is— titus, sitting in his leather chair behind the massive desk, a cigar between his lips as the smoke curls lazily around him

even in the low light, you can see it clearly—blood.

it's splattered across his white dress shirt, dark stains on his hands, a few drops on his jaw. he looks utterly relaxed, as if he's just finished reading the evening paper instead of... whatever he just did.

"titus," you breathe, closing the door behind you. "what the fuck happened."

he takes a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke before he answers. his dark eyes meet yours, an unrepentant smile growing.

"don't ask questions you already know the answers to, my love."

your jaw clenches. "titus—"

"what?" he says innocently, spreading his hands. "something wrong?"

you glare at him, but he just watches you with that infuriating calm, like he hasn't just committed murder in his own home during a party with two hundred plus guests downstairs.

then his expression shifts. his eyes drag over you slowly, taking in every inch of the dress he bought you, how it hugs your body, the flush in your cheeks from champagne and anger.

"my oh my," he murmurs, his voice dropping, full of awe and reverence. "my wife is fabulous." he sets the cigar down in the ashtray and leans back in his chair.

"come here." it's not a request.

you cross the room slowly, your heels clicking against the hardwood. when you reach the desk, he reaches out and pulls you around it, guiding you to stand between his spread legs.

"he touched what's mine," titus says quietly, his hands sliding up your thighs, bunching the silk of your dress. "spoke to you like you were nothing... like you weren't the most important person in this entire fucking house."

"titus—"

"no." his grip tightens, holding you still. "you're mine. my wife. my everything." his eyes are blazing now, that dangerous obsession you've come to crave spilling out. "and i will burn this entire estate to the ground before i let anyone disrespect you."

your breath catches as he pulls you down onto his lap, your legs straddling him. you can feel the blood on his shirt, still warm, the smell of copper mixed with his cologne and cigar smoke.

"you're insane," you whisper.

"for you?" he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "absolutely."

then he's kissing you—deep and desperate. his hands are everywhere, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. he tastes like cigar smoke and iron. you don't pull away.

when he pulls back, you're both breathing hard.

"say it," he demands, his forehead pressed against yours. "say you're mine."

"i'm yours," you breathe, and you mean it. god help you, you mean it.

"that's my girl." his hand slides to your throat, not squeezing. just holding, claiming. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

he stands suddenly, lifting you with him, and sets you on the edge of the desk. papers scatter to the floor but he doesn't care. his hands are already pushing your dress up, his mouth hot against your neck.

"gonna make sure you remember," he murmurs against your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "gonna mark you so thoroughly that everyone at this party knows exactly who you belong to."

and he does. his mouth moves across your throat, your shoulders, leaving dark marks in his wake. possessive brands that will bloom purple by morning. his hands are rough and demanding, touching you like he's trying to memorize every inch, like he's trying to prove something.

"titus-" you gasp as his fingers find you beneath your dress, already wet and wanting.

"that's it," he groans, his voice rough with need. "say my name. let everyone downstairs hear who makes you feel like this."

he works you with practiced precision, his fingers curling inside you while his thumb circles your clit. the desk hard beneath you, the smell of blood and smoke overwhelming. it's all so wrong but so perfectly him.

"you're mine," he says again, almost reverent now. "mine to protect. mine to claim. mine to love."

"yours," you whimper, your head falling back. "always yours."

when you come apart on his fingers, he swallows your cries with another bruising kiss. and when he finally takes you there on that blood-stained desk, with the party still raging downstairs and evidence of his violence surrounding you both, it feels like a promise.

a dark, twisted, absolutely perfect promise.

because you are his. completely and irrevocably.

and he'll kill anyone who forgets it. 🖤

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, extreme age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), doctor x nurse relationship, workplace romance / unethical relationship dynamics, power imbalance (lead attending/new grad nurse), explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (female performing on male), unprotected sex / creampie (reader is on birth control don’t worry guys😛), praise kink ("good girl," "sweetheart," etc.), dacryphilia (sexual arousal from crying/tears), emotional dependency themes, hurt/comfort, panic attack depiction, hospital/medical setting, medical trauma and grief, child death, death of a teenager following a motor vehicle accident, mentions of suicide and pregnancy loss, emotional distress and crying, reader insert, jack abbot being morally conflicted and making objectively terrible decisions— as always: fiction is not reality— please do not date your attending physician.

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Authors Note: so, what was a cute little drabble quickly turned into a full fic over the last few days... sorry not sorry?! also maybe you’re welcome…? i didn’t fix the formatting bc this was made on my phone. little drabbles i usually type up straight on drafts… but then this kept getting longer and deeper lolz so stop judging the lack of capitalization and proper grammar.

anyway— i kept thinking about jack abbot comforting me as a new grad nurse… i need him to fix me… or finger me. then i was horny for the idea of jack abbot getting off on my tears and calling me his poor baby, poor girl. so pretty when you cry, etc—

i could go on but you’ll read abt it later anyway— then when actually writing, it got all deep about how he blames himself when his patients die soooo… yah know. yeah. here we are— more words in than i expected !!

as always, please enjoy and please read them warnings—

i love ya'll 🩵🤍

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you’ve always been a little too sensitive.

you cry when you see an old couple sitting in a booth together. you protest any movie with a dog dying. and don’t even mention the notebook… little miss crybaby galore.

in the ER? it’s even worse.

you’d been working at the Pittsburgh emergency room for the last seven months as a new grad nurse.

it was the perfect job. the rush, the thrill of not knowing and stumbling forward despite it all. the cases that left you breathless and reeling— wanting more. you couldn’t get enough of it.

but as always, there were those cases

the child that got into the cleaning supplies…

a pregnant mom losing her rainbow baby…

suicide attempt that became successful…

everyone around you didnt pause— didn’t stutter. they just pushed onward, moved to the next case… you couldn’t keep up.

the pain, the fear of the patient…. unable to do anything, unable to fix it.

parts of you cracked, left shattered in the trauma bay and splayed across the cold floor with discarded bloodied gauze. you resisted falling apart, collecting it all back, and holding it to your chest.

you focused all your effort into appearing calm. controlled.

but this case was the worst…

he was a kid. just a sweet boy who wanted to play a little longer. just wanted his stuffy that was left up in the treehouse …

you walked out of the trauma bay—still wearing ppe— eyes following as you were not so subtly shaking.

you had to get away. get away now. you couldn’t be seen like this. your legs felt heavy as they carry you towards the only refuge in this hospital.

you’d often find yourself in the same stairwell, alone. the concrete walls unwelcoming and indifferent to your tears. you allowed yourself to fall apart here. no one here would judge the poor new grad who couldn’t keep it together.

it was your safe haven. the only place to escape it all without pity or judgment crowding you.

that changed when jack noticed.

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jack always kept away before— let lena handle the new grads, steering them the right way. he didn’t have time to delegate over iv bags and proper protocols for something as simple as catheter insertion.

so when you rolled into his department, he barely noticed. just another nurse joining the night shift, prn at that. you were good at your job, kept your head down. quiet. it was all good. normal.

but he’d be lying if he didn’t say you were pretty. he cursed himself for noticing it, knowing he’d never overstep…

the lead attending with a young new nurse?

humiliating, hr violating, and unethical.

christ, you’re in youe twenties. early twenties.

add in the fact that dana would kick his balls in— definitely stay away. there’s really no other choice.

he made an effort to know as little as possible. didn’t know the shifts you worked, what time you took break, what your coffee order was…

but you had this fun little habit of making his detachment impossible. your very presence always demanding his attention— every tuesday and friday night— and the occasional shifts you picked up.

fuck why did he know that?

here you are, holding the same iced vanilla latte from dunkin, hair pulled back in your favorite claw clip, just returning for your final shift this week. your usual friday. god— stop it abbot.

you smile at every nurse and resident as you pass, not missing one. you make everyone feel good, make them feel noticed… like they’re important to you.

that didn’t stop with him.

“hi, doctor abbot!” you wave as you pass him, oblivious to his lingering gaze. you walk down the hall, now heading to the locker room, preparing for your shift.

his eyes disobediently follow, begging himself to focus on the chart in his hand. he’s better than this. this is low, even for him.

he can’t help himself. it’s goddamn pathetic.

“enjoying the view, brother?” a large hand clasps his back.

“robby.” jack instantly straightens, eyes now forced down to the chart. jesus, was he that obvious?

“you like the new nurse, abbot? i’m shocked, you never date in the hospital…” robby elbows him now leaning against the counter, eyeing jack.

“no— of course, not. i’m almost offended you’d suggest that. she’s half my age.” he convinces himself.

robby only nods, a small smile curving his lip “yeah, keep telling yourself that abbot…” he narrows his eyes, as if he’s trying to read jack’s thoughts.

jack looks up from the chart, his eyes finding robby’s. he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “stop. don’t do that.”

“do what? i’m just watching you get bent out of shape for the new nurse. it’s goddamn hilarious…” robby chuckes. “and hey— i don’t blame you. she’s cute.”

jack’s brows furrow. of course robby’s into her. he’s into anyone he can get his grabby hands on.

his friend is notorious for his inability to commit, but still putting on the perfect performance of boyfriend— leaving many heart’s broken around the floor. it was embarrassing, jack had tried to reason with robby.

date outside of the ER…

get some self control man…

it all fell on deaf ears. no matter how many lectures he gave— or the many nurses turned away, moving upstairs to a new unit after robby was finished with them.

god, he can’t do that to you.

jack shakes his head. “no, don’t go there. she’s too young.”

robby’s brows raise, “too young, huh? but not for you?” he teases, trying to get a reaction.

jack’s jaw tightens. “no, just too young to know better. drop it, robby— i have to go check on room 13.” he turns, not wanting to hear it a second longer.

“we’ll see!” robby calls after him, ringing in his ears. jack ducks into the safety of the patients room, drowning himself in another case. a safe and reliable coping mechanism. it never fails.

he gets lost in the paperwork, the diagnosis, then another challenging procedure to drown out his thoughts.

inbetween the chaos, he tells himself to look away. he knows you’re just being nice.

he knows that you didn’t mean to touch his hand like that when you passed him a pen. your pen.

you’re so sweet. such a good girl.

he is also painfully aware of the age gap.

a girl like you could never be anything but sweet. sweet, gentle. innocent. you don’t say “yes sir!” in the way he wants you to...

and you wouldn’t. too young, too sweet, too good. no, jack. stop. even if you kept looking at him like that…

bright, doe-eyed, and eager to please. always so willing to help, always right there next to him.

always standing a little too close.

…

god, why’d you have to be here so close during this? he hates how your shoulder brushes against his, how he can smell the coconut hair oil you put in your hair. hearing your breath over the wails from the monitors — inhale, exhale.

too close too much— focus on the patient.

he steps back from the gurney

“ellis— come hold pressure.” he calls. ellis strides over unfazed, following orders as always.

she bumped into you slightly, now sandwiched between you and jack. her hand now placed over jack’s, as he slid his out from under hers.

“pressure held” ellis nodded.

jack backed up, now watching as the team took over. he continued barking out orders, new meds, labs and trauma/neuro surgery paged.

then unfortunately coached the resuscitation team. compressions, intubation, delivered shocks, epi … all failed.

“time of death: 2:38.” he sighed.

another failure. his fault. if he would’ve seen the bruising on the abdomen— maybe he would’ve noticed the internal bleeding sooner. this kid could have walked out of here.

he could have seen his parents again. fuck.

he had it at first. 10 year old who happened to sneak out to the treehouse when mom and dad fell asleep. he tripped and fell— hard enough to bleed and bruise, cuts on his forehead.

distracting cuts leading to neuro. but he knew better.

he should’ve known better.

he sighs as the nurses and doctors disbursed, tugging off gloves and gowns, letting the silence overtake the room. no one speaks after cases like this. they let it slip away slowly, unable to reason with the impossible. unable to accept something so wrong

with his hands on his hips, he shakes his head in disappointment.

the parents will be waiting out in the family room, waiting for him to update them. they’re expecting him...

they’re expecting him to have succeeded

not to be going home alone tonight…

he practices the same monologue in his head, the one he now knows by heart:

“hello, i am doctor abbot, the lead ER attending on jay’s case. i am deeply sorry, but despite our best efforts, jay has di—“

his eyes catch you as you leave the bay, still wearing your gown… and gloves…

well that’s an infection risk—

then he sees it. your hands shaking.

the new, pretty nurse walking, more like running now, down the hall far from the nurses station, shaking.

where’s she going ?…

before he could stop himself, his body is already moving forward.

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as always, you sat on the cold steps, concrete walls echoing the sounds of your sobs. you let the air purify you of your thoughts. here, you can feel the pain float away.

you sigh, letting out a shakey breath as the noises of the emergency room filter in. you hear the beeping of monitors, the rolling of carts from environmental services, then the opening of the stairwell door.

you're jolted by the sound.

your eyes widen, now jumping up to see lead attending doctor abbot opening the door. he pops it open, only peaking his head through. his brows furrow at the sight of you.

"hey... you alright?" his voice soft, head tilting.

heat rushes to your cheeks as your stomach flips.

oh god... not him. anyone but him.

you quickly turn your face away, trying to hide the evidence of your breakdown. your hands are still shaking— still wearing the damn gloves and gown like an idiot. you probably look insane. mascara streaked, eyes puffy, snot threatening to drip.

mortifying... absolutely mortifying.

"i—i'm fine! totally fine!" your voice cracks on the lie, betraying you immediately. you force a smile. "just needed some air, yah know? it's so stuffy in there..."

he doesn't buy it. doctor abbot steps fully into the stairwell, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. the sound feels final somehow, trapping you both in this concrete confessional booth.

and god, why does he have to look like that right now?

you've noticed him before— everyone notices him. the sharp jawline, the way his scrubs fit across his shoulders, those intense eyes that seem to shoot straight through every excuse and deflection. he's older, experienced, completely out of your league in every possible way.

you've caught yourself staring during rounds more times than you'd like to admit. watching his hands as he demonstrates a procedure, the way his voice drops when he's focused, and how he always commands respect without even trying... now he's front row, seeing you at your absolute worst.

"hey," he says again, softer this time. he draws a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you. "you don't have to do that. you don't have to pretend."

your throat tightens. fresh tears blur your vision and you hate it. hate that you can't pull yourself together. you finally turn back to him, defeated.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, voice breaking. "i know i shouldn't— i should be stronger than this. everyone else just moves on and i can't—" a sob cuts you off. you tug off your stupid gloves, tear at the gown and feel yourself fall further into this mess. complete humiliation.

"stop." his voice is firm but gentle. "don't apologize for being human."

he sits down beside you on the cold concrete step, close enough that you can smell his cologne mixed with the antiseptic scent that clings to everyone in the ER. his presence feels overwhelming and comforting all at once.

"that case..." you manage, wiping uselessly at your face. "he was just a kid. he just wanted his stuffed animal and—"

"i know." jack's jaw tightens. there's something in his expression, pain and an understanding of it all… "i know."

you're shaking harder now, the dam completely broken. you try to hold it in, to maintain some shred of dignity in front of the attending, but it's useless.

"c'mere," he murmurs, and before you can process it, his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest.

you should pull away— this is inappropriate. he's your superior, but you can't. you're so tired of holding it all in, so exhausted from pretending you're fine when you're shattering inside.

so you let yourself break.

you cry into his scrubs, ugly sobs that shake your whole body. his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers gentle against your hair. he doesn't shush you or tell you it'll be okay. he just holds you solid while you fall apart. a good man in a storm.

"you're allowed to feel this," he says quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. "you're allowed to care. don't let this place take that from you."

his thumb strokes slowly against your shoulder, a repetitive comfort that grounds you. you can feel his heartbeat against your ear. it's all so intoxicating.

you don't know how long you stay like that, wrapped in the older man's arms. but slowly, your breathing evens out, the sobs fade to hiccups, then to shakey exhales.

it's time to get back up, time to move on. but you don't move... neither does he.

his arms tighten slightly, like he's not ready to let go either.

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fuck.

jack knows he should release you... knows this has definitely gone on far too long. he's crossed too many lines already. but god— you're so small in his arms, so soft and warm and vulnerable.

he can feel every shakey breath you take against his chest. your hair smells like coconut and vanilla, and he's acutely aware of how your body fits against his, too perfectly. dangerously perfect.

he’s never seen this side of you… and you're adorable like this. all tear-stained and trembling, mascara smudged under those pretty eyes. so sweet, and so genuine in your pain. you care too much and it's going to destroy you in this job... but christ, he doesn't want you to lose that. doesn't want this place to harden you the way it's hardened him.

another hiccup shakes through you and something tightens low in his stomach.

no. absolutely not.

but he can't stop the way his body responds to your tears. to those little gasps and whimpers you've been making against his chest. it's wrong— so fucking wrong— watching you cry, holding you while you break apart... it's doing something to him.

he's getting hard. actually hard from comforting a crying girl half his age in a hospital stairwell. pathetic and morally corrupt. he's a grown man, a doctor, your superior, a man way too old for this— and here he is getting turned on by your tears like some kind of—

you shift slightly in his arms, adjusting your torso, causing your body to press closer. he feels the soft curve of your chest pressed against him and has to bite back a groan.

let go. let go now.

you squirm again, probably trying to pull away, be professional, and the movement sends heat straight through him. he can feel you everywhere— your chest against his, your thigh brushing his leg, breath warm through his scrubs.

he forces his arms to loosen, releasing you even though every instinct is screaming at him to pull you closer, tighter, to— stop.

you pull back, standing up on wobbly legs. his eyes follow the movement, tracking up your body. wrinkled scrubs, tear-stained face, those wide innocent eyes still red and puffy.

beautiful. she's so fucking beautiful.

"t-thank you doctor abbot..." your voice small and nervous. you won't quite meet his eyes. "i'm sorry for all of this... won't happen again." you look exhausted. sweet and tired and so goddamn innocent it makes his chest ache... makes other parts of him ache too. jesus jack, control yourself.

"it's okay if it does," he manages, his voice rougher than intended. he clears his throat, nods. "this job gets to you."

he should leave it there... should just let it go. instead he hears himself add: "i'll be here if you need me..."

you just nod, that cute nervous smile pulling at your lips— the same smile you give him when you hand him charts, when saying good morning, when you're trying so hard to be all professional and composed around him.

then you're moving, practically running for the door, and he watches you go. the door closes behind you with a hollow click.

jack sits there in the empty stairwell, still half-hard, still able to smell your coconut hair oil on his scrubs.

god, what the fuck is he doing?

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you told yourself that was the last time. the last time and the only time. you couldn't bear the thought of jack abbot seeing you that way again. once was humilating enough...

but it happened again... and again. until it became the new normal. your private refuge suddenly, not so private.

every hard case, you'd end up booking it to the stairwell. and every time, jack abbot followed. it all ended up with you in his arms. it's wrong— you know it's wrong... this cannot be the typical way staff members help each other after emergencies.

that didn't stop you from falling into his arms.

his arms enveloped you, holding you firm against his chest. his breath warm against your neck. his smell enthralling— good old antiseptic and expensive cologne— definitely using that doctor's salary.

after, he would tell you to go get something to drink in the breakroom, sometimes ordering you your favorite drink... how he knew your order? you'd never known...

time and time again, you let it happen. and time and time again, he was there. you couldn't understand why he would bother with you in the first place. jesus, you were half his age, a new grad who knew damn nothing, i mean what could possibly keep him coming back?...

today was like any other: another hard case, another breakdown. you cursed yourself for falling apart again.

the sixteen-year-old girl came in seizing, unresponsive. drunk driver ran a red light, t-boned the passenger side where she sat. her boyfriend was driving— he walked away with a broken arm and guilt that would haunt him forever.

she didn't make it past the first hour.

you watched as jack called it. watched as her parents collapsed in the hallway. watched as the boyfriend screamed that it should've been him.

sixteen. she was just sixteen....had her whole life ahead of her— prom, graduation, college, first love and heartbreak, all of it gone... because some asshole decided to get behind the wheel drunk.

you made it to the stairwell before the first sob tore through your chest... but this time was different. this time, you couldn't catch your breath at all.

the concrete walls pressed in, closing around you. your chest heaved, desperate for air that wouldn't come. each inhale burned, searing through your lungs like fire. you gasped, clutched at your scrubs, tried to force oxygen in but nothing worked.

can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe—

you stumbled to your knees as your vision blurred at the edges. the fluorescent light overhead too bright, too harsh. your heart hammered against your ribs, threatening to break through.

you were dying. you had to be dying. this was it—

the door burst open. jack.

his eyes went wide, taking in the sight of you gasping on the ground. he didn't hesitate— he strides over immediately, dropping to his knees in front of you.

"hey hey hey—" his hands come up, cupping your face gently, forcing you to look at him. his touch warm. "shhh shh it's okay. you're okay. just look at me."

you try to speak but only a strangled sound came out.

"no, don't talk. just breathe with me, okay? can you do that?" his voice was soft yet commanding, the same tone he uses when directing the trauma team. "just in and out. watch me. innnn..."

he takes a slow, exaggerated breath in, his chest rising. "and out..." he exhales slowly, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. you try to follow, your breath hitching and stuttering.

"that's it. you're doing so good. again— innnn and out. just like that." his eyes never leave yours. steady, calm, anchoring you to reality. you focus on his face, on the feeling of his hands, on the rhythm of his breathing.

in... and out. in... and out.

slowly— your chest began to loosen, the burning eases. oxygen finally reaches your lungs, the walls crept back to the foreground where they belonged.

"there you go. good girl. keep breathing with me."

your hands come up, gripping his wrists like a lifeline. he never pulls away, just keeps guiding you through until your breathing evened out, until the panic dies down.

"better?" he asks softly.

you nod, unable to speak yet.

he stood then, pulling you up with him. his arms wraps around you immediately, holding you firm against his chest. you melt into him, letting him take your weight. as always, his hand cradles the back of your head, the other splays across your lower back.

safe. you always felt so safe here.

but then you feel it. something else... something hard pressing against your front, unmistakable even through the layers of scrubs. oh.

a soft whimper escapes you before you can stop it. jack went completely still.

the air between you shifts, charged with things left unsaid. something you'd both been dancing around for weeks now. his grip on you tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to loosen it.

"sweetheart..." his voice rough, strained. "i should go."

panic flares again— different this time. you grab his scrub top, fisting the fabric in your hands.

"no... no stay. please?"

you look up at him, your eyes still wet with tears, pleading. his jaw clenches, his eyes dark and conflicted as they search your face.

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fuck. fuck.

those eyes. those goddamn tear-stained eyes looking up at him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to earth… like you need him. those eyes that are begging him.

every ethical boundary he's ever maintained dissolving before his very eyes.

no. no. he can't do this…

jack takes a step back, his hands dropping from your body even though it physically hurts to let go. "we can't— this is wrong. i'm your attending, you're—"

"please," you whimper, stepping forward to close the distance he created. your hands reach for him again, trembling. "please, jack, i need—"

"you don't know what you're asking." his voice cracks. he's trying so hard to be the responsible one here, to protect you from him. "i'm too old for you. this could ruin your career. i could lose my license, you could—"

"i don't care." you're crying again, fresh tears spilling over. "please. please. i just need you to make it stop. make it all stop, just for a minute, please—"

fuck, the way you're begging. all he’s ever wanted was this but it feels so wrong. god give him the strength.

"sweetheart, we shouldn't—" but his resolve is crumbling, his hands already reaching for you again against his better judgment.

"please," you say one more time, and it's so desperate, so needy, your fingers clutching at his scrubs like you'll fall apart if he leaves.

he knows this is wrong... knows he should walk away. he's crossing every line he swore he'd never cross.

but then you press closer, those tear-stained eyes destroying him… and he's only human.

fuck it.

his mouth crashes against yours, swallowing the soft gasp you make. he walks you backward until your back hits the concrete wall, his hands already moving, taking what he's been denying himself for months.

"just need me to make it all melt away?" he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding beneath your scrub pants, beneath your soft cotton underwear. "i can do that… let me in, honey. i got it now..."

you're already wet. christ, you're soaked. his fingers slide through your folds easily, finding your clit and circling it slowly. you whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"thaaat's it," he breathes, watching your face as he works you. "poor baby. my poor girl… been carrying all this around, haven't you? ill fix it sweetheart" he groans

fresh tears spill down your cheeks from relief and it makes him harder than he's ever been. he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you cry out softly.

"shh, gotta be quiet," he warns, but his voice is wrecked. "can't have anyone hearing how good i'm makin' you feel."

he works you methodically, thumb on your clit, fingers pumping in and out. your hips rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure, and he watches every expression that crosses your face. the way your mouth falls open, how more tears leak from the corners of your eyes. so fucking beautiful.

"jack—" you gasp, and hearing his name from your lips nearly undoes him.

"i know, i know. but not yet." he pulls his fingers out, ignoring your whine of protest. "need your mouth first."

he's already undoing his scrub pants, freeing his cock. it's painfully hard, leaking at the tip. your eyes go wide.

"on your knees, sweetheart." you drop immediately, so eager to please it makes his chest tight. he cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. "gonna take care of me?" he asks softly.

you nod, opening your mouth. he guides himself in slowly, watching as your lips stretch around him. the wetness of your mouth makes him groan. you take him deeper, gagging slightly when he hits the back of your throat.

tears spring to your eyes immediately. "fuck," he breathes, transfixed. "see? so pretty when you cry..."

he holds your head gently, rocking his hips. you gag again, tears streaming down your face now, mixing with the ones already there. your hands grip his thighs for balance.

"doing so good," he praises, voice rough. "taking me so well. look at you..."

you look up at him through wet lashes, mascara running, lips swollen and stretched around his cock, and he nearly loses it right there. he pulls out before he cums, helping you to your feet.

"please— please tell me you're on birth control," the words tumble out desperate. "can't hold back anymore..."

"i am," you whisper, and that's it. that's all he needs.

"turn around," he commands softly. "hands on the wall."

you obey, and he's pulling your scrub pants down, positioning himself behind you. the head of his cock slides through your wetness, teasing. "ready?" he asks, and you nod frantically.

he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and you both moan. you're so tight, so perfect for him.

"fuck, look at this pussy takin me in..." he groans, watching where you're joined. "should've done this sooner..." he bottoms out, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts moving. slow at first, then faster and harder. the sound of skin slapping echoes in the stairwell.

"jack— oh god—"

"i know, baby. i know." his hand comes around to rub your clit again. "gonna make you feel so good. gonna make it all go away."

you're crying again, overwhelmed, and it only spurs him on. he fucks into you harder, chasing both your releases, causing your walls to flutter around him.

"thaaat's it, come for me," he demands. "let go, sweetheart."

you shatter with a muffled cry, clenching around him, and he follows immediately after. he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a groan that vibrates within his chest.

you stand there, just breathing hard, bodies pressed together. the weight of what just happened settling over you both.

finally, he pulls out gently, helping you pull your pants back up. when you turn to face him, you look wrecked— tear-stained, flushed and beautiful.

"you okay?" he asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

you nod, still catching your breath. "yeah. i'm... yeah..."

he knows this changes everything. there's no going back from this. he just fucked a new grad... fucking half his age.

now he's no better than robby — fuck.

his eyes scan over you, the drool down your chin, the mascara smears, and those distracting teary eyes.

he's in trouble.

but god, don't you look so pretty when you cry...

it’s perfect. your tits smashed against the vanity’s surface, your face flushed red and glistening with sweat. mouth agape, panting like a dog. drool starting to collect at the edges of your mouth.

behind you, jack abbot shirtless, pounding into you. his soft belly brushes against your back with every thrust, the warmth of his skin grounding. he leans forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers dirty things that make you moan.

"feel that?" he groans, his cock twitching inside you, each motion deep. "feel how deep i am? how full you are?"

you nod desperately, eyes locking on his in the mirror.

"there she is, good fucking girl." he smiles "just keep your eyes on me now, yeah? you can do it." his hand releases your hair, trailing down to your jaw, cupping it, holding your face up to make you watch. "wanna see you watch this"

his thrusts relentless, continuously moving deeper and deeper, as if he’s remaking you from the outside in. you can feel the mix of your sweat and his down your back as he trails soft kisses on your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin.

the sounds fill the room— the slap of skin on skin, your whimpers and his groans. the creak of the vanity beneath you.

"oh my god— jack!” you whine, feeling the pressure building low in your belly, your vision starting to blur.

“don’t tell me you're close already…" he chuckles, breathless. "we’ve barely started baby… you need it that bad, huh?” he smiles, now pulling back slightly to get his hand wrapped around you.

his fingers find your clit, now making soft circles, building the tension you feel growing in your belly. you whine, starting to push yourself back into his thrusts, desperate for more.

“that’s my girl. just needed me to touch you here, yeah?" he groans as you tighten around him, your pussy clenching his cock. "need me to make you feel pretty down here? need daddy to take care of his girl's pretty little cunt?"

“y-yes please! need you so bad— please—" you moan, unable to control your body as it grinds back into him. you're so full of him, stretched and aching.

“that’s okay baby, come for daddy. let me have it.” his fingers drawing tighter circles, pushing you over the edge.

you cry, your body trembles are your orgasm shakes you, jack still pushing deep. the pleasure overwhelming, make you whine and claw at the hand still holding your jaw.

“jesus, baby— never seen a prettier sight." his voice rough, in awe. "now keep those eyes on me, yeah? i’m not done baby, just be good.” his lips brush against your temple, eyes fixed on your limp body in the mirror, still taking him.

he groans as you whine, overstimulated. “no, no. come on baby, you can keep taking me. my pretty girl needs this, doesn’t she?” he kisses your cheek softly, then straightens up.

he slaps your ass with a hard hit, the sound sharp in the room, causing you to jolt up, gasping. you sit up slightly, hands now braced again against the wood. your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“i said look at yourself baby. need you to look." his hands grip your hips, bringing them back to his, angling you just right so his cock hits that spot that makes you see stars.

your eyes fall to yourself— disheveled, hair frizzy, and makeup ruined— mascara streaked down your cheeks, your lipstick is smeared. but you couldn’t help but smile. you were utterly wrecked by him. you looked beautiful like this.

“aw look baby, your makeup's all smeared now huh? you look even prettier this way. don’t you baby? say it.” he leans and kisses your shoulder again, his belly pressing warm against your back. “say you’re pretty baby, wanna hear it.”

you moan, exhausted— but still loving every second he fills you. “i-i'm pretty jackie. s-so pretty.” you whine as his hand trails down to your clit once again.

“that’s so good baby, now come on, give me another.” his fingers work you fast, despite your sensitivity. you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is.

“jack— please!” you scream as he keeps circling, torturously pleasing you. he only smiles and shakes his head.

“need you to come with me baby. give it to me it pretty girl. know you can.” his thrusts turn erratic, now chasing his own release. you can see his jaw tighten in the mirror, his eyes grow half-lidded. "gonna fill up this pretty pussy. gonna make you so full of me you'll feel it for days."

and then you're coming hard. your entire body convulsing around him as you scream his name. your muscles clench, milking him, and he groans a deep, guttural sound.

"fuck yes—that's it baby," his hips stutter, his grip on your waist bruising as he slams into you one last time. he comes with a shudder, spilling inside and filling you up. you feel the heat of him as he pulses and twitches in you.

for a moment, neither of you moves. you just lay breathing, boneless beneath him. his eyes find yours once again in the mirror, filled with love and adoration. he nods, then places a gentle kiss to your hair.

he pulls out slowly and turns you around, his hands gentle now as they cup your face. his thumbs brush your cheekbones, eyes searching yours.

"don't you ever say you're ugly again," he murmurs, his voice rough and tender all at once. "you're so fucking beautiful. such a pretty girl for me." he kisses your forehead, then your lips.

"my sweet, beautiful girl."