A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.

What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?

But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.

They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.

His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."

You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.

The gun clicks.

"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."

Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.

It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.

You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.

He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.

But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."

And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.

Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.

He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.

Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.

Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.

His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.

"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."

Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.

"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."

You've even got Smurf fooled.

They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.

While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.

Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.

And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."

Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."

"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."

His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.

In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.

But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."

It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.

The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.

They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.

You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.

Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.

And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.

The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.

And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.

He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.

Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.

"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."

He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.

Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.

"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.

"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."

You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."

He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.

He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.

"Wait."

Andrew freezes.

At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.

His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.

He's a monster. He's a fucking—

And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.

You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.

Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.

Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.

Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.

And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.

It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.

Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.

But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.

The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.

And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.

He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.

Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.

He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.

It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.

"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.

You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"

He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.

It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.

Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.

He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.

You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."

Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'

And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.

He was looking forward to nothing more than driving home, taking a scalding hot shower, and slipping into bed where he hoped you would still be sleeping peacefully, entirely unaware of the chaos he spent his nights wading through.

Keeping your relationship a secret had been your idea originally, though Jack had agreed without much resistance, knowing precisely how protective and intensely possessive your older brother could be.

Robby was a brilliant physician, but he viewed the emergency room, and everyone within it, through a lens of strict, professional compartmentalisation, and he guarded his family with a fierce, almost suffocating tenacity.

Jack knew that if Robby discovered his close friend and colleague was quietly slipping out of his younger sister’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, the fallout would destabilise the delicate balance of the entire department.

So, you had kept it hidden for four months, snatching quiet moments in empty breakrooms, lingering hand-brushes by the elevator banks, and long, warm nights wrapped up together away from the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital.

The sudden, piercing blare of the telemetry alarms and the sharp, urgent rattle of the double doors being thrown open shattered the low hum of the morning shift change. Dana looked up instantly from her desk, her brow furrowing as the paramedics burst through the entrance, pushing a stretcher at a dead sprint.

Jack didn't think much of it at first, traumas rolled through those doors every twenty minutes, until he caught the sheer, pale panic on the lead paramedic’s face, and the distinct, sickening crimson pattern soaked into the white sheets draped over the gurney.

Jack stepped forward purely out of muscle memory, his voice raspy from a long night of shouting over sirens. "What have we got, guys?"

"Twenty-eight-year-old female, victim of a aggravated burglary at her residence forty minutes ago," the paramedic rattled off at breakneck speed, her heavy boots squeaking against the polished linoleum. "Neighbour called it in after hearing a struggle and glass breaking. Stab wound to the left upper quadrant, deep laceration to the right forearm, massive blood loss at the scene."

Jack took two paces toward the stretcher to take the chart, his eyes dropping casually to the patient’s face to assess her airway, and in that split second, the entirety of his world shattered into jagged, unyielding pieces.

The color drained from his face so rapidly that Dana actually reached out a hand, thinking he was about to faint. The woman lying pale and motionless beneath the blood-soaked trauma blanket was you.

The breath left Jack’s lungs in a harsh, strangled gasp, his professional distance evaporating so violently that he stumbled forward, his hands trembling uncontrollably as they hovered over your bloodied, chest-stained clothes. "No... no, no, Jesus Christ—"

"Jack? What the hell are you doing?" Dana barked, her eyes widening as she grabbed his elbow, shocked by the total collapse of his usually unflappable demeanor. "Get back, let us transfer her! Shen, I need a trauma team right now! Call down to blood bank, give me four units of O-negative on the rapid infuser!"

Jack didn't hear her. The sterile, controlled world of the Pitt was completely obliterated, replaced by a terrifying, primal panic that choked the throat right out of him. He grabbed the side rail of your stretcher, his knuckles turning stark white, his eyes wide and wild as he looked down at your face. You were barely conscious, your eyelids fluttering weakly, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow, wet breaths.

"Look at me, hey, look at me," Jack begged, his voice cracking, entirely devoid of his usual calm authority as he reached out and cupped your ice-cold cheek with a hand that was shaking like a leaf. "I'm right here. You're at the hospital, you're with me, you're going to be okay. Please, sweetheart, stay with me, stay open for me."

You turned your head toward his voice, your eyes unfocusing as you tried to track him through the thick, terrifying haze of shock. "Jack?" you rasped, a tiny, frail sound that nearly brought him to his knees right there on the blood-spattered floor. "Jack, it hurts so bad..."

"I know, I know, I’ve got you," he sobbed out, not caring in the slightest that half the nursing staff was staring at him in utter shock. He pushed alongside the paramedics, helping to physically lift your limp body onto the trauma bed.

The scene erupted into controlled chaos around him. Clothes were being cut away with shears, cardiac monitor leads were being slapped onto your icy skin, and the metallic thump of suction devices filled the small room.

Jack stood at the head of your bed, his gloved hands cupping your face, his head bent low so he was inches from yours, whispering desperate, broken promises against your hairline while Shen sprinted into the room, snapping on a pair of sterile gloves.

"Abbot, what is going on with you? Step back, I need space at the airway!" Shen yelled over the shrill, alarming beep of the heart monitor, which was ticking at a terrifyingly rapid rate. "Who is this?"

"It's... it's her," Jack choked out, his eyes never leaving your face. "It's Robby’s sister. Shen, please... "

Before Shen could even process the devastating weight of Jack's plea, the door to the trauma bay swung open with a bang, and Robby walked in, holding a tablet and adjusting his stethoscope around his neck, looking fresh and prepared for his morning shift.

"Hey, what's the noise down here? Dana said we had an unstable stab—" Robby stopped dead in his tracks. The tablet slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the hard floor. His eyes swept over the blood-soaked trauma shears, the bags of crimson red blood hanging from the IV poles, and finally landed on your pale, bruised face surrounded by monitoring wires.

"Y/N?" Robby’s voice was barely a whisper, a hollow, disbelieving sound that shattered the room. In three long strides, he shoved past a nurse, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror as he grabbed the edge of the bed. "What happened?! What the fuck happened?!"

"Robby, listen to me—" Shen tried to interject, stepping between him and the bed.

"Get off me!" Robby screamed, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of grief and rage as he looked at your open, bleeding abdomen where Shen was applying heavy, firm pressure with sterile gauze to slow the massive internal hemorrhage.

"Why was she brought in like this?!" Robby’s eyes swung wildly around the room until they landed on Jack, who was still standing at the head of the bed, his shoulders shaking with silent, ragged sobs.

Robby froze, his mind racing through the dark, frantic puzzle of the room. He looked at the way Jack was holding you, not like a doctor holding a patient, not even like a friend holding a colleague's relative, but with the terrifying, desperate agony of a man watching his entire life bleed out on a stainless-steel table.

Robby stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, lethal fury. "Jack... why are you holding her like that? Why are you touching her like that?"

Jack didn't look up. He couldn't take his eyes off your face, watching your oxygen saturation levels dip dangerously low on the overhead monitor. "Robby, please, not right now," Jack pleaded, his voice thick and broken. "She's bleeding badly, she needs to go straight to theatre—"

"I asked you a fucking question, Jack!" Robby roared, lunging forward and grabbing the front of Jack’s scrub top, pulling him away from the bed with such violent force that the cardiac monitor cart rattled. "Why are you looking at my sister like that?! What is she to you?!"

"Robby, stop it!" Dana yelled, stepping boldly between the two grown men, her hands slamming against Robby’s chest to keep him from shoving Jack into the wall. "She is in hemorrhagic shock! Look at the fucking monitor, Robby! Look at your sister!"

"I love her!" Jack snapped, the secret ripping out of his chest like a jagged blade, his voice echoing loudly over the frantic, rhythmically failing beeps of the cardiac machine. "We’ve been seeing each other for months, Robby! I fucking love her, and she was attacked in her home while I was sitting here doing paperwork! So hit me, tear me apart, do whatever the hell you want, but do not make this about us while she is dying on this bed!"

Robby reeled back as if he’d been physically struck, his hands dropping from Jack’s shirt. His face twisted into a complex, ugly storm of betrayal, shock, and profound, terrifying panic. He looked from Jack’s blood-stained hands to your quiet, still face.

“You... you were lying to me? Both of you?" Robby’s voice shook, a bitter, wounded sound. "You were sleeping with my sister behind my back while—"

"Robby, her blood pressure is insane!" Shen yelled, his voice cutting through the rising argument like a scalpel. "We don't have time for a surgical team to come down, we need to open her right here or she goes into cardiac arrest in minutes!"

The harsh reality of the medical emergency slammed back into the room like a tidal wave. Robby blinked, the anger in his eyes instantly drowning in a wave of sheer, unadulterated terror as he watched your heart rate spike, the waveform on the screen flattening out into dangerous, erratic rhythms.

“No," Robby breathed, his voice small, vulnerable, and completely stripped of his usual arrogance. "No, no, no, look at me. I'm right here. You stay with me, do you hear me?"

"I need a thoracotomy tray and a laparotomy kit, right now!" Shen shouted, his hands working furiously to pack more gauze into your side. "Someone get on the suction! Robby, you need to step out!"

"Like hell I'm stepping out!" Robby yelled, shoving his way back to the side of the bed, his hands trembling violently as he reached for a pair of sterile gloves. "She's my sister! I am operating!"

"You cannot touch her, Robby, you know the protocol! You’re not doing shit either, Abbot," Dana sternly intervened, putting her body directly between Robby and the instrument tray. Her face was set like granite, though her eyes were filled with deep, maternal sympathy. "You will freeze or you will make a mistake, and she will die because of it! Out! Both of you, get out of this bay right now!"

"No!" both men barked in unison.

"I am not leaving her!" Jack yelled, his knuckles white as he grabbed a pair of gloves, his eyes fixed on Shen. "Shen, let me assist! My hands are steady, I swear to God my hands are steady!"

"Jack, look at yourself, you're shaking so hard you can barely stand!" Dana snapped, taking Jack firmly by the upper arms and physically pulling him away from the head of the bed. She looked at Robby, then at Jack, her voice dropping into a fierce, commanding tone that left no room for argument. "If you two care about this girl, if you love her at all, you will get the hell out of this room and let Shen and the trauma team do their jobs! Every second you stand here fighting like children is a second she doesn't have! Move!"

She didn't wait for them to comply, she aggressively pushed both men out of the sliding glass doors and drew the blue privacy curtains shut with a sharp, definitive snap.

The waiting corridor outside the main trauma suite felt like a cold, sterile tomb. The morning sunlight was just beginning to bleed through the high frost-tinted windows, casting harsh, pale light across the linoleum floor, but inside the hallway, time had ground to a complete standstill. The only sound was the distant, muffled shouting of medical commands from behind the blue curtain, punctuated by the steady, terrifying rhythm of automated alarms.

Jack stood leaning against the far wall, his hands buried deep in his curls, his body slumping down until he was on the floor. His scrub top was ruined, smeared with bright crimson streaks of your blood that had already begun to dry into stiff, dark patches.

Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like glass, his chest tight with a crushing, suffocating guilt. He should have been there. He should have insisted on driving you home after your shift two days ago, he should have checked your locks, he should have protected you. The image of your bruised skin and the frail, terrified sound of your voice calling his name kept repeating in a horrific, endless loop behind his eyelids.

A few yards down the hallway, Robby was pacing like a caged beast. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging drawn blood into his own palms. Every time he turned around, his furious, bloodshot eyes landed on Jack sitting against the wall, and the bitter, hot rage inside him flared back to life, offering a brief, desperate distraction from the sheer, paralyzing fear that his little sister was dying on the other side of that glass.

Robby marched over, stopping directly in front of Jack. "Get up," Robby spat, his voice trembling with venom. "Get up and look at me, you coward."

Jack slowly lifted his head. His face was ghastly, his eyes hollow, dark, and utterly deadened by grief. He didn't offer any resistance, didn't raise a hand to defend himself. He just looked up at Robby with a hollow, broken expression. "Go ahead, Robby. Say whatever you want. It won't be worse than what I'm already telling myself."

"You lied to me!" Robby shouted, his voice echoing down the empty, quiet corridor, causing a few passing nurses to flinch and walk faster. "For months! I treated you like a brother, Jack! I trusted you with my life in this department, I took shifts for you, I let you into my home, and the whole time you were sneaking behind my back with my sister! You manipulated her!"

"I didn't manipulate anyone!" Jack rasped, standing up slowly, leaning his heavy back against the cold wall to keep his legs from buckling beneath him. "I love her, Robby! I didn't plan for this to happen! It started off slow, and then... Christ, she became the only good thing in my life! She asked me not to tell you because she knew you'd react exactly like this! She was terrified you'd make her feel guilty for just wanting to be happy!"

"Don't you dare put this on her!" Robby barked, stepping directly into Jack's personal space, poking a harsh, rigid finger into Jack's chest right over a dark bloodstain. "She is my little sister! My responsibility! She was hiding things because of you! You put her in danger!"

"You think I don't know that?!" Jack suddenly roared back, his composure snapping entirely as he grabbed Robby's wrist and shoved his hand away, tears spilling freely over his blood-stained cheeks. "You think I'm not sitting here wanting to tear my own skin off because I wasn't there to protect her?! I would have taken every single one of those fucking knives for her, Robby! I would lay down on that table and let them cut my heart out right now if it meant she gets to wake up! So don't you dare stand there and pretend you're the only one who cares whether she lives or dies!"

Robby stared at Jack, his jaw working as if he wanted to scream, but the sheer, raw agony in Jack's voice hit him like a physical blow. The anger drained out of Robby just a fraction, leaving behind the hollow, terrifying reality that neither of them had any control over what was happening behind those blue curtains.

Before Robby could fire back another bitter insult, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open, and Dana walked out alongside Shen. Both of them looked thoroughly exhausted, their blue gowns splattered with blood, but their faces were calm, settled into that weary, professional relief that both Robby and Jack knew so intimately.

Jack was across the hallway in a fraction of a second, grabbing Dana's forearms with desperate, trembling hands. "Is she... is she alive? Please, Dana, tell me she's alive."

Dana looked down at his hands, then up into his terrified, bloodshot eyes, her expression softening into a gentle, reassuring smile. "She's alive, Jack. She's stabilised."

A long, ragged sob burst from Jack's chest as he slumped against the wall, covering his face with his hands as the suffocating weight lifted off his lungs. Robby let out a shaky, desperate breath of his own, running both hands over his face, his shoulders slumping in profound, overwhelming relief.

"The blade missed the important stuff by less than a centimetre," Shen explained quickly, pulling off his surgical cap and wiping his damp brow. "Park and the guys are finishing up her sutures right now. She's going to be okay, guys. She's strong."

"Can I see her?" Robby asked immediately, his voice thick with emotion, stepping toward the trauma bay doors.

"She's being moved up to a different unit in a few minutes once she comes round from the anesthetic," Dana said gently, stepping smartly into Robby's path and laying a firm hand against his chest. She gave him a stern, motherly look that made even the senior attending doctor pause. "And before you step foot into that room, Robby, you are going to take a long, deep breath and leave your ridiculous ego at the door."

Robby blinked, taken aback. "Dana, I—"

"I don't want to hear it," Dana interrupted smoothly, turning her cool, unyielding gaze between Robby and Jack. "I have watched the two of you act like absolute idiots for the last forty-five minutes while that poor girl was fighting for her life. Robby, your sister just survived a horrific, traumatic assault. She does not need to wake up to her brother screaming at the man she loves. She needs peace, she needs rest, and she needs both of you to pull yourselves together and be adults."

Robby looked at Dana, his mouth opening to argue, but the sheer authority in her posture held him silent. He glanced over at Jack, who was still standing by the wall, wiping his face with the back of his wrist, looking entirely drained, hollowed-out, and deeply ashamed.

"Go up to the fourth floor," Dana added softly, her tone loosening into something kinder. "Clean yourselves up. Change out of those ruined scrubs. By the time you look like proper doctors again, she'll be awake in her room."

Your room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp and the gentle, rhythmic pumping of the IV drip monitor. The harsh smell of the trauma bay was replaced by the clean, faint scent of lavender soap and fresh linens. You lay propped up slightly against two large pillows. A thick white bandage was wrapped securely around your right forearm, and beneath the heavy hospital blanket, your abdominal dressing sat quiet and intact.

When the heavy wooden door pushed open, you turned your head slowly toward the sound. The heavy pain medication made your head feel light, floaty, and distant, but the moment you saw Jack and Robby walking into the room together, the fog cleared just enough for your heart to ache with sweet, overwhelming relief.

Both men had changed into clean, dark scrubs. Robby walked in first, looking hesitant, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual confident posture replaced by a cautious, quiet guilt. Behind him stood Jack. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, his eyes were bruised with dark circles, his jaw tight with anxiety, hovering near the doorway as if he wasn't entirely sure he was permitted to be in the same room as you.

"Hey, kiddo," Robby whispered softly, walking over to the right side of your bed. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his face softening into a look of pure, unadulterated big-brother affection. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a very large truck," you rasped, your voice scratchy and dry. You offered him a weak, tired smile. "Dana told me that you were making a scene down there, Robby."

Robby let out a soft, wet laugh, dropping his head for a second as a fresh wave of emotion hit him. "Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of me. I thought, God, I don't even want to say it." He took your uninjured hand, holding it tight between both of his. "The police caught the guy, by the way. He was a petty burglar who panicked when he realised the apartment was occupied. He's in custody. He won't ever come near you again."

"Good," you murmured softly, squeezing his hand weakly. Your eyes drifted past your brother's shoulder, locking onto Jack, who was still standing quietly by the door, staring down at his shoes, his posture heavy with guilt. "Jack, come here."

Jack lifted his eyes, looking at you with such a raw, desperate tenderness that it made your chest tighten. He glanced cautiously at Robby, then slowly walked around to the left side of your bed. He stopped a few inches away, looking as though he wanted to reach out and touch you, but was terrified of breaking you further.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, his voice cracking on the words. "I am so, so sorry. I should have been there. I should have stayed with you last night, I shouldn't have taken this shift—"

"Jack, stop," you interrupted gently, reaching your left hand out toward him. "Stop that right now. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

Jack lowered himself to the floor, wincing at the discomfort. He brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against your knuckles, tears slipping quietly from his eyes and wetting your skin. "I thought I lost you," he choked out, ignoring Robby's presence entirely now as he leaned his forehead against the mattress beside your arm. "When they brought you through those doors... I've never been so terrified in my entire life. I don't care about anything else. I just need you to be okay."

You ran your fingers through his curls, feeling the heavy, frantic racing of his heart slowly begin to settle against your side. "I'm okay, Jack. I'm right here."

Across the bed, Robby watched the two of you. He saw the way Jack held your hand not with possessiveness, but with a deep, reverent care that was entirely selfless. He saw the way your face relaxed the moment Jack touched you, the way the lingering fear in your eyes melted away into complete, absolute safety.

Robby let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. "You two are absolute idiots, you know that?" he said softly, breaking the quiet emotional tension in the room.

Jack lifted his head from the mattress, looking over at Robby with a guarded, wary expression. You offered your brother a small, pleading look. "Robby, please don't be mad at him. It was my idea to keep it quiet. I didn't want you making things complicated at work."

"I am mad," Robby admitted honestly, though the harsh edge in his voice was completely gone, replaced by a weary, warm acceptance. "I'm fucking furious that you both lied to my face for months. I'm furious that I had to find out while my sister was bleeding out." He paused, looking directly at Jack, his dark eyes firm. "But... I saw you down there, Jack. I saw how you looked at her."

Jack stood up slowly, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around yours, meeting Robby's gaze across the bed without flinching. "I love her, Robby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry for lying to you, but I am never going to apologise for loving her."

Robby stared at Jack for a long, silent moment, before a small, dry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, leaning over to kiss the top of your head before stepping back from the bed.

"Well... at least I know if she ever gets hurt again, the attending doctor will be too terrified of failing to let her die." Robby walked toward the door, turning back with his hand on the handle. "I'm going down to the cafeteria to get some decent coffee. Real coffee, not that shit in the breakroom. Jack, you're staying right here until I get back. And then we're going to have a long talk about boundaries."

"Understood," Jack said softly, offering a quiet, respectful nod.

Robby looked between the two of you one last time, his expression softening into pure relief. "I'm glad you're alive. Don't do it again." With a final, gentle click, the door swung shut, leaving the room in a warm, peaceful quiet.

Jack immediately leaned in close, wrapping his arms around you with extraordinary gentleness, careful to avoid your bandaged abdomen as he buried his face in the warm crook of your neck. You wrapped your uninjured arm around his back, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours.

"You really scared me, sweetheart," Jack whispered against your skin, his hands smoothing down your back with a soft, desperate rhythm.

"I know," you murmured, kissing the side of his neck, breathing in the clean scent of soap and his familiar, comforting warmth. "I'm sorry. But I'm safe now. You've got me."

"Yeah," Jack breathed, pulling back just enough to look down into your eyes, his face lit by the soft golden light of the bedside lamp. He leaned in, pressing a slow, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips that tasted of salt, relief, and quiet promises for the future. "I've got you. And I'm never letting you go."

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan @paankhaleyaaar @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @cozyvanillacashmere @killah28

No hi, hello, how are you. If you were to scroll through your text thread with Dr. Jack Abbot, you would see that the faux pleasantries stopped three months ago. The two of you started sleeping together four months ago; it took four weeks for Jack to discern that he didn't need to use basic human greetings to get you in his truck, in his bed. That's not to say you were easy—god, no—it was just that you two had a mutual understanding for what this was.

Sex. That was all it was. Pure primal, fuck like you're going to die otherwise, sex.

It started after the night of the PittFest mass casualty. You had come in early along with your fellow night shifters to work through what was one of your most gruelling shifts to date. The Pitt only lost six patients, but the weight of that day was going to stay etched into your bones for the rest of your life.

Dr. Abbot came back to the ED around two am, checking in on how Shen was handling things—at least, that's what he used as a guise. The truth was that he had struggled to close his eyes once he got home, tossing and turning with the police scanner on, endless memories of dust and gunshots plaguing his mind.

He stayed until shift change, the act of caring for others quietening the buried memories that were crawling to the surface. He stayed to keep an eye on his staff—noticing how people were a little more quiet, how they were exchanging soft, hesitant smiles with one another instead of their usual jokes. At least, that's what he noticed about you.

You couldn't remember what exactly was said to transition from you two walking towards your cars to you sinking onto his cock in the backseat of his truck. In your memory overridden by lust, you could vaguely hear him saying something vulnerable; a response you weren't expecting after your exhausted tongue let slip how you were struggling with the events of the day.

Mutual words about feeling on edge, needing some kind of release, were whispered into the hazy dawn glow—the fusing saffron skies and coral clouds painting you both in a different light.

Mosaics of amber and olive flaked with gold stared up at you, catching every morsel of pleasure that scrunched your eyebrows and relaxed your mouth. Strong, sure hands moulded the flesh on your hips, keeping you completely at his mercy as he pounded up into you. One of your hands met the condensation slicked window, the wet glass providing no support as his every thrust bruised your cervix.

Your nails dug crescents into his sun-speckled canvas, a crescendo of moans and gasps drowning out the wet mess gushing from your core. Hands you admired while wrist deep in chest cavities clutched your ass, one rearing back to land harsh slaps to the heated and aching skin—setting the fire coursing through your veins ablaze.

Your head flung back with a guttural cry of his name, the warmth of his release coating your walls plunging you into a sea of ecstasy. A groan of your name pushed through the ringing in your ears, the thick chest pressed against yours rapidly rising and falling with pants.

The sex thick air in the truck turned suffocating in the tense aftermath—both your minds spiralling about how bad of a mistake this was. Jack's stomach curdled from his blatant abuse of power, your hands trembled in fear of fucking for special treatment accusations—terrified of tarnishing your reputation.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "This was a one time thing."

You nodded, avoiding his eyes as you straightened your scrub top, pulling your pants up while his seed continued to leak out of you. "Agreed."

Despite his unforgiving mind reminding him how badly he screwed up, Jack fell into a dreamless sleep—the ghosts that permanently resided in the back of his mind staying locked in their rooms, letting him rest alone for once.

He struggled to make eye contact with Dana when he arrived for his next shift—the feeling of betraying one of his dearest friends gripping his chest. The logical side of him reasoned that you weren't her daughter—you were an adult capable of making her own questionable decisions, and letting him manhandle you in the back of his truck was just one of them. Unfortunately, that logical side couldn't silence the guilt that invaded him when he saw her wrap an arm around your shoulder and kiss your temple.

However, that guilt vanished hours later—replaced with a sick sort of admiration, one wrapped in barbed wires of lust. He always knew you were competent—hell, out of all his residents, he would trust you the most with his life in your hands. He always knew you were beautiful—it was a fact he accepted with ease the second you set foot in the Pitt.

But now, he knew how your pussy felt squeezing his cock—knew how your hips moved the closer you got to your release, how you crumbled into a whimpering mess as you reached your precipice. Your competency mixed with this new knowledge created a dangerous concoction, one that infiltrated his bloodstream and made him drunk on the thought of you.

You tried to not let it affect your work—willed your nerves to steady with a scalpel in hand, trying to ignore the empty ache you felt since you left his truck. The ache you tried to soothe on your own but failed every time. Because Jack Abbot had fucked you better than all of your exes combined, and it pissed you off. You refused to be a cliché—the young resident who followed the older, handsome, charming attending around, basking in whatever affection and praise he discarded without a care.

You were better than that. Stronger. Evans women didn't risk their careers for silver foxes who hid behind wry quips and flirty smiles.

Apparently, you weren't as strong as you thought.

One week later, you found yourself back in his truck—your knees pressed into the worn carpet, drool dripping down your chin and neck, the air filled with the sounds of his grunts and your gagging.

He instructed you to slip a hand into your pants, to swipe your fingers through your folds and show him how wet you were from sucking an old man's cock.

"Fucking soaked," he groaned out, the slick on your hand shimmering like liquid gold as the sunrise filtered through the tinted windows. "Knew you'd like being on your knees," a calloused finger tapped your cheek, urging your glistening eyes to meet his, "always so eager to please."

The finger slid down to your jaw, tracing a line until his hand cupped the back of your neck. His grip was tight and strong, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it. His other hand encircled your wrist, yanking your hand coated in your arousal to his mouth. Eyes black with hunger penetrated yours, daring you to look away and disobey his silent command. His tongue slipped out, licking a strip up your fingers. Your responding whine was muffled by his cock thrusting down your throat, resulting in a sinful vibration that had his spine tingling.

In this moment, he wasn't your attending and you weren't his resident, weren't one of his closest friends' nieces. You were two willing adults—a man and woman troubled by their own demons, seeking release and relief.

His hand gripping your neck kept you still as he started to fuck your mouth in earnest, each hit of his tip to the back of your throat earning him a gag. Jack watched as tears breached your waterline, slipping down your cheeks to mix in with the slobbery mess glazing your neck. His eyes drifted down, taking in the sight of your wrinkled black scrubs—committing it to memory, to fuck his fist to later. The shift of your hips didn't go unnoticed, the way you were trying to grind against nothing drawing a mocking laugh from his chest.

"You that desperate, huh? Drooling all over my cock got you so worked up you're tryna fuck nothing."

You nodded your head with another muffled whine, lust overpowering your innate urge to bite back. He eased your head back, leaving his leaking tip resting on your tongue, letting you fill your lungs with oxygen before he continued his efforts to ruin you.

"Touch yourself, pretty girl."

You happily obliged, trying to pull your hand from his grasp.

"Uh-uh," he tutted, tightening his grip—just shy of leaving bruises. "This one's mine. You got another one, don't you?"

Your hand clutching his thigh for support let go in an instant, eager to please Jack and in turn please yourself.

You were so sensitive, your panties already soaked, your clit puffy from arousal and neglect. The first touch had you mewling around him, your hips humping your hand with fervour. Jack chuckled above you, gleaming eyes enraptured by your desperation.

"Fuck your fingers like you wanna fuck my cock." He ordered, heat gathering at the base of his spine when you obeyed immediately. He brought your hand back to his mouth, eagerly licking and sucking your slick off it, all while keeping his eyes locked on your hooded, hazy ones. "Taste so fucking good," he moaned, his hips picking up speed.

He came down your throat minutes later, watching your eyes roll back as you swallowed all of him down. Your own orgasm rushed up behind you, tightening every muscle in your body as you clamped down on your fingers with a moan.

Jack manoeuvred you onto the seat next to him, brows furrowed as his post orgasm clarity soured his gut again.

He kept his eyes locked on where he was twisting his ring around his finger. "That wasn't—I didn't mean to," he cleared his throat. "I didn't intend on being so harsh—mean."

You could feel the stress radiating from him, his words softly spoken and genuine.

"It's okay," you murmured, biting your lip. "I…I liked it." And because you wanted to ease his worries and silently give him permission—"I've begged for worse."

He lifted his head, shocked eyes meeting yours with a disbelieving chuckle and shake of his head.

"This is gonna keep happening, isn't it?"

You answered by pulling your scrubs and panties down your legs, pouting at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"Need you to help me clean up my mess, Doctor Abbot."

You collapsed into the drivers seat of your car with two orgasms and a mutual agreement under your belt.

Strictly physical, no strings attached. No kissing, no cuddling, definitely no staying the night. Nothing untoward within the Pitt's walls—these two hookups in the parking lot staying as the only ones.

Never speak a word of this to anyone else.

Three nights—technically mornings—a week you found yourself pulling into Jack's driveway, parking your barely road-legal car behind his truck. His black, navy, and white minimalist interior didn't surprise you one bit, neither did the barren walls. The first few times, he led you into the kitchen with the offer of a drink, exchanging idle chatter about the weird cases that came through the Pitt's doors hours before.

The first time your skin touched his soft sheets, he had you on your back with large, calloused hands pushing your legs towards your chest as he devoured your pussy like a man starved. He made your vision dance with stars, made your ears ring from two earth shattering orgasms before he removed his face—his mouth and chin soaked with your release, a cocky smirk deepening the lines carved around his eyes. Your skin was still tender from his stubble when he sunk in deep, reaching spots you didn't even know existed—pulling sounds from your chest you didn't know you could make.

As you floated from his front door to your car, you knew that Jack Abbot had ruined you for any other man. No one had read your body that quickly before, no one else had found the switch to turn off your brain and give in to primal desire.

And you didn't even know what the simple touch of his lips against yours felt like.

By the sixth night you had learnt absolutely nothing new about him. Well, nothing that was outside of bodies and pleasure.

You learnt he was an ass man, needing to land slaps to your cheeks no matter what position you were in. You learnt he liked to talk—liked to mock every pathetic sound he wrung out of you. You learnt that he had a bottle of blue pills in his bedside drawer, learnt that he was unashamed to swallow one down in front of you and fuck you with his tongue and fingers until it took effect.

You knew exactly what Jack liked in bed. Outside of that? Absolutely nothing.

His favourite colour? Fuck knows. How he cared for his leg after a long shift and long night of screwing you senseless? That was between him and his physiotherapist, you guessed.

And he knew nothing about you. Or, at least, he didn't try to get to know you.

You stopped thinking of this arrangement as friends with benefits—friends felt too generous of a word. Coworkers with benefits sounded the closest to the truth. You worked together, spent at least twelve hours a day in the same building, exchanged the occasional witty remark under fluorescent lights. There were no lingering looks, no secret touches, no dropped voices and subtle smirks. And you were fine with it being that way.

Until you weren't.

By month two it had become impossible to ignore the pang that ricocheted behind your ribcage every time you drove away. The pang that grew to an ache every time you went to Dana and Benji's for dinner.

You adored their relationship, admired it. Your parents' messy divorce had left you skeptical of love, had you doubting if it was worth pursuing if it only ended in misery and spite. But your aunt and uncle softened that cynical side of you, reminding you that yes, love could be messy, but it could also be beautiful and fun. It could be coming home to your best friend everyday, hugging each other even after an argument because going to sleep angry never solved anything.

You tried to find what they had in your exes, putting more effort into relationships that drained you by the end. You heard too many times to count that your lives weren't compatible, that they couldn't give their all to someone who was happy to run out the door when the hospital called.

They didn't understand you—didn't understand what it meant to make a difference, to hold someone's life in the palm of your hands and safely return them to their loved ones. They only focused on the days when you couldn't save someone, when the grief held you captive and motionless. They didn't want to continue holding your hand on those hard days.

And so somewhere along the way you stopped trying—convincing yourself that you were fine with casual, that it was the most suitable relationship for your lifestyle. But every time you saw Dana and Benji, you knew that wasn't true.

They reminded you that you wanted, and deserved, more.

Jack had never slept better. Even with that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had crossed a line—that he was risking not only your career but his friendship with Dana. He managed to silence that voice three times a week; the sounds of the pleasure he was unleashing on you drowning out everything else.

He truly believed he could keep things separate—that the beautiful woman he had in his bed wasn't the same beautiful woman he trusted and found himself proud of every shift. He could totally keep them separate.

So what if his eyes followed your ass when you walked away from the Hub, admiring how the black scrubs clung like a second skin, knowing how they looked discarded on his bedroom floor. Knowing how the globes of your ass felt clutched in his hands, the sound of his palms slapping them reverberating off his walls.

So what if he found himself craving your taste a minimum of three times every shift, the mere thought of your sweet nectar drenching his face leading to inopportune boners.

No one had to know that whenever he saw you biting back at arrogant surgeons that his eyes were glued to your lips, remembering how good they looked—how good they felt—wrapped around his cock. The no kissing clause had been his suggestion—a subconscious part of him knowing that if he felt your lips against his, he wouldn't be able to let go.

The simple act of kissing felt infinitely more intimate than everything else you did. It was a tender act, saved for the person who walked out his door in the morning only to return in the evening. Saved for the person that had left one cold, winter morning and never returned in the frigid evening.

Jack ignored the warmth that spread throughout him in your company, convincing himself it was just lust, just sexual desire. He convinced himself he didn't need to know anything new about you—he already knew what type of student you were, the doctor he had watched you flourish into from the sidelines.

He knew where to touch you, that mouthing at the spot below your ear made you putty in his hands. He knew what positions had you trembling, had your eyes rolling back as you squirted on his dick, on his face. He knew his favourite view was a tie between you above him, suffocating him as you ground your pussy on his mouth, nose, chin, and him behind you, holding you up with a bicep wrapped around your neck in a chokehold, ordering you to keep your eyes on the mirror across from his bed as he stretched your tight pussy with his thick cock over and over again.

He knew that your car was a piece of shit, knew he was worried every time he heard it sputtering out of his driveway—worried enough to demand you stop driving it, to let him drive you to and from work until you could get it fixed, or better yet, buy a new one from this century. (You compromised by getting the bus instead, saying that you two arriving and leaving together would look suspicious.)

And unfortunately, due to his close friendship with Dana, he knew other things about you. What your childhood nickname was, that you once found an abandoned kitten and tried to hide it from your parents—the kitten that was now an old cat, spending it's days curled up on the couch in Dana's sunroom. He knew your parents had an ugly divorce, one they threw you in the middle of—forcing you to choose a side, which subsequently left you in the care of Dana and Benji for a few years.

He knew more about you than he ever wanted to.

"Strip."

Oh, you fucked up.

The drive to Jack's had been dead silent, his anger rolling off of him in waves—sitting in between you two like a physical being. It had your muscles tensing, and more shamefully, had a fire brewing in your core. Because you liked when he got mad—when he barely spoke a word to you, choosing to get his frustrations out by relentlessly drilling you into his mattress. You liked when he got mean—because at least then you knew he was feeling something towards you other than indifference.

You did as you were told, stripping out of your black scrubs, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. From his spot leaning against the wall, Jack could already see the damp patch spreading on your underwear. He let out a humourless chuckle, a thrill running through him seeing how desperate you were already.

"Take your bra off. Lie on the bed."

Again, you followed his instructions with no complaint, no backtalk. Which was the complete opposite to how you had been three hours before—questioning his treatment plan in front of everyone in Trauma One, implying that his orders would cause the patient unnecessary problems later on.

You had a good argument, but he was not going to let your attitude go unchecked. He was not going to let you think the way you spoke to him was something you could do again.

He pushed off the wall, ignoring the pain in his leg—he would deal with it later, once you were in an uber on your way home. He sat down next to you on the bed, trailing light fingers from your ankle up your leg, avoiding the area you wanted him the most. He revelled in the sight of your breasts heaving up and down—you were so responsive, nothing more than his teasing touches starting to unravel you. His fingers continued their journey up your body, skimming over your trembling stomach and resting in the valley between your breasts.

The light touches distracted you enough that you weren't expecting his other hand coming up, slapping your tit before pinching the pebbled nipple. Hard.

"Ah—Jack!" You shrieked, your back arching away—or towards, you weren't sure—from the pain. Whimpers slipped from you as his touch eased up, his head dropping to place soft kisses around the tender skin. The fingers between your breasts trailed to the neglected nipple, tweaking it gently.

He pulled back, smirking when you whined at the loss of his touch. "Anything you want to say before we get started?" He drawled, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

You pouted, pretending to think. "Your curls looked really good today."

A rough hand dropped to your thigh, spreading them apart and pinching the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Flattery will get you nowhere, not in this room."

"So there are other rooms where it will get me somewhere?"

"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut." He didn't give you time to talk back, raising his hand and landing a harsh slap to your clothed pussy. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, chasing the friction—needy for it. He openly laughed at you, his free hand pushing your thigh down as he delivered another slap.

He moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh with a warning look. He watched with sick pleasure as you crawled towards him on all fours, grabbing your upper arm once you were close enough and pulling you over his lap with force. You let out a yelp, muffled by the sheets as you failed to catch yourself on your arms.

His hands gripped your ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them. "Love this ass, sweetheart. Distracts me a bit too much at work, though. Somethin' else you need to be punished for."

You huffed, pushing up on your arms. "How is that my fau—" you cut off with a gasp, a hard slap to your left cheek stealing your breath and jolting you forward. The heat travelled the short distance to your core, adding fuel to the flames already blazing. Your panties were embarrassingly soaked from his rough treatment, sticking to your skin and his scrub pants.

"What did I say about keeping your mouth shut, huh?" His hand rubbed over the tender spot, tsking.

"Technically," you started, voice light and breathy, "you didn't tell me to shut my mouth."

You were rewarded with three slaps in quick succession, pulling a loud moan from you. You ground your hips the best you could, trying to get the right angle for your aching clit to rub against the growing bulge under you.

"Fucking brat," Jack spat, faux malice lacing his tone. "Running your mouth in my ED, and now you're trying to get off without my permission?" He pulled the ruined cloth between your legs to the side, a light finger ghosting along the slick covering your folds. He groaned, pulling his finger back to suck it clean. "You're dripping—not much of a punishment if you're enjoying yourself, is it?"

Any response you had is stolen from your mouth, whines falling out instead as he plunged two thick fingers into you. He didn't start slow—he never did when he was like this—pistoning them in and out at a force that was bordering on inhuman, making sinful wet sounds fill his room. His other hand forced your head into the sheets, muffling your whimpers—the sheets growing damp underneath you from your drool.

He hit your sweet spot with every thrust, your clit rubbing against his leg from the force. You could feel your high rapidly approaching, the spankings leaving your nerve ends feeling raw and exposed. Jack could feel it—how your walls were fluttering and clenching around his fingers, your muffled whines and moans turning high-pitched. He inserted a third finger, stopping the thrusting and leaving them still—the pads of them rubbing oh so slowly against the textured spot.

He knew it felt like torture to you, how slow he was going—keeping you right on the edge, suspended in the air, looking down at the waves of pleasure he was denying you. Your hips moved back and forth, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. His hand left your head, delivering another harsh slap to your aching ass—making you sob from the unbearable mix of pain and pleasure swirling in your core. "Who said you're allowed to do that, sweetheart?" He asked, mockingly sweet.

"Please," you whimpered, turning your head to look at him with glazed eyes. "Please, Jack."

"Begging isn't gonna do you any favours tonight, pretty girl."

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. "Up you get," he said, helping you move until you were straddling him—your naked thighs bracketing his clothed ones. One large hand was clutching your ass, keeping your hips from meeting his—prolonging your search for sweet relief. His other hand came up to your mouth, a wet finger tapping your bottom lip. "Clean up your mess," he muttered, hooded eyes focused on your lips parting for him.

You licked the tip of his finger teasingly, moaning at the taste of yourself on his skin. Something low rumbled in his chest, and he pushed all three fingers into your mouth—watching intently as you licked and sucked your slick off of them. Your dazed eyes met his and it struck him—not for the first time—how beautiful you were, how you allowed him to see you like this. It made that annoying thing in his chest happen—the thing that felt like his heart was aching in longing, yearning.

He thrust his fingers in deeper, making you gag around them—watching in sick delight as tears slipped down your cheeks. Your hips started to rock in his hold, seeking friction that you weren't going to find. His cock was painfully hard and tenting his scrubs, making it impossible to ignore—especially not when you looked so fucking ruined.

He removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva keeping them connected to your lips. He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you—again, not for the first time—and knew that the only way to stop himself from doing so was to fuck you from behind—a position he had been favouring lately, for this very reason.

He unceremoniously shifted you onto the bed next to him—a small, surprised squeak escaping you. His lips twitched at the cute sound, and he briefly forgot what he was doing, what he was mad about. Your hand sneaking onto his lap to squeeze his cock reminded him.

Jack abruptly stood up, placing himself between your open thighs. He gripped your chin, tilting it up so you couldn't look anywhere except his eyes—his desire painting them black, amber flames surrounding the dilated pupils. "You're just making this harder for yourself, sweetheart. You sure there's nothing you wanna say?"

Your eyes dropped down to the tent inches from your face, your fingers twitching with the need to start palming him. "You sure you're not the one making it harder for yourself?" You met his eyes again, watching them narrow menacingly as your innocent smile morphed into a cheeky smirk.

His hand moved from your chin, gripping your cheeks hard and squishing them 'til your lips puckered. "Still haven't learnt your lesson." He pushed your head back, encouraging you to lie back.

He grabbed the sides of your soiled underwear and yanked them down your legs, leaving you completely bare while he was still fully dressed. His hands found your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease and pulling you back so your legs were hanging off the bed with your ass in the air.

Your cheeks received one more slap each—Jack really was obsessed with your ass—before you felt his tip prodding at your entrance, slipping down to nudge your clit. You whined at the teasing, pushing your ass back against him. A large hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing you into the mattress with force.

"Stay. Still." He ordered through gritted teeth.

Then he plunged in, sinking to the hilt in one thrust. A choked moan lodged in your throat, his size still a shock no matter how many times he stretched you open. He gave you no time to adjust, setting a harsh rhythm, making your hands scramble around on the sheets looking for support.

"So big," you gasped out.

A deep laugh rumbled from him. "So big," he mocked you. "You say that every time."

Skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with his grunts and your mewling. You could feel the fabric of his scrubs on the back of your thighs—the fact he was fucking you while fully clothed sending a shiver down your spine.

Jack picked up on the signs of your impending orgasm straight away, feeling his own tightening his balls. "Hold it," he demanded, slipping a hand under your hips and easily finding your clit. You sobbed into the sheets as he rubbed tight circles, your body locking up in effort to keep your release at bay.

"S'not fair," you whined, high and wrecked. The fire in your core was raging, threatening to set you aflame—Jack's orders be damned.

"Y'know what's not fair?" Jack grunted. "When pretty residents walk around like they own the place." His hand moved from your back, his palm resting on the sheets next to your head. He dropped forward, dragging his lips up your spine, biting down on the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Your eyes rolled back, the pain adding to the dizzying pleasure that was making your whole body ache from holding back. "S'not fair," he mocked you again, "when you make me walk around hard. All. Fucking. Shift." He punctuated the last words with hard thrusts, the force knocking breaths out of you.

"Come in me, Jack, please." You whined, delirious and in need of whatever he'll give you. "Need it s'bad, I'll be good f'you—promise!"

He groaned at your begging, pulling out at the last second to deny you what you were so prettily asking for. Even if he wanted nothing more than to fill you to the brim, this was part of your punishment. He spilled over your ass and lower back, painting your skin in white streaks.

You sobbed at the loss of him, at his hand leaving your burning clit and giving you no relief. He leaned back over you, his mouth hovering right next to your ear. "Aw, you wanna come, sweetheart?" You nodded fervently, tears soaking the sheets below you. He gripped your chin tight, turning your face until your lips were inches from his—your breaths mingling together. "Be a good girl and apologise."

"But I didn't do anything wrong." You whimpered out.

He tutted. "Try again."

His hand returned to your clit, fingers rubbing agonisingly slow figure eights—the fire blooming at full force beneath his touch. He watched the sweat beading at your hairline, the tremors running through your body making his bed shake; you were so determined to not give in, and it only made him inevitably breaking you that much sweeter.

He moved his head, nuzzling into the side of your neck—breathing in your intoxicating scent before he started nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. And just as he predicted, that was your breaking point. Your body shook harder underneath him, a debauched moan slipping from you lips.

"M'sorry, Jack! I'm so sorry—won't do it again." You whimpered, hips rolling back and forth, trying to hump his hand. "Please—it hurts so bad!"

Satisfied that you finally said you were sorry, he moved off of you—flopping onto his back next to you and not wasting a second to grasp your waist and pull you on top of him. He positioned you so you were hovering over his face, giving you a moment to get your bearings before yanking you down and absolutely devouring you.

Your hands were quick to thread into his curls, tugging hard as you rode his face. Three fingers thrust into you again, this time curling and hitting your g-spot perfectly. The most sinful sounds he'd ever heard fell from your mouth, a sharp cry jolting out of you when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard. You were so close already, the teasing and edging for what felt like hours leaving a painful knot that was ready to unravel violently.

"Jack—oh, fuck!" You shook above him, your body glistening with sweat as you climbed higher. He groaned, marvelling at the sight of you—yeah, he was never going to forget this. It sent vibrations through your pussy and your vision started to blur at the edges. "I'm gonna come—please let me come!"

He doubled his efforts, silently telling you to let go. You threw your head back with a scream, an all-consuming orgasm tearing through your core—ripping every single one of your nerves apart, a new galaxy bursting behind your eyes. You squirted all over Jack's face, his eyes never once leaving your heaving body as he eagerly drank every drop you offered him. He continued fucking his fingers into you, mouthing at your clit as you came down. You tried to lift your hips off his face but he refused, not letting up until overstimulated sobs left you and you begged him to stop.

He sat you on his chest, rubbing his hands along your thighs and hips. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

You returned home feeling both light and heavy—your head light from the brief sub space Jack put you in, your heart heavy because you couldn't do this anymore.

You couldn't do casual, you deserved more. And you knew Jack could never offer you what you truly needed, not when he was so adamant on being alone—which, honestly, was bullshit. He was never alone—choosing to either strap his SWAT vest on or pick up an extra shift in the ED, calling you up when he wanted company sex, refusing to sit in the silence by himself.

You didn't re-download the dating apps right away, content with accepting the fact that you were ready to start looking again. You continued your routine with Jack, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than usual. If he picked up on it, he didn't say anything—it wasn't like you two talked much anyways.

A few weeks later, you were at the Northside Farmers Market with your mom, browsing the stalls before you had to leave for your night shift. It was something the two of you tried to do every other week when your schedules lined up—an old tradition you had as a kid, every Friday going to the market to buy fresh, local ingredients for your family dinner the following Sunday. It stopped when your parents' tumultuous arguments in front of the vendors, the public, tainted something you once held so dear. Now that you were an adult, you were determined to replace those memories with good ones again.

You were at the baker's stall, exchanging idle chit-chat with Billie—the vendor—when a tall man approached the stall. Billie's face lit up at the sight of him, the older woman rounding the counter to pull him into a hug.

"Ollie," she said, pulling back and swatting his arm lightly. "I should be mad at you, y'know. You work how many blocks away, and you're only visiting your Ma now?"

You turned to the man in surprise, watching his cheeks flush red. He was older than you—most likely in his forties, if you were to guess from the few grey hairs streaking his dark beard. He was ruggedly handsome but tamed—his clothes looking like he would fit in on a farm, but the stitching on his jacket told you he would've paid at least a couple hundred for it.

Before he could respond, Billie looked between the both of you—the smile of a cunning mother overtaking her face. She placed a hand on his bicep, turning to you. "This is my son Oliver, he works at Westbridge as an anesthesiologist. If I remember correctly, you work at a hospital, don't you?" Oliver turned to you fully then, kind green eyes looking you up and down in pleasant surprise.

You smiled bashfully. "Yes, you remember correctly. I'm a third year resident at PTMC, specialising in Emergency Medicine." Oliver held out a hand and you shook it, offering him your name.

Billie returned to the other side of her stall, helping out with another customer. You and Oliver stepped to the side, falling into easy conversation about your jobs. Time passed quickly, and before you knew it your warning alarm to leave for your shift was going off. Oliver politely asked if he could get your number—saying that it's been really nice talking to you, and that he would love to get to know you more over a coffee or dinner sometime. You happily gave it to him with the smallest flutter in your chest—something in the shape of hope.

You found your mom at the books & records stall, gushing to her about the handsome man you just met.

"People hardly meet organically anymore!" She exclaimed, looping her arm through yours, the two of you practically squealing as you left the market.

Not even an hour later, you were standing at the Hub, talking to Lena about the parents in North Three with a degree in medicine from Google University, when your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.

7:15pm

(412) 858-5725: It was really great meeting you today, I would love to take you out for dinner one night soon if you're interested (412) 858-5725: I completely understand if our schedules don't match up, no pressure at all :) (412) 858-5725: This is Oliver, by the way. If that wasn't obvious already haha

"I know that look," Lena singsonged, pointing an accusatory finger at your face. You looked up from your phone to see a sly smirk on her face. "Who's the guy?"

You looked away, biting your lip to suppress the smile you didn't realise had bloomed across your face. "It's no one, really. We only met, like, an hour ago."

"Ah, young love," the older nurse swooned. "Let me know how it goes, hon." Then she was throwing you a wink and calling after Vivi who was rushing past.

Luckily, you and Oliver figured out you both had the following Friday off and made plans to go to a family-owned Italian restaurant—not too intimate, not too casual. You kept the date to yourself—not even telling your mom—in fear of jinxing it. The two of you exchanged a handful of texts before your date, each one making you feel more giddy about your upcoming date.

You went to Jack's once in the week before your date with Oliver—cutting your usual three nights a week down to one, claiming that you were feeling too unwell the other nights. Which technically wasn't a lie, the guilt was starting to make you feel uneasy. You reminded yourself that you had no reason to feel guilty—you and Jack weren't dating, weren't exclusive, and you hadn't even been on a date with Oliver yet. But even with your reasoning, there was something clenching your chest and curdling your gut. You reminded yourself that you and Jack were just coworkers who used each other for stress relief; you didn't tell Shen about your date, so why would you tell Abbot?

The guilt stayed with you as you got ready for the date—feeling like you were trying to cover a cold secret with someone else's warmth. Your thoughts were briefly distracted when your phone pinged with a text.

7:03pm

Abbot: Come over to mine tonight. 9pm.

You: Sorry, can't tonight. I have plans.

Abbot: 👍

You scoffed at his response, your previous guilt evaporating in an instant. This was what you needed—the reminder that you deserved more than what Jack could give you.

You walked into the restaurant just before seven thirty, feeling like you had something to prove—to yourself or to someone else, you weren't sure.

The date went well—great, even. Oliver was charming, but also humble—mentioning his less than glamorous upbringing, how he got into med school on a scholarship, that the first thing he did with his first big paycheck was pay off part of his parent's mortgage.

You bonded over the struggle that was med school, the failing healthcare system, the weirdest cases you've worked on. Dinner continued into dessert, then another bottle of wine, but there was still a tension in the back of your head. It had you turning your head when he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing your cheek instead of your lips. It had you comparing the hand on your bare shoulder to another hand, one that wore a dark ring and knew exactly how to touch you.

You parted ways with tentative plans for a second date; the next time your nights off aligned wasn't for another two weeks, and you both didn't want to put too much pressure on a set date just yet.

You visited your mom the next day for lunch, filling her in on all the details about your date. She was ecstatic for you, claiming that she always knew the market was going to pay you back somehow.

Monday rolled around quickly, and you walked into your shift ten minutes early like you always did—allowing yourself a few minutes to catch up with your aunt before she went home. Dana was at the Hub as usual, complaining to Robby about the nurse shortage and the pressure it was putting on her people.

She looked over as you approached the counter, her face morphing into a smirk that you knew meant she had been talking to your mom.

"Hey, doll. How was your weekend?" She emphasised the question with a small wink. "Your mom told me you had a handsome date on Friday."

You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "I should've known she'd tell you as soon as I left on Saturday."

Dana rounded the counter and slung an arm around your shoulder. "It wasn't straight away, she waited until we had dinner that night." You laughed with a small shake of your head. "Don't leave me hanging, how was it?"

Robby was still stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, partially paying attention to you and your aunt. His face was pulled into a puzzled expression as he observed Jack standing not far behind you—clearly eavesdropping on your conversation with Dana, a small frown furrowing his brows and setting his mouth in a straight line. It wasn't really eavesdropping since you were both talking at a normal volume, any of your colleagues passing by would've heard your conversation.

What Robby found odd was that Jack had stopped walking on his way to the lockers to listen, one hand frozen on his bag strap and the other curled into a tight fist at his side. His cheek twitched in the way that meant something was bothering him, and Robby came to the chilling realisation that Jack was jealous. Over you—Dana's niece.

You started recounting the date to Dana, a giddy smile stretching your lips. It felt good to be openly wanted by someone, to not be a secret kept in the dark—to be something other than a stress relief booty call.

Robby watched in unease as Jack continued to stand as still as a statue, the vein in his forehead starting to bulge as a dark red crept up his neck.

Robby grabbed a tablet and casually rounded the Hub's counter, trying not to draw your attention. He started towards the North rooms, grabbing Jack's bicep in an iron grip and forcing him through the North Bay doors.

Once safely out of your earshot, he turned to his friend with a scolding glare.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Jack was pretty damn proud of himself. He managed to get to the end of his shift without blowing up at you once. It was due to Robby's threat ringing in his ears for the most part—having your best friend threaten to castrate you with a dead serious face tends to lower your anger to a simmer.

Jack hadn't uttered a word to Robby, the guilt and jealously written all over his face told him enough. Robby kindly reminded him that he was the least of Jack's worries—if Dana found out he so much as touched a hair on your head, losing his dick would be sweet relief compared to what she'd do.

So, Jack treated you as normal—ignoring the stabbing in his chest, the beast in his gut demanding to be let out.

There were less than ten minutes left of his shift when he caught sight of you talking to Lena at the north nurse's station.

Keep walking, he told himself. His feet didn't seem to get the memo.

"I meant to ask," Lena said, leaning her arms on the counter. "Any update on Market Guy?"

Robby had dragged Jack away before he heard the full recount of your date to Dana, which he had been both grateful for and disappointed by. He needed to know like he needed air to breathe—which was a terrifying realisation to him.

"We went out for dinner on Friday," you replied, biting your lip to hold back yet another smile. "It was really nice. He was a total gentleman, very charming, pretty down to earth." Lena nodded along, hanging off of every word. "We're planning a second date for when our schedules next align."

That was it for Jack. His vision clouded with a red fog, the beast in his gut rearing its head and breaking out. He stormed over to the two of you, gripping your upper arm.

"We need to talk," he bit out, ignoring the shocked look Lena gave him.

He didn't wait for your response, pulling you towards the only empty Central room. Once the door was closed, you struggled in his hold, trying to rip your arm free.

"Let go of me, Dr. Abbot." You demanded as calmly as you could, your heart beat quickening at the storm rolling over his face. He let go but stepped closer, crowding your personal space.

"That's why you couldn't see me on Friday? Because you had a date?" He seethed through clenched teeth.

You stepped back, anger starting to grip your chest. "I'm sorry—what?"

He followed you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Did you sleep with him?"

"How the fuck is that any of your business?"

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the day shift had started filtering in—Robby and Dana finding their command posts at the Hub. Dana was the first to notice the two of you in Central Seven, her eyebrows drawing together at the furious look on your face.

"Hey," she said to Robby, getting his attention. She nodded towards where you and Jack looked like you were having a heated discussion. "You know what's going on with them?"

Robby followed her eyeline, tensing as he saw what he prayed wouldn't happen within the walls of his ED. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Uh, no, not a clue."

Dana eyed him suspiciously. "Well, do you mind telling them we have patients who could use that room?"

"I'd rather not go in there."

Dana slowly turned to him, levelling him with a glare. "Michael Robinavitch, what aren't you telling me?"

Back in the room, your hands were starting to shake from anger, and Jack's head was throbbing from holding back the full wrath of his jealousy.

"I have the right to know if you're screwing other people."

You let out a humourless laugh. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't have the right to know shit!"

Jack's cheek twitched. "Yes I do. You said no to me to see some other guy."

"Oh, what—so I'm meant to come running at your beck and call?"

His jaw flexed and he opened his mouth, but your anger and disbelief at the situation had taken over.

"This has just been one big waste of time! I don't want casual anymore—not with you, not with anyone."

Jack opened his mouth before he could think better of it. "I didn't hear you complaining when you opened your legs for me."

A crack echoed throughout the room, the sound of your palm slapping Jack's cheek filling the tension riddled air. "You're a fucking asshole, Jack Abbot."

You shoulder checked him as you rushed out the door, refusing to let him see the tears streaming down your cheeks. You hurried past the Hub, not noticing Dana and Robby watching you with shock painting their faces. Your hand was tingling from the impact, your vision blurring as you made your way out the ambulance bay doors.

Dana didn't stop to think, storming into Central Seven where Jack was staring at the ground—his hand rubbing his tender cheek.

"What the fuck did you do to my baby?" She demanded, her voice dangerously low.

Shit.

The cold morning air made the tears staining your cheeks sting slightly, the sensation grounding and stopping you from completely falling apart. You never cried over a man—it was a rule you made for yourself when you were young, after seeing how your dad would make your mom fall apart at least once a week. They weren't worth your tears.

You wanted to charge back into the ED and slap Jack again for making you cry.

You stayed sitting on the ground with your back against the brick wall until your tears dried, until your breaths evened out and didn't hurt on their way out your lungs. You tensed when you heard uneven steps approach you—there was only one person whose steps sounded like that.

Your head shot up as he sat down opposite you, glaring daggers at him. He raised his hands placatingly.

"Please don't hit me, I'm here to apologise." When you didn't make a move to leave or attack him, he slowly lowered his hands. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean what I said—to imply that you were easy."

"Then why did you say it?" Fuck, you hated how small your voice sounded.

He let out a long breath, looking up at the sky. "Because I was mad—upset." He looked back at you, his eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "I didn't know that's how you felt…you never said anything to me."

"How could I when you barely speak to me? You just fuck me and then push me into an uber. Really makes a girl feel special," you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your chest—starting to feel exposed. "I can't read your mind, Jack. You can't tell me you want casual one day and the next get mad because I went on a date."

He had the decency to look ashamed, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "That's fair. I don't really have any excuses, no good ones at least."

You sighed, your head feeling heavy and starting to throb. "I don't need excuses; I just want to know why. Why you act like you don't know me, why you won't—" your voice dropped, wobbling slightly. "Why you won't kiss or hug me. I mean," you let out a bitter chuckle, "do you even know what aftercare is?"

He started to twist his ring around his finger, his mouth moving side to side as he struggled to find the right words to say. "Kissing and hugging felt too intimate—felt like things I couldn't take back." He looked up at you again, his eyes glassy. "I didn't want to admit to myself that I had—have—feelings for you, and the thought of kissing you…I mean I've thought about it a lot—to the point it's been driving me insane." He rubbed a hand along his jaw, a huffed laugh leaving him. "I was worried that by kissing you I wouldn't be able to let go, and that terrified me. It meant you could become another photo I keep in my nightstand."

You knew what he was talking about—you had opened it while looking for tissues, finding a collection of photographs in the drawer. You tried not to snoop, but you were fairly certain one of them was his wife and a couple others were his old army buddies.

"I get that, I do. The universe has handed you more than enough grief and hardship for one lifetime." You stood up, closing the distance between you and sitting next to him. "But that isn't solely your decision to make, Jack. You've been hurting us both by keeping your feelings to yourself." You brought your knees up, hugging them to your chest and resting your cheek on them. "And, honestly? A girl needs kisses and cuddles after coming four times in one night; a sub drop can be pretty brutal."

Jack's guilt multiplied tenfold. "Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry—I didn't even think about that." He shifted slightly, turning to look at you fully. "I would like to try again, if you'll let me. No casual bullshit, no pretending like I don't think about you all the time. Lots of kissing and cuddling—and orgasms, so many orgasms."

It was then that you noticed the ice pack in Jack's hands, resting over his groin. You couldn't stop the snort that slipped out. "I see you had a chat with Dana."

"Don't know if I would call it a chat. She's got a harder kick than I was expecting."

You hummed. "Just be glad you didn't get to experience her right hook—she gave my dad a black eye when she found out he was cheating on my mom. And she won't hesitate to give you one if you hurt me again."

His eyes were shining, hope swirling around the honey gold and sunlit green. "Does that mean you'll give me another chance?"

"Yes," you replied, letting the small smile break through. "But no sex until I think you deserve it."

Jack nodded, his own megawatt smile putting the sun to shame. "You're in charge here, sweetheart." He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "Can I kiss you, at least?"

You barely managed a nod before his mouth descended on yours, his lips achingly tender. He moved slowly, basking in the warmth he had been denying himself of for so long. A cold hand came up to cup your cheek and you jerked away in surprise, making him laugh and apologise before diving back in, settling the hand on your back to pull you in closer.

"I was right," he mumbled against your lips. "There's no way I'm letting go now."

“Oh, so you don’t want to get in my pants?” Jack cocks an eyebrow, glancing at you before moving his eyes back to the road. 

“Mmm, I didn’t say that,” you twist your body towards him, leaning over the console between the two of you, pressing a lingering kiss just below his ear that makes his breath catch a little, “I plan on getting in them after,” 

You sink back into your seat, a cocky little smile on your face as you smooth down your dress. After pulling into a parking space near the market the two of you wait in the car for a moment while Jack’s hard-on dissipates. 

“You know this is your fault,” he says, entirely playful.

“Me?” You laugh, “how is this my fault?”

“If you weren’t wearing that dress we’d already be picking out peaches right now,” he grins, eyes tracing down your body again. 

“Plums,” you correct with a little smile. 

“Plums,” he agrees with a little eye roll. Another minute goes by before the two of you get out of the car, walking hand in hand towards the farmers market.

“We gotta go to Cato Corner Farm to get that sheep's cheese you like,” Jack says, squeezing your hand.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “the Zamorano. You’re so right,” you pull him towards you and place a kiss on his cheek, “you think of everything,”

He just smiles back at you, happy to be able to make you happy. As you wander through the stalls, leading Jack right to the Halfhorn's Farm booth to get your plums, Jack notices a pair of young men whose eyes are following you. You don’t seem to notice, slowing down near a stall filled with fresh cut flowers. You take in a deep breath and Jack turns back to you just as you start to bend forward to smell the peonies. 

“Woah, baby,” he says, putting his hand on your lower back, stopping you. You look up at him, wide-eyed and a little confused before he reaches down and grabs a stem of the fluffy pink flower and holds it out for you. Your expression melts into one of pure adoration, a small blush spreading across your cheeks as you hold the flower up to your nose, breathing in its sweetness all while keeping your eyes locked on Jack. You hold it up to him and he touches his nose to the soft petals, inhaling just like you had. 

“Think we need to get you some of these, pretty girl,” he says, voice low enough so only you can hear him. Your blush deepens, cheeks flushing red, as you take his hand. He turns to the woman at the booth and asks for twelve stems.

“Lovely choice,” the woman says with a warm smile, “the peonies are just gorgeous this time of year,”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree as she wraps up the bouquet in brown parchment paper. Jack hands her his card before she can even say how much they cost, “thank you so much,” you say, taking the bursting spray of flowers from her. Although Jack offers to hold them for you, you insist on carrying them yourself, looking down at them every few steps with the most precious smile on your face.

As the two of you meander down the shady path Jack sees a man standing with his wife and kid blatantly staring at you. Smartass thinks his sunglasses make him discreet but Jack can tell his eyes are fixed on you, right where your little dress cuts across your chest, pressing your tits together perfectly. Jack spots the Cato Corner Farm stand to your right, dragging you that way by your hand, placing you firmly in front of him, your back pressed to his chest, blocking you from that asshole's view.

The old woman at the cheese stand recognizes you by name as you greet her sweetly.

“Hi Ethel,” you smile, “how’s it going out here today?”

“I’m not sure it could be a more beautiful day,” Ethel smiles, and leans forward as if to tell you a secret, “or a more beautiful dress,” she gives you a knowing little wink. This one, of course, Jack doesn’t mind. Ethel always pays you a compliment, perhaps a little repayment for your kindness to her. You had brought her to the Pitt after she had a bout of vertigo about two years ago and she hasn’t stopped being completely gracious since. Plus, you found it endlessly entertaining how she always flirted with…

“Hi Dr. Abbot,” Ethel says sweetly, “looking very handsome today, as always.” You lean back in Jack’s arms, turning to him and beaming as he smiles at Ethel. She had become very smitten with him the day you brought her to the hospital and he treated her. Little did you know at the time, Jack paid extra attention to her because he wanted to spend more time with you, to take care of someone you cared about. He had learned later that you had really only known her in passing. It made him want you all that much more. 

“Ethel,” Jack says, squeezing you back against him, “how many times do I have to ask you to call me Jack?”

“Oh, psh,” Ethel waves him off, but she’s grinning like a school girl, “what can I get you today dear, half a pound of the Zamorano?”

“Am I that transparent?” You smile. Ethel turns and grabs a wheel of cheese, moving it to the cutting block. Just as she starts cutting, her grandson, Trevor, meanders over to where the two of you wait. Jack hates Trevor. Maybe he hates him because he would be a more ‘age appropriate’ guy for you, or maybe he hates him because he is always flirty with you, whether Jack is there or not. It’s probably that latter.

“This is a reserve gruyere with a little tomato tapenade,” Trevor says, reaching forward to hand you one of the little paper cups he’s been passing out before he noticed you, “really nice acidity from the tomato with the nutty flavor of cheese,”

Before you can even react Jack is reaching around you and taking the sample from Trevor getting enormous satisfaction from the way his face drops. Jack plucks the little slice of cheese from the cup, holding it out for you to try. You look at him with a little, sassy smile on your face, knowing exactly what he’s doing, and open your mouth for him. You take a bite of the cheese, leaving half for Jack, who smugly pops it into his mouth. 

“Mm,” Jack hums, nodding as if he’s seriously contemplating the flavor profile Trevor described. 

“It’s good,” you say, turning to Jack to see if he agrees. 

“Yeah, we’ll take a quarter pound of that Trevor,” Jack says, a cocky smirk on his face, “and the tapenade,”

Trevor turns, dejected, muttering to Ethel that you’d like a quarter pound of the gruyere as he hands her the block.

“Oh wonderful,” Ethel says over her shoulder. Trevor slinks away towards the van to sulk. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you laugh, whispering to him.

“Gotta make sure everyone knows who you belong to,” he murmurs in your ear. His words send a wave of warmth throughout your body. 

“Oh yeah?” You say, your voice lowered so only he can hear.

“Gonna show you too when we get home,” he says, squeezing your hips, pulling you back against his crotch where you can feel his cock hardening against your ass.

“Jack,” you giggle against him as he takes your bouquet of flowers from you, moving you to his side so he can hold the large bunch of flowers over his pelvis.

“Alright, here we are,” Ethel says, handing you two blocks of cheese and a jar of tapenade. 

“Thank you, Ethel,” you say, taking the provisions from her and putting them in your bag.

“Have a good day you two,” Ethel says, before looking at Jack, “and you better keep an eye on her today. Gonna have all the fella’s chasing your girl lookin’ that pretty.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jack smiles, taking your hand and walking you towards the Halfhorn's booth. 

Jack watches you with a little smile on his face as you contemplate the plums at the produce stand, a tiny, little line between your brows as you pick up the pieces of fruit one by one, turning each over a couple times before putting it in the little green, pulp fiber basket or placing them carefully back on the pile. You’re the most precious thing in the world to him. He loves the little concentrated face you make as you pick out stone fruit, it’s the same one he’d first noticed at the hospital when you’re focusing on something really hard. It makes his heart flutter that you take this fruit as seriously as the life and death situations you deal with at work. Just as you’re bringing one up to your nose, another patron at the stand sidles up next to you. Jesus Christ, Jack can’t catch a fucking break. 

“How do you know if they’re good?” He asks, nodding down to the plums. This guy’s closer to Jack’s age but it doesn’t make him any less pissed.

“Oh, um,” you look down at the plum in your hand, really considering the question more than the reason this guy’s asking you, “you gotta check for a little give, press near the stem, and it should smell sweet and… plummy…” 

The guy nods with a smarmy smile on his face and just as he’s about to open his mouth to try and keep talking to you, you turn in Jack’s direction and he’s already walking towards you to intervene.

“Baby,” you say, smiling as your gaze lands on him immediately, “if we got peaches for cobbler would you eat it? Or-” you take in a little gasp, resting your hand on his chest, “peach upside down cake. Do you remember? I made it last summer with your mom?” 

Jack looks at you with reverence as you look at him, your fingers toying with the little buttons below his collar. As much as he enjoys showing everyone who you belong to, he also knows he belongs to you just as much, and you’re just as willing to show that. He leans down and places a little kiss on your lips.

“You’re the sweetest,” he murmurs.

“Is that a yes?” You smile at him.

“Yes,” he says, grabbing another green basket for you to fill. 

The two of you wander back towards the truck with your haul, Jack carefully placing the peonies in the back seat so they don’t get squished. 

“Hey,” you say, making him turn towards you as he starts the car, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” he says, resting his hand on your knee, giving it a little squeeze, “but I think if you wear this dress outside again it’s gonna kill me. Too many guys checking you out… and Ethel…”

You laugh, shaking your head and resting your hand on top of his.

“You’re the only one who gets to see what’s underneath,” you say, dragging his hand up your leg slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt. You pull your legs apart, head leaning back against the headrest staring at him. As he keeps his eyes on the road he moves his hand up your thigh until his pinky brushes up on where he thinks the seam of your panties should be. He turns to you and you have a little smirk on your face, your bottom lip between your teeth.  

“Oh my god,” he shifts his hand a little further, his fingers running up the center of your bare pussy. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth hangs open as he lets out a little groan, “fuck, baby, no panties?”

You let out a little giggle as he quickly brings his hand up to his mouth, sucking his ring and middle finger past his lips, coating them in spit before dropping his hand back down. He flexes his hand grazing over your core as you let out a small, breathy moan. 

“You made me make a mess,” you whine, moving your hand over his, pushing his fingers harder into the wetness between your legs, “touching me all day, grabbing me, making sure everyone knows I’m yours…”

Jack wants to pull over so badly, yank you over the console and stuff your pussy full of his fingers until you’re squirting all over his hand but he wants to fuck you right, so he keeps driving. He slowly starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you nice and ready for him.

“What would everyone think huh?” He says, voice condescending, “if they knew you were dripping down your thighs for me the whole time? Surprised no one could see in this tiny fuckin’ dress,”

“Only want you to see,” you whimper as Jack continues his slow, tantalizing pressure on your pussy, making you squirm in your seat.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice raspy with lust, “you’re so good for me,” 

“Jack,” you whimper, pushing your hips up against his hand, desperate for more friction. He tuts, making a mock sad face at you.

“I know you wanna come,” he says, “but I don’t want you to until my cock’s inside you, got it?”

“Ok,” you squeak. After what feels like eons, but is really only a minute of Jack teasing your poor little pussy, he pulls up in front of your building, pulling his hand from you making you let out a pissy little huff. Jack just smiles, getting out of the car, gathering your haul from the back seat before walking around to your door and pulling it open for you. Even with his arms full he still holds a hand out for you to take, which you do, dragging him inside. 

As soon as you’re in your apartment you’re taking things from Jack’s arms, throwing them on the kitchen counter before turning back to him. Your hands drop to his belt, working the buckle open and shoving your hand down his boxers, grabbing his hot cock, making him suck in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. He pushes his shorts and boxers down just enough to expose his cock which bounces up onto his stomach before grabbing your hips and roughly turning you around. He flips up the little skirt of your dress and bends forward, caging you against the counters between his arms, his shaft pressing against your ass.

“Who’s pussy is this?” Jack rasps in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

“Yours,” you squeak, pushing your ass back against him, “it’s your pussy,”

 He straightens up, rubbing his cock against your slick hole, pushing in slowly as you both moan at the feeling of him stretching you out. He stays buried inside you for a moment, hips flushes to you as runs his palm over the smooth skin of your ass, flexing his stomach, making his cock push up inside you. You let out a small squeak at the feeling and he smirks. 

“Jack,” you try to move your hips, squirming against him. Slowly he pulls back, feeling you squeeze around him, wet and warm. He starts fucking you hard and fast, watching the little bounce of your ass as he pushes inside you over and over, your little white dress fluttering as he fucks in and out of you He grips down on your waist, squeezing your smooth skin in his callous hands. 

“Does my girl like when I fuck her greedy little hole?” He groans, gripping down on your hips so tight the skin under his fingers turns a shade lighter.

“Yeah,” you whine, “I- I love how your cock stretches me out,”

“Fuck, your pussy was made for me,” he groans, snapping his hips against you at a deep, relentless pace, gripping the flesh of your ass in his hands, pulling your cheeks apart so he can watch his cock stretch in and out of you. He spits down on you, the saliva landing on your asshole, using his thumb to spread it down to your pussy.

“I love the way you fuck me,” you whine, the force of his thrusts is making your ass jiggle with every move. He reaches around you, gripping your tits through the flimsy material of your dress, rubbing over your nipples until they’re diamond hard, poking against the white lace. 

“Love it when I can feel you squeeze around me,” he grunts.

You’re pressing your palms down on the counter, whimpering as he pounds into you. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says, voice rough, “so sexy, taking my cock so good.”

A shiver runs up his spine, he’s not gonna last much longer, not with you against the counter looking like you do: eyes shut, mouth open, and flushed cheeks. He pulls his cock out of you and hauls you up by your neck, turning you around, perching your ass on the counter. Your fingers wrap around the edge of the cool marble while he gently pulls down the thin straps of your dress before yanking the neckline down, exposing your tits to him. He pushes back inside you hard, loving how your tits bounce, framed by the white fabric of your slutty, little sundress. He bends forward, sucking one of your nipples in his mouth, feeling it harden under his tongue as he fucks up into you. 

“Play with your clit,” he says, mouth full of your breast. You reach down between your bodies and start rubbing tight circles on yourself, “good girl,” he mumbles on your skin. 

“I’m gonna come,” you whine, your hand faltering slightly.

“Yeah?” He fucks in and out of you harder and faster, “say my name when you come, say who this pussy belongs to,”

“I-” you squeak out as your eyes squeeze shut, “Jack, Jack, Ja-ack,” you say as your mouth falls open, your pleasure overwhelming your ability to speak. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says through gritted teeth, “my beautiful girl,” he says, balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you through his orgasm while his breaks in his stomach. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he pushes inside you one last time, hard, coming deep inside your pussy. The pair of you look down between your bodies where his cum leaks out of you around his cock still buried inside you.

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. He tilts your chin down so you’re looking at him. You stare at each other for a moment, chests heaving, he pulls you in slowly by your jaw and placing a lingering kiss on your lips.

 “I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you too,” you sigh. You let out a small whine as he pulls out of you. Before you can get off the counter he bends down between your thighs, “Jack your leg,” 

His heart swells at the worry in your voice but right now he’s still a man possessed by your sweet pussy. Admiring your glittering wetness blended together, he licks it all up gently as you squirm and whimper above him. He stands back up, taking your jaw firmly in his hand, squeezing down so your mouth opens. Jack spits the blend of cum and spit into your mouth. He pushes your chin lightly so your lips close, dragging his hand down so it rests on your neck. You stare at him in a bewildered lust.

“Swallow,” he says, feeling your throat under his fingers as you gulp down, “good girl.”

Jack pulls his shorts up before gently moving his hands back to you, pulling the front of your dress up carefully, putting the thin straps back in place before smoothing down your skirt.