I'm just here to read

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."

You roll your eyes, affection for the sweet man momentarily drowning out your painful insecurities. Once you're behind the bathroom door, though, the dam breaks.

All your worst thoughts flood through, sweat pricking at your brow. The shape-wear you shoved yourself into just hours ago is too tight, suffocating as you peel your dress above your head, wiggling the pinched fabric down your hips.

Once your skin is free of its confines, you can breathe a little easier. It's stolen from your lungs once again, though, when you slip your dress back over your head.

The satin clings to your tummy in a way that makes you cringe, a low wince slipping through your teeth. You pinch at the loose skin, sucking in and turning every which way in a sad attempt to flatten your stomach.

Why did you have that second helping of pasta? Why did you agree to dessert? Why would Jack ever be attracted to someone like you?

Tears slip past your ducts, and you hold your head parallel to the ground in an attempt to preserve your makeup. You catch your arms in your periphery, the extra jiggle in them as your shoulders shake, a gasp escaping your throat.

Do detox teas work in 30 minutes?

You don't have time to Google your absurd question, as a knock comes from outside.

"You okay, baby? Heard some heavy breathing in there, you're not sick are you?" Jack's sweet voice rings out, and your heart aches.

Sick in the head, maybe.

"No, I'm good," your voice comes out shaky, and utterly unconvincing.

Jack picks up on it, because of course he does, with a sassy huff.

"You sure? Can I be of service in any way, doll?" He pushes, and for some reason, that name snaps something deep within you.

"Don't call me that," you hiss, and he's silent for a moment.

Guilt and regret flood you in equal parts, burning deep in your belly like poison.

"I'm sorry," he responds, and you just cry a little harder. "I'm going to come in though, okay? It's very obvious you're crying, and I can't have that. This is your warning, alright?"

He waits a second before turning the knob, sliding across the threshold, brows furrowing when he sees you in such a state.

"Honey, what is it? What's wrong? Anything hurt?" He jumps into doctor mode, if only for a moment, while he gets underneath you to scan your face.

"Hm, pretty as ever," he muses, pinching your wet cheek.

You sniffle, arms coming up to cover your stomach. He knows this move, has picked up on all your little signs in the short time you've been dating, a small coo escaping his lips at the action.

"Oh, honey, you're overthinking that meal, aren't ya?" He asks, and it's so matter of fact that it makes you cry even harder.

"Oh, shh, shh, shh," he whispers, stroking your hair and peppering kisses to your scalp. "You're okay, I got you, you're so beautiful."

"Stop lying to me, Jack," you babble, throat scratchy and voice hurt. "I saw the way our waitress was looking at you, y'know?"

He takes a step back at this, clearly surprised. You keep going.

"In fact, I see the way all girls look at you when we go out, the way they look at me," you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah?" He prods. "And how's that?"

"Like they can't believe you'd be with someone like me," you answer, punctuating with a pitiful laugh. "Hell, I can't believe it most days."

"What are you saying to me right now, baby?" He asks, and you roll your eyes. "Don't give me that. What are you trying to tell me?" He demands, and it's embarrassing how easily you fold.

"I'm saying that you could be with anyone in the entire world!" You throw your hands up, gesturing to your curvy frame. "But you chose me? Why? I just don't understand what you see in me, is all."

You trail off at that last bit, crossing your arms over your body once more. He's not having any of it, hands immediately coming down to remove them.

"What?" Is all he manages, a sad whisper reluctant to leave his lips. "You don't understand what I see?" He laughs, though nothing about his tone is humorous. "Baby, you're half my age!" He exclaims, and you roll your eyes.

"No, I'm serious, do you know how scared I was to ask you out on a date? Robby had to talk me off the roof, I'm serious," he insists, and you swat at his arm, remembering the day.

A new EMT at PTMC had flirted with you, and as Jack described him, he was younger, fitter, and more…age appropriate. He'd come rushing to you, had told you that the thought of you with someone like that scared the living shit out of him; you'd told him you weren't interesting in that. Only him.

So why is it so hard for you to understand that this is a two way street?

"Can I help you understand?" He asks, taking your hand. "Please?"

You nod, letting him take you from the bathroom to his bedroom, where he takes a seat at the edge of the bed. You stand in the doorway, watch for a minute as he undoes the mechanisms of his prosthetic, carefully sliding it off and resting it on the side of the bed.

He uses his palms to scoot himself back, not too far, but enough to open a spot for you between his knees. You take it, slotting in like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands start low, fiddling with the hem of your pink dress.

"'s this okay?" He murmurs, and you whisper a breathy, 'yes'.

He doesn't lift it up, rather continues to work his hands up the fabric, pinching your thighs and massaging your ass. Resting his head against your tummy, he peppers kisses there, and your face heats.

"Jack, you don't-" you try to move his head out of the way, discomfort an ever present third in this relationship. "You don't have to do this just because I was sad, I'm a big girl, I'll get over it."

He chuckles, it's sardonic, almost a little mean as he continues to kiss your plush skin.

"I know you are," he mumbles into you. "That's not what this is about. This is about me taking what I want. Y'gonna let me do that? Or are you going to keep doing this lil' shy girl thing?"

Your stomach burns at his words, jaw dropping in surprise.

"Jack-" you exclaim, a gasp wrestling from your chest as he pulls you further into him. "Oh!" You moan, throwing your head back and finally letting yourself lean into his touch.

"There she is, thaaaat's my girl," he coos, finally pulling your dress up over your head.

Your tits bounce as they're freed from the fabric, your tummy spilling over the waistband of your panties, just a little.

His eyes glaze over at the sight, and you cup his cheeks in your hands. He can't take his eyes off your body, and you have to fight the instinct to run away, to hide.

"So fucking beautiful," he grumbles, pushing his face deep into your tits.

You gasp as his hands follow suit, grabbing at your skin, kneading them, enclosing his own head between them. You can't help but giggle, trying to separate yourself from him.

"Jack! You're gonna suffocate!" You chuckle, but he just holds you closer.

"Perfect way to go, stop interrupting me," he quips, latching onto your nipple now.

A sweet 'oh!' leaves your lips, fingers coming up to scruff and tug on his hair. He groans at that, the vibrations around your peak sending shockwaves straight to the apex of your thighs.

"Prettiest fucking body I've ever seen, you don't even know," he breathes out, switching his attention to your other breast now.

Spending some time there, he moves his lips lower now, lifting you with ease so he can better access the swell of your tummy. His hands and lips are all over, kneading and massaging what you've always imagined to be your worst feature.

You tell him so, and he just shakes his head, a sardonic chuckle leaving his lips.

"'s fucking insane, baby. Thought you were my smart girl, hm?" He asks, looking up at you.

You nod, tears filling your eyes. He smiles at the sight, his thumb coming up to brush them away.

"Not a very smart thing to think, that you're anything other than a fucking goddess," he whispers. "Not smart at all."

He scoots back some more, holding his hand out for you to straddle him. He pulls you to him by your hips, his hands sliding lower until they reach your ass. You're thankful you at the very least had some foresight to put on a cute pair of panties.

They're not entirely a thong, but a pretty, seamless pair that slides between your cheeks anyways. He groans, bites down on your shoulder at the sight of them.

"God, you have all this back there and have the nerve to be insecure?" He asks, finding purchase on the real estate of your skin.

He grabs at it, kneads like dough, even leaving a few slaps there. You whine at that, and he groans, the way your skin jiggles rolling his eyes back.

"Jesus fucking Christ, want you over my lap. Now," he orders, and you scramble.

Your tummy and tits press up against his soft duvet, your hips settling on his lap. Heat blooms warm in your belly as he rubs a hand over your skin, a soft, "good girl," falling from his lips.

You whimper, arching your back into his touch. He chuckles, and it's almost mean as his hand cracks down on your skin.

"Jack!" You squeal, lurching forward. He just grips your waist, strong hands holding you in place.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tsks, giving you another slap in punishment. "Stay still, yeah?"

You nod, and he smacks you again.

"Yeah?" He repeats, firmer, stronger.

"Yeah," you blubber, wiggling into his harsh touch.

"Good girl, that's my sweet girl," he mutters, dropping another slap onto your cheek.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wetness dripping down your thighs. You can feel his hard length beneath you, and you don't feel so embarrassed, knowing he's turned on, too.

Wiggling your hips into his crotch, he chuckles, coos a bit before cracking his hand down once, twice, three more times. You whine, though you arch into his touch all the same.

"Okay, okay, we can be done," he secedes, and you huff out a breath. "C'mon, up, thatsagirl," he purrs, settling you upright on his lap once more.

He massages your raw skin as you get comfy, leaving one last little smack before pulling his cock out.

You swallow thickly, helping him lift his shirt over his head, as well. He's so pretty, his buff, rugged frame threatening to swallow you whole. Darting your tongue out, you wet your lips before leaning back into him.

He kisses you with a fervor you have no chance of resisting, shoving his hand between you. His coarse fingers collect your wetness, bringing it up to your clit with slow circles.

It feels incredible, your tummy already tightening at the pressure. Your lips form a cute 'o', a small moan escaping them. He splays a hand across your lower back, pulling you further into him.

"I know, feels good, doesn't it, pretty girl?" He asks, and you whine. "D'ya think you can take me like this? Think you're wet enough? Or d'ya need my fingers to split you open, first?"

As delightful as his fingers sound, you think you'll die if you go another 10 seconds without his cock.

"I'm wet enough, I am- oh God, please!" You whine, thrashing your hips for more friction.

He cuts your writhing off with another sharp slap to your ass, and you throw your head back in a whine.

"Y'gonna stop being a brat so I can fuck you properly?" He asks, lining his tip up with your entrance.

You nod, tears pricking your eyes at the pure desperation.

"Good," he mumbles, poking his tip into you.

Your jaw goes slack, ever the stretch, no matter the lubricant.

"Yeah, yeahh," he draws out, pulling you down even further onto him. "That's it, 's a lot, isn't it? Big dick for my sweet girl, hm?" He asks, getting you seated fully.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. When you try to move, though, he stops you, his big hands once again controlling your actions.

Your head whips up, eyes glassy, lips pouty. He cocks his head to the side, faux-pity lining his features. You rake your nails across his skin, reveling in the goosebumps that erupt on his skin.

"Jeeeesus," he groans out, taking a deep breath to maintain his composure. "What did I say about bein' a brat? Get comfortable, y'gonna hurt yourself if you try to move so quickly."

Your heart flutters at his casual dominance, the way he takes over your decision making. It makes your head go fuzzy, your hips wiggling in his grasp.

"God, you're fuckin' pushin' it, aren't ya?" He asks, swatting your backside once more.

"'m sorryyyy," you whine out, sounding nearly drunk of him already. "Just feels too good, need more, please."

He relents at that, relief flooding through you when he says, "Fine, but go slow, and be careful."

You listen, because of course you do, rocking your hips every so slightly.

"Good, gooood job, baby, s'nice, huh?" He coos, and your tummy turns at his words. "Nice and full of me, hm?"

You nod, desperate and shaky as you lift yourself up, just slightly, to drop back down.

"That's my girl, body looks so fucking beautiful riding me like this," he mutters, and you bury your face in his neck.

"Nuh-uh," he tsks, pulling your hair to get you to look at him.

You whine, and he pouts at you.

"Ooh, that hurt?" He asks, and you nod. "Mmm, sorry, angel," he replies, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

His hands grip your ass once more, helping you move up and down on him like an expert. You babble around him, utter nonsense flowing from your lips at the intense pleasure.

"Jack-Jackie-ooh! Oh, it's so good!" You whine, breath hitching as he hits your sweet spot.

"Yeah, that's the spot isn't it? Makes you feel so nice every time I hit it," he inhales sharply. "And I do hit it every time, don't I?" He calls for reassurance, and you wonder how much of it is for him and not you.

"Every time, Jackie, fuck me so perfect every time," you whine, pushing him back onto the bed to gain more purchase above him.

He flops back in surprise, eyes going wide as you press two delicate hands on his chest. You resume your bouncing, this time with much more fervor. Your skin prickles as you feel your orgasm build, the warmth in your tummy has been brewing for too long, you're starting to grow desperate.

"God, this fuckin' view," he groans, hands gripping your love handles. He squeezes the extra skin there, thumbs running over the chub. "So perfect, baby, gonna dream about this for years."

You giggle, picking up your speed, just a little.

"Y'know, you can always just ask me to fuck you, don't have to dream about it," you tease, earning you another spank.

"I guess I can, can't I?" He muses, arms coming up to rest behind his head.

"Mmhm," you coo, circling your hips to get friction onto your clit. "Comfy?"

"Incredibly," he replies, and your eyes shine with love. "Gonna cum for me?" He asks, and you're reminded of the task at hand.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the burning sensation in your stomach hard to ignore, growing more impossible each second. You nod, brows furrowing in desperation.

His lips collect in a whistle as he drags his thumb between your legs. He rubs, and it's nearly immediate, how your orgasm takes over. Arching your back, lightning shooting through you as the first wave washes over.

Your orgasm comes in a million little explosions, fireworks popping through your veins, tightening your pussy around Jack. This spurs his own release, as he releases inside you, a raspy "good girl," falling from his lips.

Trails of fire litter through you as you both come down, the throbbing of his now softening cock like a reward for your hard work.

"That's it, thaaat's it, good job, honey," he mumbles as you pulse around him, limp body flopping into his chest.

His large hands creep up your back, rubbing soothing circles on your sweaty skin. Chests heaving together, he slowly lifts you up and off of him, where you both groan at the sudden emptiness.

"Baby, will you grab me my crutch so I can go to the restroom 'n clean you up?" He asks, a bit of red tinting his cheeks at the request.

"Honey, of course," you say, leaning over to the opposite side of the room. "But I can always go myself, you know?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he cuts you off with a wave of his finger. "Don't want hear that, you know that, hm? What did I say about being a brat?" He asks, hoisting himself up.

"Hmmm," you pretend to think, resuming your spot on the bed. "Not sure, you're going to have to remind me later."

He growls, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing one last sloppy kiss to your lips.

“you’re lucky i know how to fight,” a voice grumbled behind you as you bent down to slide your heel on.

“hi to you too.” you smiled as you stood up, walking to meet jack where he was standing. you pressed your hand on his chest and kissed him.

he grabbed your hips and pushed you into the wall, pining you. you gasped as his hands roamed your body. one went to your hair and you squeaked, “I just finished my hair, jackie!” which made him immediately back off. hands flying up.

you rolled your eyes at his over reaction and he just smirked, “sorry angel you’re just so damn irresistible.” he started to kiss your neck. your hands roamed his shoulders, welcoming it. his hands went under your dress, to the hem of your panties. you squirmed.

if he kept this up you were never going to make it out to girl’s night. “but tonight i’m going out with the girlssss,” you wriggled in his grasp and said in a sing song-y voice and before he could protest you added, “trinity, cassie, or dana would ALL defend my honor, so i’ll be protected. i promise i’ll text you if anything seems weird. and whittaker will be with. not that he’s intimidating but he is at least a man.” you said, fighting off a moan as jack’s hand found your clit.

you gasped at his touch, his fingers circling, “don’t say another man’s name while i’m this close to being inside of you, baby.” his words left no room for arguments, so you nodded frantically; your words escaping you. his hand dipped down and he teased your entrance.

you moaned out, “fuck, jack please.” his finger slid deeper and your legs started to shake. he removed his finger causing you to whine and then hoisted you up, onto the counter.

“use your words sweet girl. tell me what you want,” he purred, teasing your entrance again, this time entering you just up to his first knuckle. you cried out, hips bucking against his hand, which he responded by withdrawing it.

“jackie please need to cum,” you rambled your words together as he pushed his finger all the way inside of you. he curled upwards and started to pump, you arched your back. “i-, i-“ you tried to get the words out to warn him but he shushed you and added another finger. you felt your climax approaching rapidly, your hands scratching his back, gasping.

“cum for me baby.” he growled, keeping his rhythm. you shuttered, feeling your walls clench around his fingers. your back arched and you swore you saw stars.

once you came down from your mind shattering orgasm you looked at jack. his scrubs were soaked, but you could also see he was rock hard. “fuck, baby. i’m sorry, you’re gonna have to change before shift.” you giggled a little and your hand slid to his dick, squeezing and messaging with the waist band.

“you think your so silly don’t you.” he taunted. you just nodded and slid your hand down, reaching around to grab his dick.

“you have to change. might as well fill me up too.” you purred, stroking him and looking up through your eye lashes. you pulled him towards you and teased your own entrance, “i’m already wet for you, baby.”

you could see his resolve waiver as he sunk himself deeper, moaning. you pulled his shoulders closer and scooted off the counter. “i shouldn’t fuck you. you’re being a brat.” he murdered, not moving inside you.

this made you squirm, “hardly.” you rolled your eyes at him. that wasn’t helping your point.

he shook his head with a smirk and thrust into you. his pace quickened, knowing you were extremely sensitive after cumming the first time. “you’re lucky i don’t make you cum till you’re begging me to stop.”

your eyes lit up with the challenge, “challenge accepted. after?” you grinned.

he gave you a rough kiss, rolling his hips causing you to gasp at the contact, his hand circling your clit too.

he began to pull out of you, still kissing you as you whined. he just shook his head , kissed you once more and said, “deal.” he pulled you off the counter and spun you so you could face the mirror. he slapped your ass, “you gotta fix your makeup, sweetheart.” you looked at yourself and gasped at your lipstick smeared all over, as well as your mascara. you took your phone out and texted the group chat (the one without dana and whittaker as this one was frequently vulgar).

y/n- gonna be like 15 mins late

trin- gramps was dickin you down huh?

vic- 🫪

the reminder makes him clutch you tighter. it's true, him and the turbulent relationship between him and sleep. but you make it easier. better. slumber feels a touch more conceivable after pinning you with an arm and slurping you his chin is all slick and drippy.

"c'mon, baby." jack's hands snake down to grab at your ass. kneading a silent plea. "stay, okay? just for a little bit..."

just a little bit. long enough to stuff him inside you and make you do that thing where you forget how to do anything except hug the guy and sob in his ear.

god, he likes that.

loves it.

lives for it, plus getting to kiss up on you like this after feeding you dinner and wine.

jack's victory comes in the stripping of your jack and your palms reaching to grab at his cheeks. hands scratching the stubble along his jaw, he feels you push yourself into his front. growing just as needy as him.

"...okay."

jack tugs your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls enough for you to feel it. he keeps the plus there as a tiny sound pushes out of him.

"yeah? okay?"

The long night was finally giving way to day, the sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon. It was somewhere around 5AM–in that in-between post-3AM insanity, but pre-morning rush lull. The emergency department was precariously balanced on a knife's edge, one minor inconvenience, or trauma, from tipping back into full on chaos. You were almost at the finish line, the end in sight so long as nothing catastrophic happened.

As it stood, the night had been rough enough–mainly due to the sheer volume of patients you'd seen over the past 11 hours. Food poisoning from a family reunion rolled in shortly after the shift began, followed by alcohol poisoning from a bachelorette party, then a drunken bar fight that continued into the ER, where security had to separate two grown men who were arguing over which sports team had the better logo.

Barely an hour ago, three codes simultaneously racked the department, tying up almost every doctor and nurse and leaving the department in a bit of a frenzy. Two of the codes resolved themselves fairly quickly, but the one you were working on, a pediatric cardiac arrest, lasted nearly two hours. All three patients survived, thankfully, but you were still coming down from the adrenaline rush, your heart still ticking a beat too fast.

The supply closet was a welcome reprieve from the endless chatter and beeping of the ED, the mundane task of restocking crash carts a soothing balm to your overworked mind and muscles. You were still catching your breath as you assessed the carts, taking note of what needed to be refilled and what was already well stocked.

Boots scuffed across the linoleum in the hallway beyond, eventually stopping at the open door. A second later the metallic click of the latch rang through the small closet as the door closed.

You were plucking vials of epinephrine off the shelf in front of you when a familiar presence makes itself at home at your back, large hands falling to your hips with a quick squeeze. A fond smile crossed your lips and you eased into your boyfriend's warm embrace, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

"You did good back there," Jack said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smoothing his hands up and down your sides. His hands were warm, even through your scrubs and undershirt, and you could already feel your heart rate slowing, syncing in time with his.

"So did you, that little girl's lucky she had such a good doctor working on her," you said, turning around in his hold and leaning back against the shelving unit. Every time you saw Jack felt like the first, cheeks heating and butterflies erupting at the sight of him. His hazel eyes were tired, but no less beautiful than they always were; the lines around his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, the night taking its toll in the contours of his face.

Your fingers brushed against his warm skin, tracing the sun-worn lines along his neck, the freckles dotted between them creating the most beautiful constellations. It was hard to believe sometimes that you called this man yours, that he looked at you with such reverence and adoration.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Which reminds me, we have a serious problem," you said, schooling your face into a serious expression, eyes hard and lips slightly down turned.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" he asked with a wry smile, knowing that he was going to be drawn into one of your shenanigans again. Not that he minded, he usually benefited from them. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, his nose brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

You relented for a moment, sinking into the kiss. Your nails scratched through the curls at the base of his neck eliciting a purr-like noise from him. You grinned into the kiss then pushed him back slightly before he could get carried away.

Fixing him with a stern glare, you sighed exaggeratedly, "You're too sexy when you're in doctor mode."

He barked out a laugh that echoed loudly in the too quiet closet and shook his head at you, "That's your serious problem?"

"Yes, I'm serious! It's a problem! I can't be ogling my doctor when I'm supposed to be taking care of patients. It's a real liability issue, could be dangerous for patient care," you said, really trying to sell this problem of yours.

And it was true that he was so fucking hot when he was in the zone, calling out orders, laying out treatment plans–hell, even just watching him teach med students, with that patient but firm tone, correcting where necessary and praising when appropriate, had wetness pooling between your thighs.

The sheer competence in bringing a patient back from the brink of death was astounding. The look he got after a patient was stabilized–the pride, the relief, the hint of fear that crossed his face was breathtaking. It took everything in you some days not to drag him out of the trauma bay and have your way with him. The demons won out the one time he came in with his SWAT team, the combination of seeing him in uniform and the terror of knowing he was shot at commingled in your core and you were on your knees in this very closet in a matter of minutes, sucking the life out of his cock.

But it would never really compromise your ability to care for patients–you both knew that. You were one of the best damn nurses in the entire hospital, and Jack would stake his medical license on your ability to work through damn near any condition. You were his right hand for a reason–and it had nothing to do with your romantic relationship. But it was fun to play sometimes, to rile him up in the way only you could.

"Okay, okay," he said, still laughing, "How do you propose we solve this very, very serious problem?"

You tapped your finger on your chin, taking your time in 'thinking' of a solution.

"Mmm, I was thinking maybe the sexy doctor could make a house call. Y'know, give me a little one-on-one time, get it out of my system. I've been aching real bad, too, think maybe he should take a look," you said finally, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes and biting your lip.

His eyes darkened a fraction, and he stepped forward, closing the little distance that was between you and pressing your front flush to his chest. Goosebumps prickled up and down your arms, warmth spreading through your body and radiating down to your core. You whimpered softly as he shifted his weight, his crotch unintentionally brushing against your cunt.

His voice was low and rough when he spoke, "Oh yeah? Well we can't have that, can we? Where're you aching, baby? Show me."

You swallowed, breath coming out ragged, "Well, Dr. Abbot, it started here," you said, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your lips. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, and he brushed over it lightly before tugging it down, your mouth parting with it. He pressed forward, thumb briefly running along the line of your bottom teeth before settling on your tongue, pushing down gently.

You moaned at the salty taste of his skin, mouth widening and saliva pooling in your mouth, dribbling out of the corners of your mouth at the intrusion. Jack's eyes were trained on the sight, the irises of his eyes almost completely obscured by his blown pupils.

"Fuck, honey, you just love having your mouth filled, don't you?" he asked, pushing his thumb in further until he hit the back of your throat, muscles contracting around the digit, "Doesn't matter if it's my cock or my fingers, just need something to keep that pretty little mouth full, huh?"

You nodded and whimpered around him pitifully, unable to do much more.

He kept his thumb there for another minute, just watching the way your tongue twitched, the rivulets of spit drooling from your lips.

When he finally removed it, his thumb and your chin were thoroughly spit-slick. He wiped at the corners of your mouth, gathering the spit there, then brought the digit up to his lips and sucked it clean.

"Y'taste so good, baby, can't help myself," he said with a devious grin, "where else're you achin'?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your words coming out stuttery, "m' a-aching pretty bad here, t-too, Dr. Abbot," you said, dragging his hand down to your neck, where it sat loosely around your throat. Your fingers curled lightly around his, applying the smallest amount of pressure–just enough to make your breath hitch.

He tightened his grip a fraction more, then tilted your neck to the side, exposing the soft skin there. His other hand pulled your scrub top and undershirt to the side, and his lips latched onto the curve of your neck, biting and sucking at the flesh.

You gasped, hand flying up to bury itself in his hair. Your eyes fluttered closed as little whines and whimpers escaped your lips.

"So sensitive," he whispered against your neck, laving his tongue over the mark he made once more before pulling back and giving you an expectant look. What else?

Dazed and little floaty, you continued guiding his hand down until it cupped your breast. His other hand moved to your other breast, and squeezed the flesh between his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, though they were buried under layers of scrubs, undershirt, and bra. You could feel the barest hint of pressure where he circled them, enough that they hardened into peaks, taut against your bra.

You moaned and arched into his palms, wishing you could feel the roughness of them against your bare skin.

He chuckled at your desperation, pinning you back against the shelves. One hand remained on your breast, while the other grasped your chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye, "Anywhere else?"

You bit your lip and nodded, sliding the hand on your breast down your body and under the waistband of your scrubs and panties, until his hand was cupping your bare mound, "This is where it aches the most."

His eyes didn't leave yours as his fingers parted your folds, sliding through them with ease. A half-feral groan ripped through his chest, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers just barely brushed over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance.

You whined and bucked your hips against him, searching for something to grind against.

"Oh, baby," he said, "You really are aching, aren't you? Your pussy's soaking wet and I haven't even done anything."

The tips of his fingers breached your entrance and sat there, unmoving–just the tease of his thick fingers filling your cunt.

"Please, Dr. Abbot, need you to take care of me," you whined, rolling your hips forward, trying to force his fingers deeper.

"And maybe if you're lucky, if you alleviate my aches, I'll sit on your cock later," you said, using all the bravado you could muster up–which, admittedly, wasn't much. You were too far gone, too needy for him to act like you didn't want him just as much as he wanted you.

Jack raised his eyebrow, a dark laugh falling from his lips, "If I'm lucky? Baby, I distinctly remember you beggin' for my cock just the other night," he said, pushing his fingers to the second knuckle and curling them, "had you cryin' on the bed, whining for Jackie's big, fat cock to fill your cute little pussy up, didn't I?"

Your cheeks heated at the memory, the sound of your pathetic mewls and gasps echoing in your ears as you did, indeed, beg for his cock. You slapped a hand over your mouth to avoid those same sounds from spilling out now, as Jack's fingers pushed in to the hilt, the heel of his hand settling on your aching, puffy clit.

His fingers hooked against that soft, spongey spot that had sparks exploding through your body. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your hips ground clumsily against his hand.

"Well, I guess the tables have turned," is all you can come up with as he stroked that spot relentlessly. Jack knew your body like the back of his hand, knew just the right pressure and motions to get you to the finish line in no time. He preferred to take his time, but he never turned down the opportunity to make you cum hard and fast.

Your eyes closed, your body on autopilot as it chased release. The waves were cresting, your orgasm within reach. Just a few more thrusts, a few more rolls of your hips and you would be there.

He sighed, shaking his head at you, "You know, I probably shouldn't make you cum before I've done a proper examination. Can never be too careful about your health, baby," he said, removing his fingers from your pussy before your brain could catch up.

Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as your orgasm receded. A high pitched whine escaped you, "no no, please, Jack, pleeease," you said, gripping his wrist and trying to pull it back toward your cunt to no avail.

You looked up at him with wet eyes, frustrated tears pricking the corner of your eyes, "you're mean," you pouted.

"Shh, sweetheart, trust me, I'm a doctor. We'll get you all sorted out at our appointment later, yeah?"

Your brows furrowed at that, your mind still a little hazy. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, but before you can ask it, he's reaching up for something on the shelf above you, body pressing impossibly close to yours in the process. A second later he's pushing a hospital gown into your hands.

You're still confused, the gown doing little to illuminate his meaning.

"What's the look for, sweetheart? You started this game, don't tell me you want to stop now?" he said with an evil gleam in his eye, "Dr. Abbot will see you for a very, very thorough exam after shift."

There was a muffled commotion outside the door, no doubt another trauma rolling through–no doubt requiring Jack's attention.

"Duty calls, baby, see you out there," he said, giving you one last peck on the lips before he's gone.

The end of shift comes quicker than you anticipated, between a new batch of traumas rolling in and your standard caseload of patients taking up your attention.

You were waiting at central, bag slung over your shoulder, when Jack approached, looking apologetic.

"I think I'm gonna be a little longer, I just want to make sure Emily gets up to peds sooner rather than later. Shouldn't be too long," he said, "I'm sorry, baby."

"No worries, I'll hang around. Mr. Hauser's IV needs to be changed in 20 minutes anyway," you said, a yawn sneaking out halfway through.

He shook his head, "Nah, you don't need to wait around for me, and Lena'll bite my head off if I keep working her nurses overtime," he said, laughing a little nervously, recalling the last time he asked a few nurses to stay late, "Day shift's got it covered. Go home and shower, get something to eat."

"Plus," he said, slipping his finger under the chain of your necklace and tugging you closer, "I want you on my bed, in nothing but that gown when I get home."

You nodded and whispered lowly, "Yes, Dr. Abbot."

You took your time in the shower, the hot water easing the persistent ache in your muscles. After drying off and lotioning your body you slipped into a lacy pair of panties–Jack's favorite, the back cut high enough that your cheeks were practically bare, with a little bow in the center.

You dug around for the gown you'd snuck into your bag, pulling it out and holding it out in front of you. You gnawed on your lip as you considered it. Your intention hadn't been to enter into a full-fledge role play scenario, but you couldn't deny the way your tummy swirled in anticipation.

You slipped the gown over your head, the polyester feeling rough and scratchy against your skin. You left the back untied for easy access–you assumed you wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyways–then sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and awaiting Jack's arrival.

You didn't have to wait long for him. About 10 minutes after you've settled on the bed, the door to your bedroom opened, and Jack came strolling through. His hair was damp, and he'd changed out of his scrubs, now wearing a tight black shirt and cargo pants. He stopped at the dresser and pulled out a fresh scrub top, pulling it over his head before turning to address you.

"Good morning, miss, I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you've been having some aches, is that correct?" he asked, dragging the upholstered chair from your vanity over to the bed and sitting down. He folded his hands between his knees, fixing you with an assessing stare as he waited for you to respond–the picture of professionalism.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching really bad," you said, putting on a whiny affect. And it wasn't untrue, your cunt had been aching since your release was denied two hours ago, your clit throbbing for attention.

"Yeah? Well let's try to fix that, huh? I might have to use some… unconventional methods, but I think we can get you right as rain in no time," he said, hooking his stethoscope in his ears, "I'm going to start with listening to your heart, okay?"

You recoiled before he could reach you, "You are not using that on me. God knows what's on it," you said, nose wrinkling at the thought of the dirty hospital germs that probably coated the stethoscope.

He sighed, breaking character for a minute, "This is my backup, the one that's been sitting untouched in it's case for over a year. That okay?"

His voice was low and reassuring, instantly setting you at ease. You relaxed a bit and nodded.

He tugged your sleeves down, the gown falling around your hips and leaving your chest exposed. One hand settled on your ribs, right under your breast, while the other held the chest piece in place on the left side of your chest. You gasped as the chest piece made contact with your skin, the cold metal causing goosebumps prickle up your arms.

Jack murmured a quick apology before focusing on the sound of your heart. The hand not holding the chest piece stroked the underside your your breast, so close to your aching nipple without actually touching it.

"Your heart rate is elevated. You nervous?" he asked, a suppressed smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

"A-a little, I've just never had a doctor be so… hands on," you played along, biting your lip shyly.

He titled your head up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, "There's no need to be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take real good care of you," he said, brushing your bottom lip softly.

"Okay, I trust you, Dr. Abbot," you whispered, breath catching as his grip tightened on your chin.

"That's it, that's my good girl," he said, his hungry gaze belying his professional demeanor. He was just as affected as you were, but he was committed to this act.

He started moving the chest piece down your chest until it covered your nipple, the pebbled flesh perking up at the coolness of the metal.

"Good, good, you're so responsive," he said, eyes focused on the hardening bud. Then he flipped the chest piece to the smaller side and traced it around your nipple in slow circles. His thumb flicked over your other nipple, then rolled and pinched it between his fingers, going back and forth between those motions until you were letting out a steady stream of whines and whimpers.

"S-sorry, Dr. Abbot, it just feels s-so good," you moaned, arching further into his grasp. Your thighs rubbed together, your clit begging for any sort of relief and finding none–just the slick slide of your arousal spreading across your inner thighs.

"That's okay, it's important that I hear how your body reacts to me," he said before dipping down and wrapping his lips around your other nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The duality of sensations–cold metal on one side and molten heat on the other–had you feeling dizzy.

"Feeling good? That ache goin' away yet?" he asked, abandoning the stethoscope and switching sides. He devoured your other nipple, giving it the same sinful attention–licking, nipping, and tugging between his teeth.

You shook your head, "Need more, Dr. Abbot," you whined, hips bucking off the bed at a particularly hard suck.

He released you with a wet pop, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide. You glanced down and saw his cock was hard, straining against the confines of his cargos.

"Yeah? Okay, then, lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetheart."

You did as he said, scooting back until you were lying back on your elbows and your feet were propped up on the mattress. You removed the hospital gown where it had pooled at your middle, leaving you in just your skimpy panties.

The snap of latex gloves rang though the bedroom, and a moment later Jack was on his knees between your legs, spreading your thighs open.

He ran his gloved finger over the soaked gusset and tutted, "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off," he said, slipping a finger under the waistband and tugging them down your legs–then pocketed the scrap of lace.

"That's not very professional, Dr. Abbot," you pouted, "You keep every pretty girl's underwear?"

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly at you, "Only the one's that are a major pain in my ass," he said under his breath.

You gasped and sent him a playful glare–which went completely ignored by him, his attention solely focused on your exposed and dripping cunt laid out in front of him.

"Now I'm going to examine your vagina, is that okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down your thighs.

"Yes, Dr. Abbot, please," you breathed out, the anticipation killing you at this point.

He stretched your thighs open wider and ran two fingers through your folds, spreading your abundant arousal around. The feel of the latex against your wet folds was so different, his fingers gliding through your wetness so smoothly, the roughness of his calloused fingertips obscured by the gloves. The clinical feel of it made your tummy twist in a mix of excitement and anxiousness.

"God, you're so, so wet. That's good," he said, the words thick in his mouth. His thumbs parted your lips, revealing your puffy little clit and tight hole. He was entranced by your pussy, the way your slick dripped down your thighs and your hole clenched around nothing. His thumb swiped over your clit briefly, a flash of contact where you needed it most before fading away. Your hips raised up to chase it, but his hold kept to pinned to the bed.

"Everything looks perfect," he said, running his thumb up and down your vulva, circling around your clit on each pass, "Such a perfect, pretty pussy." He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your cunt, each exhale sending a tingling zap down your spine.

His thumb slid down a little further and circled around the tight ring of muscle there, applying the barest amount of pressure as he rubbed it. You gasped and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, your cheeks heating up fiercely.

He chuckled lightly at your reaction and removed his thumb, "We'll check that at the follow up exam," he said, then notched two fingers at your entrance and pushed in slowly, "I'm going to do an internal nerve check now."

The intrusion steals the breath from your lungs, his thick fingers stretching you out so deliciously. For the first time since the storage closet, it felt like there was some real relief to the ache you've been carrying around.

A broken moan ripped through you when he hooked his fingers, expertly finding your g-spot and rubbing against it mercilessly with the pressure that made your toes curl and your vision white out. Your walls clenched hard around him, your greedy cunt sucking him in deeper.

"Good girl, let it all out. Let me hear you," he said, curling his fingers harder and rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit. The rubbery squeak of his gloves mixed with the wet schlick of your wetness as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound so obscene you felt a little embarrassed.

The coil in your core wound tighter and pinpricks radiated through your body, your orgasm approaching with a vengeance, furious at being previously denied.

"Please, Dr. Abbot, please make me cum, I–fuck, pleeeese I need it," you cried, rocking your hips recklessly against his hand, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

He alternated between scissoring his fingers and curling them against your g-spot, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me, you're gonna feel so much better when you cum," he said, the want thick in his voice and his professional tone almost completely abandoned.

He deepened the pressure on your clit, rubbing the nub relentlessly, and with a final crook of his fingers, the coil snapped, your orgasm washing over your in violent waves. You thrashed as the waves of pleasure rolled through you, your veins white hot and burning, toes and fists curling into the sheets. Your mouth hung open in a perpetual 'o', a deafening moan, groan, or some other such mixture of sound reverberating through you.

Jack worked you through it, keeping up the steady pressure until you were a whimpering mess and your hips were retreating from the friction rather than chasing it.

His latex-clad palm was soaked with your release when he pulled away, and he wasted no time licking a thick stripe through your mess, "fuck, honey, I could drink you up," he groaned, his eyes wild as he took in your debauched form, panting and boneless on the bed in front of him.

He shucked the gloves off and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You squealed at the sudden movement, mind still hazy from the earth shattering orgasm you just had.

"Now–fuck–now I just need to check the elasticity of your vagina," he said, shoving down his pants and boxers in one go. His cock stood proud–long and thick, beads of pre-cum dripping down his shaft. The tip was flushed red and begging for attention.

"I don't give a fuck what you call it Jack, but I need your cock inside me now," you whined, pawing at his shirt, pushing it up his chest until he took over and threw it off. Your hands roamed the newly exposed skin, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his pecs and trailing down the planes of his stomach.

"Okay, baby, 'm gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck this pussy so good," he said, pushing your legs up to your chest and lining his cock up with your entrance, swiping the tip through your messy folds before pushing into you with one deep thrust.

"Please, Dr. Abbot, I've been aching for your cock all night," you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he split you open, the slight burn giving way to mind-numbing pleasure as he dragged his cock back, leaving just the tip before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward harshly, his heavy balls smacking your ass with each punishing thrust.

"Fuck, I'm so full, Dr. Abbot, you're so deep," you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts, but failing half of the time. He was fucking you so hard that you were seeing stars, his cock dragging exquisitely across every nerve in your cunt, each thrust lighting a fire across your oversensitive body.

"That's it, my girl, knew you could take it. Pussy's fuckin' made for me, tight little thing stretches right around me, fuck, squeezes me just right," he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh where he gripped your thighs.

"J-Jack, fuck–"

"No," he growled, his pace slowing, "That's not my name right now, is it?"

"Dr. Abbot," you corrected quickly, breathlessly, "my pussy was made for you, Dr. Abbot."

"That's right, baby. Fuck, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Letting your doctor fuck you stupid," he said, picking the pace back up, doubling his efforts now as he felt how close you were–your pussy contracting wildly around him.

The wet slap of skin against skin echoed throughout the room, intermingled with your wanton moans and Jack's deep grunts.

He shifted forward a bit, forearms bracketing your head, and pushed your legs further up, fucking into you even deeper. His cock rubbed up against the depths of your cunt, and the neatly trimmed patch of curls at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, delivering delicious friction to the sensitive bud.

"Right there, Dr. Abbot, don't stop please, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," you chanted, eyes squeezing shut as the coil snapped, your back bowing off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. Fire zipped through your veins, radiating from your core to the tips of your toes and the top of your head. Your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his cock, greedily sucking it back in.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he grunted, eyes now trained on the spot where your bodies connected, a creamy ring coating the base of his cock. The remnants of your orgasm and the way your pussy milked his cock sent him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load into you.

He stayed buried in you for a moment, pressing soft kisses to whatever heated bits of flesh he could reach. Your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, not pushing him any deeper but keeping him close. You ran your hands through his sweaty curls, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck every once and a while.

"That wasn't too much, was it? I didn't go too far?" he asked hoarsely, brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek.

You shook your head immediately, "not at all. It was so fucking hot," you said honestly, assuring him that you loved every moment of it.

You laid in comfortable silence for a moment before your cheekiness got the better of you, "I'm not sure if you completely alleviated the ache, though. Might need to go a couple more rounds to make sure it's fully gone," you sighed dramatically.

He huffed a laugh at you, "Like I said, pain in my ass," he said, shaking his head.

You ignored that comment, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Ooooh, maybe next time I can play nurse," you mused, a dopey smile on your face as you teased him, "y'know, I could take your vital signs, assess your symptoms–oh! I could even wear one of those slutty little nurse's dresses."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and continued, "I mean, I could even give you a sponge bath, you are my old man, after all."

You squeaked when he delivered a sharp slap to your thigh, then giggled at the disgruntled look on his face.

"You're just full of it this morning, aren't you?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Old man, huh?"

taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen

Everyone knew that you and Dr. Abbot were exceptionally close, more so than anyone else. Still, the two of you conducted yourselves in a professional manner and the residents chalked it up to doctors having their favourite/preferred nurse to work with; ie. Robby and Dana.

Whenever there was a case that Jack worked on, everyone knew that you'd be the first person he'd ask for. Whenever out with the team for a post-shift beer or rare bar night, Jack could always be found chatting with you or Robby, but with you always somewhere close behind. During short lulls in the shift, on the occasion that Jack would actually eat, he'd make his way into the staff room and plop himself down beside you, no words needed, just your company and the simple task of sharing a meal together.

So as far as relationships go, the residents and med students never even thought of pitting the two of you with one another. Regardless of how much time you spend with the doctor, your personalities were entirely different. You were the sunshine of the ED. Whenever someone was down, you were always the first person to try and comfort them, lending an ear or shoulder to cry on. When a difficult patient came in, you somehow always managed to calm them down, explaining the situation and never letting them feel blindsided by the steps and procedures needed to be done. To the rest of the staff, you were the epitome of rainbows and butterflies so they expected that if you were dating someone, they'd be just like you.

Jack on the other hand could not be more different. Just the fact that he was more senior in position and age to most of the people in the ED intimidated them already. Also, in their eyes, anyone who could spend years being Robby's best friend must already have something wrong going on with them, the SWAT shifts did not help to dissuade this assumption. Jack wasn't mean or rude, but he was definitely assertive. Jack knew how to run a trauma and didn't let anyone's mistakes get in the way of saving a patient. He could be gruff and sometimes appear cold but only because he didn't feel like oversharing about his life like the rest of the team. Jack knew what he liked and didn't like and was honest almost to a fault, the reason why some people felt scared to approach him.

Thus, all things considered, you and Jack were nowhere near the resident's radar, with only Dana and Robby knowing the truth about your relationship, that is, until the two of you stopped caring whether or not the rest of them knew.

It was one of those rare quiet times in the ED when no one needed immediate care and attention. Everyone was gathered around the nurses' station and computers. The residents were all catching on their charting while Robby and Jack sat close by reviewing patient labs and getting orders for medication ready. You of course were sat beside Jack catching up on your own work.

Trinity felt as though her head was gonna explode, closing her eyes for a brief second to try and will the ringing in her ears to go away. Dennis sat beside her and yawned for what felt like the hundredth time in ten minutes. Across from them, Victoria looked as though she was two seconds away from falling asleep while Mel's face scrunched up trying to focus on her screen. On either side of the desks, McKay was mindlessly scrolling through her chart, trying to look as if she was actually absorbing any information while Samira sat on the other end, the most put together of the bunch with her headphones in. The day seemed to drag on with no end in sight, the comfortable beeping of machines and low murmurs of patients acting as background noise.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Everyone's immediate attention was ripped away from whatever they were doing in order to turn in your direction which seemed to be entirely focused on Jack.

All of the residents looked at each other with incredulous eyes, even Samira took off her earphones once seeing how everyone reacted. Though, you seemed not to care at all that the rest of the ED seemed to be watching you as you continued to stare at Jack; even Dana looked up from where she was reading a chart to let out a small huff of laughter at your antics.

When Jack didn't immediately respond, you poked him lightly on the bicep trying to get his attention.

"Jaaaack" you draw out his name, "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Without even looking up from his work, Jack silently grabbed your hand that you were holding out before bringing it up to his mouth to plant a brief kiss onto your hand, "yes darling, of course I would."

Satisfied with his answer, you gave a giddy nod of your head before turning back to your work, keeping your hand in Jack's as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

Less than five feet away, the residents felt as though they were witnessing a medical miracle. Victoria was left with her mouth hanging open while Mel sat completely still, blinking in fast intervals as though trying to understand what just happened. Dennis kept looking back and forth between the two of you before turning over to look at Trinity, knowing that if anyone was going to speak up, it'd be her.

"So, are we just pretending that didn't happen?" Trinity asked bewildered.

"Pretending what didn't happen?" Robby said, looking up from the chart in his hand.

"That, right there" McKay gestured widely at you and Jack still holding hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Robby smiled, before looking back down at his work.

The residents continued to share wide eyes with each other, even going as far as to look over at Dana for explanation but the charge nurse wouldn't even glance their way, choosing to stare at the tablet in front of her, but not without them seeing the obvious smirk on her face.

“The mystery man you've been crushing on is night shift attending Jack Abbot?!” 

Trinity bursts into the lounge whisper-shouting. Your eyes go wide and you abandon the yogurt you were eating to run over and clamp a hand over her mouth. “Shut the fuck up! Shut up. Please for the love of god, shut up.” Your heart was beating like crazy, and you felt like you were gonna throw up. She slowly nods and you finally let go. 

“What makes you say that?” You say with an almost threatening tone. She grins sheepishly at you before backing a few inches away. “Well I might have gone through your locker, and I might have taken a peek at your journal…” 

“Oh my god, that's a total invasion of privacy Trinity! How the fuck did you even get my combination?!” You were running your hands through your hair, this girl was unbelievable. “Huckleberry might’ve helped me,” she says while trying her best to avoid your gaze. 

“No, you know what, that’s great, I'm so glad I decided to move in with the nosiest people in Pittsburgh!” You clasp your hands together and start pacing back and forth. 

“Okay, first of all, Perlah and Princess beat us in that category, and second of all, you weren't telling us anything! No hint, nothing, so what better way to find out than snoop through your most prized possession? A book that you never let leave your vicinity. Don't worry though, we skipped all the emotional stuff and landed on the page that had a cutout picture of him with hearts around it.” She chuckles, and you feel like you could kill her. 

“I'm burning that goddamn book and the two of you with it. I can't believe you guys went through my journal!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, god, did they know anything about boundaries?

Yes, you had a picture of your night shift attending with hearts around him in your journal, but you weren't obsessed with the man. The topic of manifestation had come up once or twice with Trinity, so you decided to try it out knowing nothing would probably happen. You had a crush on him since you started working at the PTMC, feelings you knew he would never reciprocate, so that silly page meant nothing, not really.

“I'm sorry, we went too far.” Trinity walks over and puts a hand on your shoulder, the guilt finally catching up to her. “But I'm surprised I never caught on. Now thinking about it, your feelings for him are so obvious.” She almost sounds annoyed at herself.

 You scoff and remove her hand. “Obvious? Please.” 

“Oh my god, is he the reason why you make me or Huckleberry bring you in early and leave late?” she asks, her annoyance now directed at you. “N-No, don't be ridiculous.” You're a lying, stuttering mess. Of course he was the reason why. 

“And the way you hover, listening to every last word he says. I've noticed the way he flirts with you but he does that with everyone, so I didn't think anything of it. I just thought he was a mentor that you admired, but it all makes sense. Just know that I never caught on cause I didn't know you liked them old.”

“Likes what old?” Panic rushes into your chest as Robby walks into the room cutting you two off. “Her men,” Trinity says casually and Robby’s eyes go wide. “Oh?” 

You start shaking your head and fake laugh. “She's just joking, I don't like them old, that would be weird! N-Not that there's anything wrong with being old and liking older men but I definitely don't.” You were speaking so fast your brain couldn't catch up with your words. Horrified, you watch Robby look at you amused while Trinity holds back a laugh. 

Fuck, you were such a bad liar.

“Okay— I'm gonna grab an apple and head back out so you two can keep discussing your attraction to older men,” he teases, walking towards the fruit basket. You watch him grab his apple and chuckle before heading out. As soon as he's gone Trinity lets her laugh out and you smack her chest. “Ow, my boob.” She rubs her chest frowning.

“That wasn't fucking funny, why would you say that it was so humiliating!” You cover your face with your hands, your embarrassment being tenfold now. “To be fair your response was what made it humiliating, but you'll be fine babes, it wasn't that bad, and at least it wasn't the man himself.” 

You moan into your hands and look back at her. “We’re not discussing this further. I'm mad at you.” You state, while walking to throw your yogurt away, not being able to stomach the rest. “Hey, that's not allowed!” You flip her off as you exit the room, trying to leave your embarrassment behind as you reenter the chaos.

She follows, but it's not long before you freeze, almost causing her to collide with your back. You see Jack rush into Trauma One with one of his SWAT officers on a bed bleeding out.

“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Trinity says while passing you to head to the room. You nod and stay in place as you watch them get to work. Seeing him felt weird now that Trinity and Dennis knew, it made your crush feel more real, and completely childish.

“You doing alright?” A deep voice from behind you pulls you from your thoughts, making you jump. “Dr. Langdon, you scared me.” You turn to see him with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, you were completely zoned out there.” You see him glance at what you'd been staring at, and back at you. “You know them?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, I was just lost in thought, sorry, I'll get back to work.” He slowly nods his head. “If you need a break doc, take it.” He pats you on the back and moves past you. 

God, you'd be pathetic if you had to take a break over Jack Abbot.

The next time you saw Jack was right after they'd successfully saved the SWAT officer you saw him roll in with. You had come looking for Robby, wanting a second opinion on a patient you had just seen, when you heard Jack speaking with Dr. Al-Hashimi the new attending. “We should grab a beer sometime, share war stories” You felt a wave of jealousy pass through you. “I'd like that,” she casually replied, and walked out of the room. Trying to ignore your stomach you walk up to Robby. “She seems cool.” Jack says to Robby, both of them not noticing your presence “Yeah, maybe.”

You clear your throat, trying to catch Robby's attention and you watch the amused look from earlier reappear on his face as he turns to look at you. “You here to tell me more about how you're ‘not into’ older men?” You see Jack perk up in your peripheral vision and your eyes go wide. “Um, no, but if you have time could I get a second opinion on this patient?” You try to keep your voice steady even though your heart felt like it was going to explode. He chuckles and looks back at his laptop. “Yeah, I'll be out there in a second.” 

You nod and turn to leave. Once out you hear Jack’s voice through the door. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” Hearing him laugh makes you burn up at the thought of Robby telling him everything. You don't know if you could handle any more embarrassment today, so you were gonna try and focus on your charts for the time being.

While looking through your charts you hear someone clear their throat next to you. “You enjoying Dr. Al-Hashimi’s AI tool?” Your eyes go wide as you look up to see Jack standing next to your desk. “Oh, no. I'd rather write these up myself.” You say, turning to look back at the monitor, unable to hold eye contact with him. “Smart girl.” He says and moves closer, making your heart skip a beat.

“Sorry I couldn't help earlier, hope your friend’s doing better now.” You muttered, trying to ignore his closeness and warmth. There was some guilt there, you had froze, so Trinity moved for you. “He's gonna be fine, but it would've been nice to have my favorite resident there.” He says softly. 

Favorite resident?

The smile that emerges on your face is subtle but you know he can see it. He starts speaking again before you can respond. “But I think she was too busy staring at an older man.” You whip your head to look back at him, your smile instantly dropping. “W-What? He shrugs playfully while turning to walk away. Your heart was beating so fast, he definitely knew you were looking at him, but you hadn't even realized he noticed you earlier. You quickly get up abandoning your charts to busy yourself with something else, you were too worked up to sit at a desk right now.

The next few hours go by somewhat fast. You were able to avoid Jack the entire time surprisingly. You slipped into random rooms when you heard his voice nearby and would rush to find a patient when you'd see him. Were you being dramatic? Yes, but you needed to stay clear of him, his teasing would be the end of you. 

You had just discharged a patient, working on finishing their notes when you hear a familiar voice. “I'll pay for it.” You don't know how you heard him, he was borderline whispering, and you were surrounded by a noisy hospital. So you couldn't help the curiosity that crept in you deciding to walk by the room you heard his voice in.

He was sitting on the hospital bed shirtless with Dr. Mohan smiling behind him. You hear her say “Our little secret.” and the frown that was usually on his face was gone, replaced with a similar smile. As much as your body wants to stop in place, you don't and keep walking.

Jack was known for being a smooth talker, you knew that, but there was a small part of you that had hoped it was different when he flirted with you. Now witnessing it twice in one day with two different women, you couldn't help but feel stupid. I mean you had never gotten as close to him as Dr. Mohan just was, you could only imagine what else had transpired between them.

“Damn, where you headed to?” Trinity’s voice stops you in your tracks, you see her head emerge above a monitor. “To check on a patient Trin, where else?” You lie, but it's because you don't want to deal with her questions right now. “I don't know, it looks like you're running away from something, plus you have this horrified expression on your face.” She dramatically waves a hand over her face, emphasizing “horrified expression”

You groan and shake your head. “I'm not running, and I do not have a horrified expression on my face. Please just go back to doing your charts.” She opens her mouth to reply but you cut her off by walking away.

You make your way towards the ambulance bay and when you walk out you're instantly hit by a cloud of smoke. You look over and see Dana leaning against the wall. “Hey, kid.” You reply with a quiet "Hey" and walk over to stand next to her. “Don't look too good, you want a puff?” She holds the cigarette out for you to take and you sigh. “Fuck it.” 

Smoking wasn't really your thing, but right now, it didn't seem too bad. You grab it and bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, then exhaling. You mumble a “thank you” and give it back to her. “No problem, although I'm surprised, you’ve never accepted before.” 

You let out a laugh because it was true, you never joined in drinking when the crew would ask you to after a rough shift, and the very few times Dana’s offered a cigarette you've refused. It's not like you don't partake. You used to in high school and college, but ever since you started working at the PTMC you haven't had the urge to, which is surprising considering the fact that it's the reason most people start and continue. 

“Today's been rough, nothing terrible, just mentally draining.” She nods at your words, understanding that feeling before you continue. “How bout you? How's your shadow, Emma doing?” You watch as she deeply sighs at your question. “She's doing real good. Yeah, she’ll be great.” You can hear the concern in her voice. “You're doing good too Dana, she’ll flourish under your wing.” You put a reassuring hand on her shoulder wanting to comfort her even though you know her concern will never fade.

“Yeah, here’s hoping.” She takes another drag while looking at the calm in front of you two. There's comfortable silence before she looks back at you. “You out here because of Robby's loud mouth?” A bitter chuckle escapes you, because of course he was going around talking about what had happened in the lounge. 

“No, not really, I didn't realize he was telling everyone.” He was your superior but that wasn't gonna stop you from killing him. “Oh yeah, word travels quick round here, everybody knows about your interest in older men now.” She was laughing now. 

You wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.

“Ugh, it's all Trinity’s fault! She told Robby I like my men old, and then I word-vomited trying to save myself from humiliation. I failed miserably, if you were wondering.” You were reaching for the cigarette in her hand again, which she easily gave up. “Santos, really?” She asks and you nod your head while breathing in more smoke. “Eh, I wouldn't worry too much, I'm sure everyone will forget about it by tomorrow. They're so bored they’re grasping for any sort of gossip, something new’ll come up soon,” she says, putting her hand on your shoulder now.

“Honestly, I don't get what the big deal is. Why is it so crazy that I'm interested in a guy that's maybe a little too old for me? News flash, I'm a fully grown adult.” You can't help the irritation in your voice, this was all so annoying. “It can be a big deal, depending on the circumstance,” she says, and you sigh, taking another drag. She's right, HR would be on your ass if they found out all this ruckus was about Jack. 

“You're lucky no one else knows which older man you like.” She adds and you start coughing, choking on the smoke you inhaled. “Christ, I'm sorry kid.” You can hear the smile on her face as she speaks. She moves her hand from your shoulder and pats your back, trying to help you.

You catch your breath and look back at her. “Don't tell me you went through my journal too,” you say defeated.

She shakes her head. “I've known for a while now, I can see the way you look at him.” She hesitates before continuing. “And the way he looks at you. You need to be careful.” 

You can't help but scoff at that. “Dana, the man's a chronic flirt. There's no need for you to worry, cause nothing will ever happen.” You try to take another drag, but she grabs it from your hand and drops it on the ground, crushing it with her sole. 

You pout your lips at her, and she shakes her head. “Alright, no more cigarettes for you. How bout you go back in, I'll be right behind you, just give me a second.” You mutter an “okay” and start walking back into the ER, there was no point in arguing with her.

You’re only a few steps in the hospital before you hear a scuffle in one of the rooms. Walking over to see what was going on you witness a patient putting Emma in a headlock. 

Panic and pure adrenaline surge through you as you run into the room to get the man off her. You used all your strength to pull his arm, managing to free her from his grip, but now he was focused on you. He lunges for you, grabbing onto the sides of your head before head-butting you. As you fall to the ground you hear Dana yell and watch her tackle the man to the floor, stabbing him with a needle in the process. 

You close your eyes as you hear a bunch of footsteps rush into the room. “What the hell happened?” You hear Robby's voice, the noise making you wince. “He attacked them so I gave him a shot to settle him down,” Dana replies, her eyes wide with shock. 

You feel movement next to you before someone touches your face, knowing exactly who it is before he speaks. “Fuck, she’s bleeding, help me get her up.” You cry out as Jack picks your body up. Your head is throbbing, and your face is on fire. “That fucker got me good.” You open your eyes to see Jack in front of you, concern covering every inch of his face.

You look over at Emma wanting to make sure she was okay, and she's staring right back at you while being bombarded by questions. You notice the red ring around her neck, and you feel anger finally hit you. “Hey, focus on me, we need to get you to a different room.” You nod your head, and hear Robby grilling Dana as Jack leads you out of the room, your hand tightly wrapped around his arm. 

As soon as you sit on the edge of the bed, Jack is on you, checking your face and head. You weren't able to hold back your whimpers as he touched the inflicted areas. “I'm gonna kill him.” He mutters under his breath and you manage a smile. “I'm fine.” You’re breathless as you speak. He picks your chin up, eyes not leaving yours. 

“You could have a concussion.”

“I don't,” 

“Your nose could be broken.”

“It isn't.”

He sighs before grabbing an alcohol pad to wipe your face carefully, you hadn't even realized your nose was bleeding. 

“I didn't realize you could be this gentle, Jack.” You watch as he freezes, it was the first time you had said his name out loud. “I like the way you say my name.” You couldn't stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “I wonder how many girls you've said that to.” 

You move to grab the wipe from his hand but he grips your wrist before you can take it. His touch was scorching, while the metal band on his ring finger was freezing. “I haven't used that on anyone.” He states, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? Not even earlier on Mohan?” You don't know what had gotten into you, were never confrontational, maybe you did have a concussion. His eyes go wide and he drops your wrist. “What are you talking about?” He asks, confused.

“Our little secret? I'll pay for it?” and you watch as he figures out what you were talking about. “When I said I'd pay for it, I was talking about getting her an uber for supplies she wanted to send home with a patient. That's all.” He sighs before continuing. “And I was grazed by a bullet earlier, I didn't want to do the paperwork, so she helped and promised to keep it quiet. That's it, I promise.” 

Now you were the one looking at him with concern. You felt so stupid, you were so quick to assume things. “Are you okay?” You place a hand on his shoulder, worried. “I'm fine, don't worry about me,” He says while putting his hand over yours. All you could think about was kissing him, your jealousy from earlier completely gone, and you could tell he was thinking the same with the way he was staring at your lips. 

You start leaning in, only for him to back off. “You‘re not feeling okay, you're not thinking straight.” He shook his head, voice wavering, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

The rejection stung, and to make everything worse, your head was fucking killing you. “I'm fine.” You snapped, moving to get up, but as soon as you're on your feet your legs get wobbly. “Let me help you.” Jack grabs onto your waist and you push him off. “Jesus, get off me, I said I was fine!” Your own volume made you wince, and the hospital lights were only getting brighter. You stumble out of the room extremely dizzy, almost tripping before Jack catches you. 

The movement grabs Robby’s attention. “Is she okay? I need to ask her what happened.” Robby questions, but before Jack can answer you cut in. “The guy headbutted me, and I fell. I'm fine, I just need to rest, please.” Robby runs over, opening your eyelids to check your pupils. “Shit, did you evaluate her?” and Jack shakes his head. “I was going to, but she got up and ran out.” 

You remove Jack’s hold on you. “I'm a little dizzy and the lights are too bright, so if you need to give me a CT scan go ahead, but I'm telling you, all I need to do is rest. I'm coherent, I'm good, if anything I have a minor concussion but I doubt it. I'll answer any other questions you have, just get me in a fucking bed, and away from him,” You say, jutting your head at Jack. No one says anything, Robby just gives Jack a weird look before coming to your side to bring you back to the isolated room.

By the time Robby's done asking questions and evaluating you, you’re ready to sleep. “I'll turn the lights off so you can get some rest, but you're going home immediately after. You're lucky it was only a minor concussion,” Robby says and you nod slowly. “Is Emma okay?” You had been worried about her since Jack dragged you away from the room earlier. “Yeah, she's okay thanks to you. There are some red marks around her neck but that's about it,” he says, attempting to comfort you.

You let out a sigh of relief, what happened to her was awful, but you're glad nothing worse happened. “Okay, well Is Dana in any trouble?” you ask, remembering Robby's questions. He was asking if you had seen what she’d done, which you had, but you lied, because you know she shouldn't have had any type of sedative on her. “I don't know.” He sighs and you know not to prod. “I’ll be back soon, rest up,” he adds, and you mumble an “okay.” before you close your eyes, drifting away.

When you wake up, your head feels better but you're riddled with anxiety. Everything that had occurred earlier was immediately taking over your mind, so you get up and get ready to discharge yourself, not wanting to be stuck in this hospital any longer. You make your way to Robby and quickly debrief with him, making sure he knows you're okay, before you say your goodbyes and leave.

You didn't have a car, usually choosing to ride with Trinity or Dennis, but because they still had a couple of hours left you had no choice but to order an uber home. 

As you're walking out you hear your name being called. Turning to see who it is, you watch as Jack runs, trying to catch up with you. He stops a few feet away from you and you can see the sweat glistening on his skin. “I heard you were going home, how are you feeling?” You can't help but roll your eyes at him. “I'm okay,” you reply dryly. He sighs and steps closer. “Look, I'm sorry about earlier, I wanted to make sure you were all there.” 

“Save it, I don't wanna talk about this right now.” You glance at your phone and see that the uber was only a couple of minutes away. “No, please let me explain,” he pleads and you look at him frustrated, but ultimately nod giving him permission to continue. 

“I wanted to kiss you, I did, but I didn't want to while you could've possibly had a head injury. I wanted to make sure you were thinking straight and I didn't want you to regret it.” Your stomach was doing flips at his words.

“Jack—” You try speaking but he cuts you off.

“I really like you, sweetheart, and I have for a while.” He says softly, his eyes holding yours intently. “Jack, don’t say it if you don't mean it.” Your body was on fire, and you were squirming under his gaze. This all felt surreal.

“When I came in today, you were the first person I searched for only to see you already staring back. Later when Robby told me about the conversation he had with you, I couldn't help but wonder if it was about me. Then that feeling turned into certainty when I overheard Santos and Whitaker talking about the older men rumor and how it was specifically about me.” He chuckles, thinking about how the day unfolded.

He was saying all the right things, but couldn't help but cringe. “God, that's so embarrassing, I hate that you had to hear that from them.” You hide your face with your palms, but Jack clicks his teeth and moves them away. “Don't hide from me. And if anything, I'm grateful that I did, don't know if I would've had the courage to confess if I didn't.”

He shakes his head as he moves his hands to hold your face. “You scared me earlier. I don't know what I would've done if something happened without having the chance to tell you how I felt. I just needed you to recover before I did anything, before I did this.” He slowly inches towards you and stops, searching your eyes for permission. This was everything you ever wanted, and you didn't want to waste any more time, so you nod your head and move forward softly planting your lips on his.

The kiss is slow, gentle, and the taste of him was addicting. It was better than you ever imagined. You tilt your head, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, wanting to give him more access, but whimper when your nose brushes his a little more aggressively.

He pulls away instantly, checking to see if you were alright, making you giggle. “I'm okay, I'm still a little sore.” He pouts and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, before resting his hands on your hips. “You need to rest. Please tell me you're taking a couple of days off,” and you shake your head. “I'm coming back tomorrow, I can handle it.” He squeezes your hips and presses his forehead against yours. “I'm gonna make sure you rest, you're not coming in tomorrow. I'll take care of you, don't worry.” 

“I won't argue with that. I guess some rest would be nice, especially if you'll be there.” You move to connect your lips again, but are quickly interrupted as a car honks behind you. You groan as you force yourself to look back at the car, “That's my uber.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before letting go of your body. “Go home, rest, and I'll be there after my shift.” 

“Okay, I'll send you my address. See you later?” you ask as you step away, heading towards the car. “See you later,” He replies smiling, and you light up. 

As soon as you're in the car you're messaging the group chat with Trinity and Dennis explaining everything that happened and that you'd have a visitor soon. You scold them, but also thank them for being insufferable today. Then you find Jack’s name and type in your address. You might be a little concussed and in pain but things finally felt amazing.

You shake your head in disbelief, you can't believe you managed to manifest Jack Abbot.

a/c: I was on vacation working on this and just got back so i can finally post it!! I wanted to do smth short but fun while i was away before continuing to work on the sammy bryant fic so theres not gonna be a part 2 but i hope you all enjoy!!

"mhm," you huff. the divorce paper was real enough! just because it didn't have his or your name on it and was issued by the internet as opposed to an attorney didn't mean anything.

"and what was your reasoning again, baby?" jack mused.

"you don't love me anymore!"

jack sighs. "i tell you how beautiful you are before i leave for work, bring y’flowers everyday, and take you to dinner every friday, and you think i don't love you?"

"yeah, but those are the routine things!" you said. "so, you obviously don't love me anymore!"

jack put the paper down on the nightstand and approached you, backing you into the bed. "say it again, sweetheart."

you gulp at his proximity, sweat trickling down your face from the way his thumb tilts your chin upwards. "you. don't. love. me."

"yeah, okay," jack hummed. “if you really thought that, you wouldn't be wearing the shortest little skirt," he says, promptly hiking the garment in question up and making your breath hitch, "when you're trying to fucking divorce me."

"jackie-"

"mhm, there she is," jack said. he pushes you down onto the bed without further warning and pulls your skirt down your body, revealing your pussy to his hungry eyes. "and already so wet,” he tsks.

"hmph," you say with a huff. you turn away from his gaze, but it's short-lived as jack cranes your face back towards him.

"ah-ah. what do you have to say?"

you roll your eyes. "sorry."

"like you mean it."

"sorry," you say again.

jack doesn't have it in him to correct your attitude from that look on your face. god, his wife is just too cute.

you don't say anything else as he frees his cock from his slacks, slipping inside your aching cunt. jack is gentle with you as he rocks into you, whispering the sweetest praises that you'd needed for reassurance.

"tell me i love you. tell me how much daddy loves you, baby," jack coos as he cups your cheek, his thrusts slow as he fucks you deep.

"d- daddy loves me," you relent. "so much."

You had just come off of a long and tiring week at work—it was one of those with one tough case after another. You wanted nothing more than to hunker down in your apartment with a bag of chips and a good TV show to binge, but instead you were arriving at a campground for a weekend of “team bonding.”

You wouldn’t have even bothered to join if Trinity hadn’t told you the trip was “going to be super chill, a few cool people.” She’d acted as if it would be a small girls trip—just the two of you and maybe Mel.

Instead, you were joining in on a camping trip that Dr. Robby hosted yearly to bring the emergency physicians and nurses closer together and boost team morale. You’re not quite sure how spending a weekend in the cold wilderness could make their team like each other more, but there’s no sense in questioning it too much now that you’re stuck with them.

You’ve been driving for two and a half hours, so despite your frustration with Trinity over her deception, you’re glad to be able to stretch your legs. The parking lot is full of emergency physicians pulling camping gear out of their car trunks—you notice that Whitaker is pulling both his and Trinity’s gear out of her car, Langdon is pulling a large backpack onto his back as he hands a smaller one to Mel, and it seems like Samira, Javadi, and Ellis all carpooled with Dr. McKay. 

“Donnie and Mateo should be here soon. Seems like Robby and Dr. Abbot are running a little bit behind too,” Trinity tells you. She doesn’t seem at all concerned that Whitaker is hunched under the weight of both of their backpacks as he makes his way over to the two of you. 

“Y/N! How was the drive?” Whitaker asks as he lowers their gear to the ground. 

“Not too bad, although I didn’t realize it would be so far. Trin left out a few convenient details when she invited me to join.” He cringes as you speak, clearly aware of Trinity’s scheming.

“Well, at least the hike isn’t too long. Only about thirty or forty minutes, then we can settle down and relax.”

“The hike?” You turn to Trinity, eyes piercing her with blame. She never said anything about hiking from the parking lot to the campsite. When you saw that the parking lot was separate from the actual site you just assumed it would be a short walk to get there.

“Woops?” She shrugs her shoulders as if it was an honest mistake before quickly becoming apologetic. “I’m just glad you came along. I’m sorry Y/N, I thought you might say no if I told you that there would be hiking or people. I know you don’t like socializing or , but I think you’ll have fun this weekend!”

“If I hadn’t spent all morning driving here, I would turn around and drive right back to Pittsburgh and spend the weekend in bed,” you tell her sternly. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and I love you.”

“Yes! It’s going to be great!” She throws herself at you in celebration, and your arms reach up to awkwardly wrap around her. 

“Looks like the party’s started without us,” a deep voice—one you recognize as Robby—says from behind you. Extracting yourself from Trinity’s arms, you turn to see him lifting the door to the trunk of the car as Dr. Abbot steps out of the driver’s seat. Behind them, Mateo’s car pulls into a parking spot. 

“We’re just so excited for a weekend of team bonding,” Trinity says sarcastically. Robby gives her a stern look before focusing on the bags in the back of his car.

You pull your backpack from the passenger seat of your car—it’s full of clothes and all the random emergency supplies you thought you might need on a camping trip. Now that you know you’ll have to hike to the campground, you’re regretting the romance novel and e-reader that you packed. 

Once everybody seems ready, the group starts heading toward the trail—it starts at the far end of the parking lot, flat at first but quickly becoming more steep. You hadn’t thought to pack hiking shoes (you don’t even have hiking shoes), so you’re wearing a pair of tennis shoes that rarely see the outside of your closet. 

As you get farther down the trail, it becomes clear that you can’t keep pace with the rest of the group. Robby leads the pack, quickly navigating his way up the stairs that have been carved into the dirt of the trail, while Dr. Abbot brings up the rear of the group. At this point, Robby and most of the group have long since left you and Dr. Abbot behind. 

Dr. Abbot walks behind you, careful but sure as he takes each step. At first you thought that he was staying behind because of his leg, but you soon realize that he’s completely capable of keeping up with the group. 

In fact, he’s only hiking slowly because he’s keeping an eye on you.

And for good reason, because the trail is a little moist and you’re not used to hiking. So when you step on a particularly slippery patch of mud, your foot can’t ground itself and your backpack adds a little too much weight to balance. You’re unable to stop yourself from taking a fall—but Dr. Abbot is.

Before you can find yourself on the muddy floor of the forest, you feel a firm hand take your elbow and pull you up to safety. He runs his hands over both of your arms, seemingly trying to calm you down. 

“Careful. Those shoes don’t look like they were made for hiking.” His arms fall to his side as he grimaces at your feet. “Don’t want you to fall, considering most of the people who could help have decided they need to race to the top.”

“I think you’re capable of patching me up,” you joke to him. He cracks a small smile before reaching toward you, gesturing at your backpack.

“Here. Let me take that. Can’t have you falling.” You hesitate, weary about giving up your things, but eventually relent and let him take your bag. From there, it’s a significantly easier hike. You notice that Dr. Abbot barely breaks a sweat and seems to have no issue carrying the extra weight of your backpack. What you don’t notice, though, is that he struggles to keep his eyes off of your ass as you walk in front of him. The steep climb of the trail offers the perfect angle for him to watch your hips sway as you walk. 

Everybody else is already setting up their tents and arranging their gear when you and Abbot finally arrive at the campsite. You thank Dr. Abbot and take your backpack from him before making your way to Trinity and Whitaker. Trinity is taking tent stakes out of her backpack when you walk up to her, and when she notices you’re there she looks up at you slowly with a sheepish look on her face.

“So… I know I told you I had a tent for you to camp in. But I think I left it on my kitchen counter when I was reorganizing my things this morning. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

“Okay,” you respond. “So we’ll have to squeeze into your tent? That’s what I thought we were doing, anyways.”

“Well, I promised Whitaker he could stay in the tent with me since I thought I would have a tent for you to keep to yourself. But I can kick him out if you want? I’m sure he could figure it out… or something.” You shake your head, not interested in coming between Trinity and Whitaker—it already baffled you that the two of them were able to live together, and you don’t want to instigate any sort of tension.

“No, no,” you say. “I’ll just ask some of the others if they have space. I’m sure someone will.” 

You decide to ask Samira if she has space first. You know all of the emergency staff, but Trinity, Mel, and Samira are the only ones that you have a true friendship with. And you’d much rather share a tent with someone who you consider a friend than a colleague.

But Samira is already sharing a small tent with Ellis, and there’s truly no way you’d be able to fit three people in the tiny space they had. You consider asking Mel if she has space, but it becomes clear quickly that it isn’t an option when you see Langdon setting up one tent for the both of them. Javadi and McKay are also paired up in a small tent, and Donnie and Mateo are paired up as well. You can’t even bring yourself to ask any of them if they could make room for you to squeeze in—you’re already self conscious about joining their team trip, much less being so incredibly underprepared.

“Jack and I have a pretty big tent. You’re welcome to join us, if you need somewhere to crash.” You cringe as you swing around to look at Robby, who’s gesturing at the tent that he’s already set up. It is pretty big, and could definitely fit three or four people in it, but you have no idea how you’ll get over the embarrassment of having to share a room with two male attendings for a weekend. What the hell would Gloria say if she caught wind of something like that?

“Um… I don’t know if that would be appropriate. I can just–” You don’t bother finishing your sentence, instead hitching your thumb in the direction of the trail and shrugging. It would be a massive pain to have to turn around and hike back down—and then drive all the way back to Pittsburgh—but it might be a better option than this.

“No, really,” he says. “Camping is an outdoor activity. We’ll only be in the tent to sleep, and it’s hard to sleep out here anyways. There’s really no harm in sharing, and we have extra gear—it doesn’t seem like you brought much.” You think about it for a moment, and the dread of having to make the hike back to the parking lot gets to you. You nod your head in acceptance.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m really sorry about this. Trin said she would have a tent for me, and she also told me this would just be a small girls trip, and I had no idea I was intruding on some sort of yearly tradition. I would have never–” 

“No need to apologize. This is really less of a team-bonding trip and more of a vacation for Jack and I. We started inviting everyone else about three years ago after Langdon got jealous about not being invited, and then Mel decided to join, and then everybody else decided to tag along.” You nod, your shoulders lowering from your chin and your stress dissolving slightly. Robby takes the backpack from your shoulders (he must have gotten that trick from Dr. Abbot) and places it inside of the tent before returning outside. 

After all the tents are set up and everybody has gotten their bearings, you find yourself standing in a circle with the rest of the group as Robby lets everybody know about the plan for the day. And the plan… is that there is no plan. It seems like Robby just assumed everybody would find something to do, so now the group is standing around and simply staring at each other.

Not one to linger in awkward silence for too long, Trinity speaks up to offer an activity: “Y/N is a great yoga instructor, and there’s an area we could set up for some yoga nearby.” You glare at her for volunteering you, though you have to admit to yourself that a little bit of yoga could do your nerves some good right now.

“That’s a great idea!” Mel says, grabbing Langdon’s hand and pulling his arm excitedly. “We would love to join for some yoga.” Langdon doesn’t seem nearly as interested as Mel, but he nods in acceptance when he sees her excitement.

“Yeah, we’re down,” Ellis says, looking around for agreement from the other women in the group. When Donnie and Mateo agree to join as well, Robby looks at Abbot with a shrug before following Trinity. 

“Okay,” you say. “Let me get my mat.” 

“It’s in your backpack, right? I saw it sticking out of the top,” Dr. Abbot says. “Be right back—I’ll grab it.” He jogs off before you can reply and tell him that you’ll get it, and he returns quickly with the mat in his hands. You get a sense of déjà vu as you’re once again left behind the rest of the group to walk slowly with Abbot.

You lead the group through a flow of stretches and a gentle sequence that seems to work for everyone. Almost everyone is goofing around and laughing with each other while they follow your instructions, but Robby seems focused on getting the poses right. When you see he’s struggling to stretch into one of the poses you cue, you walk over and kneel next to him. You place one hand on the back of his neck and one on the back of his thigh, gently pushing into his muscles to help loosen his posture.

“You’re a little bit tight right here,” you whisper. “Just let go and allow your body to fall into the pose, instead of forcing it to comply with your will. Not everything is a matter of control, Robby.” He huffs quietly, but follows your instructions, limbs softening under your hands and facial expression relaxing.

“Good,” you say. “Well done.” You move back toward the front of the group, not noticing Abbot and Robby’s eyes on you as you settle into the pose on your own mat and begin giving the next cue for the group. 

The rest of the day consists of chatting with Mel and Trinity, trying to make a fire with Mateo to use for making dinner, and hiding away from the others so you could have some quiet to read the romance novel you’d shoved into your backpack. You were settled on a blanket beneath a tree, deep into a chapter with a relatively high level of spice, when you heard steps coming up behind you.

“Oh, sorry Y/N. I’m just looking for some dry limbs to use for this fire,” Robby says apologetically. “Somebody was trying to use wet sticks earlier to make the fire—no wonder they couldn’t get one started.”

“Oh, that was Mateo and I,” you say, cringing. “I’m sorry, I’ve never made a fire before.” He shakes his head, eyes going wide as he realizes his mistake.

“No, no. It’s not your fault at all. Honestly, it’s just good that you wanted to try,” he says. He scratches the top of his head awkwardly with one hand before shrugging. “I could show you how to make one, if you want?”

“Oh yeah, sure! Just let me find something I can use as a bookmark. I hate dog-earing pages,” you laugh as you push yourself up from your position on the ground. He reaches into his pockets, digging around until he pulls a small piece of paper out and handing it to you. You look down at it before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my God. You’re giving me a receipt for condoms as a bookmark?” His eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly as you continue to laugh at him.

“They aren’t for me,” he says. “I started buying them for the trip after…well…an incident a couple years ago when King and Langdon first got together. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it—you said you needed a bookmark and I just remembered I had a receipt in my pocket.”

“Jesus, Robby. Way to give a girl a good laugh.” You place the receipt in your book and shut it, still laughing as you follow him to the sad-looking fire pit. Abbot is sitting on a camping chair next to it, eyebrows furrowing as he notices Robby’s sheepish expression and your uncontrollable laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Oh, you know,” you say. “Condoms.” You burst into another round of laughter, covering your mouth and shaking your head. Abbot gives you a quizzical look, but moves on when Robby hands him a stack of dry twigs.

“Okay,” Robby says. “When you’re making a fire, you need to make sure you’re using dry kindling.” He removes the moist logs that you and Mateo had placed earlier and proceeds to explain the fire-making process to you. You’re listening, but it’s hard to pay attention to everything he says when his arms flex as he adjusts the firewood. And you don’t notice when Abbot sees you looking so intently at Robby’s physique—or when Abbot looks at yours. 

Once the fire is built, Robby works on cooking dinner while you and Abbot sit comfortably around the fire. You’re unsure what it is, but it smells delicious and you’re starving from the long day of outdoor activities.

“How long have the two of you had yearly camping trips, Dr. Abbot?” 

“Oh, about five years or so. And you should call me Jack,” he says, “considering we’ll be sharing a bedroom tonight.” You look down at the ground and blush, unsure how to respond to his brazen statement, but nod.

“Jack it is,” you say quietly.

Dinner is lively, and maybe the loudest meal you’ve ever attended. Trinity argues with Langdon over a medical procedure that you barely understand, Donnie and Mateo almost get into a food fight when Mateo takes the last serving left in the pot, and Dr. McKay and Whitaker have an animated discussion about some television show you haven’t seen. 

When dinner is over, Trinity offers herself and Whitaker to clean up the mess (in apologies for her deception… and forgetting your tent). She pushes you away when you try to help, and simply tells you to go relax and get ready for bed.

You beat both Robby and Jack to the tent and decide that you have enough time to change before they get back—no need to bring your clothes all the way to the semi-outdoor bathrooms when you can just change in the tent. You peel your pants and shirt off, shivering as soon as the chill hits your skin and bending down to pick up the thin pair of pajamas you had packed—you hadn’t realized it would be so cold. When you hear a soft unzipping noise, you immediately spring up to standing and turn around, arms crossed over your chest as if you could hide your inadequately clothed body from the two men standing in the doorway of the tent.

Robby’s mouth is wide open in shock as he looks at you, too consumed with the shape of your breasts and hips to consider looking away. Jack is less shocked than Robby, but is just as appreciative. He gives you a small smirk—one that silently says “It seems like you did this on purpose”—before he puts a hand on Robby’s shoulder and gestures for him to look away from your panties.

“Sorry about that, doll,” he says. “We didn’t realize you were already getting ready for bed. We’ll give you a second.” Before you can apologize for your exceptionally unprofessional state of dress, Jack zips the door to the tent again and you hear them walk away from the tent together in quiet conversation. You feel certain they’re talking about you, and you frantically pull on your pajamas to avoid another awkward moment. You’re not sure whether you should just lay down and try to sleep or if you should wait until they come back so you can apologize profusely. Regardless, you know the shame of being seen near-naked by men you work with will gnaw at you for the rest of the trip. 

You decide to lay beneath the thin blanket you packed in your backpack—at least you had the foresight to pack an extra layer to sleep with, knowing that if you shared with Trinity you would be fighting over the covers all night. You use your backpack as a makeshift pillow and close your eyes, an image of Jack and Robby staring at your bare skin flashing through your head over and over and over and–

“Knock knock,” you hear Robby’s voice call from outside the tent. “Safe to come in?” You raise your head slightly, sitting up to respond with a short “Yep! All clear!” Your voice breaks slightly as you speak, betraying your nerves and making you cringe as Robby and Jack both enter the tent. They’re both wearing the same clothes as they were at dinner, and they look exhausted. They make quick work of looking through their bags to find pajamas—or, in Jack’s case, a pair of grey sweatpants. Well, that’s going to be a problem.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “That was so inappropriate, and I should have just gone to change in the restrooms. I didn’t realize you two would be back so soon. I just really appreciate that you’re willing to share a tent, but I completely understand if you aren’t comfortable with that anymore. I don’t want to make either of you feel–”

“That’s okay, Y/N, it was an honest mistake. And we should have checked to be sure you were decent first,” Robby says. He looks at Jack for a moment before looking back at you, a look in his eyes that you can’t quite read. 

“But, you know, fair is fair,” Jack says, and your eyes widen as they both start undressing in front of you. And they make eye contact with you the whole. fucking. time. 

Jack pulls the grey sweatpants he was holding over a pair of boxer-briefs, and Robby pulls on a pair of green flannel pajama pants over boxers. Neither bothers to put on a shirt, gifting you with an eyeful of every flex of their muscles—and you’re pretty sure most of the movement is for your benefit. 

Each of them pulls a thick sleeping pad and blanket out of their bags, and Jack gestures for you to stand up from the sad sleeping situation you had set up for yourself. They place the sleeping pads on the floor of the tent so they meet with each other to make one large space to sleep, and then throw their blankets and your blanket on top. 

“Go on,” Robby says, gesturing toward the middle of the sleeping pads. “That’ll be much more comfortable to sleep on than the ground.” You nod and move towards the bedding, settling toward the far side of the tent. 

“We’re both pretty possessive sleepers,” Jack says. “If you sleep over there, you’re going to end up with no blankets and cold all night. And those pajamas don’t look very suited for the cold, doll.”

“Go ahead and take the middle,” Robby says. You nod slowly, so stressed at this point that you don’t even question the inappropriateness of sleeping between your coworkers who have just seen you in your underwear. You crawl to the middle of the mattress and settle under the blankets.

They quickly join you on the mattress, Robby on your right and Jack on your left, and settle in with you beneath the blankets. Jack has his body turned toward yours while Robby is on his back with his hands under the back of his head. You feel crowded but you’re thankful to be warm—they’re generating significantly more heat than the three blankets.

“Okay… well, goodnight,” you say. You turn on your side to face Robby, tucking one arm under your head and moving your legs up into your torso—you’ve never been able to sleep in any other position. You hear them both murmur soft goodnights in response. 

You’re hardly comfortable on a thin sleeping pad with no pillow, but it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself drifting to sleep. You’re in that odd space between awake and asleep where you find your thoughts moving away from daily stress or to-do lists and toward random ideas. Ideas like Jack wrapping an arm around your stomach and pulling you back against his hard chest—a position where you can also feel his very hard cock.

Your eyes shoot open as you process that you’re not just imagining his body pressed to your back. He’s actually pressed against you, and you can feel exactly how big he is. Instinctively, you move further back against him, grinding your ass lightly on him.

“Careful, doll,” he warns. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” In your slightly-sleepy haze, you decide not to heed his warning and continue pushing your ass back. He gives you a moment to have your way before laughing softly and gripping your hips tightly. Before you can process the movement, he has you on your back beneath him, and you can see the hard tent of his cock in his sweats. Your eyes widen as you process exactly how big he looks from this angle. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you get the chance.

“Don’t act shy now,” he says. “You wanted to rub all over my dick a minute ago. I bet if I reached into your panties right now you would be dripping wet for me.” He raises his eyebrows in question, hesitating briefly as he reaches toward your waistband. You nod your head toward his hand in agreement, and he takes his time moving his hands down your stomach, on the bare skin of your hips, and then to grip an ass cheek in each hand. He kneads your ass with both hands, covering each cheek with a large hand and jiggling slightly. He gives your ass a light slap before moving a hand toward your pussy. When he feels the wet warmth waiting for him, his lips turn up to give you a cocky grin.

“You’re going to need to feel this, Michael. She’s dripping,” he says. Your eyes widen as you realize you hadn’t even checked if Robby was awake. You turn to your side and see Robby’s eyes flitting between your heaving chest and the hand Jack has in your pants. His flannel pants are tented with the outline of his hard cock, which he has one hand on over his pants. You subconsciously lick your lips at the sight.

“Yeah?” he asks. “You need me to touch you, sweetheart?” You nod quickly, one hand reaching up to rake your fingernails down Jack’s arm while the other one finds Robby’s wrist and guides it to your legs. As Robby’s fingers reach into your panties and make their way to your clit, Jack’s move down to your entrance. You’re unable to stop yourself from letting out a soft “Oh!” when one finger pushes into you. 

You can barely fucking think when you feel Robby’s lips on yours, nipping softly at your bottom lip and meeting your tongue with his. He puts pressure on your clit as he circles it, creating a delicious friction with the pads of his fingers. He increases the pressure when you moan into his mouth, and Jack pulls out of your pussy to fuck you with another finger. 

“You want to use that mouth on Michael, doll? Make him feel good?” You can’t find the words to respond, too overstimulated by their hands on your pussy and Robby’s lips on yours—in fact, you didn’t even notice when one of them pulled your pants and underwear down to your ankles. You try to nod and make a noise of agreement, but instead you end up mewling into Robby’s mouth and letting out a pathetic, needy gasp. When you reach toward Robby’s cock, he tugs the waistband of his pants down so you can see exactly how big he is.

And oh boy is he big.

He’s red and thick, the tip glistening with the wet shine of pre-cum. You pay close attention to the prominent veins running to the bottom of him, where his hand fists the base. You immediately sit up, ignoring the awkward placement of their hands as you maneuver from your back to get onto all fours. Both men look at you with hooded eyes, nothing but appreciation for the show you’re giving them. Jack reaches for the bottom of your shirt and pulls it off in one quick swoop, and then they’re both sitting back and waiting for you. 

And you’re so fucking ready that you crawl to put yourself between Robby’s legs. He adjusts to give Jack more space to continue fingering your pussy, and then reaches one hand out to your face. You lean your cheek into his hand, and when his thumb nears your mouth you don’t wait for him—you take it in your mouth and suck, keeping eye contact with him. When Jack’s fingers push into you, you take Robby’s thumb deeper in your mouth. After a moment, he replaces his thumb with two fingers and hooks them at the knuckles behind your teeth and gently pulls your face down so you’re eye level with his cock. 

He laughs softly when you move your mouth towards the tip immediately, swirling your tongue over the sticky liquid leaking out of him. He pulls his cock away from your mouth, softly tapping you on your open mouth with it before guiding it into your mouth. When the tip hits the back of your throat and you start to gag, you feel Jack place himself against your back. His chest meets your back and you feel his cock against your ass as he slowly moves one hand up and down his length. When you feel his fingers crook inside your cunt, you involuntarily gasp and Robby is able to push even deeper into your throat. 

You can barely think, focused on how fucking full you feel and how good it feels to just let go and let them use you. When you feel the pressure building up low in your stomach, you grind back onto Jack’s fingers and moan around Robby. 

“You gonna come for us, doll?” Jack asks. “Want Robby to come in your mouth? You’ve got him so close. Look at how good you’re making him feel.” He continues fucking into you with his fingers and grinds the palm of his hand on your clit. Robby threads his fingers into your hair and pushes you down even farther on his dick, his other hand pinching your nipple as he fucks into your mouth. You can’t even find the energy to respond to the question, trusting that he can tell how fucking bad you want it from the movement of your hips and your eager, sloppy treatment of Robby’s cock.

“Fuck,” Robby whispers. “I’m going to come, sweetheart. You can take it, yeah?” He thrusts into your mouth, cum spurting into the back of your throat as you try desperately not to gag on his length. And then you feel the pressure at your clit release, moaning softly and pressing into Jack’s fingers as you swallow everything Robby gives you. As you take your mouth off of his softening length, you feel wet strings of cum land on your back and hear Jack sigh in relief.

You can’t even begin to think about where to move—you’re still on all fours between Robby’s legs, cum on your back and clothes somewhere on the floor of the tent. You let Robby maneuver you so that you’re laying on the mattress on your stomach, and Jack pulls on his sweatpants to slip out of the tent. 

When he comes back, he has a wet t-shirt to wipe your back and sex. After cleaning you up, they move you back on your side and press close to you. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to close as you drift into sleep.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re burning up with the heat of both men surrounding you. They each have an arm thrown over your naked torso, and their eyes are open. There’s no telling how long they’ve been waiting for you to wake up.

“Oh my fucking God,” you say. “What have we done?” Jack and Robby look a bit nervous, but each grins as they make eye contact with each other from either side of you. Robby rises from his position next to you and moves toward your legs, placing himself between them and lowering his head to the apex of your thighs. Jack leans down to press his lips against yours softly before answering your question.

Jack liked to believe he could pride himself on his willpower. That whatever he set himself towards, he could do. Including the simple act of getting off to his own fantasies instead of relying on strangers on the internet to feed it to him with fake smiles and even faker moans. It wasn't like he was against the idea of porn—his track record of stolen Playboys and single college nights would prove that hypocrisy quick—it was just something about the internet aspect of it that made him feel…perverted.

Maybe it was the knowledge that he could be watching anyone post their body or their sex with the intention of other strangers getting off to it. Maybe it was the realization that most people who did the posting were half his age. It was there for a reason; it shouldn't have mattered, but he still felt like he needed to make excuses to justify why he turned to it.

Luckily, that pestering voice in the back of his mind always had an excuse to justify what he was doing. When he relented long enough to grab his phone, it was "to check the work email". When his thumb gravitated towards the internet safari, it was "to look up the Pirates' score" (when he knew full well baseball season was practically over). But the excuses started to fade when his free hand drifted over the front of his pants and palmed the bulge that was only growing larger with each second he tried to ignore it. Damn blood flow and its resolute persistence.

So, without any self-pitying justification to soften the blow, Jack Abbot succumbs to a weakness he'd never admit he has and pulls up the first website that pops up when he keywords amateur.

That was the one thing he wouldn't budge on when all the other willpower faltered. When cold showers and "imagination" couldn't solve the problem and he reluctantly turned to the wide scope of the internet, the one necessity was the lack of production value. He didn't want stage lights and camera crews and actors with more plastic than flesh. He didn't want a movie with advertisement. He wanted something as real as filmed sex could offer. Something he could envision actually happening that was actually desired by the performer.

And Jack couldn't decide if that made him more or less of a pervert. On one hand, it was a surefire way to feel like the world's biggest voyeur. On the other, he figured being so picky made him less of a target for the internet's average depiction of a pervert.

So picky, in fact, that he'd scrolled to the fifth page of this website and still struggled to find something that caught his attention. This was exactly why he didn't watch porn; the hand still lazily palming the outline of his dick was probably the only reason any blood kept flowing there. But he'd gotten past the hardest part of justifying it to his own brain—he just needed to pick something to jerk off to and deal with the post-nut clarity and regret when he got to the other side of it.

It was the sixth page that held the video he finally settled on. Nothing extravagant—as that was one of the qualifiers—with barely any views. Based on the thumbnail and title, it was a solo video. Just a woman, sat on her bed, getting herself off. Simple and easy and exactly what he wanted to see.

As soon as the video starts, he's met with less-than-ideal lighting that makes the camera fuzzy. Not enough to turn him off of it, just enough to give that homemade feel he preferred for this type of thing. The woman in question could be seen just fine; the angle cut off at the neck and highlighted everything from her chest and downward. She's sporting a thin little slip, body softened by the camera's grain, her skin highlighted by the soft glow of what Jack assumes is late afternoon sun filtering through beige curtains. The quality doesn't obscure the curves of her body or the soft pink of her cunt. Hell, he swears he can see her drip when she rubs circles against her perky little clit.

The video itself isn't unlike others he's seen. His dick seems to understand that as well as his brain, thickening behind his briefs to the sight on his phone. The fight's bled out of him by now; no need to justify himself when he fishes his cock out and strokes himself lazily. Especially not when the woman on-screen is spreading her own slick on her fingers and mewling sweet little sounds that make him twitch against his hand.

And that's exactly what he's focusing on by the time he spits into his palm to slick up his strokes. The little sounds that escape her—soft moans, choked breaths, and split-second whines—land straight in his gut. He can almost tell she's trying to stay quiet. Like if that camera inched up just a bit, he'd see her with a lip caught between her teeth. But she lets a little moan escape as those nimble fingers sink inside her cunt and Jack can't help but respond in vain with his own guttural sound. He tries to match the pace of her hand with his own, pumping his cock in time with her fingers disappearing into her slick hole, in some sort of pathetic mockery of actual sex. It's wet and sloppy and every kind of desperate. And it satisfied that itch just as quickly as he feared it would.

As the video comes to its (literal) climax, he can't help but imagine how her brow might furrow when she cums, how swollen her lips might look from biting back moans. Trying to picture a face as cute as the body on screen. That was another weakness he'd never admit to—always too curious about things he had no business wondering. He'd gotten off to a stranger's body and, before he'd even wiped his stomach clean of his own spend, he was wondering if she was always this quiet. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the question of why she was so quiet. Where was she? And why did she record in the middle of the day? Before the video cut off and turned the screen black, he wondered if the band poster on the wall behind her naked body was her favorite.

Jesus, he was getting old. Embarrassingly sentimental over a stranger in a porn video.

He tosses his phone onto the mattress beside him with a dejected sigh. The voice in his head that had initially come up with excuses to justify it had swiftly turned sour with guilt. There were enough things in life that lingered with regret (and this surely wouldn't be the last), but on the list of offenses, it sat pretty low. It was just a lapse in judgement he'd surely forget by tomorrow when he's wrist-deep in someone's chest.

But Jack most certainly did not forget about that video.

To be fair, it never popped into his mind while he was working. The never-ending onslaught of the hurt, sick, and broken didn't allow much time for his mind to wander where it didn't belong. This was when he had the right to be proud of his willpower. When, after three back-to-back traumas in the middle of the night, he was still focused on directing a team and getting the job done.

The weakness only came when loneliness settled too heavily on his shoulders. When he came back to an empty home after nearly 13 hours managing lives and had to pretend like taking care of himself was something easy. He liked to tell himself that being alone didn't bother him. Or that the quiet got easier to exist in. But the argument quickly died when he pulled up that same video only two days after the first time. The same video, borne from the same lapse in judgement—only this time it carried more guilt. Because it was bad enough to turn to the internet and take whatever it offered, it was another thing entirely to seek out something specific because he had an affinity for a goddamn stranger.

It wasn't every day, thank God. Some days, after working himself to the bone in hopes of clearing his mind, the only urge Jack came home with was the desperate need to sleep. That was how he operated; no opportunities for weakness to seep into his synapses and make another bad decision if he was overworked and dead on his feet, right? But the curiosity eventually became worse than the loneliness. And it was that same curiosity that led him back to that explicit sight to seek out that same woman, scroll through her profile, and see what else she'd shared with the world.

And that might've been the worst possible thing he could've done. Because seeing that small collection of videos only gave him more to latch onto. Gave him a reason to be disappointed when he saw every single video was dated eight years ago. Gave him a choice in favorites that he'd prefer over the others. (Right now, it was a short video of her grinding against a pillow—he could see the slick left behind on the fabric when she circled her hips like that.)

No matter how many times he fought his own brain, it always ended with that same woman on his screen and a hand choking his dick while he fantasized about being the one to draw that pleasure out of her. It was unlike him to get so attached—Christ, he hated even using that word—but something in him was addicted. She was just so…sweet. Her body, of course, but it was also the mannerisms that snuck their way into her videos and those cute little sounds she made when she felt good. She felt so real.

Jack Abbot was definitely a pervert.

"Jesus, this is the longest shift of my life."

You groaned into your hands as they ran over your face. Barely halfway through your scheduled twelve hours, your feet already ache, you're starving, and it seems like the universe has cursed you with some of the most insufferable patients. People freaking out over gas pain, MVA injuries that could've been avoided had anyone decided to wear a seatbelt or call a designated driver. Nothing that made you feel like the "savior" this job sometimes afforded you.

"So, not up for a double, then?" Shen circles you at the nurse's station, slotting one of the staff tablets into its charging slot. "Bummer," he sighs, "I thought you loved it here."

You laugh, bracing your hands against the countertop. "Don't start." Your head aches when you look up at the patient board and see the assortment waiting for you. The list of complaints sits like a taunt to your exhaustion. "I'm this close to walking out and leaving you fools."

"Oh, quit that." Lena doesn't even have to look up the papers in her hand for you to know she's talking to you. Forever observant, the nurses were. "Don't give Abbot more reason to be grumpy." That's when she looks up at you, peering over the rim of her glasses. If you didn't already agree, her glare would've convinced you to.

"Yeah," you roll your eyes and they land on Shen, "he doesn't need that."

You don't miss the little smile on Shen's face when he rounds the curve of the counter. "C'mon, you won't leave." He carries himself to one of the computers, scanning his badge with an accepting beep. "What've you got going on that's better than this?"

"Okay, ouch."

"No, I mean—"

"I do have a life, John."

"I…bet you do." He concedes with a shrug of his shoulders. "You just…" he takes a breath, searching for the right word, and you're already bracing for something too blunt. "Y'know, you work a lot."

You roll your eyes even as the back of your mind acknowledges his words to be true. "Which is why I need the break. You guys are driving me crazy."

"Big happy family." Shen gestures to the space around him as if to highlight the constant rush of people.

That almost earns another eye roll. You snatch a tablet off of the rack and tap through the screen prompts, checking for test results that should've been back ten minutes ago. "If you have to know, I'm meeting up with an old friend. Met her back in med school—"

"She teach you not to kill people?"

"Ha ha. I haven't seen her in a while since she moved out of town for her residency." Bingo, test results back. "Unlike you freaks, she's actually nice."

Shen responds with a laugh that comes out as a snort. "Don't leave us for too long. One taste of freedom and you really will ditch this place, I'm sure." Lena echoes the sentiment with a short 'don't tempt her' as she scurries past.

"Are we working or are we talking?" Abbot's voice seems to barrel over the emergency department's constant, hectic buzz. He braces two large hands against the countertop's edge, occupying the space between you and Shen. He looks between the two of you with that arch of his eyebrow that never seemed to soften.

Shen relents first, taking your silence as an opportunity. "She's leaving us, man," he gestures towards you with an accusatory glance.

Jack's eyes land on you, brow furrowed. "Leaving us?"

"No—Don't say it like that." You'd smack Shen if you could reach him. Especially after seeing him smile as he types away at a chart he surely had no interest in.

Jack straightens, sliding his hands off of the counter. He looked at you with that same assessing stare he gave everything he couldn't quite figure out. "You better not be. You're not allowed to leave."

You sigh, silently damning yourself for opening your mouth. "I took tomorrow off. You won't even miss me."

Before you even registered he'd moved in your direction, Jack stops just behind you. Stood with his hands behind his back—the same way he always did—he peers over your shoulder to look at the scans on the screen in your hands. A low sound rumbles from his throat. "I'll miss the extra hands." You look back over your shoulder to find his eyes on you instead of the screen. "At least go do your job before you leave us, yeah?" He holds that look, something indecipherable and intense, as he steps away.

You have to take a breath to level yourself. Jack could be such a difficult book to read sometimes; it was hard to tell what went on in that head when he wasn't working through an active trauma. You could tell he'd lived too long of a life to put up with nonsense and waste time on whatever he deemed unnecessary, small talk included. Slipping in and out of conversation to occupy himself with the responsibility of his job as an attending wasn't uncommon. Still, you liked to believe that unique brand of sarcasm was how he chose to show affection.

The smile Shen flashes in your direction, complete with a raised brow that seemed more intrigued than accusatory, only confirms that belief. "Wow. He might actually miss you while you're gone."

"Shut it." You sigh, sore feet carrying your body back to one of the patients waiting for your care. You just hope Jack doesn't realize you're cherry-picking the easier cases for the sake of your sanity. If he knew you were cherry-picking, he might've kept you charting well into day shift. At least then you could argue he wanted to keep you around.

Clocking in on Sunday reminded you exactly why you never took days off for social events. The rhythm of the night shift had been interrupted and you were left to live in the consequences. It was a fun day, but the change in sleep definitely had you dragging your feet. Shen made it a point to tease you with a pointed 'this is why you can't leave us!' And as hard as you rolled your eyes, the chaos did comfort you in some strange way. Still, the chaos would've been a little easier had you not been exhausted.

Ellis, never one to mince words, was the one to urge you towards the coffee in the break room when she saw the hunch in your shoulders. "You need to wake the hell up," she'd told you, "go get some of that coffee and figure it out."

So, figure it out you did. Even though the break room coffee had run cold and thick, sitting bitter in the pot, it was better than trying to brute force another eight hours. You yawn as you pour the lukewarm brew into a mug found in the depths of the break room cabinet. It was a wonder there were still clean dishes left to choose from.

Footsteps sound out at the doorway. You peer up with tired eyes to see Shen beelining for the fridge. He nods toward you, a sweet little "hey" dropping from his lips. The fridge creaks open under his hand. "Haven't had a chance to ask about your day of freedom," you hear from behind the door as he reaches inside.

"It was good," you nod, "I'm…exhausted now, though. Didn't get much chance to catch up on sleep."

Shen hums a sound of acknowledgement. He straightens up, now holding a half-empty cup of fast-food cold brew. "Hope your friend was worth it."

Your nose wrinkles at the bitter taste that hits your tongue when you take another sip of your own coffee. Man, something sugary and sweet and overly caffeinated sounded heavenly right now. "Yes, she was worth it. I missed her. She lives over in Philly, so we never really get to meet up anymore."

"Philly?" He whistles with a shake of his head. "Man, all for you?"

"No, for her family. I just met up with her for lunch." Another sip of bitter, thick coffee has you setting the mug on the countertop before continuing, "You don't think my company's worth the four-hour drive?" You look up at him with a cocked brow, but when his lips press into a thin line, you raise a hand to cut off whatever snarky response he could come up with. "Don't answer that." Shen holds his hands up in mock surrender—the same way he always did when his sarcasm was stopped before it could manifest. "We took some pictures while she was here…"

You pat the pockets of your scrubs, searching for your phone in the fabric, and pull it out with another yawn. Half a cup of lukewarm coffee didn't seem to do much in terms of waking you up, it seemed. You inch closer to Shen as you thumb through your phone and pull up the few photos from the day before. One of you and your friend smiling at the table of a cafe, another taken outside, a few silly photos that Shen doesn't find as hilarious as you do. But he humors you with a quiet aww that almost sounds like the reaction to a cute animal rather than a photo of his coworker.

"Well, look at you wearing something other than scrubs!"

You nudge him with your elbow, "Yeah, I told you I have a life."

Another set of footsteps crosses the threshold of the break room door, but it's the sharp whistle that follows that catches the attention of both you and Shen. It's Abbot, hovering like always, eyebrows raised at the sight of you two hunched of your phone. "Scatter, kids," he urges, thumbing back towards the bustling hall, "C'mon, no gossiping."

"M'not gossiping! I'm bragging about my day off." You turn your phone around, screen facing outwards to show off one of the photos from yesterday.

Jack doesn't seem to pay it much attention as he moves to pour his own cup of coffee. "Yeah?" He humors you long enough to look at the screen for a moment. He nods, as if granting his approval. "How was that?"

"Uh, great." The emphasis you put on the word is dramatic enough to prove your point. "I met her back in med school, but she moved to Philly for her residency. Haven't seen her in a while. But we were both happy to just…be out of the hospital for a day." Turning your phone in your hand, you scroll up through your entire collection of photos in search of a particular photo from years ago. "I'm sure I have a picture of us from back then. That was…God, eight years ago?"

"Eight years?" That seems to pique Jack's attention. You think he's poking fun, but the look on his face is one of disbelief. "You were in med school only eight years ago? Christ, way to make me feel old."

"Feel old?" Shen pipes up. You shoot him a look that he reciprocates before hiding his smile behind a sip of his cold brew.

"Oh, here we go. Wow, I look like a baby…"

An old photo from nearly eight years ago pulls up full-screen on your phone. It's of you with the same friend, both eight years younger, in the apartment you resided in during med school. You didn't look much different aside from a fuller face devoid of the stress lines your job had come to give you. But showing the photo off made the image feel like it was from a lifetime ago. Shen makes a cheeky comment about the unique style you sported back then. It's when you show Jack that something seems to land awkwardly.

You don't notice it, but the photo lands like a punch to the gut. Not only was it a shock to his system to see a young, twenty-something you fresh into med school, but he knew that room. He knew those sheets, the band poster hung over the bed, the curtains framing the window at the foot of the mattress. He'd seen it countless times on his own phone screen until the layout was burned into the recesses of his brain. Jack takes a deep breath to will away the sudden thrum of his heart.

"That's…" He clears his throat when the word comes out broken, "that's your apartment?"

"Yeah. Well, was. Don't judge it!" You laugh, turning the photo back towards yourself. "I know it looks shitty, but I was broke in med school. Cut me some slack."

Shen mutters something about it being 'not that bad' as Jack practically chugs the rest of his coffee. He sets the mug down in the sink harsher than any of you expect and straightens with a huff; the sharp clink of ceramic catches your attention, but the hard set of his jaw keeps it.

"Get off your phone," he grumbles without turning to look at you. He carries himself hurriedly, like he's trying to get out of the room as fast as he physically can. "Get back to work. People need you out there."

Your eyes follow the broad set of his back as Jack slips out of the break room. His absence leaves his tone to settle over you and Shen—who shares a look of disbelief your way—and something unwelcome shifts in the air. You slip your phone back into your pocket, embarrassment and uncertainty tightening in your chest. It was his job to keep you in line and on task; a simple reminder shouldn't have weighed on you the way it did.

"Yeah, told you he wouldn't miss me."

It was childish, sure. Unprofessional, definitely. But you cared too much about what he thought. You liked to tell yourself it was strictly about the job and that staying in the good graces of your attending would make life easier. And that was true, to an extent. But you didn't often let yourself acknowledge the curiosity in the back of your mind that constantly questioned what went on in his head. It would only serve as a distraction to concern yourself with whatever he stressed over. The easiest thing to do was just catch him when the night offered a break and he wasn't pulled in ten different directions. He was fine when he wanted to talk. The hard part was just finding the right moment.

And, unfortunately, that moment never seems to come. The night had its lulls, which were nothing more than minute-long breaks that allowed you to catch up on a paragraph of charting at a time. And, to your surprise, Abbot wasn't hovering or breaking heavy tension with dry humor that only he ever found funny. Well, he was…just not with you.

What you thought was just another sour mood slowly turned into the realization that your attending was treating you differently. Rather, he wasn't acknowledging you at all. He didn't turn the other direction to avoid you—he just looked past like you weren't even there. He didn't check in with a little tap on your arm and a thumbs-up that silently asked, 'Are you still with us'. It took a few hours to realize, but once it hit you, it settled heavy on your shoulders.

It really came to a head when you had to present a case. You slunk up beside him when he'd finished a conversation with one of the nurses, deliberately trying to catch him before he could busy himself with another task. The entire time you relayed the patient's status—test results, symptoms, possible diagnoses and why they didn't fit criteria—you looked up at Jack and waited for him to meet your gaze. But it never came. Instead, he signed off on another scan, handed the tablet back to you, and scurried off like the interaction had wasted his time.

You didn't consider yourself a favorite, but it was really unlike him to be so short with you. And when he brushed you off so easily over something work-related, the last thing you wanted to do was confront his attitude. You settled for the next best thing: interrogating your coworkers.

Ellis was the first one you landed eyes on. She was clearly on a mission, carrying herself from one room to the next, but you still sidled yourself up next to her. "Hey, uhm..." You matched her pace, hugging the tablet in your hands close to your body. "Have you noticed anything…off with Abbot?"

She tears her eyes away from the destination in front of her to look over at you. "Off?" She echoes in a plea for more information.

"Yeah, just…" you trail off, trying to find the right words, "I don't know. I'm getting a weird vibe."

"He seems fine to me."

"Really? You haven't noticed him being all…avoidant or whatever?"

"I mean," Ellis shrugs, trying to find the answer you're looking for, "I guess he's been in his head a bit more. Nothin' crazy, you know how he is."

You nod, all-too-aware of what she means. But you aren't satisfied with that answer. With what essentially served as confirmation that the sudden change in demeanor was only directed towards you, now came the urge to understand why. And while you didn't expect Parker—or any of your colleagues for that matter—to have the explanation you needed, it didn't stop you from questioning.

"Nothing happened while I was gone, did it?" You stop in your tracks, hoping she'll humor you long enough to give an actual response. "No…veterans came in yesterday? Was he with SWAT this morning?"

Ellis does stop, but she huffs a sigh as she turns in your direction. "Not that I know of. Look, if you think somethin's up, just ask him. We got shit to do, yeah?"

"Right." You concede reluctantly. "Yeah, of course."

Ellis cocks her head towards the North rooms as she takes her leave, a silent urge to distract yourself with productivity. She was right—your job was more important than gossiping about your attending. Patients didn't care whether or not you felt ignored. You take a breath and steel yourself for the remaining hours of chaos.

An ache in your hands reminds you of the tablet you're still hugging against your chest. You weren't even aware you were white-knuckling the device. You shake your head as if it'll clear the stress and suffocating stream of questions and carry yourself over to the nurse's station on tired feet. The board overhead never fell below a certain threshold of patients; the rotation of color made your head spin. As you slot the tablet into its charging dock, Lena rounds the corner. The first amusement you've felt in hours comes when she scolds a small group of NA's over their tendency to talk instead of work.

A voice in the back of your head tells you to get back to your charting. Instead, you lean against the countertop and hope Lena's the only one listening to you when you call out.

"Hey, Lena, how's my favorite charge nurse?"

The look she gives you is exactly what you expect. Skeptical. "Favorite?"

"Yeah, of course," you shrug. "Don't tell Dana. Hey, listen, have you noticed anything different with Abbot today?"

Lena doesn't answer you immediately. While you fill the silence with every possible response that would send you into a panic, she just grabs a clipboard and looks at you from over the rim of her glasses. She has the courtesy to step closer, keeping her voice as low as the bustle around the two of you would allow. "Now, why are you asking me that?"

Hearing it from her mouth gives you pause. She was great at making the trivial things feel as silly as they were. "I dunno, I just…" Your eyes scan the halls and, though you don't say it, you both know you're looking for him. "He's acting a little bit off, I think."

"Yeah. 'Cause he is 'a little bit off'. Aren't we all."

"Right." Concession was starting to come easy. "Just…keep an eye on him, please? You're always watching, you'll notice better than anyone."

That manages to earn a laugh from her. "Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetheart."

You flash a smile and drag yourself back into the fray. Her sentiment is already settled in the back of your mind. Yeah, you think, clearly not.

Seven A.M. couldn't have come any slower.

The night was one of the longest drags you'd ever lived through. Least of all because of the actual work you were expected to do; everything clinical moved like clockwork. Patients, paperwork, even charting was enough of a distraction to make time tick a little faster. The real problem was Abbot and whatever had him convinced that avoiding you was the best course of action. Time moved slower when every minute was a reminder that he wasn't acknowledging you.

If it were anyone else, you'd chalk it up to a bad day and try again tomorrow. But Jack didn't do this—the unprofessional silent treatment that bled into every aspect of the job. He was an adult. He was the one rallying teamwork and perseverance and how not to let baggage seep into the job. If there was a problem, he talked it out.

Until now, apparently.

When handoff finally came and the day shift slowly flooded in, you didn't find the relief you typically did with their presence. Yes, you could finally get off your feet, maybe catch up on the sleep you'd missed, and eat a real meal for the first time in hours. But it didn't feel right going home with uncertainty hanging over your head.

Lucky for no one but yourself, Jack's role as an attending kept him busier than others. Meaning you had time to do rounds and catch the day shift up to speed with the patients without worrying about him slipping away. It doesn't stop you from keeping an eye on him whenever you're able, though. He could ignore you in favor of work, but once the two of you were clocked out, there was no choice but to listen to you. At least, that's what you told yourself as you cornered him in the stairwell.

He barely gets through the heavy doors, bag slung on his shoulder, when you call out to him. The same quiet little "hey" you always greeted him with. It isn't lost on you the way he pauses before turning to face you.

"Hey." He tosses back. You think this is the first time he's looked at you in eight hours. It quickly diverts when he fidgets with the watch on his wrist instead. "How'd tonight treat you?"

You recognize it for what it is: a formality. He's not genuinely asking because he wants to know. If he were, he'd take care to close the nearly two feet of space between you.

"Fine. It was fine." Jesus, this was awkward. It would've been easier to just go home and sleep the shift off. But that wouldn't have given you answers. You sigh, clasping your hands together only to part them seconds later when you gesture to yourself. "Did I…do something?"

That makes Jack pause. His eyes dart up, looking at you, then past your form to the heavy doors leading back to the ED, then back at you. "Not that I'm aware of…Did you do something?"

"I…I don't know." Your shrug is one of exasperation. "It feels like you've been deliberately avoiding me all night. I felt like you didn't even want me to present cases or ask for your input." Your throat feels tight halfway through the explanation, your chest heavy with all the frustration and confusion that's built throughout the night. You take a break to steady yourself and shove your hands in your pockets. "You're my attending," you know he didn't need the reminder, "if I can't come to you, there's clearly a problem."

Jack doesn't offer a response, but at least he looks at you while the muscles in his jaw tick under white stubble. He didn't like it when people felt the need to state the obvious and tell him what he already knew. But reality and how it settled on your shoulders was far more important than his feelings about it. When you think he's going to leave you with nothing, he shifts his bag on his shoulder and shakes his head.

"There's no problem."

It's your turn to be silent and stare.

Your lips press thin in a tight line as you try to swallow some of your frustration. No problem? Right, because he'd been ignoring you just for the hell of it. Because the same man who always asked how you were doing and questioned how you spent your days suddenly decided your existence had no relevance. You take a deep breath and straighten your spine. If anything, it's to ground yourself and remember that cursing him out and risking your job wasn't worth it.

"Look," you start with a huff, voice as level as you can possibly manage, "if I did something to upset you, I'd like to know so I can fix it. If I did something wrong professionally, you need to tell me so I can better it."

Jack was always a particular case study—one you liked to think you were starting to understand—but the way he looks at you now is indecipherable. Part of you is just happy to have his eyes on you, but it doesn't feel as reassuring as you thought it would. Just when the silence stretches a moment too long, his eyes tear away from you and dart around the stairwell as if surveying the area around you.

"I'm not having this conversation here," he mutters, crossing those thick arms over his chest. It's meant to be a finality, but there's no way you're letting the conversation end unfinished.

"Uhm, yes we are? If this is something interfering with work, then the conversation can happen here."

"I promise this is not a conversation you wanna have in the hospital. You'll be better off if you wait." You scoff at that, annoyed, and he doesn't miss it. He's already starting to turn away, ready to leave it at that, before he adds, "You should have my number. Text me when you're home. We'll talk about it then."

You step after him when he moves away. What started as confusion had fully bled into frustration. "So, just to be clear, there is a problem. And you're not telling me how to fix it."

Jack huffs your name in an annoyed breath that's sharp enough to make you pause. "You didn't do anything. There's no problem." When he looks back at you from over his shoulder, you swear a shiver runs down your spine. "I promise." He shifts his bag on his shoulder one final time—something you're starting to assume is a nervous tick—and you watch the muscles in his back play under his scrubs. He starts down the corridor before tossing back, "We'll talk when you're home."

That was the finality. Not that he gave you much choice in the matter, but you make it a point to stay rooted in the stairwell. You aren't sure how long you stand there, replaying the conversation in your head. It felt less like a conversation and more like the prelude to something that made your chest feel tight the longer you thought about it. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that he couldn't even look at your face. Great. Now you were dreading the return home.

The walk to the lockers feels like a display of shame, even though you're the only one who knows what just happened. It's hard to tell if your sluggish movements are from exhaustion or the subconscious desire to get home as slow as possible. But the inevitable was exactly that, and curiosity still reluctantly pulled at the back of your mind. If he really was willing to talk, you wanted to hear it. Even a harsh truth would be better than being lost in the dark.

You didn't know what to do with yourself when you got home. The smartest thing to do would be to whip up something proper to eat and change out of your scrubs. A text conversation shouldn't have taken much attention, let alone a ton of effort.

What actually ended up happening was you, thumbing away at your phone as soon as you got through the door, desperately searching for Jack's contact information to send a haphazard 'I'm home now' text. And as soon as it sent, you paced through your kitchen just waiting for him to see it and respond. The minutes feel torturously long. Part of you starts to fear he'll ghost you and refuse to have the conversation. But he promised there was no problem. It felt childish to latch onto something as feeble as that, but it was all you had. Even more embarrassing was how much it ate away at you to be so blatantly ignored by him. The longer you thought about it, the more pathetic you thought yourself for craving his approval.

Maybe the only thing more pathetic was how you perked up hearing the chime of your phone. Three long minutes after your initial message came Jack's response. And he got right to the point.

Abbot: Is there anywhere someone might be able to recognize you from?

The question left you even more confused. One, what the hell did this have to do with work? Two, why would anyone recognize you? As the questions flooded your mind, you wanted to reply with an annoyed wall of question marks. Instead, you settle for more clarification:

You: i'm sorry?

Abbot: Answer the question.

You scoff at your phone, wondering how the hell you were meant to answer.

You: i mean i don't think any of my patients would recognize me

Abbot: Not what I meant.

Okay, dick. You weren't surprised to find him as blunt over the phone as he was in person. A beat passes before he sends another message.

Abbot: Have you ever posted anything online that people might recognize you from?

Somehow, this was clearing up nothing and only leaving you with more questions.

You: what?? you mean on like instagram or smth?? You: i doubt my 20 followers would recognize me

Twenty followers that were mostly friends and family that already knew you. But you kept the sarcasm minimal in hopes it'd make his point approach quicker.

When it takes another minute for him to respond, you decide to finally retreat to your bedroom and rid yourself of the scrubs you'd been stewing in for hours. Getting off your feet and into a warm bed and fresh clothes was the closest thing to Heaven right now. You hear your phone chime as you settle in and close out the Pittsburgh dawn with thick curtains. When you slip into bed to check the messages, there's two waiting for you.

The first is just your name, plain and simple. It makes you think of the way he spoke it in the stairwell—stern and final—and something about that makes your throat run dry. The next message makes your heart skip a beat:

Abbot: Okay, I'm not asking you this as your boss. We're off the clock.

Then, possibly the last message you ever could've expected from him:

Abbot: Have you ever shared anything pornographic?

If you weren't already in bed, you swear you could've fallen over. Your heart sinks so low it reaches the floor. Maybe, just maybe, you actually already died and this was Hell.

There was no way this was real.

And the worst about it? You couldn't even laugh it off or feign disgust. You couldn't send back an angry 'what the fuck are you talking about?' and why he'd ask such a thing. Well, you could've, but it would've felt pretty disingenuous. The absurdly formal way he posed the question aside, the only thing you wanted to ask was how the hell he found out. It was years ago, a stupid endeavor to make a little pocket money during med school. You'd barely even made content before deciding the effort wasn't worth the pay. You hadn't done it in so long—hadn't even thought about it in years.

With shaky thumbs and an erratic heartbeat, you managed to type back:

You: what the fuck jack

You could lie. You could say no and make him feel terrible for bringing it up. But there's no way he would ever bring it up if he didn't have a reason to.

You: ok yes but it was years ago. i told you i was broke in med school

Jack still hasn't responded. You felt sick wondering what he was doing with that confirmation. Maybe he was already typing up an email to HR. Maybe he was wondering how to bring up to the team that you'd no longer be working with them. Fuck. Panic sits in your gut and crawls up your throat until it's nearly impossible to breathe.

You: wajt how the fuck did you find out??? did soneone tell you????

Every possible scenario ranging from bad to awful to worse ran through your mind. What if someone told him and now he had to bring it up to someone higher. What if the whole emergency department knew, or someone in particular knew and was slowly sharing it. Oh, God, what if you walked in there tomorrow and everyone started asking you about those stupid videos and—

Abbot: No, no one told me.

Thank God. At least you could push away that particular worry for now. But it didn't answer the first question you posited.

You: so you just found it?? on accident??

Abbot: I didn't know it was you until today. Abbot: I recognized the apartment when you showed me that picture of you in school.

Ah. So that's what was going on.

In hindsight, that made the entire night way less stressful than it felt in the moment. It almost made you laugh to think about; your attending had been avoiding you because he realized you made the porn he watched. Yeah, you weren't too sure you could've looked him in the eye after that, either.

But as the realization sinks into your brain, the reality of it hits you. To recognize the walls of your apartment, he had to have watched a video. More likely, several videos. The guy who ran your department had seen a 20-something-year-old you spread your legs on a shitty phone camera. He'd seen you touch yourself and put on a show for approval of strangers on the internet. Christ, you couldn't even remember half of what those videos contained—who knew what he'd witnessed you do in the desperation for a paycheck.

And for some perverted, selfish reason, it didn't repulse you in the slightest. It should've. You should've been typing out an apology and promising that content was from the past. You should've asked that he never watch it again because of the breach of privacy. Instead, you sat in your bed and wondered if he had a favorite. You wondered if he got off to any of it, and if the knowledge that it was you made it better or worse for him.

The chime of your phone snaps you back to reality. It's then you realize you've left Jack on read for nearly eight minutes.

Abbot: I'm sorry. I should've acted more professional at work. This isn't coming into work with me tomorrow. Abbot: It's cleared up and done. Thank you for being honest.

Honest? He all but admitted he'd watched a porno of you, and he was thanking you for the honesty of clarifying it was you? The guy you reported to had seen you naked and trembling and desperate and then had the audacity to say he'd forget all about it by tomorrow?

Yeah, right.

You: did you at least enjoy the videos?

There's a stretch of silence with no response. You regret the words for a moment, wondering if the overstep was breaching further than a tease. Then he sends another message containing nothing more than your name. It's exactly the same as last time, but you can feel the difference in tone. Shakier. Warning you. Or maybe it was all in your head.

Abbot: I said this is done.

You: i thought we were being honest :/

Yeah, you were being annoying. But Jack left you unnecessarily stressed out for most of your shift. Surely he could put up with a little bit of pestering. He had a sense of humor about everything. But you watched the text bubble pop up and disappear five different times before he finally sent a response.

Abbot: I don't think that's appropriate.

You: jack. do you really think i'm gonna judge you for watching porn when i used to make it??

You don't get a response to that message. In the minutes that follow, as you're waiting for something to pop up, you wish you could jump through your phone screen and figure out what he was doing. Was he ignoring you on purpose? Did you finally annoy him enough? A far-too hopeful voice in the back of your mind hoped he was going through the list and figuring out which video was his favorite. Aside from being unrealistic, you cringe at the thought of him going back to old videos instead of reaching out for something new. The thought creeps in—not entirely unwelcome—wondering if he'd ask for that. Debating whether you'd fulfill it while knowing damn well you probably would.

Five long minutes pass and you huff a sigh. You knew he was right; this wasn't appropriate. And Jack was a man who lived so strictly to his regiment and rules.

You: sorry You: just curious

You set your phone down with a finality you aren't too keen on accepting. That wasn't exactly the message you'd hoped to leave off on.

The darkness of the room creeps in without the light of your phone to light up your face. You slip under your sheets and try your hardest to prepare for a longer stretch of sleep than you had the previous day. Exhaustion hit you hard and sudden, pulling at your aching muscles, but your brain couldn't stay quiet. All it did was replay the night, every little conversation, what you could've done differently. Conjuring up scenarios where you confronted Jack earlier and saved yourself the stress, or what would've happened if you never showed him that photo of you and your friend. It was a whirlwind of what-ifs, more than enough to give you a headache.

The buzz of your phone, when it comes, is far too loud. And you, despite your exhaustion, are far too eager to see what it's from. The light of the screen nearly blinds you, but as you squint to look at the notification, your heart skips a beat.

It's Jack, with a simple message that responds to a specific one of your own. Replying to your earlier question about enjoying your videos, all he says in response:

Abbot: Yes.

Heat blooms throughout your body embarrassingly quick. Yes, he liked your videos. One, several, it didn't matter. Jack had seen you naked and whining, and he liked it.

You: wait which video

Abbot: Several.

Oh. So he really liked it. Must've been a hit in his browser history.

You: oh wow. okay You: glad i could be of service then ;)

You plan to leave it at that and quit while you're ahead. Coaxing the confession out of him was precarious enough. Even though you were dying to know every detail and figure out exactly what he'd seen and what he liked best, you were content with just knowing he liked something about it. Teasing him was fun, but anything more would've been an HR disaster. It'd be interesting to see how Jack would explain that one.

But just as you're about to set your phone down, another message comes through:

Abbot: Yeah, you're really helpful.

Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

You: ? You: with what?

You knew, in the back of your mind. Or, at least, you really fucking hoped. Every second drags out far too long for your eager nerves, itching to know how he'll respond. Thankfully, it's along the lines of something you were hoping for.

Abbot: Can I show you?

Always so formal.

You: yes please

Your heart was already thumping out of your chest. Working yourself up over whatever he was sending next, heat pumps thick in your veins and lands in your gut. You nearly chewed your lip raw lying in wait. You knew you were being impatient, but when the next message pops up on your screen, you decide every second was worth the wait.

It's an image (exactly what you wanted to see) taken awkwardly in the dark of a bedroom. In it is Jack's hand, which you recognize by the fine lines and freckles on his skin, wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. You assume the only light comes from the camera's flash when he'd taken the picture, but it highlights the pearls of precum welling at the red and ruddy skin of the fat tip. You realize he's still in his scrubs when your eyes trail down to see the waistband pushed down just underneath his heavy balls and the top bunched up to expose the soft pudge of his lower stomach.

It's no expert nude, but it's got a charm that undeniably fits him. And made you so absurdly wet in what you feel confident claiming is record time. You're throbbing at the sight of his cock on your screen. You were glad to see he also thought it fair that he show off in return after he'd seen you bare and desperate multiple times.

Your thighs press together to quell the incessant pulse between your legs as you hurriedly type out a response.

You: are you watching one right now??

Abbot: yeag Abbot: *Yeah.

You: oh youre unbelievable

You laugh behind your phone screen. You aren't scolding him, just shocked at his audacity. Rolling over to reach your bedside, you flick on the closest light. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make the camera's job a little easier and make the final product a little more flattering.

You rid yourself of a majority of your clothes and kick the sheets off of your body. When you're stripped down to nothing more than a pair of unassuming panties, you lift your phone above your reclined figure, angle it just right, and snap a photo. The golden light from your lamp makes your skin look warm. Of course, the angle cuts off everything above the neck—old habits.

You send the photo with a message attached:

You: why are you watching an old video when you literally have access to me right now??

His response comes back in seconds:

Abbot: Jesus Christ Abbot: Yeah good point Abbot: Take the rest off. Let me see how wet you are

The command alone is enough to make you throb. You could snap a photo of the outside of your panties, focusing in on the fabric where it clings to your wet skin as slick seeps through the cotton. But you're both, decidedly, too worked up for any more teasing. So you slip the fabric off, kicking it somewhere on your bed, and bring your phone down between your parted legs.

Trying to find a flattering angle reminds you exactly how difficult it was to film the same thing years ago. It takes an awkward grip on your phone, but the camera catches the sheen of your cunt where your slick sits. Your puffy clit, all swollen with arousal, peeks out when you run your fingers through your slit.

You send two photos this time—one with your fingers teasing the bud of your clit, the other with you spread open and dripping. You send both out, typing out a message one-handed.

You: been wet since you said you liked my porno You: wish you could feel it

Abbot: Yeah?

The gap of time between messages tells you he's probably typing one-handed as well.

Abbot: You like knowing I was getting off to you? Abbot: Love watching that pretty pussy cum baby. Wish I could feel it too

You throb against your own hand, cunt fluttering at the filthy words on screen. You could almost picture that rumble in his voice he'd get when he was annoyed. Your fingers swirl against your clit, still slicked up, and picture how Jack's hands would feel instead. You scroll up through the messages, seeking out the picture he'd sent earlier. His fingers are thicker than yours, so confident and sure when they work, you know they'd stretch your cunt perfectly. He'd have to if he wanted to fit that fat cock inside—

Abbot: Can you do something for me?

The message pops up, bringing you back to the present conversation. You're already shivering trying to figure out what else he could want. Far too eager—bordering on desperate—you fumble through more messages.

You: yes You: what do u want

Abbot: Do you have a pillow you can use?

You: u want me to ride it

Abbot: Fuck yes

You smile to yourself at his zealous reply. You knew that was something you'd recorded once upon a time—multiple times, if you recalled correctly. Must've been one of his favorites of yours to request an updated version.

You drag yourself up until you're sitting in the center of your mattress. Once you settle on a pillow to sacrifice, you fold it over and wedge it between your legs. The first brush against your clit makes you shiver, hips jerking into the friction. Already you can feel your arousal seeping into the pillowcase, slicking your movements when you give an experimental roll of your hips. Holding the pillow between your thighs, you fish around for your phone to prepare a picture. You take one, angling it below the neck, but that's not enough.

Finding something to prop your phone against was a nightmare, but once the camera sits steady with your body in frame, you tap the big, red 'record' button. It's an oddly nostalgic feeling; worrying about what's in frame, trying to get the best angle, wondering if the lighting will ruin it. But Jack's waiting, and your cunt's throbbing with the need to get off.

You rock your hips into the pillow with a slow grind that sends zaps up your spine. It's not enough to get off, but it's enough to keep you worked up. Your hands fist in the pillow, grabbing it from different angles, holding it in place while you grind. Your thighs hide most of the action from this angle, but you have a feeling it's the motion of your body that he cares about most. The way your hips swirl and your ass ripples with the motion, the way your chest moves and your tits bounce when you rock down, the way your thighs tense when the fabric drags just right against your clit.

Along the line of curses and swears, you pant Jack's name in that same pathetic whine. Who knew if he'd watch it with the sound on or if the camera could even pick it up from this distance. But you wanted him to know you were thinking about him. All of this was for him, no one else.

Another minute ticks by and you capture the hurried, desperate movement of your hips against your pillow. You know you aren't getting off from this alone, but it's left you hot and dripping. You cut the video and end the recording, not bothering to check the quality before sending it his way. Quality clearly wasn't an issue he was too picky about.

In the minutes that follow—waiting for him to respond—you keep rocking into the soft plush of the pillow. Your head spins trying to imagine the look on his face. You wanted to see what he did when he heard his name drop from your lips. Maybe you'd get another photo—or a video of your own.

Instead, your phone began to buzz incessantly, rhythmically. Jack was calling you. The screen changed, his name in bold letters up top with the taunting 'Accept' and 'Decline' buttons below. You stared at it for a moment, unsure how to respond once the barrier of text was removed and you got to hear his voice in real time. Your thumb moves before your brain.

You bring your phone to your ear, panting heavier than you realize. You mutter a shaky "Hello?" that sounds more timid than you feel.

Jack's voice comes through on the other end, preceded by a heavy breath you feel in your bones. "Are you still on that pillow?"

"Mm-hmm," you whine, nodding along as if he can see you

"Good." His voice is raspy, thick with a kind of desperation you didn't know he was capable of. "Good, I want you to cum like that."

"Yeah? Fuck—you gonna make me cum, Jack?" You swirl your hips and drag your clit along the soft swell of the pillow. The wetness you've left behind makes the glide easy, slicking your sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," he groans, breath catching in his throat. "Yeah, been waiting...been waiting to make that pretty pussy feel good." You swear you hear the wet schlick of his hand moving in the background. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture one of those broad hands pumping the length of his cock. "You got awfully wet for me, huh?"

Another mm-hmm sounds out from your throat. Your fingers tighten around the length of your phone, the other in the fabric of the pillow. "M'so fucking wet…bet you'd fuck me so good."

"Fuck, yeah, I would. Ah, shit—I'd give you whatever you want, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. The name settles somewhere deep in your gut, stirring alongside the heat pulling at your core. "Yeah, you know what this pussy likes, don't you?"

All Jack offers in response is another low, rumbling groan. The wet schlick, schlick, schlick of his hand sounds out rhythmically in the background of his audio. Somewhere in the mess of sounds is your name, breathless and heavy, on his lips. Your thighs clench tight against the pillow as you rut, chasing the friction of the soaked fabric.

"Bet you'd look so good full of me. God…" He huffs. You can tell his jaw's set tight, cursing spilling out from behind grit teeth. "Can't wait to feel you around me…" You moan at his words, too afraid to speak lest you interrupt his filthy train of thought. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? You'd take it so fucking good, huh?"

Your hips stutter in their rhythm, twitching in an effort to chase the mounting pressure building in your core. "Fuuuck, Jack…" You whine, barely able to catch your breath.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Mm-hmm…"

"Say it, baby, tell me you're gonna cum for me."

"M'gonna cum for you, Jack."

You're rutting like an animal, grinding against your pillow with energy you didn't know you had. The desperation gnawed at you, frenzied and greedy, pushing you towards a high you needed more than anything else. Between the soft, wet plush between your thighs and the hot, needy sounds he made in your ear, you were barreling towards the edge alarmingly quickly.

Jack curses, the sound heavy and strained, "Cum for me, baby. Let me hear you." He urges you with a desperation that rivals your own.

Pleasure shoots white-hot down your spine, seizing every muscle in your body. Your thighs clamp tight around the pillow, keeping it close and in place for the frantic rock of your hips. You nearly double over as you shake and whimper. The last thing on your mind is your phone, but when Jack's breath grows heavier, your awareness focuses in on the noises coming from your speaker. The groan that tears from him is unlike anything you've heard from him before. You know he's coming down from the same high when he's left panting into the phone wherever it sits on his end.

You aren't sure how long the two of you stay like that. Eventually your spine straightens, a small whimper escaping your throat when your sensitive flesh grazes the pillow. With the adrenaline and ecstasy wearing off, an ache begins to creep into the small of your back.

Jack's the first to break the silence. "You alright?" He asks, still winded himself.

"Mm. Yeah. You?"

"I am now. You were…a pretty great help."

You laugh a soft sound, feeling a flush creep up to your cheeks. It felt ridiculous to blush over a compliment when you'd both cum from the sound of each other's voices. He sounded so…pleased. With you or himself, you weren't completely sure.

"Told you, I'm glad to be of service." Now he laughs, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "Can I ask…how many of those videos you watched?"

"Uh…four?"

"Really? Only four? Thought it'd be more than that."

"Yeah, well…" He interrupts himself with a groan that makes you wonder if he's aching the same way you are. "Didn't have the time. I'm a busy man."

"And here I thought you were my biggest fan."

"Oh, no doubt about that." He sighs, and a beat of silence passes between the two of you. "Sorry about…how I acted today."

You move off of the pillow, wincing at the ache in your hips, as you move to gather your discarded clothes. "Oh, Jack, it's fine."

"No, I…It was unprofessional. I'm sorry." You slip your clothes on while he speaks, just letting him speak the apology. He needed it more than you did. "I'll…make it up to you. How about that?"

"More than this?"

"Oh, absolutely."

You find yourself easing in the lulls of silence, not too pressured to fill it with mindless chatter. As you turn the lights down and crawl back into your sheets, you aren't pressured to keep up with mindless chatter. What else was there to say, really? The rhythmic sound of his breathing, the airy feel of the lingering high, made you sink into your mattress.

You both needed sleep. Desperately.

"Okay, old man, I'm…I need sleep."

"Old man?"

"You should sleep, too."

"Hold on, 'old man'?"

"Jack."

"Fine." Another groan sounds out from his end. "After I clean up."

"Actually, could you…" You trail off before the request can form, heat creeping back up to your cheeks. You can picture his face, that cocked brow he always sported, waiting for you to use your words. "Could you take a picture before you clean up?"

"A picture? Of what, the mess you caused?"

Your mess. If you were less tired, that might've reignited something inside you. "Yeah. Just…I wanna see."

"You wanna see…" Jack echoes your words with a sarcastic tinge, but you can hear the smile in his voice. "Alright, fine. But you better sleep right after."

"I will. Promise."

"Good." Another beat passes where both of you take a deep, settling breath. "I'll see you tonight?"

Tonight. Right. You had to face him tonight for your next shift. That was a level of embarrassment and awkwardness you weren't ready to acknowledge quite yet. "Yeah," you concede, "see you then."

The call ends with a beep sounding out from your speaker. The lingering high has nearly worn off, only coaxed along this far by the sound of his voice. You hoped the ache in your back and the meat of your thighs would right themselves by the time you woke up. It was hard to know what, exactly, you were meant to feel. Truth be told, you were too tired to process anything outside of your exhaustion. Maybe you'd regret it when you realized it wasn't a dream. Maybe you'd still be riding a high. You quickly decided it was a problem for a future you who was more rested and level-headed.

One last chime rings out from your phone. Yet again, the screen blinds you in the darkness when you bring the device close. But seeing Jack's name with the notification of an attachment made your heart skip a beat. He'd followed through—always a man of his word. A similar photo taken from the same angle, his ruddy cock dribbling white onto his skin. The mess of liquid is larger than you'd anticipated, pooled over the soft pudge of his stomach and dripping down to the wiry, pale hair that trailed downward.

Yeah, even exhausted, that was enough to make something stir.

You: thank you <3 You: wish i was there to clean u up

Abbot: You said you'd go to sleep.

You: yes, sir

Abbot: Don't start with that or we won't get any sleep.

He was right, but would it really be that big of a shame? You'd worked doubles on less sleep before. The more you thought about it, though, the less you wanted to face the possibility of explaining yourself to Shen. And as selfish as you were, you knew Jack needed the rest more than anyone else could've. For the sake of his job, of course. But as you drifted off and let your mind wander to every possibility of what your next shift could hold, you quickly realized you needed him well-rested.

Inch one was just pressure. His hands stroked your hair out of your face, stubble rough against your ear as he whispered "You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna take all my cock in this pretty pussy?"

What a tease inch two was. He held his postition there for a beat while he kissed your lips and then rocked his cock back out. Then back in. His girth alone was a lot but you had six more inches to take.

Inch three started to feel good, his sheer size stretching at your sensitive walls. Instinctively you clenched and Jack felt it. "Fuck, so tight. Keep them legs wide for me baby." He grunted as his hand came down to the inside of your thigh, softly keeping them apart.

Oh but inch four had you gasping. Only half way and you moaned into his ear, praising him. "Oh so good Jack-fuck."

Tingles in your lower tummy is what inch five gave you as he slowly dragged his cock through your folds. That familiar build up starting right at the pitt of your stomach, your pussy pulsing for more.

"Jack!" Inch six had your toes curling, your lungs gulping the air that you both shared.

Inch seven and you were biting into his neck, his weathered skin salty but still soft on your tongue. Gifting him your hums of pleasure, you sucked a generous love mark in your place.

And finally - inch eight. You were seeing stars, your pulse vibrating through your body as you opened your eyes again. Your fingers fisted at the back of his head tugging at his curls, your body relaxing into him.