Kamari

everyone is repeatedly telling you that emery and yourself need to settle the dust, hash out your differences.

it sounded easy, nice, but she made it impossible. the moment you made your way from the day crew into the night crew, she scoffed at anything you said, finding an exact moment to press your buttons — it didn’t matter if you were trying to revive a patient, a snarky remark would come from her mouth, straight to you.

the first few months of working with the night shift, you tried to wrap your head around what her exact issue was with you. you tried to be on endless occasions to be civil and respectful, even maintain a safe space, but you realized that would get you nowhere, not with someone like her.

it was like that for a year. a year of torment, rude commentary, and scoffs — you stood on top of it all, knowing you’d find a way to eventually transition to another hospital once abbot could write you a stellar recommendation letter.

you only had about two more hours left of your shift before you could go home for your day off, and be free from emery, at least looking forward to the next night being spent with your friends.

another patient had come through the ambulance bay and into the trauma room, blood seeping out after they’d been brutalized in a car accident.

“we’re going to need to intubate,” you said, abbot and ellis checking out the victim, the nurses inserting ivs into them, attaching them to the heart monitors.

“he’s going to need immediate surgery,” shen stated, and you already knew what he was going to say next. “call walsh, tell her they need to start prepping.”

“i’m not giving the call,” you mumbled, and ellis seemed to be the only one who heard you, taking it on herself to call up the OR.

you wished she’d just stay upstairs, but she somehow found herself trickling down to the trauma bay where the patient was stabilized for the moment, a smug smile hanging on her lips.

“glad to see you didn’t fuck up,” emery spat, glancing at you as you were throwing away your gloves.

she found any reason to come down, any excuse, and it was all to get another jab into you.

“i do much better than you,” you said, standing feet away from her. “i recall you fucking up a suture just the other day.”

“knock it off, both of you,” abbot spoke up, and you and emery looked over at him. “it’s annoying, it’s unprofessional. fix your shit.”

“it’ll start once she transfers somewhere else,” emery hoped, and you flipped her off. “see that? we can’t have that behavior in our hospital.”

“i don’t know what your problem is, but it is one sided at this point. go do your job,” you said, purposely bumping her shoulder as you walked past her and out of the room.

she scoffed, looking over her shoulder, and back at everyone in the room. “can she go back to day shifts?” she wondered, and shen chuckled, shaking his head. “okay, fine. the operating room will be ready for him in five minutes.”

emery moved out of the room, not hesitating to approach you. her feet were basically booming hooves to you, and you inhaled sharply to gather patience before turning around to face her.

she gave you that cruel smile, one that twitched with sarcasm and bitterness. she was coming to get a reaction out of you, anything she could swallow to give her energy for the rest of her shift.

“what can i do for you, dr. walsh?” you asked, turning off the tablet, slipping it in between your arm.

“bringing up a mistake during a procedure was highly inappropriate,” she started, and you hummed. “your incompetence would probably kill a patient.”

you could hit your head against the tablet in front of you, but you knew that’d give her too much pleasure because she’d know she drove you to that point.

“do you realize how ridiculous you sound?” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “being rude and disrespectful as a surgeon is inappropriate.”

“you’re the one who has a mouth on her,” she seethed, and you simply shrugged.

“you and i have nothing further to say to each other,” you said, making sure to get completely out of her eye sight, yet she kept her eyes on your figure until you completely faded away.

you were beyond thankful you had a night off and could be with your friends, who had to endure another endless rant about how much your coworker hated you.

it’s not that it bothered you, but ever since you started working in the night, you tried to come up with any reason why she could dislike you.

but you two worked in different departments and only saw each other when it came to a patient needing immediate surgery — that was it.

“there’s always just going to be someone at work who just has no reason to not like you,” whitaker stated, taking a sip of his bottled beer. “yet, she is being excessive about it.”

“i just don’t get what her problem is,” you said, sipping on your glass of wine. “i steer out of her way, i follow any orders, and i just mind my business. yet, she still hates me.”

“walsh is known for being ruthless,” victoria told you as santos was shuffling the game cards again. “i think she finds any excuse to come terrorize you. have you thought of reporting it?”

“and be classified as a narc? absolutely not,” you answered, shaking your head. “i also don’t think human resources would care.”

“just switch back to the day shift,” whitaker chimed in, and you shrugged. “i know it’s more chaotic, but at least you’ll be away from her.”

“i think walsh would purposely switch to the day shift if she did that,” santos added, laying the cards flat down on the restaurant table. “i don’t think she hates your guts — i think she wants to be in them.”

you choked on your wine, violently coughing and covered your mouth with a napkin. “what are you on about!” you said, and victoria handed you her glass of water. “i don’t think she’s even gay.”

“i thought garcia wasn’t either, and look at how that turned out,” santos reminded, and you rolled your eyes.

“garcia uses you and eats all your ramen,” you added, and santos glared at you. “i don’t think emery wants anything like that — i think she just genuinely hates me.”

“and i think we’re all violating hippa by having sexual contact with our older workers,” whitaker stated, and you amusingly hummed, nodding. “victoria is dating cassie, santos is hooking up with garcia, and for me—”

“you’re hooking up with two older attendings,” you continued, grinning at him. “you’re greedy for that.”

“can you find out, trin?” victoria asked, and santos snorted, stifling a laugh.

“yeah, i’ll ask the next time garcia is in me,” she said, sipping on her beer. “i’ll be like, ‘hey babe, do you know if walsh is gay?,’ while she’s pile driving me.”

“i always wondered who was wearing the strap,” you joked, and she playfully kicked your leg under the table. “i bet you she’s straight, and just likes to torment me. i think i’ll ask abbot to hurry up with that letter.”

“and leave us? we’ll be heartbroken,” whitaker frowned, and the two women looked at him. “i know i’ll be. you only like going to her place to raid her fridge and pantry.”

“she shops at whole foods, how can you not resist!” victoria responded, and you chuckled, watching santos lay out the cards. “listen, i didn’t know that cassie liked girls for the longest time, and look where we are now.”

“she looks like she kisses girls for a living,” you stated, and victoria paused, slowly agreeing with you. “it only took her four months to cave in.”

“guys, a heads up,” santos coughed, clearing her throat, and everyone looked in the direction of the front door.

“i will take a scalpel to my eyes,” you mumbled, seeing emery walk in with a few people from the operating department, and you chugged down your wine. “this has to be some sick joke, right?”

“it’s worse,” victoria mumbled. “i think she’s sitting at a table across from us.”

“i have to go. i have to go before she tells a waitress to put rat poison in my food,” you panicked, grabbing your purse, yet you were a second too late from leaving when emery perfectly noticed you. “i’m going to quit medicine because of her.”

you stayed put in your seat as emery came up next to you, giving you a grin. emery’s grins were never soft or sweet when it came to you; it meant she had an another torture up her sleeve, something mean to say to you because you could never get a break.

“dr. walsh, i didn’t know you had the night off,” you stated, and wish you had a glass of straight vodka for this moment to swallow down.

“i’m surprised you have people to sit with outside of work,” she began, not even wasting a second to make a verbal blow towards you.

“she was on the day shift with us long before helping night,” santos chimed in, and both you and emery looked at her. “c’mon, you need to stop acting like that.”

emery looked back at you, softly utterly your name, “if you’re hungover tomorrow, you’ll be sloppy and commit malpractice.”

“shen literally told me you used the wrong instrument in a surgery last night,” you stated, and had to stifle a laugh when she had nothing more to say. “can’t you just leave me alone? i’ll be out of your hair soon anyways.”

“not soon enough, it seems,” she said, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “have a fun night.”

when she sat back down at her table, you let out a heavy sigh and put your head in your hands, considering taking the butter knife to your eye sockets.

“i’m gonna go back to day shift,” you said, and your friends hummed, agreeing. “and she’s needed in the night shift so there’s no way she’ll switch when i do.”

“is abbot aware of like, everything?” santos asked, and you nodded. “then why doesn’t he do anything?”

“he says it’s for us to handle on our own,” you stated, your eyes flickering at whitaker, and you tilted your head to the side. “has jack said anything to you?”

“he’s annoyed by it, but doesn’t want to get the medical director involved,” whitaker stated, finishing off his beer. “something about it being too much paperwork and stuff.”

“so he just wants me to suffer,” you mumbled, and the moment you looked at the table emery was sitting at her, she was looking at you — precisely and exactly.

she had a luring smile tugging at her lips, taking a sip of her own beer, and went back to talking to her own friends.

“you’ll be back on the day shift anyways,” victoria reminded, but you wish it didn’t have to take switching shifts again to not get tormented by a coworker.

you shouldn’t have to feel the need to quit your passion because you were getting constantly berated.

few hours had past, and you were too tipsy to drive yourself back home, standing outside of the restaurant bar as you smoked a cigarette.

“why are you still here?” you heard emery’s voice come to the side of you, causing you to turn your head and she stood cautiously a few feet away from you. “i thought you’d gone home by now.”

“being responsible by not drinking and driving,” you answered, taking another inhale, and slowly let it go. “why are you still here and talking to me?”

“you don’t need to rude,” she told you, earning a bitter, yet disbelieved chuckle out of you as you nodded to yourself in thought. “what is it now?”

“that’s really humorous coming from you,” you stated, refusing to look away from her. “all you are is rude and disrespectful towards me, and i don’t even know why.”

“you just need to get thicker skin,” she suggested, and you knew you were going to need a second cigarette, trying not to yell at her in this very moment. “not everyone will be sweet to you your whole life, you need to get used to it.”

“i am very used to it,” you said, taking in another hit. “it’s all thanks to you — your snarky comments, your hateful remarks — anything to get under my skin, and for what?”

“it sounds like you hate me,” emery stated, grinning because she was getting some sick amusement out of this interaction.

“i do hate you. i hate you so much,” you clearly stated, not missing a beat, not letting her even make another comment. you said it all with your full chest, and the words hung in the air, emery trying to gather something from it.

“have a good night. see you at work,” is all emery said before walking away, and left you standing there with what you had confessed, the cigarette ashes falling onto your knuckles.

you wanted to chase after her, ask her why she had nothing else to say to you, and why she didn’t make a jab at anything about you.

instead, you threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out, and walked back inside the restaurant.

a week has gone by since that night, and emery didn’t come down to the emergency room for that time period, especially when you asked around if she was working.

ellis was confused on what your sudden interest was with emery, but you shrugged it off and told her it was nothing.

but it was something.

you didn’t know why she wouldn’t come down, why she didn’t find a reason to belittle you in front of your shared peers — you assumed that maybe she got what she wanted, and you were in the clear.

you were sitting on santos’ apartment couch, the brunette in the kitchen with whitaker as they were making a late lunch for everybody, and victoria and samira sat on the carpet floor, showing off each other’s pinterest boards.

“hey, did you hear about the hang out tonight?” samira asked, and everyone looked at her, in mere confusion. “i don’t know who’s going, but it’s some people from the day and night shifts.”

“i’ll go. i need a reason for a drink or three,” you said, and you looked at santos. “did you ever find out if walsh liked girls?”

“oh shit,” she said, chuckling to herself as she stepped out of the kitchen, and sat next to you on the couch.

“wait, why do you need to know that?” samira asked.

“because trinity is convinced that she is,” you answered, and she awes in response, nodding.

“i think she is,” samira stated. “garcia and her used to have a small fling during their residency.”

“i can put my face on that hot stove right now, mohan,” santos stated, and samira mumbled a soft apology, going back to comparing with victoria. “and yeah, she does like ‘em. she’s only dated girls her whole life.”

“doesn’t mean she wants to fuck me,” you retorted, and whitaker brought the plates to the coffee table, sitting next to the girls. “i despise her, it makes me nearly sick how much i do.”

“you’ll be back on day shift soon, and i don’t think she’s coming tonight,” he said, and you hummed, nodding.

that’s why you agreed to join your friends on a night out in downtown, where it was more vibrant and busy.

you were on the rooftop of the bar, abbot and whitaker playing pool inside against samira, while you sat outside with santos and shen, almost down the first pitcher of beer.

“i didn’t want to tell you this earlier,” shen said, playing with the ring he had on his finger as he looked at you. “but walsh is coming.”

“we are on the top floor, i can push you off,” you told him, drinking down your cup of alcohol. “why is she coming, anyways? has she been coming up with new ways to insult me?”

“abbot had a whole talk with her the other day,” he explained, refilling your glass. “he said it’s not worth the paperwork, or either of your careers.”

“but i’m not even doing anything—”

“talking about me already?” emery asked, causing you to nearly jump, and you groaned under your breath. “i knew you’d miss me.”

she was wearing dark denim jeans that were baggy and a loose smashing pumpkins shirt, something that you weren’t that used to seeing — but you weren’t exactly complaining.

“the complete opposite,” you said, and she sat directly across from you.

“how about we go get something else from the bar?” shen directly asked santos, and it took her a few seconds to understand his suggestion as she agreed, the two immediately getting up.

“so,” you muttered. “we haven’t seen you down in the emergency department.”

“i didn’t want to deal with your shit,” she stated, grabbing the spare glass that was on the table, and poured beer into it.

“i am just as smart and capable as you,” you reminded her, and she made a certain look, one that told you that she didn’t entirely agree with you. “you got what you wanted, i’m moving shifts — so can you just stop?”

emery took a sip of her drink, taking a few beats to answer as she thought to herself. “i don’t want to stop, i don’t think i will.”

“why not?”

“because you hate me,” she said. “i don’t particularly like you either, but i feel like i’ve barely reached the surface.”

“but why me?” you asked, and it was a question that nearly silenced her as she just stared at you for a few seconds before looking down at her cup.

“you’re easy and pathetic. it’s easy to break you,” she admitted, grinning to herself. “that’s what makes you so special — you’re entirely incapable of stopping me from getting under your skin.”

“i’m very much capable.”

“you’re not,” she shook her head in disagreement, inching closer as her hands were folded on the table, only a few centimeters from yours. “i’m not done until i’ve made you cry.”

you swallowed thickly, your heart in your throat, and there was nerves pounding at your chest. your hands were on your cup, trying to find movement to chug the rest down, and walk out of the bar — but you couldn’t.

was she implying what you thought she was? there wasn’t any possible way that she could do that or she wanted you like that — she made your job a horrible experience every time you clocked in, but was it simply all so she could unravel and bend you beyond your breaking point?

you stayed put, looking at her and let yourself be quiet for once. samira and whitaker came to the table, noticing the heavy tension that hung over you and emery.

“is everything okay?” samira wondered, only looking at you.

“yeah, we’re gonna head to my house right now,” emery said, taking the last sip of her beer, and got up from the table.

it was like a ghost pulled and picked you up too, as you adjusting your denim skirt and looked at samira, grabbing your purse.

“i mean, are you sure?” she asked, an edge of worry in her tone.

“i’ll text you guys later, don’t worry,” you told her, giving a kiss to her cheek, and trailed right behind emery as she guided you two out of the bar.

you saw trinity and shen at the bar on the way out, giving her a look as she gave you a thumbs up, knowing that she was right.

the silence lingered until the two of you were completely out of the bar, and only then was there distant noises of honking and chatter.

“my house is only two blocks away,” emery said, grabbing your hand and dragged you along with her. “you look pretty.”

she actually said something nice — you were going throw up.

“shut up,” you told her, trying to force your hand out of hold, yet it seemed impossible as she only tightened her grip.

“this is why you’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled. “if you’re going to be like that, don’t talk until we’re at my place.”

you happily complied with that, keeping yourself quiet as you walked with her and let her continue to hold your hand.

it took about fifteen minutes to get to her townhouse, that was on the nicer side of pittsburgh and you stared at it in awe as she began to unlock her front door.

emery dropped your hand, opening the door and let you walk in first. you hesitantly careened inside, seeing miscellaneous photos hung up on the walls — it was of her college days, when she graduated, family photos, and random art pieces she must’ve collected over time.

“you have someone who gets these for you?” you asked, emery closing the door and coming to your side. “the artworks, they’re nice.”

“my mom gets them for me,” she stated, putting her keys in the little tray that sat on the walk in table. “she knows i can’t stand bland walls.”

“how much does a surgeon make?” you questioned, putting your purse next to her keys, and she only grinned. “if it’s more than me, i might have to switch careers.”

“you’d suck at being a surgeon,” she said, and you rolled your eyes, feeling a bit dumb that you thought she’d be nice for a few more minutes.

“can you not be sweet for even an hour?” you wondered, and she scoffed. “i’m serious. why are you so fucking mean?”

“don’t act like you don’t like it,” emery stated, and you moved right behind her as she led you both to what you presumed to be her bedroom.

“i don’t like it,” you told her, and you walked into her room, which was insanely organized and clean. a smell of clean linen and pinewood roamed throughout the space, yet there wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere, her bed was perfectly made, and she had only neutral tones.

maybe all surgeons were neat freaks.

she sat down at her computer chair as you stood by her bedroom door, your eyes looking at every part of her room as if you were to memorize it.

“what are you doing right there? come here,” she said, and you gathered the courage to move in her direction, fidgeting with your fingers. her legs moved apart to manspread before you as you stepped in between them and looked down at her. “can i touch you?”

“what?”

“can i touch you?” she asked, and you were taken aback. “need to know if you’re soaking wet all because i bully you.”

“i’m not wet,” you insisted, and she hummed, hitching your skirt up to your stomach. you didn’t stop her, not one bit, and when her fingertips brushed along your mound, you had inhaled sharply, excited yet afraid what she’d do next.

“these are cute,” she complimented your eyelet cotton panties, and was highly amused with herself, bringing them down to your thighs. “you left a mess in your panties, sweetheart. did you know that?”

you were nearly shameful that her taunting you tonight got you to this point, “i…i didn’t know,” you muttered, almost coming out as a whisper, and shyly looked away from her.

“who said you can fucking look away?” emery asked, bringing her spare hand to the side of your face, and gave it a soft, yet demanding slap. “look at how fucking pathetic you are.”

you whimpered from the slap, nodding and made eye contact with her once more. the slap got you going more, and she knew it too, two of her fingers slipping between your slick folds.

“all because i’m so mean to you,” she taunted, and let out a disbelief chuckle. “you bitch about it so much, but you love it.”

you didn’t say anything else, your guilt and shame claiming you, and all you wanted to do was curl into a ball because of how stupid you felt for getting wet over your older coworker being simply mean to you.

“take your clothes off,” emery said, and when you were about to barely turn around to do so, she gave your calf a small kick. “in front of me. are you fucking stupid?”

you nodded, your shaky hands going to each of your clothing as you slowly took them off, removing your shoes last. emery’s eyes gawked at your nude body, her eyes taking in every curve and inch of you, your delicate skin that she had the urge to bruise.

she had cursed under her breath while continuing to look at you, thinking of millions of ways to deprave and ruin you.

“go lay flat on your back on the bed,” she said, and you happily obliged, scurrying over to the neat bed, carefully resting on it. you only stared up at the ceiling, hearing emery go through a nightstand drawer, yet you were too afraid to look at what she was doing.

the room was cold, a cascade of chills creeping over your skin, and you jolted when emery’s hands were on your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

you sat up on your elbows, noticing how she was only in her sports bra, yet when you looked down to her lower half, your eyes widened.

“what were you saying about hating me the other week?” she wondered, her hands moving to the back of your thighs and forced your legs entirely back, your knees at both sides of your head. “it doesn’t seem like you hate me.”

“this doesn’t mean anything,” you groaned, holding onto your legs, and knew you had to keep them there. “i do hate you, i always will.”

without any warning or for you to take a breath, you could feel your cunt being ripped and stretched apart with her cock before you could say much else.

“that’s one way to shut you up,” emery said, hovering over you as she didn’t hesitate to fuck into you at a rough, violent pace, and her free hand found the pinnacle of your throat. “can’t bitch or whine anymore now, and i fucking love it.”

“fuck you,” you managed to breathe out, her hand hard on your windpipe.

“your cunt doesn’t seem to fuckin’ hate me,” she spat, her cock nudging itself deeper into your pussy, and you held back your wanton noises.

you spat in her face, and for a singular moment, she held all movements, but she smeared your spit off her face, smudging it back onto yours.

“are you that stupid? don’t tell me you are,” she said, spitting at your face and backhanded you, barely missing your jaw. you yelped out a cry as she continued to fuck into you, and put her hand back onto your throat.

“‘m not stupid, i’m not,” you cried, and she nearly laughed in your face, using her spare hand to smack the back of your thigh.

“you’re disgusting for this — letting your older coworker fuck you, treat you like a fuck doll,” emery groaned, her hand tightening on your throat. “out of all the ways i thought of shutting you up, i knew this was the best one.”

your eyebrows furrowed together as you managed to hold eye contact with her, your moans and whines bouncing off every wall in the bedroom, surely being heard from outside.

“i hate you too, sweetheart — but i love fucking your cunt,” she stated, her hand unclasping from your throat, and replaced your hands with her own onto the back of your thighs, holding them in place.

your own hands grasp at the bed’s comforter, your back arching, and your body was seemingly electric, squirming around with every harsh thrust.

“it feels like i’m gonna cum, em,” you whimpered, pleading with her.

“you’re not gonna cum. give me a kiss, baby,” she said, one of her hand’s going to the back of your head to pick it up, and your lips met hers, the kiss hungry and desperate.

she tasted between spearmint and tobacco, her tongue meeting yours, and she cursed your name, groaning it as her thrusts became brutal and merciless.

the heat kept accumulating in your abdomen, feeling as if it was on fire, and your thighs trembled against her touch.

“i can’t, i can’t, please,” you begged, being too sensitive and were on the brink of tears. it had been a while since you had a proper orgasm, and every burning sensation and desire stacked amongst each other, riveting throughout your body.

“be a good bitch and hold it — you’ve already disappointed me enough,” emery seethed, and you broke into a small sob, the pleasure being beautifully overwhelming. “keep crying, baby. just feels so good, doesn’t it?”

she could tell you were about to let go of your climax, coming to full stop which only earned a symphony of protests from you, and towered back over you again.

another slap to your face.

“be fuckin’ grateful i’m even touching you,” she said, and you whimpered, only nodding. she put her hand near your mouth, and you looked merely confused. “spit.”

you spat into her hand as she inched back and you could feel your saliva being used as a lubricant, giving you only a few seconds to mentally prepare.

“i told you i’d stop once i got you to cry,” emery reminded, and in a single second, she was pushing inside of your bottom, a heavy gasp eliciting from you.

you had minimal strength to keep your legs up, and emery immediately noticed, getting closer to you and had them hung over her shoulders.

you were being torn apart the seams, but you loved it — god, emery fucking into you and stretching you apart to her own satisfaction was all you ever needed.

“tell me you’re sorry,” she said, her necklace dangling in your face and you held profusely eye contact with her. “apologize to me, and i’ll maybe consider letting you cum.”

you shook your head, moaning her name without even realizing it, and it was the sweetest sound to her eyes.

emery loved it — no, she adored it. it was the softest sound with the sickest intentions behind it, and the knowing that the mutual hatred towards one another is what fueled her to fuck you.

“you feel s’good, em,” you mumbled, soft whimpers sewn in between, and your fingernails dug into the comforter, surely ripping the thread. “it feels so, so good, but i—”

“you’re gonna keep fuckin’ taking it until you apologize,” she said, and she was certain on that, knowing that was the only way you could orgasm.

and your orgasm was painful, brutally poking at your abdomen, wanting to be free; but you were too prideful, and she was too egotistical.

your cries were beautiful, and you knew it was helping her in her own depraved ways, getting her off as her cock moved further into you, your ass perfectly sucking it in.

you knew your makeup was ruined, mascara running down your soft cheeks, and emery just adored the sight of you being ruined all because of her.

“you gonna apologize, sweetheart?” she asked.

“you can’t even keep going!”

“i can go on all night until i hear those two words,” she said, giving you a hast kiss, and harshly smacked your swollen cunt, causing you to jolt.

you could say it and not mean it, she wouldn’t be able to tell. your orgasm was too much, pressuring inside of you, and your cries shifted into heavy sobs.

because you finally cracked, and sobbed out, “i’m sorry! i—i’m sorry, fuck!”

“yeah, baby? you’re sorry?” she wondered, and ran her fingers between your puffy cunt before rubbing your bud. “you’re sorry for what exactly?”

“for being mean a—and disrespectful,” you cried, and your climax was at the edge of your cunt, ready to let go of it all. “please, please! i need to cum, i can’t anymore.”

emery’s thrust paced up, and she rode you through your head as your back arched the moment your orgasm flushed out of you.

you cried her name in a practical mantra, and she cursed every word, taking a few more seconds to slowly fuck into you.

it felt like minutes until she came to a halt, and the two of you tried to gather lungfuls of oxygen, seeing stars in your vision.

she gently slipped out of you, and completely took off the harness, patting your leg. you thought maybe she would comfort you a bit, maybe lay next to you or check up on you for a second.

“i’m gonna go shower,” she said, putting her hair up into a ponytail.

no kiss, not a single aftercare.

the second she walked into her bathroom, closing the door, you used every minuscule of muscle and strength to get up from the bed.

you hurriedly changed back into your clothes and tugged on your shoes, storming out of her bedroom.

you remembered your purse being on the walk in table, opening it and grabbed your phone, seeing multiple missed text messages from your friends in a shared chat.

trinity : did she fuck you…. be open and honest!

victoria : WAIT WHAT

victoria : EMERY FUCKED HER???

whitaker : i wouldn’t be surprised and trin did call this.

samira : possibly. they left together and we haven’t heard anything in nearly two hours.

trinity : me and abbot made a bet so please update.

victoria : cass is looking over my shoulders and reading all these btw

trinity : hello beautiful milf :P

whitaker : why are u betting with my boyfriend

trinity : shut up mouse.

victoria : why isn’t she answering her phone !!!!!!!

you : someone pick me up. right now. in under two minutes.

you : i think i have cum running down my thighs i can’t tell.

8:21. 

You checked your phone for the millionth time. 

You were supposed to meet him at the restaurant at 7pm, and he was almost an hour and a half late. 

Well, you hoped he was late. You hadn’t yet accepted the probable fact that you’d been stood up. I mean, you were no stranger to chaotic schedules, unplanned overtime, and last minute catastrophes that had to be dealt with. Residency often rendered your social life moot; you could barely keep up with your commitments at the hospital, let alone a vibrant dating life. Maybe he had an equally demanding job; maybe there was a plausible excuse for why he left you stranded in this Italian restaurant without the decency of a “sorry, not interested anymore” text. 

You looked at your phone again–8:26. Okay, you’d give him 4 more minutes before you decide to pack it up. You try to subtly survey the restaurant for any sign of him, but are met only with the pitying looks of the waitstaff, who would, in all likelihood, be the only ones benefitting from this humiliation ritual. The hostess checked in with you at the bar regularly, the bartender had given you a glass of merlot on the house, and a very kind server brought you a charcuterie board to nibble on–had even brought you extra olives when you commented on how they were your favorite. They were all getting fat tips–or at least as fat as you could afford. 

8:31. Despite your best efforts you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your throat got that tight, achy feeling that precedes a sob. You felt so foolish. 

You looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away and tried to even out your breathing. 

You didn’t even want to go on this date. You’d all but sworn off of dating, the ROI not worth the emotional whiplash you were subjected to more often than not. It was becoming harder and harder as you got older to open up to people, expose your vulnerabilities and greatest fears, only to have them spit back in your face when things didn’t go their way. 

So you stopped with the apps, stopped the meaningless dates that were nothing more than a hookup vehicle for most. But your friends had convinced you that you needed to get back out there, that things would be better in Pittsburgh–the proverbial ocean filled with different, better fish than your hometown. And perhaps they were tired of hearing you wax poetic about the hazel-eyed night shift attending that you had no chance with. 

But you did want to find that person. As much as you were an independent, capable woman–doctor, even–the truth was you were lonely. Your days consisted of going to work, where you spent 12+ hours caring for Pittsburgh’s sickest, and coming home to microwave whatever sad frozen meal you had in your freezer. Sometimes you had the energy to join some of the night shift for post-shift breakfast, but that was about it. 

You wanted someone to share your life with, to ask about your day or if you’ve eaten. Someone who knew that your favorite flower was lily of the valley, but since they were too expensive you would settle for a bouquet of peonies; that you loved horror movies even though they scared the daylights out of you; that knew you loved olives but hated pickles. Someone who knew you, inside and out. 

There was a chasm in your chest that ached, that yearned for someone to take care of you–not financially, though you wouldn’t be opposed to that–but emotionally. To tell you that you were good, worthy, that you weren’t too much or too clingy. That wanted you as much as you wanted them. That felt the tension leave their shoulders when they looked at you, because you just being there made things better. 

Was that too much to ask for? 

It’d been so long since someone had even flirted with you, and even longer since you’d hooked up with anybody. Your dry spell was bordering on sahara levels of arid. Hell, at this point, you think you’d cum for the next guy who called you pretty. 

You shake yourself out of your pity party, dabbing your eyes with a napkin and gathering up the courage to ask for the bill, when you hear someone calling your name. Great. You’re halfway to a breakdown over some stupid guy who stood you up, and now you would have to sit through pleasantries with someone when you desperately wanted to go home and cry into a bottle of wine.   

You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.   

The person you least expect to see is the aforementioned hazel-eyed attending. He’s standing by the hostess stand, off to the side, dressed in dark blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was unfair, really, how good the man could look in the most basic outfit. His shirt was pulled taut across his chest, muscles straining against the fabric and outlining the planes of his pecs. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his strong, freckled arms on display, and sinful thoughts ran through your head at how those arms would feel around you.  

You smiled and waved at him, reluctantly making your way over. It’s not like you can avoid him at this point, though these are less than ideal circumstances to meet him outside of work. 

“Small world,” he joked as you approached, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“I guess so,” you said sullenly, not up to your usual banter.  

“Big plans for the night?” he asked, eyes skating over your form, taking in the pretty red dress you’d donned for the evening, the light coat of makeup you applied, the hairstyle you wrangled your locks into. In any other scenario, you’d be preening under his watchful eye, giddy that he was eyeing you up and down.  

Now, though, you wilted under the attention. The humiliation from the night and the tingly feeling pooling in your gut at his gaze swirled together in some rancid amalgamation of emotions. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry or both, but ideally not in front of him.  

Your silence, apparently, concerned him. He looked at you seriously now, his eyes getting that clinical, assessing look in them as he took you in, “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his features.  

It was the one question you did not want to be asked. Because, for some reason, you could keep it all inside, bury the feelings as deep as they’d go, as long as someone didn’t ask if you were okay. The barest expression of concern had your lip trembling, throat tight as you managed to squeak out a meek, “I’m fine!” 

You could feel a tear tracing down your cheek, and you wiped it away furiously. Your eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder, unable to bear the pitying look that was undoubtedly on his face.  

“You don’t look fine,” he said softly, hand coming up to rest lightly on your upper arm.  

You shook your head, powerless to staunch the flow of tears now running down your face. “Sorry, I just, uh, I had a date tonight and he didn’t show, so,” you made a helpless gesture, your shoulders shrugging in feigned nonchalance. You felt ridiculous, crying over being stood up in front of your attending who was just trying to make small talk with you. 

You let out a garbled laugh, “Shit, sorry,” you hiccup, “this isn’t your problem, I don’t wanna interrupt your night any more than I already have. Have a good night,” you said, moving to push past him and scurry out the door.  

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, his body blocking your exit. 

“You’re not interrupting. I was just about to place a to-go order,” he said, a hesitant look crossing his face before he continued, “But, uh… would you like to have dinner with me instead?”

You're taken aback. It’s the last thing you expected him to ask you. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t thought about him in this context. On the contrary, Jack Abbot had been the subject of many a ‘boyfriend’ dream over the past year you’d worked with him. He was kind and generous and funny, his humor as dark as yours. He was steady in the face of chaos, a lighthouse in the foggiest of days–a man you could depend on when shit hit the fan. It’s part of the reason you switched to nights. You always felt calmer in his presence, more assured of your capabilities because he believed in you. 

And he was undeniably gorgeous–his fine wrinkles and graying curls set your body ablaze each time you looked at him, your panties soaking through in record time. You loved especially when he went a day or two longer without shaving, his scruffy cheeks looking like a delectable place to sit. 

Your mind was plagued by obscene fantasies of him, the sinful images assaulting you at the most inopportune times. You knew he’d treat you right, wouldn’t prioritize his pleasure over yours. He was older, experienced, not a kid fumbling around in the dark, searching for your most sensitive spots and coming up empty. You imagined the way his stubble would feel on your skin, his jaw scraping down your neck as he pressed kisses there, moving lower and lower until he was nestled between your thighs, mouth hot against your aching pussy. The way he would stretch you out and fill you up, have you desperate and begging for more. 

You’re snapped out of your lustful daydream when he says your name, an inquiring tone meant to prompt a response. Oh right, he asked you a question. 

You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to have dinner with him, but because you didn’t want to do so under these conditions; you didn’t want to be a charity case. 

“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to have a pity dinner with me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little rejection.” 

“It wouldn’t be a pity dinner,” he shook his head immediately, “come on, you got all dressed up, let me at least buy you dinner for your trouble.” 

He cleared his throat, “Unless you really don’t want to, obviously, and I’ll let it go,” he said, “but I’d hate to see you go home cryin’.” And he looked so sincere, his pretty eyes so soft and squishy, all but pleading for you to accept his offer.  

You chewed on your lip, considering it. It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend your night. As of now your plans for the rest of the night were getting sadder by the moment. Things could only go up from here, you supposed. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure,” you nodded. 

“I’m positive,” he said, hand coming up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you back up to the hostess stand. “Table for two, please.”

The two of you were sat at a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, the section secluded and not too loud. It was a classic Italian restaurant–warm, dim lighting illuminated the space from antique sconces on the wall, the walls were a beautiful exposed red brick, and the tables were candlelit and laid with red and white checkered cloths. The leather of the booth was soft but worn, the cracks spidering out and indenting into the back of your thighs a sign of how well loved this place was. 

The booth forced you close together, your thighs not quite touching each other, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His scent is intoxicating, all warm amber and oud, mixed with a hint of citrus and his natural musk. It took all your power not to burrow your nose into his neck and inhale deeply. 

You were lucky to have the same waitress that checked on you at the bar, though you did have to assure her that this was not the man who stood you up. You were honestly a little concerned at the death glare she gave him at first–a true girls girl. 

“So, Dr. Abbot, how was your day off?” you asked, fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress. Despite your easy rapport at work, it felt awkward to be sitting here with your attending, especially when you were desperately trying to keep your feelings for him at bay. 

“Oh it was fine, picked up a shift with the SWAT unit and didn’t get shot at, so, you know, all things considered,” he said, then waved his hand dismissively, “and please, call me Jack. We're not at work,” a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Okay, Jack,” you laughed, the tension easing a bit as you threw formalities out the window.  

“I would ask you how your day off was, but I think I have a pretty good idea,” he said with a teasing lilt.

“Yeah, not my best moment. This is partially why I stopped dating, I hate getting my hopes up,” you said, a little more vulnerable than you intended but you supposed you were past that now. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think whatever man decided to let you slip through their fingers is a fuckin’ idiot.” 

You sputtered a bit at that, your cheeks heating up. It was a kind platitude, and you wished that it made you feel better, but it did little to alleviate the pit in your stomach that made you feel small; that screamed that you weren’t good enough.

“But enough about that asshole. Do you want to order an appetizer?” he asked, scanning the menu. 

“Oh no, I’m okay, thank you.” 

“You sure? My treat, remember, don’t worry about prices.” he looked up, concerned. 

“I’m fine, really,” you bit your cheek, reluctant to spit it out, “our waitress may or may not have given me a pity charcuterie board at the bar.” 

His face was still for a moment before you saw the edge of his mouth betray him, quirking up in a suppressed smile. 

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned, your own resolve already breaking as you took in how pathetic the situation actually was. “It’s not funny!” you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the menu. 

“No, no, definitely not,” he intoned, a look of mock-seriousness on his face before he broke out into a laugh, “I’m sorry! But it is objectively a little funny,” he hedged, hands held out defensively to block another menu attack.  

“It is not! It means that the poor waitress had to go talk to her boss and ask if they could comp an appetizer for the miserable sad sack at the bar!” 

“She probably didn’t call you a miserable sad sack. Maybe sad puppy dog girl, but not miserable sad sack,” he teased. 

You gasped exaggeratedly, “I am not a sad puppy dog girl!” 

“Oh yes you are. It’s the eyes. And the general obedient demeanor," he smirked. 

Oh. Your tummy twisted at that, but you quickly filed it under things that I simply do not have enough time to unpack right now. 

“You’re mean,” you pouted, lip jutting out and arms crossed. You weren’t really upset, but it felt fun to play it up a little bit.  

“Aww,” he pouted back at you, his tone just a tad condescending, “let me make it up to you. What do you say to some good wine and garlic knots?” 

You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, “what the hell, let's do it. It’s not like I’m going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,” you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss. 

“You never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,” he joked, not looking up from the wine menu. 

You were a little stunned at that. Was he… flirting? No. Definitely not. This was a strictly platonic date. Right? I mean, the puppy comment you could explain away, but this… this was different, wasn’t it? Who just jokes like that about the most romantic canine kiss in history? A joke, you settled on. Because you’d already gotten your hopes up enough for one night. 

Dinner was nice. Really nice. 

Conversation flowed freely, starting out in neutral territory with updates about patients, work gossip, whatever the fuck was going on with Robby. But you soon moved out of the work realm and into personal matters. You told him about your childhood–where you grew up, your favorite childhood pets, how much trouble you got into as a teen. 

And you learned a lot about Jack. That he came from a military family that moved around a lot, but spent a large chunk of time in North Carolina. He had two sisters, both older than him. One stayed in North Carolina and the other lived in West Virginia. Both married to military men, and both notorious for giving Jack shit about everything. But they were his rocks when he lost his leg, and then again when he lost his wife, and he was endlessly grateful for them. 

You both loved 90s alternative rock, which surprised you because you took Jack to be more of a classic rock fan, to which he merely glared at you and said that he wasn’t that old. You both had childhood crushes on Winona Ryder; his borne from her role in Heathers, and yours from Girl, Interrupted. He surprised you with the fact that he was a good cook, a fact that seemed unfathomable to you based on his general vibe. 

Now, though, you’d moved to med school stories, and Jack was regaling you with stories about him and Robby back in the day.  

“We must have been… god, I must have been a third year med student, and Robby was… an R2? and he had really pissed me off that night. I don’t even remember what he did, I just remember being so annoyed at him,” he laughed, shaking his head at the memory, “It was a quiet night, so he snuck off to the on-call room to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me to do all the scut. So, I recruited the help of the charge nurse, Carol, and our attending, Mark, and we applied a cast to his right leg while he was knocked out.” 

He’s cackling now, almost unable to finish his story between wheezing gasps of air, “we paged him, like, 10 times until he answered, and next thing we know he’s bursting out of the on-call room and onto his ass before he even realized what happened!” 

You’re laughing hard now, too, trying to picture a younger version of Robby gracelessly tripping over an unnecessary leg cast in his hurry to answer his page. It sounded so unlike the self-assured, stoic version you knew him to be.  

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “how mad was he?”  

“Oh he was pissed. Not because of the cast, but because 5 minutes after we paged him, a 15-car pile up came in and he got benched until he could get the cast off. He had to wait for it to dry before he could saw it off, and the whole time he just sat there glaring at me.” 

“Did he get you back?” you asked, hungry for more crumbs of their life before you, before the Pitt as it was now.    

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “the fucker taped nails to his shirt, took an x-ray, and switched out the real film for the fake before I noticed. I was freaking out to Mark, yelling about how this patient needed surgery before they perfed. Meanwhile Mark was in on it, and made me feel crazy when he pulled out the perfectly normal x-ray for my patient. He said, ‘I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but this looks like a perfectly normal x-ray,’” he said, in an impersonation you could only assume was Mark.

“That’s fucking crazy,” you giggled, “can you imagine someone doing something like that in the Pitt? I think Robby’d actually have an aneurysm.” 

“Yeah, the old man’s lost a bit of his whimsy over the years,” he shook his head. 

“Old man, huh? Those are fighting words from a man merely 3 years younger than him,” you teased, “and much grayer,” you added with a wink.  

“Watch it, missy,” he warned, then, quieter, “not too old to teach you some manners.”

Feeling emboldened by the wine, you leaned a little closer, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Tracing the rim of your wine glass, you looked up at him. You swear his eyes drifted to your lips, but before you could do anything about it, he cleared his throat, steering the conversation back into safer waters.  

“So, why did you get into emergency medicine?” 

You thought about it for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be. “I wanted to meet people where they were at, help them in a real, immediate way. The traumas are great and exciting, and there’s nothing like making a pickup that saves someone’s life. But I like the less exciting stuff, too. The mundane care that doesn’t save a life, but makes someone feel better. Helps them get over a cold, or helps soothe a burn; suturing up a lac, or removing foreign objects from patients and not making them feel worse about their predicament. That stuff is just as important as the traumas.

Especially with how fucked healthcare is in this country, people come to us when they’re at their most vulnerable, and usually don’t want to be there. I just hope that I can make things less scary for patients when they come in, make sure they feel like they’re cared about and not being judged for coming to us.” 

It’d been a long time since you’d answered that question honestly. Usually, you had your stock answer that you pulled out, which was a more eloquent version of “I want to save lives!” And that was still true, but there was so much more to working in the emergency department than just saving lives. It was paperwork and insurance and bed shortages and nursing shortages and all the other fucked up shit in the world that inevitably contributed to the cases you saw come through the doors at the Pitt. 

“What about you? Was emergency medicine always it for you, or did you ever consider going into something else?” you asked. 

He shook his head, “Not seriously, no. Considered switching to critical care after my leg. I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the hustle and bustle of the emergency room after that. But it was the only place I wanted to be, so I figured it out, did what I needed to do to get back to where I was before the accident.” 

“Well, for what it's worth, I’m glad you stuck with EM. I couldn’t imagine working at the Pitt without you. I don’t think I’d be half the doctor I am without you,” you said, looking up at him. 

You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten, his arm slung over the back of the booth and your thighs pressed against each other. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’d be amazing with or without me,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “You know, I’ve taught a lot of residents in my years, and you… you’re really cut out for this. Not everyone is.” 

The praise made you preen, the proximity of his hand to your face doing nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart. For a brief moment, you think he might lean in, might press those pillowy pink lips to yours, kiss you until you can’t think stra–

“Hi, sorry to interrupt but we’ll be closing in 15 minutes. Here’s your check when you’re ready,” the waitress said, setting the check down and scurrying away. 

You checked the time on your phone: 11:15. Did you really spend almost 3 hours talking to Jack? It certainly didn’t feel like it. 

“I guess we should get out of here before they kick us out,” Jack said, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.

You’re giggling at another one of Jack’s jokes as you leave the restaurant, the bill graciously paid by him despite your best efforts to split it. Your limbs were loose from the wine, goosebumps springing up on your arms from the early summer air turned chilly. 

“Thank you for dinner. You salvaged an otherwise shitty night,” you laughed. 

“It was no problem, really. I had a nice time,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed.

You mirrored him, shoulder scraping against the gritty brick, and looked up at him. 

“Hold on, I think you have a little sauce on your face,” he said, and before you could grab a tissue from your purse, he reached out. His thumb gathered the sauce at the corner of your lips, going further to brush the pad of it across your bottom lip. The movement dragged your lower lip down slightly, your mouth parting involuntarily with it. You’re not sure why, but your tongue darted out, licked the pad of his thumb and the residual sauce.

Jack’s breath hitched, the sharp intake of air the only thing you could hear despite the sounds of car alarms and drunk party girls on a Friday night in downtown Pittsburgh. 

You looked up at him, tongue still pressed flat against his thumb, and searched his eyes for a sign that the heat building between you is mutual. 

Fuck it, you decided. 

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. And god, did they feel nice. They were soft, but firm, and he tasted faintly of the wine you’d shared earlier mixed with the slight acidity of the tomato sauce from his dinner. Your hand tangled in the curls at the base of his neck, and they’re so soft, but also a little stiff. You wondered, briefly, if he uses mousse, or hairspray, or if he’s got a whole curly girl routine down before realizing that oh my god he wasn’t kissing you back. Oh no, oh fuck. 

How did you misread this situation so horrifically? You thought you were getting all the right signals, thought that he liked being with you, that he was flirting with you. But maybe it really was just a courtesy, a pity dinner. 

Your cheeks are hot when you pull away from him, shame sitting thick and heavy in your stomach, numbness prickling up your arms in staticky goosebumps. And Jack is just standing there, the dumbfounded look on his face doing nothing to assuage your embarrassment.  

You backed up, trying to create some distance, to lower the temperature between you that apparently only you felt. 

Looking down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact, you babbled out, “I-I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and I don’t know why I-” your voice cracked and it felt like your lungs weren’t properly inflating with oxygen, “I don’t know how I misread things, but I guess I did so again, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go home and pretend this never happened,” you said, turning around and starting down the street, despite the fact that you most certainly needed to Uber home, not walk. 

You’re trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that night when you hear him calling your name, “Wait!” 

He caught up with you, only a few strides away from where you were standing, and grasped your arm gently. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, a little breathless, “I just… you surprised me.”

“Surprised you?” you laughed, “I damn near sucked your thumb, Jack,” you said, genuinely confused how a man like Jack Abbot could be surprised that a woman would try to kiss him; that the next logical step from erotic thumbsucking would be a kiss. “And you flirted with me all night! You made a Lady and the Tramp joke! How else am I supposed to take that?”  

He rubbed at his jaw anxiously, a slight blush coating his cheeks, “I mean, yeah, I was surprised. I’ve liked you for a while now but then I heard you talking to Santos about how you didn’t want to go out with that cardiology attending and just assumed I didn’t have a shot,” he admitted sheepishly. “And maybe I got a little brazen with my flirting because I thought you didn’t see me like that anyway, figured it couldn’t hurt.” 

It’s your turn to be surprised now. You hadn’t realized he heard that conversation, or that he’d taken the wrong idea from it; the opposite idea, actually.   

You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers finding his curls again, “Well, if you recall, snoopy, I said that part of the problem was that I just didn’t want to fuck that cardiology attending,” you said, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes, “that isn’t the case with you.” 

He looked shocked, but recovered quickly, his confident air returning to him. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, lips quirking up into a smile as he backed you up against the rough brick wall. His hand rested on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip, stroking you through your dress. 

“In that case, please allow me to make up for my rude behavior,” he said, dipping down to kiss you properly this time. 

You’d pictured this moment countless times before, but nothing compared to the real thing. Jack Abbot is a no nonsense man–a wartorn vet who understands more than most the importance of not wasting time. You expected your first kiss with him to be hungry, maybe a little sloppy, but when his lips meet yours, he’s achingly tender. It wasn’t uncertain–there was no question underlying his kiss–it was deep and languorous, like he was content to take his time up against this brick wall and savor the slide of your lips against his because he knew he had you right where he wanted you, finally. 

He commanded you, his hand cupping your jaw to angle your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened up for him. The slide of his tongue against yours was delicious, the slick muscle curling around yours before moving back to your lips, sucking at your bottom lip and biting down gently. Your mind felt fuzzy at the way he handled you, guiding and taking you how he saw fit.

Some of his restraint dissipated, your mouths moving feverishly against each other. You couldn’t get enough of him; you pulled him into you and hooked your leg around his waist to draw him as close to you as possible. Pathetic, embarrassing whines and whimpers escaped you involuntarily, your body unable to mask how this man was making a mess of you.

His hand fell to the thigh wrapped around him, calloused fingers sliding up under your dress and gripping the bare flesh. He pulled you close, his pelvis rolling against yours sinfully. You could feel the hard outline of his cock against your cunt, your hips thrusting forward to meet the friction. A frustrated moan fell from your lips at the clothes separating you, at the inability to feel his skin against yours. 

You pulled away only when air was necessary–and because you were very close to being cited for public indecency if things went any further. 

“Sorry, I probably taste like garlic,” you said dumbly, fingers tracing over your spit slick lips, numb and swollen from Jack’s attention. 

He laughed, forehead resting against yours, “you taste incredible,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, and then under your ear. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but my place is a couple blocks from here, if you’d like to come home with me.”  

You nodded, a giddy smile breaking out across your face, “I would very much like to go home with you,” you said, already grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street. 

The entryway is dark as you stumbled into Jack’s townhouse, the walk talking longer than it should have due to your need to drag him into searing kiss after searing kiss every dozen or so steps. 

Jack navigated the two of you through the dark, your bodies unceremoniously plopping down on his couch. You fell onto his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushions and thighs stretching over the wide berth of his hips. Your kisses had devolved from slow and deep to fast and hungry, teeth nipping and clashing against one another, your breathing ragged from the exertion.   

He was rock-hard and throbbing under you, the outline of his cock pressing deliciously against your pussy. The only articles of clothing separating you were the thin, lacy excuse for panties you were wearing and his jeans. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ground your hips down on him, the combination of rough denim and the drag of his cock on your aching cunt forcing loud moans and whimpers from your lips. 

Jack was just as loud, his hips canting up to meet your rolling hips. His hand travelled to the back of your dress, fingers playing with the zipper, “this okay, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. You nodded, too caught up in his lips to give a verbal answer. 

He chuckled as he pulled the zipper down, easing the sleeves down next and pulling away to get a look at you. He let out a sharp breath, the air stolen from his lungs as he took you in, hands gripping your waist tight and rolling his hips hard against you.  

Your pretty tits were held up in an unlined white bra, your hardened nipples peaking through the barely there lace. He threw his head back against the couch, pupils blown wide as they fixated on your chest. ““My pretty, pretty girl. Was this all for him?” he asked, thumbs running in circles around your areolas. You nodded shyly, a bit embarrassed that you’d put on your good lingerie for some random guy. But it wasn’t all for nought, if Jack’s reaction was any indication. 

“What a fuckin’ idiot,” he mumbled before enveloping your nipple between his lips, sucking the bud through the lace. He captured the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and pinching it, then soothing it over in soft circles. The sensation was dizzying. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, and he knew exactly the right pressure to ride the line between pleasure and pain.

But the lace was getting in the way; you couldn’t feel the scratch of his stubble like you’d dreamed of for so long. You unclasped your bra, tugging on his curls and pulling his face back just enough to let the garment fall down between you. 

A guttural sound left him as he dove back in, lips suctioning onto your nipple and sucking hard, cheeks hollowed out and tongue swirling around the bud. Your hand tightened in his curls, arching your back and pushing your chest against his mouth. He alternated between the two, sucking, licking, and biting at one and kneading, flicking, and pinching the other. You could finally feel the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hips doubled their effort, grinding hard against his cock. 

He released your nipple with a wet pop, “you know how hard it’s been keepin’ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time you’ve been hidin’ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,” he shook his head in disbelief, “don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything other than stuffin’ my face between these tits when I see you at work.”  

His lips returned to your chest while his unoccupied hand moved under your dress, his rough palm gripping the fat of your ass and guiding you over his length faster. Every grind of your hips had your clit bumping up against the head of his cock, the pressure exquisite. Your slick was dripping down your thighs and seeping into his jeans, the schlick schlick schlick steady background noise among your moans and groans.  

You didn’t realize how fast your orgasm was building until you were nearly on the precipice of it, letting out a strangled moan and, “I’m gonna–” before the wave crested. Your thighs trembled, a dull ache forming from keeping them stretched around Jack’s bulk, but it only added to the pleasure that zipped through you. That staticky feeling radiated through you, your pussy contracting and fluttering around nothing. 

You’re panting into the crook of his neck as you ride out the aftershocks, your hips still grinding against his clothed cock, your lips letting out tiny gasps and whines. 

“Did you… did you just cum, sweetheart?” Jack asked, a stunned look on his face. 

You could feel how hot your cheeks were, shame curling through you because yes, you did cum from a little nipple play and grinding on his cock. 

“I-i’m sorry, it’s just been a long time and no one’s touched me in so long and you feel so good, I didn’t think that would happen so quickly,” you said, panicked, “I’m sorry if I ruined things.” 

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears you weren’t even aware had fallen, “you didn’t ruin anything, okay? I was just surprised, is all. I’m sorry if anyone’s made you feel that way, but you don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me. Never,” The sincerity of his words triggered a new bout of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck again, his scent a calming balm to your nerves. 

“Plus, do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know I had such a pretty girl cummin’ on lap in under five minutes? That’s the stuff of dreams, baby,” he teased, pulling you out from your hiding spot and pressing kisses to your cheeks.

You laughed, still sniffling a bit, “gosh, I’m sorry I’ve been such a crybaby tonight.” 

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, then, teasing, “but I can think of much better reasons for you to be cryin’, and none of them have anything to do with you being sad or embarrassed,” he said, kissing you properly now, tongue licking deep into your mouth. 

You moaned into his mouth, then squealed as he hoisted you up, carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down at the edge of the bed, then properly removed your dress from where it was awkwardly gathered at your waist.

He didn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees and parting your legs, pushing them up toward your chest. “Hold 'em there for me, baby, wanna take a good look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp fabric between your legs. You did as he told you, hooking your hands under your knees and spreading yourself open for him. You felt exposed, but the awestruck look in his eye as he examined your pussy sent shockwaves through your body. 

“This all because of me?” he asked, thumbing at your center over the fabric, pressing lightly against your clit with each stroke. Your panties were soaked through, the tiny scrap of fabric doing nothing to obscure your puffy folds that were sticky with a mix of your slick and cum. “What a mess you made, honey. Guess I’m gonna have to clean you up,” he said, pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit.

You moaned, hips lifting off the bed and chasing his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue on your cool flesh was blistering. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there and stopping any movement of your hips. You whined at the restriction, your hands fisting in the soft sheets instead.

“Waited so long for this honey, shit, fuckin’ dreamed about how you’d taste,” he moaned into your pussy, mouth lapping and sucking at your folds, gathering all the spend and slick and swallowing it down like nectar. His face was nestled deep into your cunt, tongue exploring every crease and crevice your cunt had to offer, licking, sucking, biting–and taking note of what made you scream. 

And once he discovered it, he didn’t just eat you, he devoured you. He was a man possessed, with no regard for his own need for air. His tongue assaulted your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles around it, short kitten licks, and long, languorous licks that had him shaking his head between your thighs. Every now and again he wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled it, the light leaving your body every time. Your hips rocked against his mouth despite his hold on you, wrecked moans falling from your lips.  

“Fuck, jack, please–r-right there!” 

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you, tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he said, pulling back just far enough to spit onto your cunt before running two fingers up your slit, pushing them in without preamble. The stretch was delicious, his thick fingers curling deep into your wet heat and finding that sweet spot in no time. He exploited it mercilessly, massaging it with the pads of his fingers. His lips returned to your clit, sucking harshly now, giving you no reprieve from his ministrations. 

“Feels so good Jack! Never felt this good before!” you cried. 

The slurping and squelching was lewd, your moans and breathless cries of his name intermingled to create an obscene symphony that you’re sure the entire population of Pittsburgh could hear. 

“You gonna cum on my face, honey? Gonna give me another one?” he asked, fingers massaging your g-spot. “Wanna–fuck–wanna feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers when she cums.” 

“Y-yes, please Jack, ‘m gonna cum, feels sosososo good” you cried out, your second orgasm crashing over you. Stars burst behind your eyes, back arching uncomfortably off the bed and walls clenching so hard around his fingers you’re not sure how he hasn’t lost circulation. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him there as you rode out your orgasm, hips rutting against his mouth and fingers. He didn’t mind, licking and sucking you through it, his fingers keeping pressure on your g-spot until you were pushing him away.

He peppered your body with kisses as you came down, starting at your thighs and making his way up over your tummy, ribs, and breasts. He came to rest above you, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled him in for a lazy kiss. His face was soaked with your spend and you could taste the tang on his tongue when he kissed you. 

“You’re stupidly good at that,” you whispered, body still boneless and floaty. 

“Yeah? Want me to show you want else I’m stupidly good at?” he asked while finally shucking his shirt off. 

“Yeah?” you said absentmindedly, eyes glazed over at the majesty that was Jack Abbot’s chest. You immediately began pressing kisses across the newly exposed skin–to his neck, collarbone, pecs, and tummy. You’re even able to scrape your teeth across a nipple before he holds you back at arms length, laughing.   

“Yeah, honey,” he laughed between your frantic kisses, “but you gotta let me breathe for a sec, gotta take care of my leg.” 

“Let me,” you said, slipping down to the floor and sitting back on your heels. You ran your palms up his thighs, hands coming to rest on his belt before going any further.

“You don’t have to do that, honey.” 

“I know,” you said softly, “but I want to. If you’re okay with that.” 

He cradled your face in his hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand to assure him that you wanted to do this. 

“I care about you Jack, and this is part of you. I just wanna help you, wanna make you feel good,” you said earnestly, giving him your puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. Okay, honey, go ahead,” he nodded, sitting back on his elbows to watch you. You grasped his belt again, unfastening the buckle and pulling the belt through the loops, discarding it somewhere behind you. You moved to the button of his jeans, deftly popping it open and hooking your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down with Jack’s help. 

Your breath hitched at the sight of his dark gray boxers, a wet spot front and center that made your mouth water. You learned forward and kissed the damp fabric, moaning at the slight taste of precum that danced across your lips. 

“Careful, sweetheart…” he warned, but there wasn’t much heat behind his words. 

You just grinned up at him before getting back to the task at hand. Your fingers travelled down to the sleek metal attached to him, getting a feel for the mechanism before unlocking and twisting it off. The liner came next, tossed to the side before you pressed your fingertips into his skin, massaging the skin to get some blood flow back into the residual limb. You pressed sweet kisses to his flesh, from the front of his knee to the scarred flesh of his leg, tongue dipping out to trace the prominent scar just above his amputation site. 

Jack breathed heavily above you, tiny groans escaping him unbidden. A look flickered across his face, and you think, briefly, that this may be the first time you’ve seen him truly vulnerable. It wasn’t a secret that he’d lost the lower portion of his leg in the war, but he didn’t flaunt it either. You wondered if there was an insecurity that lay deep within him, despite his overt confidence; if other women had reacted differently, cruelly even to the sight of his prosthesis. It made your heart ache to think about it, to think of someone doing anything but worshipping his beautiful body the way he deserved.  

“So pretty, Jack,” you whispered, kisses inching higher up his thigh now, “wanna taste you now.” 

When you’re met with the sight of Jack’s cock, you’re well and truly speechless. You knew he was big from your time on the couch, but seeing it was different. He was thick and veiny, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking precum furiously. It rested against his belly, curving slightly to the left. And did you mention that he was thick? Mouth agape, you wondered how you were going to fit him in your mouth. Or pussy. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, hands perched against his thighs, just staring at his cock, until Jack tilts your head back, fingers tightening in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck. 

“Thought you wanted a taste, honey. You just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?” he asked, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Maybe,” you mumbled, tongue darting out to wet your lips. 

Before you can do anything of your own accord, his hand is guiding your head forward, the head of his cock pushing gently against the seam of your lips. You take over from there, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his tip, the precum gathered there salty and sticky against your lips. Your tongue dipped out to caress the spot just below his head, running the flat of your tongue along it before moving back to his head, spitting a glob of spit onto him and wrapping a hand around his base. You started with long, slow strokes, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, your hand meeting your lips where they suckled at his tip. 

You moaned at the steady stream of precum invading your mouth, “taste so good Jack,” you said before taking more of him into your mouth. You're only about halfway down and your lips are already stretched tight around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth in filthy waterfalls. You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue massaging the underside of his cock. 

“Fuck, baby, who knew you had such a filthy fuckin’ mouth on you,” he groaned, hips rutting up slightly. 

His tip occasionally hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and tears to prick behind your eyes, but you don’t care; the feeling of him weighing heavy on your tongue is reward enough. 

You feel a light pressure applied to the back of your head, “deeper, baby, know you can take it,” he groaned. You obliged, breathing deep through your nose and sinking down further onto his cock until you felt him hit the back of your throat and your nose was nestled in the trimmed grey curls at his base. Your hand grappled for his where it was perched on your head, using it to push harder against your head, trying to convey to him that you wanted him to take over; to fuck your face. 

He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily as he realized what you wanted. He gathered your hair in his hands, hips shallowly trusting into the wet heat of your mouth. His mouth was slack, grunts and groans loud as he fucked your face. His pace builds, his cock roughly pistoning in and out of your mouth. Tears are falling freely now, your mouth stretched to capacity and throat being used and abused by his fat cock. 

“See? These tears are much prettier, baby,” he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. “So fuckin’ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.” 

You moaned around him at that, the praise and shame swirling in your tummy. Your hand came up to cup his balls, massaging and squeezing them gently between your fingers. 

You’re suddenly pulled up off his cock and into his lap, spit stringing from your shiny, swollen lips. You whined at the loss of him, your mouth feeling uncomfortably empty now. 

“Fuck–you feel too good, honey,” he grunted, setting you back against his pillows, “can’t cum in that pretty little mouth tonight, need to be inside you.” 

He grabbed a condom out of his drawer before moving back to you, sitting back on his knees and rolling the condom on. You let out an annoyed whine. You’ve never hated the more rational side of your brain more than you do right now. You craved to feel him bare inside you–to feel him cum deep inside you, the hot white ropes painting your walls. And while you trusted him implicitly, you knew safety was of the utmost importance, so condom it was. 

“Don’t worry, baby, soon as we get tested, you won’t be able to stop me from fuckin’ this pussy raw,” he groaned, settling between your spread thighs. His body was a soothing weight above you, the warmth he emanated relieving any anxiety you had. 

He gripped the base of his cock and ran it through your sopping folds a few times, the tip catching slightly on your entrance on each pass. “Please, Jack, need to feel you,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close. 

He cursed before giving in, notching the head of his cock against your entrance and entering you slowly, letting you feel and adjust to every inch on its own. Your head fell back into his plush pillows as he sank fully into you, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your walls were tight around him, clenching viciously at the intrusion–you’d never been stretched so wide, or filled so thoroughly. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs and replaced by his cock. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your short nails biting at his skin. 

You were still for a moment, both your chests heaving as you adjusted to the feeling of one another. Then, once Jack composed himself, he started to move–slow, shallow thrusts at first, your pussy still clenching tight around him, sucking him in greedily with each thrust. 

“Relax for me, honey, that’s it, doin’ so good for me,” he grunted, eyes closed, “pussy feels so good.” 

You willed your body to relax, for your muscles to go lax around him. You shifted your legs up higher, the heels of your feet digging into the soft flesh of his ass. 

“There you go, so good for me,” he moaned, “knew you’d be so good for me.” 

He pulled out again, easier this time, until only the tip remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward. His thrusts were slow but hard, his hips slamming against you each time he bottomed out. The drag of his cock against your walls felt so good, his thick, throbbing length rubbing up against every sensitive spot. You felt every thick vein and ridge, as if they were imprinting into your walls, making a home there. You moaned at the thought of eternity, of Jack making your pussy his again and again and again. 

He was watching you with a wondrous look on his face, his eyes flitting between your blissed out face and bouncing tits. “So fuckin’ sexy, baby, you don’t even understand how fuckin’ gorgeous you are,” he groaned, hips picking up speed, fucking you faster and harder. 

The adrenaline and emotions from the night came crashing down around you. The feeling of his cock dragging through your walls mixed with the sweet words he was whispering into your ear had you feeling exposed and vulnerable, made you feel seen. Your hands were frantic, running over every bit of skin you could get your hands on, needing to feel his skin against yours. You pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, the friction it provided to your nipples dizzying.  

You didn’t notice the tears until Jack was kissing away the salty tracks, his tongue sneaking out to lick up the length of your cheek. “You’re my little crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked, a sweet hint of condescension in his tone, “just can’t help babbling over my cock, huh, baby?” 

You could only whimper at that. The words should feel shameful, degrading, even, but the fondness on his face, the constant reassurance he’d been giving you all night only made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because you weren’t a crybaby, you were his crybaby. 

The coil in your stomach tightened, your orgasm fast approaching. He was fucking you hard and fast now, his balls slapping against your ass with a wet smack. “Jaack, I’m gonna–fffuck–I need–” you gasped at a particularly hard thrust, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

But Jack knew what you needed before you did, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against it, and you were done for. Your toes curled, heels pressing harder into his ass as you came, white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Your walls spasmed wildly, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You were absolutely drenched, your pussy gushing around his cock, leaking down your ass and onto the bed. 

Jack wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as your walls seized his cock in a vise grip. “F-fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, his hips going into overdrive now, chasing his climax and fucking you hard and deep.

"Cum for me, Jack, wanna make you feel good," you cried.

He ground his hips into one last time, cumming with a loud moan, cock buried deep inside you and hips pressed flush against yours. 

He collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest. He pressed lazy kisses to your sternum, collarbone, the soft flesh of your breasts–whatever he could get his lips on from this angle. Your fingers carded through his curls, the motion soothing as you tried to catch your breath. 

Eventually, though, you had to part. 

You whined as he pulled out, your cunt empty and cold now that he’d taken his warmth away. He grabbed his arm crutches, disposing of the condom and retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and began cleaning you up, gently wiping at your swollen pussy and sticky thighs, making sure you were comfortable before tossing the rag in the hamper.  

He slid back into bed when he was finished, laying on his side and pulling you close against his chest. Your head was cushioned by this arm as you curled into him, your sweat slick bodies cool to the touch now that the heat had dissipated. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, fingers brushing up and down your ribs, the touch featherlight.  

“Mmm probably as long as I have,” you said, snuggling closer to him.

“Really? When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?”

You didn’t have to think about it at all. “My birthday, on the roof. I gave you a cupcake and you got frosting all over you,” you giggled at the memory, “and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss it all off of your stupidly handsome face.” 

He laughed with you, the creases around his eyes deepening as he did. He was so pretty, you thought for the thousandth time that night. 

 “I remember that,” he smiled, “I remember being so proud that I made you laugh that night.” 

“What about you?” you asked. 

He thought about it for a minute. “I think the need to kiss you has been simmering in me since I met you, but the first time I had the conscious thought was when you patched me up after that patient clocked me in the head,” he said, his hand now on your cheek, stroking the bone there, “you were standin’ between my legs, stitchin’ up my forehead, and all I could think about was pulling you close and kissing you until I couldn’t breathe.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

He sighed, “I’m your superior and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't feel the same way.” You knew he didn’t want to delve into the ‘superior’ thing right now, didn’t want to have the long, complicated conversation that was sure to come in the following days. 

“And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself once I started,” he said, lightening the mood a bit. 

You giggled at that, rolling your eyes affectionately. But something nagged in your head about what he said. 

“Wait…” you said, piecing together a timeline, “that was nearly a year ago! You’re telling me we could have been doing this for a year!?” you exclaimed, slapping him on the chest lightly. 

He shook his head at you, a sheepish look on his face. You were both idiots. 

“Well, I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for, then, don’t we?” he said cheekily, capturing your lips again and pushing you onto your back, determined to make you a very happy woman.

a/n: thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it <33

You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”

“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”

“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”

Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.

You were what could be called, a floater.

By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.

“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”

You helped lift him over to the bed.

“Did you intubate him?” you asked,

“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.

You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”

“Shot at.”

“You need to be looked at?”

“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.

“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.

There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.

Jack had.

Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.

“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”

Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.

“You should get that looked at,” you told him.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”

You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.

So, he wasn't in the joking mood.

“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”

You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.

“Demanding,” said Robby.

“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.

Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.

You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”

The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.

“Geez- woah!”

“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.

The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.

“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”

“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”

“I know that but-”

“- this is a transected trachea now-”

There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.

There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.

You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.

It was one of the reasons he always called you in.

“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.

Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”

Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”

“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.

You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.

But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.

Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.

He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.

Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.

“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.

“Don't want the paperwork?”

“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.

“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.

There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.

You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.

And, why.

Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.

He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.

Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.

And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.

Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.

“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.

Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”

She hummed. “Funny.”

“Thank you.”

He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.

They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.

He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.

Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.

“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.

Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”

“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.

Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”

Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.

“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”

“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”

Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.

“Are you avoiding her, now?”

Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”

“Did she do something?”

“No.”

“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.

Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”

Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”

Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.

Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”

“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”

“Jack, c’mon-”

Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.

“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.

Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.

Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.

Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”

Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.

“She’s not it, Robby.”

“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.

“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”

He pressed down against the metal band branding him.

“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.

Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”

Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”

“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.

“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.

But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”

“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”

“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.

Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.

“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”

“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.

In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.

Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.

Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.

You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.

That’s why you felt it plummet.

She’s not it for me.

There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.

But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.

She's brutal.

It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.

You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.

You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.

She's not it for me.

“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”

“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.

Robby gave a nod and left you to it.

Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?

Besides from not being his wife.

The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.

It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.

You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.

You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.

Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.

The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.

You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.

A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.

“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.

When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.

“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)

Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.

And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.

But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.

You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.

“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”

You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”

Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”

“Well, no-”

“Then get your ass over here.”

“Robby-”

“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”

Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.

Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.

You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.

“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.

At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.

“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”

“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.

“Room in trauma one!”

Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.

“You're here,” was all he said.

You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.

Jack didn't like that person.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.

“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”

“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.

“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”

“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.

You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.

“What have you got?” he asked.

It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.

“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.

You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”

“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.

“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.

You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”

“Okay, start an-”

“- start an internal massage-”

You and Jack said at the same time.

Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.

“Pulse?”

“Barely.”

Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”

“I need suction!”

“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.

“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.

Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”

“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.

Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”

Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.

“Clamped,” said Princess.

“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.

There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.

“He's going into V-fib!”

You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”

They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.

“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.

“Charge to thirty! Clear!”

Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.

“There! He's stable!” said Princess.

“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.

“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.

You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.

Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.

When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.

The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.

You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.

“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.

“Thank you.”

He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”

You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”

“What, from the guys?”

You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.

“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”

Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?

“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.

“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”

She's brutal, you know.

You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.

“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.

Heading back in seemed the safer option.

Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”

“- I've been busy-”

“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”

“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”

“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”

“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.

Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”

You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.

“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.

You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.

“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?

Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”

“Huh?”

You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”

For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.

But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.

Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”

“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”

He gulped. “I didn't mean-”

“-what, for me to hear it?”

“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.

“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.

“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”

You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”

“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”

“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.

“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.

Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”

“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”

“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.

You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”

“- I know, I know you do-”

“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.

“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”

“You know what the worst part is?”

Jack shook his head, waiting.

“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”

Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.

It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.

Jack had fucked up.

There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.

He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.

He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.

He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.

“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”

“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”

They'd refused, with good reason.

He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.

It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.

Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.

He said he was looking for you.

“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.

Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.

There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.

“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.

Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”

Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.

You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.

“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”

“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.

“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”

You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”

You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.

He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.

“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.

Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.

“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”

“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.

Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.

What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.

He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.

“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.

“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.

“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”

There was a glimpse of a smile.

Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”

An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.

“Sorry,” he uttered.

You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.

It was enough for now.

Your name was called down the corridor.

“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.

“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”

Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.

Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.

“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.

Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”

“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”

Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”

“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”

“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.

Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”

“-Robby-”

“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”

Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.

Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”

A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.

“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.

Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.

Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.

Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.

They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.

They told you not to change.

It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.

Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.

You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.

Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.

“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”

Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.

Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.

It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.

“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.

“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.

The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”

You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”

You put in the orders for stitches.

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.

“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”

The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.

You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.

Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.

You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”

You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.

“Here, I can-”

His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.

Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.

The tin fell into your hand.

Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”

“Thanks.”

It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.

It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.

“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”

Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”

“It's in the garage.”

“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.

The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”

“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”

You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.

“You don't have to, Jack.”

“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”

Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.

Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.

“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.

“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.

“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.

Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”

The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.

“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”

The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”

“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”

“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”

“-so why try?”

“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”

To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.

He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.

“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”

“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.

“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”

“Excuse me?”

Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”

You chuckled.

“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”

You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”

He waited, catching his breath, for more.

You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”

Jack nodded, looking down.

The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.

“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”

His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.

“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And looking to settle down.”

Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”

“Therapy is good,” you said.

Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”

As sorry's went... as love confessions went.

“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”

You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

He smirked a little. “No.”

Your heart dropped.

Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.

You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.

You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.

Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.

You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.

“Will you let me?” you asked.

“Always,” he promised.

You knew this. He had told you stories in the past about how his brothers had always chosen for him the past. Activities that they liked to do. He had told you that once Julia was gone, he had found the occasion lonely, not used to blowing out the candles alone. That the three years behind bars had him forgetting when it even was.

Naturally, that had broken your heart. So you took it upon yourself to make sure that things would be different, especially now that you were around.

It was casual and intimate, just him and his family sharing drinks under the blanket of the quiet night in their backyard. The candlelight of the two candles sitting atop of the grocery store cake that Deran had brought glinting off the rippling blue pool water. After a few slices of cake and a few too many shots in Julia’s honor, the two of you were left alone, the low murmur of jovial conversation from the rest of his family muffled by the glass doors. Andrew had moved to sit on one of the loungers that were scattered around the pool, feet firmly planted on the floor. He’s got a beer in hand and a calm look on his face, staring into the water.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you say as you approach him from behind, hands wandering across the broad expanse of his chest. Nosing into the crook of his neck, you can see the beginnings of a smile take over his features as he lays a hand atop of yours. “I hope you had a good time.”

“C’mere,” he grumbles, pulling you by the wrist and into his lap. It’s a familiar position, his strong arm wrapped around your waist. You slide a hand into his hair, nails scratching his scalp. His eyes flutter shut for a moment at the feeling, and you swear that if he was a dog you’d be able to see his tail wagging. You giggle at the thought and lean down to give him a soft kiss, one he gladly returns. “Thank you.”

With one hand settled on his shoulder, you pulled out the joint Craig had taken the time to roll for you from behind your ear. A big grin on your face, you brandish it in front of him, extending a silent invitation. He’s got an eyebrow cocked, half smile on his face at your excited expression more than anything. 

“Care to partake, Andy?” You ask, slipping the joint between your lips. Wordlessly, he pulls his lighter from his back pocket and lights it for you, flame warm as it approaches your face. With a deep inhale the cherry burns orange, and you place it between your fingers before exhaling the smoke. You place the joint between Andrew’s lips down, smirking at just how easily he accepts it from you. Smoking with Andrew was always a rare occasion; he was never one to partake at the hundreds of parties that happened at the house. It was always just you and him, sometimes the rest of his family too.

You swing a leg over his lap so you can watch him properly as he takes a toke, everything blurring into the background. He turns his head to blow the smoke away from your face, ever the gentleman. Handing it back to you, he lets out a small laugh, eyes a little glassy and he turns his head back to you. Warmth spreads through you, although you’re not sure if it’s from the weed or from the way he’s looking at you.

His eyes are half lidded, blown out pupils falling to your mouth as you take a toke of your own. He’s still wearing a goofy smile, the one he always gets when he’s able to release his inhibitions under the influence. Being high makes you hyperaware of his touch, the meaty hands settled comfortably on your hips, his body heat making your skin tingle underneath the fabric of your clothes. You lean forward and brush your lips against his, a matching smile stretching over your lips. If you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t have noticed his shuttery exhale over your lips as you did, or the way that his grip tightened ever so slightly on your hips. His lips chase yours as you pull back with a giggle, teasing.

Instead, you grab his face in one hand, manicured fingers resting against the soft skin of his cheeks. He’s looking up at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars but you can see the want painted on his face, clear as day. You shift in his lap and you can feel him growing hard underneath you, mouth parting silently. With a grin that can only be described as evil, you bring the joint to your lips once more. His fingers twitch as he watches you move, squirming in your grasp a little in the effort to make sure that he has the full picture. The way that he looks at you has your thighs clenching; like he wants you to eat him whole.

You hold the smoke in your mouth, fingers adding just a bit of pressure so that Andrew’s lips are puckered for you. When you lean forward, back into Andrew’s space, you can see his eyes flicker with the recognition of what you’re about to do. The smoke curls in the air between the two of you, sweeping over his face as he inhales. The sight is almost more intoxicating than the weed itself, his lashes fluttering as your hand slides down from his cheek to his neck.

And then he lets out a giggle.

It’s endearing in the best way possible, even as he cants his hips up to meet yours in a slow roll. You can’t help but follow suit, the edges of everything blurring in the most blissful way as your high takes hold of you. You’re still holding the roach between your fingers, the cherry long gone out from the night time wind. And he’s still looking at you like that and his half hard cock under you has your brain going foggy, so you surge forward and press your lips against his. He lets out a broken whimper into your mouth, hands instantly pulling you flush against him.

Andrew wastes no time licking into your mouth, already kissing you deeply. You can still feel his smile against your lips, like he just can’t get it off his face. The kiss sends your nerves alight, the feeling much too mesmerizing for you to pull away. He’s letting out these small moans, noises getting swallowed up in the sounds of your heavy breathing. The way he rolls his hips has you gripping his hair, to which he shutters and lets out a low groan.

“Gotta be quiet, Andy,” you mutter, still too wrapped up in the pleasure of the kiss to pull away for longer than a moment. He tries his best to obey to his credit, you can tell from the rumble in his chest every time you grind against the denim of his jeans.

God, his jeans.

You’ve been checking him out all day. They’re your favourite pair of jeans; they’re so tight in the right places, leaving you drooling after him. They accentuate his thick thighs and you can’t shake the thought out of your head.

The kiss is messy; wet, open-mouthed, teeth knocking like you’re trying to see who can devour each other first. It has your mind spinning but your thoughts are still with his legs, his thighs. Despite the fact that you feel like you’ve melted into his body, you pull away, moving backwards until you're settled on one of his thighs, your legs bracketing. The muscle feels strong and thick under your core; you’re sure that you’re leaving a wet spot on his jeans.

“What’re y’doing, baby?” he asks, a little desperately. His eyes are still basically closed and he’s lurching forward to follow you, still chasing your lips so he can kiss you again. You oblige for a moment, hands winding tight into the fabric of his shirt.

“I wanna ride it,” you sigh into the kiss, hips already rocking slowly against the denim. He lets out a low groan and nods his head, although you’re not entirely sure if he heard you or not. His hands are all bunched up in your skirt, skimming over the curve of your ass as you move. “Please?”

“Okay,” His answer is simple, breathless. You’re still a bit boneless, the high keeping your body relaxed, but it’s easy to keep moving with Andrew’s guiding hands on you. The pace the two of you have set is brutal, and it has you mewling and your face dropping into his shoulder after just a few minutes.

His hands slide under your skirt and his fingers hook into your panties, pulling them taut. You let out a loud moan as the fabric adds pressure to your clit, tipping your head back. He takes advantage of that and slaps a hand over your mouth, muffling your noises. You notice how quickly his eyes fly to the window that the rest of his family is seated behind but his attention is back on you in no time, blown out pupils matching yours. “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart.”

He hands your words back to you, and you’d roll your eyes at him if pleasure wasn’t building low in your stomach in a way that made your legs shake. Instead, your eyes roll back when he shifts in place, hitting a whole new angle. The chair creaks underneath you from the way the two of you move, his hips rising occasionally in an effort to release some pressure. The noises you make are still stifled by the palm of his hand, but Andrew knows your body well enough to know that you’re close. You're soaking into his jeans, chest rising and falling at a quick pace that matches his.

“So pretty,” he says mindlessly, eyes trained on your face, the way it’s twisted up in pleasure. You know that he loves watching you like this, looking at you like he’s trying to burn the memory into his mind. “You gonna cum for me?”

You nod frantically and he bares his teeth at you, just for a moment, wrapped up in the thought of you coming undone for him. His mouth is hanging open as he just watches, looking as blissed out as you feel, and you’re not even touching him. He’s getting off on this; watching you use him. The thought alone has you careening over the edge, shuttering in his lap as your orgasm overtakes you. He lets out a raspy groan at the sight, moving forward to tuck his face into the crook of your neck as your hips still on his thigh. 

They were together for a decently long time, they started dating when you were 18 and fresh out of highschool. Making it until your last year of medical school before they ended things. Which made starting your clinical rotations at Robby’s hospital just slightly awkward.

But now you’re 26 and a second year resident in the PTMC ED. However, things were still slightly awkward between the two of you. This was mostly in part because your mom had cheated on him. But the other part was the fact that you had been harboring a massive crush on the man since he had started dating your mom. Something you had told no one but Trinity, who then told Dennis. Who then accidentally let it slip to Javadi who had been with Samira when he said it.

So everyone knew. But everyone also knew that Robby looked at you the same way you did him.

Which meant that when your clearly drunk text came through reading ‘SOS drunc hornyyyy ned ridee’, no one questioned Robby’s immediate response of being on his way. You weren’t sure who responded to your message barely paying attention to names, but you at least saw the response of whoever it was being 5 min out.

Heading out of the dingey building with your arms around your body for any type of heat you could generate you regretted the decision to wait outside. Your jean microskirt, black tank-top, and sheer lace over shirt did nothing to keep you warm. But you sure as hell looked hot. Scoring at least three phone numbers, including one coming from a bartender who’d given you free drinks all night.

And it was that same bartender who was calling your name while walking out to where you stood on the curb now.

“Hey! I saw you standing out here and figured I’d see if you wanted to head out together?” His proximity was way too close for your liking now that you were just wanting to go home.

“Oh uhm, no thank you” you attempted a step back, “a friend is picking me up, I’m sorry”

Whatever distance you gained was instantly lost as he followed closely. Even going as far as grabbing your wrist fairly tightly.

“Oh come on don’t be like that” he scoffed pulling you closer by where he held you, “you’ve been flirting with me all night. You can’t just lead me on like that and not expect me to want something”

His words had sobered you up in record time, words no woman wanted to hear when they were alone on a dark street. The only self defence ideas you had going for you was the fact someone was on their way, and four moves Jack had taught you when you picked up a night shift once.

“Hey look here buddy! I don’t owe you anything asshole-” you didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before a familiar scent enveloped you from behind, at the same time your arm was freed from the bartender's grip.

“Touch her again and it’ll be the last thing you do I can promise you that” Robby’s voice wasn’t loud, but his tone told the man and everyone around that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Whatever” the bartender was quick to scoff trying to seem unbothered as he shook out his arms, “the bitch isn’t hot enough for this type of effort anyway”

“The fuck did you just say to her!”

You grabbed Robby’s arm in an attempt to stop the situation from going any further. Granted you skidded a few steps in effort but you were able to at least slow him down. But he only stopped at the sound of your soft and slightly wavering voice.

“Michael please, it’s fine I just w-wanna go home” you rarely called him by his first name, so you knew it would grab his attention.

With a reluctant nod he rested a hand at your lower back guiding you to his truck that he had left at the curb. The bright flashing hazard lights caused you to stumble just a bit seeing as you still had a slight wobble to your step. Your body seemingly not as caught up on sobering like your mind had.

Attempting to step up into the truck you felt a sharp tug on the hem of your skirt holding the material down. Now that you were out of the highly stressful situation you were able to process the feeling of confusion. You weren’t exactly sure why Robby out of everyone was here, or how he even knew you needed help getting home in the first place.

“How did you-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here like this?” His sharp words cut you off, “do you know how worried I was when that text came through, and even worse when I tracked your location”

“You still have my location!?”

“That is the least of your goddamn worries right now,” Robby was pissed that much you did know, “and then you had to go and wear nothing but see through strips of fabric out here, you could’ve gotten hurt, you almost did get hurt!”

He wasn’t truly pissed about your clothing choice, you had the freedom to wear whatever you wanted. Robby was just pissed that other people got to see you and touch you like he wanted to. Even now he was trying his hardest not to stare at the way your skirt rode up your thighs, or how your breasts we’re spilling over the confines of your top.

You were his ex’s daughter for god's sake! He shouldn’t be thinking of how your soft skin and pouty lips would feel. Nor should he think about how much better you would be than your mother. But he had, he had thought about you one too many times with his fist tightly wrapped around himself. Imagining it was your hand or mouth around his aching cock choking him down instead.

So he couldn’t help but feel a little overprotective and angry about the situation he found you in. But you didn’t bother fighting back after that, you refused to be scolded like a child. Even though you ended up crossing your arms and slouching like one in his passenger seat. Going as far as to give him the silent treatment while only looking out the window the rest of the ride. Completely ignoring him until you realized the neighborhood he had pulled into was nowhere near your own.

“This isn’t my home” you grumbled, leaning forward to put your address in his GPS. Not getting very far as he slapped your hand away

“Yeah no shit sweetheart, I know where you live and you’re staying at mine tonight”

His sentence barely finished before he pulled into his driveway, reaching over and unbuckling your belt before he hopped out. Your jaw dropped open in disbelief of his curt behavior, one you hadn’t truly experienced outside of the hospital. Pulling out your phone your thumb was poised at the uber app when suddenly your door flew open. Robby stood there with an expectant look on his face.

“I’m not getting out” you refused to move, typing his address into the phone so that you could order a ride.

“Either you get out like a big girl or I make you”

You didn’t believe his words, thinking he wasn’t going to follow through and that he would just give up. But before you could hit submit on your screen, your body was manhandled out of the seat and onto your feet. A large hand gripping your bicep as he pulled you towards his front door before you could get a word out. He all but threw through his door and up to his bedroom before you were able to find the ability to speak.

“What do you think you’re doing!?”

“Take a shower, change, bed”

“You know you’re not with my mom anymore right? You don’t have to play hero with me.” You go to walk past him and out of his room, but Robby stays rooted in the doorway as an immovable statue.

“Do not make me repeat myself kid”

“Kid, seriously? I didn’t ask for your help Dad”

You were pissed that after all this time he still only saw you as a child. A realization that made your attraction to him feel so much more humiliating. But what you failed to notice in your anger was how his jaw clenched and his pupils dilated at the name you called him. No, you were too focused on his choice of words for yourself.

So out of spite you decided to listen to his previous statement, but carried out his request with an attitude. Turning to his closet you began riffling through his drawers. Throwing pieces of clothing on the floor until you found a shirt you wanted. Doing the same with his other drawers until you found a pair of boxers you felt was acceptable.

And Robby just stood there, arms crossed with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He was doing his best to keep his eyes on your face and not anywhere else while you bent over. But he just couldn’t help himself when a small strip of red lacy fabric caught his attention. However he quickly averted his eyes when you straightened up and turned towards the bathroom.

Stomping the whole way into his adjacent bathroom you made sure to slam the door closed, rattling the objects on his desk. If he was going to treat you like a child you were going to give him the whole act. You made sure to take an extra long shower. One that had the water running cold and condensation dripping down the mirror, and you used all of his products out of spite (desire). You also might have poured some down the drain so there wasn’t much left.

Stepping out of the now cold water you took the towel you assumed was his and wrapped it around your body, while making your way to his sink where you used his toothbrush. The heat from the shower had helped you sweat out most of the alcohol you had consumed, making you fully aware of the situation you now found yourself in.

You were alone with Robby. Something that you had been actively avoiding since he and your mom broke up. Especially since she had cheated on him and then blamed Robby for her cheating. You never understood your mom. She had a strong, handsome, well established man who treated her well and she just let it slip away. You weren’t surprised though, she was always reckless with her choices not caring who she hurt.

You wouldn’t do that to him, you would make sure he knew how much you wanted him. So with the opportunity all but dropped into your lap, you decided to take it. Drying your hair with the towel, you look at the items of clothing you brought. A worn grey northwestern shirt and a pair of boxers. Slipping on the worn piece of clothing you chose to forgo the boxers and bra before walking out in just his shirt.

Walking out of the bathroom you saw the clothes you had thrown on the floor were already picked up and Robby was nowhere to be found. But your confusion was stopped short when he came through the door carrying Tylenol and a glass of water. An action that had you feeling slightly guilty for being such a brat.

Wordlessly he went to hand you the two objects, and to his surprise instead of grabbing them you tilted your head back and opened your mouth. Robby knew what you wanted only hesitating for just a moment before dropping the two pills in your mouth and tipping the water glass to your lips.

You kept your eyes on his the whole time, watching how his own tracked the movement of your throat as you swallowed. Tracing the path rivulets of water took with his gaze as it dripped from the corners of your mouth. With a sharp inhale of breath through his nose he hurriedly took a step back. Seeming to realize just what you were doing.

But true to your original intentions, you weren’t about to let him go. For every step he took back you took one forward. Right up until his back hit the door and he had nowhere else to go.

“W-what do you think you’re doing? We can’t, c’mon kid you gotta stop” His voice shook just slightly in questioning, rising into mild panic when you dropped to your knees and ran your hands over his body.

“Again with the kid?” You roll your eyes while lifting his shirt up slightly and undoing the button on his bottoms. Nuzzling your face into the thick patch of dark hair that trailed his soft stomach, “relax dad, moms not here anymore and I am not a child”

Pressing featherlight kisses to his now exposed skin, you watched as the bulge at the front of his underwear grew and jump at the name you used once more. Running your nose over the coarse hair, you took a deep inhale before pulling his boxers down. His heavy cock bobbed up when released from the fabric. You paused for just a moment as you studied him. He was bigger than you imagined, his flushed and angry tip was trailed by a large vein that disappeared into dense and unruly curls at his base

“So fucking big dad” Tucking the band behind his balls you wrapped your hand around him while looking up at his face.

Pressing a kiss to his cock, Robby hisses at the sensation clenching his fists to stop himself from pushing you down further. He was almost refusing to look at you, not allowing himself to give in. So you lifted his cock up, making room for you to take his balls into your mouth. Suckling the smooth skin and rolling them around with your tongue.

“Oh fuck, please” you weren’t sure what he was begging for, but you knew he was finally breaking.

Releasing his balls you dragged your tongue, broad and flat, from base to tip in one smooth motion. Running your tongue under the ridge of his cockhead, watching a shudder flow through his body.

“Did mommy ever touch you like this?” You ask wile collecting his leaking precum and spreading it over his length as he shakes his head, “no, I didn’t think so, she never took care of you like I will. I can take it, I’m a big girl now, remember?”

He opened his mouth to reply, whatever thoughts he had quickly dissipated as you finally took him into your mouth. Taking him as far as you could manage, which to his surprise was all the way down until your nose found its way tucked into his coarse hairs once more. Robby couldn’t control how his hands flew up into your hair holding you there as your throat tightened around him when you attempted to swallow.

“Holy fuck, just like that sweetheart”

His hold loosened for you to move off and take a breath, trying his best to let you set the pace. Almost releasing your hair all the way before you moved his hand back into your hair, silently giving him permission to use you.

With both hands now rested against the back of your head he started off slow and shallow. But when your hands that rested on his legs pulled him forward in a jerking motion, he understood what you were telling him. It didn’t take him long to build confidence. Hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.

One of your own hands let go of his legs and came to your throbbing clit. Rubbing tight circles as your cunt clenched around nothing. Moans vibrated from your mouth and onto his throbbing cock pushing Robby close to the edge. He quickly yanked your mouth off with a curse. A small whine left your own mouth from the absence. You went to complain but his hands scooped you from under your armpits and threw you onto the bed.

“Shit sweetheart, you trying to get yourself off while sucking dad’s cock?”

He stepped out of his pants and threw his shirt to the other side of the room, you doing the same with your own. Gripping the back of your thighs Robby lifts your bottom off the bed with a renewed fervor he didn’t have before. A moment passed of Robby just taking in the sight of your glistening cunt before leaning forward and sucking your clit into his mouth with deadly accuracy.

“Oh fuck Robby! Just like that !” A cry sounded around the room as he pulled off and gave a stinging slap to your puffy cunt.

“Don’t call me Robby, not now, not after you’ve been playing out your little fantasy this whole time”

“M’sorry, p-please don’t stop!”

“Then what do we say sweetheart?” Robby caressed the back of your thighs with his hands as he waited for your answer.

“I-I’m sorry dad”

You watched with wide eyes as he smirked in approval before spitting onto your clit. Taking two fingers to spread it around, and plunging those same fingers into your entrance with no warning. The absurd squelching noise that came from where he shoved his fingers into you made your cheeks bright red.

“All this for me?” Robby’s words were followed by the crook of his fingers, as he watched your cunt greedily swallow his fingers “such a dirty girl, practically begging her dad to fuck her. What would your momma say if she could see you now?”

You shook your head playing into the idea of getting caught, Robby chuckled watching you. Leaning forward he placed his mouth on your clit once more. His beard adding a delicious friction to your already sensitive skin. The combination of his movements had your impending orgasm building at lightning speed. He was hitting a spot you could never reach yourself, over and over again.

With your toes curled and hands twisted into the sheets, an unfamiliar feeling followed the tight flutter of your walls. You didn’t think much of it assuming it was because you hadn’t been with someone in a while. But by the squirm of your body, Robby knew exactly what was happening. Doubling down in his efforts he was the only one not surprised by the rush of fluid that coated his tongue and beard when your orgasm finally took over.

You on the other hand had no idea what just happened. At the first release of your peak, pleasure had completely overtaken your senses and ability to process your surroundings. So when you felt an obscene amount of wetness soak your thighs, all you could do was let out the most pornographic moan you had ever made. Mouth babbling nonsense as Robby kept fingering you. Not stopping until he felt your cunt relax around his hand.

Slipping his fingers out he set them into his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste. You however, were already halfway fucked dumb laying silent on the bed in an attempt to catch your breath. But before you could fully get comfortable Robby gripped your hips and flipped you onto your front. Arching your back as he manipulated your knees under you. Feeling his fingers trace your sensitive and overstimulated flesh your body tried to pull away.

“Ah ah ah, you’re the one who wanted to be treated like a big girl, but after only one orgasm you’re already falling asleep?” he chastised your behavior as you struggled to keep your eyes open, “gotta stay awake if you’re going to prove you can take it”

“Please d-dad, I-I can d-do it” your words were hiccuped and sluggish as they left your lips.

“Then take a nice big breath for me sweetheart”

Notching his cock at your cunt, as soon as he heard your lungs fill with air Robby pushed the entirety of his length into you. Smirking at the sound of that same air leaving your lungs at the impact. You had never felt so full before. He was bigger than any other partner you’ve had and you were struggling to hold onto your sanity.

Robby, noticing your intense focus, pulled back until only his tip rested inside you. Letting you catch a false sense of security before thrusting his cock back into you. Doing this a handful of times before creating a consistent deep and brutal pace.

“Feel so fucking good baby,” the new endearment slipped from his lips, “so much better than your mom, taking me better than she ever could”

Your cunt clenched at his words, choking his cock as he bullied it through your walls. His thick cockhead pressing against your cervix with each thrust, almost painfully so. But you were determined to show him that you could handle it. Robby knowing just how much you wanted to prove yourself pushed just a little harder than normal.

With one hand at your hip and the other pressing between your shoulder blades, he created a deep arch in your spine. Your noises were muffled by the mattress with every thrust, but just when you were starting to get comfortable in this position Robby once again effortlessly maneuvered your body. This time ending up on your back once more, but this time with both legs hooked over his shoulders.

Barely getting a breath in before sinking himself into your heat. This new position had you swearing that you felt him in your stomach. Low moans clawed their way up your throat as words were unable to form under the sheer pleasure that filled your body. Each snap of his hips sent a lewd reverberating smack throughout the room as his balls hit your bottom

“Would you look at that, poor thing can barely fit me but you’re doing so well sweetheart” his tone was slathered in honey but still slightly condescending.

You didn’t understand what he meant until he set a hand at your lower stomach, as he pressed down just slightly there was an increase in the pressure you felt as he fucked up into you. Peeking your eyes open you saw what he was so mesmerized with. A fairly prominent bulge was puffing up in your lower stomach with every single movement.

Throwing your head back, you reached a hand down placing it on top of his. A moment later you felt his pace pause just a moment and the stretch of your thighs pulled as he leaned over for just a moment. Eyes screwing shut while his cock pressed against the deepest part it could reach as you heard him grab something. You didn't think much of it before he resumed his movements, restarting at a rougher pace.

“Tell me how good you feel right now” Robby’s voice rattled around your otherwise empty brain.

“S’good, feels s’good”

“Now tell me, fuck, whose the only one who can touch you like this from now on”

“Y-you dad, o-only you” the clench of your cunt began building as your second orgasm crept up. Robby angling his hips to bullying that one spot he knew would have you waking the neighbors.

“That’s right baby, and your gonna let dad fuck a baby into you aren’t you? Give your momma a grandkid with her ex”

A resounding ‘yes please’ came in a high pitched mewl, as his words were paired with the start of a thumb circling your clit at the same pace his cock was moving.

“Open your eyes and say it to the camera baby”

Your eyes flew open watching how he moved the phone from where it had been recording the slick movements of his cock up to your face. That was the exact moment that your body decided to tip over the edge. Seizing up every single moral you could’ve possibly held onto and threw it out the window.

“Yes please, I want dad to give me a baby so bad!” Your sentence was spoken straight to the camera as he zoomed in.

He held it there for just one moment before setting it to the side while still recording. Grabbing your hips with both hands he brought your hips back to meet his thrusts. Your mouth hung open in a silent ‘o’ as his motions prolonged your orgasm. You were on the verge of tears when he finally let out a graveled grunt.

“Fuck baby! That’s it keep squeezing just like that ” he pressed forward bending you in half before seizing your lips with his for the first time that night. You felt the white hot ropes of his cum coat your walls as he lets out his own noises, letting them get swallowed up in your kiss.

Pressing himself deep as his hips continued with shallow thrusts, lips never leaving yours. Swiping his at the seam of your mouth you opened up, tasting the slight tang left over from yourself on his tongue. It was a long time before either of you came up for air. And an even longer time before he shut off the recording and went to grab a warm damp cloth from the bathroom.

After cleaning the both of you up, Robby settled in beside you promising to talk more in the morning about what this means. He made mention of how he didn’t deserve you, how it was wrong for him to do this and he should be the better example. Shushing his doubts, you told him that no one would have to know. The two of you fell asleep not long after that.

However, you had woken up at around 3am to the sound of soft snores leaving Robby's lips and the low volume of the tv in the living room. Getting an idea you sat up you searched for his phone. Unlocking it you saw how the old man didn’t have a lock on it, so you didn’t feel bad when you rifled through his photos and sent yourself the video he took.