short blurb about you and mattâs first time meeting.
you look beautiful. - frank langdon x f!reader
after months of pining, and the two of you being oblivious. the hospitals charity gala finally gets frank to confess his underlying love to you.
snowed in. - dennis whitaker x f!reader
the blizzard gets bad enough that staff canât safely leave the hospital, so everyoneâs stuck overnight. the ER is quieter than usual for once, lights dimmed, tv humming a lame show, and snow hitting the windows.
patience, and patients. - jack abbot x f!reader
you and dr. jack abbot keep missing the moment to admit your feelings, until one emotional day at work finally brings everything out in the open, and you both realize it was never one-sided.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
synopsis: you and dr. jack abbot keep missing the moment to admit your feelings, until one emotional day at work finally brings everything out in the open, and you both realize it was never one-sided.
warnings: cuss words ig? and a kiss on the end buttttt after that not really anything..
word count: 1250
a/n: EATTTT CHILDRENN, here is ur well awaited jack abbot x reader fanfic!! i think,, i have a cavity from how sweet this is omg.
the first time you notice it, youâre almost certain youâre imagining things.
because this is jack abbot.
dr. jack abbot.
smart, capable, annoyingly handsome jack abbot.
and you? youâre just you.
which is why when he starts lingering beside your workstation after conversations should have already ended, you convince yourself it means nothing.
âanything else?â youâd ask after handing him a chart.
heâd glance down at it.
âno.â
but then heâd stay there. for a second.
then another. sometimes asking a completely unnecessary question.
sometimes making an observation about a patient that didnât need discussing.
sometimes just standing there long enough for your heart to start acting stupid.
you noticed it most during night shifts. the hospital got quieter then. not quiet exactly, but softer.
the chaos dulled around the edges and somehow jack always ended up near you.
âyouâre here late.â
you looked up from your computer.
âso are you.â
âi work here.â
you stared. he stared back.
then the corner of his mouth twitched.
âyou work here too.â
âglad weâve established that.â
his laugh came out unexpectedly.
it lingered with you longer than it should have.
later, when he finally walked away, trinity slid into the chair beside you.
âoh.â
you frowned.
âwhat?â
ânothing.â
âtrinity.â
ânothing.â
you narrowed your eyes.
she grinned.
âuh-huh, sure. if you say so.â
you hated when people did that, especially when they were right.
because this time itâs jack who notices. it starts with coffee. not in a romantic way.
not at first.
heâs having a particularly awful morning. three admissions before seven.
one difficult family.
a trauma case that refuses to cooperate with every treatment option available.
heâs exhausted. frustrated.running entirely on caffeine and spite.
then he walks into the break room.
and there it is. a coffee sitting on the counter. his coffee. exactly how he takes it.
he stares at it.
âyou gonna drink that or interrogate it?â
he turns. youâre standing in the doorway. holding your own cup. looking amused.
âyou got me coffee?â
you shrug.
âyou looked like you were about five minutes away from fighting a wall.â
he snorts âyeah, whatever.â
you smile.
and something in his chest does a strange little flip. he tries ignoring it, heâs pushing 50, so whyâs he acting like this lovestruck high-school girl?
and of course, he fails.
because after that he starts noticing everything. the way your face lights up when someone makes you laugh. the way you remember details about everyone. the way you always seem to know exactly when heâs had a rough shift. the way you look for him in crowded rooms.
and maybe he shouldnât notice those things. but he does.
You and dennis woke up late this morning, but you miraculously now have a few minutes to kill before your shift. What could possibly happen in 10 minutes?
wc: 1,642
warnings: dry humpingâsemi public (theyâre in the car but in a parking garage), r is a freak who js wants her man (real), getting caught, hickies, pet names (angel, baby, love) santos n langdon getting along??? (sort of)
an: HI GUYS!! NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!!
i have another whitaker fic in the works in case yâall fw him. s/o to my gf for inspiring me to make this bc she loves whitaker (me tew). more abbot coming soon too :p
feedback is always welcomed! feel free to send requests as well :]
Imagine making out with Dennis in your car, parked in the PTMC parking garage.
The pair of you had woken up late, so there was absolutely no time for your pre-shift, morning quickieâmuch to your dismay.
He parked towards the corner, which is out of the ordinary for him, but there was no way heâd be able to survive a 12 hour shift without getting his hands on you.
And you felt the same way, so it worked out.
Dennis kisses you passionately as you straddle him in the driverâs seat. His hands glide from the back of your neck to your spine, and then eventually the curve of your ass.
You canât help but moan in delight once he gives you a firm squeezeâalmost as if he needed to in order to breathe.
Between your shared kisses and Dennisâ light panting, youâre sure the windows are starting to fog up. Barely any light enters the car between the dimly lit parking garage and the sun that is slow to wake. He canât see all of your lovely features because of the shadowsâ influxâbut what he can see makes his heart skip a beat and his pants start to twitch.
Eyelashes tickle his cheeks as your closed eyes flutter ever-so slightly. Your urgency brings your brows to furrow; Dennisâ hand goes to caress the side of your face then lightly brushes the lobe of your ear. His touch reminds you of a dandelion that sways through the sky: both gentle and faint.
Your hands grip his scrubs tightly, as if your world were crumbling and your icy-blue-eyed man was your only salvation.
Once Dennis feels you start to pull away, he lets out a noise akin to a whine, murmuring a soft ânoâ against your lips.
âTime check?â You ask breathily with a love-struck grin and a twinkling gaze before diving back into the enchanting pool that is Dennisâ lips.
He peers over your shoulder at the digital clock, blinking simultaneously as it shines the numbers â6:55â.
Dennis parts briefly to murmur, âFive minutes.â
You scan his face, eyes glinting with something Dennis reckons is far from innocence. âThink I can get you off in five?â You ask with an experimental roll of your hips. The doctor that sits beneath you groans and immediately places his hands on your hips, halting you from moving any more. âJesusââ he huffs. âY-you and I both know you canâoh godâŠâ A gasp rips from his parted mouth.
He clears his throat sharply. âAngel, I cannot be two minutes i-into my shift and already change my scrubs..!â Dennis sighs as your tongue licks the side of his neck. âTheyâllâmmn! Theyâll know, baby,â Dennis whispers, because he knows that anything louder will display his growing need for you.
Your grinding stops and it takes everything in Dennis not to whine. You take your index finger and drag it down the slope of his nose, watching as his slightly glossy eyes follow your movements carefully.
âIf you want me to stop, then I will, love.â
Dennis swallows, taking another peak at the clock.
6:57.
Three minutes until the two of you had to waltz into the ED and pretend as if you werenât dry humping in the car.
Dennis knows his boner isnât going away without a little help in three minutes.
âOh fuckâpleaseââ Dennis grits through his teeth before rolling your hips on his lap. You sigh and let your head tilt back for a second. Dennis grinds up into you with hurried movements; his chest rises and falls quickly as he pants.
âFuck,â you whisper with an inhale. One of Dennis' hands lightly presses on your back, pushing you to the crook of his neck. âOh godâŠâ Dennis groans, voice oozing with rasp.
You lean back into him, kissing his lips with feverish intent. Youâre starting to lose where you stop and where Dennis begins, but you wouldnât want it any other way.
That is, until the harsh rocking of your hips results in your ass hitting the steering wheel.
Specifically the horn.
âHolyââ
âJesus chrââ
Teeth clash into each other; foreheads bump; curses leave mouths in flurried strings.
Youâre quick to raise from Dennis' neck, gasping for air as you look down in shock. He looks equally as perplexed, but his stare bores over your shoulder.
You glance back and your eyes widen to the size of a saucer.
The corner of the parker garage is now being illuminated by the hazard lights on Dennis' car, which somehow turned on in your panicked frenzy.
You whip your head around the opposite way, nearly giving yourself whiplash as your finger scrambles to the button.
You feel Dennis sit up beneath you, and the two of you sigh in relief once the lights stop their blinking. You pinch your eyes shut, and when you open them, you take a second to look out of the windshield.
Thatâs when you realize that it didnât matter how quickly you turned the hazards offâbecause the damage had already been done.
In front of you stands none other than Frank Langdon, who completely failsâthough you donât think heâs tryingâto mask his state of pure and utter disbelief.
His shoulders are wound up tight; his palms face outwards, as if his astonishment wonât allow him to even close his fists; and if it were possible, his jaw would be completely on the floor.
You feel Dennis stiffen underneath you, and all you can do is gape at Frank like a fish out of water. The car is dead silentâyou and Dennis canât even let out a peep through your bated breath.
The brunetteâs eyes flicker between you and Dennis before a mischievous smirk fixes its way onto his chiseled face.
âNoâno,â you exclaim worrisomely, holding your hand out to the glass for Frank to âwaitâ as he starts to walk backwards. You fumble to gather your bearings before opening the driverâs seat door.
Dennis sputters, âWait! Babyââ but before he can finish, youâre hopping out of the car, trekking after the senior resident with ferocity Dennis has never seen you exhibit.
He sighs, running a hand over his face before adjusting his scrubs as he listens to the sound of your ranting grow faint.
Dennis comes in at 7:02 with his head down and an unusual pep in his step.
âRunning from the cops, Huckleberry?â Trinity snorts when he passes by, but he doesnât have the will to respond.
Despite the wave of doctors rolling in, Dennis finds himself relieved when he makes it back to the central hub without another question thrown in his direction.
âHey, Prince Charming!â Frank chirps.
You hiss in Frank's direction. You want to walk over to Dennis when you hear him groan, but you decide to look at your clipboard for the upteenth timeâyou totally werenât re-reading each word on the page waiting for Dennis to walk in. absolutely not!
Frank suddenly laughsâitâs both loud and obnoxious. âHoly shit, Whitaker! Doesnât look fine either, look at that!â
Both you and Dennis freeze as if the world had stopped. Your eyes shoot up to him and the two of you quickly discover the red-ish mark that adorns the side of his neck.
Youâre too far away to see the teeth marks as well, but Trinity isnât.
Sheâs quick to exclaim, âNo fucking way!â This causes a few heads to turn, including Robby's as he looks over quizzedly for a beat. Dennis immediately shushes Trinity with a finger to his lips and a hand shooting outwards.
âBoth of you keep it down, please!â
Frank hums. âBet you couldnât keep it down in the car with Sunshine, huh, Dennis?"
Trinity guffaws, âOh-ho, this is good!â She leans inâwhich is an unusual sight for you all.
Frank murmurs, despite Dennis' protesting, âSaw those two getting frisky in the parking garage like 10 minutes ago.â he points between you and Dennis, and suddenly youâre fascinated by the boring paint color of the Pitt. âClumsy asses honked the horn,â he adds with a snicker.
Trinity has a cocky grin on her face. âYâknow, this is the first time youâve proven yourself useful,â she says, watching as the smirk on Frank's face dim slightly whilst he tilts his head at her.
âBut you two,â she whips her head around in your direction since Dennis had gradually gravitated towards you, her ponytail swishing with her every move. âYou twoâare bad,â she huffs a laugh.
Frank hears his name called from the opposite direction and starts to head over, but not before grinning and saying, âNext time you decide to bring your sexcapades to work, bring some concealer, yeah?â
You clear your throat instantly, looking down at your clipboard. Dennis' face beats cherry red, making Trinity laugh once again before pulling her phone out from the pocket of her scrubs.
She then takes a picture of Dennis' face before he can stop her. âThis is laugh of the week, Huckleberry! Oh my god!â She then struts away with a newfound sense of joy.
âSo,â Dennis whistles, rubbing the back of his neckâa nervous tick of his that stemmed from Robby. âIt could be worseâŠâ
Dana then makes her presence known, peering over her glasses. âKid, nothing could be worse than getting caught in a supply closet.â She then walks away with a small smirk gracing her lips, leaving both you and Dennis to stutter out in defense.
Yeah, next time, youâll leave the quickies for the mornings at home.
001. youâre loosing me. - luke castellan x f!reader
Audrey Harper finds Luke Castellan avoiding her, not knowing why she reaches out, she always does. yet every time she finds Luke out of her grasp not wanting to open up. he always does. & it finally comes to a point where she finally stops trying to.
002. we donât talk anymore. - 2nd part of âyouâre loosing me.â
Audrey finds herself in quite a difficult position after a fight with Luke who is still unwilling to talk with her. lets see what happens now.
003. love me harder. - final part of âyouâre loosing me.â
another friday at camp half blood, means another day of sparring with no other than luke. will he finally be able to break that cold shield of yours? heâll make sure he does this time.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
you discover your lab partner has been secretly living as new yorkâs masked hero. instead of pulling away, you choose to stand by him helping him carry the weight heâs been facing alone. and with the 2 times heâs almost poured out his whole heart to you, and one time he finally does.
002. didnât mean to. - joaquin torres x f!reader
jealousy pushes joaquin torres to finally admit his feelings before he risks losing you to someone braver.
The Defenders â¶â.Ë
001. are you bored yet? - matt murdock x f!reader
after a long and tiring day, you and matt find yourselves sitting on your apartmentâs rooftop ranting about your day.
002. blurb - matt murdock x f!reader
short blurb about you and mattâs first time meeting
the blizzard gets bad enough that staff canât safely leave the hospital, so everyoneâs stuck overnight. the ER is quieter than usual for once, lights dimmed, tv humming a lame show, and snow hitting the windows.
002.
Frank Langdon
001. you look beautiful. - frank langdon x f!reader
after months of pining, and the two of you being oblivious. the hospitals charity gala finally gets frank to confess his underlying love to you.
002.
Trinity Santos
001.
Jack Abbot
001. patience, and patients. - jack abbot x reader
you and dr. jack abbot keep missing the moment to admit your feelings, until one emotional day at work finally brings everything out in the open, and you both realize it was never one-sided.
synopsis: after months of pining, and the two of you being oblivious. the hospitals charity gala finally gets frank to confess his underlying love to you.
warnings: cuss words but other than that thereâs not really anything,, they kiss and well yk make up for lost time hehe.. fluff and a tad bit of angst, the usual order.
word count: 1063 (ik its a short oneeđ)
a/n: OKAY IK I MADE A POLL BUT THIS COULD NOT WAIT!! buttttt anywayy THIS got me out of my slumppp. god i love writing for hot characters.
the gala had never mattered much to you before.
every year the hospital turned one of the expensive downtown hotels into something sparkly and glittery with expensive chandeliers, champagne towers, donors with a smile that screamed âexpensiveâ , doctors pretending they werenât exhausted beneath pressed suits and nice shoes.
usually, you survived it.
and for you, that was enough.
but tonight felt different from the moment you stepped out of the cab.
maybe it was the dress you had picked out a week ago.
the dark blue, sparkly dress was hugging your body just enough to make you stare at yourself twice in the mirror before leaving your apartment.
maybe it was because you were tired of hiding behind scrubs and half-second ponytails pretending your heart didnât jump everytime.. âhe who must not be namedâ walked into a room..
as you walked through the doors, your eyes scanned the room. unsure who you wanted to see first anyway.
shit-... you muttered under your breath.
frank.
you spotted him the second you entered the ballroom.
well i mean- of course you did.
he stood near the bar with one hand in his pocket, laughing softly at something one of the attendings said. his tie was loosened already, his hair slightly messy like heâd already run his fingers through them too many times.
he looked gorgeous it was unfair.
then his devastatingly blue eyes lifted.
and everything stopped.
the smile on his face disappeared first. then the conversation around him. you watched it happen in real time basically, frank staring at you like he forgot how breathing worked.
you looked away, with your heart beating a THOUSAND times per minute.
âoh my god,â javadi whispered beside you. âlangdon is gone.â
âshut up victoriaâ you said, whisper-shouting at your friend as you smiled. heat rushing to your face.
âheâs literally staring.â
you still felt his eyes on you.
all night.
every time you laughed with someone from peds, frank looked.
every time another doctor spoke to you too long, frankâs jaw tightened.
when one of the donors flirted openly with you near the champagne table, frank almost crushed the glass in his hand.
and somehow that made your chest ache more. because frank never did anything about it. months of lingering touches. late night coffee runs after brutal shifts. inside jokes nobody remembered but the two of you. the way he always looked for you first in crowded rooms. the way his voice softened when he said your name.
it was torture. beautiful, exhausting torture.
you were halfway through escaping to the balcony for air when you heard footsteps behind you.
you already knew who it was.
frank stopped beside you quietly.
for a second neither of you spoke.
the city lights reflected across the water below, distant traffic humming softly beneath the music drifting from inside.
âyou lookâŠâ he started, then laughed once under his breath. âshit, i- sorry- i had something smarter planned.â
a soft chuckle escaped you as you smiled faintly, staring ahead. âyouâre a doctor. improvise.â
âright.â he glanced at you then away again too quickly. âuh, well. you look beautiful.â
your breath caught.
simple words, still enough to ruin you.
âthank you.â
silence stretched again, thick and dangerous.
frank leaned against the railing beside you, shoulders tense.
âiâve been trying not to say that all night.â
you swallowed hard. âwhy?â
he head turned then.
finally fully looking at you.
and the expression on his face made your stomach twist.
because it wasnât casual anymore. wasnât safe anymore.
âbecause if i started,â he admitted softly. âi donât think iâve stopped wanting you.â
everything inside you froze. frank gave a small humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
âgreat. there goes the carefully maintained professionalism.â
âfrankââ
âno, let me finish.â his voice cracked slightly. âplease.â
you stayed still.
âi tried to ignore it.â he looked down at the city lights. âfor months. maybe longer. convinced myself i was imagining things because thereâs no way you felt the same.â a pause. âand if i was wrong, i didnât want to ruin this.â
your chest ached with his confession.
âbut then tonight you walked in wearing that dress and i-âŠâ he shook his head slowly. âyou looked at me and i forgot every rational thought iâve ever had.â
you couldnât breathe properly anymore.
frank stepped closer carefully, like he was terrified youâd disappear if he moved too fast.
âiâm in love with you,â he said quietly.
there it was.
raw and terrifying and very real.
your eyes burned instantly.
frank noticed.
âsay something,â he whispered.
you let out a shaky laugh instead because if you didnât, youâd probably cry.
âyou idiot.â
panic flashed across his face immediately. âright. okay. deservedââ
âiâm in love with you too.â
silence.
frank blinked.
once.
twice.
âwhat?â
âfrank.â you laughed wetly, grabbing his sleeve. âiâve been in love with your dumb ass forever.â
he stared at you like the world had genuinely tilted off its axis. then suddenly he was smiling.
real smiling.
big and disbelieving and beautiful enough to make your knees weak.
âyouâre serious?â
âpainfully so.â
âoh my god.â
he laughed softly then, stepping even closer until there was barely any space left between you.
âdo you know how many times i almost said something?â
âdo you know how many times i almost quit because of it?â
âwait, really?â
âno,â you admitted. âbut it sounded dramatic.â
frank groaned, laughing under his breath before his forehead dropped against your shoulder.
and the contact felt devastatingly intimate.
warm.
his hands crept to your waist and he pulled you against him. his head finding comfort in the crook of you neck, his nose breathing in your scent. if he were to die, right now? heâd be more than happy.
âI canât believe this,â he murmured.
âbetter believe it, dr. langdon.â
he lifted his head slightly, eyes flicking down to your lips.
âcan i kiss you?â
âpleaseâ your voice came out breathless.
that was all he needed.
his hand cupped your face gently like something precious, then kissed you.
soft at first. careful even.
like he still couldnât believe this was real.
the kiss deepened instantly, all those months of tension and longing and restraint crashing together at once.
your fingers tangled in his suit jacket while his hands slid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
and god. the way he kissed. like heâd been starving.
when you both finally pulled apart, both of you werebreathing hard, frank rested his forehead against yours again.
âi shouldâve done that months ago.â
âabsolutely.â
you laughed quietly, thumb brushing against his.
inside the ballroom, music and laughter continued like the world hadnât just changed completely.
but out here on the balcony, wrapped up in frank langdonâs arms with his lips still swollen from kissing you, everything felt different now.
synopsis: the blizzard gets bad enough that staff canât safely leave the hospital, so everyoneâs stuck overnight. the ER is quieter than usual for once, lights dimmed, tv humming a lame show, and snow hitting the windows.
warnings: uhhh curse words basically, JUST FLUFF OKAY!!??
word count: 1578
a/n: im so glad gerran is getting famous, he was my favorite actor back then, I WAS OBSESSED WITH YOUNG DRACULA.
snow started falling just after midnight. just like it did, every day of the week. except it wasnât this heavy.
at first, nobody in the er really noticed.
THE PITT was always loud. monitors beeping, phones ringing, hurried footsteps against the floor, stretchers and gurneys squeaking down hallways. weather didnât really matter much when people kept arriving bleeding, coughing, crashing.
but around one in the morning, the waiting room televisions switched from late-night reruns to emergency weather alerts.
by two, nurses were muttering about road closures.
by three, the hospital administration sent out the inevitable message:
SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS. ESSENTIAL STAFF ONLY. REMAIN INSIDE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
the collective groan from the er could probably be heard from another city.
dennis looked up from the chart in with tired eyes.
âyouâve gotta be kidding me.â
âyou say that like you were going home anyway,â santos retorted , shoving past him with a stack of supplies balanced against her hip.
dennis flipped her off weakly.
she grinned.
âyou look terrible, whitaker.â
âi feel terrible.â
âyou always feel terrible.â
âfair.â
you snorted quietly from beside the nursesâ station, earning a tired glance from dennis.
it wasnât much of a glance.
just half a second.
but lately youâd started noticing the small things about him.
the way he leaned against counters when exhausted, like his body somehow forgot how to hold itself upright.
the dark circles under his eyes that never really disappeared.
how he rubbed the back of his neck whenever he was stressed.
how gentle his hands became with patients despite how rough he acted with himself.
and well, recently.. how his eyes kept finding yours in crowded rooms.
like he was checking you were still there.
you looked away before he could catch you staring.
the storm got worse by 5am.
snow hammered against the hospital windows in thick piles, turning the parking lot into hills of white. the few staff members whoâd attempted leaving came back just around twenty minutes later covered in snow.
so everyone stayed.
ellis and shen stole naps in break rooms.
abbot and cruz fought over stale vending machine snacks.
princess started a betting pool over how long the power grid would survive.
and dennis had been awake for almost twenty-two hours by then.
you could see it in the way he moved slower now, exhaustion following his every move.
still, he refused to stop.
âcome one. you need a break,â you told him after catching him rereading the same sentence three times.
âiâm fine.â
âdidnât you almost walk into a wall ten minutes ago?â
âi was thinking.â
âyou apologized. to the WALL.â
dennis blinked at you.
ââŠdid i?â
âmhm.â
âoh.â
you bit back a smile.
he looked unfairly soft when sleep deprived.
not that youâd ever admit that out loud. god, it was too embarrassing
by evening, the er finally settled into something quieter.
not calm though.
the pitt was never calm. everyone knew that well.
but instead, it shifted into something quieter.
the fluorescent lights dimmed slightly overhead, casting everything in muted gold and pale blue shadows. the snow continued falling outside, thick against the glass.
you found dennis standing near the coffee machine staring into space.
not drinking coffee.
just staring at it.
âthat bad?â you asked softly.
he startled slightly before exhaling.
âi think my bodyâs shutting down.â
âyeah- well, probably because you know, HUMANS need sleep.â
âmaybe.â
âyouâre losing cognitive function, dennis.â
âthat implies i had some to begin with.â
you laughed softly.
and something in dennisâs expression loosened at the sound.
âfuck.â you thought to yourself.
that kept happening too.
like hearing you laugh physically relaxed him.
and well- yeah. you cant deny that it made your heart skip a beat, no matter how âhighschoolâ that sounded.
you nudged his shoulder lightly.
âcome sit down for five minutes.â
âi canât.â
âyou absolutely can.â
âthere could beââ
âwhitaker.â
he stopped.
you lowered your voice slightly.
âyouâre exhausted.â
for a second, he looked like he might argue.
then his shoulders sagged.
just slightly.
âfive minutes,â he muttered.
âfive minutes,â you agreed.
the waiting room was nearly empty.
a few people slept slumped across chairs while snowstorm coverage played quietly on the mounted television overhead.
you and dennis claimed a corner near the windows.
he sat beside you with a groan, scrubbing both hands down his face.
âeverything hurts.â
âisnât that usually a bad sign in a hospital?â
âuh-huh. yeah thanks,iâll chart that.â
you handed him the bag of pretzels youâd stolen from the vending machine earlier.
he looked at them.
then at you.
âyou remembered i like these?â
the question came out quieter than expected.
you shrugged casually even though warmth crept into your face.
âuh yeah, you eat them every shift.â
âhuh.â
he looked strangely affected by that.
like nobody remembered small things about him often.
the thought made your chest ache.
for a while, neither of you spoke.
just sat there listening to the distant hum of the hospital.
dennisâs knee brushed yours occasionally, and yours his.
neither of you moved away.
outside, snow buried the city deeper in white.
inside, the heat hummed softly through the vents.
dennis exhaled slowly beside you.
âyou ever think this place feels weird during storms?â
you turned toward him slightly.
âwhat do you mean?â
âlikeâŠâ he gestured vaguely. âeverything outside just like.. stops, for a little while.â
you looked out the window.
the world beyond the glass had vanished into snowfall.
âi know what you mean.â
he leaned his head back against the wall.
âi think this is the first time iâve sat down all day.â
âyouâre welcome.â
âyou bullied me into it.â
âand iâd do it again.â
a tired smile tugged at his mouth.
rare enough that your stomach flipped stupidly.
then silence settled again. not awkward silence.
the kind that only happens when someone becomes comfortable enough to exist beside you without filling every second with noise.
dennisâs arm rested against yours now. heavy with exhaustion.
you glanced sideways.
his eyes were closed.
âdennis?â
âmhm?â
âyou falling asleep?â
âno.â
a pause.
ââŠmaybe.â
you smiled softly. his head tilted slightly toward you. sleep was already pulling at him.
youâd never seen him this relaxed before.
no tension in his jaw. no stress between his brows. just tiredness. pure, overwhelming tiredness.
carefully, you shifted a little closer.
his hand rested between you on the chair.
without thinking too hard about it, you let your fingers brush his.
dennis stirred faintly.
then almost instinctively, his fingers curled around yours.
your breath caught.
he didnât open his eyes. didnât pull away. just held your hand like it was the easiest thing in the world.
like heâd wanted to for longer than either of you admitted. something unbearably soft settled in your chest.
you leaned your head gently against his shoulder.
dennis made the quietest sound somewhere between a sigh and contentment and shifted closer automatically.
his grip tightened slightly around your hand.
and just like that, exhaustion dragged you under too.
dana was looking for dennis when she found you both.
she stopped in the doorway.
for a long moment, she simply stared.
dennis sat slumped in the waiting room chair fast asleep, head tilted slightly toward yours.
your cheek rested against his shoulder.
one of his hands still tangled with yours between the seats.
the television flickered quietly overhead.
snowstorm light glowed pale blue through the windows.
and dennis looked peaceful.
dana couldnât remember the last time sheâd seen that. the kid practically lived wound tight. always moving. always apologizing. always trying to prove himself useful enough to deserve being there.
but now?
now he looked young. safe. human.
her expression softened immediately. carefully, dana grabbed one of the spare blankets draped nearby and stepped closer.
neither of you woke as she laid it gently across both your laps.
dennis shifted slightly in his sleep, unconsciously leaning closer into you.
dana smiled despite herself.
âwell,â she murmured quietly, âabout damn time.â
then she walked away without waking either of you.
you woke sometime later to warmth.
not hospital warmth.
not overheated vents and fluorescent lights. real warmth. heavy warmth pressed beside you. your eyes blinked open slowly. dennis was awake.
barely.
his head rested lightly against yours now, sleepy eyes half-lidded beneath messy curls. for a second neither of you moved. then he glanced down at your intertwined hands.
still clasped together.
his ears turned pink almost instantly.
âoh.â
you smiled sleepily.
âoh?â
âi thinkââ he cleared his throat softly, âi think i accidentally held your hand.â
âaccidentally?â
âsevere weather conditions.â
âthatâs your defense?â
âiâm compromised.â
you laughed quietly.
dennis looked at you like the sound alone was enough to keep him awake.
and then,
his thumb brushed once across your knuckles.
intentional this time. your heart nearly stopped. âyou drool in your sleep,â you whispered.
his expression immediately changed.
âi do not.â
âyou absolutely do.â
âthatâs defamatory.â
âthereâs evidence.â
âdestroy it.â
you grinned. dennis stared at you for a moment longer, exhaustion making him softer around the edges.
less guarded. then, quietly:
âi donât think iâve slept that well in months.â
the honesty in his voice hit harder than expected. you squeezed his hand gently.
âmaybe you just needed someone to make you rest.â
he looked down at your joined hands again. then back at you.
and with snow falling endlessly outside the hospital windows, dennis whitaker smiled like maybe just maybe he finally believed that could be true.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
a/n: short blurb about u and mattâs first time meeting. psss, u have powers hazah hazah
. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄ Ę
It was raining when you first met matt and/or daredevil.
of course it is.
You were fighting off a rouge gang, smuggling weapons into the city. they had crates filled with weapons. So you tracked them down, these few you were fighting are the last ones. or so you hoped they were.
they were no match for you, of course. you were fighting off 8 people at the same time, yet you still kicked their asses.
it was great being a vigilante. you went solo, except for when you find yourself with your long time friend Jessica jones or even Luke cage. it wasnât unusual to see fellow vigilantes, hellâs kitchen was overall, a small place.
one thing you hated was the justice system here in NYC. thats why at a very young age, you decided to fix that and did a marvelous job at it.
the rain was a great impact on your vision, but that didnât mean you hadnât seen the red blur in the corner of your eye.
you ducked just in time.
a baton swung past your head, missing you by inches before embedding itself into one of the wooden crates behind you. the man who threw it cursed under his breath.
âshitââ
you spun on your heel and kicked him square in the chest, sending him crashing into the rest of the rouge gang members trying to stand back up.
âyou guys seriously never learn?â you muttered, breathing heavily.
rain soaked through your suit, dripping from your hair and down your jaw. sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, growing louder by the second.
great.
the last thing you needed was the nypd showing up before you disappeared.
another movement caught your attention.
that same red blur.
faster this time.
you narrowed your eyes through the rain. perched on top of one of the shipping containers nearby was a figure dressed in dark red, unmoving despite the storm around him.
daredevil.
well no shit, of course it was. guy shoes up jumping around building roofâs, dressed like a tomato. who else could that be.
âyou planning on helping,â you called out, âor are you just enjoying the show?â
he tilted his head slightly, almost amused.
âyou looked like you had it handled.â
his voice was calm. too calm for someone who had apparently been watching you get jumped by eight ARMED men.
you scoffed.
âyeah? well next time maybe jump in before i get stabbed.â you retorted.
âyou werenât going to get stabbed.â
you opened your mouth to argue, but paused.
youâve heard about his âheightened sensesâ stuff from jessica.
show off.
before either of you could say anything else, one of the gang members groaned from the ground and reached for a gun that had slid beneath a crate.
you moved instantly.
so did matt.
one second he was standing twenty feet away.
the next, the man was on the ground and unconscious.
you blinked.
ââŠshow off.â
âsays the person who just took down like- what?8 men alone?â
.. yeah, okay. fair enough.
silence settled between the two of you for a moment, interrupted only by the sound of rain hammering against metal and pavement.
up close, you could see the bruises forming along his jaw. fresh cuts across his knuckles.
he looked just as exhausted as you felt.
ârouge gangâs been busy lately,â he finally said. âthis is the third shipment this week.â
âyeah, and somebody keeps tipping them off before the police can raid the warehouses.â
his expression shifted slightly at that.
âyou know something?â you said, eyeing him suspiciously
âmaybe.â
you crossed your arms. âwow, yeah no, thatâs not suspicious at all.â
before he could answer, the sound of police sirens grew closer. flashing red and blue lights reflected off the puddles surrounding the docks.
matt stepped back toward the shadows automatically.
habit maybe. you took note anyway.
you shouldâve left too.
instead, for some reason, you stayed.
âyou gonna disappear dramatically now tomato?â you asked.
when the fic has 10k+ words, fluff, angst, smut right at the end, friends to lovers, character whoâs down bad for reader, AND Y/N DOESNT ACT LIKE A CHILD
synopsis: jealousy pushes joaquin torres to finally admit his feelings before he risks losing you to someone braver.
warnings: uhhh nothing??
joaquin doesnât realize it at first.
heâs sitting inside, against the quinjet after training, helmet tucked under his arm, pretending to scroll through his phone. but heâs not really looking at anything. his eyes keep drifting.
to you.
youâre across the hangar laughing with one of the newer recruits. the guy is tall, confident, a little too comfortable. he says something you clearly think is funny because you laugh. not the polite one you give strangers, but the real one. the one that makes your eyes squint and your shoulders shake.
the recruit lightly touches your arm.
itâs quick. harmless.
but something tight twists in joaquinâs chest.
he straightens without meaning to. jaw clenched. he tells himself itâs stupid. youâre allowed to talk to whoever you want. youâre not his. he has no claim.
so why does it feel like he just lost something?
when you finally walk over, sitting down beside hime and smiling like nothingâs wrong, he forces himself to look normal.
âyou good?â you ask, nudging his shoulder.
âyeah. why wouldnât i be?â too fast. too sharp.
your smile fades just a little. âyouâve been quiet.â
âiâm always quiet.â
âno, youâre not,â you say softly. âyouâve been weird since training.â
he exhales through his nose. runs a hand through his hair. âiâm not weird.â
you cross your arms, studying him. âjoaquin.â
he hates that tone. the one that means you see right through him.
âitâs nothing,â he mutters.
you step closer anyway. close enough that he can feel your presence, warm and steady. âif itâs nothing, why are you upset?â
âiâm not upset.â
âyou are.â
silence stretches between you. the hangar suddenly feels louder. farther away. like the world is happening somewhere else.
he finally looks at you.
really looks at you.
âi didnât like seeing him look at you like that.â
your brows knit together. âlike what?â
âlike he had a chance.â
the words hang there, heavier than he expected.
your heart visibly skips. âand does he?â
joaquin swallows. suddenly this feels bigger than jealousy. bigger than pride.
âi donât know,â he says quietly. âdo i?â
and there it is.
not anger.
not possessiveness.
fear.
fear that he waited too long. fear that someone braver would say the words first. fear that heâd misread everything between you.
you step even closer, barely any space left between you now. his breath falters.
âyou do,â you whisper.
he searches your face like heâs afraid youâre joking. when he realizes youâre not, something in him softens. relief crashes into him so hard he almost laughs.
âi didnât mean to get jealous,â he admits, voice lower now. vulnerable.
you smile gently. âi didnât mean to like you this much.â
thatâs it. thatâs the final push.
he pulls you in. hands curling around your waist, head resting on your shoulder, and a sigh of relief comes out of him. heâs hesitant for half a second giving you time to pull away.
you donât.
and when he leans in this time, itâs not rushed. not impulsive.
synopsis: after a long tiring day for both you and matt, you both decide to hangout on your apartmentâs rooftop.
warnings: fluff, angst, yk the usual order..
you sit on the edge of the rooftop with your legs hanging over the side, boots gently knocking against the brick wall beneath you. the city of New York City stretches out endlessly below, loud and restless as always, but up here the noise feels distant. like the whole world is breathing slower.
the sky is painted in deep orange and soft pink, the sun slowly dipping behind the buildings.
behind you, you hear the familiar sound of boots landing softly on gravel.
matt
he steps toward you, removing his mask as he approaches. even without seeing your face clearly, his head tilts slightly the way it always does when heâs listening to your breathing.
âyouâre quiet tonight,â he says.
his voice is soft, tired.
you shrug, still watching the sunset. âlong day.â
he huffs out a quiet laugh. âthatâs one way to put it.â
you donât need to ask. you can hear it in his voice the exhaustion, the weight. matt moves closer and sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush.
for a moment neither of you say anything.
the wind pulls gently at your hair. somewhere far below, a siren wails.
matt rests his forearms on his knees.
âthree robberies,â he says after a while. âone assault. and a guy with a knife who thought itâd be a great idea to fight me in an alley.â
you glance at him. âdid he win?â
matt smirks faintly. âtragically for him, no.â
you smile a little, but it fades quickly.
because you know that tone.
the one where heâs pretending things are lighter than they really are.
âi heard about the warehouse,â you say quietly.
matt goes still.
his head tilts toward you slowly.
ââŠyou heard about that.â
âyeah.â
you swallow.
âfive guys against you isnât exactly fair.â
matt shrugs, but you can hear his heartbeat shift just slightly faster.
âiâve handled worse.â
âthatâs not the point.â
silence settles again.
the sun lowers further, turning the sky darker orange.
finally matt exhales.
âone of them had a gun,â he says quietly.
your stomach tightens.
âi know.â
âfor a secondâŠâ he pauses.
his voice catches in a way it rarely does.
ââŠfor a second i thought that was it.â
you turn fully toward him now.
matt rarely talks about fear. he jokes. he brushes it off. he keeps moving.
but tonight something is different.
âhey,â you say softly.
your hand reaches out, resting over his.
he freezes for half a second before his fingers turn, gently holding yours.
âyouâre here,â you whisper.
matt lets out a slow breath.
âyeah.â
but he doesnât sound convinced.
âi could hear my heartbeat,â he says quietly. âthat moment before someone pulls the trigger⊠everything slows down.â
you watch his face. the fading light paints soft shadows across it.
âand all i could think about was you.â
your chest tightens.
matt laughs weakly, shaking his head. ânot very heroic, right?â
âmattââ
âthe devil of Hellâs Kitchen thinking about someone instead of the fight.â
âthat doesnât make you weak.â
his jaw tightens slightly.
âit makes you human.â
the word hangs between you.
human.
matt leans back on his hands, looking toward the sunset even though he canât see it.
âsometimes i wonder how long i can keep doing this,â he murmurs.
your heart drops.
âmattâŠâ
âevery night it gets worse out there. worse people. worse fights.â he swallows. âone day my luck runs out.â
you squeeze his hand tighter.
âdonât say that.â
âbut itâs true.â
his voice isnât dramatic. itâs calm. matter-of-fact.
and somehow that hurts more.
you shift closer until your shoulder presses against his.
âyou want to know something?â you say.
âwhat.â
âi had the exact same thought today.â
matt turns his head toward you.
âduring the docks fight,â you continue. âwhen that guy slammed me into the crate.â
you laugh quietly.
âi thought: wow. this might actually be the stupidest way to die.â
matt sits up instantly.
âwhat?â
ârelax, iâm fine.â
âyou didnât tell me that.â
âbecause youâd react exactly like this.â
his grip on your hand tightens.
âyou couldâve been hurt.â
âso could you.â
the words land softly between you.
matt exhales.
neither of you speak for a minute.
the sun is almost gone now.
âdoes it scare you?â matt finally asks.
âwhat?â
âbeing with me.â
you stare at him.
âmatt murdock,â you say slowly, âwe literally fight criminals every night.â
âthatâs not what i meant.â
his voice drops.
âbeing with someone who might not come home.â
your chest aches at the vulnerability in his tone.
you move your hand up, gently touching the side of his face.
he leans into it instantly, like he always does.
âlisten to me,â you whisper.
his brow softens.
âiâm scared all the time.â
matt goes very still.
âevery night you go out,â you continue. âevery time you jump off some rooftop or run toward a fight.â
your thumb brushes his cheek.
âbut that doesnât make me want to leave.â
his breathing slows.
âwhy not.â
you smile faintly.
âbecause youâre the bravest, most stubborn man i know.â
matt snorts quietly.
âstubborn is accurate.â
âand because,â you add softly, âyou always come back.â
he doesnât answer right away.
then his forehead leans gently against yours.
the city lights begin flickering on below as the sun disappears completely.
âi try to,â he murmurs.
âi know.â
your noses brush slightly.
the moment is quiet. fragile.
âcan i tell you something selfish?â matt says.
âalways.â
his fingers trace slowly along the back of your hand.
âwhen i thought that gun might go offâŠâ
he pauses.
ââŠi didnât think about the city.â
you stay quiet.
âi didnât think about being daredevil.â
another pause.
âi thought about this.â
âthis?â
âsitting on rooftops with you.â
your chest warms painfully.
âwatching sunsets i canât see.â
your voice softens.
âiâll describe them to you forever if you want.â
matt smiles faintly.
âdeal.â
the sky is now deep purple.
after a moment, matt pulls you gently closer until your head rests against his shoulder.
his arm wraps around you automatically.
safe.
steady.
ânext time,â you say quietly.
ânext time what?â
ânext time you face five guys in a warehouseâŠâ
matt sighs.
ââŠi know what youâre going to say.â
âcall me.â
âyou always say that.â
âbecause you never do.â
he chuckles softly.
âfair point.â
you tilt your head up slightly.
âmatt?â
âyeah.â
âdonât face things alone.â
heâs quiet for a long moment.
then his fingers squeeze yours.
ââŠiâm trying not to.â
you smile gently.
âgood.â
the wind moves across the rooftop again.
down below, the city of New York City buzzes with life, unaware of the two vigilantes sitting quietly above it.
matt presses a soft kiss against your temple.
not rushed.
not desperate.
just warm.
âthanks for staying,â he whispers.
you look up at the night sky.
âalways.â
and for the first time all day, neither of you feel quite so tired.
Quite An Impression - jack abbot x marine biologist!reader
find other parts here !!: 2, 3, 4.
Pairings: jack abbot x marine biologist!reader
Summary: when a jellyfish sting at work leads you to the ED, an unsuspecting Jack finds himself more and more interested in the pretty marine biologist that invites him for a tour of the aquarium she works at.
Warnings: minor injuries, talks of ER/ED, explicit language, injured animals (it all ends good), age-gap, slow burn, pinning, mentions of widower jack, yearning/longing, probably some scientific & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 5k+
Authorâs Note: part 1 is FINALLY here !! iâm so excited to get this out to you all, itâs been a long time coming !! i hope it lives up to expectations !! (am i gonna use sabrina references for each title ?? itâs possibleâŠ) bonus: uncle!jack content !! <3
âJackâ, Robby popped his head into the break room; âCome here, youâre gonna wanna see this, brother.â
Jack was bent halfway at his knees, inches from finally, finally, sitting down for the first time in hours and letting the weight off his prosthetic when Robby interrupted him. He didnât even bother to suppress the groan that left his mouth as he pushed himself back to his full height.
Heâd feel the soft couch cushions under him after this, he promised himself that much.
Jack followed Robby out, swinging his stethoscope back around his neck and holding both end of it in his hands.
âWhat do we got?â, Jack asked, inhaling the same way he always did during a long shift; the kind that made his back arch a little and his chest puff out.
âFemale, late twenties to early thirties, jellyfish sting on the left arm and handâ, Robby read out the chart in his hands.
Jack almost stopped walking, a surprised look on his face that turned almost into a smirk.
âYou serious?â
Robby laughed; âHell yeah, figured youâd want in on it.â
Jack scoffed in the way he did when he found something funny; âHell yeah I want in on itâ
He grabs the chart from Robbyâs hands flicking through the pages as he reads; âHavenât seen anything like that since med school.â
âYou and me both, brother.â
Robby turned and pushed open the exam room door with his back, sliding on a pair of gloves as he wheeled over on the swivel chair.
You looked up from the bed, eyes bright and not at all like you were in pain. Jack stopped in his tracks at the sight of you.
He realized then he wasnât expecting someone soâŠpretty.
So lively and bright.
âHi iâm Doctor Robbinavitch, this is my fellow attending Doctor Abbot, weâre gonna check you out todayâ, Robby says, offering a small and professional smile.
âAt least buy me dinner firstâ, You jut back with a laugh.
Oh. Jack wanted to make that laugh leave your lips over and over again.
Robby got to work, carefully inspecting your sting, gloves fingers pressing gently into the raised red skin.
âSo jellyfish sting, huh?â, Robby asks, motioning to Jack for a syringe off the tray next to him.
Jack hesitates for a moment, but his brain eventually follows, letting his eyes wander away from you for a moment.
Your hair was clipped back in a claw similar to Danaâs, a few strands falling loosely around your face and ears. A pair of black leggings and a Pittsburg Aquarium shirt. Even in the simplicity of it all, you looked so pretty. Jack swallowed hard.
âYeah, comes with the jobâ, You say with an easy shrug, like itâs nothing new.
Robby pauses; âOh yeah?â
âYup. Marine Biologist at the aquarium. Little guy snuck up on me today.â
Robby chuckles; âHappen often?â
âMore than you think. Not my first sting, wonât be my last.â
Your eyes wander over Jack, whoâs still standing slightly off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. You lean a little closer to Robby.
âHe always hover like that?â, You ask.
The noise that leaves Robbyâs nose makes you laugh.
âOnly when heâs working.â
You nod, eying Jack up and down. His silver curls and broad shoulders. The stubble that decorated his jawline. His dark hazel eyes that seem to get darker each time his eyes land on you.
âSo often then?â
Robby looks up and tilts his head; âHowâd you know?â
âI read peopleâ, You shrug; âHe seems like the type.â
Robby bites his cheek from saying something thatâll have Jack kicking him later, shooting him a look. Youâre so accurate at reading him, it makes Robby gloat.
âHey Doctor Abbotâ, You nod your chin at him; âYou ever sleep or blink or do you justâŠhover?â
Jackâs eyes flick back to you, the tiniest twitch of a curve at the corner of his lips as he adjusts his weight, shifting on his feet; âIâll sleep when Iâm dead.â
You snort, covering your mouth.
Oh youâre adorable, Jack thinks.
Robbyâs still examining your sting, taking pictures on his phone cause who knows when heâll ever see one again.
âBeen meaning to visit the aquariumâ, Robby says, not looking up, âMy daughter likes fish.â
You light up instantly, eyes flicking between the two men, clocking Jackâs jaw twitching like heâs fighting internally on whether or not he wants to say whatâs on the tip of his tongue. He eventually decides against it.
âHow old is she?â, You ask.
Robbyâs smile softens; âAlmost two.â
You hum in response; âFun age, usually very curious.â
Robby laughs like he couldnât contain it; âOh sheâs very curious.â
You turn back to Jack, just as Dana pops her head into the room.
âRobby, when youâre done pawning over the jellyfish stingâtrauma one needs youâ, She says it with a smirk, a witty sarcastic tone with no heat behind it. Just enough to agitate him.
âCmon Dana, this is so cool.â
Dana rolls her eyes, pointing two fingers at him; âTrauma one, now.â
Sheâs gone as quickly as she appeared, a sigh leaving Robby as he bows his head with a laugh, snapping his gloves off.
âThatâs my cueâ, He says, wheeling back in the chair and standing; âDoctor Abbot here will finish up. Get you some topical steroids and something for the pain and youâll be good as new.â
You donât see the wink Robby sends Jackâs way as he leaves the room, following the same path Dana had just taken.
Jack pushes off the wall, pulling a pair of gloves out and setting up everything heâll need on the steel tray in front of him.
âIâm going to deactivate the area with some acetic acid, itâll stop the stingingâ, He begins, pulling on his gloves with a quiet smack.
âAcid?â, You ask, furrowing your brows.
Jack hums with a nod; âDonât worry, itâs basically just vinegar. Shouldnât hurt too much.â
You watch as he dumps the liquid carefully over your arm and hand, whatever stinging was there slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind a dull ache and general soreness.
âIâm gonna check to see if thereâs any tentacles that need removed. Then weâll get you all set up with some antihistamines and a topical corticosteroidâ, He explains each step as heâs preparing itâwhether itâs to ease the nerves he can sense off of you or to reassure himselfâyou find yourself appreciating it.
You canât help swinging your legs a little as you watch him slide a pair of glasses onto his nose, a new pair of gloves on his hands as he grabs a pair of tweezers.
âLet me know if anything hurtsâ, He says.
But youâre too busy watching him.
The way he leans in close, the overhead lamp he brought over casting a slight golden hue to his curls, making them shine like silver. His features look more prominent this close upâaged in a rugged and handsome way that shows he has years of experience and stories behind him. Steady hands that hover. Sharp eyes that train on whatever heâs looking at. His brows furrow a little as he concentrates, his lips parted just slightly as he works.
âSo you always pick fights with jellyfish or do you rotate through sea creatures?â, Jack asks, eyes flicking up to your face for a brief moment before returning to your arm.
You try to suppress a laughâit doesnât work.
âNah, new animal each week. Theyâre usually pretty nice thoughâŠthink that jellyfish had it out for me.â
Jackâs lip quirks at the corner of his mouth.
âWhatâd you do to it?â
âGod nothing, they donât have brains to know if I even did.â
Jack hums softly in response, letting you talk as he works. Committing everything youâre telling him to memory.
He lets a beat or two pass before speaking again; âWhich oneâs your favorite?â
You tilt your head; âMy favorite what?â
âAnimal, sea creature, whatever you call it.â
You canât help the smile creeping onto your lips; âBeluga whaleâŠnameâs Arlo. He was brought in as a baby with an injured flipper about a year into me working there. Iâve pretty much helped raise him.â
Jackâs chest softens.
âHe ok now?â
âOh yeah!â, You say waving with your other hand, âHeâs doing amazing! Just safer to keep him than set him out into the wild. I honestly donât know how well heâd do with his flipper being permanently damaged.â
Jack finds himself nodding along as you talk, not realizing how long itâs been until heâs almost done tending to your arm. But he doesnât really want to stop, or for this to end. He could listen to you talk all day.
So he lets you.
He listens intently as you talk about your job; which animals are your favorite, which ones are learning new commands and tricks, what shows you get to put on for guests. The conservation jobs youâve been on. He watches your free hand move about as you talkâthe many faces you make whenâeach full of passion. He finds himself enthralled by all of it.
âWe also do two tours a day for guests to take them around some behind the scenes stuff, meet some of the animalsâ, You explain.
Jack lifts his head up, eyebrows raised at that; âYeah? That sounds kind of interesting.â
Without a beat, you respond;
âYeah? You should come. Iâve got tickets for this weekend you can have.â
Jack falters for a moment, forcing his brain to slow down and his breathing to continue.
âOh thatâs really thoughtful, but Iâd hate to just take them, let me do something in return-â
âYouâre patching me up, I think thatâs enough.â
He stares at you, really stares. The unwavering look of certainty on your face, that small, smug smile at the corner of your mouth that was already doing things to him.
Then finally, he lets his shoulders drop with a sigh; âOk.â
You perk back up instantly; âYeah? Great!â
Jack smirks to himself as he pulls off his gloves, wheeling over to the computer stand and tossing the blue latex out. You find yourself staring a moment too long at the way his biceps flex under his scrub topâblack material pulled taught against his skin and across his chestâlittered with freckles; each different and unique in their own way. Youâd be perfectly content counting and tracing each one.
âThink Iâll live, doc?â, You ask.
Jackâs lips twitch again; âKeep your arms away from jellyfish and I think your chances are pretty high.â
You let yourself smile, not caring how ridiculous and enthralled in him it makes you look. He was interesting.
You listen as Jack explains your discharge instructions, hands you a paper with them on it and a number to call if you need it.
âCome back if it gets really painful or infected. Keep using the topical cream I gave you and it should heal up good in no time.â
âThank you, Doctor Abbotâ, You say softly, sliding off the exam bed and letting him guide you out the door.
You donât miss the way his hand hovers at your lower back, not quite touching, but the ghost of his warmth is there.
He nods once, head jutting towards the exit doors; âKnow your way out from here?â
Like heâs offering to walk you.
âYeah, thanksâ, You smile; âWell hey, hope we can talk again sometime.â
His lips quirk; âHopefully on better terms than this.â
âThatâd be niceâ, You say, knowing full well it wonât be the last time you walk through those hospital doors; âMaybe this weekend?â
Jack stills for a moment, the wheels in his brain turning before he offers a movement thatâs almost a nod.
âYeahâ, He says it like heâs thinking, âYeah, weâll see.â
With that youâre heading towards the door with a thanking squeeze to his bicep that makes him feel like heâs a teenager again, watching as you stop and turn back towards him again.
Jack finds Robby in the break room later, hovering over a pot of hospital coffee.
âYou free this weekend?â, Jack asks.
Robby quirks a brow; âWhatâre you asking me out?â
Jack bites his tongue, his eyes squeezing shut to compose himself; âNo, I was gonna offer you these tickets I got.â
âWhat tickets?â
Jack sits down at the small round table with Robby in tow, passing him a steaming cup as he does.
âRemember the patient with the jellyfish sting from earlier?â, Jack asks.
Robbyâs already smirking; âYou mean the one that was flirting with you?â
âShe wasnât flirting-â
âJackâ, Robby chuckles; âYouâre geriatric not stupid.â
âYouâre geriatric and still older than me.â
Robby can feel the glare Jack shoots his way burning into the side of his head.
âWhat about her?â, Robby asks.
Jack sighs into his coffee; âShe offered me tickets for some tour of the aquarium this weekendâŠtheyâre already in my inbox. Figured maybe you and Noelle would wanna take Nora.â
Robby shakes his head; âNah she offered them to you man, you take them.â
âAnd do what? Stand around like a creep?â
âI donât knowâŠgo?â, Robby says it like itâs obvious; âShe offered you these tickets. Not me. You have to go.â
Jack doesnât answer, just sipping on his coffee thatâs starting to taste more and more like dirt with each passing day.
âShe obviously likes you brother, or she wouldnât have said anythingâ, Robby says.
Damn it, Jack really hated when Robby was right.
The older man sits up in his seat.
âListen, Noelleâs out of town this weekend so itâs just me and Nora. Why donât we go with you?â, Robby offers.
For some reason, that makes Jack relax a little.
âCarefulâ, Jack says with an arched brow, already clocking Robbyâs enthusiasm; âIf I didnât know any better Iâd say you actually like me, brotherâ,
âGod donât make me regret thisâ, Robby says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
âWhat else am I here to do?â
Jack stands to lean against the counter, stirring his coffee and tracing the rim of the cup.
âYouâd seriously go?â, He finally asks, shoulders closing in a little.
âYeah, why not?â, Robby shrugs; âNora loves seeing the fish and for some reason you. Plus I can play matchmaker if iâm there.â
Jack groans; âAnd there it is.â
âWhat?â
âYour ulterior motive.â
âGotta entertain myself somehow, brotherâ, Robby says, smacking a hand on Jackâs shoulder.
It takes everything in him not to smack Robby right then and there.
âI hate you.â
Secretly though? Jackâs grateful and almost relieved at Robbyâs offer. But heâd never live down the day he tells him that.
âUnca âAck! Unca âAck! Phish!â, Noraâs little voice shrieks as she bounces it Jackâs arms, pointing to the floor to ceiling cylindrical fish tank.
Theyâd made it exactly five steps in from the front entrance, and Nora was already amazed. Her wide brown eyes stared at the fluorescent colorsâher tiny hand pressed up against the glassâthe tank lights reflecting off her face.
âPapa! Phish!â, She called out for Robby, turning her entire body abruptly in Jackâs arms, making him readjust his grip.
âCareful, Peanutâ, Jack warned softly, his own eyes wide as he watched her, willing his hold on her to keep up.
âI see the fish, Munchkinâ, Robby says, stepping in next to them and smiling up at the fish that swim by.
The sound of people bustles around them, other families being drug along by their own toddlers seeing something across the room. A group of teenagers off in the distance.
It smells like seawaterânot in the gross dead fish way, but salty and softâwafting through the air. Itâs slightly cool inside, overhead fans and misters in certain spots with signs that say âFeel the Ocean!â
Jack has no doubt that kids would be absolutely sucked in by all of it.
âWhat time is it?â, Robby asks, eyeing his watch.
Jack beats him to it; â10:30, tour starts at noon.â
Heâd looked at the schedule, of course he had.
Robby smirks knowingly; âWhat should we go see first?â
They find themselves in the underwater viewing tunnelsâpolar bears and elephant seals swimming overheadâlight reflecting off the water.
Noraâs eyes are wide, pointing at each animal that swims by. Making sure Robby sees, and then Jack.
The âDory tankâ quickly becomes her favorite, running as fast as her small and chubby legs will carry her almost two year old bodyâpulling Jack by wrapping her entire hand around two of his fingers.
He grunts in surprise, struggling to catch up for a moment before heâs laughing; âPeanut youâre gonna take me out.â
Robby claps him on the shoulder, quickly adjusting the backpack slung over his shoulders; âDonât worry, I know CPR.â
Jack shoots him a glare; âYouâre so lucky the kidâs here.â
Noraâs hands are pressed up against the glass, face as close as she can get it without actually touching itâRobby and Jack had both scolded her twice already about the germsâher small mouth falling open with a grin as big as her face.
By the time 11:30 rolled around, Jack was leading the way towards the Penguin exhibit where the tour would start. Nora was now in Robbyâs arms, giving Jackâs back a break. She weighed almost nothing to him, but the constant pulling on his neck and shoulders each time she bounced or lean towards something made him a little sore.
Robby set Nora down, letting her walk over to the giant tank in front of her, Penguins swimming around at her height as they dove in and out of the water.
âNora, smile for mommy!â, Robby called out, kneeling down.
Nora grinned as wide as she could, a penguin swimming past her just as Robby captured the photo.
âI see?â, Nora asked, already climbing into Robbyâs lap where he was crouched down.
âSee? Very cute, huh?â
Nora giggled, eyes on Robbyâs phone before she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
âMommy see?â, Nora asked.
Robby nodded; âMommy will love it, itâs a keeper. Think it should go on the fridge when we get home?â
Nora clapped happily at the idea of that.
Meanwhile, Jack noticed the employees starting to make their way out onto the landing from the doorway to the side. Then his world froze when his eyes landed on you.
Clad in your wetsuit, a ponytail braid down your back that swished back and forth as you walked. Clinging to you perfectly. Water shoes squeaking faintly, clearly slightly wet. His heart hammered against his rib cage. He didnât notice Robby slide in beside him, Nora still in his arms.
It didnât take long for you to find him, and once your eyes settled on his frame, your cheeks turned pink.
Starting a tour was absolutely second nature to you now. But youâd had nerves all day. Hell, youâd had nerves since earlier in the week when you met Jack. Heâd been rattling around your brain ever since like he lived there.
When you followed your coworkers out onto the Penguin landing exhibit, you couldnât help but let your eyes scan the group of people waiting. As soon as your eyes met his, you felt the blush creeping up your neck. Seeing the way he reacted the same, eyes unwavering and hovering over youâlooking you up and downâhad you biting your bottom lip in a last ditch effort to suppress a smile.
It didnât quite work.
You offered him a wave that came off slightly shyer than you wouldâve liked; but he didnât seem to notice, and offered a wave back.
You could see the man you remembered as Robby nudging him with his elbow, eyes now trained on you as wellâthe little girl in his arms bouncing as she watched the Penguins.
After a quick introduction, it was your turn to talk, forcing you to finally pull your attention away and stand closer to the front.
You introduced yourself to the crowd; âBut you can call me Skipper, Iâll be leading you on your tour today. Are you ready to see some animals?â
The response from families and kids around you was instant, but all you could see was Jack from the corner of your eyes; expression soft and gaze determined not to miss a thing. So the staring was an outside of work thing too, huh?
You didnât mind. His eyes were soft in the way they were when heâd tended to your woundâlike he was taking in every word you said and cataloging it for laterâthe same way he did with a patientâs information or a SWAT mission log.
God, you were screwed.
The tour went on smoothly, and as you talked, Jack found himself sinking deeper and deeper; like the ocean had opened up and swallowed him whole in the most peaceful and sunlit way.
He committed each fact you said to memory like his life depended on it; Octopuses have three hearts, the ocean produces 50% of earthâs oxygen, Angelfish choose one partner for life, a Blue Whaleâs tongue is heavier than an entire Elephant, Dolphins are sleepwalkers, 50-80% of all life on earth is found under the oceanâs surfaceâhe desperately wanted to seem like he knew something about your work.
You showed off starfish, turtles, dolphins. Jack watched with a childlike awe as you used simple hand signals for the dolphin, who happily obliged and did tricks for fish. He had no idea so much went into all of it.
His favorite though? Was finally getting to see Arlo the Beluga you talked so fondly about. He was huge to say the least. A permanent smile almost etched on his face.
Nora laughed when a spray of water from Arloâs blow hole misted her face, clapping and bouncing where she was perched on Robbyâs shoulderâs.
ââGain! âGain!â
Jackâwho was normally so enthused with his niece, only spared a quick smile at her before he was drawn back to you.
You with your bright smile and eyes to match as you held out different shells and artifacts. You who knew quick facts and talked so passionately about your work, you who kept glancing at him each time your eyes swept over the group of visitors in front of you.
Your heart stuttered in your chest each time you looked up to find his eyes already on you, like they never left in the first place.
By the time the tour ended in the stingray room, you were a little smug to say the least. Eyes flicking to where Jack stood each chance you got as you spoke with other guests. Taking in how he stood carefully behind Nora who was pressed up against the glass again, watching stingrayâs swim by. Protective and oh so gentle.
Jackâs hand was carefully on the totâs back as he crouched down next to her, dipping his face close to talk softly in her ear. Like he was making sure she knew all his attention was on her.
Eventually most of the guests cleared out, only a few staggering behind to check out other animals in the room. You quickly made your way over to the two doctorâs at the big tankâJack already rising to his feet as he saw you approaching, taking Noraâs tiny hand in his.
âWell look who cameâ, You breathe out, smile engulfing your cheeks.
âWouldnât miss itâ, Jack spoke.
His voice was softer than it had been in the ED, more relaxed and mellow. Like he belonged here standing with you.
âI hope it lived up to its expectations.â
âOh, absolutely.â
Jackâs smile didnât waver, a comfortable silence drifting over the room as you both looked each other over. You in your wetsuit, Jack looking so mundane and domestic out of scrubs it hurt. His hair a little more messy than usual, no doubt from Nora playing with it.
Robby cleared his throat.
âPapa! Up!â
The small voice and noise beside you snapped you both out of your gaze, eyes flicking to the brunette man as he lifted Nora up into his arms.
âNice to see you again, Robbyâ, You say, offering a small nod; âWhoâs this lil girly?â
âThis is Noraâ, Robby beams, tucking his head more to her level; âNor, can you say hi?â
Nora offers you a small wave, hiding her face in the crook of Robbyâs neck.
âHi Nora, I heard you like fish?â
She perks up a bit at that; âPhish?â
âMhmâ, You nod, âWanna meet one of my friends?â
Noraâs already nodding enthusiastically as you lead them back to Arloâs tank. Heâs already hovering close to the edge, head peeking out and still smiling.
âItâs almost Arloâs feeding time, heâll be so happy to see usâ, You speak out loud, not really sure if itâs more towards Nora or yourself.
You climb onto the landing at the edge of the tank, pulling a bucket of fish over with you, snapping a pair of gloves on.
âThese are his favorite.â
Almost on cue, Arloâs halfway out of the water, looking almost like he could clap as he opens his mouth for the fish you throw him. The water splashes, Nora giggles in Robbyâs arms.
âDo âgain!â, She shrieks.
All three of you laugh as you happily toss another fish Arloâs way before turning back to Nora; âWanna pet him?â
Noraâs eyes grow so wide thereâs almost no iris left, looking up to Robby like sheâs asking for permission.
âCmere, Iâll show you howâ, You explain how to be gentle, guiding Robby over so theyâre both close enough.
You take Noraâs tiny hand and press it flat against Arloâs nose, letting her pat it gently. Another squeal from her tiny body, now almost vibrating with excitement.
âHeâs a little slimy, isnât he?â, You beam, nose slightly crinkled as you look between the two.
Then you look up at Jack, whoâs standing with his legs wide and arms folded across his chest, so similar to the way he had been when you first met him. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes gave him away. His love for Nora and seeing you with her practically pouring out onto the landing, and a hint of something else entirely that you couldnât quite place as he looked back at you.
âMommy, âicture?â, Nora asks.
âSounds like a good idea to meâ, Robby says, âDo you mind?â
Heâs holding his phone out to you.
âNot at all.â
You switch spots with him, letting them stand against the tank in front of Arlo, raising the phone to take the picture when Robby cuts in again.
âJack, get in here brother.â
He hesitates for a moment, before ultimately standing on the other side of him, squishing Nora comfortably between them. Both of her arms wrap around the back of their necks as he smiles crookedly, her few tiny teeth poking out.
âSmile!â
You take a few, pausing at the one where Jack and Nora are looking at each otherâbright goofy smiles that make your heart ache. You wanted to burn it into your memory. Instead you hand Robby his phone back, watching as he walks off with Nora as his phone begins to ring, leaving you alone with Jack.
Heâs rocking on his feet, back on his heels as he shoves his hands in his pockets.
âSo Skipper, huh?â, Heâs right back to teasing.
You groan; âCoworkers gave it to me when I started, not my first choice.â
Jack shrugs; âItâs on theme. Better than fruitcake.â
You quirk a brow; âFruitcake?â
âOne of our frequent fliers gave that one to Robby.â
Jackâs small smile turns a little mischievous.
âOh iâm never forgetting thatâ, You laugh.
Jack laughs too, like the whole thing is so easy.
A beat of comfortable silence passes before he speaks again;
âThank you for inviting us, reallyâ, He says, rubbing the back of his neck; âNora loved it.â
You donât hesitate; âAnd you?â
Jackâs mouth parts at your forwardness, that stupid little smirk twitching again.
âI thought it wasâŠnice.â
âNice?â
âWhat? Nice is good!â
âNice is what you say when something is boring but you donât want to say it.â
âTrust me, I wasnât bored.â
âCouldâve fooled me, Mr. âit was niceâ.â
Jack sighs, shaking his head as he smiles at his shoes, rocking on his heels again.
âFine. It was really interesting. I had a good timeâ, He sighs, but thereâs no real heat behind it, rather amusement.
âSee? Was that so hard?â
âYouâre troubleâ, He juts, eyebrows almost in his hairline.
You bite your lip, watching as he traces your face with his eyes, his own demeanor suddenly falling serious again.
âBut seriouslyâ, He says, âThank you for having us. I really did enjoy it.â
You nod in return; âIâm glad you came.â
âMe too.â
Jack looks over to where Robbyâs standing with Nora, talking away on the phone with Noelle; a softness taking over his features again.
âYou really love her, donât you?â, You ask, following his gaze.
âYeahâ, He says; âIâd do anything for her. Sheâs good for him too.â
He lets a beat pass.
âDonât tell Robby that, Iâll be out a pony.â
âA pony, huh?â
âSecret side business.â
You snort at that, desperately trying to cover your mouth but the noise had already slipped out. You except him to cringe, but instead he looks, amused? Content? Happy?
Reveling in the fact that he finally got to hear it again.
Inside Jackâs heart did a flip at the noise. Wondering how many things he could say to make you laugh like that again.
âHowâs your arm?â, He asks.
You flick your gaze down to your bandage.
âPretty good. Doesnât hurt anymore.â
Jack nods; âThatâs good. Iâd hate to see you still hurt.â
Your heart stutters.
âHow can I repay youâŠfor all this?â, He asks, gesturing around.
You wave him off.
âAgain, patching me up was plenty. Thank you, Doctor Abbot.â
âJackâ, He says once, âYou can call me Jack.â
âOk, Jack.â
You test it out, tongue tingling at the shape of his name. Already liking the way it sounded. Yeah, that seemed perfect. Jack.
âThereâs gotta be someway I can repay you. This couldnât have been easy to set up.â
âReally itâs fine, Jack. My treat-â
âHow about dinner?â
You freeze, mouth still parted and eyes wide as he continues with a smirk;
âMy treat.â
You need an excuse, something believable, because if youâre honest with yourselfâyouâre already falling for him; and that seems dangerous.
But you donât find one. Secretly? Youâre relieved you donât.
âDinner sounds perfectâ, You say, and then; âJust no seafood places. Too close to work.â
âNotedâ, Jack smiles, nodding gently; âHowâs next Friday?â
âFridayâs perfect.â
Suddenly youâre exchanging numbers with him, watching as he saves his name in your phone and you do the same to his. Then heâs saying goodbye all too soon, walking off to join Robby and Nora again; leaving the air around you too cold and lingering of his warmth and cologne.
You wave to them as they go, smiling down at your phone, breathing hitching as the new contact name staring back up at you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Listen guys, I listened to funky music this morning in the shower and doing my chores around my apt and I understand why Whitaker listens to this shit all the time. Like oh I am the hottest woman to ever live are u kidding. My mood can simply not be ruined when I'm every woman by chaka khan is on. This white man is on to something I fear.
summary: even after swapping from nights to days, you just canât seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words ânever have i ever finished during sexâ ever again.
notes: i really hope you guys enjoiy this! it was so much fun to write and i just feel like jack is a little easier to put into silly situations than robby, so here i am torturing the poor man! i'm sorry in advance if the smut is kind of mid, i was fighting tumblr's block limit rule with this fic so i feel like i didn't get indulge as much as i would have liked, but still! i hope you guys love it, and please, please let me know what you think! (p.s. i think i mentioned the title was originally 'unaffected' but i like this one better)
warnings: swearing, alcohol, blushing, italics, jealousy, implied age gap, jack is a yearner, reader wears a "revealing" dress (but description is very vague and there's zero detail about body-type), mildly uncomfortable male encounters, friend!santos, pittlings chaos, garsantos mention, jack gets a little possessive, reader has long enough hair to sweep off her neck, and SMUT (making out, fingering, "panties", a tiny bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv, "good girl", and jack says sweetheart a lot) 18+ only please, mdni.
word count: 18889
Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous man.
Possessive, maybe. Protective, definitely. But jealous? Never.
He had never really had anything to be jealous of.
Until now.
Now there are far too many things.
Like the pen between your lipsâand the way you bite down just hard enough to leave a little dent in the plastic while you read through Danaâs notes.
Or Dana herself, and the way youâre looking at herâsoft, sleepy, warm in a way that twists something tight in Jackâs chest. The same way you used to look at him in the quiet hours at the end of a night shift.
Or your scrubsâGod, your scrubsâand the way they fit just a little too well tonight. Too tight in all the right places. Distracting in ways that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jack has never needed to be jealous of anything before, but now he finds himself jealous of inanimate objects, coworkers you barely glance at, and your goddamn clothes.
So, yeah. Jack Abbot had never thought of himself as a jealous manâuntil you came along.
âDr. Abbot,â Dana calls, peering over the top of her glasses. âYouâre early.â
Beside her, you glance up from your tablet, meeting his eyes across the ER with that same soft smile.
âDr. Abbot,â you say, like you canât quite help yourself.
Jack squares his shoulders and starts toward the nursesâ station, determined not to let Dana and her all-knowing, all-seeing bullshit clock exactly why heâs at work almost two hours earlier than he needs to be.
âYeah, Iâve got some stuff I didnât get to wrap up this morning,â he lies.
Princess pops up from behind the desk. âI thought you said you stayed back this morning to make sure everything was sorted?â
Jackâs gaze cuts to her. âYes. But I forgot something.â
Dana narrows her eyes. âMhm. Whatâd you forget?â
âA few notes from the three a.m. GSW,â he replies quicklyâtoo quickly.
Itâs weak and he knows it, but thereâs nothing else he could think of with Dana watching him like that and your warm, sleepy gaze still lingering from across the desk.
Dana nods slowly, adjusting the chart in her hands. âRight. Two hours early for a few notes.â
Jack just shrugs, avoiding her gaze as he walks pastâand he doesnât look back until heâs safely around the corner, standing in front of his locker. Only then does he risk a glance, just briefly over his shoulder, quick enough to catch a glimpse of you disappearing down the North hall.
God. Itâs ridiculous, really. Heâs a grown man.
More than thatâhe's an old man.
Yet here he is staying late at work and coming in early just to see more of you. Because ever since you swapped from nights to days, Jack doesnât quite know what to do with himself. Sure, he could barely concentrate when you were on shift together, but who knew not having you around would be even worse?
He spends the first half of his shift hating himself for being so hung up on someone so young and so impossibly out of reachâthen spends the second half anxiously awaiting your arrival for the day shift.
And itâs only been two weeks.
But the absolute worst part?
He doesnât even know why you swapped shifts. You never even spoke to him about it. You just told him at four a.m. two Saturdays ago that you were switching to day shift. No reason. No explanation. That was it.
At first he wondered if it was his faultâif maybe youâd simply decided you didnât like working with him.
But you still greet him every morning and every evening with that same warm smile. You still look to him first whenever someone asks for an attending and heâs still around. You still text him whenever the ER cat shows up outside the ambulance bayâwhich apparently happens much more often during the day shift.
And Jack still buys a packet of freeze-dried liver treats every Sunday to keep in the cupboard above the break room fridgeâbecause he knows how much you love feeding that cat.
âWhatâre you doing here?â
Jackâs head whips around at the sound of his friendâs voice.
âIâuhâcame in early to fix up a few notes,â he says, turning back to shove his bag into his locker.
Robbyâs brows lift. âTwo hours for notes?â
Jack sighs, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and shutting his locker before turning to face his fellow attending. âAre you of all people really going to lecture me about not having a life outside of this ER?â
Robby chuckles quietly, lifting both hands out of his pockets in surrender. âI wasnât judging.â
âGood,â Jack mutters, already starting back toward central. âAnything I need to know?â
Robby falls into step beside him. âNorth Threeâs waiting on a CT for possible appendicitis. Kid in Five came in with chest pain but his labs look clean so far. Danaâs still fighting with bed control about moving the pneumonia admit upstairs.â
They both stop at the nursesâ station, glancing up at the board.
âOtherwise itâs been unusually calm,â Robby adds. âWhich probably means youâre about to get slammed.â
Jack gives him a flat look. âThanks.â
âAnytime.â Robby claps him on the shoulder. âOhâand that R2 you gave me?â
âWhat about her?â
Robby shrugs. âSheâs great.â
âI know,â Jack says, keeping his voice carefully even.
Robby studies him for a second, eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift. The man might be a disaster when it comes to his own feelings, but he has an uncanny talent for spotting everyone elseâs.
âWeâre alright out here if you want to catch up on your notes,â he says after a moment, already turning away. âOr go make the rounds. Get some very thorough handovers from the residents.â
Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the board. âI hate you.â
Robby huffs out a quiet laugh. âThen why are you here two hours early?â
Jack exhales sharply and steps forward, pulling one of the tablets from the rack.
âNotes,â he says, a little louder than necessary.
Robby just shakes his head, still smiling faintly as he disappears down the North corridor.
For a moment, Jack doesnât move. He lingers at the nursesâ station, tablet in hand, pretending to analyse the board while ignoring the incredibly unsubtle looks from Perlah and Princessâboth of them watching him with the kind of interest that usually means someoneâs about to become the subject of a very entertaining conversation.
Then, with a polite nod to each of them, he clears his throat and steps away, turning toward the break roomâtrying very hard not to hope he runs into you on the way.
And trying not to be disappointed when he doesnât.
The break room is empty when he steps inside, the noise of the ER dulling as the door falls shut behind him. He sets his tablet on the tableânext to someoneâs half-eaten lunch and a discarded Lean Cuisine containerâand grabs a clean mug from the cupboard, pouring the last of the coffee pot into it.
Then he drops into the seat furthest from the door, his back to the bulletin board, and taps the tablet awake, pulling up the notes for the three a.m. GSW. The same notes he already finished in detail while staying back this morningâbefore Robby told him to get the hell out of his ER and get some sleep.
He barely makes it through two lines of the chart before the door swings open again.
âShit, sorry,â you say quickly, stepping toward the table.
Jackâs pulse does the same stupid thing it always does whenever he sees you, making his chest feel hot and his head a little fuzzy.
âWhat are you sorry for?â he asks, as if it isnât obvious.
Youâve already stacked the Lean Cuisine container on top of the half-eaten bowl of something grey and mushy-looking and are halfway to the sink with them.
âI only got, like, a five-minute break today and had to run out for a trauma, then completely forgot about my lunch,â you explain, cheeks flushed as you glance down at the bowl. âThis is gross. Iâm so sorry.â
Jack shifts in his chair. âIâve seen worse in here, I promise.â
You glance over your shoulder as you turn on the tap, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly. âReally?â
He nods. âReally.â
He could almost swear your smile lifts a little higher before you turn back to the sink, scrubbing hurriedly at the bowl of slop that probably shouldnât be going down the drain anyway.
Jack clears his throat. âButâuhâLean Cuisine? Really?â
You look back at him again, brows drawn. âWhatâs wrong with Lean Cuisine?â
âNothing,â he says lightly. âIf youâre trying to survive a very stressful twelve-hour shift on only four hundred calories.â
You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the sink. âI actually managed to eat lunch today. Thatâs already a win.â
âItâs mostly sodium and sadness,â he adds, almost absently. âNot much protein.â
You finally turn the tap off and spin around, leaning a hip against the counter. âAlright, Dr. Abbot. When I find the spare time to start meal prepping between my very stressful twelve-hour shifts, Iâll let you know.â
Jack opens his mouthâthen closes it again. Because what he wants to say is ridiculous.
But it comes out anyway.
ââŠI cook.â
You blink.
âYou cook?â
Jack clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his coffee mug.
âYeah. Well.â He shrugs. âIâve been told Iâm reasonably good at it.â
You stare at him for a second, brows knitting slightly as you clearly try to figure out where the hell that came from.
âWell,â you say with a quick smile, âI guess your dinner guests are pretty lucky.â
Before he can respond, you grab the Lean Cuisine packet, toss it in the bin, and step toward the door.
âSorry again for the mess.â
Then youâre goneâleaving Jack alone with his coffee, his notes, and the growing suspicion that there might actually be something seriously wrong with him.
-
âIs that Dr. Abbot in the break room?â Santos asks, falling into step beside you.
You keep your eyes fixed on your tablet.
âYep.â
She leans closer, steering you out of the way of a gurney.
âBut night shift doesnât start for like two more hours.â
âIâm aware.â
âSo, why is he here?â
You exhale sharply and finally look up from your tablet. âI donât know, Trin. Maybe because the universe hates me.â
She snorts. âOr maybe because he likes you.â
You roll your eyes, turning toward the South corridor. âPlease donât start.â
âIâm not starting anything,â she insists. âI seriously think that old man has a thing for you.â
âDonât call him that,â you mutter.
âOkay, fine. I seriously think that hot, older man has a thing for you,â she says, stopping beside you at the South desks. âAnd we all know how you feel about him, soââ
âNo,â you snap. âWe donât all know how I feel about JaâDr. Abbot.â
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
âBesides,â you go on, dropping into a chair. âI swapped to day shift so I could stop being distracted by my attending and actually focus on being a good doctorâso could you please stop distracting me?â
She leans a hip against the desk, completely ignoring you. âAnd donât you think thatâs a little strange? I mean, you swapped to day shiftâwhat, two weeks ago?â
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. âAnd?â
âAnd,â she says dramatically, âfor the past two weeks Dr. Abbot has been staying back every morning and coming in early every afternoon.â
Your gaze slides back to the computer. âSo?â
She sighs, exasperated. âItâs not a coincidence.â
âActually, I think it is,â you argue.
She stares at you for a second, eyes narrowing. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre annoying.â
She rolls her eyes and pushes off the desk. âWhatever. Youâre still coming out tomorrow night, right?â
Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. âUhâIâm not sure yet.â
âDr. Ellis is the only person from night shift thatâll be there,â she says.
You let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
âFine,â you mutter. âIâll come.â
âGood.â She grins, already turning away. âCome to my place around six. We can get ready and pregame.â
âWhy canât I get ready at home?â you ask.
âBecause,â she calls over her shoulder, âI get to pick what you wear.â
And before you can argue, she slips into a patient room, effectively ending the conversation.
âGreat,â you mumble, turning back to the computer. âCanât wait.â
Itâs not like youâre not looking forward to finally joining in on a night out now that youâre no longer on the night shift.
You are. Youâre just... nervous.
Nervous, perpetually stressed out, and still adjusting to life as a day-walker. And Santos knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else at PTMCâeven though youâve spent the better part of ten months working opposite shifts.
Which is exactly why sheâs pushing you to join this night out. Because she knows you need it. She knows you need to relax, forget about work, and do something other than obsess over the night shift attending whoâs had you completely undone since the day you first met.
God.
Jack Abbot. The single most dangerous man in Pittsburgh.
Not only is he stupidly hot, but heâs also annoyingly competent, irritatingly attentive, and has the starring role in every single one of your most inappropriate fantasies.
Heâs also the very reason youâre terrified of having to redo your second year of residency, because that man affects your focus so much you literally canât function. Like three weeks ago, when you walked straight into the glass door of Trauma One because you were too busy watching him take his jacket off.
His damn jacket.
That was the moment you finally decided you needed to swap shiftsâbecause Dr. Shen couldnât look at you for the rest of the night without bursting into laughter.
Jack Abbot is a liability to your health and wellbeingâwhich means he is a liability to your career. And even though asking Dr. Robby to swap to day shift was one of the most ridiculously difficult things youâve done since starting at PTMC, you stand by the fact that it was the right decision.
The smart decision. The professional decision. Even if⊠it might not be working yet.
Because now you canât just glance across central anymore and see Jack leaning against the desk, talking through a case with Lena. You canât have him step up beside you when youâre unsure about something and quietly walk you through it. Heâs not the one across from you in the trauma bays. And there isnât a coffee cup that magically appears in front of you during the three oâclock lull.
Now you just⊠think about him instead.
But itâs only temporary. Youâre sure of it. You just need to get used to the day shift and figure out how to get Jack Abbot out of your head.
Which⊠you have a sneaking suspicion is what Santos plans on helping you with this weekend.
Youâre pretty sure you overheard her the other day telling Whitaker that the only way to get over someone is by getting under someone else. And maybe thatâs exactly what you need to doâget under someone else so you can stop thinking about the maddeningly hot man whoâs nearly twice your age and most definitely does not have a thing for you. Regardless of what Santos seems to think.
You spend the rest of your shift catching up on charting and trying very hard not to think about Dr. Abbot.
When someone asks for an attending, you call Dr. Robby. When you hear his voice just around the corner, you change paths as quickly and inconspicuously as you can. And when your notes are up to date and night shift starts rolling in, you find Dr. Ellis and give herâand only herâthe rundown on your patients.
By the time you shut your locker and sling your bag over your shoulder, the sky outside is dark and there are only a few day shifters left lingering around the nursesâ station.
âDid you drive today?â Whitaker asks, shutting his locker only a moment after you.
âYeah,â you reply. âNeed a ride?â
He nods sheepishly. âThatâd be great. Santos left already, said I was taking too long.â
You roll your eyes. âYeah, I bet it had nothing to do with whatever she and Garcia were whispering about in the stairwell.â
Whitaker winces. âI just hope theyâre at Garciaâs tonight.â
You huff a small laugh and hitch your bag higher. âYou ready?â
He nods.
You both turn and start back toward centralâbut just as you reach the nursesâ station, his steps slow.
âDo you need toâŠ?â
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
You frown. âNeed to what?â
He hesitates. âDonât you normally say goodbye to Dr. Abbot?â
Your eyes widen slowly. âUhâno. Why would you say that?â
He shrugs. âI donât know. I just thought you two were close.â
âWeâre not close,â you say, a little too quick.
âSorry,â he mutters, raising both hands in surrender. âI justâI donât know. I thought because you were his resident you two were⊠close.â
âIâm not his resident,â you snap. âIâm just⊠a resident. I donât belong to him.â
âOkay,â he says slowly, brows drawing together. âIâm sorry, I just thoughtââ
âYou thought wrong,â you mutter, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is listening.
Thankfully, the two nosiest nurses in the ER have already gone home for the day.
âLetâs just go.â
You grab his wrist and walk quickly toward the ambulance bay doors, giving Ellis and Shen a small nod as you passâcompletely missing the middle-aged attending who just overheard most of your conversation.
The car ride to Santos and Whitakerâs isnât long. Whitaker fills most of it anywayârambling about the shift, about the kid in Five and whether night shift is going to get slammed, about how Dana looked like she was two seconds away from strangling bed control by the end of the day. And every few minutes he circles back around to apologising for making you drive him home.
You wave him off each time.
âItâs fine, Whitaker.â
âSeriously though,â he says as you pull up outside their building. âI really appreciate it.â
He slings his bag over his shoulder and climbs out of the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give you one last wave before heading toward the front door.
The moment the passenger door falls shut, the quiet settles in. You let out a long breath, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. And immediatelyâinevitablyâyour brain drifts straight back to the same place it always does.
Jack Abbot. Of course.
You scrub a hand over your face before shifting the car back into gear and pulling away.
The rest of the night passes the way most nights doâwith a quick shower, something vaguely edible scavenged from the fridge, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone until exhaustion finally drags you to bed.
When your head finally hits the pillow, you tell yourself youâre too tired to think about him. Itâs been a long dayâlong weekâand all you need right now is sleep, not fantasies.
But that doesnât stop your brain from doing it anyway. Because sometime in the early hours of the morning, Jack Abbot shows up in your dreams. Not in the ER. Not standing beside you at the nursesâ station or leaning over a chart.
Heâs in a kitchen. Cooking.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, moving around the stove with the same quiet confidence he carries through the hospitalâlike he knows exactly what heâs doing and expects the rest of the world just to trust him.
And in the dream, you do.
You lean against the counter and watch him the way you sometimes watch him in the trauma bays, telling yourself youâre just observing. Just curious. Just learning.
He glances over his shoulder eventually, catching you staringâand says something you canât quite hear over the soft clatter of the pan. But heâs smiling.
Then the dream shifts the way dreams tend toâlogic slipping sideways until suddenly youâre standing much closer than you should be. Close enough to smell whatever heâs cooking. Close enough that when he turns toward you the space between you disappears entirely.
His hand settles at your waist like it belongs there.
Your back meets the edge of the counter.
And when his mouth brushes your neckâ
You wake with a sharp inhale, staring up at the ceiling, heart racing.
âFuck,â you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.
So much for getting him out of your head.
For a while, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the first pale line of sunlight creep across until it touches the wall opposite your window.
At some point you realise youâre still replaying the dream in your head.
The kitchen. The way his hand had felt at your waist. The warmth of his mouth against your neck.
You groan quietly and drag the blanket over your face.
âGet a fucking grip.â
Then you throw the covers back and force yourself out of bed, heading straight into the kitchen in search of coffee.
Your small apartment is always quietâbut this morning it feels too quiet. Too still as you silently sip your coffee, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. Which, unfortunately, leaves far too much room for your brain to wander right back to its favourite topic.
Jack Abbot.
After coffee, you take yourself for a long walk around the block, hoping the cool morning air might help clear the remnants of the dream from your head.
It doesnât.
But by the time you make it back to your apartment, your legs feel loose and your mind feels a little quieter, and for the briefest moment you almost manage to convince yourself that youâre excited about tonight. That youâre going to be able to do what Santos is clearly angling for and go home with an attractive stranger so you can stop draining your vibrator battery with inappropriate thoughts of your attending.
The rest of the day drifts past in a slow blur of small, forgettable things. Laundry. Answering a couple of messages in the group chat. Half-heartedly reviewing a few notes from earlier in the week before deciding you absolutely refuse to think about work on your day off.
Eventually the afternoon light begins to soften and stretch across the floor, which means itâs probably time to start getting ready if youâre actually going to make it to Santosâ place before she decides youâre bailing and comes knocking to drag you there herself.
So you shower, change, pack a bag, and throw it over your shoulder on the way out the doorâtrying very hard not to feel disappointed that Dr. Ellis is the only person from night shift whoâs going to be at the bar tonight.
It really is for the best.
You, alcohol, and Jack Abbot in the same room is a terrible idea.
âAlright, Iâm ready,â Santos announces, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
You, Javadi, and Whitakerâwho have spent the last twenty minutes on the couch chatting and sipping beerâlook up.
âAw, I wish I could do winged eyeliner like that,â Javadi says. âIt just doesnât suit my eye shape.â
âDonât look too close,â Santos mutters. âItâs super uneven, but I donât have time. I still have to fix this one before we go.â
She tips her chin toward where you and Whitaker are sitting on the opposite end of the lounge.
Whitakerâs eyes go wide. âMe?â
Santos scoffs. âNot you, Huckleberry. God, I donât have enough time in the world to fix whateverâs going on there.â
Whitaker frowns, glancing down at his navy-blue button-up shirt. âWhatâs wrong with this?â
Whitaker lifts his head, glancing between you and Javadi. âIs it really that bad?â
Javadi leans forward, lowering her voice. âThereâs nothing wrong with it, Whitaker. You look great.â
You pat his shoulder. âItâs fine, really. Sheâs justââ
The words die on your tongue as Santos reappears, holding what can only be described as a sparkly scrap of fabric on a hanger.
Javadi tilts her head. âWhatâs that?â
Santos grins. âA dress.â
Whitaker chokes on his beer. âThatâs⊠not a dress. Thatâs a glittery napkin.â
âOh my God.â Javadi snorts. âMy mom would kill me just for buying that.â
âI didnât buy it,â Santos says lightly. âA friend in college gave it to me, but itâs never fit quite right.â
She steps forward, extending the hanger toward you.
âBut I know youâll be able to pull it off,â she adds, her grin sharpening.
You stare at itâglinting in the low evening sun spilling through the windows.
âSantos⊠this is a work thing,â you mutter.
She rolls her eyes. âItâs not a work thing. Itâs just an outing with people from work.â
âIsnât that the same thing?â Whitaker asks.
Santos sighs. âNo, itâs not. And are you forgetting our main objective?â
You blink at her.
âTo get you laid.â
Javadi giggles nervously, trying to hide it behind a swig of beer.
âCome on,â Santos says. âJust put it on and if it doesnât work, we try something else.â
You hesitate, staring at the glittery thing like it might catch fire at any moment. Which, given enough sunlight, it probably could.
âFine,â you say at last, pushing off the couch. âIâll try it on, but that does not mean Iâm wearing it.â
Santosâ eyes sparkle with excitement. Or maybe itâs just the dress.
âThatâs my girl.â
You take the hanger from her and trudge into her room, nudging the door shut behind you. It takes a minute for you to figure out how the glittery napkin is supposed to go onâbut once you do, you shed your comfortable clothes and shimmy into the most sparkly piece of fabric youâve ever worn.
And somehow, the shimmering scrap of nothing turns out to be an actual dressâshort, sparkling, and just structured enough to stay where itâs supposed to while still feeling mildly illegal.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the mirror and open the door, stepping back out into the lounge room.
âSo?â
For a moment, no one says anything.
Whitakerâs mouth falls open.
Javadiâs eyebrows lift. âOh.â
Santos, meanwhile, tilts her head appreciatively, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming as she looks you over from head to toe.
âI knew it,â she says smugly.
Whitaker blinks. âThat is not a dress.â
Javadi elbows him. âStop talking.â
You tug awkwardly at the hemâwhich doesnât actually move much because there isnât very much hem to tug.
âSantos,â you say carefully, âIâm not sureââ
âRelax,â she says. âYou look incredible.â
She circles you slowly, like a stylist inspecting her work.
âAnd youâre definitely going to get laid.â
âI feel like I shouldnât be here,â Whitaker mutters, his face bright red.
Santos rolls her eyes. âYouâre only here because you live here, Huckleberry. Now go grab that bottle of tequila from on top of the fridgeâweâre going to need some liquid courage before we head out.â
After two shots of tequila and Santosâ finishing touches to your makeup, you all head out the door. Whitaker calls an Uber, the four of you pile in, and you carefully keep Santosâ leather jacket wrapped around yourself for some semblance of modesty.
You donât really plan on taking it off for the rest of the nightâeven if it isnât that cold.
The ride to the bar isnât nearly long enough. Javadi spends most of it excitedly talking about how she can finally go out drinking now that sheâs twenty-one, which Santos encourages with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly intends to make the most of that milestone.
You mostly just stare out the window. Trying not to think about the dress you shouldnât have agreed to wear and the night shift attending you definitely shouldnât be missing right now. Because if someone asked you where youâd rather be tonightâthe bar or the ER with Dr. Abbotâyour honest answer would be incredibly depressing.
Who would rather be at work than out with their friends on a Saturday night?
âWeâre here,â Santos announces, nudging your side a little too hard.
You all thank the driver before climbing out, gathering yourselves on the sidewalk in front of the familiar establishment Santos loves dragging everyone to.
âRelax,â she says, dropping a hand on your shoulder. âYou donât need this.â
She tugs at the leather jacket, pulling it off your shoulders until itâs bunched at your elbows.
âI feel naked,â you mutter. âLike this is some nightmare where I show up to work in my underwear.â
Whitaker snorts. âNot far from it.â
Santos rolls her eyes. âWell, youâre not at work. Youâre at a bar. And this is supposed to be fun.â
Right. Fun.
That is the entire point of tonight. Go out. Have a drink. Meet someone who isnât Jack Abbot. Ideally forget Jack Abbot exists for at least a few hours.
Completely achievable.
Right?
âFine.â
You draw a deep breath and drop your arms, letting the jacket slide off completely. Santos grins as you sling it over one elbow, trying not to instinctively hold it in front of your body like armour.
âSee?â she says. âMuch better.â
âLetâs just go inside before I change my mind,â you mutter, already starting toward the door.
Javadi loops her arm through yours. âYou look amazing. Seriously.â
You give her a small smile, trying not to feel quite so awkward as Santos leads the way toward the main entrance.
Itâs just a bar. Just a normal Saturday night. Youâll be fine after a few more shots of liquid courage.
You glance through the front window as you approachâmore out of habit than anything else, your eyes drifting lazily over the crowded room inside.
People. Low lights. Patrons lingering around the bar.
Andâ
Your brain stalls.
Because thereâs a man leaning against the bar with one elbow braced on the countertop, his shoulders broad under a tight black shirt, head tipped slightly as he talks to someone beside him.
A familiar someone.
Dr. Ellis.
And the manâ
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Your stomach plummets.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Your feet stop moving, your whole body suddenly forgetting how to function.
Your pulse kicks violently against the inside of your throat as a wave of heat rushes up the back of your neck, sudden and dizzying and sharp enough to make the edges of your vision blur for half a second.
Because he looksâ
He looks so good.
Relaxed in a way youâve never seen at work. One hand curled loosely around a glass as he frowns slightly at something Ellis is saying, that small crease between his brows you know far too well.
And suddenly you are extremely, violently aware that you are standing outside a bar wearing approximately three square inches of glitter.
âSantos,â you say again, your voice almost breaking.
She glances over her shoulder. âHm?â
âYou knew.â
She stops, her hand hovering near the door.
Whitaker glances between the two of you. âWhatâs happening?â
âTechnically,â Santos says slowly, âI didnât know. I just... suspected.â
âYou said Ellis was the only one from night shift whoâd be here.â
She winces. âI did, but what I meant is⊠Ellis is the only one who actually told me sheâd be here.â
You stare at her. âSo you did know?â
âI knew it was his night off.â
âSantos, Iââ You glance back at him through the bar window. âI canât go in there like this.â
âLike what?â she asks. âSmoking hot?â
âHalf naked.â
She rolls her eyes. âYes, you can.â
âI will actually die.â
âNo, you wonât,â she says firmly. âYouâre an adult. You can wear whatever you want, talk to whoever you want, and just because your incredibly inconvenient attending crush happens to be inside does not suddenly revoke your civil liberties.â
She pulls the door open.
âNow stop panicking and get in the bar.â
-
âHe swore the chest pain had nothing to do with the seven energy drinks heâd had that night,â Ellis says, still rambling about a patient who pissed her off two nights ago, âwhich was a bold position to take with a heart rate of one-forty.â
Jack snorts softly. âAnd did you believe him?â
Ellisâ eyes go wide, and she takes a long drink before continuing her rant about night shift patients and the strange confidence people have when explaining why their terrible decisions definitely have nothing to do with the symptoms theyâre currently experiencing.
Jack nods along, offering the occasional comment or question where needed, meeting her gaze now and thenâbut mostly keeping his attention on the door. Waiting. Because heâs not stupid enough to ask anyone if youâre going to be here tonight, but he is naĂŻve enough to hope you will be.
He wasnât even supposed to be here tonightâhis first night off in two weeks.
He was supposed to be at home, cooking something decent for dinner, enjoying the rare luxury of not wearing scrubs, and inevitably indulging in his favourite guilty pleasureâinvolving nothing but his hand and some very inappropriate thoughts of you.
But heâs not.
Heâs here. In a crowded bar, sipping cheap scotch, listening to Ellis complain about the night shift patients and their weird confidence, just⊠waiting.
For you.
Heâd wanted to ask you yesterday if you were coming to the bar tonightâbefore he agreed to joinâbut heâd barely seen you before the end of your shift. And you didnât even say goodbye. Which isnât unusual, given how chaotic the ER can be, but then heâd overheard your conversation with Whitakerâand something about it made his chest feel too tight.
It wasnât anger. Not exactly. Not jealousy, either. It was just... wrong. Not because what you said was wrong, but because he hates that it was right. That you donât belong to him. Even if Robby calls you âhis R2â and Whitaker thinks youâre close because youâre his residentânone of it changes the fact that he has no real claim over you.
Which is ridiculous. He knows it.
He shouldnât feel territorial. He shouldnât want this. Want you. And yet, his chest still feels too tightâa slow, hot coil of frustration and longing curling up into his throat, and he hates it. Hates hearing it out loud, hates how much it matters, hates that he canât make it not matter.
âOh.â Ellis glances over her shoulder. âLooks like Santos and the others are here.â
Jackâs gaze flicks back to the door.
He tries not to react, not to straighten, not to square his shoulders as if heâs bracing for somethingâbut he can already feel his composure slipping.
Santos steps in first, her head turned slightly as she talks to Whitaker, who walks in behind her. Then itâs Javadi, an unusually wide smile on her face as she looks atâ
You.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Jack stops breathing.
His chest burns. His stomach flips. His hand tightens dangerously around his scotch glass.
Itâs you. Of course itâs you. Youâre perfect.
But thenâ
That dress.
God.
That dressâshort, sparkling, clinging just enough to make every nerve in his body snap awake. It shimmers under the low lights as you move, and he hates himself for noticing every subtle curve, every shift of fabric, as if time itself has slowed just to torture him.
Itâs all too much.
He can feel his pulse in his throat, heat burning beneath his skin, blood rushing in the one direction it really, really shouldnât be right now. In public. In front of his coworkers.
He blinks, finally tearing his gaze away from you.
And thatâs when he notices the rest of the bar. All staring. All stunned.
He hates them all.
He hates that they can even look at you. Hates that the universe allows it. Hates that they might see even a fraction of what he seesâand feel a fraction of what he feels.
And he hates, more than anything right now, that youâre not his.
âDr. Abbot,â Robby says, appearing beside him and slinging an arm across his shoulders. âWhatâs your poison tonight?â
Jack lifts his drink, knuckles still white around the glass. âScotch.â
Robby claps his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. âYou might not want to have too many of those.â
Then he slips past both Jack and Ellis and raises a hand to flag down the bartender.
âAlright,â Ellis says, pushing off the bar. âIâm going to go grab a seat before the table gets too crowded.â
Jack nods, but he doesnât follow. He stays beside the bar, rigid now, eyes fixed on the group of men at a high table just a few feet from the front door. Theyâre muttering to each other, leaning in, voices lowâbut nothing about it is subtle. Their gazes are glued to you as you weave through patrons and tables to greet the rest of the PTMC crew gathered in a booth near the back.
One of themâthe dumbest looking one, Jackâs already decidedâslowly slides off his stool, nodding along while his friends murmur their advice.
Jack glances back at you, now standing beside McKay, sliding your arms into the leather jacket youâd been carrying. Santos grabs your wrist, tilting her head toward the bar as she starts dragging you with her.
And, like a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush, Jackâs pulse starts racing.
âDr. Abbot,â Santos says, grinning as you both approach the bar. âFancy seeing you somewhere other than the ER on a Saturday night.â
âI do have a life outside of work, you know,â he says dryly, lifting his drink and looking anywhere but at you.
âLike playing bingo at the senior centre?â Santos asks, resting both forearms on the bar.
You step up on her other side, squinting at the shelves of liquor on the back wall like theyâre the most interesting thing in the room.
âBingoâs on Wednesdays,â he says mildly. âTry to keep up.â
Santos snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for the small leather-bound bar menu. But out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees your head dipâjust slightlyâand you try to hide a small laugh against your shoulder.
Jack feels it like a punch to the ribs.
Because youâre listening.
And apparently⊠you think heâs funny.
âAlright,â Santos says, lifting a hand. âI think we need some tequila over here.â
The bartender steps away from where heâd been serving farther down the bar, but his attention quickly drifts past Santos and lands on you. He leans in, resting one palm flat against the bar while he wipes down the counter with a rag that doesnât really need wiping.
âSo,â he says to you, not Santos. âWhat are you drinking tonight?â
Santos blinks.
âI just told you,â she says flatly. âTequila.â
The bartender barely glances at her.
Jackâs jaw tightens.
You look briefly confused, glancing between Santos and the bartender.
âUhâwhatever she orders is fine.â
âYeah. Tequila,â Santos repeats, slower this time.
The bartender laughs like sheâs jokingâand Jack sets his scotch down slowly. Carefully.
His eyes stay locked on the man now lining up four small glasses in front of you, still completely ignoring Santos. The way heâs watching you is too much. Too close. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth makes Jack want to punch the smirk right off his face.
And by the way you shift a little closer to Santosâpulling your jacket tighter around yourselfâhe knows youâre uncomfortable.
His hand clenches at his side.
Robby pauses as he walks past, a beer in each hand.
âEasy, tiger,â he mutters. âShe can handle herself.â
âI know,â Jack says, voice low. âDoesnât mean she has to.â
Robby gives him a lookâa brief, knowing glance, somewhere between amusement and warning. âCareful.â
Jack doesnât respond. He just turns back to you and Santos, watching as you each knock back two shots of tequila, your nose scrunching as the burn hits. And he canât help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, because the face you make as you set the second glass down is ridiculously cute for someone wearing a dress like that.
âOkay,â Santos says. âI need a vodka soda before I start making bad decisions.â
The bartender nods, already reaching for another glassâand before he can even ask if youâd like another drink, someone else steals your attention.
âHey,â the guy says, stepping up beside you. âCan I get you another one?â
He leans in, just enough to be heard over the noiseâbut itâs still too close.
You shift slightly, angling toward him. âOh. Uhâsure.â
Santos presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile as she turns back to the bar, suddenly very invested in whatever the bartender is doing. The second he sets the vodka soda in front of her, she scoops it up and drops a few bills on the counter.
She lifts the drink to her lips as she turns away, pausing just long enough to glance at Jack over the rim of the glass.
Her brows lift. âYou really gonna let that happen?â
Jack frowns. âWhatââ
But Santos is already gone, drink in hand, halfway back to the booth where everyone else is.
Where Jack should be headed tooâbecause thereâs no reason for him to stay here. No reason for him to linger, to hover, to make sure youâre okay, to stand there glaring at the guy buying you a drink like thatâs going to change anything.
Itâs not like he can blame him. If Jack thought he had a shot with you, heâd take it too. The difference is, Jack wouldnât need the dress. Or the drinks. Or the crowd. Heâd take that shot with you even when youâre tired and stressed out and covered in blood at the end of a bad shift in the ER. Heâd take it any time. Any place.
But Jack doesnât get that shot.
Because youâre young. You donât have baggage. And youâre a residentâmaybe not his resident, but still a resident.
Itâs just too inappropriate.
Jack sets his glass back on the bar a little harder than necessaryâand the bartender glances over, brows raised as if silently asking if heâd like another, but Jack just shakes his head.
His eyes flick back to you. To the way youâre smiling nowâsoft, not uneasy. To the way you seem to have forgotten about keeping your jacket closed, and now the idiot talking to you is looking anywhere but your face.
Then you laughâlight, easyâand something in Jackâs chest tightens again.
He looks away. He canât keep standing here. Heâs not going to stand here and watch you flirt with some idiot at the bar like he has any right to care.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn away and start walking back to the table.
Where he should have been five minutes ago. Where he plans on staying for the rest of the night.
Half an hour later, most of PTMCâs day shift staff are gathered in the booth, half still wearing their scrubs after coming straight from the hospital. The volume of conversation builds with the growing collection of empty glasses in the middle of the table, voices overlapping, getting louder with every roundâbut Jack doesnât order another scotch. At some point, Ellis sets a beer in front of him, which he nurses until itâs too warm to enjoy.
Every now and then, he makes a point of nodding or laughing or glancing at someone across the tableâpretending to follow the conversation, pretending heâs paying attentionâwhen really, all he can focus on is you. You and your smile. And your laugh. And the way your hand settles lightly on a manâs bicep when he says something that makes you blush.
Not the same man as before, either. Noâthis one is new. This one swooped in when the first one excused himself to take a phone call, and now that one is back at the table with his friends, sulking.
Kind of how Jack is right now, sitting at the table with his friends. Sulking. Glaring. Plotting.
He knows he shouldnât. He knows itâs none of his business. But he canât stop himself from trying to come up with an excuse to interrupt you. To get you away from those men and their lingering stares.
Not that heâs any better.
âAbbot.â Robby nudges his side. âHungry?â
Jack blinks, finally dragging his gaze away from you to where Ellis is standing, looking expectant.
âHm?â
âAre you hungry?â Ellis asks. âIâm going to order some wings.â
Jack frowns. âUhâno. Iâm good. Thanks.â
Ellis nods once and turns away, heading straight for the bar.
Robby huffs a quiet laugh beside him. âYou might want to turn your hearing aids up, old man.â
Jack doesnât even look at him. âFunny.â
âIâm serious,â Robby says mildly. âYouâve missed, what, three questions in the last five minutes?â
âI heard her,â Jack mutters. âI was just... thinking.â
Robby hums like he doesnât believe that for a second.
Jack shifts, pushing his chair back as he sets his warm beer on the table. âIâm gonna hit the head.â
Robbyâs brows lift, slow and knowing, his gaze flicking briefly toward the bar.
âMm,â he says. âSure you are.â
Jack does, in fact, turn toward the bathrooms firstâmostly because he needs a second away from all the music and chatter to try and clear his head. To try and stop himself from doing what he really left the booth to do.
He locks himself in the accessible bathroomânot that he needs it, but itâs more private than the menâsâand stands in front of the vanity. He presses his palms into the porcelain sink, shifting his weight forward with a deep, steadying breath.
This is ridiculous, and he knows it.
Heâs a grown man. He shouldnât be acting like this.
This is trivial shit, for Godâs sake. Jack is a vet. A seasoned ER doctor.
So why is a goddamn crush undoing him like this?
Why are you undoing him like this?
He lifts his head and stares at his reflectionâjaw tight, shoulders rigidâtrying to get a grip. Trying to remember that he is a grown ass man, not some idiot who canât keep his shit together.
His gaze drifts across his faceâthe day-old stubble, peppered hairâthen to the reflection of the bathroom behind him. The graffitied walls, covered in stickers and spray paint, a chaotic collection of late nights and inebriated thoughts. He wonders, briefly, how many people came in here intending to leave something behind.
Then he spots something scrawled in the corner of the mirror in thick black marker.
HESITATE AND SOMEONE ELSE WONâT.
Jack tilts his head.
Thatâs not exactly... subtle.
But thatâs the thing, isnât it?
He doesnât hesitate.
Not in the trauma bay. Not out in the field. Not when it matters. Not when someoneâs life is on the line and everyone else is waiting for someone to make the call.
So what the hell is this?
This⊠standing back. Watching. Letting it happen.
Like he doesnât know what he wants. Like he hasnât already made up his mind.
He drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head onceâsharp, annoyed.
âJesus Christ.â
Itâs not caution. Itâs avoidance.
With another deep breath, Jack reaches for the tap and braces his hands beneath the stream. He scrubs them togetherâquick and thoroughâthen turns off the water, grabs a paper towel, and dries his hands with more focus than necessary. He tosses the towel in the bin on his way out the door, his gaze sharpening as he scans the barâfinding you immediately.
Youâre still standing where you were, maybe a few steps closer to the back of the room. Thereâs a new guy in front of you now, closing you in, crowding your space just enough to make Jackâs eyes narrow.
The manâs hand settles at your waist, a little lower than what could be considered innocent. And anyone else watching might think youâre okay with itâbut Jack knows you. He sees the small flicker of discomfort that crosses your face, the subtle drop of your shoulder as you try to angle yourself away without seeming rude.
Good thing Jack doesnât mind being rude.
Heâs already moving before heâs fully decided to. Just a few long strides and heâs thereâclose enough to cut through the space between you and the guy without touching either of you, his presence alone enough to interrupt whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He looks at you. Just you.
âHey.â
Your head turns immediatelyâand the shift in your expression is instant. Relief.
âOhâhey,â you say, a little breathless.
And then you step into him. Not too close. Not in a way that draws attention or suggests anythingâbut enough to make Jackâs pulse jump. Enough for him to feel your warmth and the way it settles under his skin.
âHey, man,â the guy says, holding out a hand. âIâm Trent.â
Jack ignores him.
âYou alright?â he asks you.
You nod slowly. âI am now.â
Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, just for a secondâlike you didnât even think about it. Like you just needed something solid to hold onto.
Jack goes still.
Trent clears his throat. âSorryâuhâwho are you?â
You glance at him with a tight smile. âThis is my attending.â
Jack likes being called your attending.
Trent frowns. âWhat?â
âRemember how I said I was a doctor?â
Trent just stares at you.
âWell, Dr. Abbot is my attending,â you go on anyway. âHeâs like my supervisor. Iâm his resident.â
His resident.
âRight,â Trent mutters, eyeing Jack. âCool. Soâyouâre a doctor?â
Jack doesnât even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you.
âAre you hungry?â he asks. âEllis is ordering wingsâwe can grab a menu.â
âStarving,â you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly as you look up at him.
âGreat.â His hand settles at your shoulder, firm but casual. âLetâs get back to the others.â
âWait,â Trent says. âAre youââ
âIt was nice meeting you,â you cut in, flashing him one last tight-lipped smile before Jack steers you away.
He keeps his arm around your shoulders until youâre halfway back to the booth of PTMC doctors and nurses. Only then does he pull back, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs the physical restraint.
âThanks for that,â you murmur. âHe just wouldnât take a hint.â
Jack nods. âI noticed.â
He doesnât look at you as he turns back toward the other end of the table, toward his seat beside Robbyâbecause if he did, he might not be able to leave your side. From the corner of his eye, he sees Santos reach for you, already asking what happened as she pulls you into the seat between her and McKay.
And for twenty blissful minutes, Jack feels okay. The most okay heâs felt all night.
Because youâre here, at the table, talking to Santos and McKayâand not some idiot who thinks he deserves a chance with the prettiest girl in the room. In the world, according to Jack.
But only for twenty minutesâbecause once you finish your drink, Santos drags you back to the bar.
Another shot. Another drink. Another guy.
Jack shifts in his chair, trying to listen to whatever it is Ellis and Mateo are arguing about, but he canât focusânot when your hand settles lightly on this new guyâs shoulder. And especially not when it slides down his bicep, flirty in a way that makes Jack want to get out of his chair.
He tells himself heâs not going to. That he shouldnât.
But the second the lights dim and the music gets louder, he pushes out of his seat.
He finds you at the edge of the dancefloor, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the crowd.
âHey,â he says, voice raised over the music.
Your head whips around, your brows lifting slightly in that soft, expectant wayâlike youâre waiting for him to say whatever it is thatâs so important he had to stop you right here.
Jack clears his throat. âHave you been drinking water?â
You frown. âUm. Not really.â
âYou should really drink some water,â he says, tipping his head toward the bar.
You hesitate, glancing back over your shoulder at the man waiting for you to follow him into the crowd.
Then you look back at Jack.
âUh, yeah. Okay. Water.â
He knows he shouldnât have done it. He knows it was stupid and petty and jealousy-drivenâbut he canât help the flicker of satisfaction when you follow him to the end of the bar with the self-serve water tower.
The music is too loud for conversationâand even if it wasnât, heâs not sure what heâd say. Not when youâre looking at him like this. A little drunk. A little curious. Your brows drawn, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your lips wet from the water.
God. This has the be the finest form of torture.
Because here you areâso young and so sweet, so trusting in Jack that heâs just trying to look after you, when all he can think about is the fact that youâre not his. That they think youâre fair game. That every man in this room thinks he has a chance.
And the fact that heâs not going to let them anywhere near you.
-
The third time Jack Abbot appears at your side, he catches your elbow just as youâre about to step out the door with a man named Leo. Not to leave the barâjust for some airâbut then Jack says something about Mateo buying a round of shots and guides you back inside.
You donât mind. Not really. Especially not when a free drink is involved.
So you line up beside your coworkers and sink another shot of tequila with a grimace before Santos drags you back to the dancefloor.
The fourth time Jack Abbot intercepts you, youâre just about to start dancing with a handsome stranger Santos accidentally made you bump intoâbut before you can even take the manâs hand, Jack pulls you away, insisting you take a seat for a minute and drink more water.
Which, fine. Whatever.
But by the fifth interruption, youâre starting to notice a pattern.
And youâre getting a little annoyed.
âOh my God,â Santos says, her eyes going wide as the opening notes to ABBAâs Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! start blaring through the speakers. âWe have to dance. Come on!â
You barely have time to scoop your drink up off the bar before sheâs dragging you onto the dancefloorâinto the throng of warm bodies all moving to the beat beneath the single, sparkling disco ball.
The music pulses through the floor beneath your feet, the bass thrumming in your chest as Santos drags you deeper into the crowd. Somewhere between Mateoâs round of shots and your tenth song on the dancefloor, your jacket disappearedâand now your dress catches the light with every movement, glittering under the shifting colours as bodies press in from all sides.
The bar is still pretty full, even if the PTMC booth has already lost a few soldiers. There are still plenty of prospectsâplenty of strangers who might offer to take you home and make you forget all about Jack Abbot. Which is still very much the plan.
If only the man himself would stop interrupting every interaction like heâs doing you a favour.
At some point during the secondâor maybe thirdâchorus, Santos subtly steps away and a guy ends up in front of you. Youâre not even entirely sure how. One second youâre dancing and screaming the lyrics, the next heâs thereâclose enough that you can feel the heat of him, his hands hovering like heâs trying to decide where to put them.
You let it happen. Because this is what you want, right?
This is the plan.
He leans in and says something you donât quite catch over the music, but you laugh anywayâmore out of obligation than anything else.
Then his attention shifts.
His eyes flick past you. And just like thatâhe falters.
Itâs subtle, but you feel it. The hesitation. The way his body pulls back a fraction, like something just snapped him out of it.
âUhâactually,â he mutters, already stepping away. âIâyeah. Sorry.â
Then heâs gone.
You blink, frowning slightly as you glance over your shoulder andâ
Of course.
Jack Abbot, standing just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes locked on you with a look that makes your stomach drop.
Not angry. Not exactly.
But intense. Sharp. Focused in a way that feels⊠deliberate.
You stare at him for a secondâfrustration flickering across your faceâthen turn back to Santos, who is still dancing with her vodka soda lifted in the air.
You lean in, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the music. âYour plan isnât working!â
She turns to face you, frowning. âWhat do you mean itâs not working?â
You stare at her. âThe plan to get me laid? Itâs not working.â
âWhy not?â
You huff out a laugh, incredulous.
âBecause of him,â you say, nodding toward Jack. âBecause I let him save me from one bad interaction and now heâs justâhovering. Interrupting. Scaring people off.â
Santosâ mouth twitches.
âI think he thinks heâs being helpful,â you add, shaking your head. âLike heâs doing me a favour or something, butâGod, Iâm never going to get a stranger to take me home with a hundred-and-ninety-pound war vet glaring over my shoulder every five minutes.â
Santos just looks at you for a secondâthen smiles. Slow. Knowing.
âAnd what part of my plan isnât working?â
You frown. âAre you even listening to me?â
âI said I was going to get you laid,â she says, lifting her drink to her lips. âI never said anything about going home with a stranger.â
It doesnât land straight away.
You blink at her, still frowning as you try to follow the logicâbecause that doesnât make sense, thatâs not the plan. If youâre not going home with a stranger, then whoâ
And then it clicks.
Your stomach drops.
âWaitâSantos,â you start, eyes widening. âYou donât meanââ
Santos just looks at you over the rim of her glass. Calm. Patient. Smiling faintly, like sheâs been waiting for this exact moment all night.
You glance toward the side of the dancefloor againâto the man still focused on you in a way that feels far too intentional now. Arms folded, jaw set. He doesnât even pretend to look away when you meet his stare.
âActually,â Santos says, her hand closing around your wrist. âI think my plan is working perfectly. Now, come onââ she nods toward the booth where everyone else is, âletâs play a game.â
A game?
Before you can argue or even question it, Santos is dragging you off the dancefloor toward the booth at the back of the bar. The thrum of the music dulls the further you get from the crowd, and by the time you both slide into empty seats at the table, you no longer feel like you need to yell just to be heard.
The PTMC crew has thinned since you were last sitting here. Robby, Dana, and Donnie are gone, and McKay is holding her purse in her lap like sheâd been trying to leave when Mateo cornered her with another rant about how no patient actually seems to understand the pain scale.
âAlright,â Santos announces, picking up someoneâs abandoned drink and taking a sip like she owns it, âweâre playing a game.â
Whitaker leans forward. âA game?â
âYes, Huckleberry. A game.â Santos glances around the table with a lazy half-smile. âItâs called Never Have I Ever.â
Mateo snorts. âThatâs a middle school sleepover game.â
âGreat,â Santos replies. âThen it should be easy for you.â
Thereâs a ripple of laughter around the table, but no one else seems to object.
âCan I start?â Mohan pipes up beside Santos. âIâve got a good one.â
Santos nods. âBe my guest.â
Youâre not entirely sure when Jack rejoined the table, since heâd been at the edge of the dancefloor just a few minutes ago, but now youâre suddenly very aware of his presence across from you. Like the few people that called it a night have unintentionally left a smaller, more intimate group behindâand now Jack Abbot is almost directly across from you while you play one of the most notorious, tension-raising middle school games of all time.
âOkay,â Mohan says, sitting up a little straighter. âNever have I ever⊠called in sick when I wasnât actually sick.â
McKay laughs. Mateo groans. Almost everyone at the table lifts their drinks.
âReally?â Santos says. âThat was your good one?â
Mohan shrugs. âI thoughtââ
âNever mind,â Santos cuts her off. âMy turn.â
Her gaze moves slowly around the table before landing on you, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.
âNever have I ever,â she starts slowly, âfantasised about someone else sitting at this table.â
Whitaker frowns. âYouâve accidentally fantasised about someone here?â
He shrugs. âSometimes the wrong people pop up, you know?â
Santos rolls her eyes. âOh my God. Whatever. Intentional or not.â
Mateo nods once and lifts his drink. Javadi sinks lower in her chair as she lifts hersâand you try not to look around at the rest of the table as you bring your own up to your lips.
Beside you, McKay drops her purse to the ground and straightens, clearly invested now.
âAlright, Iâve got one,â she says, grinning. âNever have I ever⊠faked it.â
Javadi chokes, Santos snorts, and across from you, Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.
âNever?â Ellis asks, eyes wide. âSo you alwaysââ
âOh, God, no,â McKay laughs. âDefinitely not. I just refuse to fake it.â
Laughter moves through the table again, a little louder this time, and everyone takes a second to decide whether or not to raise their drinks.
You lift yours slowly, looking anywhere but at Jack.
âOkay, my turn,â Ellis announces, shifting in her seat. âNever have I ever⊠hooked up with someone at work.â
The table reacts around you, a mix of laughter and quiet protest, but it all blurs at the edges when you finally glance upâbecause Jack is already looking at you.
Not surprised. Not amused.
Just⊠watching.
He doesnât laugh or say anything. He just lifts his drink, slow and deliberate.
And something sharp twists in your chest.
âWhatâve you got, Langdon?â McKay asks, nodding at him across the table.
Langdon strokes his chin thoughtfully for a momentâthen sighs.
âAlright, I already know Iâm going to get shit for this, butââ He clears his throat. âNever have I ever⊠had sex in public.â
McKay laughs, loudly, and lifts her drink to her lips without hesitation. Ellis and Santos drink too, while Mohan laughs into her hand and Javadi sinks even lower in her chair.
Across from you, Jack sips his drink again like itâs nothing.
And that sharp twist in your chest doesnât ease.
Because of course he has. Of course there are other people. Other women.
And youâ
You catch Santosâ gaze from the other end of the tableâsharp, knowing, daring.
Your grip tightens slightly around your glass.
And before you can talk yourself out of itâ
âOkay, my turn,â you say lightly, sitting up a little straighter.
Everyone turns to you, but you keep your eyes fixed on your glass.
âNever have I ever,â you say slowly, ââŠfinished during sex.â
For a secondânothing.
Then the table erupts.
âWhatânoââ Mateo is already laughing, leaning forward like he thinks youâre joking. âYouâre kidding.â
Javadi chokes on her drink, coughing as she turns toward you. âWait, seriously?â
âOh my God,â McKay says, half-laughing, half-staring at you like sheâs trying to figure out if youâre lying.
Langdon huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. âWell⊠thatâs unfortunate.â
Whitaker just blinks at you, caught somewhere between surprised and confused, like he doesnât quite know what to do with that information.
Santos doesnât say anything. She just leans back in her seat, watching you over the rim of her glass with a slow, satisfied smile.
And across from youâ
Jack just goes still.
Completely still.
His expression doesnât change, but something in his eyes doesâsharp, dark, focused in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It takes you a minute to remember how to move. How to breathe. How to laugh and sip your drink and keep playing the game that doesnât stop just because it feels like your heart did.
Eventually, everyone eases off the third-degree on your embarrassingly real confession, and Mateo pipes up next with something ridiculous that makes the table groan. Then Javadi comes out with something surprisingly rebelliousâand blushes hard when Mateo flashes her a wink.
And so it goes on.
You know it does.
You can hear itâvoices overlapping, laughter breaking out again, someone arguing over what counts, someone else swearing theyâre being misrepresentedâbut it all feels⊠distant.
Like itâs happening a few steps away from you instead of right here at the table. Because now, all you can focus on is Jack. On the way heâs hardly moved. Hardly spoken. Hardly looked away from you.
At some point, he mutters his own confession with a small smirk and everyone laughsâbut you donât catch the words. Youâre too aware of everything else to hear them. Too aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, the thrum of the music beneath your feet, the way Jackâs jaw ticks every time you glance back at him.
Another round starts. Then another.
Someone groans. Someone laughs too loud. Santos says something that earns a chorus of reactionsâbut it all slips past you, unimportant, forgettable.
Time stretches. Blurs.
Your drink empties, refills, empties again.
People shift in their seats. Someone stands. Someone leaves.
Then suddenlyâ
âYou ready?â
You blink.
Santos is standing beside you, brows raised.
âReady?â you echo.
She nods toward the door. âTime to go. Most of us have to work tomorrow.â
You glance around at the empty table. âOh.â
Santos is already halfway to the door by the time you gather your things and catch up to her. Youâre still pulling your jacket on as you step outside, bracing against the cool night air that nips at every inch of exposed skinâwhich, in this dress, is a lot of skin.
âThe Uberâs just around the corner,â Whitaker says.
âGreat,â Mohan mutters, hugging her jacket tighter. âIâm freezing.â
Youâre not sure if itâs the alcohol or just the heat lingering beneath your skin from the way Jack had been watching you earlier, but youâre not nearly as cold as you should be.
âYou sure you donât mind if I stay over tonight?â Javadi asks, glancing between Santos and Whitaker.
Santos shrugs. âAs long as you donât mind the couchâand Dr. Shamsi isnât going to have us arrested for kidnapping.â
Javadi lets out an awkward laugh. âUhâno. Itâs totally fine. I told my dad.â
âAre you working tomorrow?â Whitaker asks.
Javadi shakes her head. âDay off. You?â
Whitaker sighs. âYeah.â
âSo am I,â Santos adds. âAnd if I donât get at least five hours sleep, I cannot be responsible for other peopleâs lives.â
âThatâs reassuring,â Jack mutters, almost startling you as he steps out of the bar.
He buries his hands in his pockets, hardly sparing you a glance as he steps closer to the group. Thereâs a faint hitch in his stepâsomething you recognise from the waning hours of a night shift, when heâs been on his feet for too long and starts to favour one leg.
âThis is us,â Whitaker announces, nodding toward the car pulling up at the curb.
Mohan hurries forward first, yanking the door open and climbing into the back seatâand Javadi is next, flashing you a smile before she ducks in beside her. You step forwardâthen hesitate. Whitaker is already holding the front passenger door open, and Santos is standing at the curb, about to join the others in the back.
âWait.â Your pulse jumps. âThereâs too manyââ
âYouâre with Dr. Abbot,â Santos says lightly, her mouth twitching like sheâs trying not to smile.
Your stomach drops.
âIâIâm what?â
Santos shrugs. âJavadiâs staying over and Mohanâs place is on the way to ours. Just makes sense.â
Then she climbs into the car, shuts the door, and rolls the window down.
âSee you tomorrow!â
Thereâs a chorus of goodbyes from the others before the car pulls away from the curbâand the cool, quiet night settles in too quickly. The only sound is the dull thrum of music from the bar, and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
For a second, you donât turn around. You canât. Not now that youâre alone with him.
Thenâ
âIâm this way,â he says, voice low and rough and maddeningly hot.
You nod, but donât dare look at him as you start following the line of parked cars up the street.
The night air feels sharper now, cooler the further you get from the barâand it makes you pull into yourself, arms folded tightly while your jacket barely does anything to help.
Jack keeps an easy pace beside you, not crowding you, not touching you, but close enough that youâre aware of him anyway. Of the space he takes up at your side. Of the way he adjusts slightly so youâre walking on the inside of the path, further from the curb, without making a thing of it.
Neither of you says anything.
Itâs not awkward. Itâs just⊠quiet in a way that feels heavy, like the silence is holding onto everything that happened inside instead of letting it go.
Your heels click unevenly against the pavement, catching slightly every few steps, and youâre suddenly, painfully aware of everythingâthe way your dress shifts as you move, the cool air against your skin, the way your pulse hasnât quite settled.
You feel too sober. Too aware.
When his car finally comes into view, he moves ahead of you just slightlyâjust enough to reach the passenger door first and hold it open.
God. Heâs so annoyingly considerate.
You give him a small, tight smile before climbing into the passenger seat.
The car is still warm, still holding onto the heat from earlier in the day, and it smells like him in a way thatâs subtle but unmistakableâclean, familiar, something faintly sharp beneath it that you canât quite place but instantly recognise. The seat gives slightly beneath you, softer than you expect, and for a second you just sit there, hands hovering like youâre not entirely sure where to put them.
Itâs his.
All of it.
The way everything is exactly where it should be, nothing out of place. The faint scuff on the console. A pair of sunglasses tucked neatly into the centre compartment. His backpack thrown into the back seat like heâd discarded it in a hurry and never thought about it again.
The sound of the driverâs side door opening almost startles you.
You drop your hands into your lap, shifting slightly and smoothing your dress down over your thighs like that might ground you somehow.
The car immediately feels smaller when Jack climbs in. More intimate. Closer in a way thatâs almost stifling.
You keep your eyes fixed out the windshield.
Waiting.
For the engine to start. For the car to move.
But nothing happens.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, settling into every inch of the space between you.
And thenâ
âYou canât say shit like that around me.â
You blink, finally turning toward himâand regretting it immediately. Heâs so irritatingly handsome, so annoyingly gorgeous in a way that makes you want to be stupid and reckless and climb across the console into his lap.
âSay what?â you ask, your voice embarrassingly thin.
He looks at youânot fully, just turning his head slightly.
âYou know what,â he says, his voice low and rough with something that sounds a little too close to control slipping.
And you do.
You know exactly what he means.
But before you can say anything else, he turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. The radio crackles a little before some late-night news station fills the silenceâand he doesnât move to turn it off, doesnât even turn it down. He just drives.
The radio reporterâs voice hums through the car like white noise, talking about something youâre not really listening to as you try to focus on keeping your breathing even.
You can still hear his voice.
You canât say shit like that around me.
The way he said it. Low. Controlled. Like it cost him something to keep it that way.
Your fingers shift slightly in your lap, smoothing over the fabric of your dress again without thinking, and your mind starts turning his words over before you can stop itâpulling at them, testing them, trying to make them mean something that makes sense.
Because what does that even mean?
You glance at him, quick, like you might catch something you missedâbut heâs focused on the road, jaw set, one hand loose on the wheel like nothing happened. Like he didnât just change everything with eight little words.
You look away again.
No. He didnât mean it like that.
Heâs justâheâs your attending. Heâs responsible. Of course heâd say something. Of course heâdâ
Except he didnât say it like that.
Your stomach tightens as your thoughts circle back, slower this time, more deliberate.
The way he kept pulling you away from people tonight. The way heâd been watching you. The way he didnât laugh, didnât joke, didnât let it go.
The way he said it.
Around me.
Not here. Not in front of people.
Around me.
Your breath catches slightly, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the space between youâof how close he is, of how easy it would be to just turn your head, lean in andâ
No.
No, thatâs notâ
You swallow, gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.
Youâre just reading into it. You have to be.
Because the alternativeâ
Your pulse jumps.
God. The alternative is too much to even consider.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It settles in the back of your mind, quieter now, but heavierâpulling at everything he said, everything he did, everything you might have missed until now. The words circle back, sharper this timeâuntilâ
The car stopsâand you blink.
For a moment, you donât move. You canât.
Then Jack clears his throat.
âOhâuhâthanks,â you mutter, reaching for your seatbelt buckle.
He nods once. âAnytime.â
You push your door open before you can think too hard about it, stepping out into the cool night air that hits a little harder this time. Your heart is still beating in your throat, your pulse still too loud, your thoughts are still circling those eight wordsâeight little words that feel like they weigh far more than they should.
You hesitateâone hand on the door, the other gripping your keys in your jacket pocket.
God.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This isâ
âDo youââ You clear your throat, the words catching slightly before you force them out. âDo you want to come up?â
He stares at you for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath, like heâs not quite sure he heard you right.
âYou canât be serious.â
Heat rushes up your neck, quick and unwelcome, and for a second you just stand there, wishing you could take it backârewind a few seconds and keep your mouth shut.
What the hell were you thinking?
âYeah,â you say, a little too quickly. âNo, that wasâthat was stupid.â
You turn away before he can say anything else, pushing the door shut harder than you mean to as you step back onto the sidewalk. You donât look back. You refuse to. You just keep walking toward the lobby door, drawing your keys from your pocket and fumbling through them to find the right one.
It takes longer than it should, but eventually you find the lobby key and wriggle it into the lock.
This door has never been your friend. Itâs old, a little rusted, and the lock has always been jankyâbut now your hands are shaking, and this stupid old door seems to think thatâs funny, because it wonât budge.
You jiggle the key and try again, but nothing changes.
Thenâ
âHere.â
His voice is low. Close.
Your hand stills as he steps in behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your backâthe solid line of his chest just shy of pressing into you as he reaches past your shoulder.
His fingers brush yours as he takes the keyâand the lock turns easily this time.
Of course it does. Traitorous fucking door.
His arm lingers there for a second longer than it needs toâthen he pushes the door open.
You donât even glance at him as you step inside, already turning back to grab your key before the door swings shutâbut heâs still holding it, barely a step behind you.
He tilts his head slightly, nodding toward the lobby. âGo.â
Itâs quiet. Controlled.
Not a suggestion.
Your breath catches, just for a second, and you hesitateâlong enough to feel it, whatever this is, tightening between youâ
Then you turn and keep walking.
And he follows.
He follows you across the lobby, up the fire stairs, down the corridor, all the way to your apartment door. He stands a little closer than necessary as you unlock itâalmost like he doesnât think you know how doors work nowâbut the key turns smoothly this time.
You push the door open and step inside.
The apartment is quiet, dim, and you shrug out of your jacket without thinking. You can feel him watching you as you drape it over the arm of the sofa, and itâs a little... thrilling. Dangerous. Because Jack Abbot is in your goddamn apartment right now, looking at you like heâs a man on the edgeâ
And youâre daring him to jump.
âDrink?â you offer, keeping your voice lightâinnocent.
He clears his throat. âWater, please.â
You canât help the small smirk on your lips as you brush past him, a little closer than necessary.
âSo polite,â you murmur.
He doesnât move, doesnât shiftâbut you can feel him there, tense just beneath the surface.
You open the fridge and bend over to grab a bottle of water, letting your dress ride up the backs of your thighs in a way thatâs totally unnecessary. Jack clears his throat again, just a little too sharp, and when you glance back toward him, heâs turned away completely.
You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide as you straighten again.
âHere,â you say, stepping toward him and holding the water out.
He turns hesitantly, taking it. âThank you.â
Your eyes catch his, a slow smile tugging at your lips before you bite the corner gently, just enough for him to notice. He looks away quickly, jaw tightening as he focuses on uncapping the water bottle.
You brush past him again, still a little too close, and move toward the sofa, dropping onto it and leaning forward to take off your shoes.
Jack takes a long swig of water, then clears his throat for the third time.
âAre you working tomorrow?â he asks.
You glance up, still leaned forward, and itâs hard not to notice the way his eyes dip from your face.
âIsnât that something you should already know?â
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he canât quite help himself.
âYouâre impossible. You know that?â
Heat rushes up your neck at the way he says itâshort, sharp, loadedâand you bite back a grin, letting your eyes glint just a little as you straighten.
âAm I?â you murmur, tilting your head just slightly. âOnly one way to find out.â
He freezes for a second, shoulders tight, hand curling slightly around the water bottleâand it crackles softly under his grip. His breath hitches, just barely.
âI should go,â he mutters, voice low and clipped.
He takes a step toward the doorâand you shoot up from the sofa, heartbeat racing.
âWaitâuhâbefore you go,â you say, stepping toward him, âcould you help me with something?â
He hesitates, turning slowly, as if every second in here is costing him something.
You move until youâre almost between him and the door, looking up at him through your lashes.
âCould you help me out of my dress?â
The second the words leave your lips, you forget how to breathe.
Jackâs jaw tightens, his shoulders coiling ever so slightly. His fingers twitch around the bottle, just a whisper of movement, as if holding himself together by force. His eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, taking in the faint scrunch between your brows, the small pout on your lips, the way youâre offering him something he never thought heâd be allowed to have.
He nods onceâcareful, controlledâbut the tension radiating off him is almost unbearable.
Your stomach flips.
Without a word, you turn, sweeping your hair out of the way while your pulse hammers in your ears.
You feel him shift, his warmth, and the ghost of his touch at the nape of your neck. And that first, tiny contact sends a shock straight through youâhot, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He pauses, just a heartbeat, and you catch the tiniest hitch in his breath.
Then he moves again, slow, deliberate, dragging the zipper down almost painfully slow, his knuckles grazing your skinâwarm, rough, controlled, just enough to make your heart pound in your throat.
âHow do you do it?â you whisper, voice catching slightly. âHow are you always so⊠unaffected by everything?â
âUnaffected?â he murmurs, almost tasting the word, as if testing it against himself.
His knuckles brush the small of your back, pausing where the zipper endsâbut he doesnât stop. His fingertips graze your skin, deliberate, teasing, tracing the line of your spine upward again, slow enough that it drags your breath with it, sharp enough that heat blooms through every nerve.
âYou have no idea,â he whispers, voice low and rough, almost breaking, âhow much you affect me.â
Your breath catches, sharp and sudden. Everything in your chest pulls tight, something hot and dizzying blooming low as his words sink in.
You turn before you can stop yourselfâand heâs closer now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his breath, the space between you narrowing into something fragile and dangerous.
For a second, neither of you move.
And then his hand finds your neckâ
Not rough, not rushedâjust firm enough to anchor you there, thumb pressing under your jaw like he needs to feel that this is real, that youâre real. His other hand tightens where it still holds the loosened fabric of your dress at your back, fingers curling into it like restraint is slipping through his grip.
He hesitates, just for a breath. Like heâs giving himself one last chance to walk away.
Then he kisses you.
Itâs not tentative. Thereâs nothing careful about it. It lands like something heâs been holding back for too long, all that control finally snapping under the weight of you standing here, asking for him, looking at him like that.
His mouth is warm and certain against yours, a sharp inhale breaking through you as you lean into him without thinking, your hands finding him just as quicklyâhis stomach, his chestâanything to hold onto as the world tilts. He makes a low sound, barely there, but you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration settling deep in your chest as his grip tightens.
You melt before you can stop yourself.
Your head tilts back, giving him more, and he takes it immediately, deepening the kiss with that same quiet intensity that steals the breath right out of you. His thumb shifts along your jaw, not lingering, just enough to guide you where he wants you, and the control of itâGod, the way he still tries to control it after everything, after all that restraintâmakes something in your stomach flip hard.
His hand at your back slips under the loosened zipper, fingers pressing into your bare skin now, warm and steady, but thereâs tension in it. You can feel it in the way his grip flexes, like heâs still tryingâstillâto hold the line even as he pulls you closer.
It doesnât work.
Not when you press into him like this, not when your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not when you kiss him back without hesitation, without thinking about consequences or lines or anything except how he feels against you.
He exhales against your mouth, sharp, like youâve just undone him, and for a second the kiss faltersânot because heâs pulling away, but because heâs trying to.
You feel it. The conflict. The split second where he almost stops.
Your hand slides up to his jaw, fingers catching there, holding him in place before he can even try.
âDonât,â you whisper, barely pulling back, your lips brushing his as you speak.
And something in him gives.
You see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand tightens at your back, pulling you flush against him this time, the last inch of space gone like it was never allowed to exist in the first place.
When he kisses you again, itâs deeper.
Less restrained.
Like heâs finally stopped pretending this isnât exactly what he wants.
Itâs different nowâharder, hungrier, like something in him has shifted for good. His hand slides from your jaw to your waist, gripping tight as he steps into you, crowding you back without breaking the kiss, without giving you a second to think.
Your back meets the door with a soft thud.
He doesnât stop.
If anything, it only makes him sharper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency that steals the air right out of your lungs. You barely get a breath before he takes it again, and you let himâGod, you let himâtilting into him, giving him everything he reaches for.
His hand tightens at your waist, then slips lower, dragging you flush against him again, like he needs to feel exactly how close he can get before he loses control completely.
And you can feel itâhow close he is.
Itâs in the way his grip flexes, in the way his breath turns uneven against your mouth, in the way the kiss keeps deepening like he canât quite stop himself from taking more.
Your fingers find his shirt again, pulling him closer, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to drag in a breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, like heâs tryingâone last timeâto get a handle on this.
He doesnât.
His hands are on you again, immediate, sliding up your sides, pushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders in one smooth, decisive motion. The fabric gives easily, slipping under his hands like it was never meant to stay there in the first placeâand it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet.
His breath catches, and his gaze dropsâjust for a second, but itâs enough.
âTell me to stop,â he says, voice low, roughânothing steady about it now.
You meet his eyes, chest rising and falling fast, heat still sparking under your skin.
âBedroom,â you murmur.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Something in his expression shiftsâtightensâlike that word landed exactly where it shouldnât. His gaze searches yours for a moment, checking for hesitation, for doubt.
But he doesnât find any.
He nods onceâand you turn, already moving toward the bedroom. You can feel him right behind you, close enough that his hand finds your waist again before youâve even taken two steps, steady, grounding, like heâs not about to let you get too far ahead of him.
Itâs barely a walk.
More like being guidedâpulledâacross the apartment toward your room, your pulse loud in your ears, every step charged with the knowledge of what youâve just set in motion.
The door barely makes it closed before heâs on you again.
Not rushedânever rushedâbut certain, like the decision has already been made and thereâs no point pretending otherwise. His hands find you first, steady at your waist, turning you back toward him before you can take another step into the room.
Your breath catches as you look up at him. Thereâs something in his expression youâve never seen before. Itâs not soft, not gentleâjust stripped of whatever distance heâd been holding onto all night.
Gone.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and this time thereâs nothing in the way of itânothing to hide behind, nothing to buffer itâand the heat in it settles low in your stomach, heavy and immediate.
âStill want this?â he asks, voice rough, quieter nowâbut it lands heavier here.
You donât answer. You just step into him.
And itâs all the permission he needs.
His hand tightens at your waist as he pulls you back into him, and the kiss this time is slower, deeper in a way that feels intentionalâlike heâs choosing it, not chasing it. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of controlled hunger, every shift measured, every breath deliberate, like heâs letting himself feel it fully instead of fighting it.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he exhales against your mouth, something unsteady finally breaking through.
His grip shiftsâfirmer nowâguiding you back a step, then another, not hurried, not careless, but unrelenting all the same. You feel the edge of the bed behind your knees before you fully register moving at all, your focus too caught in the way heâs kissing you, the way his hand anchors you like heâs not about to let this get away from him.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to draw in a breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours.
Not hesitation. Control.
Or what little he has left of it.
âLast chance,â he murmurs, quieter now.
You drop back onto the bed, gaze locked on his, breath still uneven.
âIâm not the one holding back.â
You barely have time to move up the mattress before heâs there, crowding over you, hands braced on either side as he follows you down. The mattress dips under his weight, the space between you gone in an instantâreplaced by the solid heat of him, the firm press of his hips against yours.
His mouth finds yours again, hot and insistent, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to pull a soft sound from youâbut itâs different now. Slower. Not restrained, but deliberate. Curious, almost.
Like heâs learning you.
The way you react. The way you move under him. The way you give.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingertips digging in as heat coils low in your stomachâbut they donât stay there long. He shifts his weight slightly, steady, controlled, one hand lifting off the mattress to catch your wrist.
His fingers close around itânot tight, not forcefulâjust certain, guiding.
He lifts your hand above your head.
âJack,â you whisper. âIââ
He shushes you.
âLet me do this, okay?â His voice is rough, thick with something unsteady beneath itâsomething that makes your stomach knot. âIâve got you.â
And you believe him.
His hand slides down your body, slow and sure, brushing over your chest, your waist, the curve of your hipâeach touch deliberate, like heâs taking his time even now, even like this. His fingers hook at the inside of your thigh, grip firm as he nudges your leg wider.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs. âGood girl.â
The words go straight through you.
You can already feel the damp heat between your legs, the slick fabric pressed close, but the way he says itâthe way his voice dropsâmakes your hips shift up instinctively, chasing something you canât quite reach.
Chasing him.
And he notices. Of course he does.
You only just catch the faint lift at the corner of his mouth before his lips are back on yours, swallowing the breath from you as your back arches, pressing yourself up into him without thinking. Your fingers curl into the sheets above your head, tension pulling tight through your body as everything narrows down to where heâs touching youâwhere he isnât touching you.
His hand drags back up your thigh, slower this time. Intentional. And when his fingers finally press against you through the thin fabric, you gasp.
He takes the sound from you immediately, mouth moving against yours, deeper now, like heâs feeding off it, like every reaction just pushes him further. His fingers start to moveâslow, circling, testingâwhile his mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, your cheek, the side of your neck.
With your mouth free, the sounds slip out before you can stop them.
Soft. Unsteady. Needy.
And he loves it.
You feel it in the way his breath shifts, in the way his grip tightens just slightly, in the way his hips rockâslow, controlled, a subtle pressure of denim thatâs more suggestion than friction.
âJackââ your voice catches, breaking on his name. âPlease. I wantââ
âTell me, sweetheart,â he murmurs, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice low and coaxing.
âMore,â you manage, breath shaking. âNeed more.â
He groans against your skin, the sound low and rough, his body settling heavier over yours like any space between you is something he canât stand.
Then his hand shifts.
Your breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the damp fabric, dragging through your wet heat in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Your whole body jolts. âFuckâJackââ
The reaction pulls something from himâa sharp inhale against your neck, his mouth pressing there like he needs to ground himself for a second before he loses it completely.
Youâve never felt like this before. Never this hot, this open, this aware of every inch of your own body.
And youâve never wanted anyone like this before.
âGod,â he murmurs, voice thick, lips tracing back up your throat. âYouâre so wet for me, sweetheart.â
All you can do is nod, whimpering softly, your hips lifting without permission, chasing him, asking for more without the wordsâand he gives it to you. Of course he does.
His finger slides inside you, slow at first, letting you feel itâthe stretch, the heatâbefore he pushes deeper, and the sound that breaks from you is swallowed instantly as his mouth finds yours again, your back arching beneath him as he starts to move. Not fast. Never fast. He sets a rhythm instead, steady and controlled, curling his finger just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips move against him again.
And when you press into it, when your body starts to chase that feeling properly, he adds another finger, the stretch pulling a broken sound from your throat as your hands tighten in the sheets and your body rolls beneath him, helpless to it now, completely caught in the slow, deliberate way he works you open.
Every movement is intentional. Every curl hits deeper, sharper, building something tight and aching low in your stomach that makes your whole body tremble, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you press into his hand, chasing, needing.
Then his thumb finds your clit, and the contact is immediateâdevastating.
You cry out, sharp and breathless, your whole body tightening as he starts slow, deliberate circles that send heat spiralling through you, your hips lifting again, desperate now, unable to stay still under him.
You canât answerânot when his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he canât decide where he wants you most before he finds your lips again, and this time the kiss is different again. Hungrier. Messier. His tongue presses into your mouth just as his fingers push deeper, his thumb working harder, more deliberate now, and the moan that tears from you is swallowed whole.
âPlease,â you whimper against his mouth, breath breaking. âPlease, Iâneed you.â
He lifts his head, dark eyes searching yours, brows pulling together just slightly.
âYou sure?â
You stare at him, trying not to whimper as your whole body clenches around his stilled fingers, the sudden stillness almost worse than anything he was doing before.
âNever have I ever finished during sex, remember?â you manage, breathless but steady enough to land. âYou gonna fix that, or what?â
Something feral flickers across his face.
And then itâs goneâreplaced by something heavier. Something decided.
He kisses you again before you can catch your breath, all teeth and tongue, the restraint heâs been clinging to snapping clean in half as he groans into your mouth, the sound dragged straight from his chest. You feel the loss of his fingers immediately, your body protesting it, but itâs replaced just as quickly by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the friction of denim against your soaked panties making you gasp against him.
âFuck,â he breathes, like he canât quite believe it.
He pulls back just enough to shift, bracing himself on one arm while the other moves to his belt, not rushed but far from steady now. Thereâs a hitch in his breath, a tension in the way his fingers work at it, shoving his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, and your gaze drops before you can stop it.
Heâs already hardâfully, heavilyâflushed and slick at the tip, and the sight of it sends a sharp pulse of heat straight through you, your mouth going dry even as your body reacts in the complete opposite way.
âFuckââ he chokes, the word breaking out of him. âI havenât been this hard inââ His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and molten, and whatever he was going to say changes. ââever.â
It hits you low and deep, twisting something tight in your stomach that makes your hips shift under him without thinking. You finally let go of the sheets, your hands finding him, sliding up to wrap around his neck as you pull him back down, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
Your legs come up around his waist, drawing him in, urging him forward, and his breath stutters as he presses in, his swollen tip dragging against the damp fabric between you. The contact is just enough to make your head fall back, a broken sound slipping from your throat as he triesâtriesâto hold himself up, one arm braced, the other moving between you.
You can feel the strain in him now, the way everything is slipping in real time, in the slight shake of his arm, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing as his hand hooks into the waistband of your panties.
âIâll buy you new ones,â he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, almost distracted, like the thought barely registers before itâs gone. âPromise.â
And then the fabric gives.
The sound of it tearingâsharp, suddenâgoes straight through you, your breath catching hard as he pulls the fabric out of the way, the last barrier gone in an instant.
It shouldnât be as hot as it is.
But it is.
Jack Abbotâcontrolled, composed, always holding the lineâlosing it enough to rip your panties off you?
Fuck.
He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretchâthe sudden, overwhelming closeness, the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, that dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is himâhere, now, inside you.
For a moment, you just breatheâpant, reallyâeyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders as your body clenches around him, like youâre trying to keep him right there, like you never want to let him go. He drops his head to your neck, breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel the way it shakes out of him.
âYouâfuckâyouâre so tight, sweetheart,â he pants, voice rough and muffled where his mouth presses into you. âIâm not gonna lastââ
âThen donât,â you murmur, your voice softer but no less certain. âJust fuck me. Please, Jack.â
A groan tears out of him, low and wrecked, and you feel it through his chest as he shifts above you, hips pulling back, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your stomach coil tight, sparks chasing across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your grip tightening on himâand before you can brace, he drives forward again, deeper this time.
âFuckââ you cry out, the sound breaking loose without warning. âJackââ
He doesnât stop. His hips roll back again, slower now, controlled in a way that almost makes it worse, his head lifting so he can look at you, really look at you, like heâs checking, like he needs to see it.
The anticipation coils tighter in your chest, sharp and electric, lighting up every nerve in your body until it almost hurts.
âMhm,â you manage, breath unsteady, nodding as your arms wind tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, like it still isnât enough.
For a secondâjust a secondâyouâre distracted by something stupid, the feel of his shirt between you, the barrier of it, the way you want it gone, want skin on skin, want to see him, feel him, all of himâ
And then he thrusts forward again. Harder again. And the thought disappears completely.
Your body jolts beneath him, every movement knocking the breath from your lungs, and the sound that leaves you is loudâtoo loudâechoing back off the walls in a way that would make you self-conscious any other time.
But not now.
Right now, you donât care who hears. Not when it feels like this.
His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries, and he answers with a rough sound against your shoulder, biting it back as his hips drive into you at a relentless pace. Heâs barely holding himself up now, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels like too much and somehow still not enough, the strain in him obvious in every uneven breath, every sharp exhale against your skin.
His hand drags down your side, back to your thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes your leg wider, and the shiftâsmall as it isâhits something deeper, sharper, your vision flashing white as your head tips back and the knot in your belly pulls tight. His grip slides to your hip, anchoring you there, holding you in place so every thrust lands exactly where it needs to, deep and unrelenting, the sound of it filling the room, wet and rhythmic and impossible to ignore beneath the broken sounds youâre both making.
And then his hand moves between you.
You feel it immediatelyâthe change, the focusâas his fingers find your clit in the slick mess between your bodies, steady despite everything else, despite the way heâs losing himself in every way. Your back arches, breath catching sharp as his touch turns deliberate, circling, pressing, coaxing, sending jolts of sensation straight through you until itâs too much, not enough, everything all at once.
âJackââ you whine, the sound falling apart as soon as it leaves you. âFuck, Iââ
âI know, sweetheart,â he mutters against your jaw, voice wrecked. âCome on my cock, yeah?â
Your hips lift to meet him without thinking, chasing the rhythm heâs set, chasing the pressure, the friction, the way heâs working you with a precision that feels almost cruel now. His hand doesnât falter, his fingers moving with intent, building and building, every touch sending sharp bursts of pleasure up your spine as the tension in your stomach pulls tighter, tighter, until it feels like it might snap.
Itâs never felt like this before. Youâve never felt like this before.
Your whole body tightens, back arching, legs trembling around him as your hips grind up against his, desperate, chasing something you canât hold onto. He keeps hitting that same spot, again and again, relentless, his pace rougher now, less controlled, while his fingers stay locked on you, steady, practiced, pushing you right to the edge and holding you there.
You cry out, the sound raw, breaking from your chest as everything finally tips.
The release hits all at onceâsharp, overwhelming, tearing through you in a rush that steals your breath and leaves nothing behind but heat and tension snapping loose. Your body locks up around him, tightening, pulsing, your hands gripping at him as your legs shake, your hips still moving against his like you canât stop, like you donât want to.
âFuck,â he groans, burying his face in your neck, his voice wrecked as he keeps moving inside youâslower now, but deeper, like heâs chasing every last pulse of you, like he doesnât want to miss a second of it. âThatâs it. Thatâs my girl.â
His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he loses it completelyâa broken sound tearing from him as he drives into you one last time, deep and hard, spilling inside you as his whole body tenses, shuddering above yours.
You feel itâevery part of itâthe way he comes undone, the way he clings to you through it, like he needs something to hold onto just as much as you do. Your bodies keep moving together, slower now, instinctive, chasing the last fading edges of it as your breathing stays uneven, your chests rising and falling in sync, skin slick and overheated where youâre pressed together.
It takes a moment to come back downâa long one.
But eventually, the tension drains from him and he collapses almost fully above you, face buried into your shoulder, his weight heavy and grounding as he exhales, slow and spent. It makes it a little harder to breatheâbut you donât mind.
Not when you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, strong and real, still racing like yours.
-
For the first time in two weeks, Jack Abbot isnât stupidly early for his shift. He couldnât be, really. Because heâd woken up late this morning, limbs tangled with yours in warm sheets that smelled so much like you it made his head spinâand that had thrown off everything else he needed to get done today.
If it was up to him, he wouldnât have left at allâbut he had to. He had police paperwork to finish, a neighbourâs cat to feed, and sleep he shouldâve caught up on before being back in charge of an entire emergency department for twelve hours. But on the bright side? He knows you have a swing shift today, which means he doesnât need to be early to see you, because youâre going to be stuck at PTMC until at least ten p.m. tonight.
With him.
And he really shouldnât be looking forward to that as much as he is.
âAfternoon, Dr. Abbot,â Dana says, glancing over the top of her glasses. âWasnât sure weâd see you today. Arenât you usually here by now?â
âIâm on time,â Jack mutters. âIâm a busy man.â
Dana hums, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes drop back down to the tablet in her hands.
Jack tries not to appear too conspicuous as he scans the department, glancing toward the trauma bays and South corridor as he passes the nursesâ station. He shouldnât be this anxious to see you againânot in the apprehensive kind of way, but in the way that makes it feel like his lungs wonât quite fill until youâre near him again.
âSheâs not here,â Dana says without looking up from her chart. âWasnât feeling well, so Ellis came in early.â
Jack spots Ellis across central, exiting one of the rooms with Santos at her side, and he opens his mouth to say somethingâdefend himself, maybe, lie about what or who he was looking forâbut he hesitates, unsure what he could say that wouldnât incriminate him further.
So instead, he just drops his head and keeps walking, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.
Heâd seen you this morning. Just this morning. You were sleepy, had a headache, so he got you water and Tylenol and kissed you before he leftâbut you hadnât said anything about feeling so unwell you were going to call in sick.
Jack doesnât stop until he reaches the lockers, then turns back to survey the ED one last time before leaning a shoulder against the wall and pulling up his text thread with you. He hadnât texted you today because he knew heâd see you tonight and didnât want to seem⊠overbearing. Even now, heâs not sure if he shouldâbut he feels off in a way he hasnât in years, like heâs waiting on something he canât control and itâs making him feel sick.
What if last night hadnât meant what he thought it did? What if you regretted it? What if it was justâ
âHey, kid,â Dana calls from the nursesâ station. âBig night?â
Jackâs head snaps upâand there you are.
The relief hits before he can stop it, sharp and instant, loosening something in his chest he hadnât realised was wound so tight. He swallows it down just as quickly, his expression settling before anyone can clock it.
âYou donât know the half of it,â you mutter.
Dana huffs a short laugh. âI have a feeling I donât want to know.â
Jack canât help but watch as you cross the floor toward him, your backpack hanging from one shoulder while the other hand presses two fingers to your temple, like you could massage the headache away. Thereâs a smug little smile on your lips when you reach him, slowing your steps until you pause just beside himânot too close, but enough to make his breath catch.
You glance down at his phone, at the open message thread where his thumb is hovering, and your smirk curves a little higher.
âMiss me?â
Jack locks his phone and tucks it back into his pocket.
âThought you were sick.â
You lift one shoulder. âA little hungover, so Ellis swapped with me.â
For a second, neither of you move. He just looks at youâand you look right back, like you both know exactly whatâs changed, even if neither of you is about to say it out loud. Not here. Not now.
âAnd I missed the night shift attending,â you say finally.
Thenâbefore he can respond, before heâs even fully processed what you saidâyou lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Only brief. Barely anything.
But it feels like everything.
And just like that, Jack Abbot is done pretending he isnât yours.