Espressheauxs - Say You Can’t Sleep

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JAW once said in an interview that “Carmy does not fuck” which is 1. hilarious and 2. in character and 3. intriguing, and I would love to hear your headcanons regarding this🙏🙏💕

of COURSE carmy doesn’t fuck. not because he couldn’t, but because he’s so emotionally repressed, chronically stressed, and buried under ten layers of guilt and self-loathing that sex would just be another thing he overthinks into oblivion. the man is hanging on by a thread and that thread is beef. so yeah. he doesn’t fuck—but if he ever did? it would be awkward and intense and kind of sweet in a “he’s trying so hard please someone give him a hug” way. and i have so, so many thoughts about that. okay—diving in.

Carmy’s not inexperienced, per se. He knows what sex is. He’s watched enough porn, read the occasional questionable Reddit thread, jerked off in rushed, guilt-tinged moments between 14-hour shifts and deep spirals of culinary self-loathing. But sex—actual sex, with a person who looks at him like you do? That’s a different kind of pressure. It’s a kind of heat he doesn’t know how to hold.

He prepped for this. Not like—intentionally, but… kind of. He showered longer than usual. Used the good soap. Trimmed everything down there as best he could and definitely nicked himself once or twice in the process—stood over the sink like it was a high-stakes mise en place, squinting into the mirror, muttering, “Okay, slow, slow, don’t fuck this up, chef…” The result is neat, if a little uneven. He smells like clean cotton and whatever expensive shampoo Sugar left in the apartment.

When it finally happens—when you tug him by the hand to the bed and he stammers something like, “We don’t have to, if you’re not—if this is too soon or whatever, I can wait, I’m chill,”—you kiss him quiet. He melts. Shoulders slumping. Lips soft and hungry. He kisses like he means it, like every second is precious, like he’s scared it’s going to be the last. And when your hand dips between his legs?

He gasps. Full-bodied, shaky. “Fucking Christ,” he chokes out, hips twitching. His cock’s already hard, hot against your palm. Not huge, not small—just right, pretty even. Cut, flushed pink at the tip, thick enough to make you feel it stretch you, but not enough to overwhelm. There’s a vein down the side that pulses when you stroke him, and he watches you like he’s watching God.

“Oh my god—yeah, okay, that’s—fuck, shit, sorry,” he mutters, hips jerking forward. “That—feels better than, like—anything. Ever. I don’t—am I supposed to do something with my hands or—?”

You laugh, and he blushes so hard his ears turn red. “You’re good, Carm. You’re doing fine. Let our bodies do the talking.”

He groans like that line alone nearly finishes him off. “Ohhh—fuck, no, don’t say shit like that—”

You guide him inside you, and for a second, everything stops. His breath catches. Eyes wide. Muscles tense like he’s bracing for something catastrophic, like maybe he’s about to cry or come or die. “Holy fuck,” he whispers. “Are you sure—are you okay—do I need to slow down?”

You just nod, and he lets out this broken little sound. Kind of a moan, kind of a whimper, and so sincere it nearly undoes you.

At first, he’s awkward. Bumping the wrong angle. Hips moving in tiny, unsure thrusts like he’s terrified to go too deep. Keeps checking your face like he’s looking for notes. “That—no, sorry—was that weird? I can stop. I’ll stop. Shit. I—uh—yeah.” You kiss him again, thread your fingers through his hair, and roll your hips until he’s buried deep and shaking.

When you get on top, his brain shorts out. Full-on blue screen. His hands fly to your waist like instinct, but his mouth is stuck on a loop. “Yeah. Fuck. Okay. Yeah. You’re so—holy shit, you’re—beautiful, baby, fuck, shit—” His voice goes high when you clench around him, like a whine caught in his throat. His hips twitch like they want to buck up but he’s scared to move, too scared to end it too soon.

And he does come too fast. Not in a tragic way—just in that achingly human, overwhelmed way that makes you want to kiss every inch of him. His hands tremble on your thighs, face slack with pleasure, mouth open as he gasps out, “I—I think I’m gonna—fuck—fuck, fuck, f—ohhh—shit—” and then he’s done, shaking under you, pressing his face into your neck like he’s trying to disappear.

“Sorry,” he whispers after. “I—I swear I can go again. Like. Soon. Just—holy shit.”

And he does go again. He’s hard again in less than ten minutes, and the second time’s better. He starts to find rhythm, his hands more confident, his mouth bolder. He talks more, too—low, raspy praise between panting breaths. “You’re so fucking soft, baby, you’re perfect, so wet, so good for me—” He latches onto your tits like he’s been dreaming about them for years. He sucks and mouths at them like a man starved, eyes glazed and reverent.

“I’ve got a thing,” he confesses, voice rough. “With—y’know. Tits. Just—fuck. They’re amazing. You’re amazing.”

You ride him through it. Take control. And he loves it. Because it lets him feel without the pressure to perform. He’s sensitive, vocal—little gasps and sighs spilling out with every grind of your hips. When you tell him not to talk, just to feel, he moans so sharply it echoes. His whole body tightens, stomach clenching, hands white-knuckling the sheets.

“Ohhh, fuck—don’t say that—fuck, I’m gonna—” he whines, high and airy, and then he’s coming again, teeth sunk into your shoulder to muffle it, cock pulsing deep inside you. His thighs twitch. You feel his whole body flutter under you, coming undone again.

After, he holds you. Silent. Breath slowing, chest rising against your back. Face nestled into your hair. And for once, there’s no chaos. No kitchen yelling. No fire alarms. Just the sound of your heartbeat under his cheek and the soft hum of the city outside his window.

You trace his jaw, and he mumbles, “I was so bad at that, huh.”

“You were perfect, Carm.”

He sighs, a sleepy little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah? Okay. Good. ‘Cause I—uh. Wanna do that again. With you. Like, a lot.”

And he means it. Every stammered word.

DEMNA HAS FINALLY LEFT BALENCIAGA THANK GOD

Whatamannnnnnnnn

GREEDY

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 3k

SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.

A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.

On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.

Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.

Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.

“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”

You were doomed from the start.

It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.

Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.

And yet you still wanted more.

You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.

All but one.

Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.

The damn rubber.

Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.

It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.

“Fill me up, baby.”

He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.

Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.

As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.

“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.

“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”

“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.

“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.

“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”

“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.

“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”

That’s how you found yourself in this position now.

Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.

Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.

“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.

As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.

“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.

“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.

“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.

“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.

The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.

It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.

You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”

“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”

His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him. 

He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.

“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”

Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.

“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”

“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”

That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.

His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.

“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.

Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.

A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.

“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Jack…”

“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”

Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.

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thinking about night shift reader getting jealous when a pretty temp nurse or patient won’t stop flirting with jack

YESYESYES!!🤭 i need that imagine him trying to convince her/ console her and she’s actually so jealous and mad w him

the squeal heard around the world. i loved writing this. i am soo sorry i am terrible at writing about the girl we are supposed to be jealous of, even though this was my own damn idea. i hope you like ♡ this is about 3.6k. oops

jack abbot is great at being your boyfriend, and he's even better at being a doctor.

he's the kind of boyfriend you spent all of your youth dreaming about, as though he had read the scribbles in your journals growing up, like he'd been right next to your friends when you'd tell them about what you want in a relationship.

sweet, devoted, caring. he takes care of you in ways that you didn't realize you needed to be cared for—does it so effortlessly that you're left wondering how it comes so easily to him. you know he's been in more relationships than you—he was married, and that is something you don't take lightly. he had already found the person he was going to spend forever with, and because of some cruel twist of fate, he ended up alone again.

you can't imagine that. you've been on the night-shift maybe six months, which means you've been official with jack for coming on four months now, and you can't even imagine what a single day without him would be like.

(you've experienced it in the broadest sense of the word—he once got called in at three in the afternoon on a day you both had gotten off. the two of you had only woken up an hour or two ago, and had spent the following time indulging in an afternoon delight, and when his phone went off, you were about to drift off to sleep again against his chest, to the sound of his heart. you still hold a grudge against shen for that day, and you know what it's like to be without him when you're so spoiled by what it's like to be with him—you were miserable until he came back home at ten that night.)

jack abbot is a great boyfriend. he surprises you with your favorite flowers, makes you breakfast because he worries about you not eating enough, and even though he's an old man, he replies to your texts as soon as he gets them, as soon as he can. (but he doesn't really need to, since you're always together anyways.)

but sometimes, your boyfriend is really fucking oblivious.

there's a travel nurse taking over for one of your favorite night-shift nurses' maternity leave. you were sad about it already, being without her, though it's hard to stay upset when she sends you photos of her cute baby napping and videos of him realizing he has fingers.

and you are nothing if not sweet, if not welcoming. you had been the newbie not that long ago, and even though you've settled into a great routine (that only partially includes jack, because despite the fact that the scheduler loves you, you don't get every shift with your boyfriend. that would just be wrong. and distracting, you think), you still remember how hard it was in the beginning.

so you beam at her with your smile, ask her about her hobbies and give her recommendations for the best coffee nearby. you do all the things you'd do if it was anyone else, trying to make sure she feels welcome. (jack told you once that you have a complex about making sure people like you. you told him to shut up.)

the first few shifts with her were fine. you've been on with shen and ellis for a week—that's just the way the schedule was. you and jack both have a golden weekend coming up soon, and there was another couple of days he took off to go visit his sister upstate, so you knew it would be a mildly sad few weeks without him there every night with you. it would be worth it for the forty-eight hours you had been daydreaming about, all of them in jack's apartment, not a single one outside of his bed.

but she'd been on with you every night you'd been there, and nurses only work three times a week—that's what's running through your head when jack comes in for his first shift this week with you. he'd come from his apartment, calling you to tell you that he'd made it back home safely and that he was going to sleep before heading in. you had ended the call securing a promise to get breakfast at the diner after tonight's shift, your usual routine.

but you feel sick to your stomach at eight-thirty, staring at the new nurse and your boyfriend, standing in front of a patient's bed.

jack looks good—he always looks good. his hair isn't as messy yet, his scrubs are still clean. he shifts his weight a little because he's had a long drive back from his sister's, and he didn't get to sleep that much, another reason why you are so excited for this empty weekend. were so excited.

you didn't even think you were the jealous type. how could you have known—with no one ever being so close to you that you had any reason to be jealous? you try to rack your head through a couple of first-dates and your sweet but boring short-term college boyfriend. no, you conclude, you've never been the jealous type.

except now, you suppose, watching the pretty nurse lean in a little too close to jack, showing him something on the tablet in her hands. she stares up at your boyfriend, and he stares at the tablet, and then the patient, and you stare at them. and then you see it—he looks at her and stays something, and she laughs. loudly, flirtatiously. you know that laugh, you see it all around you in a hospital full of flirts. and before either of them can catch you staring, you turn around and find a patient to take care of.

you tell yourself for the next thirty minutes that being jealous and getting angry is awfully immature of you, while stitching up a man with terrible knife skills who had secured his visit tonight during a failed attempt at making hibachi for dinner. you don't even hear him when he asks you when he should return to get the stitches out, and the nurse helping you looks at you in confusion. you never zone out while talking to patients, never leave them hanging. she fills in for you, telling him two weeks while you meander back to central.

and you feel a white hot ball of anger burning in your chest again. she's talking to him again. god—don't they both have jobs to do? she's doing the thing again, leaning in towards your boyfriend, looking at him with an expression that is entirely too familiar to you. it's the one that's constantly on your face—the one that the other night shift crew are probably sick of seeing by now. it's something like adoration and reverence and paying attention to every word he says so you don't miss anything. but hers isn't like yours, there's something else there too.

jack is talking to the patient now, taking a step closer to the bed and away from the nurse, and your thudding heart calms down for half a second before the nurse follows right behind him. and she touches his arm. not a tap, not a poke to get his attention. she wraps her fingers around his bicep, holds on for a little too long, and your boyfriend turns to look at her, and that's when you realize you need a moment.

you shut your eyes. it's times like this that you realize how green you really are when it comes to the whole 'dating a really handsome, really smart guy' thing. but jack has never given you a reason to be worried, has never said or done anything that even made you think he would entertain something like this. you know he wouldn't, he's too good for that, too nice of a boyfriend for that.

but it still stings. and so you turn away immediately, heading back to the desk and leaning against it. you report the two cases you dealt with to ellis, who asks you questions that take you too long to answer. you try to avoid staring at either your boyfriend or the nurse for too long, a storm cloud brewing inside of you when you see her trailing right behind him again.

you haven't even talked to him tonight yet, you think bitterly. miserably. and that nurse has been with him for two hours.

and unfortunately, you're also pretty green at hiding the fact that you're upset too. not to your patients—though you do let shen and ellis run the incoming and settle for debriding and wrapping up a burn instead, sitting behind a shut curtain so jack couldn't find you, if he was looking.

(of course he was looking. you're just caught up in your own head.)

and after that, it's almost ten. jack has a cup of coffee waiting for you, if he can find you. he tells the nurse who's been following him around all night if she can track you down for him, and then the patient with the chest pain he's been monitoring wants to speak with him, so he walks away to do that, stretching his neck to see if you're at one of the beds nearby. you have a pair of pink sneakers you wear, though every single person in your life had told you to buy black ones, him included. you don't listen, and times like this he's thankful, searching for the bright shoes under a few beds before giving up. maybe you had just walked away, maybe he had just missed you.

you're back at central, sending in an order for antibiotic gel and finishing a note. you're not a mean person, it doesn't come very naturally to you, but you do have to try really hard to resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see the nurse walking towards you.

you've been nice to her every day so far. it would be obvious if you started being mean—whatever your version of mean is—now. but it doesn't seem like she would notice, with that same love-sick expression as she sits in the empty chair next to you.

you're grumpy and tired and frankly too busy to deal with this, but when she starts talking, you listen anyways. (screw jack and screw your goddamn complex. you need to learn how to be mean.)

"how is this the first time i'm meeting him?" she asks, and you bite your cheek so hard you think it might be bleeding. you keep typing your note, looking in her direction and forcing a smile—stupid. complex. "he's so handsome."

"what's that now?" you grit, the screen in front of you not making much sense anymore. you backspace and delete the last two sentences that are filled with gibberish and abbreviations that don't exist.

"dr. abbot," she says to you and you think even your fingers are trembling. you are so, so incredibly bad at this. and you don't even realize why—so much anger and sadness pooling inside of you. normally you'd be caffeinated enough for a clear mind on this side of ten o'clock, but you've been avoiding your boyfriend, and therefore avoiding the cup he makes for you every shift.

the nurse rambles on, your heart beating faster with each word she says. dr. abbot is cute and nice and charming and, like, so funny.

i know, you want to yell. i know he's funny! you just met him three hours ago.

but you stay silent, stay nice, no matter how much it's eating at you. you are being extremely immature but everytime you think of how close they were standing and the fact that some other girl touched your boyfriend's arm, you want to black out.

she keeps rambling and you stay silent, trying for the most part to ignore her, until you hear it at the end of one of her sentences.

"he wears a wedding ring, though, i noticed it earlier when we were with that other patient. but i mean, he's a doctor right? they never care about-"

the thoughts you're thinking would get you put into the psych ward, you think.

"-oh, he was looking for you. you need to report to him, right? we were over by bed ten, i think, the guy with chest pain. we were-"

we, we, we. it's all she says.

"he was looking for me?" you repeat, tired of listening and frankly, a bit tired of the weight of your own emotions.

yes, you might be stupid for getting jealous about something like this, but if that's the case, then you accept your own stupidity. you would never touch some nurse's arm like that, not unless you were trying to give someone a hug after a bad loss. and you would never lean in close like that to anyone, no one besides jack. well, jack and that older radiologist who speaks very softly, so you always need to get real close so she doesn't have to keep repeating herself.

you guess you thought jack would feel the same about not doing those things for you. maybe he doesn't care, maybe it's nothing to him. but it's not to you, not right now, not while listening to a temp nurse gush about him all night.

"oh, there he is now. do i look okay? that other incoming was coughing up blood and we-"

you look up, meeting your boyfriend's pretty hazel eyes while he leans on the other side of the counter from you.

"do you need anything, dr. abbot?" she pipes up from next to you, and this time you do roll your eyes. fuck—you're really bad at this. jack sees it happen, shaking his head at her and turning his attention to you.

a few hours ago, this would have made you perfectly happy. but it keeps replaying in your head—the arm grab. maybe it's because you have your own complex about jack's arms, but it's not okay. and you won't pretend like it is either.

jack sets down your yellow mug by your hand. it's filled with a light colored coffee.

"here's your cream and sugar with a side of coffee." you stare up at him blankly, forcing a small smile.

"thank you," and then you turn your attention back to the screen. jack looks at you, confused with furrowed eyebrows. you can feel the nurse's eyes going between your yellow mug and jack. "i discharged hibachi guy with fifteen stitches. and the forearm burn wants to pick up the gel from his local pharmacy, i guess he knows the tech there or something-"

"you okay, kid?"

you release a breath you've been holding all night. when you turn to your side, you see the nurse is still staring, but not at you, just at jack. you turn your attention back to him.

"yeah."

you watch it happen in front of you. he turns to the nurse, and she beams, just like how you always do.

"would you mind giving us a minute?" he asks her, and you can see her deflate a little. you get a smug feeling, which you immediately curse yourself for. that's mean of you, and you don't like being mean—though you are very pleased he said that. she nods and gets up slowly, making sure to ask him again if he needs anything before she goes. and she walks somewhere away, though you're sure she can still see him.

"hey," he starts, and you do have to look up now. you can't ignore jack if you tried. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you lie through your teeth, ignoring how weepy you feel inside.

you don't know how to handle being jealous, and you want to say something mean and biting but you can't really think of it. so you settle for the next best thing, staying silent.

"c'mon, kid. don't lie to me. i haven't seen you all night."

"i was on chairs," you say, eyes flicking between jack's arm resting against the counter and the cup of coffee he brought you. and then you look at the recently emptied seat next to you. "and you were clearly busy."

jack hasn't been dating you for that long, but he still knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. knows that you're too nice, knows about the new nurse that replaced your pregnant friend—distinctly remembers you telling him about it on the phone last week. he knows that he's never seen you like this, that you haven't given him that smile that makes his knees weak and his heart thud all night. that he was waiting for it after a few days without you.

you chew your cheek again, taking a sip of the coffee. it's perfect, just like every other night.

(you had once confessed to jack at three am during the first month you two were officially dating that your coffee always tastes better when he makes it. it's what he thinks about when he makes it for you—here, at your place, at his place, at the diner.)

"thank you for the coffee," you say quietly, briefly flickering your sad eyes to him. jack leans in, holding your hand that just set down your mug.

"hey," he starts quietly, and you try to wrestle your hand away, though he doesn't budge. "hey. what's going on? did i-did i do something?"

you stay silent, though he notices your eyes getting watery. it's so stupid, crying over this like you've just lost a patient or something. but you can't help it. jack abbot makes you feel every emotion like it's your first time feeling it all over again. your eyes look at the chair next to you again.

"i saw her touching you," you admit quietly. saying the words out loud lights a fury inside of you, getting angry all over again at the very idea that he didn't realize what was happening.

"oh, kid, i-"

"d-don't. you asked, i'm just telling you." it's hard for him to listen when he notices your chin trembling a little, thinking about how this might be the first time he's messed up in your short relationship.

he comes over to the other side of the desk, taking the seat next to you and holding onto your hand again.

"please tell me this is not about that-that nurse," jack starts, and you want to walk away from him so badly. "sweetheart. i have absolutely no interest in her, even if she does. i told her to find you for me, so i could get your coffee-"

"but she touched your arm," you say, not realizing just how sad that had made you. but jack realizes, knows that you must have seen it from somewhere where he couldn't see you. knows you didn't see him brushing her off, standing by the patient, figuring out how to get rid of his new shadow.

"hey, i'm sorry, okay? i would have made sure she understood that i'm very happily taken if i had known-"

"but you should have known," you say, though the words are covered with a tiny sob. "i-i'm not crying because i'm sad, i'm angry, i just don't know how to stop crying when i-"

"hey, it's okay. c'mon, let's go on a walk."

"no, i need to finish my notes-"

"sweetheart, come on." jack takes both your hands in his, turning you towards him. he stares right into your eyes and you feel slightly better—slightly. "i need to apologize to you and then i'm going to kiss you. and i know how you feel about me doing that sort of thing in front of everyone, so-"

"i don't know what you're talking about," you snip back. "i don't have any feelings about doing any sort of thing in front of any sort of people-"

and jack wants to laugh, not sure if you entirely understand how cute you are like this. he'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning, when he's got you in his bed, after he apologizes every single way he knows how, after he proves to you how little temp nurses mean to him when he's finally got you.

he leans in close, knowing he's got eyes on the two of you.

"is that so?" you have a habit of shutting your eyes when you know a kiss is coming, and your body does it automatically, despite what your brain is thinking. "so you're not gonna mind if i-"

and he bridges the gap, kissing you at central until he has to pull away to let you breathe. your eyes blink open, staring at hazel until you hear it from behind you—the charge nurse, clearing her throat, suppressing a laugh.

"doctors? if you're about done, we have an incoming mvc-"

"coming, bridget. thanks." jack speaks for both of you, and a little dazed, you stand up with him, still staring.

"i'm still upset."

"i know."

"she still touched you-"

"and i think she's gotten the message by now, but if she hasn't, i will make sure she understands."

"i haven't worked with you since last week." the last part you say sadly, realizing how long it's been since you've seen your boyfriend.

"i'll make up for it in the morning. promise." you take one last sip of coffee, knowing it'll be cold by the time you come back to it, following jack to the trauma bay. you walk right by the temp nurse, who you catch watching as you tie jack's gown and he ties yours, and though you really shouldn't, you beam your friendliest smile at her as she waits with you and the other nurse outside.

"you look great, by the way. and he is cute, isn't he?"

I need this man in a way that is concerning to feminism.

What is he DOING I JUST SAW THIS VIDEO ON TWITTER

The fucking bedroom eyes THE SLUTTY OPEN COLLAR WHAT IS HE DOING WHAAAATTtatatat

Harry Castillo eats pussy after date night. Well, he technically eats pussy every night, but he especially likes doing it after date nights when he sees you all dolled up for him. Sometimes you wear panties, a skimpy black lacy number that really gets his heart pumping. Other times, you don’t bother to put anything that will block his path when he sneaks his hand between your thighs in the backseat of his car. Either way, Harry Castillo loves eating and playing with pussy, yours in particular.

in love with whatever this is

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

Anyone can withdraw consent at any time.

May 5 is Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women's Day. A reminder that 84.3 percent of native women have experienced violence. 56.1 percent of native women have experienced sexual violence. And the 3rd leading cause of death for native women is murder.

And they haven't even gathered significant information on native women living in URBAN areas. It could be much higher.

Dwell on this. Wear red.