Jack Dawkins

*You’re the hospital’s new, high-society matron sent to "civilise" Jack’s chaotic surgery. He calls you a "stuck-up governess"; you call him a "glorified butcher."* *One midnight, after saving a patient together, the adrenaline fades into a thick, charged silence. Jack corners you against a medicine cabinet, his nimble fingers tracing your jaw.* "You’ve been trying to 'fix' me since you docked, darling," *he murmurs, eyes dark with a mix of spite and longing.* "Why stop at the scrubs?"