it gives me you.

twenty-six | thomas gibson’s irl wife | part time jemily shipper | main: @ghoulfriendnextdoor

[agentdilfhotchner]

doggystyle, sideways, frontwards, backwards, upside down, 360 degrees, no condom, skin on skin, on the living room, on the bedroom, on the fridge, on the closet, on the ceiling, on the wall, the bathroom, on the couch, on the car, AND on the street :

[barnesdreamcatcher]

Take me to your river

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: jack helps you with your period cramps

cw: smut (mdni, 18+), period sex, period symptoms, fingering (f rec), period blood as lube

wc: 800ish

a/n: reader is wearing period panties even though I have no experience with them, but I don’t want to have a tampon flying around in this fic, and I personally dislike pads. also, I think this is my first period sex fic??? I remember writing one or two within the last year, but I don’t think I ever finished one. correct me if I’m wrong

now playing: River – Leon Bridges

It’s 7:34 AM when Jack comes home. For once, he is on time. The 12-hour shift lasted exactly 12 hours, no sudden emergencies or catastrophes forcing him to stay longer. 

The first thing he notices is how high the heat is in the apartment. Jack sweats a little after only a minute inside. He kicks off his shoes and advances further into the home he shares with you. 

A half-empty mug sits in the sink, the tea cold now. Jack peers at the label and frowns softly as he sees that it is raspberry leaf—your go-to herbal pain relief for cramps.

The kettle is still warm when he presses his fingers against it.

He walks up to your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and the soft sounds of the TV on low volume spill out into the hallway.  Jack finds you curled up on the bed, with your lips pressed together tightly and the hot water bottle resting on your lower tummy. Your face is buried in his pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers and leans down to kiss your forehead. 

Your eyes flutter open, a little hazy and unfocused, slightly reddened from tears spilled earlier. 

“Hi,” you manage to mumble.

“Bad day, hm?” Jack asks quietly. He sits on your side of the bed and plays with your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You talk to that gynecologist yet that I—“

You interrupt him with a glare. Now is not the time to talk about doctor visits. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Got it.”

For a while, he just stays with you and smooths his palm over your head, whispering soft reassurances. When a bad cramp hits, and your entire body tenses up, Jack winces sympathetically. 

“C’mon, sweetpea,” he instructs softly. “Scoot over. Cuddle time.”

He spoons you from behind, one arm slung over your waist while the other snakes under your shoulder. His lips press against the back of your head. 

“You take any painkillers yet?” he asks. 

“Of course.” The ache makes your tone a little sharper. Jack forgives you instantly. 

“Okay,” he replies and kisses your cheek.

His arm slides from your side to your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure over the tensing muscles. The warmth of his skin seeps into yours, easing the pain just a little.  Jack watches as your face relaxes a bit. 

“That okay, sweet girl?” he mumbles and rubs his nose against the back of your head. 

You nod silently. He tightens his arms around you until you melt right back into him. 

Sleep doesn’t come for either one of you. Jack worries too much as your body tightens and shivers through the cramps. He just wants to help in any way he can.  He lets his hand wander from your lower tummy, just dipping down a little further until the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties. 

“Jack?” you murmur.  You’re exhausted. Tired. A little out of it.

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” he answers. There’s a light rasp to his voice.  “I got you. Gonna make it better.”

His fingers drift below the waistband of your panties—your muscles clamp together.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you question.

He shushes you gently.  “I’m just helpin’, baby,” he mumbles. “Just helpin’ with the cramps.”

He feels the dampness in the curls that protect your folds, the blood that clings to your skin. His middle finger teases your slit, picking up some of that wetness as he swipes through your cunt. 

“Let me help you,” he whispers.  He finds your clit with two fingers and slowly starts to circle it. His lips press against your cheek, soothing you tenderly. 

A soft moan tumbles from your lips, making Jack smile. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it, sweetpea?”

You nod, whining needily in response. 

He keeps his touch gentle, just massaging your bundle of nerves for now. You’re in enough pain as it is; he won’t give you his fingers until you’re a little more relaxed. Instead, he uses his free hand to slide under your sleep shirt and cup your breast. He feels the tenderness, the swollen tissue, and sighs pitifully. 

“I got you, just relax,” he whispers. 

His fingers keep swiping over your clit, easing you off towards an orgasm. Your face scrunches up beautifully, brows drawing together in bliss. For a moment, all cramps are forgotten as Jack guides you over the edge. 

You cum softly—not so hard that it might disrupt the peaceful cocoon he’s been working hard to spin around you, but enough that your body releases happy hormones, which ease the cramps naturally.

Jack coos faintly and presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Better?” he whispers. 

You nod, eyes half-lidded. 

Jack smiles and pulls his hand from your panties, dismissing the blood underneath his nails completely.  “Good. Just what the doctor ordered, hm?”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[witchywithwhiskey]

wedding night

pairing: dad's best friend!titus danforth x female reader

summary: you lose a game you didn't even realize you were playing.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), arranged marriage, dubcon, unspecified age gap, referenced devil worship, smut, piv sex, brief painful sex, wedding night sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, breeding kink, dirty talk, possessive sex, possessive behavior, marriage kink, pet names, stockholm syndrome, happy-ish ending?

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i've been struggling to write/finish anything since i posted my chef jack abbot fic, but then the first line of this fic popped into my head and i knew i had to write it. i did not expect to write for titus before pope but i just haven't found the right inspiration yet i guess! this isn't really fleshed out to my normal standards but it's a fun, smutty little read and i hope y'all enjoy it!!

You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth.

For one, he was your father's best friend. 

For another, he was so much older than you. 

For a third, you'd already rejected his proposal. 

But most of all, you never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth because he was the man responsible for damning your family to hell.

Your father had met Titus when you were in college, and the two had become fast friends. By the time you'd graduated, your father had pledged his undying loyalty—and that of your family—to Mr. Le Bail and his High Council. 

In the months and years that followed, you came to learn more about the council as a network of rich and powerful people who helped each other out. It was during this time when you met Titus and his twin sister Ursula. 

They were both polite, but when Titus looked at you, there was something covetous and hungry in his eyes; it made you feel like a prey animal being stalked by a predator. 

Still, you remained cordial with the Danforths because they were close with your father.

That is, until Titus proposed to you, and you discovered the truth about who, or rather what, Mr. Le Bail was. Then, you ran. 

You cut ties from your entire family, changed your name, and moved to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. For a long time, you lived in fear, thinking your family or one of the Danforths—or Mr. Le Bail himself—were going to show up at your door. 

But eventually, your fear settled down, you became complacent, and you set down some roots. Not too many—you didn't date and you never got too close to any of your friends, but you made a life for yourself. It was a half-life, but it was yours.

Until it wasn't.

Until the day that Titus Danforth appeared on your doorstep and you learned you'd never escaped after all. The High Council had known where you were all along, but they'd been delayed in coming to fetch you because your father had assured them you would return one day.

But their patience had grown thin and you knew too much to shirk your duties to Mr. Le Bail. As a daughter of a council member, you were expected to marry and reproduce, to create progeny to continue worshipping Mr. Le Bail and do his bidding in the world.

It was only your father's assurances that you would submit to your duties that saved your life. It was decided that you would marry Titus Danforth, the only member of the High Council who had not yet taken a wife. 

You were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Danforth estate for your wedding. You refused to see your father or any member of your family, so you were stuffed unceremoniously into your pristine white wedding gown by the Danforths’ attendants. 

The wedding itself was a small affair, only attended by the closest members of the High Council, and your family. Your father walked you down the aisle to keep up pretenses but as he handed you off to Titus, you turned to him, caught his eye through your thin, white veil, and hissed your parting words to the man who'd given you life.

"I'll never forgive you for this."

Titus smirked at your father as he took your hand in his, looking for all the world like a man who'd won a game no one else knew they were playing. He led you the final few steps up to the altar, ducking his head slightly to speak in your ear.

"I always knew I'd be the one to get you."

It was then that you realized the depth of Titus's deception. After you’d rejected his proposal, he'd conspired for years to make sure you still ended up marrying him. And you'd played right into his hand. You'd given him everything he needed—leverage over your father, a way to steal you from your family, and worst of all, he'd gotten Mr. Le Bail's blessing to do it.

You spent the signing of the book and the wedding ceremony cursing yourself for being so naive, barely paying attention to the lawyer’s words about devotion and duty. You were so deep into your self-recrimination, you barely noticed when Titus turned to you and began lifting your veil. It took all your effort to maintain control of your face and give your soon-to-be husband a look of disdain.

It didn't seem to bother Titus in the least. That covetous, hungry look was plain as day on his face as he stared at your mouth. He barely waited for the lawyer to give him permission before he was grabbing your face and pulling you toward him.

Titus's mouth crashed against yours, and your traitorous body reacted instantly—your belly swooping and a hot, pulsing throb beginning between your thighs. You tried to gasp for air only for Titus to kiss you harder, his tongue invading your mouth and staking his claim so vehemently, it made your knees week. 

It was bad enough how good his mouth felt on yours, but the sounds he made, like he was a starving man eating his first meal in years, had lust blooming disloyally in your body. 

Your new husband devoured you voraciously, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath from your lungs until you were dizzy and dazed, wobbling so badly on your feet that when he finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest.

Titus's arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him like a child might hold a toy he worried someone might steal from him. His head lowered until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver in his tight hold.

"And now, you're all mine."

Those words echoed in your head as you went through the motions for the rest of the ceremony and reception. While you shook hands and accepted the congratulations of your family and the High Council, all you could hear was the feral possessiveness in Titus's voice. 

It shocked you how much you didn't hate it.

You only returned to yourself when the door to Titus's suite at the estate clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a resounding thud, like the period on the end of a sentence. It marked the end of your old life—and the beginning of your new one.

Titus was on you before you could even turn around or get your bearings. His hands grabbed your hips and spun you to him, his lips claiming yours even more ferociously than they did at the wedding ceremony. He walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, tearing the bodice of your dress so he could reach inside and palm your tits.

Desire warred with disgust in your body, though you didn't fight your husband as he pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you. Titus's eyes glittered with a darkness that had your heart beating faster, your pulse pounding between your thighs when his expression turned greedy and he took his time looking his fill.

You were splayed on the bed beneath him, your tits out, chest heaving from all the breath he'd stolen during his kisses. But that wasn't enough for your new husband. He growled his frustration, got down from the bed and began ripping the skirt of your dress to shreds, until you were bared entirely for him from the waist down. 

All of a sudden, you realized the error in your judgement when you'd gotten dressed. Along with the wedding gown, a set of lacy lingerie had been set out for you, and you'd chosen to forgo wearing it. But that meant that when Titus tore through your dress, all that was left was you. 

At least you didn't seem to disappoint your new husband. 

Titus's hazel eyes blazed bright and hungry as his gaze raked ravenously over your body, taking in the curves of your hips, the plushness of your thighs and line of your legs. His hands settled on your knees, and with surprising gentleness, he eased your thighs open for him, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest when he laid his eyes upon the delicate petals of your sex.

"This is mine," Titus snarled, his eyes flicking up to yours as if he expected you to protest. His hand cupped your pussy, his palm cool against your heated core, his wedding ring hard and unyielding against your soft, naked flesh. "All of you belongs to me now, but this, especially, is mine." 

All you could do was nod mutely, but that didn't seem to be good enough for your new husband, because his face contorted into a furious glare. It was obscene how hot he looked when he was angry, his eyes sharp and narrow as a blade.

"Did you hear me, wife?" 

You nodded more vigorously, rushing to say, "Yes—yes, husband. It's yours, I'm yours.” The words babbled out of you so easily, it felt like a betrayal as much as a submission to your new husband.

You'd never thought, all those years ago when you first met him, that you would marry Titus Danforth. Nor did you ever think you'd submit so easily to him as his wife. But that was exactly what you did on your wedding night.

It took very little effort to allow Titus to climb on top of you, to take his cock out when he ordered you, to line up the tip of his thick shaft with your entrance. It took embarrassingly little effort to spread your thighs wide around Titus's broad body and accept his cock into your cunt. 

Your new husband pushed deep into your pussy with one thrust, stretching you so quickly that it stung, even as it felt deliriously good to be filled. He claimed your body as wholly as he'd claimed your mouth, wringing a cry from your lips that he swallowed down greedily. 

Every part of you—your pleasure, your pain—it all belonged to him.

Without giving you time to adjust, Titus set a savage pace, fucking you into his bed with your wedding dress in tatters around you. He was still mostly dressed, an ascot tied around his neck, his jacket buttoned tight and his pants only undone enough to free his cock. It was as if all that mattered to him had been getting inside you, claiming you, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop. 

You held on tight to your new husband as he fucked you, his mouth breaking away from yours only to whisper filthy things in your ear—things about how he was going to use your body in every way he wanted. He was going to bend you over his father's desk, claim you in his sister's bed, set you free in the woods around the estate so he could chase you down and ravage you on the forest floor. 

And every time he'd fuck you, he promised, he'd cum deep inside your cunt, right against your cervix, until he knocked you up. He was going to fill you with his seed until it took, and you were going to give him an heir. 

But not just the one. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.

On your wedding night, while Titus fucked you for the first time, your new husband vowed that he would keep you pregnant until you gave him a whole horde of children—a whole new generation of Danforths who would serve Mr. Le Bail and carry on the family legacy.

And the worst part was, you'd always wanted a big family. 

Your heart squeezed with yearning at the thought of having so many children to love and dote on. It no longer mattered that those children's father would be a man who'd manipulated you into marrying him. All that mattered was that Titus wanted them to, and that he promised to be a good father to them—better than his had ever been.

"Cum on my cock, sweet wife. Let your husband fill you up, let me knock you up. Make me a daddy and I'll give you the world, pretty girl. I'll be such a good dad, such a good husband, just give me an heir."

Titus slipped his hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly and making you cry out as you felt his cock pound into your cunt more acutely. He felt thicker and bigger than before. With more rasping, filthy commands, his thumb found your clit and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed until you saw stars. 

The whirlwind of your pleasure built in your body until it unleashed, sending you spiraling through a torrent of euphoria as you came. Your cunt clenched tight around Titus's cock and he grunted, fucking you through your release as he chased his own, finding it a few moments later.

True to his word, Titus spilled deep in your pussy, your inner muscles milking him dry as your body conspired with your new husband to give him the child both of you so desperately wanted. 

Once he was wrung out, Titus collapsed on top of you. His weight was a delicious blanket, and your mind was delightfully blank after such an obliterating orgasm. That was the only reason you could think of for why your hands found Titus's hair and your fingers began carding through his silver curls. 

You barely knew what you were doing until he gave a pleased rumble. His cheek was pillowed on your breast and he shifted, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, sending little sparks of desire down between your thighs.

"You'll see," he mumbled, his eyes slowly sliding closed, his softening cock still buried in your body. "It's not so bad to be mine." 

You held your husband close, taking shelter in his warmth as the contentment from your release abated and you were left with the cold, hard truth of your life. For better or worse, you were married to Titus Danforth, and you had pledged your soul to Mr. Le Bail. The life you'd wanted was gone.

You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth, but here you were. His wife. The only thing you could do was make the best of it. So that was what you'd endeavor to do.

And it turned out, your husband hadn't been lying—it wasn't so bad belonging to him.

thank you for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡♡♡

[buckygasm]

Hnnnggghhh im thinking about Jack talking you through it when Robby's balls deep in your pussy

Cw: older!Jack & older!Robby, younger!reader (20s to 30s), kissing, fluff, praise, subspace kinda mentioned, r kinda gets there but Jack pulls her back, no use of y/n!, petnames, creampieee, Jack talks R through it because hes Dada man, sir and daddy kinks so sorry also not, check ins, the L word..., lowkey these characters all have history but I dont feel like expanding

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.

Between the girth of Robby's cock splitting you open, two large hands wrapped around the plush of your spread thighs, and Jack's gruff voice, soft and gentle, whispered against your temple, you feel like you're about to float away.

"Y'r doin' so good," Jack's lips press against your skin, one of his hands holds the inside of your knee, spreading you open.

Robby groans from above you, circling the pad of his thumb over your clit in tandem with each stroke of his cock.

You can feel the veiny girth of him pressing against your velvet walls — heavy and warm, stretching you deliciously wide. You've cum three times already and you're not quite sure you can handle another orgasm right now.

"Robby–" you gasp, eyes blown wide and lips parted, you can hardly breathe, "Robby, Robby, Robby, oh my god—" your voice trails into a wet choke as you try to soothe yourself through the wave of your next orgasm.

Robby nods from above you, smiling smugly at you when Jack presses a kiss to the side of your head and gathers your hair in a fist, pulling it off the nape of your neck.

Cool air hits your spine, sending shivers down your arms and thighs. There's too much happening and at the same time, it feels as though nothing much at all is. There's too much to focus on and you just cant quite seem to get a grip on where you are. You've been quite literally fucked dumb.

With lidded eyes, you fall lax in Jack's hold, spine colliding rather uncoordinated against Jack's knees, earning a hiss from both men.

Robby tries to grab you halfway down. Dropping his hold on your thigh to slip behind your head.

"Easy, kid... Christ."

Jack manages to manuever you to settle between where he rests on his haunches, your back pressed into his chest. A freckled hand cups your jaw, holding you upright, the other laces with your hand on atop the comforter.

Your'e so fucking out of it. All you can really focus on – or see, for that matter – is Robby pumping into you. You struggle to grasp onto to cloudy images of Robby's cock, the weight of his hand on your hip, Jack behind you. You feel like you're underwater.

Jack holds the back of your head, "look at that," he practically goads at the way your cunt swallows the length of Robby's cock, "prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Robby hums something in agreement that you don't quite catch.

You mumble something that sounds like a word but you're not quite sure. You're not even sure what you need, or if you said anything at all.

But in the midst of your foggy headspace, Jack notices.

Because of course Jack does. He's your lighthouse when your rafts lost at sea — when you find yourself farther from shore than you thought you were.

Its a gentle squeeze at the base of your neck, thumb and forefinger pressing against your pulse point just enough to kinda wake you up in the heavy fog of your head.

You jolt a little, slipping further into Jack's chest, tucking yourself into him in an attempt to hide yourself away for a moment.

Robby slows, gradually pumping into you but giving you a moment of reprieve while you tremble in Jack's lap.

"Jackie," you sniffle.

Jack pulls back some to look at you. "Y'okay, sweetheart?"

You fluster, whimpering under his gaze and shutting your eyes and tucking yourself further into his chest.

His brows furrow at that and he urges you upwards, detangling you from the warmth of him, "No hiding right now, c'mon."

Robby smoothes his palms up and down the length of your thighs, pressing whiskered kisses to the skin of your hips.

Jack cups your jaw in one hand, the other holding the back of your head. You both watch eachother for a moment.

"Y'okay?"

You nod, you can tell he seems unconvinced.

"Use your words."

Jack's voice deepens in that oh-so gooey heavy way that makes your head feels like its been covered in honey.

You nod again, wrapping a small hand around Jack's wrist, thumbing the vein right beneath his palm, dragging his hand up to slip his thumb past your lips, "m'okay, daddy," you mumble around his digit.

That word shifts the tone of the room and suddenly Jack is everywhere he wasn't and Robby's cock pulses within you.

"Yeah?" He slips the hand from your head down between your legs to spread your folds open where Robby's girth stretches you wide, thumb circling over your swollen clit, "just needed daddy here, huh."

He watches the way tears well at your lashline as you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him under your wet lashes, "mhm," your voice is strained and wrought.

Jack presses kisses to your cheek up your temple, whispering "daddy's here," he soothes you when you whimper, brain melting away at the warm place that Jack's presence moves you towards, "s'okay, baby, you're okay," words muffle when he turns your jaw, pulling you into a kiss.

Robby pumps into you and you moan into Jack's mouth, holding his wrist where he cups the underside your jaw.

"She okay?" Robby cocks his head, thick brows raising, towards Jack. You can feel him nod against you and you try to hold onto some part of Robby but just end up looking up at him under heavy lashes, lips parted.

Robby seems to understand, "just needed daddy t'calm y'down a bit, huh, honey."

You nod tearfully, "yes sir."

Robby chuckles a little at that, "yes sir," he muses and leans forward with a groan, grabbing ahold of your cheeks, smushing them together so that your lips pucker, catching your swollen lips in a kiss.

His nose bumps against your own and your tongue swipes over the roof of his mouth earning a deep-rooted groan from the older man.

Robby pulls away from you but keeps his hand on your cheeks as he pumps into you. "Give daddy a kiss," he urges you towards Jack.

Jack hums once you've turned back to him, silver eyes watch the way his thumb runs over the plush of your bottom lip, whispering "hey, baby."

"Hi," you whisper back, breath catching in your throat when Robby angles his hips just enough so that the swollen head of his cock bruises against the spongey part of your heat.

You try to look at them both, eyes shifting from either man as you struggle to warn them, the wound string in the heat of you wrought tight, bordering on snapping.

A whimper falls past your lips, settling in your throat when Robby circles your clit and spreads your sopping folds open where his girth parts you.

"Think m'gonna cum again," you sob, eyes settling on Jack when he shushes you softly.

"I know. Just keep breathin' fr'me, sweetheart."

The tears fall faster than you can stop them, brows furrowing and lashes tickling your flushed cheeks when your scrunch your eyes closed, the heavy pleasure sinking you underneath it all.

It feels almost like you're drowning. Your ears ring and there's an uncertain fuzziness that settles in the core of you. Wading out on a raft.

"Thank you sir, thank you, thank you," you ramble through heavy tears and choked sobs that dont seem to stop.

Jack holds you to his chest, his chin atop your head as he strokes a hand down down the middle of your breasts, massaging your sternum softly.

Robby hisses from above you when your walls clamp down around him. He circles your clit as he gently rocks you through it, balls pressed up against your folds when he spills into you, "fucking good girl."

You're shivering in the warmth of Jack's arms, trembling as you grasp on to him.

"That was a big one, huh," Jack hums when he feels you begin to relax, legs no longer tense and your grip on him turns soft.

You nod against him, eyes heavy. You swallow dryly, coughing a little when the back of your throat

"Was a lot," you mumble through a wet giggle.

Jack hums and strokes a hand over your warm cheek, pulling back strands of hair that stick to your clammy temple, "and y'did so good," he coos, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Peering over at Robby, he smiles down at you, slowly and gently pulling out of you. He takes a moment to spread the swollen lips of your pussy open, watching the way his cum dribbles out of your swollen cunt.

"Good girl," he whispers softly, looking back up at you before leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your lips, "so pretty fr'us, honey."

Still breathing heavily, you let yourself settle in their hold of you, sandwiched between the two of them.

"I love you, Robby... love you, Jackie," you nuzzle either of them with each confession, running your hands over any inch of skin you can reach.

Robby kisses your nose, "I know."

Jack whispers it back into your hair and presses a kiss there.

"Sweetest girl I know."

[thykingdoncome]

untouched, xo

summary: you need help getting one of J's asshole friends to stop hitting on you.

|| pope cody x reader || angst, heavy making out, touchstarved!pope, jealous!pope, fake dating trope, pope is v socially awkward (leave my baby alone!!), age gap, non canon timeline, no specific season but earlyish, mentions of drugs and alcohol consumption, character study || a/n: based on diet pepsi by addison rae - potential smutty p2? wc: 3k

Pope wasn't sure if he hated the summer or loved it.

He hung out awkwardly in a chair by the pool, cold beer sweating in his hand under the glare of the early summer sun. San Diego had a habit of being hot nearly all year round, but there was something about the end of spring that had everyone and their mother calling the Codys for a party. Bikinis, drugs, old friends of his brothers he barely talked to. All in the name of summer. By noon the backyard already smelled like chlorine, sunscreen, cigarette smoke, and grilled meat from the burgers Deran was flipping on the grill. Music blared from the speakers mounted under the patio awning so loud it vibrated the large floor to ceiling windows of the house.

With J taking college classes too, there had been more people around. Pope always figured his nephew was more the loner type, same as him, even if girls seemed to flock to the kid anyway. But college had done something to J—it seemed to draw him out of his shell a little. He had more friends around the house, more nights out, more people filling Smurf’s backyard until Pope barely recognized half of them anymore.

That's how they'd met you, too.

You—just a friend of J's, you'd clarified more than once to Pope—who looked so fucking cute in that little red bikini you had on. He could just see the red ties of the bottoms poking from cutoff shorts with the frays brushing your thighs every time you moved. A can of Diet Pepsi sat in your hand with one of those little pink straws poking out the top so you wouldn’t ruin your lipstick. Pope always made sure they stayed stocked in the garage fridge, even if he didn’t spend as much time at Smurf’s house anymore. But when he knew the guys were throwing something, when he knew J would be here, he somehow always found his way back over. Because if J was here, there was a good chance you’d be trailing in behind him sooner or later.

But he often wondered what you and J truly were, no matter how many times you said he was a friend. Why were the two of you tied at the hip so god damn much? It made Pope's knuckles blanch when he thought of all the time his nephew got to spend with you.

Now you were standing across the yard with your head tipped back laughing at something J said while Nicky stood beside you smoking a shared joint, the end burning bright orange each time she inhaled. Smoke curled through the air around all of you, mixing with the sharp chemical smell of pool chlorine baking under the heat. Pope watched J lean down closer to hear whatever you were saying over the music and felt his jaw tighten hard enough to ache.

"Hey—"

He looked over to see Craig handing him a fresh beer. Pope hadn’t even realized the one in his hand was empty already, his knuckles white around the neck of the bottle.

He merely grunted, taking it from his brother.

"You look like you need something harder than a beer, but I know you better."

Pope's lip twitched, hardly stealing a glance at him.

Craig let out a low whistle. “What’s got your panties in a twist today, huh?”

Pope finally looked over at him then. Craig had his sunglasses shoved up into his hair, dark locks tucked behind his ears, blue eyes narrowed with curiosity and amusement.

"Go away." Pope said simply.

"Oh, now I really wanna know." Craig grinned as he sat down beside him.

Pope clicked his tongue against his teeth and twisted the cap off the beer, taking a long drink of the cold amber liquid while his eyes drifted back toward you again. By then the back gate was opening, and he watched your entire demeanor change.

First, it was your smile that slipped. Then your eyes flicked toward the guys coming through the gate, then over to Nicky beside you, and you murmured something to her, but Pope was too far away and it was so fucking loud out here to hear anything. His attention sharpened immediately anyway, ears pricking up like a mutt waiting for a command.

The guys spilling into the backyard were long and lean in only that college-kid kind of way. Floppy hair, muscle tees loose over wiry arms, sunburnt shoulders, a thirty pack of Bud Light swinging between them. Pope knew the type without ever stepping foot on a campus himself.

"Oh, shit." Craig muttered when he followed Pope's hardened gaze.

One of the guys had walked right up behind you, tossing an arm over your shoulders familiarly, and yet Pope saw your whole body go still under it. He couldn’t see your expression from here, only the way your head turned slightly toward Nicky. Across from you, J stood with his beer hanging loose in his hand, watching quietly, his face flattening out into that cold look he’d gotten better at lately. The Cody look.

"Easy, man. She's fine." he heard his little brother say beside him.

Pope felt like he was vibrating as he watched, ready to jump at any sign of this asshole giving you a hard time. He knew you could handle yourself too, but there was something about this guys confidence, how he thought he could come into his house and prey on his girl.

Pope stopped himself there. Not his girl. Not his house, really, either. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until his mouth filled with the taste of iron.

Then you slipped neatly out from under the guy’s arm, moving away from the group while lifting your drink toward the questioning looks they threw after you. Gotta get a refill. you called over your shoulder, as you walked away quickly.

But the second your back turned to them, your expression dropped. Plain annoyance sat across your face clear as day. Your shoulders folded inward a little while you crossed through the yard, weaving between people with your drink clutched against your stomach, making yourself smaller.

A little bit later, when you came back out into the yard with a new cold drink in hand, Craig was talking about some job he'd found—some mattress warehouse with a safe stacked with cash. Pope was only half listening. His attention snagged the second you stepped through the sliding glass door barefoot, little beads of condensation sliding down the side of your soda can onto your fingers.

You paused halfway across the patio, clearly intending to head back toward J, but the view of all those guys still talking around him seemed to make you pause. Your fingers tapped the side of the aluminum can in your hand, and then—to his surprise and horror—your head swiveled, and you were looking at him.

At Pope.

And now you were walking towards him. His heart lept in his chest.

Craig noticed immediately, straightening up in his lounge chair with that easy grin he wore around pretty girls.

"Hey—" Craig started, but you weren't even looking at him.

“Do me a favor?” you asked Pope quietly. He didn't even register the question—the answer would always be yes for you. He was nodding before he knew what you needed.

Your gaze flicked over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps coming across the concrete.

It all happened very quickly, and yet—he remembered it as if it was slow motion.

You bent toward him, fingers slipping around his wrist first, then into his hand—cold and wet to the touch from your soda—and his callouses scraped against your soft skin. You lifted his hand carefully, guiding his arm out of the way so you could turn yourself between and sit down onto his lap. The soft wash of your shorts brushed against the black denim of his jeans, your weight settling over his left thigh, and Pope stopped breathing for a second.

You—you were touching him. Sitting in his lap. In front of everyone.

His hand stayed where you’d moved it, hovering awkwardly over your hip, fingers flexing in midair, his brain choking on what to do next. He could smell your green apple shampoo when you leaned back into him, could feel the heat of your legs through his jeans.

Was this a joke? Had you planned to make fun of him? To show all your little friends how much of a freak he was?

"Just go with it," you whispered into his ear, your hand coming up behind his neck, manicured fingers delicately cupping his skin. Despite the heat, his flesh rose up in goosebumps. You were balancing your soda awkwardly in the other hand while reaching back for his still-hovering arm, guiding it around your waist yourself. Your fingers pressed gently against the back of his hand until he held you properly, as if soothing him.

Most of his palm landed against the rough denim of your shorts, but his fingertips brushed frayed fabric and warm skin underneath. The bare top of your thigh. He wouldn't let himself look at you properly— the skimpy red bikini top showing more skin than he could handle so close to him, bare shoulders shining with the glow of sunscreen and your chest dabbled with sweat. He swallowed thickly.

Your head turned towards the guys who were walking over, and the one in the middle—Asshole who put his arm around you—had stopped completely. His shoulders were tight, his glare ice cold.

But Pope was meaner. He knew how to do this, at least—how to play the guard dog, the meanest, eldest Cody brother. It was a role he slipped into easily, like second nature. The two of them stared at each other for a long minute.

Then J appeared beside the kid, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and saying something about putting their beer in the fridge. The group drifted away slowly after that, disappearing through the sliding door.

You let out a long sigh, your shoulders lightening as your fingers unlatched from Pope's neck. He missed the touch almost immediately.

"Thanks," you said.

Pope looked up at you. You were smiling gently down at him, casual as anything, but he soon realized that you weren't making any moves to get up. Your arm was still around his back, his still on the top of your thigh, but neither of you seemed eager to move away.

He just nodded stiffly. "Sure."

Your smile widened as the two of you studied each other. He watched you lift your soda, bringing the pink straw to your mouth. Pope did his god damn best not to let his eyes flit over your lips as you took a long sip.

He heard a huff of breath beside him suddenly.

"Well, that guy seemed like a dick."

You startled a little, turning your head like you’d forgotten Craig was still sitting there at all.

"Oh, hey Craig, I'm sorry—" you said, and you moved to finally get up, but Pope held on fast. He wouldn't let his baby brother take this from him.

When you looked back at Pope, your brows pulled together faintly in question. Something curious flickered there for a moment, but then your expression softened, like you understood anyway. You leaned down, lips to his ear, "Let me just switch sides, that okay?"

Pope's lips tightened. He suddenly became painfully aware of every awkward thing about himself. The way his hand probably sat too stiff against your waist. The fact that your breath sent a tingle down his spine, making his jeans suddenly feel too tight. And the fact he hadn’t said anything smooth this entire time. Anybody else would've known how to play this—smile, flirt a little, maybe make you laugh. But no, you were the charming one. The one who knew how to flirt, how to handle him.

So, he let go.

You kept your promise, only switching to his other thigh, letting his brother get an eye full of you now. You did the same thing again—bringing your hand around so you could take his, pulling it against yourself without even a moment of hesitation while you looked at the tallest Cody.

“Sick party,” you told Craig, lifting your drink in distant cheers. “How are you?”

Craig smiled back, all shiny teeth and charm as he held his beer up in salute, "I'm doin' good. What's up with your little friend?"

You rolled your eyes, "The guy has been trying to get me to go out with him for weeks." you sipped your drink again, eyes flickering over into the glass windows of the house, watching Asshole and his cronies from afar, "Except his version of taking me out is fucking me in the back his mom's BMW."

Pope was in the middle of taking a sip of beer when you said it, nearly choking.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he demanded. It was probably the most words he’d strung together to you all day. Hell, maybe all month.

But suddenly his head was making up different scenarios, none of them involving you in the back of Asshole's car, instead, he was wondering what the kid's head would sound like bouncing off the concrete when Pope's fist met it.

Your brows jumped a little at his reaction, but you only shrugged, unbothered. “He’s a dickhead. I’ve been trying to tell him I have a boyfriend, but he doesn’t believe me.”

"Do you?" Craig asked.

Pope thought maybe his little brother wasn’t completely useless after all.

He saw you shake your head in his periphery, and his heart, the traitorous thing, began to pound in his chest a little.

“No,” you admitted softly. “And I don’t think our little performance convinced him much either.”

Your gaze drifted back toward the sliding doors just as the group started filing outside again. Pope felt your body tense slightly on his thigh before you muttered a quiet, Oh, fuck my life under your breath. The asshole slowed when he passed, taking another long look at where you sat in Pope’s lap.

And Pope stared right back at him, lip curling.

Once they had gone towards the other side of the pool, he heard his brother say lightly: “I bet if you made out in front of him, they'd buy it.”

"Shut your mouth." Pope snapped, his hard glare turning on his brother.

But you barely seemed to hear either of them. You kept looking over your shoulder toward the yard, eyes skimming from Asshole to J and Nicky talking nearby, chewing lightly at your lip while you thought about something.

When you turned back to Pope and his brother, you had a funny look on your face.

Pope frowned slightly. “What's wrong?”

You hesitated, studying his face. You had lost that easy confidence from a moment before, fingers playing with your straw as you looked at him.

"Would that… ? No, no nevermind." you said, shaking your head. You cut yourself off by lifting your drink to your mouth again, shifting a little on his thigh in the process. The movement dragged your hip against him, making him painfully aware of just how much he was affected by your closeness.

Beside him, Craig made a strangled noise trying not to laugh. When Pope looked over, his brother was practically vibrating in his chair, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead while he grinned like a complete asshole.

"Get outta here, go—" Pope barked.

Craig finally lost the fight against his grin. He held both hands up in mock surrender while getting up from the lounge chair and walked away, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Sorry,” Pope murmured once his brother was out of earshot.

He took another swallow of beer and leaned down to set the bottle carefully beside the chair, his movements slower now, more aware of you sitting there against him than anything else.

You shrugged, "It was…a good idea."

Pope's brows pulled together when he looked at you. God, you were so fucking close. The feel of your warm, soft skin against him, the smell of your apple shampoo mixing with sunscreen and the syrupy fake-sweet scent of the Diet Pepsi in your hand. He still couldn't believe you were sitting on his lap. Touching him. Pulling his arm around you as if it natural, like there wasn’t anything strange or dangerous about him to hesitate over.

And now you were looking at him with that look, something behind your eyes he couldn’t immediately sort out, and the fact he couldn’t sort it out made his stomach knot. As uncomfortable as he made people feel sometimes, Pope could still catch onto things. Patterns. He was always used to the way people acted, knew if they were lying because they started acting differently around him. But you never did that with him, and you never looked nervous around him like this before.

A thought occurred to him, one that made his stomach hurt even worse. Maybe you saw him for what he was—scary, mean; Smurf's dog made to heel and bark and bite when she commanded it. He became horribly aware of himself under your searching gaze—how tightly his hand was holding your thigh, how he could still just feel the top edge of your skin, your shoulder bumping into his chest when you'd shift.

And maybe you'd just realized whose lap you were in.

"Andrew…" you murmured, "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

You set your drink down in a hurry, cold aluminum knocking lightly against the concrete beside the chair before both your hands came up to his neck, fingers spreading against his skin as you tipped his face upward toward yours. Your touch was cold, wet from the soda.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

You were touching him again. Both hands on his neck. Your face was so close to his. Noses nearly bumping. He could make out every clump of mascara around your eyes, your smudged lipstick. It made him nearly nauseous with want. Your eyes—they were worried. Why were you so worried to be around him now?

"I shouldn't have asked—or even—I don't know, Craig said it and for some reason I thought maybe—"

The gears in his brain finally started catching up after spinning uselessly for the last few minutes, thoughts grinding slowly into place one after another while he stared at your mouth moving so close to his.

What Craig had said… What had his brother said?

I bet if you made out in front of him, they’d buy it.

“You…” he managed finally, his mouth dry as cotton, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Want to…?”

You licked your lips nervously, and the movement nearly derailed his thoughts again immediately.

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable. I just…” You sighed and glanced over your shoulder toward the yard. Your hair brushed lightly across his nose before you looked back at him again.

“I’m gonna lie to you and tell you it’s only to make this guy get off my back, okay?”

“What’s the truth?” he asked quietly, somehow finding enough nerve to force the words out.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip. “I just need you to tell me if it’s okay to do this—”

You leaned closer.

Pope’s hand moved before he could think better of it, wrapping carefully around your wrist to stop you there. So soft—the delicate bones of your joint in his rough hand.

"Y-yes but—what's the truth?" he echoed. He had to know. He had to.

You were hardly listening now, your attention splitting somewhere between him and the movement in the yard behind him, and Pope’s brain kept trying to grab onto something solid, some version of this that made sense, because he had to be out of his fucking mind to think maybe you meant what he desperately wanted you to mean. Maybe you actually—

But then your eyes flicked over his shoulder again, and Pope’s gaze followed yours automatically, catching the group of guys heading back across the patio towards you with J in tow, and suddenly your fingers tightened against Pope's face.

And then you turned into him, and kissed him.

You tasted like aspartame.

That syrupy sweet taste from the soda, like the waxy, cherry lipstick that you kept in your pocket. The smell of apple shampoo and sunscreen filled his nose while your lips pressed hard against his with a little gasp that went straight down his belly and into his dick. You didn’t kiss him shyly either. Pope could tell immediately you were trying to make a point, trying to push this far enough that anybody watching would understand exactly what they were seeing.

When he felt your tongue trace the seam of his lips, he didn't care anymore. He didn't care if this was some ruse to get Asshole off your back, he didn't care if you didn't actually like him, because fuck your tongue felt so good against his mouth. He was opening for you, tasting you back, and he could've sworn—under the noise of the music blaring, of the pool water splashing and people talking over one another—he heard a small, little helpless moan from your throat when he finally kissed you back properly.

His hands tightened around you immediately, both arms circling your waist to drag you closer against him until there was hardly any room left between you—your shoulder pressed tightly into his chest, a little awkward with the way you sat sideways across his thigh, but he didn't give a shit.

It felt endless and too short all at once, your tongues sliding together smoothly while you held his face so tenderly it made his throat tighten, and then little by little that tenderness started disappearing into want and hunger. Your fingers pushed into his hair harder now, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, making his breath stutter against your mouth.

“Holy shit.”

The voice cut through the air beside you like a gunshot beside him. The party seemed to rush back in all around at once—the sounds of people shouting scores for dives off the pool house, music blasting, the sliding door opening and closing.

And then you were pulling back, lips unlatching from his. To Pope’s immediate disappointment it was Deran standing there frozen beside the cooler with a beer halfway out of the ice.

He licked his lips automatically even as he glared at his brother, catching the lingering taste of you on his mouth, and when he looked up at you again your lips were swollen and shiny.

You glanced toward the group of guys across the yard, then Deran with a quick, oh-- hi, Deran, before looking back at Pope. Your hands were still around his neck, and you were leaning in again. But this time, your lips went to his ear.

“The truth is, Andy...” you murmured softly.

Pope felt another shiver move through him at the feel of your breath against his neck, and his grip tightened on your little denim shorts as you said, “…I've wanted to do that for a long time.”

And then, as if you'd merely said thanks, pope, bye! you were pulling away from him, brushing your thumb across his top lip, wiping away whatever lipstick you'd left him with, and you were standing from his lap and walking off through the yard like you hadn’t just detonated his entire fucking nervous system in front of half the party.

Deran let out a low laugh beside him before grabbing a pool towel from the chair nearby and tossing it at Pope’s chest.

“You’re gonna wanna sit there for a minute,” he said. “Wait out that, uh… problem.”

Pope glared at his brother over the towel clutched in his lap.

why am I literally so nervous and would you like a part two yes or no

[lovebugism]

CASUAL ─── michael robinavitch

summary: robby tells you he wants to keep things casual after you catch him flirting with noelle. he's less enthusiastic when he finds out you've been seeing his best friend. (5k)

characters: michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader, trinity santos, dennis whitaker, mel king

contents: established relationship, friends with benefits, jealousy, mutual pining, angst, possessive!robby, allusions to smut

FIC #5 / 20 FOR 20

( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )

You and Robby were not together. Not officially, and definitely not publicly. You were hardly together privately, if you were being real honest with yourself — aside from a few stolen nights after particularly draining shifts, where he’d show up at your place with takeout and exhaustion sitting heavy in his eyes and promises of distracting you from the hard day; where he’d then wake up before sunrise and leave before you had the chance to miss him.

Casual. That was the point. Because he was an attending, and you were his resident, and Robby had already made the mistake of blurring those lines once before. “It gets messy, sweetheart,” he murmured against your bare shoulder one night, voice heavy with sex and sleep alike. “And when it ends, it… It really fuckin’ ends, you know?”

You didn’t know what he meant by that, actually. You figured he was saying that dating within the hierarchy tends to crash and burn in some way or another, but you didn’t press him on the issue then. Though now you think that maybe you should’ve.

You should’ve told him to give this a name back then — whatever this thing was between you — because at least then you’d have a name for the feeling searing in your chest just now, as you’re forced to watch Robby flirt with Noelle on the other side of the workstation.

You’re examining the chart glowing from the iPad in your hands, trying hard to ignore the ache in your lower back and the fact that you haven’t eaten since six that morning, when the sound of Robby’s sudden laughter graces your ears — finding you despite the buzzing chatter of the crowded E.R. 

You glance up automatically and find him leaning against the counter, with the sleeves of his undershirt pushed up to his elbows and his stethoscope looped lazily around his neck, towering several inches over Noelle.

“You’re getting less grumpy in your old age, Robinavitch,” the older woman quips beneath a quiet smile and the faint flush coating her caramel-colored cheeks. She arches a manicured brow in his direction, dark eyes glimmering beneath long lashes. “Something been improving your mood lately? Or some-one?”

Your palms go clammy around the tablet in your hand. You never wanted anyone to find out that you were dating your attending, but god, your heart stops beating just to hear your name fall from his lips.

Robby laughs instead, a sharp exhale from his nose. 

“You always think you know everything,” he says with a shake of his head, though you can still hear the smile in his voice when he tells her, “I’m not sure your new boyfriend up in ortho would like you asking about my love life, Hastings…”

“Oh, I stopped seeing him ages ago,” Noelle scoffs. “He kept calling himself an alpha male unironically, and I— couldn’t take it anymore.”

Robby physically recoils. “Jeez… And here I thought your taste in men improved after me.”

Their laughter entwines and lingers in the air for several lingering moments. It’s more familiar than flirtatious, but your stomach twists with a sick feeling anyway. Because Noelle was, to put it simply, everything you weren’t. She was effortlessly gorgeous and carried all that confidence in her matching pant suits and pulled-back curls. She was much closer to Robby’s age, too, and their lengthy history is one you know you couldn’t compete with if you tried.

You feel a little like a child as you watch them talk in hushed voices. You flare with all the embarrassment of one, too, when Robby’s eyes lock suddenly with yours.

You turn away a beat too late, just in time to catch the look that flashes suddenly across his weathered features — as if he’d somehow been caught. You pretend not to notice, or otherwise care, when he dismisses himself from Noelle and closes the distance between you. He towers over you the same way he had with her, smelling like a mixture of his cologne and your bed sheets.

“Hey…” he says, all casual, stuffing his hands into his scrub pockets and nodding to the tablet in your hands. “You get that CBC back on Central Eight?”

“Yep,” you deadpan, still without looking at him. 

He flinches slightly when you shove the chart suddenly at his chest with a less-than-gentle hand. His brows lower in confusion when you turn on your heel and walk away a second later, with considerably more ire than you had that morning. (‘Cause you’d been complaining about some mild insomnia for a while now, so Robby fucked you to sleep the night before. He figured you’d be in a better mood today accordingly. But alas.)

“So I take it you’re not helping with this endoscopy?” he calls after you, pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket for a better view of the screen in his hand.

“Nope,” you call back, already halfway down the hall — not as his resident, but as a woman halfway scorned.

Whitaker’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match — between you, Robby, and the bloodied head wound he’s watching you stitch up with practiced hands. There’s a heavy tension he can feel simmering in the air, snatching all the remaining oxygen out of the room. Even from where he stands behind you, peering over Trinity’s shoulder, he feels hardly shielded from the building stress.

“Call ortho for a consult for me, will ya?” Robby asks you, or rather politely commands, without looking away from the chart in his hands.

You, similarly, don’t glance up from your sutures as you tell him, “You have a pair of free hands, don’t you, Dr. Robby?”

The man’s eyes dart to you in an instant, peering at you over the top of the glasses sitting low on his broad nose. His dark brown gaze glimmers with a mixture of amusement and shock as a faint smile flickers beneath his beard.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll do it!” Whitaker blurts, half-strangled by the tension, as he rushes for the red phone across the room. It’s quite telling, the younger boy finds, that he’d rather suffer a call with Park the Shark than watch this lover’s quarrel unfold.

Robby squints as he takes a slow step towards you. His eyes flit from your deadpan face, to your gloved hands, to the balding head of the unconscious patient you stitch up. 

“Have you eaten today?” he wonders aloud.

“Are you gonna ask if I need a nap next to?” you scoff. “I’m not a child.”

“Well, you’re kinda acting like one,” Robby says within a breathless chuckle. “So do you wanna maybe dial the attitude back a notch?”

“Sorry, Dr. Robby,” you say flatly, tying off the final stitch with sharp, methodical movements. “I’ll remember to stroke your ego next time—  Maybe then you won’t accuse me of being a bitch.”

“I wasn’t—”

A laugh sputters suddenly from Santos’ mouth before she can help it. She hides it behind her fist when Robby glares at her and pretends to cough instead.

The tension between the two of you doesn’t snap until around the tenth hour of the shift, when you’re hiding from the chaos of the E.D. with the excuse of fetching more supplies from the walk-in closet. Robby enters like a dark cloud, mixing with your own storm, and threatening to create a most fatal concoction when he corners you against the shelf. (You hadn’t stopped moving for about four straight hours, to be fair — this was his only real chance of getting you alone.)

“What the hell is your problem today?” the older man says in lieu of a greeting.

You huff and roll your eyes, shoving at a pack of saline flushes a little harder than necessary when they threaten to fall from the shelf and on top of you. Robby watches with narrowed eyes and a pair of weathered hands splayed on his hip. 

“Did I do something to you? ‘Cause you’ve been acting crazy all day—”

You slam the cabinet door shut with a resounding clang, so hard it refuses to latch,before spinning on your heels to face the man behind you. The glare you give him almost makes him flinch before he swallows down the instinct to.

“Crazy?” you echo through a tense jaw. “You flirt with Noelle all day, right in front of me, and now you’re calling me crazy?”

Robby blinks owlishly back at you for several long moments. 

You almost think you see a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth beneath his mustache, before a chuckle sputters suddenly from his lips. You flinch at the intensity of his laughter, and at the distant mania glimmering in his dark eyes.

“Oh, my god—”

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaim, face burning under the weight of your embarrassment.

“—That’s what this is about?”

“Yes! It is. Because I thought I was enough for you.”

His weathered features soften with a heavy sigh, though traces of his amusement still remain — equal parts fond and exhausted. 

“Oh, c’mon… You know this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” Robby croons gently, taking slow steps towards you. “That was the agreement, right? Casual. So we could avoid all… This.”

You peer up at the man from beneath your lashes when he plants himself in front of you. You try not to melt when you catch a whiff of his dizzying cologne. “This?” you echo.

“Yeah… You know, all the… jealousy and the— arguments,” he huffs with a lazy shrug and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “I’ve been through this before, kid. Trust me. This is… This is what’s best.”

Your chest sears with a mixture of red-hot anger and ice-cold jealousy. Your jaw tightens at how detached he sounds, how rational, as if he were discussing policies instead of real actual feelings. (If he was even capable of those). You want him to feel this, too — this awful, wretched jealousy clawing at your ribs from the inside out. 

You fold your arms tightly across your chest, forcing your voice into a deadpan as hurt simmers somewhere beneath the words. “So I can see whoever I want?” you ask him.

Robby’s expression flickers slightly, almost imperceptibly. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, but his dark gaze never once wavers from yours. 

“Of course, you can,” he tells you, though his taut voice threatens to betray him. “We’re casual. That was the deal.”

“Okay,” you nod once and turn away from him again, giving him very little to play off of as he tries and fails to call your bluff. 

Robby’s forced to stare at the back of you while you pull a large pack of lap pads from the shelf. His brows knit in confusion when you spin back around to face him, mostly back to normal again, with a ghost of a polite smile dancing the edges of your mouth.

“Run these to Trauma 1 for me, will ya? Dr. Al-Hashimi needs ‘em for a trauma patient coming in.”

You press the package to Robby’s chest before he can answer and walk past him for the exit before he can blink.

Three days after the fact, you’re sitting in a crowded bar a block away from the PTMC, drowning your post-shift sorrows in half-priced beers. 

In those three days, you haven’t seen Robby once outside of work. There were no more stolen kisses in empty elevators, no more lingering touches in stairwells, no more “come over” texts sent in the dead of night. And Robby thought it was strange, because the two of you weren’t even fighting anymore — not technically, anyway — and yet you were more distant now than ever.

“Question,” the man murmured casually from the other side of the desk while you finished up your charting at the monitor. “Is it me you’re avoiding or just my apartment?”

“What?” you scoffed, still typing. “I’ve just been— busy, Robby.”

“Hm…” he sighed, less than convinced.

You didn’t spare him a second glance — not then and not when you took Santos’ offer of happy hour and Friday night karaoke. The girl herself returns now to the cracked pleather booth in the corner of the dingy bar, where you sit with Mel and Whitaker, after butchering another Alanis Morrissette song. 

Her chest heaves with panted breaths under her black tank top, pale skin sticky with a thin layer of alcohol-induced sweat.

“Okay, what’s with the long faces over here?” Trinity jokes as she steals a room-temperature fry off your plate, talking through the mouthful. “I know you and Robby are fighting or whatever, but I just gave the performance of a lifetime up there.”

You slurp nosily at the remnants of your fruity drink and nearly choke on it at the accusation. “What?” you cough with the thin straw still in your mouth. “We aren’t— fighting. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Trinity scoffs and reaches for her beer. “You’re both been acting like a couple of… divorced parents at soccer practice.”

“Okay, I don’t even know what that means—”

“Playing nice in front of everyone as not to evoke suspicion, which inevitably turns the obvious tension between you from angry to sexually charged,” Mel rambles matter-of-factly. Her blonde hair sways around her jaw as she nods, left slightly crimped from her undone braid.

Your eyes flit to Whitaker then, who nods much more solemnly in agreement.

Your face burns red-hot in response. “Well— we’re not even, like, together or anything, so…”

“Mhm…” Santos hums with a knowing look that makes you shift uncomfortably in the booth. She takes another quick swig from the amber bottle in her hand before her gaze zeroes in on an unfortunate Whitaker. “C’mon, Huckleberry. You’re up.”

His light eyes widen, glassy with exhaustion and alcohol alike. “I’m… Up?”

“Yeah. You’re doing karaoke with me. Let’s go,” Trinity says as she slides once more off the weathered vinyl. She frowns when she rises and finds the boy still sitting in place. “Let’s go, I said! We gotta get back in line before the spots fill up—”

Whitaker scrambles to follow the girl towards the stage despite his better judgment. You use that as an excuse to get another drink, tugging the skirt of your dress further down your thighs as you go. You weave through the crowd of strangers and coworkers alike until you reach the sticky wooden counter. 

You lean your elbows against it and flash the bartender a kinda smile. “Can I get another aperol spritz, please?”

“Put that on my tab,” a familiar voice says from beside you.

Your head whips to find Jack sitting there, one chair down and nursing a sweaty amber bottle of cheap beer in his pale hand. He looks more relaxed now than you think you’ve ever seen him — camo pants baggy around his legs, black t-shirt untucked from the belt, warm around the edges from the alcohol.

You feel very suddenly overdressed in your form-fitting velveteen number and cross your arms over your chest to hide beneath the loose cardigan you wear over top of it. “Oh, you don’t have to do that—”

“I insist,” the older man smiles. “You deserve it after that canthotomy you did today. You were a real trooper.”

The bartender slides a cocktail glass across the wooden surface over to you. The orange liquid threatens to slosh over the thin rim. You give him a polite grin in return. “Thank you,” you tell the man, then grow considerably shier when you turn back to the attending sitting a stool down from you. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”

“Jack,” the older man corrects before bringing the lip of his bottle back up to his mouth.

“Jack,” you echo softly.

The man shifts on the hard stool, keeping his prosthetic limb stretched slightly ahead of him beneath the bar. A not quite silence settles between you then, filled by the buzzing bar all around you. Your eyes cut to the stage on the far side of the room, where Santos belts the lyrics to “You Oughta Know” and Whitaker stumbles over himself to get the foreign words out. 

“I think Shen is looking for a karaoke partner,” you quip, nodding your head towards the doctor standing by the stage and flipping through the binder of song choices there.

The dim overhead lighting turns Jack’s silver curls a softer golden shade when he turns his head to follow your gaze. He grimaces instantly at the thought. “Yeah, absolutely not.”

“Why?” you laugh softly, with the thin straw dancing against your mouth. “You scared?”

“Yes,” the man answers without a second thought. “And I’ve been shot at before— Today, even— And somehow karaoke still feels more terrifying.”

Your eyes squint in his direction, glittering with something foreign. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t ya think?”

“Eh. Maybe a little.”

You scoff and slide into the bar stool beside him. “You don’t strike me as someone who embarrasses easily, Dr. Abbot.”

“That’s because you only know me at work,” he quips halfway into his beer, before licking the amber sheen from his mouth. “Where I am equal parts competent and mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” you repeat skeptically.

“Mm,” Jack nods with narrowed eyes and a faint smile twitching the corner of his lip. “Very tortured, you know? Very brooding.”

“Ah, yes…” you sigh with alcohol glittering on your lips like gloss. “The very brooding, tortured doctor who makes dinosaur noises to win over scared children in pedes.”

Jack pauses mid-sip, pale eyes narrowing. “Well, this is new…” he hums.

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you. Heat crawls instantly up your neck. You feel very suddenly suffocated by the heavy cardigan on your shoulders. “…What is?”

“I don’t know,” he answers with a lazy shrug, though his heavy eyes dart once down your form and up again. You don’t realize, until then, that this is his first time seeing you in anything other than your dark black scrubs. “You… Flirting with me.”

You exhale a breathy laugh, if only to dispel the anxiety clawing at your chest. “Flirting? Is that what this is?” 

“Hey— You’re the one who called me mysterious.”

“Actually, I was clarifying if you thought you were mysterious.”

“Still counts.”

“Does it?” you squint.

Jack smirks behind the lip of the beer bottle against his mouth. His adam’s apple bobs with a short sip before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know… For a while there, I thought you hated me… Considering you never talked to me unless you had to.”

“You work nights, Jack— I don’t talk to you because I see you for, maybe, twenty minutes out of my day,” you scoff, and don’t realize you’ve called him by his first name until his eyes glimmer with amusement. You turn away with a shake of your head as your face burns, bringing the straw back up to your mouth. “Though, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t consider it…”

“Oh, really?” Jack hums with raised brows. “What’s the verdict now, then, huh?”

You let your gaze drag over him deliberately as you ponder the question, biting at the straw between your teeth. You scan over his toned biceps, his lean stomach caged beneath his form-fitting tee, and his spread thighs that make your head spin, before meeting his eyes once more. 

“Now,” you hum sweetly, “I think I’m starting to understand the appeal…”

Jack stares at you for a long moment before he lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. The lamplight shines in his greying curls as he shakes his head. “Yeah? And how does Robby feel about that?”

Your eyes harden in an instant.

Jack raises a free hand in surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’— He looks like he wants to put his fist through a wall any time another attending talks to you for more than thirty seconds.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly. You swallow hard to fight the strangling feeling — of Robby, and of his laughter in the supply closet — as you shrug a lazy shoulder in response. You don’t bother to lift your cardigan when it slips softly down your arm.

“It’s casual,” you tell him.

Jack studies you for a long moment. The corner of his mouth curls into a slow half-smile, and you feel your heart stuttering behind your ribcage. 

“Casual, huh?” he hums and brings his bottle back up to his mouth. “Interesting…”

Morning arrives slowly through the veiled curtains of the quiet bedroom, where pale golden light cuts softly over hardwood floors and rumpled sheets. You rouse gradually, cocooned beneath strangely heavy blankets that smell differently from your own back home — like unfamiliar detergent, cedarwood, and musky cologne. 

For a blissful wink of a moment, you don’t remember where you are. Not until you stretch your tired limbs and brush a scruffy leg with your foot, anyway.

Your breath catches. Your heavy eyes snap open. Your body prickles with heat as flashes from the night before return to you at once — of the walk home from the bar, of Jack’s laugh against your throat, of his stubble scraping your skin, of the teasing murmur in his velvety voice as he told you to cum for him.

Your thighs clench together at the memory, while a lingering ache pulses pleasantly low in the pit of your stomach.

You lift your head from the pillow and inhale sharply through your nose as your eyes scan the foreign bedroom, which you had been too busy to do the night before. 

There’s an expensive-looking record player in one corner, sat beside a crate of well-loved vinyls. There’s a bookshelf lining the far wall — cluttered with medical textbooks, old paperbacks, and framed photos from his military days. His camo bag, etched with his name, slouches by the entrance, and over the foot of the bed, you can see his prosthetic limb lying beside your shoes.

Other than that, it’s strikingly empty, with very little decoration on the wall or bedside tables. It makes sense, you figure, for a man who is working far more than he isn’t.

Your head turns in the opposite direction to find Jack sleeping soundly just beside you. The gentle rays of morning light brush over the canvas of his bare back, turning his freckles there a deeper shade of golden brown. He’s got one arm shoved beneath the pillow he folds into his cheek and the other lying loose across the mattress — from where your waist must’ve been before you slithered out from underneath it.

Your chest pinches at the sight of him. With pride, maybe, at having conquered him. And with a pang of white-hot guilt that twists when your mind inevitably drifts to Robby.

You slide out of bed, careful not to let the mattress give too much beneath your weight. You grimace when the fabric of your t-shirt twists uncomfortably around your form, only to find that you’re wearing Jack’s shirt, which had seemingly been given to you at some point last night. It falls over your thighs when you stand, bare feet padding as you gather your discarded clothes.

You bend down to drag your underwear back up your thighs and wince when your head throbs from last night’s cheap cocktails. With your dress and knit cardigan balled in your arm, you toe your shoes back on. Your breath hitches when the mattress shifts with a soft creak.

Jack squints when he raises his wild head. His mouth twitches when he finds you at the foot of the mattress. “Y’know…” he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I’m at least grateful you’re not robbing me before sneaking out. That’s very courteous of you.”

“I’m not sneaking,” you scoff. “I just… didn’t want to wake you.”

The man inhales sharply as he twists onto his back, charcoal sheets tangling around his waist. You force yourself to look away from his lean stomach and the red claw marks you left on his scruffy chest when he stretches his toned arms above his head. 

“That’s sweet,” he says with a wince. “But unfortunately, I wake up if somebody breathes wrong in the next room.”

You exhale a soft laugh. 

Jack’s eyes soften around the edges at the sound of it. “You workin’  today?”

“Yep, in about…” Your eyes flit to the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Half an hour.”

“Brutal,” he scoffs.

“You’re fault.”

“Don’t say that like you didn’t have a good time,” he teases with narrowed eyes, then softens slightly when you turn away. You fumble with the stubborn back of your shoe, and his chest twists at your silence. “Do you… Do you regret it?”

“No,” you answer instantly.

“Good,” he hums, relaxing visibly once more into the sheets. “Me neither.”

Your stomach blooms with warmth. You shift awkwardly on your feet before him, even still. “So, uh… What— What now?”

“Well, feel free to use my shower, if you want—”

“I’m serious, Jack,” you insist gently, then add, more sheepishly. “But I will be using your shower, actually, thank you…”

Jack inhales deeply, considering. “Well,” he starts carefully, “I like you. Obviously.”

Your pulse rushes like a teenage girl.

“But,” he continues, as relief and disappointment tangle in your chest all at once. “I also know that neither of us is in the right spot for a relationship right now…”

“So… Casual?” you offer lightly, mouth lifted in a tired smile.

“Casual,” Jack agrees with a firm nod and glassy eyes.

You wear the night before all over, despite your desperate attempts to hide it.

Robby notices it the moment he sees you — how relaxed you are, how happy you seem to be. Whatever had been plaguing you before is now long gone, and that alone should be enough to comfort him. But still, he can’t shake the feeling that someone had gotten rid of all the aching for you — fucked it out of you the way only he could.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he observes while signing off on the chart you’d given him.

“Am I?” you hum.

“Yeah,” he nods, clicking his pen with his thumb. He glances at you over the top of his glasses before averting his gaze once more. “What’d you get up to last night, huh?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “Other than watching Santos butcher Alanis Morrissette’s discography at karaoke… Maybe I just slept well.”

“You usually only do that at my place.”

Your brows furrow when he passes the clipboard back to you. “I’m sorry— Are you accusing me of something, Dr. Robby?”

His mouth opens to respond — to tell you that he can smell the foreign body wash on your skin, far muskier than the delicate sweet-vanilla he’s used to. But the automatic doors across the station swish open and shut before he can. 

Jack enters with his camo pack slung over his shoulder and brings a cool evening breeze in with him. Robby can’t help but notice how your eyes find each other’s almost instantly, clicking like magnets and lingering together like there’s a secret that only the two of you know about. His stomach swirls with jealousy.

“Look alive, degenerates,” Jack announces in lieu of a greeting, then quiets slightly when he reaches your side. “What’d I miss?”

“I was just briefing Robby on last night at karaoke,” you answer with a polite smile. “And how I will never be able to listen to Alanis Morissette after Santos’ crimes last night—”

“Fuuuck you,” Trinity drags out from the desk beside you, still sluggish from the long day and the hangover that won’t seem to leave her.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Jack quips. “I took an oath as a physician to do no harm.”

You exhale a quiet laugh. The man’s eyes soften around the edges, as though pleased at having earned the sound, before walking off towards the locker room. He leaves a trail of musky cedarwood as he goes, and Robby’s heart drops when he finally places the scent — the one he’s been smelling on you all day. 

The realization hit him like a truck.

His expression darkens instantly when he turns back to you.

“Supply closet,” he mutters lowly as he walks past you. “Now.”

Your stomach drops at his tone. He takes all the remaining breath from your lungs with him as he goes. Your chest stings accordingly — with a surge of pride at his jealousy, and with a pang of distant regret at his hurt. You follow behind him down the long hallway to the supply closet like a scolded child. He barely waits for the door to click shut behind him before rounding on you.

“You slept with him?” he shouts, eyes wide and wild.

You cross your arms tight over your chest, with your head tilted inquisitively to your shoulder. “Aren’t you the one who said I could see whoever I want?”

“Yeah, I meant random assholes at the bar,” he snaps. “Not my best fucking friend!”

An incredulous laugh sputters from your lips. “Oh, so now we have rules? What happened to just being casual, huh? If you can flirt with your coworkers, why can’t I?”

Robby’s dark eyes narrow as he takes a slow step towards you. You catch a faint upward flicker of his mouth as he asks, “So that’s why you did it, huh? You just wanted to piss me off?”

Your anger spikes instantly. You feel it prickling red-hot beneath your scrubs. Because he’s an arrogant asshole, maybe, or maybe because a distant part of you knows that he’s right.

“No, actually,” you tell him anyway. “Because not everything’s about you, Robby. I did it because Jack wanted me. Because he didn’t treat me like I was just another one of his dirty secrets—”

“Yeah, alright,” Robby scoffs a breathy laugh and turns away, running a pale hand through his chopped brown hair.

“Because being with him made me feel good—”

“I said alright!” 

“Aw, what’s wrong, Robby?” you coo, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Does it bother you that somebody else wanted me?”

Robby exhales another one of his stupid laughs.

Your chest swells with a burning feeling that makes you feel like crying. “Why is it so hard to admit that you care about me?”

“I care about you! Of course, I fucking care about you!” he exclaims, red in the face. “Because I’ve spent months trying not to screw this up.”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes. “Says the man who practically shoved me into someone else’s bed.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Robby squints.

“Do what?”

“Act like this is what I wanted—”

The words die in his throat when the silver knob to the closet door clicks suddenly behind him. The hinges open with a quiet squeak a second later. Your heads whip in sync to find Santos in the threshold, rubbing at her tired eyes as she steps into the room. She doesn’t realize the two of you are in there until the door shuts behind her again. 

Her wide eyes dart back and forth between the two of you for a moment. “…Why does it feel like I just walked into a hostage situation?” she quips in a monotone.

“Now you know how I felt last night,” you joke back weakly.

She flips you off and walks further inside. Neither of you says a word as she retrieves a case of saline flushes and four-by-fours from the shelves. The plastic crinkles loudly in the silence. 

“Please. Feel free to continue,” Santos deadpans as she leaves. “I definitely won’t be listening with my ear pressed against the door.”

The entrance shuts behind her with a dull click that sounds much louder in the quiet. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Robby pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When he lifts his head against, his eyes zero in on you. 

“We’ll finish this when we get home,” he tells you, firmly.

“Can’t tonight,” you shrug, lying through your teeth. “I have plans.”

“Yeah, not anymore, you don’t.”

Your stomach does a back flip at his words, at his very sudden act of dominance that makes you feel like melting into a puddle at his feet. And judging by the newfound glint in Robby’s dark eyes, he notices it, too.

You couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

[shoniebalognie]

The Bet

Part 1, Part 2

Jack Abbot x R4reader x Michael Robinavitch

Summary: Dennis and Trinity end up roping you into a silly little bet that had you ending up in a very compromising position with two of the Senior attendings as they overheard the details of the game.

CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Oral (m/f), fingering, Double penetration, Unprotected P I V, anal, a little degredation and condecention but like in a hot way hehe

Note: Welcome to my dirty little 6.5k word fic that isn't really proof read and was supposed to be a teensy little drabble!! Brought to you by a conversation with @valyntynhardy that had me thinking up a storrmmmm, thank you babes 🩷!! However, halfway through writing I noticed it started to sound a little like a fic I had read so with their permission I will tag the creator of that fic which is, @rr-after-dark and you can find the fic here Hope you all enjoy!!

“TRIN WAIT NO!”

The voice of Dennis Whitaker traveled through the hallways as you stood by the lockers with Mel and Samira. Followed quickly by the sound of what could only be described as a small scuffle and loud thud before Trinity arrived at your area.

“Did you guys-whoo I’m out of shape- did you know huckleberry here has like no body hair?” Trinity lets out small giggles as she begins spilling a very intimate secret about her roommate. 

“Uhm, well no I can’t say for a good reason why any of us would have known this.” You look around to everyone in your proximity, “But sharing is caring I guess?” 

“I’m sorry and how do you know this?” Mel squeaked out with reddened cheeks.

“I’m so glad you asked, he was taking the longest time in the shower as usual and so I went to scare him and the idiot grabs the shower curtain” trinity paused to snort out a laugh, “and-and it all comes down and next thing I know I am staring at a naked little mole rat” 

“It’s not funny! It’s probably like an underlying condition of something okay” With cheeks redder than Mel’s, Dennis was trying hard not to make it seem like he was confirming his predicament. He wasn’t denying it either however.

“You know what I’m sure loads of men don’t really have body hair,” Samira was doing her best to console the poor boy, “I bet even some people we work with are in the same boat!”

You fixed your face into a you’re joking expression directly aimed at her. 

“Okay then who? Because I couldn’t name one who I think is smoother than poor Dennis over here” Trinity motions to the entirety of the ED before getting a look in her eye. “Hold on, what if we I don't know take some bets about this.”

“No, Trinity, that's such an HR violation” Mel immediately voices her concerns 

“Only if you tell them, okay let’s narrow it down to the attendings keep it small” she sneaks a look at you specifically, “Abbot and Robby; bush, trimmed, or fully shaved? Bonus points for chest hair”

A beat of silence followed after her statement, as everyone took their time in processing what exactly they were getting themselves into. And if they were willing to participate.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate”

“They’re our bosses-”

“IT’S A CONDITION!” 

All three began arguing over the ethics of Trinity's proposed bet, you however lifted a finger to your chin before interrupting everyone.

“Abbot is for sure trimmed with a little chest hair, and Robby is definitely a full jungle head to toe no doubt about it”

A shrug was added towards the end as if this was light work, and that's because it was. You weren’t going to lie and say you hadn’t thought about this before, many, many times. You were an R4 and had been working at the PTMC since your MS4. There was no doubt that you held a candle to both of your much older attendings, hell you’ve been called out multiple times on the doe eyes you’ve made when you thought no one was looking. 

Dana had especially caught on, and never ceased to remind you that they were double your age and that a sweet girl like you didn’t need to be tied down by old men like them. If only she knew how much it turned you on to hear just how much older they were. And it was worse when the reminders came from Robby and Abbot themselves.

‘Good God I was in med school by the time you were born sweetheart’

‘I have tattoos that are older than you kid’

Both statements were seared into your brain the moment they said it. Lines that replayed one too many times with a hand furiously circling your clit while splayed out on your bed fantasizing about your bosses. So yeah your bet was one made with the confidence of four years of pining after these men.

“Nah Abbot's smooth and Robby is trimmed” Trinity wasted no time in following behind with hers.

“Fine, uhm both of them are trimmed short, but Robby has the chest hair” Samira's vote was cast in a mumble as she avoided eye contact.

“I’m going to say both are clean shaven” you had a feeling Dennis was just trying to make himself feel better.

“Nope, no thanks I’ll handle the money” Mel shook her head having absolutely no interest whatsoever in participating.

“Okay, problem though. How exactly are we going to find out?” Trinity once again laid her gaze on you, which to be fair so did everyone else. Point taken.

“Alright sure I volunteer as tribute, but if I do this it’s up to 20$ per correct guess. Bush and chest hair are separate so we’re talking 40 bucks per attending” 

You weren’t about to become a walking HR violation if there wasn’t a chance of getting 240$ richer. A girl has bills to pay.

As all agreed on the bet, handing your money over to Mel you realized you needed a game plan.

______________________________________

It all began the next day when Abbot had picked up a double. He and Robby were chatting and discussing patient care when you and Trinity saddled up to the station to chart on your own patients. Seeing no time like the present you decided to seize the moment and turned to Trinity.

“Do you have a good waxer?”

Trinity's eyes bugged out for just one moment before she recognized the plan.

“No, sorry babe I just take care of it myself at home” 

“I used to have a good one but she moved to LA, and I haven’t touched it since” Not a lie, “I don’t trust myself not to cut off a lip so I figured I’d just leave it until I find a new one.”

Out of the corner of your eye you caught the way both men had frozen in their spots, eyes wide and a blush creeping up Robby’s neck. 

“Say Dr. Robby, Dr. Abbot do you guys know a good place to get waxed?”

That sweet blush melted onto poor Robby’s cheeks at your inquiry. He then looked over to Jack as if making sure he wasn’t going crazy. 

“I, uh can’t say that I do kid” Hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“You really think we look like the kind of people who would know someone for that sweetheart?” Jack settled his gaze into nonchalance a lot easier than Robby did.

“Well I don’t know I didn’t want to assume, you know” you shrug before grabbing Trinity’s wrist and walking away, “okay well that eliminates waxing but doesn't eliminate if they shave or trim.”

The next opportunity you had was a week or so later when you saw Robby standing alone in the supply closet.

“Do they have any witch hazel or aloe in here?” An innocent and slightly stupid question that no one would blink twice at.

“I’m not entirely sure why, what’s up kid?” Robby turned to look at you as if you were presenting a case. 

“Well the patient in central 6 came in with what they thought was an STD, burning and itching and all that. Turns out it’s a simple rash from shaving” You search his face for any sense of acknowledgement, or the vibes of understanding. But instead you get nothing but the look of okay and?

“Well if we don’t have it, discharge them with instructions and some powder for the irritation” Robby tried his best not to blush once more at the full attention you were giving him, efforts that ended up failing at your next statement.

“Well what do you do Dr. Robby? You know if you shave too short and it gets really itchy and bothersome?”

“I don’t, uhm-“

Robby was saved by the bell as Dana came in and called a trauma. Something you huffed about knowing you weren’t going to get an answer. The breath you let out caught his attention unbeknownst to you, as a quizzical expression fell onto his face as he realized this was the second conversation like this he’s had with you in as many weeks.

______________________________________

Jack’s turn for questioning came the next day at shift change as you ran into him at the lockers. You were putting your things into the space and he was taking his out.  

“Oh hey Dr.Abbot, I have a quick question for you”

“Your questions are never quick nor are they usually good for my health” 

“No I promise this is totally five by five”

“I don’t think you used that-”

“Anyway, so what type of fabric is your underwear?”

A long sigh left his nostrils as he closed his eyes letting his head dip down. Turning his body to face you fully he leaned a shoulder against the lockers as he folded his arms across his chest. 

“I want to ask why you want to know that sweetheart, but I think I’m also scared of knowing the reason”

“Well, since you kind of asked I’ll tell you,” stepping a bit closer to him so you could demonstrate your question while you tell it, “I haven’t bought new ones in a while and I noticed that if I shaved, it would poke through the polyester fabric which was super uncomfortable. So I was just wondering if you had that problem?” 

If only you had a camera because the look on Jack Abbots face was priceless but only for a split second. His attempt at remaining stoic quickly dropped as his shoulder slid off the lockers for a moment, losing his cool before he straightened up schooling his expression and narrowing his eyes at you.

“Cotton.” 

The flatness of his tone sent shivers down your spine as he locked his gaze onto yours not letting you escape, It was your turn to slightly lose your cool. Jack figuring the best plan is to meet you at your own game, one that you were so clearly playing. 

Before this your flirtations were kept small and sweet. Ones that he and Robby were more than happy to play into, but they never entertained you much further knowing that you were much too young for them. They also refused to let themselves believe that you were genuinely into them. You who were sunshine personified with the confidence to boot during procedures. The one who they watched as every med student and consultant flirted with you in an attempt to get into your pants only to come out unsuccessful each and every time.

These thoughts and memories were swimming through his head as you left him with a small ‘oh ok, thanks’ and headed out onto the floor but not before he saw you quickly pull out your phone and began furiously typing. Grabbing his backpack he heads out as well, stopping when he sees Robby at the nurses station and figures he'd ask if he noticed anything odd about you lately.

“Hey brother I got a question for you, have you noticed anything odd with-”

“Oh thank god you too?”

Jack didn’t even finish his sentence before Robby was adding in his own thoughts. Both the men recounted their encounters with you noticing a similar topic to your questioning and interest with them recently. But it wasn’t truly making sense to why you were so hung up on this until they overheard a passing conversation that they definitely weren’t supposed to hear. 

“Damn it, she said still nothing definitive” came the voice of Trinity Santos the day shift R2 came close to where the two attendings were standing but not close enough that she and Dennis Whitaker saw them standing there.

“I still think betting on their body hair is weird”

“Okay well technically it's not their body hair it's just how they keep their bushes okay with a side bet of chest hair, totally appropriate,” She scoffed as she typed a quick reply on her phone, “plus are you not 80$ deep like the rest of us?”

“Well yeah but having her do it feels cruel when she’s told us about how much she likes Abbot and Robby,”

“Chill with the emotions huckleberry, and please they like her just as much. Which is why she has the best chance”

They walk away soon after leaving both attendings to stew over their words. Over two things specifically; one being the fact that a small group of their doctors have been betting over their pubic hair, but second and more importantly that you actually liked them. Their eyes met and it was almost as if they had the same thought process, which they did. Now they only had one problem though, they needed to figure out how to confront you about it. 

Because here you were flaunting around the ED flirting with them and asking questions that should’ve definitely sent you straight to HR. Except Trinity and Dennis were correct, it didn’t because it was you who asked. Taking a quick peek at the schedule they saw that the next shift was your last before you had four days off, they were also short a couple doctors and coincidently neither were supposed to be working. And since Jack and Robby were both such givers they signed themselves up to pick up the shift.

________________________________________

The day started out like any other. You showed up ready to work with an extra pep in your step as it was hot attending free, feeling like you could finally breathe. You loved flirting with them truly, but with this bet going on it was getting harder and harder to get through your shift. Not because you were getting sick of them, no never that. It’s the amount of forced proximity that was really messing with your head.

You were starting to feel as though the faint scent of their body wash and cologne was beginning to embed itself inside your sinuses. Or how the sound of their voices were etched so deep into your brain it replayed constantly as you wore out the batteries of your favorite vibrator almost nightly. But today was going to be different, today was a hot older man free day. At least it was supposed to be, but that quickly dissipated as a few voices you thought weren't going to be around came from behind you.

“Look at her walking in here with a little pep in her step, what do you think got into her?”

 “No idea, maybe it's just her youthful state. I mean you remember what it was like to be her age don't you?” 

Michael fucking Robinavitch and Jack asshole Abbot had swarmed you as soon as you walked towards the entrance. Only causing a slight stumble before catching your balance and regaining a shred of your already paper thin confidence. 

“Well I thought it was going to be a peaceful day, but I guess the powers that be said no.” you attempted a joking insult so that it seemed like nothing about this was getting to you.

But deep and gravelly laughs followed your statement, the kind that had your thighs tightening and heat creeping up your neck. A focus that you were ripped out of at the feeling of a hand on your lower back, which made you halt in your steps. Looking over you spotted Abbot positioning himself against your side before a long arm from the other man in your presence shot out and opened the door allowing you to walk in first. 

It was odd, not in an uncomfortable way but mostly because you hadn’t often taken them on at the same time so to speak. Usually choosing to focus on one or the other unless you had back up like Trinity. But here with both of them crowding your space made you feel out of control and dizzy. 

Squeaking out a thank you before rushing through the doors trying to get some type of distance, you were stopped short when it came to the security door where they wasted no time in crowding into your space again. Their scents filling your nose as the hairs at the back of your neck stood on edge.

You tried to start this shift with an attempt at the normal teasing and flirtations with the usual confidence you normally had, but as time went on you found yourself becoming increasingly overwhelmed with their constant presence. Mostly because there was something different about them today, they were less playful and dismissive with your advances. Instead it was more intentional, they doubled down on their own flirtations back and almost tag teaming you from each side. Rarely was there a time that one of them wasn’t around you, whenever you picked up a patient they were right there behind you asking for an immediate presentation, or about differentials and possible diagnoses. 

They were also more physical as well, a hand at the lower part of your back or on your shoulder when passing by, or even if they were standing near you talking to others. And they were always standing much too close to you when looking at the charts and labs, you couldn’t seem to scramble together more than two words every time they asked you a question because of how overbearing their presence was today. It got to the point where Samira had asked if you were okay since you had seemed so distracted, you did your best to reassure her you were okay but that didn’t seem to ease much of her worry. And unfortunately for you she decided to talk to the worst two people possible about your behavior.

“Im just concerned you know she seems distracted”

“No worries Mohan we’ll check up on her” Abbot tried his own reassurance hoping that he convinced her better than you did.

“I appreciate you bringing this to us. We will do our best to see what's going on” 

Robby figured that adding a second statement would distract her from lingering on one or the other for too long. And it seemed to work as she nodded her thanks before walking off. It wasn’t until the last three hours of the shift they decided to finally run their intervention. 

“Hey kid do me a favor and walk with me” Robby approaches you from behind as you try and think of every possible way to get out of it. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t. Patient in south 5 needs me” you take one step away before a large hand wraps around your bicep as he begins talking above your head.

“Hey Mel do me a favor take her patients for a bit” She nods her agreement before walking off to finish whatever task she was in the middle of, “See no biggie, c’mon”

He guided you into the hallway quite a distance away from the ED, right up until you saw ON CALL ROOM 3 plastered beside a door. Knocking three times seemed to be the password as the door opened to show Jack Abbot, the only other man you absolutely didn’t trust yourself  to be around today. 

Before you could protest and make an argument for being too busy to talk once more, a small tap on your left ass cheek had you taking shocked stumbling steps into the room. The door was closed and a lock clicked as you stood as far back as you could from the two men. You weren’t scared of them per say, but you were scared that they were about to tell you they were reporting you for inappropriate questioning over the last few weeks.

“I uhm-” 

“Ah ah ah, sweetheart this isn’t your turn to talk” Jack spoke first, moving so that he was directly beside Robby where he stood but two feet in front of you, which also meant they were effectively blocking your way at a quick exit.

“Look kid you aren’t getting out of this, better to come clean now” Robby crossed his arms over his chest the movement somehow making him seem even broader.

“I don’t- I don’t know what you're talking about” You were on the verge of tears, mind running rampant with the thoughts of losing your residency and possibly your career.

“Aww look at the poor thing Mike, I think we’ve scared her”

“Nah Jack I think she's right where she wants to be,” 

“Dr. Abbot, Dr. Robby I’m sorr-”

“Shhh, no doctor. Just Michael and Jack right now”

Jack is the first to take yet another step closer to you with Robby following suit. But as you attempt to find any semblance of distance you feel your knees hit the edge of the chair that had been sitting in the corner of the room. The motion caused you to fall to the seat, eyes drifting to the front of their pants that lined up with your new view. Both seams were pulled tight in an intimidating tent from each man. 

“I don’t understand wh-whats going on?”

“Dont play coy now,” Jack grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “secrets and bets aren’t kept quiet for long in this hospital,”

He traced your bottom lip with the same thumb, pulling it down slightly. Robby groaned at the sight before he reached a hand similar to Jack, but instead of going for your face he gripped a handful of your ponytail and slightly yanked back so your throat stretched upwards. 

“Well, you wanted to see so badly, so look”  giving another tug to your hair.

With shaky hands you start with Robby's zipper pulling it down slowly before moving onto his boxers. His heavy length bobbed out, skin taught and flushed as his tip was already leaking, and he was long at least 8 inches. And right at the base was even better than you could’ve predicted, a full smattering of unruly dark curls that trailed down from the happy trail peaking out from his rising scrub top. But before you could get too carried away that warm hand on your chin gave it a small tap reminding you there were two, as if you could forget. 

You were a bit more impatient with Jack’s pants already feeling the pulse of your own arousal beginning at the most menial of touches from them. Pulling his pants and boxers down his cock was just as impressive in its own way. While it wasn’t as long as Robby's it was definitely girthier, almost scarily so. Skin just as flushed and leaking with a prominent vein along the underside and of course to none of your surprise he was neatly trimmed, nothing too short but just enough to shape it into manageable. 

Without allowing yourself to get too lost in thought reaching up with both hands you gripped each of their respective cocks and began stroking up and down their lengths spreading their arousal with your fingers. Sharp hisses left their lips at the contact.

“Aww come on now kid you didn’t harass us for weeks just to use your hands did you?” Robby chastises with a strained voice. 

“Yeah come on sweetheart put that dirty mouth to better use than you have been” This time its Jack that puts a hand in your hair pushing you towards where they wanted you most. At first you went to focus on just one at a time before you heard Jack’s tsk start to correct you.

“You’ve talked such a big game so you can take both”

“Wh-what Jack, I don't think I can.” Your eyes widened at the prospect of two of the biggest cocks you’d seen. 

“You can do it kid, open up and say ahh” Robby’s lips morphed into a smirk.

And you did opening as wide as you could, realistically you could only really fit the first inch of each of them at the same time while pumping the rest of their length with your hands. However, you settled into a rhythm of running your mouth up and down Robby’s then Jack’s cock and finally taking both as far as you could at one time. It only took a few minutes before your eyes were spilling with tears and spit dripped from your lips. 

“That’a girl, fuck feels so good! Doesn’t she feel good Mike?”

“God yes, so fucking warm. But I wanna taste her Jack.” Robby lets out a deep moan as you deliver a particularly harsh suck to his cockhead.

“Yes please, I want that” pulling back with a slight pop as their cocks fall from your mouth, the idea of their mouths on you sent goosebumps flowing down your spine. 

“Alrighty kid strip before getting on the bed, then put your hips at the edge” Robby ordered with a strong tone. 

Hurriedly removing your scrubs, you position yourself as directed. Before noticing how both men chose to keep their clothes on, leaving their pants just tucked below their hips. A realization that had you instinctively trying to cover yourself.

As your arms went to cover your breasts, larger ones gripped your wrists and moved to hold them above your head. Looking to your side you were met with Jack's hazel eyes as he held yours with a hard gaze.

“Don’t you dare cover yourself, I’ve waited years for this,” Jack's lips came crashing onto yours, messily filled with teeth and tongue before moving down the column of your throat, “I’ve had to guess what these perfect tits looked like with my hand wrapped around my cock way too often. And they’re even better than anything I could’ve imagined”

Your eyes were screwed shut as your teeth sunk into your lip trying hard to keep your noises down. But a startled gasp broke through as Robby’s hands caressed your thighs, where once again you tried to cover yourself by squeezing them shut. But he was quicker moving his shoulders between so there was no chance of hiding.

“Who’d have thought you’d be so shy kid? You’re all talk and no bite aren’t you?” Robby teased as he gently ran a finger through your own soft curls pressing farther into your slit, collecting the leaking arousal, “but you’ve never had a real man take care of you have you? Let alone two”

“N-no, never” your voice was a breathy whisper in your attempt to respond.

All chances of being silent went out the window as Jack wrapped his lips around a nipple while Robby buried his face deep into your cunt. 

“Oh fuck Michael!” That had Jack shoving two fingers in your mouth to keep the noise at bay.

“Fucking hell kid,” his deep growl vibrated against your sensitive flesh, “as much as I love hearing you call my name, gonna need you to be quiet for us, can you be a good girl and do that?” 

Lips still wrapped around Jack's fingers you managed a nod. With one mouth expertly buried at your sensitive core shoving his nose into you and inhaling deep and the other sucking on your breasts you could feel that dull pulse pull tighter on that string.

That feeling only built as Jack pulled away from your chest removing the fingers from your mouth and moving down to where Robby was.

Those spit slick fingers moved around the back of your thigh and pressed in right below Robby’s chin. The instant stretch had you biting on your knuckles and he scissors his fingers in a smooth rhythmic manner. 

“Bet Mike's mouth feels real good doesn’t it, sweetheart?” His question wasn’t one he needed answered with words as your face and moans said it all, but lord did you try. Nothing but babbles came out as he flipped between harsh sucks and using his tongue to inscribe his name over your clit. 

“Yeah he does,” Jack continued, “I can feel you squeezing my fingers real good. I’ll tell you what, be a good girl and let go for us just once before we fuck you” 

“Yes, ohmygod pl-please!” 

With toes curled and back arched the string snapped as Robby nipped at your clit and Jack hooked his fingers to press into that soft spot that had you gushing and your vision going white. Pleasure shot through your body as your orgasm contracted every lower muscle you had. Squeezing Jack fingers so hard he almost came at the thought of it being on his cock next.

Your mind was floating as you barely registered how Jack spread your arousal down to your puckered hole. Nor did you fully realize you were being manhandled until the world spun around you and you found yourself face to face with Jack's black t-shirt covered chest. 

“Okay sweetheart gonna take this nice and slow, big breath for me” The man beneath you whispered into your ear.

Confusion muddled your brain as it was still slow to recover from the mind numbing orgasm, but it all made sense as you felt his cock being pushed into your cunt. Slow and steady as he gave you little moments to adjust. All the while Robby had opened the lube that he came prepared with as he slathered his length in it with a few jerks watching as Jack's cock disappeared into your sweet cunt. The stretch was almost too much compared to his fingers earlier. 

As he finally bottomed out he held your hips down onto him only allowing small grinding movements of your pelvis against his. You were desperate for more and your poor mind was lost three ways to Sunday as his thick cock filled you up more than you had ever been. Little whines were released as you attempted to move but the grip Jack had was tight and immovable. However, both your movements and noises died down as Robby’s hand settled between your shoulder blades pushing you further into Jack as he also maneuvered your hips down and back so that he could reach his destination. You felt cold liquid spread between your cheeks before you heard his voice call out.

“Be real still f’me” that baritone of Robby’s voice was like an electric shock to your nerves. And the small praises that came from Jack in your ear were enough to make you cum again.

“Fuck, so fucking tight baby hold on” strain crept its way into Robby’s words as he slowly pushed in trying to be gentle as he passed through the tight rings of muscle. 

“Doing so good sweetheart, taking us both so well” small kisses and marks were littered between sentences Jack was whispering. “Oh Fuck Mike, can feel your cock pressing against her”

“Ugghh s’big,” wiggling your hips to stuff more of both inside, eyes all but rolling to the back of your head “feels s’good”

Another minute went by before Robby was able to get himself fully seated inside your ass, and Jack in the same position with your sensitive cunt. While they took their time stuffing you full beyond belief it only took seconds for them to start moving, and in perfect time as well. When Robby stayed put Jack pulled out, and when Jack pushed back in Robby pulled out. Both coming out just until the tip was left before thrusting back in with such force that had the air pushed from your lungs. 

If they were worried about you being loud before that was not the problem any more. The constant push and pull of the two men had your mouth hanging open in a silent O. The feel of their bruising grips on your waist and hips only added to the blinding arousal that filled your body.

“Such a good girl sweetheart, letting us fuck you dumb in the middle of your shift” Jacks degrading words only had you whimpering in agreement.

“No words for us kid, was this more than you thought you could handle?” Robby spreads your ass so that he can see himself slide in and out better, a view that had him groaning as he felt his own orgasm building. 

And almost as if their minds and bodies were melded into one, as Robby thought it Jack voiced it.

“Fuck don’t know how much longer I can last brother. Plus i think our break is coming to an end”

“I-I’m s-so” That competent mind that they loved so much had turned off, a sight they knew they shouldn’t love as much as they do but they couldn’t help it. 

The look of pure bliss on your face combined with tears flowing down your cheeks and their marks across your body was something they were going to make sure happened on a regular basis. This was their way into your life and they weren't about to let it happen just once. That tell tale fluttering of your cunt and tightening of your ass on the two men told them you were just as close as they were. 

And they were correct, the immense pressure of both of them rubbing against each other inside and the friction of movement on your clit had you barreling into your second orgasm. They quickened their pace chasing their own highs, rhythm being slightly lost as they stopped trying to time it. This had you losing yourself even more as you stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began. And whatever lucidity you had faded as your orgasm all but paralyzed you.

“Fuckfuckfuckkk!” You gritted out through clenched teeth, body locking up as you gripped Jack's hair with one hand and the other gripping Robby's wrist on your hip. 

“C’mon sweetheart take it!” Jack grunted out himself as both he and Robby shoved themselves as deep as they could, reaching parts of your body you didn’t even know existed.

“Take it all kid just like that” Robby’s grip becoming impossibly harder 

Grunts and moans flew from the two men as they emptied themselves into your body, warmth bloomed from their cum filling up you to what felt like your chest. Shallow movement from both had you squeaking out with overstimulation at each thrust. You could feel them soften slightly before they pull out. Grabbing the wipes from the bedside table and lightly cleaning you up.

Your body was still limp as they slid your underwear and scrubs back on,and your body moved into a sitting position. Light taps to your cheek had your eyes drooping open just slightly. Feeling the water bottle set against your bottom lip your mouth opened instinctively as a hand gripped your chin in place. 

“Look at that, don’t even need to ask her before she does what we want now” Jack stroked your hair so that it looked more presentable.

“Gonna need you to walk out of her kid, think you can do that” Robby moved the bottle from your mouth and moved your chin with his hand to look him in his eyes.

You begin to nod before he cuts off your movements. 

“Nope gotta use your words like a big girl”

“Y-yes Michael” breaths coming out deep and heavy.

“Alrighty lets get you up,” Jack's hands lifted you from your position under your arms to stand on your own two feet. “Woah there bambi take a minute”

His words rushed out as your knees instantly buckled and both him and Robby moved to catch you. 

“I can do it,” taking a deep breath, you all but stumbled to the door. But before you could open it you heard Robby call out.

“Just so you know we’re taking you home with us tonight and we’re gonna talk this thing through, got it?” 

“This wasn’t just a one time thing sweetheart, this was four years in the making. We know you take the bus so you’ll hitch a ride with us.” Jack then nodded for you to leave first. 

"Oh one more thing," you called out before leaving, "the second part of the bet?"

A chuckle left both the men as they each lifted their shirts up to their necks confirming exactly what you knew. But the new peek at their bodies had your own gearing up for another round already, so with a small giggle and thanks you tucked your head down and exited the room.

With every wobbly step you could feel their cum slightly leak out and pool into your underwear, and you were extremely grateful the shift was almost over. Making your way to where most everyone was gathered at the nurses station, they all watched as you headed towards them with a noticeable limp in your gait and an absentminded smile across your face. 

“Time to pay up, I was correct” leaning your exhausted body on the counter top.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Trinity knew what it meant but part of her didn’t believe you while Samira, Mel, and Dennis made questioning glances between you two.

At least that was until they saw both of their attendings talking in hushed whispers coming from the exact hallway you had. Jack or Robby didn't bother to fix their hair as they had  done yours. And much to your embarrassment you could faintly see a you-sized handprint on Robby's forearm where his  sleeves were pushed up, and Jack's neck had a you-sized bite mark where you must’ve chomped down without thinking. Heat flushed through your body as they walked past where you and the group huddled, nodding to you in unison as you nearly sank to your knees once more. But a teeny bit of pride that filled your chest kept you upright with just enough left over confidence to turn back to the four that went from confused to shocked. 

And without another word Mel reached into her bag grabbing the envelope that held what was now your water and electricity bill payment. Shoving it into your pocket before moving away to very carefully sit on one of the stools to finish charting before you head out. 

“So do we get half?” Jacks question had you scoffing 

“Absolutely not this is my utilities bill” you shot him a look at the audacity of his words. But that look morphed into confusion when your phone chimed and a banking notification of 1,600$ being sent chimed on your phone. “Wait what the fuck?”

“You put in good work for that money, use it for something other than utilities,” Robby’s voice joined in, “Plus you’re not going to have to worry about bills anymore”

And before you could protest another notification of 1,600$ went through, this time with Jack's name. 

“Just a little something for rent” he casually stated, “meet us by the black Chevy after you clock out” 

Jack patted your shoulder before they both walked off, as if they just had been going over patient information with you and not sending you 3,200$ for ‘bills’. Which had you giggling because they both knew you lived in a shitty studio in the not great part of town, so they were very much aware of the fact they sent you at least triple your rent. Except instead of feeling embarrassment or shy, you felt cared for. And it had you excited for later tonight, wondering about all the plans they could have. 

Never did you think Dennis and his lack of body hair would’ve been the push the three of you needed to finally break the years of building tension. But here you were with that silly little thought in your head as you made your way towards the truck where both men were waiting for you. 

Next part>

[not-neverland06]

𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨…

💿 Go Go Juice💿

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴: '𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘺' 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 & 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

I'm just drinking to call someone / Ain't nobody's safe when I'm a little bit drunk / Could be John or Larry / Gosh, who's to say? / Or the one that rhymes with "villain" / If I'm feeling that way

Overview: What you had thought was the healthiest relationship you had in years ended in tears and being ghosted. Which is impressive considering he's your damn attending. You see each other every day and he can hardly look at you.

That is, until Santos convinces you it's a good idea to go out and get tipsy. But brokenhearted + drunk = waking up in your ex's bed. How the hell are you getting out of this one?

a/n: I love this show so much more than I thought I would. (Haven’t gotten to S2 yet, no spoilers) and was shocked when I went for Robby rather than Jack considering how much I love Shawn Hatosy. 

Though, I have noticed all fics for Robby seemed to revolve around near-illegal age gaps. I kept this pretty age neutral. Remember you can always go back to school, there’s no one specific age for a resident. So, for any older women out there who can’t relate to being a ditzy twenty-year-old with a fifty-year-old man, I hope this works for you. 

wc: 5.3K

more at: Belle’s 3K Extravaganza

“You really should come out with us,” Santos insists for the nth time this shift. You’re hardly past noon, and she’s already been making plans with the other doctors to go out for drinks. You might've said yes if you didn’t know you were a horrible drunk after a breakup. 

Though you’re not sure that you can count his side-chick texting you after finding your bra, a breakup. More so, a horrible loss of one of your favorite brassieres. You should have known better to leave a good piece of lingerie at a slut's house. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You pretend to be completely invested in the case on your tablet, but you know she doesn’t believe it for a second. Not with the way her eyes are boring into the side of your head. 

With a huff, you finally force yourself to look up. Her face lights up and you shake your head. “I don’t feel like spending the whole night babysitting a drunk Whitaker and watching you and Garcia make aggressive do-me eyes at each other.”

Santos shrugs, “Alright, the do-me eyes are inevitable, but I can take care of Whitaker.”

You’re about to object again when a husky voice interrupts. “And what is so much more captivating than your patients?” Robby interjects. You don’t have to turn to know his eyes are narrowed, crow’s feet wrinkling in the most handsome way. You’re sure he’s even got his arms crossed like the slut he is. 

Trinity offers a timid smile, though it’s hardly apologetic. “I’m trying to get her to loosen up for once and come out with me.”

“Which isn’t happening,” you interrupt with a sharp sigh. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see Robby already staring at you. Swallowing down the lump of nausea in your throat, you force a semi-professional smile. One he doesn’t have the decency to return. Santos’s eyes dart between the pair of you, brows piquing with clear interest. 

It’s not like you and Robby were ever known for subtlety. Dana and Jack had clocked the two of you the second you’d first started screwing around with each other. But that had been a long time ago. Long before he decided the best way to dump his resident was by ghosting her and having her temporarily shipped to the night shift. 

You made it back on the day shift a few months ago, since then he’s made it his job to avoid any and all contact with you. Impressive considering you have to report literally everything you do to the man. Dana and Heather have gotten used to having to pass information to him on your behalf. 

You’re honestly surprised he had the balls to even walk over here. 

“Robby-” at the sharp look he shoots her, Trin corrects herself. “Dr. Robinavitch, would you please convince her to just have some fun for once?”

Turning to give him your full attention, you prop your tablet on your hip. Robby’s eyes flit to yours and you raise your brows expectantly. His gaze drops to the floor with an awkward laugh and the rage that floods through you is near blinding. 

The asshole hadn’t even bothered with telling you why he’d ended one of the healthiest relationships of your adult life. Just dropped you like you hadn’t meant a thing to him. Six months of your life given to him, and now he’s fully reverted to a frat boy from college, never making it more than six weeks with whoever he decides to pick up next. 

“You know what,” you drawl, before he can say anything more to piss you off. “I need a drink,” you tell Trinity, finally sparing Robby your glare. Her brows shoot up, face drawn in confusion, but she’s not going to argue. “Need to get the taste of my latest disappointment off my tongue.” You brush past Robby, heading toward room three, where your next patient is waiting. 

You don’t make a habit of dating within the Pitt; you’ve learned from your past mistakes. And unlike Robby, you don’t wave new relationships in his face. He can figure out whether or not you were talking about him. 

Based on the way his eyes track you the rest of your shift, you figure he probably hadn’t heard you’d gotten back into dating. 

Your regret at agreeing to this is insurmountable as you sit in a sticky booth at the bar closest to the ED. Half the people here are first responders. Mainly paramedics, some firefighters, and then the residents. 

Throughout your time in the medical field, you’ve learned that mixing with others in your field isn’t as convenient as one would hope. Cops almost always have a god/savior complex, which leads to one delusional narcissist. Firefighters are cool the majority of the time, though major adrenaline junkies. And paramedics, bless them, tend to be hot, but dumb as rocks. 

Santos has been trying to get you to mingle, figuring drinking and fucking away your bad experience would be the best way to get your groove back. Which is easy enough for her to say as she’s snuggled up next to Garcia. Their fuck-me eyes have more chemistry than you and your ex ever had. 

A few others are there, Whitaker, Samira, Langdon, sadly, and right behind him was Mel. She seemed way far out of her element, but you know her and Langdon have both been working on getting out of their comfort zones. Mel spends a night at a bar, and Langdon gets sensitivity training. 

You’re pretty sure Jack had popped by an hour or so ago. But he never stays long, just gets a beer or two and then says good night. If you had been drunk enough, you might have gone over and said hi. Revenge screwing Robby’s best friend sounded mighty satisfying to your petty, tipsy mind. But Jack wasn't the type to stoop that low, unfortunately. 

At this point in the night, so disappointed and so deep in your fruity drinks, Whitaker’s starting to look like a viable second option. His sad eyes and perpetually limp hair, something about it was almost appealing. Sadly for you, your type seemed to revolve around emotionally unavailable men. Specifically, the ones with grey in their beard. 

“Hey,” Santos swats your shoulder. She’s got both Garcia and Whitaker’s arms thrown around her shoulders, which gets a little laugh out of you. “I’m gonna take them home. You want a ride?”

Shaking your head, you get to your feet and grab your purse. “No, I’ll just get an Uber.” She hesitates, clearly not liking the idea of leaving you alone.

“I’m a grown woman,” you assure her, helping readjust a slipping Whitaker before he crashes to the floor. “I’ll be alright," you swear. She spares you one last glance before nodding. 

Opening your phone, you stare down at the Uber app. Still, there’s a sour taste on your tongue. You did technically come here to have some fun. All you’ve been doing is nursing your drinks and sulking in a corner. Slipping your phone back in your purse, you walk over to the bar. 

Maybe a few more drinks will be enough to numb your mind and that horrible ache of rejection. 

You didn’t have the chance to attempt any fun before your ex texted you. 

Cuming ovr tonite?

Even drunk and bent over a bar top, you’re still disgusted. Not just by his poor excuse for grammar. But by the fact that you know he spelled coming like that on purpose.

You guess that the woman he’d been having sex with outside of your relationship had snitched on him to you, but hadn’t let him know you were now aware of each other’s existence. 

There is some stuff you’d like to get back from him. But you don’t trust yourself not to do something stupid. So, you block him, possibly the most logical decision you’ve ever made drunk.

Which means, inevitably, one smart decision will most likely be outweighed by an incredibly stupid move later in the night. 

It doesn’t feel like this funk you’re in has anything to do with being cheated on. It’s happened to you before, and it never stops hurting. But you hadn’t exactly invested emotionally in this relationship. He was just a half-decent lay to try and get over a man who’d ditched you like you hadn’t meant a thing. 

It's sad that you regard your relationship with Robby as one of your healthiest. Especially considering how it ended and how distant he was even when you two were at your best. You suppose you simply have a low bar that Robby had just barely managed to raise during your time together. 

You can’t even go to work without seeing him. And every time he so much as looks at you, you can see just how badly he wants to get away from you. Hardly a boost for your ego. 

As your attention inevitably shifts to the wrong ex, the drinks start going down easier. Too many shots and too many fruity follow-ups have your temple pressed to a cool bar counter. And an unfortunate bartender cutting you off. 

It being a weeknight, pretty much everyone’s cleared out by now. Were you sober, you would apologize for holding up her night and being so sloppy. But you’re not, and the best you can come up with is complimenting her blue hair and actively trying not to vomit on her.  

“Christ alive, give me that,” she reaches over and snatches your phone from your hands, ignoring your protests. You glare at her before feeling your stomach turn and letting your head thunk back to the counter. “Password,” she demands. When you don’t answer, she lifts your chin and forces your face to look into the camera. The moment it's unlocked, your head is thumping down. 

Robby leans back against stiff couch cushions and lets out a low groan. It’s telling how little he’s been home lately. There’s a thick layer of dust along his bookshelves. His furniture has gone stiff with disuse. It’s not exactly pleasant, coming home to a place decorated with a touch of each one of his exes. 

Some paintings on the walls they’d suggested to make the place seem less sterile. Matching dishes in case he ever wanted to host something. Which he had laughed at when she’d mentioned it, but got the set nonetheless. 

The most prominent touch is yours. He had been with you the longest when he’d first gotten the place. You’d made fun of him then, for getting an interior decorator who ‘lived in sepia tint’ as you’d said. Which had been fair, the place was disconcertingly brown and beige. 

You’d brought color into his life, made the place feel more homely than he would have ever bothered with. The color seemed to leave when you did. It took him a while to realize it was just you that had brightened his life, not the blankets or throw pillows. 

Now, he sat in a graveyard of failed relationships every time he had a day off. It was growing more and more unbearable to be surrounded by it all. Dana and Jack had both called him out on shirking the rare days off he got. But he couldn’t exactly explain to them both that his incompetence at relationships cost him the rare moment of peace. 

His therapist said to trash it all and start over. Finding his own ‘touch’ might even change his outlook on life. Robby doubted that and he found it more difficult than he’d like to admit to actually try to give you back all your stuff. So, he lingered in a purgatory of past mistakes for no reason that he could decipher. 

Scrubbing his hands down his face, he let out a rough sigh. He was debating taking a shower or just knocking out on the couch. His back wouldn’t thank him for it, but he didn’t feel like sleeping in a too-big bed tonight. 

Before he could decide which self-imposed punishment to go with, his phone rang. Tossing his head back, he debated answering, but he figured he had to see who it was, at least. Fishing his phone from his pants, he frowned down at your name on his screen. He hadn’t changed the picture since you two had broken up. It was still the same poorly angled selfie he’d taken of you with your arms wrapped around his neck. 

You never called, never texted; he hadn’t had to deal with the hurt of seeing you like that until now. He doesn’t really want to answer. Doesn’t want to hear your voice, hear you hang up, and then be stuck in the echoing silence of his house. Still, in six months, you haven’t reached out once. He can’t imagine you would unless it was important. The thought spurred a little bit of worry as he swiped right. “Hey,” he muttered your name, brows furrowed. 

“Hey,” the voice on the other end was rougher than your own and his eyes narrowed. “Is this, uh,” the person pulls away, voice slightly muffled. “What’d you say his name was? The contact just says asshole.”

Robby’s face falls as he lets out a scoff. In the background, he can hear your slurring voice. “Is this Rocky?” The other person, a bartender, he’d assume based on how you sound, asks. 

“Robby,” he corrects, already getting to his feet. 

“Yeah, probably what she was trying to say.”

“Can I talk to her? Where are you?” he asks, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. 

“You could try, man,” the woman snorts. “I doubt you’d understand a word she’s saying. We’re down at Larry’s. I had to cut her off and I don’t like the idea of sending her off in a taxi. She said I should call you.”

Robby’s never been so grateful to a stranger. In most cases, he has complete faith that you can handle yourself. But he’s seen too many drunk, hurt women pass through his ED to risk anything. “I’ll be there in a few. Thank you.”

The lady lets out a sharp scoff,  “No, thank you. I can’t listen to her cry anymore.” She hangs up before he can say anything else. Robby pauses outside his door, frowning down at the dark screen of his phone. 

The bar’s dead when he walks in. He knows this is usually where residents and other first responders like to get after-work drinks. But it seems like you’ve even beaten out a cop's tolerance for depressingly shitty bars. 

It’s empty enough that he spots you instantly. Though he’s sure he would have found you just as easily if the place were packed. The thought is more pathetic than he’d like to admit. 

You lift your head from the bar, eyes squinting in his general direction. The frown on your face deepens the closer he gets. The bartender hovers beside you, nails drumming along the counter as she looks at something on her phone. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he mutters, grimacing at just how puffy your face is. No way you’re coming out of this without a killer migraine in the morning. 

“Who the hell are you?” You snap and Robby’s eyes widen at the venom in your tone. Your eyes narrow further, the smudged mascara under your eyes painting an endearingly pathetic picture. 

Robby does his best not to laugh at you, especially now that the bartender is paying attention. “It’s me,” he clarifies. “Robby.” 

It takes a moment before your eyes widen, a big grin splitting across your face. He’s not sure what’s more surprising: how happy you look to see him or how quickly you fling your arms around him. Robby lets out a low grunt, quick to catch you as you practically melt into him. 

The bartender raises her brows, letting out an amused huff. “I thought she hated you,” she mused. 

“So did I,” Robby stares down at you with a furrowed brow, but he’s not just going to push you away. Not when you’re this drunk and hardly standing on your own. 

“Here,” the woman hands him your phone and purse, which she’d had stashed behind the bar. 

“Thank you,” he mutters, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you upright. She waves him off, already turning around to start closing the bar. He’s grateful she was willing to stay with you; he’s not sure how much worse this night could’ve gone if she just kicked you out. 

With her back turned, Robby digs through his pockets, pulling out his wallet to drop a decent enough tip in her jar. It’s the least he can do, but his movements are pretty hindered by the way you’re hanging off him.

Drunk or not, he really can’t comprehend that the same woman who can’t stand being in a room alone with him also looks the happiest he’s seen her in months right now. 

“Alright, let’s get you home,” he mutters, walking you toward the door. You just hum, head falling into his chest as he leads you to his car. He’s careful as he deposits you inside, cupping the top of your head so you don’t bang it against the roof. You practically fall inside, curling into the seat as your eyes shut. 

Robby lets out a little scoff as he rounds the front and gets in. It’s certainly not how he expected to spend his night off. He glances over to check on you and smiles slightly at the content look on your sleeping face. He’s not complaining, though. 

Getting you up the stairs to his apartment had probably been a show for the neighbors. You’d forgotten who he was when you woke up, fighting as he tried to get you inside. He can appreciate your instinct for self-preservation, but he’s pretty sure you just got him put on a watchlist. 

Yet, somehow, the moment he gets his door open, you’re walking through like you haven’t been missing from his place for half a year. Your steps are stumbling, but you still manage to make your way to the bathroom on your own. 

He shakes his head and drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “Robby!” You shout. “Help,” he chuckles at the weak tone of your voice and follows you into the bathroom. You're slumped against the counter, eyes half closed as the sink runs next to you. 

“What’s up, honey?”

“Makeup,” you grumble, struggling to keep your head up. Robby squats, knees creaking as he digs through his cabinets. As previously established, he’s horrible at getting rid of what reminds him of you. Including the makeup wipes you’d abandoned in his bathroom the last time you were here. 

It’s like riding a bike, this routine with you. He’s taken care of you plenty of times before when you were even worse off than this. He knows if he scrubs too hard, your skin will be stinging tomorrow. Tilting your chin up, he’s as gentle as he can be as he helps you get rid of your ruined mascara and whatever else you’ve used tonight. 

“Thank you,” you hum and he finds himself smiling. It’s all too easy to pretend nothing's changed and this is his every night. Being with you, taking care of you. 

When your face seems clean enough to him- he’s never completely sure- he leads you toward his bedroom. He plans to just let you take the bed for the night, but your hand is wrapping around his wrist before he can leave. 

“Stay,” you mutter, dragging him with a surprising amount of strength as you trudge toward his bed. 

“I’m just going to sleep on the couch, sweetheart,” he tries to loosen your grip, but you shoot him a half-hearted glare. 

“You’ve got a shit back,” you mumble. “Stay,” it’s not an offer this time, it’s a demand as you tug him onto the mattress behind you. He wants to be a gentleman, put up more of a fight until you just give up. But he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t miss this. Didn’t miss you. 

He was fine at first, used to messy breakups and cutting things off before they got too real. But it’s been hell, and he already knows he’s a selfish man. What’s one more night of getting what he wants before it’s gone again tomorrow? 

Robby lets out a contented sigh, settling against the pillows as you turn over and bury your face in his chest. He lets his arms wrap around you, enjoying the feeling while he can. 

Your head is throbbing as you roll over, eyes vibrating with the regrets of last night as you let out a low groan. “Shit,” you hiss, burying your face in the pillow below you. 

Wait… Shooting up and jolting an already bitch of a headache, you frown down at the bed. It’s familiar, but it is definitely not yours. “Oh, god,” you let out a terrified moan as you glance around the room. Your jeans are kicked to a corner, but your underwear is still on. Hopefully, that means you didn’t make the mistake you’ve been actively avoiding for six months. 

Jumping to your feet, you swallow down bile as you stare at the familiar walls of Robby’s room. You’ve done some dumb things drunk. Some dumb people, honestly. But this takes the cake.

For once, you weren’t crawling back to an ex. You weren’t begging for a second chance or desperately searching for the reason you two didn’t work out. And now….

Now you’ve committed professional suicide.

If he knocked you to the night shift after ghosting you, what the hell is he going to do now?

“Shit, shit, shit,” you run through the room, grabbing your jeans, your…. Oh god, why is your bra on the floor! You are so fucked. 

Snatching your purse from his dresser, you dig through to make sure your wallet and phone are inside. Tossing it over your shoulder, you throw open the door and jump into one leg of your jeans. You hop down his hallway, trying to get the other leg in as your brain reminds you of just how much you had to drink. It takes a Herculean effort not to just collapse to the floor and give up. 

Shuffling into his living room, you come to a jolting stop, legs still barely in your pants. Robby sits on the couch, mug in hand and glasses perched low on his nose as he reads on his phone. 

His head lifts, a smile flitting across his face at your sorry state. Your eyes widen and nausea bubbles up in your throat. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You jerk your pants the rest of the way up. “Oh, um,” your eyes dart to the door. Maybe you can make a run for it.

“Morning,” you force out. “So…” you offers sheepish smile, unsure how to even ask what’s prodding ruthlessly at your brain. 

Robby lets out a low chuckle and gets to his feet. “Want some coffee?”

Not at all, you’d really like to find a ditch to go die in, actually. Yet, your traitorous body is nodding its head and he’s getting closer. It’s not your fault how easily you say yes to him. It’s his fault. And alcohol. 

Never drinking again. 

Robby keeps the smile on his face, eyes wrinkling at the corners in that way that used to drive you insane.

And still does.

His hand finds your lower back as he passes by. It takes everything in you not to jump at the contact. Casual touching cannot be a good sign after him ignoring you for so long. 

Before you get a chance to really consider making a run for it, he’s already coming back. He’s got a mug in one hand, the other rests along your waist as he leads you to his couch. You’re hardly aware of what’s happening. By the time you realize you’re sitting beside him, the button of your jeans still undone. 

Your nails drum along the mug and you still can’t meet his eye. “We didn’t have sex,” he announces, laughing at the way you jump at the admission. 

Your face jerks to him. “Why am I here, then?”

Robby purses his lips and you have the horrible feeling he’s trying not to laugh at whatever he’s remembering from last night. “I got a call from the bartender when she cut you off. She didn’t want you in an Uber on your own.”

You let out a low whistle. You’re humiliated, obviously, but you’re eternally grateful to whatever saint put up with you last night. “She probably saved me an ED visit.” Robby hums in agreement as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I should have given her a bigger tip.”

“I did,” he offers, giving you a soft smile. Of course he did. You take a large swig of your coffee just so you don’t have to look at him too long. 

“So,” your hand runs along your hair, not even wanting to think about what you look like right now. “Did I say… anything?”

Robby thinks for a minute before letting out a small huff. “You told me I have a shit back.”

A snort escapes you as you choke down coffee. “Oh,” you wipe off your mouth and offer him a grin. “Just the truth, then.”

“Hey,” he swats your knee and your body warms at the contact. It’s a feeling only he seems to evoke in you. 

Guilt bubbles alongside the alcohol in your gut. You clutch your stomach as it burns, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you force out. 

He frowns, shaking his head, “For what?”

“For you having to come get me,” you lean forward, dropping your coffee on the table. “And for clearly screwing up your day off.”

“I don’t mind, sweetheart.” When you still won’t look at him, he reaches over, hand painfully gentle as he grasps your knee. “If you need help, I’m always there for you.”

“Yeah,” you glance over at him, hating the pain that twists your chest. If that were true, he wouldn’t have just stopped talking to you. He wouldn’t have ended your relationship without ever giving you a reason why. Or started to pretend like you never meant anything to him. You should say this to him. But the wound still feels too fresh, too raw. 

Robby’s hand slips from your leg and he clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you groan in mortification, already knowing where he’s going. Robby laughs as he leans back, arm spread along the back of the couch. 

“What had you feeling like you needed to drink half the bar?”

You scowl, tucking yourself further into the corner of the couch. “It was not that much,” your pounding head and blurry vision would argue otherwise. “It’s just,” you let out an irritated sigh and shrug. “I was seeing someone.”

“Oh,” the smile slips from his face and his arm drops back into his lap. 

“I found out he’d been cheating on me. Really, I was just more upset that I left my favorite bra at his place than anything else.” You can see him grimacing out of the corner of your eye and pretend not to notice. 

“It wasn’t that serious,” you shouldn’t have to clarify, but you feel like you need to anyway. “He wasn’t really the reason I was drinking.”

His eyes lift to meet yours. You’re sure he knows the answer to his next question. “What was?”

You shrug and let out a hefty sigh. “Thinking about what a piece of shit he was made me think about you.” You realize a little too late how that sounds. 

“Ouch,” Robby huffs. 

“Not like that!” You swat his shoulder, laughing at the grin he shoots you. “It’s just, you’re probably the best relationship I’ve been in for a while.” You purse your lips, “I miss you,” you whisper, wishing you hadn’t said a damn thing. 

Robby reaches over, his hand gently stroking your thigh as he leans in closer. “I miss you too.”

“Funny way of showing it,” you scoff, guilt stinging when he grimaces. “If you miss me, why would you end things the way you did?”

Robby sighs, taking his touch away and leaving you cold. He rubs his eyes. “I don’t have an excuse. I just wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t want to bring you down with me.”

You wish you could say that was a horrible excuse and storm out. But, with the things he’s seen, with the shit your job throws at you, sadly, it’s not surprising. “You could have talked to me, Robby.”

He shakes his head. “That’s the problem, I couldn’t. Jack pretty much dragged me to his therapist to get me to start talking. I just… I was starting to feel worse than I had in a long time and I couldn’t handle it if I ended up hurting you.”

You bite your lip and stare down at your hands. You’d thought being with Robby was one of the healthiest relationships of your life. That you were happy, that both of you were happy. “I should’ve noticed,” you mutter. 

“It’s not your fault,” he assuages and you feel even worse. You’re not trying to make this about yourself. But if you were half as good a girlfriend as you claimed to be, you should’ve seen that your boyfriend was struggling. Or, at the very least, that something was wrong. 

“How’s it going?” You redirect back to him, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. 

He lets out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Good doesn’t seem like the right word,” you offer a small huff of amusement. “But it’s better. I’m not heading up to the roof so much,” he tries for a self-deprecating laugh, but your heart is stuttering in your chest. You try your best not to let that show on your face, but it hurts. 

“I don’t know how much this would mean to you, Robby. But I’m proud of you. Too many people in our line of work just let these things build up. They never ask for help and it always ends up costing them more than if they had just reached out.”

“That means a lot,” he whispers, reaching over to take your hand in his. You let him, turning your palm up so you can lace your fingers with him. 

Nodding, you reach for your coffee and sip on it quietly. Neither of you is sure of the next move to make. When you're finished and there’s nothing left to distract yourself with, you force yourself to stand. 

“I should head out,” you tell him, hardly meaning it. “Take a cold shower and clean up before my shift tonight.”

Robby nods, though he seems reluctant to let you go so quickly. He keeps his hand in yours even as he walks you to his door. 

You stop just before the threshold, offering him a tentative smile. “If you ever feel ready for, I don’t know, anything, would you want to get a coffee sometime?”

The smile he gives you is so soft it makes you ache. He inches forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, his lips just brushing the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That sounds good.”

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to pull back with a tense smile. “Alright. I’ll see you at work, I guess.”

Robby chuckles at your sudden awkwardness. “I’ll see you,” he promises, opening the door for you. You spare him one lingering look before forcing yourself to leave. 

And then, a few weeks later, on a rare day off, your phone is buzzing with a familiar tone you haven't heard in a while. 

Ready for that coffee?

You grin down at your phone and let out a little laugh.

𝘎𝘰 𝘎𝘰 𝘑𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦

𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳                 ♥︎

⇄              ◁◁  I I  ▷▷          ↻

⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵

💿 Ain't nobody's safe when I'm a little bit drunk 💿

end. — I do not own the characters or the show The Pitt, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2026. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[dirtygir1]

and yes i’m touching myself. so don’t ask. i’ll be back in three hours.

[afterdarkbydel]

Hyrdrated Justice

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader

Summary: Jack Abbot’s wife has tequila, a grievance, and the full support of the worst possible group of coworkers. Jack has one arm around her waist, a glass of water, and absolutely no intention of letting her get into a bar fight.

Warnings: established relationship, married Jack and reader, drunk/tipsy reader, bar confrontation, jealousy/possessiveness in a funny married way, body insecurity, brief rude comment from another woman, Jack being very husbandly, emotional reassurance, lots of teasing, language, no use of Y/N

Author’s Note: This was the fic leading the poll, which apparently means we are all deeply committed to a drunk feral wife reader and Jack Abbot performing husband-level crisis management in a bar. Honestly? Excellent choice. This one is chaotic, ridiculous, deeply married, and then softer than expected because Jack Abbot remains a menace to my emotional stability. Hydrated justice is still justice.

Xoxo, Del

The thing about Jack Abbot was that he never seemed to understand the effect he had on people.

Or maybe he did understand and simply chose to ignore it, which was honestly worse.

He stood at the bar between Robby and Shen, one elbow resting against the worn wood, his dark shirt rolled at the forearms, his wedding ring catching every now and then in the low amber light when he lifted his glass. He looked unfairly good. Relaxed in that very Jack way, which meant not actually relaxed to anyone who did not know him, but relaxed enough that his shoulders were not squared for battle and his mouth had softened around the edges.

You knew that mouth. You liked that mouth. You were trying very hard not to stare at it from across the room.

“You’re up,” Santos said.

You blinked and looked at the dart she was holding out to you. “I know.”

Santos’s brow furrowed. “You were not looking at the board.”

“I was assessing the room,” you corrected her.

“You were assessing your husband,” Santos shot back.

Mel leaned against the small high-top beside the dartboard, her drink untouched in her hand and her face carefully neutral in a way that meant she was absolutely entertained.

Ellis grinned. “To be fair, her husband is assessing her back.”

You glanced toward the bar. Jack was looking at you. Caught, he did not even bother pretending he had not been. He simply lifted his glass slightly, the corner of his mouth moving into something small and private and yours. Your stomach did something ridiculous.

“Disgusting,” Santos said. “He’s obsessed with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He is not.”

“He is,” Mel said.

You looked at her. “You’re supposed to be the reasonable one.”

Mel shrugged. “I am being reasonable.”

Ellis nodded toward Jack. “Reasonably obsessed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling when you turned back toward the dartboard. The bar was warm and loud around you, all low music and clinking glasses and off-shift laughter. You had tequila in your bloodstream, your favorite boots on, and your husband looking at you like he was still pleased to find you in every room.

It was a good night. You should have known better than to trust that. You threw your dart. It hit the board. Not where you had aimed, exactly, but on the board, which you felt deserved recognition.

Santos squinted. “Bold strategy.”

You shrugged. “It landed.”

“Barely,” Santos replied.

You reached for your drink, laughing, and that was when you saw her. She approached Jack from his left, all loose hair and sharp smile, sliding into the empty space near the bar as if she belonged there. At first, nothing in you moved. People talked to Jack. People looked at Jack. You were not new to being married to a man who drew attention without trying.

Then she touched his arm. Not a brush. Not an accident. Her fingers landed on his forearm, right below the rolled sleeve of his shirt, and she laughed up at him like she had said something clever enough to deserve contact.

Your smile died.

Santos followed your gaze. “Uh-oh.”

Mel turned. “What?”

Ellis straightened. “Oh. She saw something.”

At the bar, Jack shifted away immediately. It was subtle. A half step back, his arm moving out from under her touch, his glass switching hands so his left came into view. The ring flashed under the bar lights.

Good man.

The woman leaned closer.

You inhaled sharply.

Santos grinned. “Oh, I know that face.”

Mel looked between you and the bar. “Maybe we just let Jack handle it.”

You set your drink on the high-top without looking away from the bar. “I am letting Jack handle it.”

Santos looked down at the glass, then back at your face. “You put your drink down like you were preparing for combat.”

“I’m just observing,” you said.

Ellis took a slow sip of his beer. “That is the least reassuring thing you could have said.”

Across the room, Jack’s expression had gone polite in the way that meant the conversation was already over for him. Robby, beside him, had noticed too. Shen had turned his head, brows raised slightly, watching with the same calm interest he usually brought to terrible triage decisions.

The woman said something you could not hear. Jack shook his head once.

Then he lifted his left hand slightly, not waving it around, not making a production of it, just enough to show the ring. Your ring. Well. His ring. The ring you had put on his finger.

The woman glanced at it. You expected her to back off. She did not. Instead, she smiled wider.

Oh, absolutely not. You started walking.

“Here we go,” Santos said, immediately falling into step behind you.

Mel sighed. “Santos.”

Santos lifted both hands. “What? I’m supervising.”

Ellis followed too, because apparently nobody in your group had ever met a bad decision they didn't want a front-row seat to.

Jack saw you coming before you got halfway across the bar. His face changed. Not much. But enough. His eyes went from the woman to you, and something in his expression softened for half a second before sharpening again with warning. ‘Baby, do not,’ that look said.

Unfortunately, tequila had made you immune to silent husband warnings. You slid in beside him and put a hand against his chest, smiling brightly enough to hurt your own face. “Hi.”

Jack’s hand came automatically to your waist. “Hi.” His voice was low. Careful.

You ignored that, too.

The woman looked you over. Actually looked you over, from your hair to your shoes and back again, slow enough that you felt every inch of it.

Jack’s fingers tightened once at your waist. “This is my wife,” he said.

There was no hesitation in it. No apology. No reluctance. My wife. Usually, that did something lovely to you. Right then, it mostly made you want to bare your teeth.

The woman’s smile went thin. “Oh.”

You smiled back. “Yeah. Oh.”

Jack’s thumb pressed lightly into your side. Warning number two.

The woman glanced at Jack, then back at you. “You’re his wife?”

Santos made a tiny sound behind you.

Jack’s jaw shifted. “Yes.”

The woman gave a little laugh, airy and mean around the edges. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed you were his type.”

For one second, everything went very still. The bar noise blurred. Your smile stayed exactly where it was. Jack’s hand went tense at your waist.

Robby muttered, “Oh, shit.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, sweetie.”

Jack moved immediately. His arm came around your waist before you made it one full step forward. “Nope,” he said.

You kept your smile fixed on the woman. “Jack.”

Jack’s hold stayed firm. “No.”

You did not look away from the woman. “I just want to talk to her.”

Jack tightened his hold and took one step back, bringing you with him. “You absolutely do not.”

You tried to plant your feet. “I do.”

Jack shifted his body between you and the woman. “You do not.”

You finally looked up at him. “She said something rude.”

Jack looked down at you. “I heard her.”

You pointed past his shoulder. “Then let me respond.”

Jack caught your wrist and lowered your hand. “No.”

You blinked at him. “Jack.”

Jack’s face stayed calm. “Baby.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I can be civil.”

Jack glanced toward the woman, then back at you. “You said ‘oh, sweetie.’”

You lifted your chin. “That was civil.”

Jack started backing you away from the bar. “That was a warning shot.”

The woman’s mouth twitched like she thought this was funny. That was her mistake.

You tried to step around Jack. Jack stepped with you, broad shoulders cutting off your path like an exceptionally attractive barricade.

“Jack,” you said, still sweetly. “Move.”

Jack did not move. “No.”

You tried to look around his shoulder. “I can take her.”

Jack’s arm tightened around your waist. “That is exactly why we’re leaving.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t say I was going to hit her.”

Jack started walking you backward from the bar. “You said you could take her.”

You planted one hand against his chest, trying to slow him down. “I was making an observation.”

Jack looked down at you. “You were making a threat.”

You pointed past him toward the woman. “I was making a promise.”

Jack caught your hand and lowered it. “That is worse.”

His arm tightened around your middle. Not hard. Not rough. Just firm enough to turn you away from the woman and start guiding you back across the bar. Your feet were still very much on the floor, but forward motion had become nonnegotiable in the way it did when Jack decided someone was leaving a situation.

Unfortunately for him, you were not done with the situation.

“Jack Abbot,” you said, twisting in his hold.

Jack kept his arm firm around your waist. “No.”

You tried to pull against him. “Let me go.”

Jack guided you another step away. “No.”

You glared at the woman over his shoulder. “She started it.”

Jack said, “I know.”

That stopped you for half a second. Jack glanced down at you, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead as he steered you away from the bar. “I know, baby. And I’m handling it by not letting my wife get thrown out of a bar.”

“I would not get thrown out,” you said, still trying to twist enough to look back at the bar.

Jack kept walking you backward toward the table. “You absolutely would.”

You huffed. “I would be elegant.”

Jack looked at you. “You are attempting to fight me in public.”

“I’m not fighting you,” you said, bracing one hand against his chest. “I’m attempting to pursue justice.”

Jack caught your hand against his shirt before you could use him for leverage. “You are attempting to pursue a misdemeanor.”

You looked up at him, offended. “That is a very cynical interpretation.”

“That is a very sober interpretation,” Jack countered.

You glared at him. “I don’t like your tone.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “I know.”

From behind you, Santos cupped her hands around her mouth. “Kick her ass!”

Shen lifted his glass from the bar. “You could take her.”

Robby nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen her angry. My money’s on your wife.”

Jack stopped walking just long enough to turn his head. “Do not,” he said, voice flat, “encourage my wife to get into a bar fight.”

Santos pointed at you. “She has passion.”

Jack looked back at Santos. “She has tequila.”

“I have justice,” you snapped.

Jack looked down at you. You looked up at him, furious and flushed and trying very hard to lean around his body. For one dangerous second, his mouth twitched. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and hauled you the last few steps toward the table.

“I heard support,” you said, pointing back toward Robby and Shen. “This encouragement means I should do it.”

“That is not what that means,” Jack said, still steering you toward the booth.

You pointed toward Robby, Shen, and Santos with great conviction. “It is when it’s unanimous.”

Jack looked down at you. “It is not unanimous.”

You twisted in his hold and looked toward Mel, who had followed at a much calmer pace and now stood near the edge of the table with one eyebrow raised.

“Mel?” you asked.

Mel took a slow breath. “I abstain.”

You gasped. “Coward.”

Mel lifted her drink. “Alive coward.”

Santos slid into the booth, delighted. “For the record, I did not abstain.”

“For the record,” Jack said, easing you down into the booth, “nobody asked.”

Santos slid into the opposite side of the booth and lifted her brows. “You should ask more often. I have good instincts.”

Jack kept one hand at your waist until you were fully seated. “You told my wife to kick someone’s ass.”

Santos leaned back against the booth, completely unbothered. “And I stand by it.”

Jack looked at her for a long second. “That is not helping your case.”

“It was never my case,” Santos said. “It was justice’s case.”

Jack exhaled through his nose and turned back to you. Apparently deciding you still looked like a flight risk, he stayed standing in front of the booth, his body blocking your view of the bar.

You craned your neck around him. “You’re in my way.”

Jack did not move. “I know.”

You leaned the other direction. “I can’t see her.”

Jack kept his body planted in front of you. “That is also on purpose.”

You looked up at him, indignant. “I need to know if she’s looking over here.”

Jack stared down at you. “You do not.”

“I do,” you said.

“You don’t,” Jack said.

You said his name like a warning. “Jack.”

Jack answered in the same tone. “Baby.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

He stared back, calm and immovable and far too handsome for a man interfering with justice. Then Jack looked toward Mel. “Watch her.”

Mel blinked. “Me?”

Jack looked at Mel. “You’re the only one here I trust not to encourage her.”

Santos pressed a hand to her chest. “Wow.”

Ellis lifted his beer. “Accurate, though.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t need watching.”

Jack looked down at you. “You tried to circle me like a raccoon with a grievance.”

“A wife with a grievance,” you corrected.

“That too,” Jack said. He pointed at Mel again. “Watch her.”

Mel sighed and slid into the booth beside you. “I’ll do my best.”

Jack nodded toward Santos and Ellis. “Do better than them. Low bar.”

Santos pressed a hand to her chest again. “I am being slandered.”

Jack looked at her. “You are being quoted.”

Santos smiled. “Still feels hostile.”

Jack turned back to you. “Baby, please stay here while I get you water.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounded bossy.”

“That was me asking nicely,” Jack said.

“No, it wasn’t,” you said.

Jack leaned down just enough for his voice to drop. “Baby, please stay here while I get you water.”

You stared at him. He stared back. “Fine,” you muttered. “But only because you said please.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Noted.”

He walked away before you could respond, heading back to the bar with the measured calm of a man who had removed many people from dangerous situations and was only mildly surprised one of them had turned out to be his wife.

The second he was gone, you leaned to look around Mel. Mel said your name. You froze. “What?”

“Don’t,” Mel said.

“I’m observing,” you said.

Mel angled her body slightly, blocking your line of sight. “You are rotating like a security camera.”

“I have to maintain visual,” you said.

Mel gave you a look. “No. You have to sit here and not get arrested.”

You frowned at her. “I wasn’t going to get arrested.”

Santos leaned over the table. “You were at least going to get escorted out.”

“Elegantly,” you said.

Mel’s expression did not change. “That does not make it better.”

Before you could argue, Robby and Shen reached the table, both of them looking far too entertained for men who had allegedly taken an oath to do no harm.

Robby dropped into the chair across from you. “I want to be clear. I support you.”

Mel pointed at him immediately. “No.”

Robby looked at her. “What?”

“Abbot put me in charge,” Mel said.

Shen slid into the chair beside Robby and lifted his glass. “For what it’s worth, I also think she could take her.”

Mel closed her eyes. “This is exactly why he asked me.”

You pointed across the table. “This encouragement means I should do it.”

Mel opened her eyes. “It does not.”

You looked at Robby, then Shen, then Santos. “It does when it’s unanimous.”

Mel shook her head. “It is not unanimous.”

You looked at her.

Mel lifted her drink. “I still abstain.”

You gasped. “Still cowardly.”

Mel lifted her chin. “Still alive.”

Robby leaned back in his chair, deeply pleased with the evening. “I feel like democracy is happening.”

Mel turned toward him. “Democracy is not happening.”

Santos lifted her glass. “Hydrated justice is still justice.”

You looked at your empty hands. “I don’t have water yet.”

Santos nodded solemnly. “Pre-hydrated justice.”

Mel looked at Santos. “You are not helping.”

Santos smiled. “I rarely do.”

Jack returned with a glass of water before the table could deteriorate any further. He set the water in front of you. “Drink.”

You looked at the glass, then up at him. “Is this because you think I’m drunk?”

“This is because I know you’re drunk,” Jack said.

You lifted your chin. “I’m emotionally lucid.”

Jack looked pointedly at the water. “You said you had justice.”

“I do have justice,” you said.

Jack nudged the glass closer. “Drink the water.”

You stared at him for another second. Jack did not move. Fine. You picked up the glass and took a sip with as much dignity as you could manage under the circumstances.

Jack watched until you swallowed. “Good.”

You lowered the glass slowly. “Don’t use your attending voice on me.”

Jack said, “Then stop acting like a patient elopement risk.”

Robby choked on his drink. Shen looked down, his shoulders shaking.

You turned to Jack. “I am not a patient elopement risk.”

Jack sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. “You tried to leave the table before I made it three steps away.”

You looked at him. “To pursue justice.”

Jack looked back at you. “To start a fight.”

You lifted your chin. “Allegedly.”

Santos raised her glass. “Hydrated justice is still justice.”

Jack pointed at her without looking away from you. “Do not help.”

Santos lowered her glass, but she did not look sorry.

You took another drink of water, mostly because your mouth was dry and not because Jack told you to. Across the bar, the woman looked over. You saw her over Jack’s shoulder. She looked away too slowly.

Jack turned away for one second. One second. That was all you needed.

You looked directly across the bar and lifted your middle finger with the solemn conviction of a woman defending sacred vows.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jack muttered, catching your hand and lowering it.

You looked at him. “What?”

“You know what,” Jack said.

You pointed your water glass toward the bar. “She looked over here.”

Jack kept your hand in his. “And you chose diplomacy?”

“I chose communication,” you said.

Santos raised her glass again. “Clear communication.”

Jack pointed at her. “Enough.”

You picked up your water and took a deeply dignified sip. “I’m being mature now,” you said.

Jack looked at your hand, still loosely held in his. “You just flipped off a woman in a bar.”

“And now I’m drinking water,” you said. “People grow.”

For a second, Jack just stared at you. Then his mouth betrayed him. Not a full smile. Not in front of everyone. But enough that the tension in your chest loosened a little around the edges.

“There she is,” Robby said. “Growth.”

Jack gave him a look. “You’re one sentence away from walking home.”

Robby lifted both hands. “I support the institution of marriage.”

Jack looked at Robby. “You support chaos.”

Robby nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

You leaned back against the booth, still hot with tequila and humiliation and anger you refused to examine too closely. The woman’s words kept circling the back of your mind, no matter how many times you tried to shove them down. I wouldn’t have guessed you were his type.

Stupid.

It was stupid.

You knew Jack loved you. You knew he was faithful. You knew the woman at the bar was nobody.

But the way she had looked at you had gone under your skin anyway.

Like you were surprising.

Like you were funny.

Like she had seen Jack, then seen you, and found the math wrong.

You took another sip of water.

Jack’s thumb moved once over the inside of your wrist. Small. Private. Grounding.

“You okay?” Jack asked quietly.

You kept your eyes on the glass of water. “I’m mad.”

Jack’s voice stayed soft. “I know.”

Your throat tightened, which was rude and unnecessary and probably the tequila’s fault. At the other side of the table, Santos had started arguing with Ellis about dartboard rules. Robby and Shen had fallen into a side conversation about whether Jack would actually make Robby walk home. Mel’s gaze flicked briefly to you, then away again, giving you the dignity of pretending she had not noticed anything change.

Jack’s hand stayed around yours. Across the bar, the woman was no longer looking over. Good. Fine. You had won. Probably.

You leaned a little closer to Jack despite yourself, your shoulder brushing his arm. “I could’ve taken her,” you muttered.

Jack looked down at you. This time, he did smile. Small. Soft. Yours. “I know,” he said.

You frowned. “Then why’d you stop me?”

His thumb moved again, slow over your wrist. “Because I like being married to you outside of county lockup,” Jack said.

Santos lifted her glass without missing a beat. “Coward.”

Jack did not look away from you. “A married coward,” Jack said.

You wanted to stay mad at him. You really did. But his hand was warm around yours, and his ring was pressed against your skin, and he was looking at you like there was not another woman in the room. Not really. Not to him. So you took another drink of water. Under protest. Obviously.

The cold air outside the bar did not make you less mad. It did, unfortunately, make you more aware that Jack had his hand warm and steady at the small of your back, guiding you toward the car like you were precious cargo with a known history of trying to commit public disturbances.

“I could’ve taken her,” you said.

Jack unlocked the car. “I know.”

You looked at him suspiciously. “You keep saying that like you’re humoring me.”

Jack opened the passenger door and looked down at you. “I am humoring you.”

You frowned. “Rude.”

“Accurate,” Jack said.

You crossed your arms. “She was mean first.”

Jack’s expression changed. Not much. It never took much with him. His humor softened at the edges, and his hand moved from your back to your waist. “I know,” he said.

The quieter version of it made something in your chest pull tight. You looked away first. Across the parking lot, Santos whooped from somewhere behind you.

“Justice!” Santos called.

Jack closed his eyes for half a second.

Robby’s voice followed. “Hydrate and regroup!”

Shen added, “Solid effort!”

Mel said something too low for you to hear, but it sounded like a warning. Ellis laughed.

You lifted one hand in their direction without turning around. “Thank you for your service.”

Jack caught your wrist gently before you could do anything else with your fingers. “No more gestures.”

Your brow furrowed. “I was waving.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. That should not have warmed you. It did anyway. Jack helped you into the passenger seat without making a production of it. He waited until your legs were inside before he leaned across you for the seat belt.

“I can do that,” you said.

Jack paused with the belt in his hand. “Can you?”

You looked down at the seat belt. It was, admittedly, farther away than it should have been. “I was about to.”

Jack’s eyes flicked to yours. “I’m sure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Patronizing.”

“Married,” Jack said.

“That is not a defense.”

Jack shrugged. “It is in this case.”

He drew the belt across your lap, careful not to jostle you, then clicked it into place. His hand lingered for half a second at your hip before he pulled back. You hated how much you noticed.

Jack straightened, one hand braced on the open door. “Comfortable?”

You looked at him. “I was more comfortable before justice was interrupted.”

Jack stared at you for a second. Then his mouth betrayed him again. Small. Soft. A little tired. “My mistake,” he said.

You leaned back against the seat. “It was.”

He shut the door before you could say anything else. Through the windshield, you watched him walk around the front of the car. He moved with that steady, slightly uneven gait you loved and pretended not to watch too closely in public. Even after all these years, even after marriage, even after seeing him half-asleep in your kitchen and shirtless in your bathroom and grumpy with morning coffee, the sight of him still made something in you go quiet.

The woman at the bar had looked at him and seen the obvious things.

The broad shoulders. The scarred hands. The silver-threaded hair. The wedding ring she had ignored until he made her see it. Then she had looked at you.

Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed you were his type.

You swallowed and turned your face toward the window.

Jack got into the driver’s seat. He closed the door. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Jack started the car. The engine hummed low beneath the silence.

You watched the bar lights smear across the passenger window. “I’m not drunk.”

Jack glanced at you. “No?”

“I’m less drunk,” you amended.

Jack almost smiled. “That I’ll give you.”

You nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”

Jack pulled out of the parking lot. “You’re still not fighting anyone.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to fight her,” you grumbled.

Jack looked over at you.

You kept your eyes on the window. “Recently.”

Jack’s hand settled on the gearshift. “That’s progress.”

You sat a little straighter. “I’m growing.”

Jack kept his eyes on the road. “You did tell me people grow.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile.

The silence that followed was softer. Not awkward. Just full. You watched the city pass in little pieces of light and dark. Streetlamps. Closed storefronts. Wet pavement from rain earlier in the evening. Your own reflection in the window, softened by alcohol and tiredness and the makeup you had put on because you had wanted to feel pretty tonight.

You had felt pretty tonight.

Before.

That annoyed you most. The fact that one stranger with one mean little sentence had managed to get under something you had thought was steadier than that.

Jack turned down the radio until it was barely more than a murmur. He kept his eyes on the road. “You’re quiet.”

You leaned your forehead lightly against the window. “I’m reflecting.”

Jack’s voice stayed dry. “That sounds dangerous.”

You nodded once. “It is. I’m very deep.”

Jack glanced over. “I know.”

You looked over at him. “You do?”

Jack glanced at you, then back at the road. “You told me once during a migraine that you had the soul of a Victorian ghost and the knees of a haunted rocking chair.”

You stared at him. Jack kept driving.

“I was vulnerable,” you said.

You looked back out the window. The humor helped. It did not fix the thing underneath. For a few minutes, you let the quiet sit between you. Jack did not push. He never pushed when you went quiet. He just stayed there, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the center console, close enough that you could reach him if you wanted to. You did want to. You did not move.

Jack pulled into your driveway and put the car in park. The porch light was on. Home. Safe.

That made the ache worse somehow.

Jack turned off the engine, then looked over at you. “Ready?”

You unbuckled your seat belt. “I can walk.”

Jack’s brows lifted slightly. “Did I say you couldn’t?”

“You were thinking it,” you shot back.

Jack shrugged. “I was thinking the front step is uneven.”

You opened the door. “That is suspiciously practical.”

Jack came around the car. “That is usually what I am.”

You stepped out of the car and immediately had to catch yourself on the doorframe because the world tilted just enough to be disrespectful. Jack was there before you could pretend it had not happened. His hand settled at your waist.

You looked up at him. “Don’t.”

Jack’s face stayed calm. “Don’t what?”

You looked up at him. “Be smug.”

Jack kept a steady hand on your waist. “I’m not smug.”

“You are internally smug,” you replied.

Jack’s mouth tilted in a grin. “I’m internally relieved I didn’t let you start a bar fight.”

You pointed at him. “See? Smug.”

Jack closed the car door behind you and guided you toward the house. “Come on.”

You let him. Not because you needed the help. Not entirely. His hand at your waist was warm and familiar. His body moved close beside yours, steadying you without making it a thing. The whole night had been loud and ridiculous and humiliating, but Jack’s touch had never once made you feel foolish. That was also annoying. At the front step, your shoe caught slightly.

Jack’s hand tightened at your waist before you could stumble. You froze for half a second, then looked down at the porch.

Jack followed your gaze. “Step.”

You sighed. “I saw it.”

“I know,” Jack said.

You glanced up at him. “Don’t.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “I’m not.”

He did not tease you. He did not make it a thing. He just kept his hand steady at your waist while you found your keys and unlocked the door. Jack shut the door behind you, and the house went quiet around you.

The kind of quiet that came after a night out. Shoes by the door. Keys in the bowl. The soft hum of the refrigerator. Your reflection in the dark front window, a little rumpled, a little flushed, still wearing the lipstick you had thought looked good before some stranger made you feel like a punchline. You stood there for one second too long. Jack noticed. Of course he did.

He moved past you gently and turned on the lamp by the couch. Warm light filled the living room, softening the edges of everything. “Come here,” Jack said.

You looked at him. “That sounded bossy.”

Jack’s voice softened. “That was me asking you to sit down before you decide the lamp looked at you wrong.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched.

Jack saw it. His expression eased a little. “There she is.”

You looked away before your face could do anything worse. “I’m still mad,” you said.

Jack waited beside the couch, one hand held out, palm open. “I know.”

You looked down at his hand. He did not push. He did not reach for you. He just stood there, steady and patient and Jack, giving you the choice even though you both knew he would catch you if you stumbled.

After a second, you took his hand. Jack helped you sit on the couch, careful without making a show of it.

“I can sit by myself,” you said.

Jack’s thumb brushed once over your knuckles before he let go. “I know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re doing that thing.”

Jack moved toward the kitchen. “What thing?”

“The thing where you agree with me and still act like I need supervision,” you said.

Jack disappeared around the corner. “You flipped off a woman in a bar.”

You leaned back against the couch. “That was communication.”

From the kitchen, Jack’s voice stayed dry. “That was evidence.”

You crossed your arms. “I was very clear.”

The cabinet opened. The sink turned on. Jack came back a moment later with a glass of water in one hand.

He set it on the coffee table in front of you. “Drink.”

You looked at the glass, then up at him. “Again?”

Jack lowered himself onto the coffee table across from you. “Again.”

You reached for the water. “You are very committed to hydration.”

Jack watched you take a sip. “You are very committed to being difficult.”

You swallowed and lowered the glass. “Marriage is about balance.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Apparently.”

You leaned forward and started working on the zipper of your boot.

It did not cooperate. You frowned at it. The zipper remained unmoved. “Traitor,” you muttered.

Jack’s gaze dropped to the boot. “Need help?”

You sat back immediately. “No.”

Jack lifted both hands slightly. “Okay.”

You tried the zipper again. It stuck. Jack said nothing.

You glared at the boot. “This is not about you.”

Jack looked up at you. “I didn’t say it was.”

“You were thinking it,” you said.

Jack’s eyes moved briefly to the stuck zipper. “I was thinking you’re arguing with your boot.”

You looked up at him. “You are not emotionally supportive.”

Jack held out his hand. “Give me your foot.”

You hesitated for one second too long. Jack’s voice softened. “Baby.”

The fight went out of you in a way you hated. You lifted your foot. Jack took your ankle carefully, his thumb resting against the inside bone like he had done this a hundred times. He worked the zipper down without fuss, then eased the boot off and set it beside the couch.

He looked back at you. “Other one.”

You gave him the other foot. This zipper cooperated because apparently everyone respected Jack more than they respected you.

Jack set the second boot beside the first. “There.”

You looked down at your socked feet. “I had it.”

Jack’s hands rested lightly around your ankle for one more second before he let go. “I know.”

You looked at him.

Jack’s gaze stayed steady. “I know.”

That did it. Not dramatically. Not all at once.

But something in your chest cracked open just enough for the hurt to breathe. You looked away from him and reached for the water. Jack stayed where he was, sitting on the coffee table in front of you, close but not crowding.

You took a sip. Then another.

Jack waited. That was worse than him asking.

Finally, you lowered the glass. “I know it was stupid,” you said.

Jack’s gaze stayed on your face. “What was?”

You rubbed at your cheek, and your thumb came away with a faint smudge of mascara. “Getting mad.”

Jack’s answer came immediately. “I don’t think it was stupid.”

You huffed once. “Jack.”

Jack leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees. “I think you were drunk.”

You gave him a look. “Helpful.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “And mad.”

“Also helpful,” you said.

Jack’s expression softened, but his eyes stayed serious. “And I think she hit something she meant to hit.”

You looked down at the water glass in your hands. That was the worst part. He knew. Of course he knew.

You swallowed. The room felt too quiet now. The bar had been easier. The noise had given you somewhere to hide. The tequila had given you a costume to wear. Feral wife. Angry wife. Wife with justice. Wife who could take her.

Here, you were just yourself. Socked feet. Smudged makeup. Too sober to be funny and not sober enough to pretend. You traced your thumb along the side of the glass. “She looked like someone people expect you to be with.”

Jack went very still.

You hated saying it.

You hated how small it made you feel after all that noise and swagger and fury.

You kept your eyes on the glass. “And then she looked at me like…”

Jack did not interrupt.

You pressed your lips together, then tried again. “Like I was the punchline.”

Jack’s face changed. The humor was gone now. All of it.

“Baby,” Jack said.

You shook your head. “I know you love me.”

Jack’s answer came without hesitation. “I do.”

“I know,” you said quickly.

Jack stayed still in front of you.

You gripped the glass a little tighter. “I know that.”

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

You looked down at your lap. “I’m not saying I don’t know.”

Jack’s voice stayed gentle. “I know.”

You blinked hard. “But for one second, I just—”

Your voice broke off.

A small, humorless laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Jack’s hand moved to your knee, warm and steady. “For one second, what?”

You stared at your lap. “I saw what she saw.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

Not at you.

Never at you.

But something cold moved through his face, and for one second you saw the version of him that had looked back at the woman in the bar. The version who had not let you turn around because he knew exactly how badly you wanted to.

Then his hand softened on your knee. “Look at me,” Jack said.

You shook your head. “Jack.”

Jack’s voice lowered. “Baby, look at me.”

You did. Reluctantly.

His face was serious now. No teasing. No dry amusement. Just Jack, steady and devastating and yours.

“She doesn’t know what I see,” Jack said.

Your throat tightened. “Jack—”

“No,” Jack said, gentle but firm.

His hand found yours, and his thumb moved over your wedding ring. “She doesn’t know my type,” Jack said.

You looked down at his thumb on your ring.

Jack’s voice stayed steady. “She doesn’t know my wife.”

Your eyes burned.

Jack held your hand carefully. “She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about what I want.”

You swallowed. “And what do you want?”

Jack’s answer came immediately. “You.”

You breathed in shakily.

Jack did not look away. “Not because you’re my wife.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

Jack’s thumb moved once over your ring. “Not because I’m supposed to say it.”

You blinked hard.

“You,” Jack said. “In every room. At every bar. In front of every woman stupid enough to think she has a chance because she caught me before I said the word wife.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

Jack caught it with his thumb, his expression softening in a way that made it worse.

“There is not a single version of my life where I look past you,” Jack said.

You tried to breathe around that.

It came out uneven.

Jack shifted closer, moving from the coffee table to the couch beside you. He did not pull you into him right away. He waited until you leaned first.

So you leaned.

Jack wrapped his arm around you and tucked you against his chest.

You let yourself go there.

Because it was Jack.

Because it was home.

Because the anger had done its job and left you with the soft thing underneath.

His hand moved slowly over your back.

You pressed your face into his shirt. “I still could’ve taken her.”

Jack’s chest moved under your cheek. A laugh. Small and helpless.

Jack said, “I know.”

You sniffed. “You stopped me because you hate feminism.”

Jack pressed his mouth to your hair. “I stopped you because I like not bailing my wife out of jail.”

You closed your eyes. “Coward.”

Jack said, “Your coward.”

You smiled against his shirt despite yourself. Then you pulled back enough to look at him.

Jack’s hand moved to your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye where the mascara had smudged.

“You good?” Jack asked.

You nodded. Then you shook your head. Then you made a vague noise that meant absolutely nothing.

Jack’s mouth softened. “That clear, huh?”

You leaned your cheek into his palm. “I’m getting there.”

Jack reached for the water glass on the coffee table. “Drink more water.”

You looked at him. “Was that attending voice again?”

Jack handed you the glass. “That was husband voice.”

You considered that. Then you took the water. “Fine.”

Jack watched you lift the glass.

You took a sip, then lowered it. “But only because husband voice is hot.”

Jack stared at you. Then he laughed, low and warm, and pulled you closer again.

You drank the water. Under protest. Less than before.

Later, upstairs, the fight had gone out of you completely. The tequila. The anger. The justice.

All of it had softened into exhaustion by the time you stood at the bathroom sink in your pajamas, brushing your teeth with your hair pulled back from your face and the last traces of makeup washed clean from your skin. You leaned over the sink and rinsed your mouth.

When you straightened, Jack appeared in the doorway with his clothes from the night held loosely in one hand. He stopped.

You saw it happen in the mirror. The pause. The way his eyes moved over you, not quickly, not carelessly, but like he was taking in something he had no intention of looking away from.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with the towel. “What?”

Jack stepped into the bathroom and dropped his clothes into the hamper. “Nothing,” he said.

You turned from the sink and gave him a look.

He came closer and stopped in front of you. For a second, he almost smiled. Then his hands lifted to your face. Jack cupped your cheeks in both palms, warm and steady, his thumbs resting lightly beneath your eyes. He looked at you like the whole night had narrowed to this bathroom, this light, this version of you with no lipstick, no armor, no righteous fury left to hide behind.

“Jack,” you said softly.

His gaze held yours. “You are so fucking beautiful,” Jack said.

Your throat tightened at once.

He did not say it like a line.

He did not say it like reassurance he thought he owed you.

He said it like fact.

Plain. Certain. Almost rough with how much he meant it.

You tried to look away, but his hands held your face gently in place.

“Like this,” Jack said. “Right now.”

Your eyes burned.

Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Every room. Every bar. Every morning in this bathroom when you think I’m not looking.”

A shaky breath left you.

His voice dropped lower. “Especially then.”

You closed your eyes for half a second. When you opened them again, Jack was still looking at you. Not past you. Not around you. At you.

The ache in your chest loosened so suddenly it almost hurt.

You stepped forward, let your forehead drop against his chest, and slid your arms around his waist. “I love you,” you said.

Jack’s arms came around you immediately. “I love you too,” he said into your hair.

You pressed closer to him, eyes closed, your cheek against the soft, worn cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you moved.

There was no music now.

No bar noise.

No woman across the room.

No tequila making you brave.

Just Jack’s hands slow over your back, his mouth pressed to the top of your head, his ring cool against your spine.

After a minute, you mumbled into his chest, “I still could’ve taken her.”

Jack’s laugh moved through him before you heard it.

Small. Warm. Helpless.

Jack said, “I know.”

You smiled against him.

Jack kissed your hair. “Water?”

You groaned. “Jack.”

Jack smiled faintly. “Husband voice.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him.

Jack looked down at you, eyes warm.

You sighed. “Fine.”

He reached for the water glass on the counter and handed it to you.

You took it from him with great dignity. “Under protest.”

Jack’s mouth softened. “Less than before?”

You took a sip. Then you leaned back into him. “Less than before,” you admitted.

Jack’s arms closed around you again. And this time, when he held you, there was nothing left in you trying to fight.

@nosebeers @moonz33, @littlewolfbird, @tubby23, @gandalfthegoatsblog, @melslavalampapp, @marauvderss, @supernaturalcat7,@jennataurus, @itwas-maroon16 , @nizzasspot, @meadow0434, @chezze-its, @callmefatherr, @amacphet, @imabapical, @offsavingtheworld, @ifyoubewooedingoodtime, @justreadinghere7, @rabbotseatcarrots, @vicky066, @manly-man-whore, @rosiepoise88, @alittlerayof-pitchblack,@woodxtock, @mafercita101, @kiatjuddae, @lacy1986, @cajunebugg76, @kittenmittensssworld, @generation-zero, @taniamiller, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @fantasyreader130, @thehockeynerd30 @angelryex, @michasia24, @itzpixieba, @scott-890, @disappearintofanfiction, @laughsandlivia, @missmillivanilli, @normanscupcake

[promotional-dvd]

yoga

Summary: Robby catches you and Jack in a compromising position.

Notes: You guys already know what this is. Also the return of rabbot x bimbo!reader. MDNI 18+

Robbys eyes blink open slowly, still heavy from the deep sleep hed been in moments ago, and lets out a groan from the back of his throat. He lays still for a while giving himself time to wake up naturally which is not a luxury hes usually afforded. The sky is starting to brighten, filling the room with a beautiful pink and orange glow but it does make him whisper out a gruff "fuck, really?" as his sleepy brain picks up on how early it must be. He moves his arm over the rest of the bed only to find it empty.

Thats weird.

For Jack, not so much. For you? Sometimes Robby thinks he could set of an airhorn in your ear and you stay fast asleep. He sits up and rubs at his eyes roughly before blindly grabbing his phone and checking the time.

5:12AM

"What the fuck." Robby moves sluggishly as he throws his long legs over the side of the bed and walking into the ensuite. Empty. He throws on an old pair of sweats and a shirt and drags his feet along the carpeted floor until he ends up in the kitchen to make himself a coffee having mastered the art of making a coffee with his eyes half closed years ago. The sleep does not want to leave his body today, leaving him feeling like a zombie swaying on his feet as he waits for his coffee to be ready. He takes a much needed sip of the bitter liquid, not caring about the burning in his mouth, and wonders around the house hoping to find wherever you and Jack might be hiding.

The front room is empty. The only things on the couch are the various pink throw blankets and cushions you picked out when you moved in- he cant even see you glittery water bottle you carry with you everywhere. With the sun starting to creep upwards Robby decides hell sit on the patio and enjoy his coffee before carrying on his search for you assuming you and Jack are up to no good (as usual). He slides the glass door open and steps out into the fresh air, eyes closed and taking in the cool morning air when a noise catches his attention.

The sight hes met with is more than enough to scare any remaining drowsiness from his aching body.

You and Jack, in the garden, asses in the air, each on one of your spongy lilac yoga mats.

Naked.

"What the fuck?!" Robby cant control the volume of his voice as he speaks.

"Robby! Oh my god you scared me! What are you doing awake?" Your sweet voice vastly contrasted your current position and you look at him through your legs.

He almost dropped his coffee. "What- What am I doing?"

"Yeah, you should still be in bed. You were so tired last night." Jack pipes up keeping himself focused on holding his pose.

"Jesus fucking christ." Robby runs a hand down his face roughly. "What the fuck are you two doing?"

"Yoga." You and Jack both say in unison.

"At 5am?"

"Best time for it Rob."

"Naked?"

"Mhm, it helps you get in touch with nature and centre yourself." You respond as you and Jack both begin moving into cobra flow. "You should join us Mikey, feel the sun on your skin."

He truly doesnt know what to say.

"Shes right brother it would do you some good." Jack says. "Stop your back from aching."

"I think ill pass. And if im doing any yoga it will be with clothes on, thank you." He takes a breath. "Seriously you guys? We have fucking neighbours. Me walking out here and seeing your asses-"

"Cute asses." You add and Jack smirks at you.

"-Is one thing, but the neighbours? Mrs Edwards doesnt need to see you all…" He waves his hand vaguely in your direction. "Spread open."

"Mrs Edwards doesnt wake up until 7:30 weve got time." You stand up and do some final stretches before turn ing to look at Robby.

"How long have you been doing this?" Robby sits down in one of your comfy patio chairs and scrunches his eyes shut.

"I dont know. Jack taught me."

"I learnt about it in the military."

Robby snorts. "Ha- yeah im sure you did."

"Its really good for you man, youre missing out." He bends down to roll up his mat and Robby looks away again.

"I think im doing everyone a favour by not doing it, ill leave it to you guys."

You huff. "Since when did you become such a prude Mikey? Youve seen our asses a million times."

"Normally inside, where im expecting to see it. Not outside for all the world to see." He places his mug down roughly having finished its contents. You and Jack approach him and lean down to kiss his bearded cheeks and ruffle his hair as he tries not to stare to obviously at your bodies (and Jacks hardening dick).

"Well were gonna go and have a shower. I would say youre welcome to join us but clearly youre not interested in our naked activities." Jack says before following you through the sliding door and smacking your ass making you giggle leaving Robby alone outside with a slowly growing tent in his sweats.

[z0mbbiegvrl]

DRESS YOU UP

featuring: Jack Abbot x BIMBO!FEM! reader

warnings: smut/porn with semi plot!!! pre-established relationship, possessive behavior, LOTSSSS OF MAKING OUT cause im gross like that, jack gives sugar daddy vibes, dom/sub undertones, slight daddy kink, praise kink, objectification (consensual), lingerie, reader has hair you can push back, fingering, riding, oral fixation, rough sex elements, spanking, marking, overstimulation themes, edging, creampie (wrap it up yall this is fiction not real life), messy sex, body worship, mild degradation, hints of aftercare but didn't write the whole thing because my braces' bracket broke and I crashed out, lmk if i missed anything!!!

wc: 4.7k

synopsis: showing off the new lingerie you bought

masterlist link: the pitt

an: FIRST JACK ABBOT WITH BIMBO READER FIC!!! I don't have a beta reader, so hopefully I caught all my little mistakes...For my sake, pretend that you can immediately put on lingerie right after you buy it, and don't have to wash it. Hope you all enjoy it!!

The mall bags were scattered across the living room floor like little trophies, glossy plastic catching the soft lamplight and crinkling faintly every time one shifted against another. Bright store logos peeked out between folds of pastel tissue paper, each bag practically glowing with indulgence. It looked excessive. You kicked the front door shut with the back of your heel, arms full of the last few bags you’d carried up from the car. The thin handles pressed into your fingers, leaving faint indents against your skin, but you didn’t mind. If anything, the slight ache made your lips curl into a pleased little smile–it was proof of how successful the afternoon had been. Your gaze swept over the living room, landing on the growing collection by the couch, and a soft, satisfied hum slipped past your lips. You felt pretty spoiled.

“Jackkk?” You called, your voice lilting and sweet, dragging his name out in a sing-song tone that echoed faintly through the house. 

For a moment, nothing answered you but the quiet hum of the house.

Then–

“Kitchen.”

His voice came steady and low, exactly where you expected it to be.

Your sandals tapped softly against the floor as you made your way toward him, the gentle sway of the bags brushing against your bare legs. Your heart fluttered, excitement bubbling up under your skin, bright and fizzy.

You’d gone shopping with a purpose.

The moment replayed in your head effortlessly–Jack sliding his card across the table that morning, his expression carefully blank, like he wasn’t handing you permission to indulge every whim you’d had building for weeks.

“Buy what you want,” he’d said, his eyes lingering on you just a second too long. “If it keeps you from whining about not having anything to wear.” He finished with a smile in his voice.

You had gasped, dramatically offended, hand flying to your chest. “I do not whine.”

Jack hadn’t even reacted, just smiled with that faint lift of his brow. “You absolutely do.”

You turned into the kitchen with a soft little flourish, like you were making an entrance on a stage built just for him.

“Successful trip?” he asked.

You beamed.

“Oh, extremely.” You grabbed his wrist. “Come on, you have to see.” You said, tugging him toward the living room.

By the time you reached the living room, the bags were sprawled out, pink tissue and satin ribbons spilling luxuriously over the couch cushions. You let go of his hand just long enough to drop onto your knees, already rifling through the soft folds of tissue paper with eager fingers. Jack’s eyes followed your movement carefully, his jaw shifting as he watched your skirt ride up your plush thighs, the faint, fleeting marks of his hands still lingering like souvenirs on your skin.

“I know I told you I was going to find some cute bikinis, but…” You pulled the first piece free slowly, holding it up between your fingers like treasure. A lace bralette in pale blush, sheer with delicate straps and tiny satin bows at the shoulders. You glanced back at him through your lashes, letting the soft curves of your lips suggest both innocence and mischief. “Better, right?”

Jack’s gaze lingered, an approving tilt of his head letting you know he found it infinitely more than “better.” 

You didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out the next piece, creamy white this time. The kind of lingerie that didn’t need a label to announce its price. Another followed: lilac lace with a gentle scalloped trim, deep red satin, and a few playful sets with tiny cherry prints decorating the delicate fabric. You spread them across the couch cushions like a curator arranging a gallery, making sure each set could be admired. 

“Do you like it?” You picked up a mesh bubble gum pink bra, holding it against your tank top, tilting your head coyly. 

Jack’s response was a quiet, measured chuckle. “Like it?” His lips curved, and you could see it even before he spoke, that corner of his mouth lifting. “I love it. Makes me happy to see you happy.”

His words were simple, but there was a sweetness in the way he said them, a subtle possessiveness wrapped in a calm exterior. You could feel it in the air around him, the quiet assurance that he would take care of you, that no part of your little indulgence would ever meet judgment or critique. 

You rose slowly from the floor, smoothing the skirt over your thighs as you moved, deliberately prolonging the motion, letting skin speak where words could not. You turned your back toward him, a playful smile teasing at the corners of your lips. “I’m going to try this one on,” you announced, lifting the creamy white set like it was too delicate to hold carelessly. “Wait here.”

You moved toward the bedroom, the soft snaps against the floor from your sandals leaving a trail of anticipation behind you. In the living room, Jack had moved to the couch, carefully moving your displays of sets so as not to ruin them in any way that wasn’t in bed.

The white lace set was perfect, delicate threads intertwining in patterns that framed your curves without restraint. The bra fits snug, soft yet supportive, the underwire molds to your shape, enhancing. The matching panties, sheer, clung to your hips, accentuating the swell of your thighs and the curve of your waist. You adjusted the straps, smoothed the fabric over your skin, and couldn't help but feel a thrill at the way the material seemed to acknowledge you, to echo your every subtle motion. 

When you stepped back into the living room, the sunlight caught in the fine threads of the white fabric, Jack’s gaze locked onto you in a way that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t just desire in his eyes–it was pride, an unspoken message that you were seen, cherished, and completely adored. “You look perfect,” he said finally, his voice low, rough around the edges. But there was something soft there too, a tenderness that wrapped around you like a cloak. 

You could see it in the faint tilt of his head, the way his eyes traced the contours of the fabric against your skin, the subtle lift of one brow that spoke volumes. He didn’t need to touch you to claim you in that moment; his attention alone was enough. He leaned back slightly, “You know,” he said slowly, his voice low, almost the exact tone of the voice he used when he praised you in bed. “You could make anything look sexy.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, but your smirk gave you away. “Oh? And here I thought you’d tell me this one was trashy.”

Jack chuckled; the sound made your chest flutter. “More like distracting.” He paused, leaning forward, eyes scanning like a connoisseur. 

Your lips parted in mock gasp, the word teasing on your tongue. “Distracting?” you twirled again, showing off the tightness of the fabric. “Am I…distracting?”

Jack’s expression darkened just enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. “Extremely,” he said simply, and that single word made the back of your knees go weak. He leaned back, still studying you. “You know that, don’t you?”

You took a slow step toward him, “I bought them for you,” you said softly, almost a purr. “All for you. I know how much you like them.” You thought back to the first time he’d ever seen you wearing one, it was on you for less than a minute before he tore it off with his teeth. Something about it sends him into a frenzy. It’s a small shock to see how calm he’s being at this moment.

Jack’s eyes flicked up, meeting yours. That steady gaze softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “I know,” he said quietly. “I appreciate it—more than you know. Just makes me feel good about how I’m taking care of you. Making you feel perfect.”

Your heartbeat sped up, fingers trailing lightly along his shoulders, giving him a good view of your breasts in the cups. “You always make me feel perfect,” you whispered, voice barely above breath. Slowly, you placed yourself on his lap, straddling him, letting your hips rest lightly against his thighs. The sudden closeness made your pulse spike, every nerve alive with anticipation. 

Jack’s hands moved instinctively, resting at the curve of your hips, steadying you. His eyes locked with yours, pupils dilated, voice rough. “God…look at you,” he murmured.

You leaned forward, letting your chest press just slightly against his, your lips hovering close, teasing the space between you. “Guess I picked the right one.”

Jack’s hand tightened just a fraction at your hip, thumbs brushing lightly along the curve of your hips. “Yeah, you did,” he agreed, his voice low, the kind of growl that made your knees go weak. His hands move a little higher, pressing against your back, pulling you tighter against his chest, a low guttural exhale escaping his lips. “God, I’ve been waiting for this all day. Leaving me here all alone to go shop in that tiny fucking skirt. Fucking killing me.”

That was all you needed to hear. You tilted your head slightly, letting your lips just brush over his, teasing. Then, gently, you pressed your lips to his, letting the first soft kiss linger, slow and testing. Jack’s eyes closed for a moment, letting the warmth of your body, your lips wash over him. His hands moved to your front, hands grasping your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples under the mesh, coaxing a soft gasp from your lips. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, lips parting, tongues dancing in that teasing rhythm that left you both speechless.

Your hands found their way into his grey curls, tugging at his hair as you softly ground your hips. His hands moved in response to your wandering hands, groping your breasts a little more firmly, the heat in his touch echoing through your body.

You pulled back just enough to rest your forehead against his, lips brushing in soft, teasing kisses. “Jack…” Your voice is a soft whine, fluttering against his lips.

His hand moved to your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. 

You leaned into his hand without thinking, your lips finding his again. His hands moved again, no longer lingering in one place. They roamed all over, like he was reacquainting himself with every inch he could grope. Wherever he touched, it left a lingering heat behind, as your skin remembered him even after he moved to another area. 

His lips moved with yours in a steady rhythm, not completely overwhelming but not exacting pulling back either. There was a quiet intensity in the way he kissed you. The faint scrape of his stubble dragged across your skin when his mouth shifted, the slight roughness sending a sharp shiver through you. It made you move without thinking, your body shifting against his, a small, instinctive motion that pressed you closer. Your body chasing the friction.

Jack’s breath hitched. A sharp exhale left him through his nose, and his grip tightened just enough to make you feel it. Not enough to stop you from using him, but enough to let you know he felt it too. His arm wrapped more securely around your back now, pulling you in, closing whatever space you hadn’t already taken up. 

And that made your stomach flutter.

“Careful,” he murmured against your lips, feeling just how warm your center was against his. Your thin panties are doing nothing to hide how much you wanted him. “You keep moving like that…”

You tilted your head, brushing your lips along the corner of his mouth, deliberately innocent. “Like what?” you whispered, teasing, even as you did it again, the roll of your hips soft, slow, just enough to feel the tension spike between you.

Jack let out a strained breath, his forehead pressing briefly to yours like he was grounding himself. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, but there was no bite to it.

“Maybe,” you said lightly with a smile, your fingers trailing down the front of his chest, your manicured nails scratching along his bare chest under his shirt. 

Jack’s hand slid up your spine, undoing your bra clasp with one quick flick, tugging the mesh fabric off your soft skin, tossing it onto the couch. Before you could complain about the treatment and pout, he leaned in and kissed you again, deeper this time, pressing his tongue into your mouth without much asking. 

You gasped softly against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved with yours. His other hand traced along your side, fingers brushing over the delicate lace at your hips. He twisted his finger into the strap of your panties before snapping it against your skin. The pinch made your breath hitch, making you focus on the quiet control of the movement.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded instinctively, your body leaning into his touch before you could even think about it. “Yeah…”

His thumb rubbed the spot your panties hit, soothing the ache. “Good,” he said softly. He kissed down your jaw, biting softly down your neck before leaving small marks along your breasts. He looked up at your blissed out face as he took your right breast into his mouth, teasing your hardened bud with his warm tongue. He swirled his tongue around before pulling off with a pop, giving your left breast the same treatment, your fingers tugging a little tighter at his hair.

“Jack…” You bit your lip, glancing down at him, feeling how hot your body was getting. 

When he was satisfied, he pulled off, letting you lean down to kiss him again. Your hand cupped his face, grinding against his clothed cock, letting out a small moan from the fabric, giving you a little more friction. 

“Sweetheart…” he said, like a warning wrapped in affection.

“I need you…” You managed to get out through your soft moans, practically getting yourself off without much. 

“Let me give you what you need.” He grabbed your hips, stopping you from humping him any further despite your not-so-subtle protest.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and you didn’t hesitate, eager to suck it between your lips. The response it earns is immediate, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he withdraws just enough to kiss you again, messier this time, more desperate. His right hand begins to wander down your hip, slowly, gliding down the curve of your body, around the back of your thigh. His fingers lightly tease the warm skin before drifting further down, until they’re settled under your panties.

The first touch is light, almost teasing–just the faintest brush along your folds–before he begins to move, stroking up and down with unhurried intent. He spreads the slick warmth already there, dragging it over your sensitive skin. His touch lingers everywhere at once, exploring you without rushing it, gliding over your swollen clit, tracing along your soft, puffy lips, skimming just close enough to your entrance to make you shiver yet never quite giving in, never pressing where you ached for him the most. 

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth, teasing, before pushing your tongue into his mouth. Jack lets out a rough groan against you, the sound thick with want as he tastes you, the mingled heat of your shared breath only making him grip you tighter. Having you like this, completely open with him, was pushing him right to the edge.

Your hips don’t stay still. They can’t. They roll and pressed toward his hand, chasing friction, wanting more, but every time his fingers start to dip lower, to give you what you’re searching for, he pulls back just enough to leave you wanting. 

When he breaks the kiss, you follow instinctively, lips parting as you try to chase his, a quiet, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your face–-taking in the dazed, pleasure-heavy look in your eyes. “Let me enjoy this.”

His touch stays deliberate. The quiet, slick sounds of it fill the space between you, and heat rushes to your face despite yourself, the intensity of it all making you acutely aware of every little movement. His fingers stay focused, gathering the evidence of your want, the slick coats his rough fingers and make every movement heavier. It contrasts with the softness of your mouth against his, the push and pull of tenderness and something more demanding underneath.

“I’m gonna take care of you, alright?” he said against your lips, breath warm where it mingled with yours. The words were soft, but there was an edge underneath them. “Let daddy take care of you,” he continued, feeling his restraint start to slip.

He moves carefully at first, easing his touch as if giving you time to adjust. He follows you when your body tenses for a moment, pulling your hips up. His grip was firm enough to keep you from escaping the sensation, grounding you in it. Each time you tried to fuck back onto his finger, he matched you, guiding you in place with insistence. The tight wet heat was making his cock feel like it was getting harder by the second. The sloppy sounds of your slick, coupled with your soft mewls, have him growling lowly. 

When he finally pulls back, it’s only for a moment, his touch never leaving your weeping cunt, just gliding over to tease your needy clit a little more firmly. 

“That feel good, baby?” He says sweetly against your lips, kissing you a few times before glancing in your eyes. 

“Mhm,” you hummed out, your perfect lips in a soft o shape as you shakily nodded. “Feels so good,” you tell him in the sweet voice he loves so much.

There’s a restless kind of hunger in the way you mouth at his neck, your lips and tongue tracing slow paths across his skin, teeth grazing and then pressing just enough to make him feel it. When you bite down lightly, he notices it–he always notices it. How easily you lean into using your mouth. Something that feels almost youthful in its intensity. Not inexperienced, but certain. 

While you’re distracted with marking Jack as yours, he takes advantage of it. His hand slips away from between your thighs, moving instead between your bodies. His fingers work deftly, popping open the button of his jeans, then dragging the zipper down in a slow motion. He shifts just enough to push the denim lower, freeing himself as he leans back in, capturing your lips in another syrupy, slow kiss. His cock rests above the waistband of his boxers.

You lower yourself, holding onto his broad shoulders while Jack grabs the base of his cock, teasing your folds with it, nudging against your sensitive clit, and then slowly inching his way into your dripping cunt. You sink on him, watching the way his thick cock disappears into you, your breath hitching as you feel your walls stretching around him.

Jack’s gaze doesn’t leave you or your body as he leans back, settling into the soft couch with an easy kind of confidence, his arms folding behind his neck like he was giving you all the space in the world to show off. There’s something in the way he watches you that makes your breath catch. You exhale slowly, hands bracing against his shoulders, fingers curling there for balance as you lift yourself before easing back down. Your grip tightens just a little on his shoulders as you adjust again, settling into a pace that feels right, one that draws an unsteady breath from both of you. 

“Mhmm, how’d I get lucky with a babydoll like you?” Jack watched your breasts move in his face, leaning in to kiss along them. 

You lift your hips and sink again. Harder this time.

Jack bites back a groan when your hips start to get used to a rhythm, riding him at a controlled pace. Jack lifts the bottom of his shirt to watch the hypnotizing sight of your swollen cunt repeatedly sucking him in. The wet sounds of your hips smacking onto his, your stickiness covering his thick pubic hair and happy trail. 

You smile, hands planted on his chest as you lift and drop yourself on his cock, repeating the process more quickly. 

“Oh?” He smirks, cupping your face, dipping his thumb into your mouth, moaning as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. “I wanna see how long you’ll keep this up.” He pulled you in a bit by your mouth, quieter. “'Cause I already feel her fluttering.”

Jack’s chest heaves in uneven, urgent breaths, each inhale and exhale straining against the control he’s trying to maintain. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across his forehead. Every muscle is tense as he feels your cunt clenching greedily around him, demanding his attention. You lean closer, closing the space between you, and sink your teeth into his neck. The sudden pressure makes him jolt involuntarily, a guttural sound escaping his throat. His cock drips more pre into you. The combination of bite and closeness sends a rush of heat through him. 

Jack lands a sharp spank on your right ass cheek, forcing a sound from you that cuts straight through your throat. Jack’s pleased by the sweet, breathy moan that comes out. The sound sends a shiver through his body. “That’s it,” he rasps, breath ragged and uneven, his head tipping back, eyes half-closed, as if simply watching you is enough to undo him. His hands twitch, knuckles flexing like he’s fighting some desperate urge to grab you. 

And then you feel it, slowly at first, creeping through your core–your slick slipping down the sides of him, warm and slippery, clinging to him like second skin. Your walls flutter and spasm around him with each tiny shift of your hips, every motion producing that wet, squelching sound that makes his chest tighten, and his teeth clench. He can feel it, feel the desperate pulse of your body. Your lips press into a firm line, jaw set, eyebrows pinched together in concentration, trying so hard to keep yourself composed. But your cunt refuses to listen, soaking his lap, making it impossible to hide how much your body wants him.

“You’re starting to slow down.” He tutted, feeling the pad of his thumb going through your messy folds, then touching your puffy little clit. “Let me help you out, baby.”

A soft, desperate whine escapes your kiss-swollen lips, your hips faltering as you pause, pressing against him, trying to catch your breath before your body betrays you completely. You cling to him for support, hands pressing into his chest, teeth grazing his shoulder as you fight the urge to cum right then and there. But Jack doesn’t falter. His thumb continues its relentless movements, pressing against your sensitive nub with precision. Every glide, every tiny flick over your clit is meant to make every nerve ending scream with heightened sensitivity. 

Then his touch changes, just enough to make your knees buckle–you can feel it immediately. His thumb presses more firmly now, moving in tight, demanding circles, dragging the rough texture of his skin onto you, over and over, coaxing spasms from deep inside. The friction is almost unbearable, sharp and insistent, making your slick drip faster, leaving you trembling against his hand. 

Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps, lips parting, eyes fluttering closed as he refuses to let you rest. Every roll of your hips, every tiny shiver of your body is rewarded with another precise, teasing circle of his thumb, like he’s memorizing the way you shiver.

Jack’s hand snaps to one of your nipples, taut and sensitive, the tip of it pebbled from the pleasure you were feeling. He pinches and rolls it just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips. 

“Jack…” you moaned, your hips stuttering against him. “Fuck, I–”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You’re so good for me, so fucking good.”

You grip his chest, hands trembling. “I can’t–oh, god.” Your words trail off into ragged gasps.

Jack smirks, his thumb slowing, the fingers that had been pinching your nipple now sliding down your sides, deliberate, tantalizing strokes. “Mmm, look at you. You feel fucking amazing,” he praised, his lips brushing close to your ear. “Knew you’d burn yourself out. You always do. You did real good, sweetheart.” He cupped your cheek. “Let me help you out.”

Something inside of you just gives in. He’s right, and you always hate that he’s right; you hate how sweet he gets about it. Nothing like your last boyfriends when they would get pissy about this moment. You can’t ignore the tight coil in your stomach, pulled so taunt it feels ready to snap. Your gummy walls cling around his cock, while your clit throbs in anticipation. 

With that, Jack’s grip pushed into your waist, fingers digging into your flesh as he started to pound into you, hard and rough. He moved you up and down his wet cock. Your breasts bouncing up and down, head lulling back and forth. You tried to stabilise yourself on his chest, moans and whines leaving your lips.

“That’s it, baby. Let daddy hear you.” He said through gritted teeth. “Give me all those sweet fucking sounds.”

His hips snapped harder from underneath, his swollen tip hitting that sweet, spongy spot within you, making your head spin and stuttery sounds forced out of your throat. You catch Jack’s eyes on you, almost completely black, focused on studying every little detail of your blissed, sweaty face.

“Jack, please.”

Jack’s hands gripped your waist tighter, knuckles white as he kissed along your neck with surprising gentleness. Making your stomach flutter with how sweet he’s being. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“My perfect girl.”

Jack feels it–the subtle tightening, the way your body reacts around him, giving you away completely. A louder sound slips from your lips this time, uncontrolled, as your head drops against his shoulder, seeking something to ground yourself. Your breath was warm against his skin. 

His pace shifts in response. He presses closer, holding you there, as if he already understands exactly where you are, right on the edge, trying to hold on, even as your body begins to let go. 

“There it is. Sweet girl,” he says. “Come for me. I got you.”

You gasped, sudden waves of your orgasm rushed through you. Your belly tightened, your fingertips curled into his skin. Jack’s hips stutter, thrusts followed by squelching sounds of your slick, and while you rode out your high, you felt Jack’s cock pulsing rapidly, finally releasing his spend into you.

“There we go…” he groaned. His thrust slowed down, grip softened on your hips, while both of you tried to catch your breath, placing soft kisses against each other's faces. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. You’re still catching your breath, your body slowly coming down from the intensity, limbs feeling heavy and loose. Your forehead rests against his, your breathing uneven but starting to steady, syncing little by little with his. Jack’s hand, which had been gripping tightly before, now eased into something gentler–one sliding up your back, slow and soothing, the other resting warm and steady at your hip. His thumb brushes absentminded circles into your skin, like he’s making sure you’re still right there with him.

“Hey…” he whispered, nudging his nose lightly against yours. “You okay?”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, nodding as your fingers lazily traced along his shoulder. “Yeah…just give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You shift slightly, settling more comfortably against him, and he adjusts with you without hesitation, like it’s second nature. His hand keeps moving in slow, reassuring strokes along your back, helping you come back to yourself. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs after a moment, guiding you gently to rest more fully against his chest. You go willingly, melting into him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers drift up to your hair, brushing it back from your face, smoothing it down with quiet care. “You did so good,” he adds softly.

tags!! @cinnamoncunt @stupors888 @lovebug-129 @loveisallyouneed1125 @itsmeamysworld @noirecherie @clementinebutnottheorange @crazycat-ladys-blog @pixie2k5 @cybrlifee @thatonedindjarinfan @catheeine @ellekepellekes @amandamariee @apertcre @error-reality-not-found @strawbunnyfield @angelaweaaley @ihavemanyhusbandfandoms @lawolsonlover @funperson21 @alexmusiclover @superunicornreadhead @fiendforwriting @d1nne @baby-mcilwee21 @gaey14 @aspen-groves @gottobeglue @shampoo-fairy @haruo-o @jellycolors @saturnluvvr @girljusttrying97 @shadowyoutcastjester @nicobidd @catheeine @nobodywhoisknown @thenasword @jujufierrofierro08 @chuchuboba @eliza1720 @catastrophe411 @chicdeedee3 @queenyamimarrero @frankiegirll @babyspiceeeeeeee @tuftedtyddy @gillybear17 @sweet-tea-and-summer @barelymakingitinlife @zombiedixon89 @igho2sts @ace-fiction @the-peoples-princessxo @jonmartinsworldfr @cleartheravens @imamybubbles @littlelumierer @vsereniasstuff @starrysummitmercenary @katiekatiekatiekatiejjjjjj @valhalla-soulstealer

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Your Shadow

Fandom: Shawn Hatosy - Animal Kingdom

Pairing: Andrew "Pope" Cody x F!Reader

Summary: He's always behind you. Silently watching and protecting you.

Shawn Hatosy Masterlist

You know he's behind you. The air shifts whenever he's near. That and you get a whiff of his cologne.

So without looking behind you, you continue to push the grocery cart down the aisle. You stick your hand out behind you and his hand immediately slips into yours.

You turn to him and softly smile, "Hi," you lean in and press your lips to his in a quick kiss.

"Hi," he lowly murmurs back. Without saying another word, he grabs your hips and moves you to the side, taking the cart from you. You giggle and walk ahead, going down your grocery lists. Pope silently follows behind you.

__________________

The step stool gives you an extra boost. There's a large bowl on the very top shelf that you need so you can Lena can bake cookies. You grab it, but lean too far back. Your heart drops as you brace for impact, but a pair of arms catch you instead.

"Holy crap," you murmur, looking at your savior.

Pope tsks and shakes your head, "You need to be more careful." He helps you stand up right as you hand Lena the mixing bowl.

You give him a sheepish smile, "I know, but you're also always there to catch me, right?"

He silently rolls his eyes and watches as you and Lena start gathering the rest of the ingredients to bake.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He says things here and there, answers a question or two when Lena asks.

"Okay, now we need to get a whisk-oh! Thanks, babe!" Pope is already holding out a whisk to you that he grabbed as you were reading the instructions aloud. You kiss his cheek in appreciation and hand the whisk to Lena.

He comes up behind you, hugging you from behind and resting his head against yours as you watch his niece mix the cookie ingredients all together.

_____________________

You'd just dried yourself off after a shower. You're standing at the bathroom sink, drying out your hair when Pope appears in the threshold. He leans against the wall, watching you. You catch his eyes in the reflection and softly smile at him. You go back to getting ready for bed.

After setting the hair dryer down, you go to grab your brush, but you see Pope standing behind you already, brush in hand. You stand there as he brushes through your hair, careful not to hurt you in anyway.

Once he's done, he sets the brush down and kisses your head. He goes back to being a silent observer.

You grab your skincare and start your routine. You feel his eyes completely focused on you the entire time. You don't feel unsettled. You feel seen, appreciated, loved, and protected.

______________________

"Does he do that all the time?" Your friend, Ella, asks, nodding to Pope who's sitting at the bar counter, watching you.

You glance at him over your shoulder and then turn back to Ella, "He's protective of me."

"It's creepy."

You roll your eyes, having explained this to several people beforehand, "It's how he shows he cares. Besides, he's out DD if we get too fucked up."

"That's what Ubers are for."

You scoff, "Why pay for a ride when Andrew can drive us for free?"

"Okay, but he's been staring at you nonstop," her eyes glance back at Pope in a disgusted way, "He's not controlling or anything, is he?" she looks at you seriously, silently asking a question you've gotten before.

You sigh, "I'm fine. I promise. Andrew's not like that. He just shows his love and care differently than others. It took me some time to understand it too, but he treats me so much better than anyone has."

Ella slowly nods, "Alright, but if he hurts you in anyway-"

You chuckle, "I know, girl. I'll let you know."

_____________________

Pope brought you to The Drop so he can discuss some things with his brothers. You're sitting at the counter, drinking a soda, and scrolling through your phone when a man decides to take up residence right next to you.

You sigh and say, "Not interested," without looking up from your phone.

The man scoffs, "Not even gonna let me say 'hi' or nothing?"

"Nope," you don't give the man any satisfaction of looking at him. Instead you continue drinking your soda and scrolling through your phone.

The man fully faces you, "I can treat you real good."

"I'm taken."

"And where's your guy right now, huh?"

"Right here," you hear Pope speak behind you and you smile into your straw. You completely turn to face Pope, "Everything good?"

His eyes soften when he looks at you, "Yeah. Go start the car," he hands his car keys to you.

You close your hands around his, "I'm fine. Let's go." You see him hesitating but immediately nods. You guide him out of the bar and he's following you, but not before sending a deadly glare back to the man who was bothering you.

_______________________

You're sitting in the sand, back pressed against an eroding wall, alone. You just needed some fresh air and sunshine after a rough few days. You listen to the waves crashing against the shore, the sound of children screaming with laughter, seagulls flying above head.

You hear a jingling of keys paired with the sounds of heavy boots approaching. A shadow looms over you, but you know who it is. You look up and see Pope staring down at you. He's giving you a questioning gaze.

"I'm okay. Just needed to think."

He nods and sits on the wall, right behind you. You lean against his legs, his hands resting on your shoulders.

You two sit there in a comfortable silence.

[youandmereligously]

this is so comforting and well written 💕

[sammy-bryant]

Shawn Hatosy attends the MPTF NextGen Summer Party on May 31, 2026 in Los Angeles, California.

[lestatfag]

STAY SAFE!! [ID: the Gilbert Baker pride flag with the words “Happy pride to all those who are unable to celebrate openly and safely. You are loved and seen!” in all-caps black text over it. /end ID]

[iloverodentmen]

18+ MINORS DNI

warnings: cheating

summary:pope can’t stand hearing your fake moans from the other room, it’s time he makes you have real ones

being j’s new girlfriend wasn’t exactly ideal.

he’d bring you to his house, have a swim in the pool,maybe have some mediocre sex that lasted not longer than five minutes and then he was off doing god knows what,you didn’t know. it wasn’t any of your business.

that’s why you started to fuck his uncle behind his back.

j couldn’t handle you, couldn’t even make you cum for goodness’ sake. pope knew that, he heard your fake moans through the walls that barely lasted a minute or two. he had to let you know how good it could actually feel.

so now he has gotten you bended over his dresser—slapping the fat skin of your ass at every thrust of his raw cock into your fluttering, gummy walls.

“popey…’s too big” you whine grabbing the edge of the dresser with your hands, your knuckles turning white “i know baby girl… my nephew doesn’t stretch you out enough does he?” he coos at your ear, he bites at the lobe making your back arch.

“this pussy‘s so fucking tight he doesn’t know what to do with it” pope gropes one of your tits spilling out from your top with a grunt. the sound of your whimpers and of your skin slapping against each other fill the room.

you’re lucky nobody’s home or everyone would have known what you two were up to.

you can feel your pussy clench around his cock, legs trembling closer to the release you so longed to achieve “you close sweetheart? gonna cum all over my cock,beautiful?” pope’s hand travels down your clit while his other one holds tightly onto your hip to slam it against his.

when you come around his cock, your legs fail you, making you almost fall over. he catches you in a heartbeat, placing you against his sweaty chest, holding you close “you’re okay sweet girl”

you nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck, catching your breath “thank you for this” you mumble.

pope huffs like he has just been offended by your words “no need to thank me…such a good girl” he plants a kiss above your head “am not done with you”

j wonders why you have marks all over your collarbones and thighs for days after that!!! he swears he doesn’t remember giving you any :(

[popepout]

pope the type to laugh at you struggling under his grip as he chokes you out w his bicep😭😭😭😭😭😭 #ineedthatsobadyoitsnotevenfuckingfunny

sick & twisted because he rarely laughs or even cracks a grin but the second you’re at his mercy, everything is funny …

content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, meanie!pope, manhandling / mentions of play fighting, breath play / choking, dirty talk, pet names.

“i wanna try something,” pope grunts above you, in the middle of working you full of his cock. you whimper at the interruption and he squeezes your waist under his heavy palms to settle you. his eyes rake down your bare frame— the arch of your hips, the way you’re laid out on your tummy and waiting for him to make any kind of move. when you peer at him over your shoulder with a pout, he speaks again.

“don’t worry, brat. i think you’ll like it.”

the last thing you’re expecting is one of his beefy arms hooked around your neck. you gasp just as he squeezes a little, eyes fluttering shut and lashes fanning over the tops of your cheeks while you go dizzy. he’s choked you before after you begged him to, but this is different. this is something he’s been thinking about. something that he’s only done a few times during some play fighting, not with actual intent.

his grip tightens. his bicep presses on your throat as his hips finally move against the fullness of your ass once again. deep thrusts that knock the sense out of your brain, all while you’re getting just enough oxygen to remain conscious so he can still hear those mewls and whimpers falling from your glossy lips. you hiccup his name out once, then twice— your hands come up from the sheets to claw at his arm with manicured nails, leaving little scratches and crescents on his freckled skin. only for him to laugh all breathy and deep over your ear.

“hey, hey— what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he grunts, kissing the side of your face as if he isn’t applying more pressure. he gives your throat another good squeeze and although you’re struggling to take in a breath, your cunt flutters around his shaft like silk, “are you puttin’ on a show for me? because your pussy never lies t’me, she’s loving this … think i can make her cum before you pass out?”