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@batcat46
masterlist - welcome to the pitt
a safe place for people who like men a little too old for them.
previous masterlist - requests are open
currently writing for ↴ ☆ indicates preference ♡ indicates smut - mdni
The Pitt
jack abbot ☆
michael 'robby' robinavich ☆
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last updated - 4/8/2026
jack abbot masterlist
what a yummy man
cherry popsicle ♡
cherry popsicle - jack abbot x fem ! reader
hi friends, been craving summer lately and just can't get the idea of a sweaty jack abbot out of my mind.
heads up - 1.8k+, smut 18+
Watching condensation drip off the AC unit hanging out the windowsill, you let out a deep sigh. Rolling over on the bed, throwing the thin sheet off your body, you turned to the large man lying next to you. It was late afternoon in the depths of one of the hottest summers you had witnessed in a while.
You pressed a light kiss to his pale, freckled shoulder and rubbed your hand lightly up and down his bare upper back. Jack let out a low grumble as he slowly started to stir after his rest from his shift last night. He reached his arm up and held your hand in place on his upper bicep and gave it a quick squeeze.
“Hi there, honey.” He mumbled with one cheek still half mushed into his pillow, damp with sweat from the humid weather, the AC was barely fighting. “Missed you while you were sleeping.” You stated as you propped yourself up on your arm and gave him a wet smooch on his cheek.
He quickly turned his head and caught you in a kiss with an attempt to deepen it with his tongue swiping across your lip, begging for entrance. “Nuh uh, big man. Too hot for tomfoolery like that.”
You tsked him as you rose from the bed with a light giggle. A tight tank top and a pair of his boxers adorned your body as they were the smallest clothes you owned in hopes of staying cool. “I bought popsicles last week when they announced the heat wave. Would you like one?” Your voice echoed through the thin walls of your ratty city apartment.
When no response followed, you figured he had drifted off back to his slumber. You took your time analyzing the crinkly white packaging up to the center light in your kitchen, trying to figure out what flavor lay hidden underneath. Having given up deciphering if it was cherry or grape with a huff and turned to head back to the bedroom to hopefully sit by the working ac. Jack stood propped up against the doorway only wearing tight black boxer briefs.
Somehow, moving silently for someone who had an awfully heavy prosthetic foot. “Did you figure out the flavor yet, darling?”
Shaking your head, he took steps towards your reaching for the frozen treat. Standing directly over you, he peered down into your eyes, and he peeled the wrapper off the melting popsicle. “Close your eyes and open that mouth or me.”
Trusting this man with your life, you immediately complied. Tingles set through your abdomen as he demanded these things from you. A sharp contrast to the sticky air swirling around your hot bodies hits your tongue. Warm breath brushes past your ears as he leans his head down next to yours.
“Suck.”
Wrapping your lips around the icy treat, you began to bob up and down slowly. Drool mixing with the juice in the corners of your mouth. “I said, did you figure out what flavor you picked out yet?”
Big, calloused hands landed on your hips and began roaming to their own accord. A rough grab of your breast flows to the expanse of your lower back and settling on the bottom swell of your ass hanging out of his briefs. Eyes still closed and lost in the motions of practically sucking off the popsicle, you still had not answered the man towering over you.
He pulled the popsicle out from between your lips and dragged it down your cheek, leaving a sticky trail of juice. Finally starting to come to your senses and out of the trance he had so quickly put you in, you opened your eyes and licked the sugar off your lips.
“Cherry. I picked a cherry popsicle.”
“Was that the flavor you were looking for?”
The popsicle slides from your cheek down to your jawline, red juice dripping in suit. “Yes. It’s your favorite, I wanted you to taste it next time you tried to kiss me.” A small smile formed on your face, thinking about how you were acting innocent behind that notion, when in reality, you hoped he would be tasting more than just that cherry popsicle. “And what if I decided to taste it off you instead?”
Confusion blurred the lines of your face, your brain not quite catching up as fast as he acted when he licked a stripe from the base of your neck, where the juice was starting to pool, and up to your jaw. His tongue made it all the way to your ear, where he gave a small nibble to your earlobe.
Tipping your head back, allowing him more access, a soft groan fell from your mouth. Immediately, the tip of the now mushy popsicle was shoved back into your mouth from the small opening your noise provided. You bit down on the red ice pop and moved slightly to connect your mouth with his again. You lavished the feeling of the ice melting between your mouths as your tongues started moving together in languid motions.
Sticky kisses trailed down the path Jack had previously been “cleaning” the juice off of, and continued down to pull your tank top strap down with his teeth. His free hand took the other strap and tugged it down until it rested on your torso.
He looked you straight in the eyes, panting with lust, as he took the almost gone popsicle and traced in circles around your nipples, watching as the pebbled in his wake. His hand dripped with red dye and sugar. You grabbed his wrist and licked the red path from his forearm to his middle finger, deepthroating the digit as a grand finale.
Shaking his head almost in disbelief at your actions, he stuck the popsicle back in your mouth and used both hands to drag the bunched-up tank top and his boxers down your legs. Cradling your calves gently as he pulled each leg up to help you step out of them.
With a giggle, you took another bite of the popsicle and started to trace the remnants of the popsicle down his chest like he had just done to you minutes ago. Dragging it around his left pec, immediately following with your tongue. Making a path down his abdomen, you crouched down and hooked a finger into his boxers and dragged those down too.
“Too hot for tomfoolery, huh?” the older man said, although his voice had dropped a few octaves and had gotten progressively more gravely.
In a swift motion, you put what was left of the popsicle into your mouth and pulled it off in one piece. Fisting the base of his cock you put it right on your cold, cherry-flavored tongue.
A small hiss left his mouth as he gathered your loose strands of hair into his non-sticky hand and started to guide you through the motions up and down his length.
“That’s it, baby. All the way down and back up again.”
His tip touches the back of your throat, making you gag, eyes watering, drool once again mixing with cherry flavoring and dripping down your chin onto your bare chest.
A small tug on your makeshift ponytail brings you back to reality and off his throbbing cock. Standing back to your full height and sharing a sloppy kiss filled with the frozen treat, and a mix of both your bodily fluids.
With your mouths still locked, he started taking steps forward for both of you, until your lower back made contact with your kitchen counter. He hoisted you up onto the granite, which, even with the heat wave still, sent a chilly jolt through your bare legs.
His powerful hands spread your thighs wide open on the counter, and he started to trail his pointer finger up and down within your glistening center. Most likely a mix of arousal and the sweat that covered the rest of your overheated bodies.
“You going to let me fuck this pretty pussy?” He whispered in your ear as he pressed a hand into the small of your back and forced you to arch your chest into his.
You answered wordlessly with a mindless nod, trying to shift closer to your hard-on. Slowly moving his shaft up and down, coating him in your slick.
He pushed in the tip and relished the drag of your tight walls on his cock. Your head lolled back, and he quickly cupped the back of your head to protect you from hitting the cabinets behind you.
Rutting up into you, the temperature in the apartment seemed to be rising by the second. Being flustered and fucked to the hilt did nothing for clearing your conscience that this was not the cleverest way to cool down.
Small puffs of hot Jack’s breath were hitting the crevice of your neck while he drove into you relentlessly. Leaving no mercy for the sweat mixing on your bodies.
“So fucking perfect, sweetheart. Always for me. Such a blessing to wake up next to you looking this sexy.” The man rambled on as he palmed your breasts and plucked at your nipples. Lost in his own world of pleasure, ramming his pelvis into yours.
The pressure was starting to build up in your abdomen, and your grip on his shoulders was getting tighter. Nails leaving crescent shaped males in his freckly skin.
“Fuck, Jack, I’m so close, please.” “Please, what baby? You need more from me?” He replied, dauntingly. A small smirk started to form, but getting whooshed away when he felt you squeeze his cock tightly.
“Okay fuck, I get it.” He practically whimpered. “Gotta at least get one out of you before I give in.” His fingers start circling your swollen clit.
His words barely registered, and your orgasm came washing over you. Skin prickling, gasps for air, arms tightening around Jack’s shoulders. Hot spurts covered your stomach moments later as Jack caught up to you quickly.
He lay his head on your shoulder and took deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heartbeat. You soothingly stroked his back until the muggy air and sugar started to catch up to you.
“Jack, honey, I love you so much, but if I don’t get a shower in the next thirty seconds, there might be a problem.” You received a low chuckle as a response.
Pulling his softened cock out of you, he lifted you by your hips and placed you firmly on the kitchen tile. “Turn on the shower, I am right behind you.”
As you two rinsed the last hours' activities off your bodies, Jack lowered his mouth to your ear one more time and whispered, “I’m glad you picked cherry.”
Just a girl in her 20s lusting after men that are her fathers age
cat distribution system works in mysterious ways
this is robby’s cat named fish - based on this art by croxotic on twt
jack abbot are you looking for a controversially young girlfriend because i am available
— behind closed doors.
med school!jack x fem!reader
summary: you took over jack and robby's spare room a few months ago and now you and jack are constantly at each other's throats. robby has finally had enough and he's hoping some forced proximity will do the trick. seems like it works a little too well.
content/warnings: roommate au-ish, robby is alluded to being kinda a slut, in robby's pov for like 25% of the fic, you're kinda a bad roommate tbh, jack is sort of mean to u, forced proximity trope, angry/hate sex, unprotected piv, mirror sex, exhibitionism if you squint, subtle degradation, choking, kind of what i imagine early mean dom!abbot is like, pope cody kinda possessed jack near the end in this one #sorry NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 6.7k
notes: fully inspired by that one tumblr post that's like "you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up" "you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" this was a fun challenge and i love shawn hatosy's teeth i am so sad he's straightened them. self indulgent as always u'll start seeing a trend with my kinks soon. not proofread so proceed at your own risk
—
When you think back on this situation, you always wonder how you ended up here. And the answer is simple. You were desperate.
You must have done something evil in a past life because your landlord had decided to sell his place with no notice, which left you and other roommates with two weeks to find a new place to live before he evicted all of you. You remember spending countless sleepless nights scouring the internet, meeting random people, seeing random apartments.
That’s how you met Jack and Michael.
It was another roommate interview; they seemed nice, both in med school or something so they wouldn’t be home much, they said. Their apartment was scarily clean for two guys, but Jack assured you that he was a self proclaimed clean freak and it was always like this. Michael just said not to go into his room and you would be fine, which you didn’t really want to think about further.
They used to have a third roommate, they explained, but he wasn’t really taking to residency all that well and moved back home. Although the way Michael told the story seemed casual, the implication was glaring. You could read between the lines. They needed someone to take over his lease, and fast.
Considering the fact that the last two girls you met said your chakras were misaligned and that they could fix that if you paid them, coupled with the fact that you were about three days out from being homeless, you decided to take a chance on Jack and Michael. How bad could living with two guys be?
That was months ago. Now?
You wish you paid those girls to realign your chakras and moved into their apartment. Sure, the boys’ apartment was nice. It wasn’t living with boys that was the issue. They were telling the truth; Jack really always kept it clean and the pair of them were always at the hospital, so they were barely around.
It’s when they were around that was the issue.
Or, more specifically, when Jack was around. Robby, as he told you to call him a few weeks into you living there, was nice enough. He was polite and funny, humor just dry enough to be endearing. He always had a few girls coming in and out when he wasn’t working or knocked out from his shift, but that was neither here nor there for you.
Jack, on the other hand, was driving you up the wall. Your niceties had fizzled out in exactly two weeks, ending when you got into an argument about something so small, you can’t even remember it now.
And that was that. After that fight, you were always butting heads whenever you were together, always about the dumbest things. It’s reached the point where you two can barely be in a room together without getting into it. You know Robby had been trying to mediate over the past few months, but to no avail. Nowadays, he just tries his best to not pull his hair out.
Like today.
“How many times have I asked you to stop slamming doors?” Jack snaps as you exit your room. He’s seated next to Robby at the bar, who’s tucking into his bowl of cereal and looking like he's praying that no one drags him into this conversation. They're both still in their pyjamas, Jack’s curls still mussed from sleep.
“Well, good morning to you too, Jack,” You sigh, not even looking in his direction as you make your way into the kitchen on the opposite side of the bar. Pulling open the fridge, you ponder making a smoothie just to see if it’ll piss him off some more. “Glad to see a full night of rest hasn't removed the stick from your ass.”
You can see Robby white knuckling his spoon out of the corner of your eye, but he remains silent. Jack scoffs, using his fork to angrily gesture in the direction of your bedroom.
“Last I remembered, there was only one of us here not working twelve hour shifts at a hospital. I’d like a little sleep before I have to listen to you talk all day.” He looks to his right, presumably to have Robby to back him up, but he’s already left his bowl in the sink and is slinking away from the conversation.
“Tsk, tsk, Doctor Abbot. Someone needs to work on their bedside manner,” Shaking your head at him, you can tell that he’s already annoyed, face twisted up as your words. You decide, yeah, the blender probably will piss Jack off, and start pulling out some fruit. “Don’t they teach you that in medical school?”
“I’ve got one of the highest patient satisfaction ratings of the department,” He shoots back, a barely concealed brag. Not that it mattered that much to you, but he was clearly proud of the fact anyways. “I just save it for people that actually listen to the words that come out of my mouth. You-”
It seems comical, the timing, really. You toss the last of the fruit into the blender and switch it on, effectively cutting him off and punctuating his point. You watch his eyes furrow and you were totally right, the blender absolutely does piss him off. You mime something about not being able to hear him, sorry! and he rolls his eyes, conceding. Jack always did, if it was before eleven in the morning. Still too tired from his shift to get under your skin properly, you assumed. He grabs his plate and his coffee mug in a huff, heading into Robby’s room, no doubt to complain about you behind your back.
You shut the blender off once he leaves, the loud whirring slowing to a stop. You remember a time that you imagined yourself getting along with both of them, falling into your place at the apartment like their missing puzzle piece. But there was just something about Jack that just pushed all your buttons. He was just a pain in the ass.
A really handsome, really annoying, cherub-faced pain in the ass.
—
Robby likes to think of himself as a patient man.
The emergency room teaches you that. Taking a step back. Pausing, being objective. Being able to make the decisions that need to be made.
And right now, a decision definitely needed to be made. Robby was living in a psychological warzone.
He remembers when he and Jack were deliberating on who to choose to take over their spare room. It was between you and some guy who looked like he ate cigarettes for every meal; Robby can’t even remember his name now. Jack had said that they should pick you — even said you were cute.
This was one of the few instances in the time that he had known Jack that he had regretted listening to him.
“And she just-” Jack’s got his plate teetering on his knee, coffee mug still in his hand as he gestures angrily for no reason in particular. You’ve really worked him up this morning and now Robby is dealing with the consequences.
“Geez, man,” Robby can’t help but snap, cutting him off. Lately it’s been endless, Jack’s complaining. It feels like he starts and ends every day listening to Jack bitch and moan about their roommate, and it’s driving him up the wall. “You ever think about cooling it a little? Maybe extending an olive branch or something?”
“An olive branch? For what? I didn’t do anything.” His comment has clearly caught Jack off guard, eyes falling to his plate as he pushes the remaining remnants of his breakfast around.
“It’s not about you doing something. It’s about you two getting along,” Robby explains with a sigh. He knows that Jack knows better than this, but there was just something about the situation that made him see red. Something about you. “A little peace around here would be nice, you know?”
“You should tell her that.” Jack gives up pretending to eat and sets his plate aside. Robby can feel the anxious energy radiating off of him; his leg shaking the bed, the angry tap, tap, tap of his nails against the ceramic of his coffee mug. He reaches out and places a hand on his thigh to steady him. The shaking stops instantly.
“You gotta figure this shit out,” Robby says, attempting to toe the line between stern and empathetic. He thinks it might just be coming off as tired, though. “Whatever issue you guys have, you guys need to solve that shit.”
Jack stiffens under his touch when the words leave his mouth and Robby kicks himself. For some reason, he keeps forgetting just how stubborn his best friend is.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Jack replies flatly. That kills the conversation and he collects his things and leaves Robby’s room, leaving him alone in some well needed silence.
Robby decides needs a new approach.
He tries his best to stick it out for the next few days, waiting until his next off day rolls around. Jack, on the other hand, is working that day which presents the perfect opportunity for Robby to appeal to your better nature instead.
He’s leaning on the counter, watching you put your groceries in the fridge. Over the time that you’ve been living together, you and Robby have learned to grow comfortable in the silence in the apartment. You’ll sit together on the couch, reading a book while he studies without saying a word. It’s grounding for him, like a familiar blanket. At least, that’s when Jack isn’t around.
Robby is finally pulled out of his thoughts when he notices you staring at him, hand on your hip. You’ve got an eyebrow raised, like you just asked him a question that he took far too long to reply to.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Robby shakes his head, trying to focus on you once more. “I was, uh, zoned out.”
“I just said you’ve been looking at me all weird,” You reply, hand dropping from your hip. You approach him slowly, laying a hand on his arm. You seemed concerned, which was sweet. He’s always wondered where the part of you that got Jack all riled up went when he wasn’t around. “Are you okay?”
“No, not really,” He says with a sigh, taking a step back out of your space. He takes a deep breath, wondering how exactly to explain this to you. He doesn’t want to misstep like he did with Jack; then he’d really be screwed. “It’s about you and Jack.”
“What about us?” Your curiosity is piqued but Robby can see that you’ve stiffened just at the mention of his name.
“Look, I get that you and Jack hate each other or whatever,” He runs a hand through his hair, deciding that the best course of action was to just be honest. Whatever happens after that is out of his hands. “But the arguing is driving me insane. Would you be able to maybe take it down a notch when I’m around? And when I’m not, you can kill him for all I care.”
“I think you would definitely care if I murdered Jack,” You say with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. You two stand in silence for a moment. Tense, not the comfortable kind that Robby is used to. He can see your eyes flicking around as you think, taking in his words. And then your posture softens. “But you’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Oh great,” He heaves a sigh of relief, taking a seat at the bar. You watch him, the curious look in your eye replaced with something that might even resemble sympathy. “I asked Jack the same thing and he nearly bit my head off.”
“You thought I would react worse than Jack?” You look at him sadly, hand splayed over your heart in mock hurt. “I’m wounded, Michael.”
He rolls his eyes and you’re back in the kitchen, bent over and rustling through the fridge. He watches you gather ingredients, pushing around and looking for the things that you need. He taps his finger on the counter, suspicious.
“Is that really it?” He asks and you turn around, arms full. You shrug as you start placing things on the counter, gesturing for Robby to help you with a nod of your head. He quickly stands up, setting down whatever remained.
“I could make more of a scene, if you like,” You pull out the cutting board and knife from below the counter, shooting him a look from the corner of your eye. “But I thought I’d make you an ‘I’m-sorry-I-get-into-fights-with-your-best-friend’ dinner instead.”
Robby lights up at that. He and Jack always cook for themselves, but your food always looks a million times better than theirs. Probably because once they get home from their shifts they only have the energy to make boxed mac and cheese before falling asleep on the couch, bowls still in their laps.
So yes, Robby will jump at the chance to eat some food that doesn’t come out of a box and doesn’t involve any powdered cheese.
You’re standing side by side when Jack walks in; Robby is chopping vegetables and you’re throwing everything together in a pot. Your shoulders are brushing —the kitchen you share is too small not to, especially at Robby’s size.
Robby glances up from the cutting board, ready to greet Jack, when he sees the look on his face. It’s twisted up in something… something Robby can’t really place. He’s frowning, eyes scanning the scene in front of him. Before he can open his mouth to say hello, Jack stomps off to his room, hand clutching the strap of his go-bag tightly. The door slams behind him and Robby finally looks in your direction. You’re looking equally as confused as he feels.
“What the hell is up with him?” You ask, going back to what you were doing before Jack’s abrupt arrival. He guesses that you were used to this kind of behaviour; Jack being all prickly towards you. Robby however, was not. He sneaks another glance at Jack’s closed door, brows furrowed.
“Bad shift, maybe?” He tries to supply. You just shrug in response.
He knows that it’s something else.
—
After that dinner the fighting only gets worse.
You’ve been making Robby a lot of I’m sorry dinners, which is a plus. But the hostile living situation is definitely a negative.
He knows you’ve been trying to keep it down but it seems like you can’t even enter a room without Jack getting irritated with you these days. He’s tried to talk to him about it a grand total of once, and Jack snarls at him to ‘just leave it’ in a tone he’s never heard before, so he has.
But it’s driving Robby insane. He wants to eat a meal, sit on the couch, and study in peace. It’s reaching the point where he’s wondering if he’s going to have to physically separate you. The fights have been escalating; you two have been crowding each other’s space, all gnashing teeth and pointed jabs to the chest.
Right now he’s laying in bed, listening to you two argue through the wall. He doesn’t even know what it’s about. In fact, he never really knows what they’re about. They always start off about something insignificant and then escalate into the grudges that you two are holding against each other. It seems like the fights never end, one of you always storming out before you ever come to a resolution.
Robby is sure that you could probably talk out your differences if you bothered to actually have a conversation about it without one of you stomping away. In fact, he’d put money on it.
He listens to a few more shouts and a particularly loud door slam and something in him finally breaks.
He decides to put his money where his mouth is.
—
You’re enjoying a rare moment to yourself, curled up on the couch under a blanket with a book in hand when Robby’s voice rings through the living room.
“The sink in the bathroom is doing that weird thing again.”
Motherfucker.
You tilt your head back with a groan, slamming your book shut. The sink in the bathroom had been crapping out on you guys for as long as you remember and for some reason, you were the only person who could jiggle the handle just right to get it working again.
“Can’t a girl get a moment to herself here?” You sigh, pulling off the blanket dramatically. Robby just shrugs, eyeing you as you put your book down. There’s something in his gaze you can’t place, a bit distant. It’s easy to assume it’s all the fighting with Jack.
You promised to try to be nicer to him, but he just keeps goading you into petty arguments. It’s not hard to tell that it’s driving a wedge between the three of you. Tensions have been high in the apartment lately and you’ve noticed that Robby has elected to spend more time away, presumably with one of his many girlfriends.
Robby turns around wordlessly, not even checking to see if you’re following. It unnerves you a bit; he’s usually always down to rib with you and he never ignores you. Worrying your lip, you drop the nonchalant act and trail behind him in the direction of your bathroom. He pauses at the doorframe, waiting for you to catch up.
You approach him, wanting to ask if everything is okay, when he grabs you by the arm. It’s not rough and you wouldn’t expect it to be; Robby would never hurt you. However, his grip and the element of surprise are enough to allow him to haul you into the bathroom. You barely get a word out before the door shuts behind you.
You blink in shock, taking a moment to realize what exactly is happening to you.
Jack is standing in front of you, the same look of shock mirrored on his face. The sight of him has you whirling on your heels, grabbing the door handle. It doesn’t give —something is jamming the handle, effectively locking you in the bathroom. The bathroom you share, that’s about the size of a closet. Locked in with the guy that makes your blood boil.
For more reason than one.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” You hear Jack’s gruff voice from behind you but you deign to ignore it, choosing to bang against the door instead.
“Robby!” You shout, still rapping your fist against the door. You know that he can hear you; the walls and doors in this place are paper thin. Jack’s gaze is hot on your back and you can imagine his arms are crossed, ready to see what you’ll do next. “Let us out!”
“No,” You can hear his voice loud and clear through the wood. He must be standing right in front of the door on the other side, staring at the chipped white paint. His voice is serious, flat in a way you’ve never heard before. “You guys aren’t coming out until you’re best friends. I can’t deal with the bickering anymore. Either figure it out, or enjoy living in the bathroom together. Forever.”
Then you hear his footsteps, the sound of them peetering away. Which means you really are stuck in here for the time being.
You turn to face Jack with a deep sigh. You were right; his arms are crossed over his chest, looking as cool and collected as he always does before he starts pushing all your buttons. You two just look at each other for a moment, soaking everything in. He breaks the silence first. “How did he lure you in here?”
“He told me the sink was broken again.” You mutter, shifting uncomfortably in place and leaning your back against the door. The two of you stand at opposite ends of the bathroom, but the distance doesn’t feel nearly far enough.
You know that Robby is right. The two of you are constantly at each other’s throats for no reason. You run a hand over your face, annoyed that you’ve found yourself in a situation as dumb as this. As tragic as it is, you realize that this is probably the longest the two of you have gone without arguing in a long time.
“Robby is right. We need to stop.” Jack says, as if he can read your mind. You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. That’s rich coming from him. He’s the one constantly provoking you, pushing you until you’re the one who’s fuming when he walks into the room.
“You’re one to talk,” You reply, deciding to confront him. It’s what Robby wanted, right? For you to talk it out? You weren’t sure it would lead anywhere but it didn’t really seem like your third roommate was letting you out anytime soon. “Robby told me that he already asked you to stop and you chewed him out for it.”
“I did not chew him out,” Jack denies, shaking his head in disbelief. You can already feel anger bubbling up just from his dismissive tone. “You and Robby are best friends now, huh?”
“Yeah, that's kind of what happens when your third roommate is a gigantic asshole.” You spit back. So much for not arguing. It's getting hard to keep your annoyance under wraps, especially with the wounds of your last million fights still raw.
“Oh, please. I was his friend first, way before you came along,” Jack takes a step forward like he wants to pace but quickly realizes he doesn't have enough room without getting closer to you and pauses. He opts for rocking back on his heels instead. “It’s your fault we’re even in this situation in the first place.”
“My fault? Are you listening to yourself?” You laugh incredulously, dropping all pretenses that this could even be a normal conversation anymore. “You sound like a child. I’ve tried my best to be nice to you! How is this my fault?”
“Yeah, it’s your fucking fault!” This time he’s brave enough to take a step forward, probably more out of frustration than anything else. “You call that being nice? Getting into fights with me? Getting all friendly with Robby?”
“Is this what this is about?” You’ve caught him in a weird spot and he knows it, running a hand through his auburn curls. His brow furrows but you cut him off before he can shoot back a response. “Robby? Is that why you’ve been acting extra annoying since that night you saw us making dinner a few weeks ago?”
“It's not about him,” He grunts, jaw tensing. You can see that he’s holding back whatever he wants to say by his taut shoulders as he speaks. “It's about you.”
“About me? I don't understand what your problem with me is, or why you think this is my fault-”
“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” Jack cuts you off, and the room goes dead silent. You two are close now, like both of you were taking subconscious steps towards each other as you fought. It was always like that —when you had these fights it always ended up with you crowding each other's spaces. This time was no exception.
But the size of the bathroom makes it feel different. You can almost feel his breath from the quick rise and fall of his chest, pulse racing from the argument. Your breath matches his, coming out in short huffs. You’ve got each other all riled up and you can see something flash in his eyes.
Then it clicks.
“You want to fuck me, don't you?” You can see from his reaction that you’ve got it right on the nose. He takes a step back, the bluntness of your statement pulling him out of the stupor of anger he was in.
“What?” He recoils like the thought of it is physically repulsive. You try not to take too much offense from that, especially because you know that it’s all for show. The heat of the tension between you two has shattered and you give a smug smirk, teeth almost bared.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” You’re taunting him now, but after everything that he put you through it only seems fair. You can’t help but laugh out loud as you continue. “Little Jackie’s got a crush on me? That’s why he’s pushing me on the playground?”
“Don’t call me that.” The timbre of his voice is low, egging you along. “You wish. I hate you.”
“Oh, yeah? How much?” You press. Jack’s gained more confidence and he’s back in your space. Even though you’re holding the cards, taunting him with a crush, you still feel like prey. He’s circling you like a shark without even moving. His eyes are on you as he backs you up against the door.
He still hasn’t answered your empty threat. You can feel his body heat even through your clothes and it makes your breath catch. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jack, and you see a whisper of a smile on his lips. Any proverbial cards you had in your hands just moments before have fluttered to the ground. Jack has caught you and you both notice, and the idea of that has Jack looking at you like the cat who got the cream.
You’re fully pressed against the door now, almost forehead to forehead. His hands hover between the two of you, like he’s unsure of if he’s actually allowed to touch you or not. You finally grow the courage to look up at him and meet his eyes, your noses brushing as you do. He takes that as permission and moves his hands towards you, resting loose at your waist.
It’s hard to breathe, much less think. You can smell Jack’s body wash from this distance and it has your brain short circuiting. He’s close enough to see every reaction and he drags a hand up your side slowly, fingertips skimming.
It travels up the expanse of your body and pauses at your neck, his fingers tightening for a moment. His grip isn’t firm but it’s enough to make your eyes flutter. Jack rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest and his hand continues it’s journey upwards, thumb settling on your bottom lip. He swipes across it slowly and it makes your heart stutter.
Fuck it.
Your mouth parts slowly and you take his digit into your mouth, lips closing around it. Jack presses even closer to you, chest to chest. His eyes have been locked on yours the entire time and they stay that way, even as his other hand moves to slip into your sleep shorts.
He’s got his hand cupped over your panties but you know he can feel how wet you are, even through the fabric. He finally lets the smirk take over his face, pressing his thumb into your mouth further. His fingers trail across the dampness of your underwear, sickly slow.
“This all for me?” He asks, cocky, and it’s pretty annoying when the shoe is on the other foot. “You get wet when I tell you I hate you? When we fight?”
His fingers are still moving slowly, making your mind foggy. Or maybe that’s just your excuse for when you look up at him dumbly, nodding. He seems satisfied with that answer, dipping in past the lacy waistband of your panties. His breath hitches when gets a finger between your folds and feels that you’re absolutely dripping in anticipation. You’ve got half a mind to tease him about it, but he pushes a finger in and the thought suddenly vanishes from your mind.
The finger on your lips moves down again, landing on your throat once more. He’s only a knuckle deep when he pauses, cocking his head. The hand around your neck gives a small squeeze, and your pussy flutters around nothing at the sensation. You let out a small moan, heat rushing up to your face in both arousal and embarrassment. “Think I didn’t notice, huh? How much you liked it?”
Before you can answer he slides in the rest of the way, leaving you speechless. The pace he sets is slow and deep, making your knees buckle. You’re gripping onto his annoyingly thick arms and his breath is ghosting your face. You can tell he’s holding back, eyes flickering from your lips to the hand down your shorts.
You don’t wait for him to make up his mind. Surging upwards, you catch his lips in yours, pulling him close by his shirt. The moment breaks the dam —all the months of pent up frustration and fights seared into a bruising kiss. He wastes no time, licking desperately into your mouth as he works you open with his hand. You’re mewling, sliding your lips against his as you whimper, slick with spit.
He’s got his leg slotted between your thighs and you can feel how hard he is, even through the layer of his denim jeans. He groans quietly under his breath, grinding against you as he fucks you with his fingers. The noise is obscene —you’re so wet that the sound of it reverberates through the bathroom every time his digits enter you.
It’s embarrassing, really, the way that you’re basically riding his fingers. Your hips are chasing the sensation and he gives another groan at the sight. He’s still got his hand wrapped around your throat and his brow is furrowed with pleasure, obsessed with the way he has you just falling apart for him.
The look on his face is getting you close, like he’s pissed that he gave into you but he wants to take you apart so damn bad he just can’t resist. He tightens his grip and hits that spot inside you just right and you can’t help the strangled whine that leaves your mouth as you tighten around him, cumming on his hand way too loudly for you two to keep what you’re doing a secret.
He’a got his hand out of your shorts now and he’s moved them both to pull your tank top down, exposing your chest. His breathing picks up and runs his hands up your body, rough skin on your sensitive nipples as he grabs at you, rough. Jack leans in for another bruising kiss, but you only get a short moment to savour it before he's got you by the hair, twisting you around and bending you over the counter.
The force of it has everything on the counter rattle, the tall bottle of lotion you keep in the bathroom toppling over. You recover and stumble to push yourself to your elbows, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look absolutely fucked out, hair disheveled, lips pink and swollen, looking at yourself all glassy eyed. Then your eyes flick back to take a look at Jack, who’s rutting his bulge into the clothed heat of your cunt.
The sight almost makes you cum again on the spot. His lids are hooded, mouth hanging half open in pleasure as he moves against you. He’s still got a hand woven into your hair and his eyes flutter open in a way you can only describe as pretty as he takes in your state through the mirror. His grip disappears and he pulls off his shirt, the piece of clothing landing on the ridge of the bathtub behind you as he tosses it. You can’t even get out a quip before he’s yanking your shorts down, taking your panties down with them.
Even though he just had his fingers in you moments ago, you still feel embarrassed with how exposed you are for him. If he notices the way you get shy, he doesn’t comment, hands drifting to undo his belt buckle instead. You mewl as he steps out of his jeans, hard cock slapping against his stomach. You’re almost drooling to get your mouth around it and he laughs at the look on your face.
“Yeah? Are you sure you’re not the one that wants to fuck me? ‘Cause it seems like you’re a minute away from begging for it.” He pumps his length loosely with one hand, lips curled into a smirk as his fingertips of the other skid up the side of your thigh. The touch has your pussy fluttering, and you’re hoping that he can’t see the way your legs are shaking. You can see the glimmer of precome gathered at his tip and you lick your lips.
“Fuck you.” You say through gritted teeth, although it comes off much less intimidating as you would like since you’re bent over and at his mercy. He lets out another laugh at your expense, not bothering to say anything else while he lines himself up at your entrance.
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” You’re already slick from his fingers, so he pushes in rough and fast, both of you groaning as he sheathes himself fully inside of you. It pushes you to your toes, punching a breath from your chest. You can tell that this is going to be quick and dirty, and you brace your hands on the counter in anticipation.
You were right. He pulls out slowly and you shiver at the sensation, then he slams back into you so hard that you can’t help but yelp. You spare a glance up at his face and you can tell that he fucking loved that, so he keeps that pace, rough and slow.
“Fuck, Jack…” You sound strung out as you moan his name, hips bucking as you try to get him to speed up, go deeper, anything. You’ve already come to terms with the fact that you’ve definitely lost this argument but then one of his big hands presses into your back, pressing you against the counter and you can’t really bring yourself to care. The other grips your shoulder and it’s like he can read your mind.
Jack starts fucking into you without abandon, chasing his high. It’s rough and the slap of skin on skin bounces off the tile, which only serves to make you even more wet. You’re pretty sure you’re just mumbling nonsense now, too focused on how deep Jack is inside of you to put together a coherent sentence. Jack’s getting loud too, the hand on your back snaking down to grab at your hip, pulling you back into him as he thrusts.
“Would’ve done this a lot earlier if I knew how easily I could shut you up.” He manages to get out, in between low groans and short breaths. You want to defend yourself, you really do, but he pulls you back on him and plunges in particularly deep, making your eyes cross, and your voice dies in your throat. Jack’s fucking you brainless, that much you can’t deny. You’re whining as the heat in your stomach spreads, cunt tightening as Jack fucks into you even rougher.
You know he feels it when he lets out a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously close to your name, hips stuttering. Then you feel a tight yank on your scalp, forcing your head upwards. You can barely keep still as Jack continues to move, head bobbing even with his grip on your hair.
“Look at me.” He says, gruff and deep, and you clench around him at the sound. It takes way too much effort to open your eyes, motions slow like molasses. You clearly take far too long for Jack’s liking, pulling harder on your hair as he repeats himself. Finally, your eyes flutter open, and you’re so close to the mirror that your breath fogs the glass. Your mouth is wide open in a silent moan, eyes almost crossed. Another rough tug reminds you what he asked for, and you drag your gaze up to meet Jack’s.
His hazel eyes are dark with lust, hair stamped to his forehead in sweat. A smirk spreads across his face when he notices that you’ve obeyed, finally looking at him. The way he has your hair in an iron grip has your back arching and his cock is hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. You can tell that he’s approaching his high just as fast as you are; his thrusts are growing sloppy and you almost can’t hear your small mewls over all the noise he’s making.
“Look at me when you cum.” He growls as he notices your eyes drifting as your orgasm approaches. It’s not a question. It’s a demand. Your eyes snap back to his and he’s already looking at you, eyes watching your face contort in pleasure. Locking eyes, he slides a hand in between your legs to work your clit, already slick from just how turned on you are by the whole ordeal. He’s rubbing tight circles around it and everything comes crashing down.
You cum so hard around his cock that you can’t even tell if you kept the eye contact he asked for, your vision going white. You’re also pretty sure your knees give out, but Jack keeps you steady with a hand around your waist as he keeps his pace going. You whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm, nerves alight, when he pulls out with a loud groan. He gives a few rough pumps, made easy with your cum practically dripping off of his dick, and you have the pleasure of watching him come undone, coating your ass with ropes of cum.
Jack braces his hand on the counter, knuckles tightening with one last shudder of his body. You two stay that way for a moment, catching your breath. The silence is deafening as you try to think through the synchronised pants that you two share. You’re not sure how many minutes pass until he straightens up, grabbing a towel hanging off the back of the door. He begins to clean you off, gentle in a way that you didn’t expect from him, and you decide that this probably isn’t the best time to tell him that he’s using Robby’s towel.
Once he’s done, he tosses it into the laundry bin in the corner and pulls up his briefs and jeans. You turn around as he approaches you once more, worrying your lip. You’re trying to think of something to say when Jack bends down, pulling your shorts and panties back up to your waist. He fiddles with the waistband of your shorts for a second before moving onto your tank, tugging the straps back up your shoulders and covering your chest once more.
You two are close again, but this time it lacks any of the anger and heat that it did before. Jack’s still got a finger tangled in your tank top strap, leaning closer into your space, noses brushing once more. You think he opens his mouth to say something, but the door swings open and interrupts him before he can start.
“That was probably a million times worse than listening to you guys argue,” Robby says, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, the door still held open with the palm of his hand. “Can I ask you guys to go back to fighting instead?”
THE PITT 2.08: 2:00 P.M.
Dancing in the Dark - Part 1
One thing you can count on in this crazy world: @dilfrobinavitch and her talent for beautiful mood boards!
Status: In Progess
Summary: A newly transferred trauma resident finds herself irresistibly drawn to her sharp-tongued, charismatic night-shift chief, Dr. Jack Abbot — a widower with a reputation for emotional unavailability. After months of flirtation, they finally give in to their chemistry, only for the night to end in heartbreak when he whispers another woman’s name in his sleep. Determined to stay professional, she’s blindsided when she’s promoted to work directly under him — just as the woman from his past arrives at the hospital. Now she must navigate ambition, jealousy, and lingering feelings while deciding if Jack is worth the risk.
Word Count: 3.4k
Author's Note: It's Jack's turn. If you'd like to be removed from the taglist just shoot me a message. :) *hits Post Now* *runs*
A03 Link: thegingerjameson
Jack Abbot is the bane of your existence.
He’s also the reason for the butterflies that show up in your stomach at the beginning and end of every single one of your shifts.
Unfortunately, the two things are not mutually exclusive.
The first time you’d laid eyes on him was at the end of your first shift at Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center just over six months ago. After almost fifteen years as an RN in your hometown of Chicago you’d decided, late in the game, to head to medical school, followed by two years in emergency medicine at a hospital in Philadelphia before transferring to the recently opened resident slot in the trauma center at Allegheny General for your final year. You’d completed your undergrad at UPenn and had always loved the vibrancy of both Philly and Pittsburg, so finding - and getting - the role had felt like a stroke of luck.
After a grueling 11 hours - more due to the struggle to become familiar with your new surroundings than any of the patients you’d seen that day - your boss and day shift Chief Attending, Dr. Robby, had called you over to introduce you to the night shift Chief Attending, and there he was.
“Dr. Jack Abbot,” he’d grinned, offering you a fist bump that you returned on impulse. “Welcome to the Pitt, soldier.”
“Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Pleasure to be here.”
“Give it time,” he deadpanned
“Christ, Jack, it’s her first day. Please don’t scare her away,” Dr. Robby groaned.
“Not my intention. She seems cool. Completely lacking in existential crises.”
“Don’t let appearances fool you, Dr. Abbot. I plan to go home post-shift and debate my life choices with a bottle of tequila.”
Jack raised an amused eyebrow at you, then turned to Robby. “A woman after my own heart. Can I keep her?”
“You are a walking HR violation. Also, no poaching.” Dr. Robby crossed his arms across his chest as if to emphasize his point.
“No promises.” Jack grinned over Dr. Robby’s shoulder at you.
That was all it took.
Well, that, and the adorably crooked smile, silver curls, gorgeous green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, quick wit, and the solid, competent way he carried himself. During handoff that night you’d glanced surreptitiously at his left hand only to find a solid gold band resting on his ring finger.
Of course.
The unfortunate fact of the matter was, however, that your crush had continued, seemingly spurred on by the delicious, angst-inducing state of his unavailable-ness, because apparently the agony of unrequited affection was deeply your jam. Who knew?
Shift changes had become your favorite parts of the day, when you’d get to walk the halls of the Pitt with Jack discussing cases. You’d save up patient and intern stories over the hours, collecting them to share during those few treasured moments. After a while, he started seeking you out to hear your latest anecdote or amusing intern fail of the day and it made your cheeks warm and your heart stutter every single time. And the nights when he’d accidentally graze your elbow or your shoulder with his? Game over.
Once, he’d teasingly thumb-wrestled you for rights to the last donut in the break room, and you stand by the fact that time had briefly stopped when his hand grasped yours.
God help you, you had it bad.
Dana Evans, the day shift charge nurse, quickly became one of your closest friends. She also missed absolutely nothing. The woman had the senses of a hawk circling its prey.
“So. Abbot, huh?” she’d grinned wolfishly at you one night over drinks at Lefty’s, the nearby watering hole for hospital staff post-shift.
“What about him?” you’d asked casually, but you could feel the telltale blush creeping up into your face.
“He’s easy on the eyes.” She peered over at you knowingly and you immediately caved, because it was Dana; she was your friend, but even if she hadn’t been, she had clearly already figured it out.
Please don’t tell anyone,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It is mortifying having a crush on a married man.”
“Jack’s not married,” Dana said simply, and your heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Jack’s a lot of things. Widower, ex-Army, serial “one-and-done”, but he’s definitely not married.”
Widower. So that’s why he still wore his ring.
“What happened?”
Dana’s expression turned somber. “She tripped over a laundry basket and fell down the stairs. She managed to call for help but they lived closer to UPMC at the time, so the ambo took her there. She bled to death internally while they focused solely on checking her for TBI.”
“Jesus,” you whispered.
“The man blames himself. He didn’t get there until it was too late to correct them.”
You paused to let the information sink in. “How long ago?”
Dana’s face scrunched up in thought. “Almost two years now? They were married for six before that. Love of his life, Natalie. Watching Jack live through that broke my heart.”
Dana’s reference to Jack’s wife landed like a physical blow, and the thought ran through your head before you could stop it: If he’s already met, and lost, the love of his life, what chance do I have at ever being important to him?
You immediately chastised yourself internally for being a thoughtless, insensitive, self-serving asshole and asked, “Also, what the hell is a ‘one-and-done’?”
“He never makes it past one date, or one night.” Dana shrugged, then smiled slyly. “Maybe you can change that.”
You grabbed a pretzel from the basket between you on the table and launched it at her. “Hilarious.”
“No, I mean it. Kid could use someone like you in his life. He’s overdue for some sunshine.”
“That would involve him noticing me as anything more than a colleague,” you’d sighed.
But the idea had already grown roots.
A few days later, Jack was grabbing coffee in the break room when you arrived for your shift, and he’d asked you if you were going to join the Pitt’s softball team.
“We have a softball team?”
“Yeah, we play once a year against Presby. Rivalry and team building at its finest. Plus, there’s beer.” He paused to sip his coffee and casually leaned back against the counter. “You ever play?”
“When I was a kid, but it’s been a long time since I’ve held a bat.” You immediately kick yourself for the fact that it sounds like you’re not interested, but thankfully, he persists.
“That makes you more qualified than most the team.”
You shoved the rest of your stuff into your locker and kicked it shut with a loud bang.
“Well then. Put me in, coach.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at you with a corresponding smirk. “Too bad we’re not playing soccer.”
The game the following Friday night against Presby, your natural - and biggest - rivals, had been preceded by an insane amount of shit-talking by both teams. When Trinity Santos, one of the interns, had commented - anonymous and untraceable thanks to a questionable background in IT - on one of Presby’s Chief Attending’s Instagram posts “Presby ED loves riding the pine and taking balls to the face”, hospital administration had hauled the entire Pitt staff into a mandatory HR meeting on appropriately representing the hospital on social media.
Jack had beamed at Trinity like a proud father the entire time.
The night of the game, you’d made your way across the street with the rest of the day shift; those of you who weren’t playing were joining to cheer the team on. It was a gorgeous, heady, late August night, full of mosquitos and the clean smell of grass and infectious, electric energy. Jack, along with Dr. Shen, had both taken the night off, and as impromptu coach Jack had put you out in right field. You held your own even despite the copious amounts of beer you’d been plied with throughout the game, catching an easy pop fly to end the 3rd inning and a wicked grounder you’d whipped to Jack at first base that had kept Presby from loading the bases in the 5th. He’d turned to you after the play with an impressed look and mimed shaking out the hand that held his mitt.
“Didn’t know you were packing heat, hotshot. You were holding out on me,” he called.
You mock-curtsied, then yelled back, “Can’t reveal all my secrets, Abbot. Gotta make you work for it.”
He cocked an eyebrow at that, his gaze lingering for longer than a moment before he turned back to prepare for the next batter, and your entire body warmed at the unexpected look in his eyes.
After you’d beat Presby 8-2, the group had headed to Lefty’s for celebratory drinks that turned into too many rounds of shots to count, purchased mostly by Dr. Robby and Jack. When you headed to the bathroom, Jack had followed discreetly, pressed you up against the wall, and kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. He tasted like scotch and the peppermint of his gum and he’d hissed when, emboldened by all the alcohol, you’d slid your hands under his shirt to drag your nails across his back.
“Come home with me,” he’d whispered gruffly as his tongue traced the column of your throat, until his mouth on yours rendered you incapable of forming words and all you could do was nod.
Finally, every cell in your body screamed.
It was the best - and most athletic- sex of your entire 43 years of life.
Afterward, nuzzling his lips against your temple, half-drunk and half-asleep, he’d whispered before passing out, “Love you, Livvie.”
Which was most certainly not your name.
Whatever you’d tentatively hoped might have been building came crashing down around you instantly.
Still, as an adult, you were no stranger to drunken hookups, so you carefully recalibrated your feelings, extricated yourself from his bed, and called an Uber so you wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame in the daylight hours. You knew that spending the rest of the night wrapped in his arms and in his bed wasn’t going to do your heart any favors.
You hoped that Jack hadn’t caught the death glare from Dana when he’d arrived for the night shift the next day and pulled you aside almost immediately.
“Hey, so…” he’d trailed off, running a hand through his curls. “Are you okay? I woke up in the middle of the night and you weren’t there.”
You smiled, too brightly. “I’m good! Just, you know. Early shift and all. Thought I might sleep better in my own bed.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours. “Listen-“
You’d cut him off before he could tell you regretted last night, before he could take away the one perfect memory you’d ever have of the two of you together.
“Jack, it’s good. We’re good. Adults and professionals and all that.” You waved a hand in an effort to emphasize your point.
“Okay,” he said slowly, hesitantly, so you fell back on humor to diffuse the situation.
“Unless you’re secretly in love with me, of course.”
His eyes widened in shock and you let him squirm for a moment before you burst out laughing.
“Holy shit, Jack, the look on your face.”
“Christ,” he muttered, but then he was laughing too, and the tension was gone from the air, and if you couldn’t have him, at least you could still have this.
“We’re good, Jack.”
“Okay.” He holds out his hands, offering you a double fist bump that you return. “Let’s round then, hotshot.”
I finally slept Jack Abbot and his response was to hit me with “the talk” followed by double fist bump. Jesus Christ.
One-and-done, indeed.
“He’s such a fuckboy,” Dana had said with disgust once you filled her in, and the unexpected Gen Z slang coming out of her mouth made you laugh so hard that tears started to run down your cheeks. Dennis Whitaker, another one of the younger interns, approached the Central Desk as he peeled off the gown and gloves he’d been wearing while attending to a head laceration in the room across the way.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just used ‘fuckboy’ in a sentence,” Dana told him proudly.
“Oh shit,” he grinned at her conspiratorially. “Who’s a fuckboy?”
“Abbot.”
“Definitely a fuckboy,” Whitaker nodded. “Usage deemed appropriate.”
“He’s got rizz, what can I say?” Dana shrugged.
“Oh my God Dennis, you have to stop teaching Dana Gen Z slang,” you wheezed.
Trinity Santos sauntered over from her charting to join the conversation. “He most certainly does not. We’re on a mission. Yesterday Dr. Robby told me, and I quote, “I think I’m just a walking beige flag” and I almost pissed myself laughing.”
“You kids are trouble,” you said, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m weak. No cap.”
Whitaker and Santos turned to grin at each other.
“Now you’re getting it,” Trinity crowed. You wanted to fist bump her, but you refrained.
You’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.
Things went back to normal after that, with you admiring Jack from afar while living for those moments between shifts when you’d banter and laugh and exchange inside jokes and when you could pretend that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than a colleague to him someday.
Then, not even two months later, Heather Collins, the senior resident on the night shift, put in her notice; she was pregnant, had decided to be a stay at home mom once the baby was born, and you were tapped as next in line to replace her.
Dr. Robby had pulled you into an empty trauma bay at the end of your shift one night to deliver the news.
“You’re an excellent physician, and you’ve almost finished your third year of residency. We’d love for you to consider moving to night shift to take her place,” he’d told you.
“Night shift?” Your stomach did a somersault. “I assume you wouldn’t want me to start until she leaves?”
Heather’s due date was two months away; it would give you time to prepare for the onslaught of all Jack, all the time, and to try and adjust your sleep schedule.
“Well, that’s what we have to discuss. There’s no question about your skills, but based on what I’ve observed, I recommended some additional development of your management and delegation skills.” Robby paused, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.
“It’s one thing to be able to care for patients; being able to direct someone else while caring them is another thing entirely. You’re quick to jump in and get your hands dirty, which is admirable. Now you need to practice hanging back and helping the residents and interns learn.”
You’d felt your face flush - he wasn’t wrong, but you’d never been good at handling criticism, even the constructive kind.
“Of course,” you’d smiled at him despite the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. “I’m just grateful I have you to learn from.”
Robby rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “As much as I’d love to be the one to support your professional growth, Dr. Abbot and I agreed that it might benefit you more to learn from him on the night shift. I’m concerned trying to teach you during the chaos of the day won’t allow me to give your development the attention it deserves.”
The door to the trauma bay slid open unexpectedly and Jack poked his head in, surveying the room for a moment before stepping in and closing the door behind him.
“Did you give her the good news?” he asked, grinning first at Robby, then at you.
“I was trying to,” Robby all but rolled his eyes.
“Dude, we’re going to tear shit up,” Jack crowed at you with all the enthusiasm of a kid unsupervised in a candy store.
“So - Dr. Abbot would be my new boss?” You raised an eyebrow at Robby in skeptical amusement while internally bracing yourself against the forthcoming I’m in unrequired love with my boss trope.
Robby sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, for better or for worse, Jack would be your new boss.”
“I’m standing right here, assholes,” Jack scoffed before focusing his attention on you, folding his hands in front of his chest in mock prayer.
“Say yes. I promise I will not rest until you are the best damn senior resident this hospital has ever seen. You’re already three-quarters of the way there.”
Forever cursed with being the only adult in the room, Robby added, “It’s okay for you to take some time to consider. We know it’s a big change.”
But you already knew your answer, even if it had just as much to do with the opportunity to spend more time in Jack’s orbit as it did with the fact that it was the right move all-around for your career.
“No need. I’m grateful for the opportunity and would love the chance to learn from Dr. Abbot.”
“Solid,” Jack grinned. “Double Trouble reporting for duty.”
This time, your raised eyebrow was directed at Jack.
“No? Bonnie and Clyde? Mary Kate and Ashley? Tator and Tot?”
“Walking HR violation,” Robby grumbled with a shake of this head.
“We’ll workshop it.” Jack glanced down at the pager on his hip that had started to alert. “Shit. Robby can you cover next steps?”
Turning to you, he mock saluted and said, “Welcome to the night shift, soldier” before ducking back out of the room.
“The man is a human tornado,” Robby sighed with a shake of his head.
“I’m honestly not even sure what just happened,” you quipped, and Robby’s responding chuckle made you smile.
“We’re certainly going to miss you on day shift. We just need you to head to HR tomorrow morning to go over the formal offer and shift change, sign some paperwork, nothing crazy.”
“When would you like me to start on nights?” you asked.
“Ah yeah, that would be helpful. As soon as possible, but we have to get a temp to cover your shift in the interim. Jack has a friend who is interested, we just needed to get an answer from you first, so it shouldn’t take long.’
“Someone from another hospital?” you asked, curious.
“Ah, no. She’s locum tenens, but Jack has known her since they were in the army together. Dr. Olivia Carter. Goes by Dr. Livvie.”
Livvie.
Time seemed to slow down and you heard the echo of Jack’s whisper over and over and over inside your brain: Love you, Livvie.
“Are you okay?” Robby was peering at you over the top of his glasses.
Swallowing hard, you’d nodded. “Yes. Thank you. Great. I’m great. So great. Just really appreciate this opportunity.
Robby’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. “Okay. Go home, get some sleep. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Dana frowned as you hightailed it past her desk to the empty staff lounge, collapsing into one of the chairs with a groan.
Livvie.
Dana joined you a few moments later. “You good?”
“Livvie’s coming here. To the Pitt.”
“Livvie? Like the Livvie?”
You quickly filled her in on your conversation with Robby and Jack.
“We’re focusing on the wrong part of the conversation. This is a great move for you.” Dana bent down to give you a hug, and you sighed against her shoulder.
“I know. You’re right. And I’m not some stupid lovestruck teenager.”
“Right,” Dana nodded as she straightened back up. “You’re a lovestruck adult.”
“Not helping,” you griped.
“You know,” Dana hedged, “I’ve seen the way that doctor up in Peds flirts with you every time he’s called down for a consult. Maybe you could use a distraction?”
You’d dated since you’d moved to Pittsburgh, had your share of fun, but nothing had stuck quite yet. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Dana patted your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Celebratory drinks at Lefty’s. I’m buying.”
“Thanks Dana,” you’d smiled.
It’s time to move on, you’d thought to yourself.
You had no idea in that moment just how difficult that would prove to be.
__
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Fifteen reasons not to kill yourself:
i feel very Normal about this man who is old enough to be my father
‘fuck the police’ IM TRYING DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*passionately thinks about story instead of writing it*
Three shades of a man (a third chapter)
Summary: You have seen Bucky Barnes at his best and his worst, and he asks you to help him through it all.
Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY; lots of smut, go no further if you’re not over 18 please.
A/N: I’ve had so many amazing comments from you lovely people about these stories, and it genuinely makes my day hearing from each and everyone one of you, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! I’ve really loved writing this mini-series, and I appreciate you guys sticking around while I take off the smut training wheels. Final chapter below, and tried to tag those who have requested it, but Tumblr is not cooperating, so hope it works. Also apparently I’m super wordy, so this is kinda long. Oops. Feedback and comments are always welcome.
A/N 2: Yes, I did change the gif so I didn’t get censored.
Read Part 1 Read Part 2
MASTERLIST
*****
Calm, relieved, playful.
I’m coming home. Can’t wait to see you.
It was a text you didn’t expect, if only because he was not a demonstrative person when it came to the written word. Always perfunctory, he preferred to send an image or a three word answer, not because he didn’t enjoy talking, but simply because that’s who he was. He expressed his emotions in a multitude of other ways, saving his syllables to whisper in your ear when he was wrapped inside you, murmuring his feelings into your sweaty skin every time you brought him to his knees.
It doesn’t come often, but here it was, the Bucky Barnes you always wait to see. You think this must be him. The real him. James Buchanan Barnes, the sweet, flirty, cocky boy who was so sure of himself and his place in the world, before he became a man carved up and torn apart, remade by the chaos of war.
Keep reading
I took these screenshots of every thumbnail probably 30 minutes after the channel was deleted… I had had this tab open and I could even hover my mouse over the thumbnail and the preview of the video would still play… I don’t think I closed that tab for weeks. I’m really glad I took these pictures.
(reblogging with the last 6 screenshots)
Venus
A/n: From this request which is beyond beautiful. Also, italics are flashbacks
Summary: Y/n finally unsuppressed some suppressed feelings about her best friend.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ( fluff)
Content Warning: mention of getting shot | alcohol consumption
Word Count: 3.2k
Masterlist
Y/n wasn’t sure how they hadn’t gotten in trouble yet.
It was 3 am, and she could hear the music in her apartment all the way from the rooftop. Which meant it would be just as loud in her apartment as it was when she snuck out. It should have been more difficult, but everyone else was wasted. Still, if she got a noise complaint, she was going to kill Olivia. It was her friend/colleague’s fault there even was music in her apartment. Although she doubted anyone would complain, considering all of her neighbors were down there partying.
The door opening jolted her attention from her thoughts. Flicking her head around, she saw Spencer. Still wearing the dress shirt, tie, cardigan, and dress pants that he’d insisted on wearing. Despite the fact, everyone else was in short dresses or t-shirts and jeans.
“Hi, lovely,” Spencer mumbled, turning around to shut the door before walking over to her. He’d noticed her slip out but wanted to give her enough time alone before he imposed. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was a profiler or not, but he always knew when something was wrong with her.
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