ABOUT ME. millie. 18 yo. she/her. aquarius. scottish. infp. ballet flats. taylor swift. the 00's. weird girl. ADHD. classic literature. history. enthusiast. Dead Poets Society. baking. fruity cocktails. silver jewellery. folklore. dr pepper. smosh. lady bird. we accept the love we think we deserve. cowboy like me. older men. ride the pod. new girl. cherry lipgloss.
REQUESTS. open ; send me messages, submissions or suggestions. my asks and dms are always open if u need to talk.
NAVIGATION. wattpad ♱ mastertag ♱ pintrest ♱
OTHER. this is an 18+ blog. MDNI. do not redistribute, plagiarize, translate or enter my work in ai or i will curse you and your whole family. this blog is firmly anti ai!! also, fuck trump, fuck ice, fuck fascists, free palestine!, free the congo!, free sudan!. if you support ice, support the genocide, racist, homophobic, maga, or a nazi, then you are not welcome on this blog.
♱ MASTERLIST.
steve harrington (stranger things)
A War Of Hearts (hopper!fem!oc, status; ongoing)
moodboards
steve harringtons emo gf
jack abbot (the pitt)
False God / pt 2 (fem!oc smau, status; ongoing)
joe keery
your instagram stories as a fashion designer soft launching joe
the apartment is quiet except for the steady sound of rain tapping against the windows. it’s one of those rare mornings where everything feels slow enough to breathe, but frank is still dead asleep, stretched across the bed with one arm thrown over your side.
you’ve barely seen him all week. too many nights spent waiting up for the sound of his boots outside the door, too many mornings where his side of the bed had already gone cold before you woke up. now he’s finally here, and somehow he’s sleeping through the whole day.
you brush your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck.
nothing.
“frank,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder. “c’mon.”
all you get is a low, annoyed grunt as he buries his face deeper into the pillow. you smile to yourself. “you’re ignoring me.”
“m’not,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep. “you’re just… talkin’ too much.”
“I missed you.”
he doesn’t answer right away. instead he blindly reaches for you, finds your wrist, and tugs until you lose your balance and land against his chest with a laugh. one heavy arm wraps around your waist immediately, holding you there like you’re not going anywhere.
“frank,” you complain, even though you’re smiling. “I was trying to wake you up.”
“bad idea.”
“it’s noon.”
“don’t care.”
his eyes stay stubbornly shut, brows pinched together in that little frown he somehow wears even while sleeping. you poke his cheek.
“you’re grumpy.”
"shut up.”
the words would sound harsh from anyone else, but they’re followed by the softest kiss pressed against the top of your head without him ever opening his eyes. you melt against him.
after another quiet minute, you whisper, “I really missed you.”
this time he sighs, the kind that seems to leave every ounce of tension behind.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “missed you too.”
his hand lazily rubs circles against your back before settling there, warm and steady. within minutes his breathing evens out again, already drifting back to sleep. you stay exactly where you are, tangled up in his arms, deciding the day can wait too. for once, you have him home, and that’s enough.
Rich to me is always the friends to lovers (everybody sees it but you two) it’s him yelling “behind” at everyone but sliding behind you with a hand on your hip “behind sweetheart” it’s you walking into the group of boys smoking outside & u bypass everyone to grab a smoke straight from his lips “thanks babe” it’s family having no empty chairs at the table so you sit on his lap while Syd & carm just stare. I think you’d bring my wish to life beautifully written. I need all the build up to the smut
can i just say that richie is definitely the type to be a jagoff to everyone, but never to you - everyone else knew how to work his last nerve, but you and your cutesy smile and bright eyes would make him all warm and fuzzy for sure
explicit sexual content ahead
it was no secret to anyone who worked at the restaurant (or had eyes) that you and richie had a ‘special’ kind of relationship. for starters, it wasn’t common for a hotheaded man, like richie jerimovich, to be so touchy and lovey-dovey with anyone. i mean, not even his ex-wife got to see that side of him often, and they shared a child. however there was something about you that just made richie feel as though he needed to be around you, protect you, handle you tenderly.
maybe it was because you were younger than him - fuck if he knew, all richie knew in his heart of hearts was that he had it bad for you.
things between you two started off gradually, “gotta get past you, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, the warm and calloused palm of his hand gently cradling the small of your lower back as he made his way past you, his tall frame easily reaching over you to grab ahold of a pot from the top cabinet.
you’d simply nod wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained forward in an effort to conceal the blush that rose to your cheeks.
after weeks of comfortability that increased between the two of you, you decided you’d test the waters. you’d watched carefully as he made his way out of the back door that led behind the building of the beef. quickly scanning over the not-so-busy environment of the restaurant, you walked away from the cash register, towards the back exit of the beef.
“i’ll be back in ten!” you called out, earning a mumble of approval from carmy and sydney who were entirely too engrossed in a conversation about expanding the menu.
the moment you’d exited the restaurant, the unforgiving cold winter chicago air bit at you, causing you to hiss as you quickly folded your arms tightly over your chest, your fitted ‘the beef’ t-shirt lifting a bit as you turned to find richie leaned against the brick wall.
he was so rugged and laid back, it drove you insane. his hoodie remained open, revealing the matching t-shirt that clung to his slim abdomen, one of his hands shoved in the pocket of his adidas track pants, while the other held a cigarette to his lips. richie didn’t notice your presence yet, too involved in a conversation with sweeps and marcus.
you’d decided it would be the perfect time to push the envelope, walking directly past marcus and sweeps as you approached richie, a flutter now swirling in your stomach as he raised his eyebrows at you, cigarette loosely held between his sharp teeth.
you two held eye contact for a beat, before you gently grabbed the cigarette from his mouth, before raising it to sit sit between the swell of your lips, taking a quick pull from the cigarette, “thanks babe,” you exhaled with a sweet close-mouthed smile.
all richie could do was swallow thickly, nodding to himself before he returned his attention back to the conversation at hand, softly swatting the side of your thigh when he decided that it was time for you to return the cigarette.
it was then, that things started to reach a whole new level of touchiness and couple-like actions between you and richie.
today was family. your second-most favorite day of the week, aside from payday. you were a bit late to the function, courtesy of your hair appointment, walking into the main room of the restaurant, instantly being greeted with a chorus of differing ‘hello’s’.
“hi, m’sorry for being late, my hair girl was late!” you rushed to explain, shrugging off richie’s your zip-up hoodie as you glanced around the room, seeing that all seats were occupied, “oh.”
sydney’s eyes widened as she shared the same realization, “fuck, uh, maybe we can get you an extra seat from the office, i-” she began, taking a bit too long, leaving richie no choice, but to come up with a solution of his own.
“s’nothing syd, she can sit with me,” richie spoke with a careless shrug, his mouth full of pasta as he looked up at you, swallowing his food before continuing, “c’mon, sweetheart.”
you obliged, your lips suddenly running dry as you walked towards richie’s seat, softly grabbing his outstretched hand as he gently guided your hips to sit comfortably against his.
you slightly shifted your hips, sending a shock to your clit as his bulge deliciously sat flush against your ass, “thanks, richie,” you muttered, focusing your gaze on the pasta dish that sat before you.
richie leaned back into his seat, the suddenly awkward silence of the dining room now becoming a bit too apparent to him. shaking his head, richie kept one of his arms loosely hung around you, before clearing his throat.
“yo, i don’t know why the fuck everyone is being fuckin’ quiet,” he huffed, his eyes now landing on carmy and sydney, before he sighed, “cousin, just say what the fuck you’re grateful for already!”
it wasn’t long before everyone returned to their normal conversations, about twenty minutes passing, before richie decided to lean in close to you, bringing his lips to your ear.
“m’ready to get the fuck outta here.”
and that’s how you ended up in the driver’s seat of richie’s car, his seat fully reclined back, one hand gripping the back of your neck, while the other guided your hips to bounce hard against his.
“ah, fuck - y’gonna make me cum in you if you keep fuckin’ me like that, sweetheart,” richie groaned, moving the hand that guided your hips to your back, pushing you further into his chest as he fucked up into you.
your face was in his neck, throaty moans and gasps leaving your lips as you sloppily kissed and sucked at the skin of his neck, the sound of your hips slapping into each other mixed with the squelch and slurp of your wet pussy taking his length leaving you a needy mess.
you were so close to reaching your peak, your pulsing hole clenching around richie’s dick as his thrust remained forceful and rough, “i can fuckin’ feel you around me, baby, y’want me to make you cum, yeah,” he chuckled, leaning his head against the headrest as he brought his hand to your hip, grinding your hips flush against his in circular motions.
“fuck, richie,” was all you could mewl through your gritted teeth, your stomach tight as your clit rubbed against the wet skin of his pelvis.
“keep ridin’ me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pecking your flexed temple as he forced your hips deeps against his, “just keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.”
yeah, your relationship with your coworker was far from orthodox, but neither of you seemed to get enough of it. nor, did you want to.
warnings ,, smut adjacent but mostly fluffy 🧸🧸 beatriz fitaz as the faceclaim, as well as use of the pet names ‘baby’, ‘angel’ & ‘princess’. ib credits to @rosariesandangels ♡
( mina talks! ) hi angels! most of these texts are from pinterest so full credits to the owners on there ♡ also let me know if you’d like a part 2 to this as well!
summary: Two keys and a list were given out by Michael Robinavitch before he went on his three-month sabbatical. One for his sister and one for his best friend, Jack Abbot. The list is pretty generic. No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies. It was rather odd that he’d made the list so exclusive yet simultaneously vague. Good thing Robby didn’t say anything about crashing unannounced after bad breakups or long shifts that tired you just enough to refuse to drive home or that you weren’t supposed to have sex on his bed and have multiple-orgasms in the hands of the man he happened to have entrusted the care of his home and—albeit accidentally—his equally-willing slash consent-giving and stubborn sister.
pairing: jack abbot x fem!doc/robinavitch!reader
warnings: ass!jack abbot, full on enemies no lovers, your doctors want to kill each other, a very sick fern, plant resuscitation, reader and trinity santos are besties, the pitt crew interactions, ass!jack again for good measure. reader's discretion is advised from here on out. please be responsible for what you consume but also have some fun.
word count: 6k
note: chapter one is out yay! i hope you enjoy 𑣲
Hate is a strong word to describe how you felt about Jack Abbot. After all, it wasn’t the first feeling you had upon meeting him, courtesy of your brother of course, but to say that you were merely vexed by his existence was indeed an understatement.
You’ve joined the Pitt—much to Gloria’s disappointment for the moniker having caught on—ten months ago, exactly the same time as Santos, Whitaker, King, and Javadi. Robby had joked about that fateful day in September being less of a first shift and more of a rite of passage—baptism by fire as Abbot had eloquently put it.
They weren’t wrong though. That day in September had been ingrained in your memory despite your earnest efforts to adapt some other form of coping mechanism.
You can still practically smell it; picture the entirety of just how horrifying that day truly was. The metallic stench that stuck in every wing of the emergency department. The floors, painted in crimson, slippery and unnerving. The adrenaline. The colored slap bands. The deafening silence amidst the crowd of residents and nurses trying to keep one patient alive after another; refusing to have one die on their table. Jake. Leah. Robby.
You wished you didn’t have to remember it. You wish you couldn’t. That someday you’d wake up having forgotten about it or at least some parts of it. You’d be glad and live just enough without it. That was practically the thing that had solidified your friendship with Trinity. It was, as she had gracefully put it, “a baggage that's weighing me down.” And even though she’s living up to her word of “forgetting”—or at least her version of it, you found yourself remembering.
No matter the trigger nor the reason for it, you remembered. Stubbornly so like you did every aspect of your life.
Sometimes when you remember and decide to sit with it, you wonder if it had been the point that broke your brother into taking a much needed break from the ED. Michael Robinavitch, taking a sabbatical. Who knew?
He was so excited for you to join him in the city; to join a “brilliant” team of doctors he mentioned to you once and has made a point to never do so to any of the said brilliant doctors.
He’d introduced you to Jake that day. You also had the rather unfortunate opportunity of standing alongside him as you timed Leah’s death. Robby was nearly out of it. He was shaken up by her death you had to remind him of wheeling Leah’s body out of the room Jake was currently in.
That said, you remembered in complete defiance. As though forgetting every hour that passed in that shift would mean robbing yourself of how today came to being—as cliche as that sounds—the last four hours in particular. You remembered how night shift had been called to come early with Collins gone for some reason Robby wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Dana. You remember Ellis with her steady hands, Shen with his Dunkin and slap bands, and Jack—Abbot with his “Saving Lives One Procedure And A Blood Bag At A Time” propaganda.
It was fucking badass. You gotta give it to him. Besides, that’s exactly what you thought the second you saw him dripping into a blood bag Dana had given him. You never understood why Robby talked so highly of the man until you saw it yourself. You always knew healthcare workers were inherently selfless and fucked human beings at that, but Jack Abbot seemed to be entirely something else.
Seeing Abbot that day made you rethink the decision of choosing the day shift. Your brother had conveniently left out the perks that came with being in Jack Abbot’s command. And apparently, there had to be a mass-shooting for you to discover that much of a fact.
Between patients dying left and right, endless incomings, and cops littered all over the place, there hadn’t been a time for you and Abbot to be properly introduced. You like to think that had the circumstances that day been different, you might’ve actually ended up liking Abbot as a mentor and a colleague.
But alas, that dream had long since died by the time you performed a REBOA without a consensus from your peers, nor a ‘go-ahead’ from Abbot, which was really what made things worse.
Now, you just find him—what’s the word for it?
Irksome? Spiteful? Unprofessional?
The list could go on but to say that you were simply annoyed didn’t scratch the itch that came with every mention of Jack fucking Abbot.
There had to be a thin gray line—a word in the English language yet to be invented to describe such an insufferable man—perhaps then you’d be able to surmise what you actually and truly felt about the night shift attendant.
Exasperating?
Maybe.
Last night, Abbot had overstepped his bounds, misunderstood and overstayed his welcome in your brother’s home. Not only did he desecrate the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom with his presence, he had also managed to rob you of the glory, that is, crying yourself to sleep, exactly how you’d intended and the only reason as to why you have driven with a broken heart to Robby’s home.
The only thing you wanted for yourself was to feel—to wallow. To be pathetic without requiring an audience. To be, for lack of a better word, a girl who simply had her heart broken.
For some selfish reason, Jack Abbot had refused to give you that.
You went to bed last night with nary a tear in your eyes. They’d burned with anger and hatred so vile you could feel it in your throat. Instead of being angry at exes, said anger had been directed at no one else but the man sleeping in the next room.
He wasn’t even supposed to be in Robby’s house considering he had a hospital to run. But you take it that the idiot had interpreted the liberties extended to him by your brother as something he could wield willy-nilly by crashing to his home to take naps instead of spending most of his dreadful time in the breakroom.
Thankfully, you had woken up to a quiet house all to yourself. No pests. No Jack. No Abbot.
You take his absence to mean that he’s back in the ED being a menace—just like he evidently was hours before he left, unfortunately.
Abbot had left you a note—written in what you could only deduce to be his best attempt at what counted as “legible” handwriting—with it, a potted fern.
You stared at said note, astounded.
Salvageable.
— J.A.
The plant was placed in the middle of the dining table, looking a little less green and a bit more… dead.
You eyed the fern suspiciously and mumbled, “The hell am I supposed to do with this?”
Was it one of Robby’s? Did Abbot just assume you knew exactly what type of fern it was as if you were some fern-expert? Did old people behave this way after having used most of their free-will in their very old age?
Jack and I are not that old.
Robby would definitely say. Too bad he wasn’t around.
You took your phone and attempted to message Abbot.
There was still no word from Robby, but there have been two messages from your ex, Ryan.
Let me explain what happened last night.
I knew it looked bad. Please let me make it up to you.
The motherfucker. Of course, it looked bad. It was bad. What did he expect? He was head deep into another woman’s cervix for crying out loud! He couldn’t even bring himself to give you a decent apology. Now he’s got the nerve to make last night as though it had only been a simple misunderstanding? As if sex with your best friend of ten years amounted to a fight that can be reconciled by a quickie before heading to work?
You feel aggravated and disgusted. That man had been inside you—had touched you. The mere thought of it makes you want to flay your own skin and get new ones off E-bay.
You wasted no seconds in deciding to block him.
Right now, you have a trauma patient to tend to.
You find yourself typing a message.
I’m throwing this in the trash.
You looked at Robby’s antique Grandfather clock. You still have at least two hours before your shift starts. If you wanted, you could totally nurse this poor fern back to life.
Your phone buzzed with Abbot’s reply.
You wished for him to stop you or maybe tell you that he’d grown sentimental and couldn’t picture himself parting from it. Nothing new. Just something he’d willingly embarrass himself for.
Instead, he sends you a link.
Plant Guides: How to care for your Boston fern
You wanted to fucking kill him.
Did he really expect you to pencil in this—thing that he should’ve just thrown in the trash? You doubt your brother even knew it existed. If he did, he surely wouldn’t care about it dying, would he?
Furiously, despite yourself, you tapped on the link; taking thirty minutes of your intended coffee-time, learning how to reverse death and hopefully breathe life back to a poor sick fern, out of protest.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
“Buzzer beater?” was the first thing Santos had told you the second you opened the door to your locker.
“I had a fern emergency.”
“Fern?”
“A Boston fern, as I have been told.” you clarified, shoving your bag and the rest of your stuff inside your locker.
Who would’ve thought your first case for the day would be a potted plant waiting for death if it weren’t for Abbot finding it at some corner in your brother’s garage?
“Oh, is it like a band-aid baby for you and Ryan?”
With an audible sigh, you push your locker close. You hated this part. “Ryan and I broke up.”
Santos’s eyes widened in shock, “What—? NO.”
“Yes.”
“How? When? Are you okay?” She asked in a rapid fire—almost interrogating, keeping up with your pace as you began walking towards the big ER to meet everyone for hand-offs.
You gave it some thought. On the one hand, you can postpone having to tell Santos the truth on a later date. On the other, you fear that keeping the truth to yourself would just cause her to spill out details of your breakup, highly likely in the most inconvenient of times, that is, when she has her hands deep inside the torso of a trauma patient as though that would be the best time for you to spill your guts. No pun intended.
You gave her precise answers as if you were just listing a diagnosis. “Caught him in bed with Kaley. Last night. No, I’m not but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good enough for me.” Santos told you once the information has settled. “But why the fern?”
You stifle a groan, hoping Santos had forgotten about that bit but alas had not. You didn’t want to tell her about last night entirely, otherwise you’d have to get yourself through the mortifying ordeal of explaining how you stood barely an inch from a half-naked Jack Abbot in your brother’s kitchen.
“Passion project.” you said instead.
Santos’ lips quivered, nodding her head animatedly as though she’d believed what you told her. Whatever that look meant, so long as she didn’t ask another question, you’d take it.
“Ellis is handing over a head-lac. Wanna come with?” you see the same cheeky grin she seemed to have reserved for you and Whitaker.
“All yours, Santos.”
“All yours, what?” Speaking of the devil—Dennis chimed in, throwing his stethoscope over his shoulders.
Santos doesn’t waste a second of her time, “Just come with us.”
Hand offs were about to begin and members of the ED have started to pile and form a huddle. Ten months have passed since you came to know the unlikely roommates. Since then, you’ve been stuck together in every shift—three peas in a pod, the triplets of the pitt or so Dana have coined it, much to Santos’ delight and your own.
Across the room you acknowledged Mel with a smile she earnestly returned. You were both in your third year of residency and have gotten a liking to taking a junior resident under your wings. Santos with you and Dennis with her. It was supposedly the other way around but between Santos’ pleading and Mel cornering you in the breakroom—pleading—for the same thing, that is, “Please switch with me,” you didn’t have much choice but to concede.
Santos has been having a tough time with integration despite it being almost a year since the two of you joined the Pitt. And while you didn’t share the same predicament, having the unfair advantage of being the boss’ sister, you’ve grown to understand Trinity Santos at a level Mel King has not; and that’s not to say it was from the latter’s lack of trying.
She really did try.
So, after the last rotation, you figured why not make things easier for everyone? After all, Whitaker was rather skilled at establishing a good rapport with almost and quite literally anyone he meets; even chemistry at times he was determined to do just that.
You’ve gotten the hang of things quite fast and have fallen to rhythm with your respective duo’s. Making your decision to switch with King at the last minute has proven to be the efficient choice.
Javadi, who was shadowing every resident that would welcome her in their team, squeezed herself and her cup of coffee between Whitaker, who was with you and Santos, and King who was standing beside Langdon. It looks like she hasn’t made up her mind which team she’d join in today’s shift. Regardless, you’re certain she’d just bounce from one case to another with nary a care on whose name it was signed on the patient’s passport.
In about three minutes, you’d hear Robby’s voice commanding the team to move a little closer whilst simultaneously expecting everyone to make room for the late-comers.
That would’ve been the case had Robby been around.
You wouldn’t admit this to him—why would you—but his being ‘Robby’ in the workplace has grown on you since your arrival at PTMC almost a year ago. With him away knowing he could’ve been around has made you miss him just a tad more than you already had. Dana might’ve been right when she said the ED would survive without Robby, but you know these three months you’ve embarked upon wouldn’t make the ED the same as Robby had left it.
For now, you had to endure Abbot and the day shift version of his “night crawlers” cringe-worthy pep talk. Why couldn’t he just make it quick and fast? Even with Al-Hashimi around to keep him on his toes, he somehow still finds a way to take up too much room.
There he was, standing in front of everyone with his stethoscope slung around his neck, army shirt peeking through the neckline of his scrubs, salt and pepper hair tousled in all the worst ways, and his throat bobbing down his wrinkled neck, looking like the poster boy of ‘Blue Lives Matter.’ You rolled your eyes at the thought as you wondered. It would be some sort of vindication if that were indeed true.
Besides, why were you looking anyway?
You willed enough strength to refrain from rolling your eyes—meeting Abbot’s gaze as he stepped beside Al-Hashimi. The corner of his lips lifted infinitesimally and you found yourself having to deal with the creeping shame of having been caught in flagrante.
You bit your cheeks, hands balled into fist at your sides. You knew there was a hit coming your way.
Only there wasn’t.
Instead, he continued on with the handover, as per usual order of business, reminding the nightshift of the wonderful job they had done for the past fifteen hours or so. He’d mentioned Crus and Ellis, acknowledging the miracle they’d performed in saving the lives of—not one but two—babies in an ECS in time for Surgery to get off their high horses and come down the ED.
He scanned the huddle, gaze falling briefly onto Santos, who was standing beside you just before it flickered to Al-Hashimi. He gestured to her, giving the floor.
She swept in with practised ease as though she had been itching to speak long before Abbot had even started. It was the first week with your brother gone. You had expected nothing else but this from her.
She went on with the usual for the day shift, clip folder in hand—before going on a tangent. Something about making sure the right amount of dosages and controlled substances are double-checked before they get out with clearance. Langdon schooled his expression fairly when he caught your eyes. Al-Hashimi has had a hot-and-cold approach with the guy for some reason.
Trinity stilled in her feet, too. Not that you’d miss anything she ever did or came to think of doing.
“What?” you nudged her, voice just high above a whisper.
She only shrugged, the tone of ‘Why me?’ enveloping her voice. “What?”
You faced Al-Hashimi, who was just wrapping her morning rundown. “—following the lead of Dr. Abbot and his team, we shall—at the very least—make today salvageable.”
Your gut leapt at the word. The word “salvageable” has been tainted in the early hours of your day; etched in your mind and stuck with a plant you didn’t really feel like saving.
You absentmindedly looked his way at the instance, eyes meeting the same pair you wanted to gouge last night for simply existing. And perhaps, for staring.
A faint grin lifted on the crook of his lips.
Jack Abbot had already been waiting.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
Surprising as it was and a relief—quite frankly, Abbot made himself scarce after hand-offs and gladly left the hospital once night shift finally ended.
True to Al-Hashimi’s words, the day had been somewhat salvageable. Not too lax to allow everyone—except Joy—to leave at exactly 6:00 PM, but not too demanding as every other shift that started off with Robby’s huddle. That was something you’d have to tell him when he’s back.
You had seen little to none of Abbot when he arrived for his shift. Little, being his salt and pepper hair and none being that you’ve deliberately made sure you didn’t need to see him at all, which is why most of your patients had been passed off onto Shen’s careful and caffeinated supervision. They were his problem now.
You were welcomed by a quiet house by the time you got back to Robby’s place. It remained immaculate. Still clean up to its nooks and crannies as though your brother had never lived a day in it.
The Boston fern was still sitting on the dining table, exactly where you left it. Abbot’s note had long been vanished to the trash. He would have to thank you for that.
The fridge is still filled to the brim. It’s puzzling how you still managed to close it. Despite the fact, Robby had missed on including your preference of goods and junk food, save for the mandatory Häagen-Dazs. The fridge was stuffed with cold beers and all things that would count as a ‘healthy’ alternative. You grunted out of frustration as you closed the fridge door with a disappointed thud.
You don't need ‘healthy’ now. What you need is to wind down and let yourself crash just like you had intended last night if it weren’t for Abbot’s untimely meddling.
You rounded your way up the stairs, aiming for your brother’s bedroom. With Abbot out of your way, you can finally sleep in Robby’s much more comfortable mattress. You were hoping to abuse more of your sibling privileges not just by wearing your brother’s old clothes—the ones you knew he never used anymore.
Much to your dismay, you had only brought clothes appropriate for work along with a handful of undergarments that would last you about three days before you inevitably had to do laundry in nothing but a towel wrapped around your curves.
After snatching a vintage Metallica tee from his dresser and your take-out arriving, you’ve magnificently turned Robby’s living room adjacent to your own. Perhaps, better considering you no longer had to tolerate and then tune out most of Ryan’s incessant whining about work and how much he badly wants to quit his job despite not having the balls to do so.
You sighed upon recollection.
Ryan hadn’t reached out in any way after having been blocked nor did Kaley, which is worse considering she was your best friend for so long. Ryan was bound to end one way or another. You didn’t really see yourself with him far into the future—but Kaley—Kaley was going to be your maid of honor and the aunt of your future children. How she was able to throw away the years you’ve spent being in each other’s lives was beyond you. It was something you couldn’t comprehend. It hurt more than Ryan’s infidelity
You rest your chopsticks on top of your glass on the coffee table instead of jamming it haphazardly in your Chow Mein. If it weren’t for work tomorrow, you would have been wasted right about now. But alas, that would have to wait. Maybe you do need to talk with Trinity about the breakup even if that would mean having to tell her more of what happened last night. Anyway, at least you still had good sense to observe chopstick etiquette before downing the rest of your first can of beer.
After the second can, you returned half of your unlikely friends to the fridge. You limited yourself to three cans. You would just have to pace yourself with the third in the hopes of getting drunk enough to cry yourself to sleep and not be hungover the next morning.
Robby hadn’t reached out since last night. Good. After your self-deprecating rambling last night, you really didn’t want him to call back. What would you tell him anyway? That he was right all along? He could’ve earned some petty cash had he bet on Ryan fucking things up with his sister. You already knew that. You know he does too, not that he’d be a pain about it once he sees you hurting but it is still a possibility you didn’t want to face. Yet.
For as long as you were being your pathetic little self, Robby has all the time in the world to ride his bike around Canadian mountains just as you did making a mess of his house all to yourself for as long as he’s gone.
You have been nursing your third can of beer by the time you feel yourself falling to sleep. If it hadn’t been for the beep of Robby’s front door, you’re sure you would’ve woken up at exactly 5:00 AM to get ready for work.
Wait—Robby’s front door?
You find yourself scrambling out of the comfort of Robby’s couch, the slightest hint of sleep and inebriation gone in an instant. Good god. Somebody has broken into the security code.
You snatched the two cans of beer from the table, holding one in each of your hands, one empty and the other nearly finished. It was the closest thing you could find that would at least give you time to flee for the stairs and jump off the balcony.
Hopefully, it won't come to that.
With your heart pounding, you stared at the door waiting for it to open. Fucking shitting hell. What else is there to do but wait? Fuck. You should’ve learned self-defense when you had the chance. Now, Robby would come home to his sister dead in his fucking living room.
With the light dimmed, you watched the door swing open.
This is it. You’d be dead in the next hour.
With all your might, you threw a can towards the front door, hitting the man entering through the threshold—
“Fuck!”
Oh shit.
The light turned on to reveal the same salt and pepper hair you have been desperately trying to avoid at PTMC. The chances of you dying now being slim to none hadn’t eased the stress out of your stomach. You would have preferred to be murdered than needing to deal with this man.
He let out a satisfying grunt, the sound of the can against the hardwood floor just as satisfying as the man standing in front of you in pain and visibly livid.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He groaned, shooting a grimaced look your way.
Instead of answering, you interrogate, “Why are you here?”
He was massaging the side of his head kissed by a can of Coors Light. “Why are you here?”
“I asked you first!”
“I’m asking now!”
You groaned, the other can crinkling in your fist. Abbot’s eyes flickered onto your hand at the sound, causing him to take a step back, his own palm still caressing his head, threatening with a pointed finger, “Don’t you dare throw that my way.”
With a gallic shrug, you smirked. “Maybe I will.”
“Do it.” He warned as though coaxing as he looked at you, his features sharp and eyes somehow grim and dark. “See what happens.”
There was something unnerving in the way he said it that made you want to tempt how faithful he was in keeping his words.
“Is that a threat?”
He closed the door just as he took a step, advancing, “Do you want it to be?”
You huffed a laugh, disbelieving despite feeling threatened at the very least. But there’s no need to tell him that. Instead, you raised your free hand to your hip in an effort to channel dominance over the unfolding situation. He watched you eye the can of beer you were still holding. Surely, you wouldn’t throw it his way, would you?
“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making any.”
Then again, he can just cross the room and snatch said can out of your hold and be done with it yet he hasn’t done that.
He let go of his head, his wedding ring catching a subtle glint from the ceiling light and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat like it had during hand-offs.
“Let go of the damn can, Robinavitch.”
“Why are you here.” You demanded, no longer asking.
“I already told you last night.” He said through gritted teeth, already walking towards the kitchen. “I don’t need to repeat myself to you, of all people.”
You find yourself following, still holding the can of beer. “What the hell does that supposed to mean?”
You find him rummaging through the freezer, taking out a bag of frozen peas to nurse his aching head. There was a faint color on his temple suggesting that you might’ve thrown the can harder than initially intended.
You crashed the guilt inkling its way to your bones. To be fair, you were trying to not get yourself killed.
“Don’t you think you’re overdoing this ‘favor’ you ‘claimed’ to be doing for Robby?” You questioned, bunny quotes flying about wildly to stress a point. You hope you didn’t have to apologize.
“First, stop with the air quotes. You’d be doing both of us a favor.” He walked towards the sink and filled himself a glass of water, one hand still pressing the frozen peas against his head. “Second, I already told you I’m house-sitting for Robby. That would generally explain why I come here for naps and for cleaning. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Now that explains why Robby’s house was immaculate.
“Well then, you no longer have to do Robby any favors. I’m his sister. I should be the one looking after his home.”
He shot you a look. ‘Oh, really?’
“Right. Robby’s lucky to call you his sister.” He sneered, murmuring, “What a fucking sister, that is.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please, Robinavitch. Mike’s been away since the fourth of July and it took you a whole week to get your ass in here.” You scoffed. Mike. You hated how he was too familiar with your sibling. “—stop acting as if you really care about house-sitting or being a good sister. You and I both know that’s not the reason why you’re here.”
You swallowed the bitter truth coiling around your throat.
He had a point.
If it weren’t for the breakup, you wouldn’t be here; not until a few more days or so. Maybe even longer, long enough to make sure all of Robby’s plants were guaranteed to greet death at the door.
“I was preoccupied.” you find yourself giving him an explanation, how little that was.
“Look, I don’t really care.” He said bluntly, words slicing through you like a dull knife. Messy and brunt on its edges as though to make sure it got to hurt more. “You could be the Queen of England or the President of the U.S. fucking A., I still wouldn’t shit myself to care. You aren’t Robby. So until you grow a pair and age twenty more years exactly like your brother, your word is as good as garbage to me.”
Garbage?
“What the hell is your problem, Robinavitch!”
Abbot dodged the can of Coors Light as its remains splattered over the backsplash. It hadn’t even registered that you had set the can flying his way fast enough to stop yourself, let alone care.
Shit.
You lost it.
“You.” You spat, “You’re the problem.”
You held your chin high, glad to be standing across the room from him as opposed to having to stare at him like you did last night; inches apart with him half-naked and evidently interrupted from his nap.
Abbot let out an exasperated sigh, gaze now set at you evidently reining himself in.
“As far as I’m concerned, your brother gave out two keys. As to why he told neither of us, I will never know. But that just means I enjoy the same privileges as you inasmuch as you share the same responsibility of keeping his house kept as I do. Throw all the temper tantrums you want, but I’m not going anywhere.” He set the glass down, hard enough to make a sound; to stress his point. “I’m taking my nap.”
He strode past you, heading for the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” You spun on your heels and followed him.
“I’m not finished, Abbot!”
“Oh, but I am—!”
He turned to face you, movement so fast and harsh that you nearly bumped against his chest. You were fairly aware that unlike last night, he was fully clothed despite being enraged. You took a step backwards but held his gaze.
“I’m half-way through a god-awful shift, my head fucking hurts—thank you very much, and I’ve burned about half an hour off my break having to explain myself when there wasn’t a need in the first place. If you say you’re not finished, don’t come crying to me because I assure you I wouldn’t want to be of help.”
You stood there, conflicted as to whether to slap him for the double entendre or let go of this petty argument and let the man get some sleep.
He stared down at you, searching your eyes as he successfully extinguished the fire in them. He might have won this round.
“I want you gone in the morning.” You bite.
“I just want a fucking nap.” He breathed, tired and resigned to any more bickering. He took his leave, heading to Robby’s room.
“I want you out of my fucking face!” You yelled on the top of your lungs so as to make sure he heard and felt every bit of rage that accompanied such statement.
It wasn’t your finest moment, that you were sure of.
A breath is caught in your throat, feeling the burn of impending tears threatening to let loose out of the corner of your eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
𓂃𓂁𓂃
You succeeded in crying yourself to sleep as originally planned. Frustration bleeding out of your system instead of the pain and betrayal brought upon by infidelity and your relationship’s demise.
Abbot was gone by the time you woke up. It was as if he hadn’t been around last night—as if he hadn’t caught a can of beer with his head, as if he hadn’t insulted you and implied that you were something akin to garbage.
The Boston fern was no longer on the dining table. It was moved on the accent table near the living room window, looking more alive now that it had water and appropriate sunlight.
You let out a sigh. Perhaps you can miss work today and get back to your apartment. You would need more clothes anyway. But then Abbot would know he got under your skin last night and you know that’s the last thing you’d want to happen. You would gladly wear the same underwear for a week if you had to if it meant you prove a point.
Not that the current circumstances would come to that. You hope it wouldn’t. You have impeccable hygiene.
You find a postcard stuck to the fridge. It was from Robby. You deduce Abbot had taken it from his mail.
You didn’t even think of checking your brother’s mail yet have the audacity to reign over his house as though you owned it, lording familial ties over Jack Abbot just because you can and he couldn’t.
He brought in Robby’s mail simply out of consideration.
What have you done so far?
You flipped the postcard to see your brother’s note on the other side. It was dated July 13th 2026.
Canada is as beautiful as advertised. I met a hockey player. Turns out, they’re endemic ‘round here.
You scoffed a laugh.
I’m sorry about Abbot—and for losing my phone. I’m glad I won’t ever get to hear your voicemail about that unfortunate fact I left out.
At least, that explains why he hasn’t called back. It will probably take some time before he finishes setting up a new one.
You blinked at the latter portion of the note as you read it again. This time, making sure you got it right.
He’s a good guy. I like him. Please make sure he’s alive by the time I get back?
Hoping you’d do your poor brother a favor,
Mike
You put the postcard back where Abbot had left it, feeling resigned to the idea that he might actually have the same privileges as you did. You hated how manipulative Robby was being when he intentionally signed off with his nickname. He knew full well how to wield his brotherly privileges onto you just as much as you did with the contents of his refrigerator.
Begrudgingly, you opened said fridge—finding another note stuck on one of the three cans of Coors Light left from last night.
You owe me six more of these. — J.A.
You crumpled the paper with your fist, feeling the smothered anger from last night come back to life; sparked by an unassuming yellow sticky.
Robby had given you yet another responsibility. But sure, you’d be glad to do him a huge favor.
You’d keep Abbot alive.
After all, where’s the fun in beating up a dead man?
note: reblogs and comments are highly appreciated i would love a chat with yall ◡̈ ᥫ᭡
pope’s so used to you calling him “andrew” or “andy” that when you do call him pope, his head whips towards you with that puppy-eyed look he gets, looking like a child about to be scolded.
“what?”
“….am i in trouble?”
this gif is exactly how i picture him looking like😭💗 (my baby :3)
synopsisyou were Robby's star pupil, his favourite person, but when he catches you and Jack in the middle of performing a high risk procedure you definitely shouldn't be doing he can't handle the jealousy. so really, is it your fault if your pushed into Jack Abbots bed, but can't stop thinking about Robby?
warningsjealous&possesive Robby x reader, Jack Abbot x reader, kinda Rabbot, Jack kinda wants Robby in this, language. smut MDNI. fingering, oral (f receiving) breast play, dirty talk, praise, Robby calls while Jack eats you out. handjob
authornotei'm so close to writing Rabbott fics, I need them both!
pitt masterlist. last robby fic! last jack fic!
“What the hell are you doing?”
If you weren't as skilled a resident as you were, as stony as you'd been made, the raise of voice and slam of a door would have stolen you from your attentive work. But it didn't. You didn't flinch. As your hands were all but inside a patient it was a good thing, too.
Jack tutted from over you, the heat of his breath hot on the back of your neck. “Robby...”
“I said- what are you doing?” he barked again, standing in the middle of the trauma room.
Nurses turned to look at him and then back to you and Jack, un-sure of which immovable force was greater.
You only focused on the woman in front of you. Bruises up her arms, blood on her cut-away clothes, tubes coming out of her and into her, monitors beeping with life signs fleeting.
“It's a hypotensive pelvic bleed,” you said through your face screwed in concentration.
“A REBOA? Are you serious, right now?”
“I'm here, supervising, brother,” said Jack, still caved over you like he could protect you from Robby's wrath.
“You're not her attending,” Robby argued.
“No but I'm an attending.”
You could hear Robby's sharp inhale of breath, picture the clock of his head in annoyance and the tight pinch of his eyes. You knew every small give away of his that he didn't know he had. The tightness of his muscles when angers, the way he clutches at his chest for his star of David when silently scared.
The tension in the room chocked you.
Jack was still at your side, a comfort, a gentle wave against the sharp rocks. “Keep going.”
Robby said your name, an edge to it you'd never heard before.
Looking past Jack you found Robbie. He stood blocking the door, gowned up already, arms over his chest. His brows were pulled in, eyes dark as they levelled on you. He was danger dressed as a man.
But in front of you there was Jack, nodding encouragingly.
“Keep going.”
Your hands moved to carry on in spite of Robby's sigh.
“Okay... good...” said Jack as you pushed in the needle. “Femoral artery, couple inches. All right, let's guide wire and introduce the sheath.”
You pushed and did what Jack said, careful under his guidance.
Robby watched all the while, walking slowly around. He knew how well you preened under praise and careful instruction, like a cat purring at an owners touch. Robby knew because it was always him, ever since you began as a med student to intern to resident he'd been there to build you up, crafting you into a perfect doctor.
His perfect doctor.
Apparently he didn't like to share.
“How much saline have you pushed?” asked Robby.
“Five CC'S,” said Jack, without entertaining his attitude.
“Your carotid is weak,” said Robby. “Is it even there?”
“Yes,” you said.
Jack caught your gaze behind your goggles, pleading silently. You hadn't worked with him as much as you had Robby, or Langdon or almost anyone in the day shift but he seemed to catch on to your needs at once. “You know what to do.”
With his words you proceeded.
“Push another three CC'S of saline in the balloon,” you ordered.
“Injecting.”
There was a moment of silence as the saline was passed through tubes into the woman.
“How we looking?” asked Robby.
“Radial is up, pressure's up too- BP hundred-and-ten,” said Donnie.
For the first time since Jack dragged you into the trauma to teach you a REBOA, you looked at the patients face. At the blankness of it, the blood splattered at her cheek. There was colour returning to her.
“Check the wound,” said Jack.
You did so, the wound at her pelvis are that had been gushing on arrival had stopped bleeding.
“Looks okay,” you said.
Jack's gloved hand squeezed your gowned shoulder, blood of the woman passing between the two of you. However, it was the physical contact that broke you from your trance, pulling you up taller. “Good job, you saved her life, another couple minutes she wouldn't have made it.”
“She's still not out the woods yet,” said Robby.
You looked back at him with enough time to catch an un-characteristic roll of his eyes.
“Surgery can take her now,” said Jesse from the phone.
“Oh, finally they're ready for us?” teased Jack as he moved around the gurney. “Now that they've missed all the fun.” He passed you a wink that sent butterflies in your stomach rolling around.
The team pulled off gowns and gloves, pulling the gurney out the room.
“Wait-” said Robby, arm out stopping you as you went to follow.
The doors shut behind the gurney before Jack could understand you were behind, trapped in a room with a bear of a man who was failing at concealing his anger.
You waited for him to begin. Whether it were to be a lecture or an approval that you saved a woman's life, you wanted it over and done. The adrenaline was coursing through your body in crashing waves of red. You'd crash if you didn't calm. “There was no time for anything else-”
“- save it-”
“- there was no time for me to come and get you-”
“- stop!”
You stepped back, hands balled at your sides.
It wasn't un-common for any member of staff at PTMC to have Robby Robinavitch yell and demand the stars and moons from a person. It was scary to have him yelling at you, his deemed shadow and golden girl.
Since day one everyone knew you held a special place in Robby's heart.
“I saved a patient's life,” you defended. Was that not the most important thing to be doing? Could you not be attending to at least two other patients while he stood- imposing- in front of you.
“Doing an extremely risky procedure that is only reserved for the senior residents which you are not,” he scoffed out.
“Doctor Abbot was at my side the whole time, he talked me through every step.”
Robby shook his head, chuckling and looking around the room as if to be anywhere but with you. “Abbot-”
“- he believed me capable,” you said. “Don't you think I'm capable?”
His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he turned away from you, stretching his hand to the back of his head and flattening the hair there. When he turned back to you he took a step closer, watching the toes of his shoes meet yours.
“Do you know why I'm angry?”
No, you really didn't.
You took in a deep breath, meeting his eyes that lowered to yours. “Because I performed a high risk procedure.”
“A high risk procedure without me,” he corrected. “You're on day, not night. I'm your attending, not Jack. You get me when you're doing something like that, you understand?”
There was little room for argument. Your body trembled, the mixture of blood on your gloves and the beating of your heart heard in your ears. The lights of trauma two were suddenly too bright; walls too sterile. You nodded.
Robby tsked. “Do you understand?”
Every word was punctured with anger.
You rose to all your height. “Yes, I understand.”
He didn't dismiss you, only jutted his head back as he dragged a hand over his beard.
Without a word, you dismissed yourself.
“I just don't get why he was so.... angry,” you admit quietly.
The lights of the bar were dimmed in a golden light, casting sun set gazes around the bar Jack had told you was a good place to get a drink. He'd led you to a small table by a window with the blinds pulled down, his hand- the one that had saved so many lives- splayed out on the small of your back.
Somewhere along the night Jack's chair had scraped around closer to you. So close with every inhale you could catch the musk on him and his arm was comfortably slung around the back of your chair.
There were two empty whiskey glasses of Jack's and you were still cradling your first, down to the dregs.
“It's Robby,” said Jack with a shrug of his shoulders, but it didn't stop the crease in his brows.
“But he's never been like that with me.”
Was it the fact you'd seemingly lost your favouritism bothering you? More than you cared to admit. More so the fact you didn't understand why he'd yelled.
Why the flare of anger had burned brighter with you saving a life than anyone else?
Why your body had trembled at the rise of his voice.
Jack's body tilted toward yours, head bowed low as he looked up at you through his lashes. “Oh, come on....”
You slurped the last from your straw and looked at him. “What?”
“You don't have to play dumb with me.”
Your own body gravitated towards him. “Play dumb? I'm not playing dumb, what are you talking about?”
Jack chuckled, shaking his head to himself. He sipped the last of his drink. “Robby's...” he trailed off.
“Robby's...”
Jack levelled his gaze to yours. “He likes you.”
The words sat frozen in your brain. You knew Robby must have had some soft spot for you, you knew he liked you. But the way Jack said it, a teasing lift to his voice and the serious gaze of his eyes suggested it was more than the competence of your skills as a doctor that had Robby's affection.
“He doesn't,” you chuckled.
“He does,” said Jack, nodding along with your words.
“How would you know?”
Jack's cheeks dusted a faint pink, the rain on the window behind you dropping like mini thunderstorms. “Believe me, I know.”
You waited for more clarification.
“You have no idea the kind of effect you have on old men like us.”
Like us. Jack didn't just speak for Robby but himself. The pink in his cheeks, the hand on your back earlier. The heat from him was all different now. A wanting.
“Old men?” you smirked.
Jack's eyes darted between your eyes and lips. “Yeah, old men.”
“You're not that old, are you?”
Jack tilts his head side to side.
You peer closer at him as if trying to find the lines of age in his face. “Younger than Robby though, right?”
Jack nods. “Younger than Robby, if that makes any difference.”
“Any difference to what?” you asked, stirring the straw against the ice in one hand, the other holding your chin.
“To you.”
Under the table Jack's fingers traced over your knee, gently, as if he was trying to go un-noticed. You felt it anyhow. Felt as his fingers gripped your knee when you pushed your leg against his.
He watched you, analysing.
“Well,” you began, pushing your leg to kick over the other under the table and moving his hand further up your leg, till his all too eager fingers were splayed over your thigh. “What kind of effect is that?”
Jack was always a serious man at work. Competent and well kept. You didn't expect him to be so well versed in 'playing games'. “I dunno if I can tell you.”
“No?”
Jack shook his head, eyes lingering over his lips and his head tilted to the side, watching you. “I could show you?”
There was lip gloss stain over the straw in your glass, you saw it catch Jack's eyes as he pushed away your empty glasses to provide more space on the table.
“See any time you look at us, it's like-like a tingling sensation,” he said. “Like when you know someone's got their eyes on you.”
His hand that had been riding higher at your thigh darted away, leaving a sudden tremble of everything cold through your body. Instead, he rested his elbow at the table and beckoned your hand to his. He didn't hold it, instead, spread your fingers out and put palm to palm in a tender touch.
“And then when you touch us, it gets worse,” he uttered, eyes stuck on where your palms met. Jack's hand moved around yours, playing with your fingers.
“Worse?” you ask.
“A good worse. Good shivers,” said Jack, pulling at a finger.
“I touch you enough for you to gather all that?”
Jack's dark gaze found yours again. He bit down on his bottom lip. “Not nearly enough as I'd like.”
The door of the bar opened and a gush of wind cooled the heat on your skin. But Jack's eyes were like a furnace that you were sitting too close to, burning yourself and delighting in it. When the door shut again with an un-oiled squeak, Jack reached over.
He plucked the necklace charm from against your chest, the brush of his knuckles against your chest. “Pretty necklace.”
“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky un-characteristically.
“You get it yourself?”
“No, it was a present.”
It was almost as if he didn't have to ask who had gifted it to you. Whose hands had brushed back your hair in the middle of a shift and clasped it around the back of your neck.
Or maybe he just didn't want to know.
Jack's apartment was everything that made him.
As you passed the kitchen and he peeled off his jacket, keeping his lips close enough to breathe you in, you could smell the coffee from the morning plastered to the walls.
When he pressed you up to the sofa to shove his hands down your pants and slide a finger into your wet pussy your fingers scratched at some blanket he had thrown over the back of it.
You caught a glimpse of pictures around the place, a frame of meddles too but his place came to you in flashes and glimpses through pleasure.
“I'm gonna show you,” he uttered against your mouth as another finger slipped into you, worked inside of you. They curled up, your body moving into him at the feeling. “Just how I want to touch you.”
The car ride over had been torture enough. He could hardly get himself inside the car, stealing himself away from you. But your lips had been at his neck at every stop sign and red light. Your hand had ghosted over his crotch and the hardening length of him. As occupied as you'd been in each other in the front seats of his car you'd been beeped at twice.
“Jack,” your voice whispered, lips dragging against his as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, pulling at the seams of your panties.
“I'm gonna show you just how Robby wants to touch you.”
You wish the name didn't have the effect it did. That the fury you felt at him for how he yelled didn't turn to a throb in your core when Jack said his name.
“You're touching me, Jack,” you said, breathless.
“Yeah... yeah,” he said. “You like that I'm touching you?”
You nodded as his fingers retracted, finding your clit and wetting the bud of nerves, circling it.
“Say it,” said Jack. “Say it.”
“Yes, I like it.”
Jack grinned into the curve of your neck as his fingers plunged back in, working you open and spreading your wetness of the black of your panties. “God, you're making such a mess for me baby, aren't you?”
He worked you open a little longer, mumbling encouragement with every moan and throw back of your head. 'So pretty, arg, you're so pretty baby.'
By the time your stomach was coiling tight like a snake ready to pounce Jack removed his hand from your pants and kissed you again. It was a hard kiss, his clean hand grasping your cheek and keeping you still as he forcefully worked his lips against yours, like it had only just clocked in his head it was you he had on his lips, it was you he was turning to putty in his hand. Like he wanted to forge you into his lips
“Not done yet,” said Jack, hands sliding down to your hips as he guides his nose up and down your neck, breathing you in. “I wanna make you moan on my tongue, like Robby wishes he could, yeah?”
Your body betrayed you, shivering again in anticipation.
Jack's hands stirred you by the hips, urging you to his room. He pushed the door open over your head, licking into your mouth.
“Please... don't mention Robby right now,” you said as Jack fell slowly to his knees in front of you.
His brows rose. He kept his eyes on you as he pulled down your pants, helping you step out of them. “No? You don't want me to mention Robby?” he asked.
You shook your head, looking away from him. You knew you'd soaked yourself through by the small touches and passionate kisses from Jack. But you didn't need to see the realisation hit when he realised Robby's name had as much effect on you as Jack's own touches.
“Eyes on me, keep your eyes on me,” said Jack.
With a tight squeeze, you looked at him, seeing the attending of the night shift get closer to your heat.
“See, I think, you like when I say his name, huh?” his nose nudged your clothed clit. “Robby.”
Jack licked a stripe up your pussy, gathering your want through the cloth.
You were left, mouth agape, to catch your breath. Your hands didn't know where to go till Jack peeled off his shirt and guided your hands to his shoulders, your nails digging into the freckled skin there.
Jack wet his tongue with his spit before he rubbed it along your panties again, kissing you there. “I think you're so wet for me, but you're wet for Robby too, huh?”
“Jus-just you, Jack,” you gasped.
He swept a finger into your panties and let the elastic snap back against your skin.
Your body jolted in its wake.
“Not just me, don't lie,” he said, darkly.
In the morning would you realise what you'd done? Jack wasn't your attending but an attending none the less and Robby's friend- brother- at that. Although you and Robby were nothing more than colleagues, it didn't feel right to have Jack licking up your want with his name on his tongue.
“Liars don't get to come, you know,” he said. “So, you get this wet when you think about me?”
“Y-Yes.”
You could feel Jack's smile against your thigh as he pressed a kiss there.
Jack hooked two fingers around the bands of your panties and slowly dragged them down. “Do you get this wet when you think about our Doctor Robby?”
“Yes. Yes I do,” you gasped, your body curling up in the relief of letting go.
Yes, you liked Robby's extra attention. You couldn't even be left angry at his chastising you when it sent a wave of need through you, settling in your core. When you'd been at the bar with Jack, touching him in ways you'd thought about touching your own attending, almost wishing he would storm through the door and see the two of you.
“Good girl.”
Quickly Jack tilted his head back and found purchase in your pussy.
His tongue laid flat against your core.
It didn't stay in one place long. It explored all around you, tasting you for the first time and mapping out delicate spots. He slipped between your folds like he was always supposed to be there, moaning into you.
Your nails dug into his shoulders. “Mmh, Jack!”
He licked you up, spreading the mess of your want around and cleaning it up. “Taking my tongue so well,” he said against you. He dragged his lips down your thigh, wet tongue dragging up and down.
Your legs trembled as Jack spread the lips of your pussy and buried himself in there again. He pressed his thumb onto your clit, your body lurching at the pressure.
“Oh fuck, J-Jack!”
“Pull my hair, pull my hair,” he said into you.
Your did so. Your hand fell into the short strands of his salt and pepper hair, twirling into the strands and tugging just enough to rip a groan from him.
Jack buried himself into your further, his nose nudging into you deeper and deeper till he was almost trying to be inside of you.
Every time your eyes fluttered shut Jack pulled back, easing up on his work of your pussy and easing the orgasm that was slowly building up.
“No, no- eyes on me, keep your eyes on me, baby,” he said.
You looked down to him. “Jack, I want- I want to come.”
“I know, I know you do baby,” he said, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit again. “You will, I promise, I promise.”
He eased himself up from his knees and helped off your shirt and peeled off your bra before he latched himself onto your breast.
Your back arched into him. His hands felt larger than ever as they curled around your waist and held you in. He groped at your breast, watching it jiggle as he moved before swirling his tongue around your nipple.
“Jack-”
“God, I wish Robby were here,” said Jack as he switched his attention to your other.
“Wh-what?” you didn't know if you'd heard him right.
Jack looked at your breasts instead of you, dedicating time to licking up each of them. “Wish Robby could see how good a girl you're being,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he wasn't talking to you. “How responsive you are. Would you like that? Would you like Robby to watch?”
You imagined it, closing your eyes.
Jack let you.
You pictured Robby sat on the bed, watching. Would he watch with his glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose? Would he keep his hands to himself or want to touch and play? You imagined how big he was, if he'd get hard watching.
If he'd touch. If he'd stand behind you while Jack kissed along your breasts. Would Robby dedicate enough time to the back of you?
“You want Robby?” asked Jack.
Anyone else eating you out or with hands on your chest wouldn't want another mans name on your lips.
Jack seemed to thrive on it.
“Yes,” you gasped.
Jack reached back up to you. “Yeah.... yeah...” his nose ghosted yours as he inched closer to kiss you.
In the slim lighting of his bed room you could see the shine of his lips from your arousal, the burn of red at his cheeks. There was a clink as he un-did his belt, throwing it behind him as he slowly pulled down his trousers.
First you saw the prosthetic of his leg before you trailed up, past the scars, to the heavy set of his cock. It flushed red at the tip, a leak of pre-cum running down. It stood tall onto the thin, greying hair down his sternum.
“Jack-” you reached for him, wrapping your hand around him.
“Ah- ahh fuck, baby,” he moaned as you slowly pumped him. “You feel so good. God, Robby doesn't know what he's missing.”
You tangled your tongue with his as you pumped, growing confident in every pump, in every leak of his cock, in ever groan of him into your mouth.
Would Robby guide you to holding Jack's man hood in your hand? Would his own hand wrap around your wrist and guide you up and down, muttering how good you were doing.
It was like you could hear him in your head.
'What a good girl doing what you're told, so responsive,' you imagined the heavy set of his tongue dragging over your pulse as you wrapped your arm around Jack's shoulders, smothering him in closer.
“I wish-” you said against his lips, making a mess out of you mouth as you squeezed his cock. “I wish Robby were here.”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too baby,” said Jack, slowly wrapping his fingers around your wrist and peeling back your hand. He pulled two of your fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of himself off and into the warmth of his mouth. “Next time.”
Jack eased you back on his bed, crawling over you.
You shuffled up, sitting up on his headboard. “Do you- do you want me to?”
Jack's brows pulled together as he brushed back your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “To what, baby?”
“To ride you? Would it be easier on your leg?”
Jack smiled, love sick. “That's very kind of you sweetheart. Next time, I'll let you ride me like I'm a damn horse,” he whispered as he slowly lowered you down. “Right now I want you to finish on my tongue. Then I'm gonna really fuck you like I've wanted to for so long.”
You watched with a bite to your lip as Jack rolled a condom over his cock before hovering over you.
He stirred the base of his cock against your pussy, rubbing the arousal of you over your slit.
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, yes.”
Would Robby hold you against him, keep your legs spread for Jack? Or would Jack insist on Robby going first.
“Beg for it, baby.”
Before your words could leave your mouth the familiar buzz of your phone echoed between you.
Maybe anyone else would have ignored it, sent it to voicemail or let it ring. Except Jack- he moved down his bed, reaching for your pants and fishing out your phone. He smirked down at the contact before holding the phone out to you.
“Answer it.”
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him. “Wh-what?”
“Answer him,” he said, grabbing your hand and putting the phone it in.
Robby.
You looked to Jack, having no time to ask if he was serious before he was descending on the bed again. His eyes were pointed, gaze locked on you.
You answered, holding the phone to your ear. “H-hey, Robby.”
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
Did he know you'd left the bar with Jack? Did he hear his name called from both your lips?
“Yeah, everything's okay.”
Jack smirked at you.
“I've been calling you all night, you didn't answer,” you could hear the slight accusation in his voice, the small anger you hadn't bowed and answered the phone when he called. He wasn't good at hiding it though maybe he thought he was.
“Sorry I-”
Jack slid two fingers inside of you at once and pumped them without warning.
You caught your breath in your throat. “- I was busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yeah,” you gasped.
Robby stirred down the line. “You okay?”
Jack was looming close enough to you, nodding for you to pull the phone back enough for him to hear.
“Yeah, it's just, cold in my apartment,” you lied.
Jack's brows rose, he mouthed the word, cold?
“Still haven't sorted that heating, huh?” Robby chuckled down the line. “You need someone to come sort that out for you.”
Jack withdrew his hand, dragging those two fingers from inside of you around you, before lowering himself back down. He spread you open, lying his tongue back in.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Want me to come take a look at it?” asked Robby.
“Not- not right now,” you pushed your phone back as Robby scoffed lightly. You sort Jack's attention, begging for the end of the torture he was inciting. His eyes were a haze of lust as he only watched you, shaking his head slowly to feel all around you.
His hand pushed your knee up to your chest, welcoming him in deeper.
“Are you still mad at me for earlier?”
“Y-yes!”
“You are?”
You'd forgot Robby down the line, forgot his question, could only feel the depth of Jack's tongue in you. You bit down on the bottom of your lip. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I am!”
“Okay- well, i'm sorry,” he said down the line. “You just have no idea what seeing you with Jack does to me.”
Jack moaned into you, sending vibrations through your body. His nose nudged against your clit, circling his tongue in you. Your mouth opened, a moan ripping through you that Jack managed to stifle quickly by slamming his hand over your mouth.
“- It's just, I think of you as one of mine,” Robby continued down the line, un-aware's to Jack tapping your phone on speaker and placing it next to you.
Jack dropped his mouth next to your ear, nipping at the lobe. “As mine,” he uttered.
“- seeing you with Jack, I can't stand it, you know I can't-”
Jack went back down to his work, two fingers working inside of you as he sucked in your clit. Your walls are like silk that his fingers thread through with ease, your mind blank with pleasure.
Your moans continued to be muffled by his mouth, he dared not move it.
“- you know I... you know I favour you over anybody else in that ER-”
Your hand reached out for your phone, sure you would come soon and needed to end the phone call.
Jack reached out for you. “Be nice, be nice.”
You picked up the phone and put it to your ear, Jack sucking diligently at your bundle of nerves. “Robby, I-”
“What is it? You sound like you're burning up? You need me?”
Yes, you needed him.
Jack curled his fingers up and you came with a loud gasp, ending the call abruptly as your world shattered in stars of want. Your back arched into Jack's mouth as he laid there open mouthed, taking what you could give him like a man dying of thirst.
Only when your breathing calmed and you could open your eyes to make sense of the world- and Jack's room- did Jack slowly move out his fingers, gently crawling up you body with kisses like butterflies.
You laughed when Jack reached your neck. “Oh god.”
“What?” he said, laughing along with you.
“I hung up on Robby.”
Jack fished for your phone, holding it between the two of you as he rubbed the head of his cock against the slick of your folds. “Then I guess we better call him back.”
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
sammy bryant, who takes his gf to a pool party and gets lots of jeers along the lines of "do you know what to do with all that?" from his coworkers as she lays out in a lounge chair in a cute little bikini.
yes anon. YES! such a lovely idea i hope i brought it to life properly <3
thinking about how sammy bryant and everyone else thinks you’re way out of his league.
it started with the obvious, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. sammy was all nervous and tongue tied around you from the moment you came into the department as an important witness for one of his cases. it took about three months of coming around for questioning and also just stopping by to ‘stay updated’ before you had to be embarrassingly direct. “sammy? are you ever gonna ask me out or should i stop with the muffin and coffee visits?” he had been absolutely baffled that you wanted to date him.
and so was everyone else at the station. you started coming around more often, no longer a witness but as his girlfriend. you charmed everyone instantly with your sweet personality, bubbly conversations, and of course… you’re hot at shit. all the detectives can’t keep their eyes off you when you prance into the department in a tiny skirt and lunch that you made for sammy.
and they especially can’t look away right now. in the backyard of one of the detectives houses as you sit in the cutest little bikini with bows on it. you’re stretched out on one of the lounge chairs giggling and getting to know to the other girlfriends and wives of sammy’s coworkers. sammy is at the grill with all the other guys, uncomfortably flipping burgers while they all jeer at him.
they start off strong with their taunts. “you payin’ her sammy?” and “how much prison time did ya threaten her with if she didn’t date you?”. sammy is beet red at this point. he’s about to snap and pull up the sex tape the two of you made last night where you were sobbing from how good he made you feel, when the new rookie chimes in. “yeah bryant. do you even know what to do with all that?”
“of course i do!” his angry yell rings out through the backyard. everyone turns their head at the noise. sammy looks around sheepishly at the wide eyes he gets. he finds yours that are filled with concern “everything okay sammy?”. he nods once, then turns back to the grill as the other detectives double over in laughter.
little do they know, on the other side of the pool you’re telling the other women that sammy bryant knows exactly what to do with ‘all that’.
"you've seriously gotten a noise complaint!?" one of the wives asks you. you giggle through your response, probs too tipsy and oversharing. "we've gotten so many i stopped keeping track! what can i say? he always makes me scream." all jaws drop to the floor, mascara'd eyes blowing wide at your words. "really?" a blonde asks you in disbelief. you scoff and shrug casually as if what you're about to say is the bare minimum. “big time. it’s because he makes sure i come at least twice before he even tries to have sex. never settles ladies." all female eyes curiously trail across the yard to your boyfriend with a newfound respect for the man that apparently keeps you more than satisfied.
you're feeling wayyy too comfortable at this point, so you're a little glad when you hear sammy's voice cut through your next admission. "oh and! he does this thing with his tongue that makes me literally black out right when he-" "baby?" your head snaps to your boyfriend who is now only a few feet away. he has a plate of food put together for you of everything you like without you even having to ask. all the women clock it, then glare at their partners who are already eating at the outdoor table. sammy looks very flushed as he hands it to you, most definitely from hearing your words.
actually, all of the detectives hear your words. but not from you. nope, sammys coworkers got an earful about your amazing sex life later that night at home from their spouses. the next day at the station, they all stare at sammy as if they've never seen him before.
sammy's instantly flustered and heavily confused at the almost astonished looks he's receiving. it isn't until the same rookie who had questioned his abilities the previous night comes up to him and says, "hey man... if you're ever um- givin' out any tips for... y'know- i would uh, appreciate it." that he understands that everyone now knows exactly how he gets a girl like you to date him.
hey so what are we thinking jack’s/pope’s cup size is….because imma be honest his are bigger than mine….like those are full on BOOBS (stress balls for my hands ya know)
