writing fuels the soul

(20)

[dragonbe-writing]

Masterlist

A/N: Hey! I'm Dragon, pronouns she/her or they/them. Request are open and welcome! Also! (x reader) means its 3rd person. I never write in first person. Okay, masterlist time!

Call of Duty

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Cold as Hell (x Reader with est. Code Name) (18+)

König

Dirty Talking in German (HC) (18+)

Desperation (x reader) (18+)

Captain John Price

My Name Around Your Neck (x reader) (18+)

Motor Mouth (x reader) (18+)

Just a Taste (x reader) (18+)

Stupid Fucking Pillow (oneshot)

Early Mornings (x plus size!reader) (18+)

Fallen Feathers (Fantasy AU) Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Wildflowers and Cigarettes (x OC) Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt.3(18+)

Poems

Alive

[valiants]

Some more nikprice at @jayfall and others’ requests..🩶⛓️

[bambiiette]

munch jack abbot

WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD (MDNI) - oral f!receiving, dining table sex bc why not, porn w/o plot, fem!reader, established relationship

A/N: i’ve got nothing appropriate to say.

────────── ୨ৎ ───────────

you’re not sure how you got here. laying on your dining room table, naked and spread out while jack sits on a chair in from of you.

“you’re so wet for me sweetheart,” is what you hear him say as his swipes a finger through your wet folds.

his face moves down between your thighs without further hesitation. his tongue is quick to drag slowly from your entrance up to your clit in one long, wet stripe. you gasp, legs instinctively closing around his head. jack forces them open again with his hands. he licks a broad, flat stroke through your folds. and then more, savoring every drop of your arousal.

he begins to focus on your swollen clit. tracing with firm, precise circles of his tongue. he sucks your clit into his mouth, vibrating against you as he hums. your thighs tremble around his head.

your hands flew to his hair, gripping tightly and you moaned loudly. the wet, filthy sounds of him devouring you filled the room. it was a mix of loud slurping, his groans of pleasure that were muffled by your pussy, and your desperate moans.

his free hand gripped your ass, spreading you wider so he could bury his tongue even deeper, tongue poking at your entrance and your thighs start shaking. your legs clamp around his head again but this time jack is so focused on your pleasure he leaves them. he’d be happy to die suffocating in between your legs anyway.

you could tell you were close, moans getting higher, your pussy clenching around his tongue. “baby- baby please. gonna cum,” you whine, your vision whiting out as you came hard around him.

jack doesn’t stop licking you through it. he draws out every last wave of your pleasure until you’re pushing his head back with your hands, overstimulated and pussy overworked. when he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten in the dim lights. he gives you a second before his head moves back down and he starts leaving little kisses on your upper thighs.

“give me another one. ‘m not finished with my dinner yet.”

[lesserthan-3]

boyfriend gaz who sort of has a thing for making you cry.

not in a mean way- he’s the sweetest and most perfect man you could ask for. He gives you “just because” flowers, he insists you never touch a door, and hell would freeze over before he lets you leave home without a kiss.

but he loves to kiss you fat tears away as he bullies his cock inside of you, his chin and lips glistening with your sweet arousal.

“I know, baby, I know, I know. Poor thing must be so sensitive.”

to which you nod and let out the cutest sniffle that makes his cock just jerk with excitement.

[lesserthan-3]

dubcon themes - threesome with gaz and price :3

captain john price who’s just a natural leader. He’s had it in him since he was just a wee lad. people just always gravitated towards him and over the years, he’s come to enjoy the natural dominance he has over others.

first, he meets gaz and gaz is the perfect subordinate. not only does he understand the hierarchy, but price can literally see the glimmer in Gaz’s eyes- eagerness to prove that he’s a good soldier.

then there’s you. you’re young, bright eyed, and similar to gaz, eager to please. he swears “yes sir” are your two favorite words. and just like gaz, he takes you under his wing.

you and gaz flourish under his leadership, learning exceptionally fast and in the meantime, forming a “special bond.”

it takes him a bit- but price notices. At first, it’s you offering your water bottle when gaz runs out. And then it’s the playful nudges at the dinner table. And even during movie nights, you two are suddenly sitting side by side rather than with price in the middle.

so, with his two best soldiers at heart, he calls you both into his office. “You two have anything you want to tell me?”

you and gaz give each other an odd look- perhaps out of confusion or just pure reluctance. “don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s been going on between you two.”

when you’re both silent, eyes straight ahead, and still as a board, price sighs. “Look, I’m not mad.”

you finally crack, “you’re not?” And your question confirms everything he needs to know.

price stalks over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “No, I’m not. But I’m saying this in your best interest. There’s lots to think about when you start a relationship. This isn’t high school.”

“We know that, sir.” gaz takes a step closer to you, intertwining your fingers together. prices focus drifts, watching the way gaz has his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the backside of your hand.

“You both know I want what’s best for you, right?” To which you both nod quickly- as you both always did. “Good- I’m gonna help you two through this, yeah?”

and in hindsight, you probably should have asked a few more questions but “yes sir” came so easily with price.

so gradually, price helps you two get on the same assignments. then he’s suggesting gift ideas for national girlfriend day to gaz. and soon, he even manages to move you both in same barracks despite genders usually being split.

and when all is going well, price calls you into his office again.

“Alls good on the home front?”

this time, gaz is more confident as he holds your hand in his. “Very. Thank you, sir, or helping.”

price nods approvingly. joy swells in his chest as he watches his two favorite kids grow up into real adults. “so now that you two have been getting along, it’s time for the next step in your relationship.”

“Next step?” you ask softly, tilting your head in confusion.

“how do you feel about intimacy?”

you both turn to look at each other before a blush creeps on your cheeks. Gaz nearly mirrors your actions as you both bashfully look away.

price let’s put an amused laugh. “I’ll take that as a no.” he circles around you both, clapping a hand on both of your backs which startles you both. “how ‘bout we start today?”

there’s some brief hesitation, but then overall agreement when price assures you again that is all “for your best interest.”

so price instructs both of you to strip down. it’s humiliating to say the least, but that feeling sits beside a needing ache as your eyes land on gaz’s warm and bare skin.

he has gaz lay you down on his desk as he takes his seat in the large leather chair. “Right there, Kyle. Get in between them legs. See how it’s leaking? Good sign, son.”

Gaz lets out a shuddered breath. the sight of your glistening folds has his dick jumping with excitement. instinctively, he kneels down, arms wrapping around your thighs and bringing to his drooling mouth.

price keeps quiet, observing the way gaz experimentally licks a stripe up your sopping slit, taking in the way you gasp and jerk eat time he reaches your sensitive clitty.

he watches the way your hips start to chase more and more- eager for a friction that gaz is just too polite to give. so price stands up, walking to behind gaz. he grabs a fistful of his hair to which gaz groans deep into your cunt before pressing his face against your deprived core. “she’s not a porcelain doll, son. you gotta get in there.”

you shudder, hips humping poor Gaz’s face as he’s probably losing oxygen by the second. but you just can’t help it- not when it feels so. damn. good.

and when price things gaz can handle it on his own, he lets go. he knows gaz is a fast learner after all. price makes his way to your head, keen to the way you’re whimpering and sobbing? is that a tear?

he kneels down, palm pressed on your forehead. “Aww, poor baby. these are good tears, yeah?”

you nod furiously, “w-wanna…I’m- oh! oh! cum…cumming!”

and when you’re both a little too drunk on pleasure, he stands, sinking his cock onto your gasping mouth. his eyes flutter briefly, letting out a deep groan as he watches you writhe and quite literally feels you whimpering as you climax.

when gaz pulls away, he’s too memorized to notice anything but the way your pussy is practically begging to be fucked. his eyes are glazed over with one thought and one thought only.

price leans over the table, cock sliding deeper in your throat in the process. he flattens out his palm, running it down your stomach until he’s fingering your entrance. “give me your hand, kyle.”

gaz complies. price overlaps his hand with gaz’s, guiding it to your entrance. he pushes in two of gaz’s, and then one of his own.

Gaz watches in amazement at the way your pussy opens up so willingly for not one, not two, but three thick fingers. each pulse of your cunt is mirrored with a twitch of his dick, eager to feel the warmth around his own member.

price curls his finger, pushing against gaz who mimics the movement. “You feel that? that little spongey thing?”

“yes, sir.”

you let out a mewl, knees jerking close instinctively.

price delivers a sharp and firm slap to each thigh. “open up, soldier. keep ‘em there.”

he watches in wonders as your legs settle, complying with his orders before shifting his focus back to gaz. “You wanna hit that every time, understood?”

price withdraws his fingers, standing back up straight as gaz does the same. gaz takes his cock, pumping his length one and then twice before lining it up with your sopping puss.

with a deep and gutting moan, gaz fills you up with one firm press of his hips. his head drops back and he swears he’s seeing stars. he whines ever so softly, bucking his hips and burying himself to the hilt in your warm hole.

“how’s it feel?”

“l-like heaven, sir.”

it doesn’t take long before gaz’s hips chase the never ending reward of being engulfed in your divine. he’s panting, firm hands on your hips, bringing you to the base of his cock with every stroke.

price smiles in satisfaction, watching his mentee bloom with confidence. now that gaz is settled, he focuses back on you.

he withdraws his cock and it leaves a lewd string of saliva connecting it to your plump lips. “nice look you got there.”

he’s in fact referring to the way your eyes are glossy with need and the thin sheen of sweat of your forehead that only adds to the alluring mess. he runs his have over your upper body before finding home around your chest, letting his thumb softly trace over your perked nipples.

he slides his cock back into your slacked jaw, not thrusting, not rolling, merely resting it in your warmth.

gaz leans his body over yours, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck as he desperately humps into you. and being the perfect rule follower he is- he’s thrusting right into the same spot over and over. thank goodness price was there to help him find it.

“Oh, baby- oh fuck, you feel so good. baby, baby, oh b-baby.” he’s whimpering into your ear, hot breath grazing your neck as if almost suffocating you.

price looks down adoringly, watching his two favorite subordinates completely in a euphoric high. there’s something so satisfying about the way you both are shaking with need and clumsily moving your bodies to get off on one another.

price withdraws his cock, stuffing it back into his pants before taking his seat again at the head of the desk. “Fast learners you both are.”

And in a broken unison, you both reply on instinct. “Th-thank you, sir.”

[silverlullabies]

Simon Riley who doesn't do delicate.

He tried once- some lean bird with sharp hips and delicate wrist bones that looked like they’d snap if he squeezed too hard. She was pretty in the way fragile things are: all long lines and hollow shadows. When he gripped her waist, his thick fingers overlapped easily, too easily, and the thought hit him like ice water: he could crush her if he forgot himself for even a second. When he buried himself deep, she gasped sharp and tight, her whole body tensing like it hurt more than it pleased, fighting to take the stretch of him. Every thrust felt like walking a razor’s edge, one wrong move from snapping her in half.

It left him cold. Detached. Fucking her was like handling fragile ordnance- too much awareness, too much restraint. Her flesh bruised too easily, blooming purple under his grip like overripe fruit splitting open in the summer heat if you squeezed just right. Her thighs shook from strain instead of pleasure, barely able to wrap around his waist without trembling.

There was no soft give when he pressed his full weight down, no warm overflow of flesh to sink into. Just sharp bone digging back at him, quiet winces she tried to hide behind bitten lips, and moans that sounded more like endurance than ecstasy. She didn’t beg for harder. She just took it, eyes squeezed shut, surviving him.

And Simon Riley had spent too many years surviving on endurance already. He didn't want a body that reminded him of fragility every time he fucked it, one that made him feel like a brute, something dangerous that needed to be leashed. (Something that made him feel like his father.)

The first time he sank his fingers into your soft, overflowing hips, something deep in his chest unclenched like a rusted lock finally giving way. No brittle bones under his palms. No fear that one rough thrust would bruise or break you. Just warm, yielding flesh that took every brutal snap of his hips Cushion. Give. A body that could handle his full weight.

He loved the way your belly pressed soft and warm against him when he folded you in half, how your thick thighs tembled and squeezed around his waist. He liked burying his face between them, smothered in heat and softness while they shook and soaked his face.

You could take him, cock pounding so deep it punched the breath from your lungs and still look up at him with heavy lidded eyes and moan "Harder, Simon, please."

He’d never say it out loud. Never explain the way your body made the constant roar in his head go quiet. But the truth was brutally simple:

Delicate things broke under his hands.

Soft, heavy, generous bodies didn't.

And Simon Riley was a man who needed something- someone- that could survive him.

[silverlullabies]

Mmmm imagine being passed around between Captain MacTavish, Captain Price, and Nikolai because you made one too many old man jokes at their expense. Now the only sounds coming out of you are your desperate, exhausted whimpers and the wet slap of skin on skin.

Drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking to your hot face as you ride Nikolai's cock with everything you have left. Poor thing with your thighs burning, muscles trembling with every bounce, but the Russian only lounges back, hands loosely on your hips, refuses to thrust up, cock dragging along drooling walls as you lift and drop, lift and drop.

"Faster, Malyshka," Nik drawls, tone full of amusement. "You are young, full of energy, da? All those jokes of old men... now you huff and puff like broken steam engine."

A loud, pathetic whine rips from your throat as you force your shaking legs to move quicker. "Nik- p-please. 'm so tired." Voice cracking into a huff, chest heaving. Sweat rolls down between your breasts, cunt clenching hard around his cock, messy and soaked, dripping down his heavy balls. Legs feeling like jelly, muscles screaming as your grind down harder, clit dragging against the coarse hairs at his base with every exhausted roll.

A sharp crack of a hand across your ass makes you squeal, jolting forward. Before you can recover, Captain MacTavish’s rough hands yank your hips down hard, forcing every last thick inch of Nikolai’s cock back inside you until your bodies slam flush together. Both of you groan at the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"None o' that whinin' lass," MacTavish's burr says behind you grinding you down on Nikolai until you drool. "Ye've been takin' the piss outta us for weeks callin' us decrepit old fucks. Now look at ye, bouncin' like a wee spring lamb. Dinnae stop now. Yer young, full o' fire.. put that young energy tae use."

Broken whimpers spilling from your throat as your burning legs lift once more. The wet schlick-schlick-schlick of your soaked pussy sliding up and down Nikolai’s cock fills the room, filthy and loud. Your arms shake, fingers curling into his broad, hairy chest, breasts bouncing heavily with every exhausted drop.

Before your legs can give out completely, strong hands grab you from behind. MacTavish hauls you off Nikolai in one smooth motion. Your cunt clenches desperately around nothing for a split second before he spins you and pulls you straight down onto Price’s waiting cock.

Price groans deep in his chest as you sink onto him, the new stretch punching the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back.

“There’s my girl,” he rumbles, voice gravelly and smoky. One large hand lazily cups your breast, thumb flicking over your sensitive nipple. “So fucking wet. All that young stamina… don’t waste it now. Ride me proper.”

You try. God, you try. You start bouncing again, ass slapping rhythmically against Price’s thick thighs. The new angle has his cock dragging right over that devastating spot inside you with every drop, sharp pleasure cutting through the exhaustion like lightning.

MacTavish kneels beside you, slowly fisting his own thick cock, the flushed tip leaking as he watches. "Aye, just like that bonnie. Look at the mess yer makin', soakin' the Captain's balls like a good little slut." He reaches over and pinches your swollen clit, rolling it between calloused fingers until you sob.

Your rhythm falters, legs buckling for a moment. Price tsks softly.

"None of that." he murmurs, eyes dark. "Show us how much energy that pretty young body has."

MacTavish leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "Keep goin' lass. Yer no' done until we say ye are. Bounce harder- let us hear how soeaked ye are for old men."

You cry out, muscles screaming, body drenched and trembling, but you keep moving- lifting, dropping, grinding- lost in the wet sounds of your own exhausted submission. The three of them watched with satisfied eyes, trading you between them like a well earned prize, refusing to help even as your whimpers turned into wrecked, desperate moans.

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

For anybody not caught up: Tennessee just passed a new map that pretty much makes it so black neighborhoods have no power in local votes. Two things about this. While protestors were chanting "No Jim Crow", white Tennessee lawmakers were caught laughing on video. On top of this, Representative Justin Pearson and his brother KeShaun Pearson were arrested for trying to give their takes on the matter (which is not only their legal right but literally his job). If you give a shit about black people, help fight this. We can't allow a return to Jim Crow.

[icemankazansky]

Heyyy guess where I live

A local paper had some great photographs, all taken by Nicole Hester:

The day before, Rep. Justin Pearson tries to attend a Senate Committee meeting and is barred access by the Sergeant at Arms.

Lawmakers and protesters link arms as the descend the capitol steps.

Once inside the chamber, Democratic representatives continued to stand together with arms linked.

They continued standing together with arms linked as votes were cast.

Democratic representatives take a group photo protesting the redistricting.

Rep. Justin Jones burns a photo of the Confederate flag with the words, We will not go back.

And stomps the ashes.

KeShaun Pearson being escorted from the building by the Staties.

KeShaun Pearson (left) being taken into custody. Rep. Justin Pearson (right) showing his support of his brother.

Additional information: State lawmakers have been gunning for Pearson and Jones nearly their entire terms. Most notably, in 2023, the House expelled them for participating in a protest at the Capitol. Their districts had to have special elections to have them reinstated.

Pearson is one of the plaintiffs of a lawsuit seeking an injunction against the redistricting.

The city most affected by the redistricting is Memphis, where locals are fighting against xAI's data center, which has been operating with very little oversight and is poisoning the people who live there. Here is a previous post on that with more information and more sources.

[abbotly]

compromise

Jack Abbot x resident!reader

Synopsis: Your attending is worried your mouth is putting you in unnecessary danger with testy patients, which you find ironic coming from a man who gets shot at as a side gig.

Warnings: Jack’s swat shift injury is a little more serious than canon (also mentions of bullets/being shot), violent patient/code hula hoop, they say fuck a lot, Did Not do enough rewatching/research and probs butchered everything medical in this SORRY

A/n: fighting jet lag and simply could not get sweaty swat shift 1pm jack out of my head, soooo! oops

part 2 here!

——

“Knew that mouth was gonna get you in trouble one day.”

Dr. Jack Abbot murmurs his admonishment for you in a voice so low that you barely hear it over the steady hum of alarms and voices, not to mention the residual sound of blood pounding in your ears from adrenaline.

Standing in front of you where you sit on the exam bed, his presence looms over you such that you can’t help but feel he’s looking down at you.

Down on you and the decisions that he thinks landed you here.

His grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head to the left and the right, flecks of concern marring his hazel eyes.

You smack his hand away.

“Are you blaming a female healthcare worker for violence from a male patient twice her size?” you challenge, quirking your brow in mock offense.

You know that’s not what he means, and you almost feel bad when his face falls in guilt. But you’re still fired up from the encounter and you can’t ever resist a chance to spar head-to-head with your attending — unlucky for him, this one’s been served to you on a silver platter.

“Should we call Gloria?” you press. “I can get Javadi to make a TikTok.”

He retracts his hand back to his side where it belongs — not anywhere near you, as far as you’re concerned. It’d be frozen, hovering at the side of your face.

“Good point,” he says, hands now on his hips. “Sorry. You okay?”

You blink your rapidly swelling eye, dabbing at your split lip gently with the pad of your ring finger. “Yeah. Never better.”

He shakes his head, any concern replaced again by disappointment. “You gotta call hula hoop, kid.”

“Why? I knew you were watching.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, rolling over the tray Lena had prepared for your room. “Well I’m not always going to be.”

You doubt that — sometimes Jack felt like a fly you could never swat away, right over your shoulder when you least needed him to be. You guess tonight is an exception.

“Those procedures are in place to keep you safe. If you’re gonna run your mouth—”

“Again, with the blaming,” you accuse.

“I’m not blaming you. It’s not your fault,” he says. “But sometimes…”

He trails off, ripping open a swab, bringing it to your lip. His other hand holds your face again as he dabs at your lip.

The bleeding had stopped after a while once Lena supplied you with gauze to hold against it, rattling off assessment questions while you could still hear Jack and Crus working with security to restrain the patient in the background.

She looked at your eye and begged you to let Shen order a CT, but you’d sat there frozen, reeling until Jack had appeared where you were situated in the empty room next door, his chest heaving and hair mussed, clearing everyone else from the room and telling them to get back to work.

The swab stings a little, even with his feather-light touch, and you can’t help but rear back, even if you don’t slap his hand away this time.

“Sometimes what?”

“Hold still,” he says, hand tightening on your chin. He keeps dabbing, swearing when you feel a new line of blood start to trickle down your chin. You grab a pad of gauze off the tray and hold it up to your chin yourself, before he grabs it from you and wipes it himself. “Sometimes I just wish you’d mouth off a little less.”

You scoff, and he pulls back with frustrated resignation, like he’s ready for the monologue you’re about to burst into. He’s heard them enough times.

“Sorry I don’t just let these daddy’s money fucks walk all over me for our patient satisfaction scores,” you spit, your lip aching, head throbbing, heart pounding. Traitorous tears push at the back of your eyes. “They don’t scare me, and neither do the suits upstairs. They’re all cut from the same cloth. I came from a hospital way worse than this.”

“I’m sure,” he nods, still paused with the swab in his hand, holding the gauze pad with the other. “But you’re at my hospital now. So cool it. If not for your own sake, then for your attending’s, who has to sign off on all of these reports, yeah?”

“What happened to being the weirdest and wildest?” you say. “Hooah?”

“You can do that without having to enter concussion protocol,” he argues, dropping the gauze to the tray. “Night crawlers gotta be careful, too. Probably even more so.”

“Um, that’s wild. Was it not you I heard earlier telling someone to shut their fucking mouth?” you retort. He still holds your jaw, his grip firm but not harsh — nothing like the man who’d done this to you — continuing to dab at your lip until he’s satisfied before discarding the swab onto the tray next to the gauze.

He grins at your remark then, some tension evaporating from the room, even if he still scans your face with intensity. He looks kind of silly, trying to smile with a crease in his brow.

“Touche. I for one can’t wait to read the review he leaves,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll get a CC on that one.”

“‘Stupid bitch doctor didn’t let me obstruct an active investigation,’” you say. “‘Cut my ugly Brooks Brothers golf shirt off. Papa’s lawyer will be in touch.’”

Abbot’s still smiling and you find yourself doing it too, wincing when your lip stretches over the broken skin. “Motherfucker.”

“C’mon, res,” he sighs, reaching for another swab, ripping it open. You let him fix up your lip unbothered this time, not speaking. He doesn’t feel the need to hold your face still this time, but you almost wish he would.

When he speaks again, it’s no longer chastising.

“How about,” he starts, throwing the second swab on the cart, shucking his gloves into the trash and opening the monitor across the room with his badge. “‘Put my stupid, privileged hands on a pretty resident and got tossed into police custody. Zero stars.’”

He makes another off-handed comment not to laugh at that and fuck up your lip again before he mumbles his way through your chart. But you’re not laughing at all, your stomach actually flipping at his words.

“Patient presents agitated.”

“Wait, what are you doing?” you say, standing, nudging into his space to see he has a chart open for you. “Can’t we keep this off the books?”

He laughs, still typing, his arm moving against yours. “Not a chance in hell. Go home.”

——

You’d noticed something off about Jack as soon as he’d entered the ED during the day shift half of your double, yelling and sweaty in his SWAT gear, bringing a wave of testosterone onto the floor along with his colleagues.

But he’d struggled throughout the entire procedure, leaning on you and Robby for every step.

“Bag him,” he practically winces, shuffling out of the way, hands held up while you take over Hiro’s intubation.

With Hiro’s vitals closer to stable, Garcia nods for him to be taken upstairs into a waiting OR, and Jack barely cracks a pained smile to an insult about being an adrenaline junkie — nothing smart to say for once.

He exits the room promptly at Robby’s question about contacting Hiro’s family, saying someone else on the team can help him, passing directly behind you.

“You’re with me,” Jack says, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. “Now.”

His eyes find yours for one brief, weighted moment as he shoulders open the Trauma 2 door with a poorly concealed wince.

If not for your worry, you’d have immediately made a snide remark.

You look to Robby, slightly shell-shocked, wondering if he’d heard. Perlah definitely had, if the eyes she’s giving Princess say anything.

Robby just shakes his head. “I don’t think he was asking.”

You sigh, ripping your gloves and gown off into the bin and stalking off in the direction he’d gone, seeing a flash of camo duck into one of the South rooms across the way, wondering what you could’ve possibly even done to tick him off in the measly 10 minutes he’d been here.

You open the door after taking a deep breath outside the room.

“You know you can’t boss me around when you’re not even on shift,” you start.

“Shut the door,” is his instant reply. Message not fucking received.

Jack’s sitting on the bed already, the curtains drawn closed around the entire room, only a small gap left for you.

The room quiets as the door clicks shut behind you, and you draw back the curtain just enough to join him bedside before closing it again.

“What’s—”

One of his elbow pads already discarded on the bed, Jack is undoing the velcro straps on the right side of his Kevlar, but there’s that wince again once he moves to his other side. He tries to reach around his torso, but he can’t get the angle right, and he looks at you.

“Please help me get this thing off.”

You still have yet to learn why he’s clearly in pain, but you can tell the sweat running down his temple isn’t just from the July heat anymore as you step into his space.

“You’re hurt,” you realize, undoing both velcro straps on his left side. You dig your hand into the slight gap between his camo quarter-zip and the vest, pulling the straps out of the plastic loops attached to the back panel of the vest.

“Not badly,” he says, stilling as you push his hand away where he’d been trying to free the straps on the other side, doing it for him.

Both sides undone, you stand back slightly, moving your hands toward his shoulders. You detach the radio he has clipped onto the vest’s collar, placing it on the bed.

“Ready?”

He nods.

The vest comes off easy, but it’s heavy — he still winces as it drags over where he must be injured.

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he breathes. “Just throw it wherever.”

You set it aside on one of the chairs, taking his radio, too, and setting it on top. When you turn back around, he’s already swearing under his breath and struggling with his long sleeve, caught under the remaining elbow pad.

“Alright,” you say, slightly annoyed, but mostly worried. “Do you want my help or not?”

He manages to undo his elbow pad, but grimaces as he shakes it off his good arm. He stops struggling with the shirt after a bit, his right arm stuck halfway through his sleeve. You can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your lips.

“Wow,” he says, but he’s smiling a little, too, incredulous. “This is funny to you?”

“Only a little,” you say. You assess how his arm is awkwardly caught in his sleeve, deciding on your next move. The thing is, you know exactly what you’d do if this was a patient, and not your attending. But you suppose he’s more one than the other right now.

“Do you mind?” you ask, gesturing to the bottom of his shirt.

“No. Not at all,” he says.

“Okay,” you say. “Let me just…”

You pull his right sleeve taut, your other hand going up under his shirt — thankfully, you feel an undershirt on the backside of your hand. He snakes his arm through the rest of the sleeve, and you stretch the shirt up over his head, his sweaty curls flattening further on his head. You really ought to offer him some electrolytes, and maybe a towel.

“I can’t believe they make you guys run around in all this gear when it’s this warm out.”

“Supposed to—” he winces as you drag the rest of the shirt down the arm on his injured side “—keep us safe.”

“Results may vary,” you say under your breath, setting his long-sleeve on the bed.

“Bullet could’ve gone right through without it. I’ll take my chances.”

Your mind catches on the first word, frozen as Jack seems to barely pay it any mind. Why would he, you wonder to yourself, given his history and his reputation — a troubling affliction for adrenaline.

“You got shot?”

“Shot at,” he says, shrugging. Another grimace. “Fuck. It should be a superficial wound, but it’s on my back, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to treat it.”

Your gaze assesses the last layer between you and his skin, his black undershirt, fitted across his chest and arms. No way you’re getting that off of him without it hurting like hell if he can barely undo his elbow pads.

He narrows his eyes. “What are you—”

“It’s the only way.”

“This is my nice shirt,” he warns slowly, eyes tracking you across the room to one of the drawers he knows as well as you do stocks the fabric shears.

“You’re sweating and bleeding all over it,” you say flippantly. “Or do you really want me to try and pull it off?”

He huffs a sigh.

“It’s a fucking t-shirt, Jack,” you say, already hacking at his sleeve. “We can get you a new one. Size small?”

“You little—“

“Extra small. Got it.”

His left arm free after you cut a line from the sleeve to the collar, his pale, freckled shoulder now exposed to the room, you finally get a chance to look at what he’d been complaining about.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, leaning over the side of the bed, getting the best look you can.

“S’not that bad, is it?” he asks, turning to look over his shoulder, grimacing once again.

“Stop moving,” you say, your hand on his face, pushing it away from you. “Have you taken any pain reliever?”

“Got kinda busy,” he says. “You rocked that shit in there, by the way. With Hiro. I’m sure you knew that though.”

Your hand falls away from his jaw. “Doesn’t hurt to hear.”

You come around to cut the rest of the material away, suddenly painfully aware you hadn’t gloved up again in the rush of it all. You pull the fabric from his body as far as you can, but your knuckles still brush against his stomach, his chest, his sternum as you make your way up. The butchered material falls away as you push it off of his body, guiding it down his good arm. You turn away pointedly as soon as he’s properly shirtless, bunching up the ball of fabric and placing it with his vest just to have something to do.

“Just trash it,” he says softly. “I might have you get another from my locker, though.”

“All that fuss,” you say, finally putting a pair of gloves on. “And you had a spare.”

He’s smirking when you do turn back around, and you roll your eyes.

“Let me see, will you?”

It’s quiet after that as you assess the wound. He’s right that it’s superficial, but it still could probably use a few stitches.

You tell him as much, and he nods.

“Whatever you suggest, doc.”

You pull your mouth to one side, still assessing, your hands light. “Maybe we get Robby or someone else in here, just to check. Or I can grab you a mirror?”

You see him shake his head. “I didn’t ask Robby to come in here. I asked you. I’m your patient. Make the call.”

You stop crouching over him just as he turns around again, his gaze fixated on you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I’ll grab a suture kit.”

He nods. “Good. A shirt too, yeah?”

You snap your gloves off and throw them in the trash, flipping him off when they miss and you have to pick them up off the floor.

“I’ll have Dana get it when I put in the order for the anesthetic,” you say, logging into the monitor by the sink after sanitizing your hands. “I think some imaging, too. You’re in a lot of pain.”

“Don’t involve anyone else. I’ll sign off on the order,” he says, then pauses, and you can see him squinting at you in your peripheral. “What are you doing?”

“Starting a chart for you,” you murmur mindlessly, entering his details into the demography section. “Patient presents agitated.”

“Off the books,” he says firmly.

You scoff, tapping the rest of the current line of your assessment out before saving it, locking the display, like he’s in any shape to lunge over and delete it. “Not a chance in hell. Be glad I saved you a little speech about being careful. They’re quite dull.”

“No hula hoop on a SWAT raid,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, wincing when he remembers he can’t do that right now.

It’s too late though — the image of your attending shirtless, wearing camo pants and sweating all over the exam bed, arms taught over his chest, will be burned into your retinas for the foreseeable future.

“Maybe there should be,” you mumble, crossing the room to him again. You look at his wound one more time, mentally noting you’ll need irrigation, too, and maybe a Plastics consult that you know he’ll refuse.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking up at you when you stand full height again. “You worried about me?”

You shrug. “If you die and leave me stuck under Robby…”

He chuckles. “‘Cause they’d never stick you with Shen, right? You’d get fuck all done together.”

You can no longer help the smile that has irritatingly been threatening to break through for a while — ever since you’d discovered he actually was okay, really.

“It wouldn’t be good for the hospital.”

“So maybe we both agree to be a little more careful then,” he suggests, wincing as he stands again, pushing himself off of the bed. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you say.

“Your eye looks good, by the way,” he says. Your eyes narrow at the way his voice has dripped into that deeper register. The same one it takes on when he tells you atta girl and you’re with me, now. “Healed nicely.”

Open bullet graze, sweaty curls and all, Jack makes his way to where you’re standing, his hand grabbing your face like he had just last week, titling your head side to side. This time, his thumb brushes softly over where your lip had split, the skin new and soft under his calloused fingertip.

“This, too,” he murmurs, pressing down just slightly.

You let him linger for just long enough, chancing a look up at him through your lashes, reveling in the way he looks down at you now — something that had annoyed you only last week when you were up on that bed instead.

But then you smack his hand away.

“Don’t think any of that’s gonna convince me not to submit this to your police department.”

[rusticfurnace]

ik tumblr is strict with its nsfw policy but i still want to give you guys something for those that doesnt have a twitter account. should i post it on ao3 or someplace else?

[rusticfurnace]

ITS HERE! well not all of them, but i alr posted all ghoap nsfw art i made here. enjoy!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/84542691

[apfelkernchen]

Don’t do anything stupid

Summary: A doctor, a motorcycle and a deeply unbothered three-legged cat. Or: how Robby tried to disappear and instead got adopted.

Characters: Dr. Michael (Robby) Robinavitch, Dr. Jack Abbot (in texts)

--- --- ---

It happened in week three of Robby’s Sabbatical. By then he pretty much knew where this trip was going. Not that he wanted to - really - but he didn’t see another way out. He answered Jack’s messages dutifully. Every night at 7 p.m. sharp, another check in:

You okay?

Still alive?

Don’t do anything stupid.

I’m here if you need me.

And Robby always answered. He planned to keep doing that until - well. Until one night he wouldn’t answer at all.

He had just checked into a cheap motel off the highway, exhausted after a long day on the road. He opened the door to his room - and stopped mid-step.

There was an orange tabby cat on the bed.

When it heard him, it lifted it’s head, gave a quiet meow, then settled back down like it owned the place.

Robby blinked.

He didn’t remember booking a room with a cat.

He set his bag down and closed the door carefully behind him. Then he stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed.

The cat stirred again. Looked at him with wide green eyes - wary for half a second - then yawned. 

It stood.

That’s when Robby saw it was missing a leg, which didn’t seem to bother it. Also it was male.

It stretched lazily then walked straight over to him with no hesitation. It climbed into his lap, shoved its head under his leather jacket and settled like it had always belonged there.

It was asleep again in seconds.

Robby stared down at it.

“Um” he muttered. “Yeah. That’s not… ideal.”

But he didn’t move.

At some point the cat decided it had had enough of him.

It slipped out of his lap without ceremony, stretched, then padded off toward the bathroom like it knew the place. Robby watched it go, still not entirely convinced this was actually happening.

A second later he heard the faint scrape of claws against tile. He frowned, pushed himself up and followed.

The bathroom window was open. And the cat was gone.

Robby stood there for a moment, staring at the empty sill. Then he let out a quiet huff of a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Right” he muttered. “Of course.”

That made more sense. Random cat shows up, random cat leaves. No strings attached. No complications.

He closed the window and went back into the room. By the time he headed out for dinner, the whole thing already felt a little unreal. Like something he’d made up to entertain himself.

— — —

It was dark by the time he got back. The parking lot was quieter now. Robby unlocked the door, stepped inside, dropped the keys on the small table without bothering to turn on the light right away.

The room was exactly how he’d left it.

No cat.

He snorted softly to himself and toed off his boots.

“Yeah” he said under his breath. “Didn’t think so.”

He grabbed his phone and opened the chat with Jack. The last message still sat there, unanswered:

You good? Text me.

Robby exhaled slowly.

All good. Stop worrying.

He grabbed a towel and headed for the shower.

— — —

The water had just warmed up when he heard it. A faint, persistent scratching.

Robby froze, one hand braced against the tile, head tilted slightly.

There it was again.

Scritch, scritch.

But not inside. Outside.

He frowned and shut the water off, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower.

He looked at the window.

The cat was perched on the outside sill, front paws hooked over the edge of the window, scratching at the glass like it had been personally offended by the concept of being locked out.

Robby just stared at it.

The cat held his gaze, then let out a short annoyed meow.

Robby blinked once, then reached over and pushed the window open.

“Unbelievable” he muttered.

The cat didn’t even hesitate. It slipped past him like it belonged there, tail flicking once as it landed neatly on the floor. Then it walked straight back into the room, hopped onto the bed, turned once, twice - and curled up exactly where it had been before.

Robby stood in the doorway, water dripping onto the floor, watching it settle.

“Right” he said after a moment. “Why not?”

— — —

Later, when he finally got into bed, it didn’t move.

He lay down carefully beside it, leaving more space than necessary - just in case. The cat shifted once, just enough to press closer against his side, warm and solid and very much there.

Robby went still.

For a second he considered moving away - but he didn’t. Instead he let out a slow breath and stared up at the ceiling, one hand resting loosely on the blanket between them.

“Yeah. Fine. Stay, thent.”

— —- —

The cat was still there in the morning.

Robby noticed it the second he opened his eyes - curled up near his ribs, exactly where it had settled the night before. Warm. Breathing slow. Like it had nowhere else to be.

For a moment he just lay there and watched it.

Then he pushed himself up, careful not to disturb it and started dressing. Then packing.

Underwear, socks, helmet, jacket, bag, keys.

By the time he turned back to the bed - it was gone.

Robby paused.

The dent in the mattress was still there. The faint warmth too. But the cat itself had vanished.

He exhaled through his nose, something between a huff and a laugh. “You could have said bye, at least” he muttered.

— — —

Checkout was quick.

The man behind the counter barely looked at him at first, too busy scrolling through something on his phone. Mid-forties, unshaven, the kind of expression that suggested he’d already decided he didn’t like you before you opened your mouth.

Robby set the key down.

“Morning” he said.

The guy grunted.

Robby hesitated a second, then nodded back toward the rooms. “You’ve got cats around here, right?”

That did it.

The mans head snapped up, irritation flaring instantly. “Don’t remind me.”

Robby stilled slightly.

“There’s this stupid orange one” the guy went on, voice rising. “Keeps sneaking into rooms, scratching at doors, scaring off guests. Damn thing thinks it owns the place.”

Robby said nothing.

“I tried to shoot it once” the man added, like he was talking about a faulty appliance. “Missed. Little bastard’s fast.”

Something cold settled in Robby's chest.

The guy leaned back in his chair, snorting. “But I swear if I ever get my hands on it-” He made a vague motion with his hands. “I’ll drown it myself. Wouldn’t even mind.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Robby picked up his receipt. “Um, right” he said quietly.

He turned and walked out without another word.

— — —

Two miles down the road, he pulled into a gas station. He filled up the bike, then headed inside.

He told himself he needed snacks and drinks for the ride.

The shop was small, cluttered. Rows of snacks, cheap souvenirs. He grabbed a bottle of water, then stopped.

There was some kind of a pet section there. It barely covered more than a shelf. He stared at it for a second longer than necessary. Then he reached out, grabbed a bag of cat treats and carried it to the counter.

— — —

Twenty minutes later he was back at the motel.

He leaned against the low railing outside his old room, the bag of treats in his hand. He felt ridiculous. Completely, objectively ridiculous.

“This is crazy” he muttered to himself, then tore the bag open anyway.

“Hey” he called quietly, glancing around. No one was around. Good. “Hey. Come on. Don’t make this weird.”

Nothing.

He crouched slightly, shaking the bag once. The soft rattle sounded way too loud in the still morning air.

“Come on kitty” he tried again. “I’m not doing this all day.”

He waited for quite a while.

Then - movement.

A flash of orange at the edge of the building.

Low. Cautious.

Robby straightened a little, not wanting to spook it. “There you are” he murmured.

The cat paused a few feet away, watching him. Green eyes sharp. Assessing him.

He seemed smart.

Robby crouched properly this time, lowering himself to its level. He reached into the bag, pulled out a treat and held it out - not too close, not too far.

“Here, I brought a bribe.”

The cats ears flicked and then it took a step closer. Then another. It was still watching him.

Robby didn’t move.

Finally the cat closed the distance, sniffed his hand and took the treat. Quick, efficient.

Robby let out a quiet breath. “Yeah, thought so.”

He gave it another. And this time the cat stayed closer.

By the third it didn’t bother pretending it might leave.

Robby shifted slightly, testing. The cat didn’t back away.

“Alright” he murmured. 

Slowly - very slowly - he reached over and slid his hands under it. The cat tensed for half a second. Then - nothing. No fight. No protest.

Robby lifted it carefully, automatically adjusting for the missing leg without thinking about it.

“Hey kitty” he said under his breath.

The cat pressed into him - and then it started purring. Loud. Immediate. Like a switch had been flipped.

Robby blinked, a little thrown by it. “Okay, hey, easy.”

He shifted his jacket open and tucked the cat inside, holding it close against his chest. It settled instantly, like it had been waiting for that exact spot. And it was still purring.

Robby glanced down at it. “Yeah, great.”

He stood carefully, adjusted his grip slightly and walked back toward his motorcycle.

At the bike he paused, one hand resting on the handlebar. “Okay” he said after a moment. “But now we find you a new family, alright?”

The cat kept purring.

Robby nodded once. “Yeah. That’s what we’re doing.”

He swung his leg over the bike.

“And please stay inside.”

— — —

By the time he stopped for lunch the sun was high and the road had started to blur into one long stretch of asphalt. He pulled into a fast-food parking lot, killed the engine and sat there for a second. The cat shifted inside his jacket, a small warm weight.

“Yeah, kitty. We’re stopping.”

— — —

A few minutes later he was leaning against his bike, a paper bag open on the seat. Burger. Fries. Soda.

The cat sat half-tucked inside his jacket, front paws hooked over the edge like it had decided this was its new default position. It had been just a little awkward when he had used the restroom at the burger place like that. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the cat was judging him.

Robby unwrapped the burger, took a bite, chewed - and felt eyes on him.

He glanced down.

The cat was staring at the food. 

Robby exhaled through his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The cat didn’t even blink. He sighed, tore off a small piece of meat and held it out.

“Don’t make this a habit.”

The cat took it immediately.

A couple walking past slowed down. The woman nudged the guy, whispering something with a grin. The guy laughed under his breath.

Robby ignored them.

Another bite. Another piece for the cat. Then some fries.

“Don’t think this is a cat-appropriate diet” he muttered.

Eventually Robby unzipped his jacket, sat down on the curb beside his bike, the paper bag crumbled next to him. He slurped some soda. The cat immediately settled on his lap.

Robby pulled out his phone. “Alright” he said quietly. “Lets do this properly.”

He typed: animal shelter nearby

The results loaded.

He stared at the screen - looking, reading, scrolling. Then scrolled back. Words jumping out at him:

intake full

euthanasia policy

limited capacity

Robby's jaw tightened slightly. “Euthanasia? No way” he said under his breath.

The cat nudged his arm, impatient. 

He locked the screen and shoved it back into his pocket.

“Not happening.”

A family passed by a few minutes later. Two kids - maybe eight or nine - trailing behind their parents, arguing about something loudly enough that everyone in the lot could hear. Robby watched them for a second. So did the cat.

Then, before he could overthink it - “Hey” he called out.

The parents turned, surprised.

Robby gestured vaguely toward his lap. “You guys want a cat?”

The kids lit up instantly.

“Mom-!”

“Can we-?”

The parents didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

The kids groaned. The mom gave him a weird look and kept walking.

Robby watched them go, then looked down at the cat.

“Well” he said. “That was your shot.”

The cat didn’t seem particularly bothered. He nudged his arm again, purring, with closed eyes. Robby leaned back slightly.

“This is getting stupid, you know?” he muttered.

He pulled his phone out again, typing:

how to transport a cat on a motorcycle

The search results loaded.

Harnesses. Carriers. Backpacks. A lot of advice forums. People arguing about safety on reddit.

Robby stared at the screen for a long second, then let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He typed again:

pet shops nearby

A couple of minutes later he was back on the bike. The cat was tucked inside his jacket again, steady and warm. Robby adjusted it slightly, then started the engine.

“Alright” he said over the low rumble. “Let’s do this stupid thing right.”

— — —

The bell above the door chimed as Robby stepped into the pet shop. Cool air. Shelves packed too close together. The faint, unmistakable smell of animal food and sawdust.

The cat shifted inside his jacket, then pushed its head out, ears flicking as it took everything in.

“Yeah” Robby murmured. “Welcome to your kingdom.”

He didn’t linger but walked straight to the essentials. He looked around the carriers first.

Plastic crates - too bulky, too rigid.

Soft carriers - zippers, mesh - not rigid enough.

Then he stopped at the backpacks.

One of them had clear, rounded front and ventilation holes. Enough space for a cat to turn, to lie down and to see out. He picked it up and tested the weight.

“That might work. What do you think?” he asked toward the cat.

It meowed quietly.

“Great.”

“Are you traveling with a cat?” a voice asked behind him.

Robby turned.

A clerk - early twenties, mildly amused - was watching him with open curiosity.

“Looks that way” Robby said.

The clerk glanced at the cat peeking out of his jacket. “He seems… judging.”

Robby looked down. “Yeah. He’s got opinions.”

The rest added up quickly. Foldable bowls for water and for food. A week’s worth of premium cat food - Robby paused at the price, then grabbed it anyway.

A brush. Flea and tick treatment.

“Not dealing with that” he added quietly. “You’re probably infested, hm?”

Then he grabbed a collar. A green one with a small bell attached. He turned it over in his hand. Robby stared at it for a second.

“Yeah, great - no more killing wildlife on my watch.”

At the counter the clerk scanned the items one by one. “Going on a long trip?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

The clerk nodded toward the backpack. “That’s a good choice. Safer than letting him ride loose.”

Robby hesitated. “Does he need a helmet?”

The clerk blinked. “A… helmet?”

“For the ride” Robby clarified, completely serious. “Wind, debris, that kind of thing.”

The clerk huffed a laugh, trying - and failing - to hide it. “I mean… I’ve never seen anyone put a helmet on a cat” he said. “Backpack’s more than enough. He’ll be secure in there.”

Robby studied him for a second, like was evaluating whether this was negligence. “Okay.”

— — —

Outside, Robby set the bag down beside his bike and crouched, pulling out one of the cans of food. The second it opened the cat was alert. He filled one of the foldable bowls and the cat dove in, eating like it hadn’t seen proper food in days.

Robby watched, one brow lifting slightly. “Easy tiger.”

The first bowl was gone in seconds.

Robby filled it again and poured some water in the other bowl. Then he started packing the cans of foods in the side pockets of his bike.

The second can didn’t last much longer.

“You’re going to regret that” Robby said.

The cat ignored him completely. Which wasn’t surprising. It sat back, licked its paws and looked at him again for a moment. Then it turned and climbed straight into the open backpack. It curled up, adjusted once and settled.

Robby stared at it. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The cat was already closing his eyes.

Robby exhaled and looked around. He wasn’t imaging it, right? Other people could see that cat too. The clerk had commented on it, so… yeah. He wasn’t hallucinating.

He zipped the backpack carefully, then slung the backpack over his shoulders, testing the weight.

“Yeah, not bad.”

He adjusted the straps, then glanced back at the cat.

“You good, pal?”

Robby huffed a quiet breath, then grabbed his helmet, swung onto the bike and settled in. For a second he just sat there.

“For the record - that wasn’t the plan” he muttered.

— — —

Sometime in the afternoon, the road stretching long and empty ahead of him, Robby felt it. There was a faint scratching right behind his shoulder.

He frowned slightly, shifting his grip on the handlebars.

There it was again.

“Seriously?” he muttered.

He slowed, scanning the roadside, then pulled over onto a narrow strip of gravel beside a patch of grass.

He switched the engine off and sat for a second. Silence settled in, broken only by the ticking of the cooling bike. Then he swung off the bike, reaching back to pull the backpack around to his front.

“Alright” he said. “What’s wrong?”

The cat was already moving inside, restless now. Robby crouched and set the backpack down carefully, unzipping it - the cat didn’t even wait. It slipped out immediately, landing lightly on the ground, then trotted off with purpose toward the grassy patch.

Robby blinked.

The cat stopped a few feet away, circling once - and did its business.

Robby let out a short disbelieving huff. “No way.”

The cat finished, kicked some dirt over it with practiced efficiency, then turned around walking straight back. It stopped in front of him, looked up and meowed.

Robby stared down at it. “You’re house-trained” he said flatly. “Or I don’t know… backpack-trained.”

The cat stepped closer and nudged against his leg. Robby shook his head, but crouched anyway, reaching down automatically. The cat leaned into his hand immediately, pressing its hand against his palm, purring low and steady. Robby ran his hand over its back once, then again, slower this time.

The cat enjoyed his touch for a while, then pulled away on its own, turned and hopped right back into the open backpack.

Robby chuckled. “Alright.”

He zipped the backpack up again, then stood and slung it back over his shoulders. Then he swung onto the motorcycle again and started the engine.

“This is insane.”

— — —

By the time the sun dipped low Robby pulled into another motel. It was smaller than the last one, but cleaner. At least from the outside.

He cut the engine, rolled his shoulders once, then reached back to steady the backpack.

“You survived your first day on the road” he muttered.

The cat inside shifted gently.

— — —

Check In was quick.

The clerk - a woman this time, late thirties, sharp eyes and a hint of a smile - noticed the backpack immediately.

“Pet?” she asked, leaning slightly to get a better look.

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “That’s fine. Just so you know - pets cost extra.”

“No problem.”

She smiled, clearly amused. “What kind of dog is it?”

Robby paused. “Um, it’s a cat.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. He shrugged, signed, paid, took the key and left.

— — —

Later he sat outside a fast-food place a few blocks down. The backpack sat on the seat next to him, unzipped. The cat was awake, watching everything with calm, steady interest.

Robby unwrapped his food, took a bite and then - without thinking too much about it - tore off a piece of meat and passed it over.

The cat took it immediately.

“Never seen a grown man travel with a cat before.”

Robby glanced up. A guy at the next table - mid-forties, easy grin, more curious than judgemental - was watching him.

Robby shrugged. “Yeah.”

The guy chuckled. “What’s his name?”

Robby paused, mid-motion and looked at the cat. The cat looked back, blinking slowly.

“I don’t know” Robby admitted. “He just showed up.”

“So” the guy said, slightly confused now. “You picked up a random cat and took it with you?”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

The guy laughed. “Alright. Still - he’s gotta have a name.”

Robby huffed quietly. “Cat?” he offered.

The guy shook his head immediately. “That’s not a name. That’s a species.”

Robby leaned back slightly, considering that. “I guess he calls me ‘human’” he said eventually.

That got a real laugh. “Yeah” the guy said. “Probably does.”

Robby’s phone buzzed. A message:

Didn’t hear from you earlier. You alive? Don’t do anything stupid, okay?

Robby leaned back in his chair, picking up another piece of meat and tossed it absent-mindedly toward the backpack.

— — —

The motel room was quiet. Dim light from the bedside lamp, the low hum of traffic somewhere in the distance.

Robby lay flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely next to him. The cat was stretched out on top of him. It was completely relaxed. One paw draped over his chest like it had claimed territory. It was heavy for its size.

Robby stared up at the ceiling for a while, not moving. The rise and fall of the cat’s breathing matched his own without him noticing when it started.

Eventually Robby shifted a little and reached for his phone on the nightstand. He unlocked it and chose the camera. He angled it slightly, catching both of them in frame - the cat sprawled across him, his own tired face half-lit by the lamp. Then he snapped the picture and opened the chat with Jack. He attached the photo:

Adopted a new friend.

He sent it.

A minute later his phone buzzed.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Another buzz 

That’s a good reason to keep going.

Robby stilled for a second.

Yeah. He likes riding. 

Another buzz.

Of course he does. What’s his name?

Robby glanced down at the cat, still sprawled across his chest like it owned him.

Three legs.

Didn’t take no for an answer.

Showed up uninvited. Stayed anyway.

Robby’s mouth twitched, while he was typing:

He’s annoying, won’t leave me alone, loves burgers and only has three legs. There was only one option.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Came back.

I don’t like where this is going.

Robby laughed out loud.

Jack, meet Mr. Abbot

The reply was instant.

Fuck you.

Robby's smile widened. Another message followed right after:

You’re unbelievable.

Robby shifted a little under the cat’s weight, one hand coming up to rest lightly against its side. Another message.

He’s not getting neutered by the way.

Another message:

An Abbot doesn’t get neutered.

Robby laughed again.

Another buzz.

Send me more pictures.

[silverlullabies]

You've thought about Price's mouth everyday for four months.

Not obsessively. Or... no, that's a lie. Obsessively, but in the involuntary way the brain latches onto a detail and will not release. The texture of his lips under yours. The way his chest had refused to move on its own, and you had put both hands to his sternum and pushed like you were trying to reach something buried deep inside of him. The count in your head- one and two and three and- and the absolute, animal terror of those seconds where he was just weight. Just absence shaped like a man.

You had brought him back.

You have not been the same since.

His office door is open. That's normal for him. Door open to the corridor unless there's a briefing or someone catching hell. You pause in the frame without announcing yourself, long enough to take him in: him at his desk, hunched slightly over something on the screen, the lamp casting him in an amber glow. The overhead is off. He hasn't noticed you.

You should knock. Say his name. Do any of the many reasonable things someone does when they enter someone's space.

You don't.

You cross to him quietly- not sneaking but not announcing yourself either- until you're close enough to smell the wool of his jumper, close enough to see the silver threading through the short hairs at the back of his skull. You watch his movements. The slight rise and fall. The small shift of weight as he reaches for something on the desk.

You weren't doing that, you think and do not say. For a minute and forty five seconds you weren't doing anything at all.

"Can I ask you something," you say instead.

He doesn't startle. You've noticed that about him. He registers people before they expect to be registered, like some part of him is always tracking. He tips his head back just slightly in acknowledgment.

"Ask," he says.

You press your lips together. You heart pounds against your rips. "Do you trust me?"

A pause- not hesitation, you think. But the stillness of a man choosing his words carefully. Then:

"Yes."

No qualifier. No of course or within reason or that depends what you're-. Just the word, clean and flat and entirely sure of itself. The same voice he uses to give orders. The same voice you've heard go soft exactly twice in the many years you've known him.

You close your eyes briefly.

Then you lift your hand and sit it over his eyes.

Your palm covers them both: the left, the right, the fine skin of his brow, wrinkles from the corner of his eyes expanding into his temple. You can feel him breathe. He goes very still under your hand, the way prey goes still, except that isn't right. Price has never been prey in his life. He's choosing this stillness, holding just for you.

He doesn't reach up. Doesn't ask.

You find his mouth with yours the way you found it four months ago, in the dark, kneeling over him on concrete with your hands shaking and your lungs full of something cold. Except... this time his lips are warm.

That's the first thing that you notice. Just the warmth of him. You had forgotten or maybe you had never let yourself remember it properly, the way the mind protects itself from the things it can't afford to want. But his mouth is warm and present and you feel something in your chest that has been held very tightly for four months begin, incrementally, to release.

You don't rush it. You can't. This is too careful of a thing to rush.

His lips are slightly chapped, you can feel the faint drag of it, the realness of it, and something about that detail makes your eyes sting behind their closed lids because he is real, he is here, he is warm and breathing and his heart is beating entirely on its own. You press in just a little more, closer, like you're trying to verify it through contact. Like you need to know he's solid all the way through.

He makes a sound, very low, barely there at all, more a shift in the quality of his stillness, and this his lips part for you. Slow. So slow you feel each small movement of it, careful and deliberate, the way he does everything. Like a door being opened by something who knows what's on the other side and has decided, having considered it fully, to open it anyway.

You taste coffee and tobacco and something faintly sweet, and you think oh, the way you think oh when something you have been bracing against turns out to be something else entirely.

Both of his hands come up. One finds the wrist of the hand covering his eyes, and wraps around it loosely, not pulling, not directing. Just... there. Just present. His thumb settles against the thin skin on the inside of your wrist where your pulse is doing something mortifying and rapid and you wonder if he can feel it, and you suspect that he can, and you find that you don't mind.

The other hand finds your face.

It's tentative at first, just his fingertips at your jaw, the lightest possible contact, like he's asking a question before he commits to saying it out loud. Then his palm settles over your cheek, broad and scorching and rough, and he tilts you, just barely, into him. The movement splits you open somewhere quiet.

You had put your hands on him four months ago with the desperate force of something trying to keep another person alive. You and pushed and counted and breathed into him and felt nothing except the terror of the task. You had not let yourself feel anything else until it was over and he was breathing on his own and someone was pulling you back and you were sitting on the ground with your knees wet and your hands shaking, and you had looked at your own palms like they belonged to someone else.

You are not shaking now.

Your hand is still curved over his eyes. He is still holding onto your wrist. His other hand is still cupped against your cheek, and you are leaning into it without meaning to.

You pull back the smallest distance. An inch. Maybe less and you stay like that. Your hand over his eyes, his over your wrist, the lamp the only light, the corridor outside quiet. His breathing comes out slow and steady. Yours is less steady.

"Okay," You say, eventually. To no one. To the four months of it.

His thumb moves against your pulse point once.

"Yeah," Price says. Low and rough and soft all at once, like okay is the only word big enough for what he means, and also not nearly big enough at all. "Okay."

[mottesk]

SANE Dana my beloved

bsky

[lissa]

"Night shift's on Crus control."

[littlebatx]

18+ minors dni

still here … ♥︎

here’s a little abbot drabble babies !!

(content : nsfw, piv, age gap implied, jack is very weak for u, nickname “sweet girl” used, ERECTILE DISFUNCTION JACK ABBOT DEFENDER)

he’s truly something. you dont even know how you got him. but you did. he’s wrapped around your damn finger and you dont even know how much.

when you’re not looking, he’s watching you. with those big puppy dog eyes. it’s like you’re one of those big spirals that hypnotize people. jack is your victim.

he tries to act all big and tough for you. your protector. your old man. he wants to be tough on you when you’re a reckless little thing. but when he sees those lashes bat at him, it’s difficult for him to keep up the demeanor.

especially when you’re crying.

especially while he’s ruining you.

“ohhh, baby..” he coos, driving into you so fast you can’t keep up. don’t worry. that’s why he’s here, holding onto your hips and pulling you back against him. “don’t give me those eyes.. god-.. you know i can’t take it..”

if you thought you were the messed up one in this bed, you’d be very wrong. yeah, it feels godly. yeah, it’s sending you to whole new dimension. yeah, your eyes are filled with tears and drool is pooling down your chin but nothing you’re feeling lives up to the warm, wet, spongey home his cock found. the sounds you’re making doesn’t make things easier for him.

he’s trying everything to prevent himself from blowing his load too quickly. long division in his head, imagining one of his cases from the night prior. it works for a bit, yet you always pull him back to reality.

“ja..aaack… ah-!!” you gasp out once he hits a spot deeper than you had ever imagined.

his hips stutter to a stop at the moan that leaves your lips. your sight clears up a bit and you notice his eyes are slammed shut, the crow’s feet on either side sunken in deep.

“jack..” you stare up at him, heart beating quick in fear. did you accidentally hurt him? “jack? what’s wrong?”

“shh..” he shakes his head immediately, holding your hands above your head on the mattress. his fingers were tight around yours, almost hurting. “please-.. please shut up..”

your eyebrows furrow. “baby, please what happe-“

“sweet girl, i swear to god if you don’t stay quiet i’m gonna cum inside you.”

his words came out quickly and through gritted teeth. it was said so seriously, as if he was telling you you were about to die. your lips tighten into a straight line, trying to hold in the laugh bubbling up in your throat.

one eye cracks open, peaking at your expression.

“it’s not funny,” he grumbles, dropping his head down into the crook of your shoulder. “if i finish now we won’t be able to go again for awhile..”

letting out a little laugh, you scrape your fingers through the bottom of his scalp. “think i can’t handle it, old man?”

you feel him huff into your skin, scooping your ass up into his hands to bring you closer. he catches you off guard by slamming back into you, causing you to scream out.

in the end, jack abbot’s got you. even if he can’t resist your pretty face.

“i’ll show ya just what this old man can do..”

a/n: sorry if this was a lil boring .. tryna get my reigns back after my break. (: love ya .

[tvguts]

yesterday i had a nice southern teenager call me "ma'am" and then look at me and go, in a well-meaning tone, "uhhhh, if you go by ma'am. sorry if not." and i had to be like yeah man ma'am is fine. appreciate you being inclusive though. i could almost see the little warning pop up in his UI-- hold up! people with blue hair often have pronouns. are you sure you want to address this individual with a gendered term?

[kaelio]

Recipes from Portland's famous but long-closed Rheinlander restaurant. This cookbook was produced in a limited window before Chef Mager's death. All of these fucking slap.

[ladyvean]

For my fellow vegan/vegetarians, these sound scrumptious and look pretty simple to make substitutions!

[kaelio]

just to be clear

[certifiedsoupposts]

certified soup post

[kaelio]

It's sooo good

The lentil soup post is yeah beyond amazing. I know lentil soup doesn't seem like it could be that good. You simply don't Know how beloved the rheinlander lentil soup was. This was a famous soup here.