Warnings: Explicit sexual content, smut, supply closet sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, wall sex, praise kink, power dynamics (attending/resident), canon character/reader insert, established tension/UST, post-shift exhaustion sex, marking/hickies, dom/sub undertones
Summary: Sixteen hours into a brutal mass casualty shift at Pittsburgh Trauma, you're running on fumes and adrenaline. When Dr. Jack Abbott corners you in a supply closet and pins your wrist above your head against the wall, all that professional tension finally snaps. He whispers praise against your neckāand then he shows you exactly how he rewards competence.
_________________________________________________
The fluorescent lights of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ER had never felt so harsh. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of screaming patients, arterial spray on your scrubs, and the kind of decisions that would haunt you in your sleep. The mass casualty incident had stretched the department to its breaking point, and you were running on fumes, adrenaline, and the dregs of cold coffee from six hours ago.
You'd lost track of how many lives you'd touched tonightāstitched, stabilized, or said goodbye to. Your hands were still shaking slightly as you peeled off your bloodied gloves in the empty supply closet, trying to find a moment of quiet in the chaos.
That's when you felt him behind you.
You didn't hear footsteps. You never did with Jack Abbott. The man moved like a shadow when he wanted to, all coiled intensity and controlled silence. But you felt the shift in the air, the way the temperature seemed to spike, the prickling awareness that danced across your skin.
"Don't turn around," his voice rumbled, low and rough from hours of shouting orders over the din of trauma bays.
Your breath caught. You'd been working under Dr. Abbott for eight months now, enduring his exacting standards, his brutal teaching methods, the way he demanded perfection and settled for nothing less. He was relentless, uncompromising, andāGod help youāabsolutely magnetic in his intensity.
"Jackā" you started, but his hand was already moving, lightning fast, closing around your wrist.
"Up," he commanded, and you felt yourself lifted, your arm raised above your head as he spun you, pressing your back against the cold metal shelving. His body crowded against yours, all hard planes and coiled strength, the dark scrubs beneath, still damp with sweat from the marathon shift.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as he pinned your wrist against the shelf above you, his other hand coming to brace beside your head, caging you in completely. The supply closet suddenly felt impossibly small, filled with the scent of himāantiseptic, sweat, and something darker, masculine and intoxicating.
"You were incredible today," he murmured, his mouth hovering inches from your ear. His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I watched you. That chest tube in Bay Three. The kid in respiratory distress. You didn't flinch. You didn't break."
Your throat went dry. "Jack, we can'tā"
"Can't?" His laugh was dark, almost dangerous. "I've watched you for months. Watching you bend over stretchers, your ass in those scrubs. Watching your hands work, steady and sure. Do you know what that does to me? To watch competence made flesh? To want someone who knows exactly what they're doing with their hands?"
He pressed closer, and you felt it thenāthe hard, thick outline of his arousal grinding against your hip. A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.
"Now let me reward you," he whispered, and then his mouth was on your neck, hot and demanding.
His teeth grazed your pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise, to mark, and your knees went weak. You'd imagined thisāGod, you'd imagined thisāduring late-night shifts when he stood too close, when his hand brushed yours passing instruments, when those storm-gray eyes pinned you with a look that felt like it stripped you bare.
But imagination was nothing compared to reality.
Jack Abbott kissed like he practiced medicineāwith absolute confidence, devastating precision, and no mercy. His tongue traced the column of your throat, licking and tasting, while his free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.
"You have no idea," he growled against your skin, "how hard it was to watch you save that kid tonight and not drag you into the nearest empty room. Do you know what competence does to me? To watch someone be good at something that matters?"
His hand slid lower, palming your ass and squeezing, grinding you against the hard ridge of his cock. You gasped, your free hand flying to his chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heart beneath your palm.
"Jackā"
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze was wild, blown wide with desire, the controlled attending completely shattered. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll walk away. We'll pretend this never happened."
You looked at himāreally looked at him. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the way his hair was mussed from running his hands through it during the crisis. He was beautiful in his intensity, in his hunger, in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth having.
"Don't stop," you breathed.
A predatory smile curved his lips. "Good girl."
His mouth crashed against yours, and the kiss was devastatingādeep and filthy, his tongue sweeping inside to claim you, to taste you, to take. You moaned into it, arching against him, feeling the hard planes of his body pressed flush against yours.
His hand left your hip to grip your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, opening you to him. The new position had him grinding against your core, and even through layers of scrubs, the friction made you see stars.
"Fuck," he groaned, breaking the kiss to pant against your lips. "You feel that? That's what you do to me. That's how hard I am for you. Sixteen hours of watching you be brilliant, and I've been hard since hour three."
His hand slid between your bodies, finding the waistband of your scrubs and pushing inside. You gasped as his fingers brushed over your stomach, dipping lower, lower, until they found the damp heat of your underwear.
"Already wet," he observed with dark satisfaction. "Were you thinking about me while you were suturing? While you were saving lives?"
"Yes," you admitted, the word torn from you as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding your clit with unerring accuracy.
He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with devastating precision, his medical knowledge of anatomy apparently extending to exactly how to make you fall apart. You cried out, your head falling back against the shelf, and he took advantage, mouthing at your exposed throat.
"Keep quiet," he commanded, even as he increased the pressure, rubbing tight, perfect circles that had your hips bucking. "Unless you want half the ER to hear what I'm doing to you."
You bit your lip, stifling another moan as he slid lower, two fingers pressing against your entrance before pushing inside. The stretch was exquisite, his fingers thick and skilled, curling to find that spot inside you that made your vision blur.
"Jackāoh Godā"
"That's it," he encouraged, pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm, his thumb continuing to work your clit. "Let me feel you. Let me feel how tight you are, how much you want this. Want me."
You were spiraling, the dual sensation of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your neck overwhelming. The supply closet, the hospital, the brutal shiftāall of it faded away until there was only Jack, his hands, his voice, the way he owned your pleasure with the same intensity he brought to everything else.
"Please," you whimpered, feeling the coil tightening in your belly. "Please, Jack, I needā"
"What do you need?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me. Say it."
"I need you inside me," you gasped, the words spilling out, filthy and desperate. "I need your cock. Please, Jack, fuck meā"
The groan that tore from him was animal, primal. He withdrew his fingers, making you cry out at the loss, but then he was fumbling with his scrub pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself.
You looked down and your mouth went dry. He was thick and heavy in his hand, the tip already slick with precome, veins running along the length of him. He was beautiful, terrifyingly so, and the thought of him filling you, stretching you, made your inner muscles clench with need.
"Condom," you managed, even as you ached for him.
Jack paused, his jaw tight with restraint, and reached into his white coat pocketāof course he had one, the prepared bastard. He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it down his length with efficient, practiced movements that had you squirming.
Then he was lifting you, his hands gripping your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back pressed against the cool metal of the shelving as he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained. "Look at me while I take you."
You met his eyesādark, stormy, absolutely wreckedāand then he was pushing inside.
The stretch was exquisite, burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by inch, until he was seated to the hilt. You both groaned, the sound mingling in the small space, and for a moment he just held still, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in harsh pants.
"Fuck," he gritted out. "Fuck, you're tight. You're perfect. You feel likeālikeā"
"Move," you begged, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Jack, moveā"
He didn't need to be told twice.
He pulled back and thrust deep, setting a punishing rhythm that had the shelves rattling. Each stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, the friction delicious, the angle devastating. You were reduced to whimpers and gasps, clinging to him as he fucked you against the wall with the same relentless intensity he brought to everything.
"So good," he growled, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking fresh bruises into your skin. "So fucking good. You take me so well. Look at you, taking my cock like you were made for it."
His words were filthy, degrading in the best way, reducing you to nothing but sensation, to the place where he ended and you began. You could feel your orgasm building, tightening, coiling like a spring ready to snap.
"Jack," you gasped, "I'm closeāI'm so closeā"
"Not yet," he commanded, slowing his thrusts, making you whine in frustration. "Not yet. I'm not done with you."
He withdrew completely, ignoring your cry of protest, and spun you around before you could process the movement. Your chest hit the shelving, your cheek pressed against cool metal, your hands gripping the edge of a shelf for purchase. He kicked your feet apart, spreading you wide, and then his hands were on your hips, tilting you to the perfect angle.
"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. "Look at you. Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
He thrust back inside in one smooth motion, the new angle even deeper, hitting places inside you that made your vision blur at the edges. You cried out, unable to stop yourself, and his hand came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound.
"Quiet," he reminded you, his lips at your ear even as he began to move againāslow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve ending. "Can you be quiet for me? Can you take what I'm giving you without screaming?"
You nodded frantically, your teeth sinking into his palm as he picked up the pace. His free hand slid around your hip, finding your clit again, rubbing in tight, desperate circles that had you seeing stars.
"Good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. "Such a good girl. Taking my cock so well. Do you know how many times I've imagined this? Imagined bending you over, spreading you open, fucking you until you can't remember your own name?"
His words were filthy, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge. You were babbling now, incoherent pleas and gasps, your body trembling with the effort of staying quiet as he pounded into you.
"JackāpleaseāI can'tā"
"You can," he insisted, his fingers working your clit faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. "You can. You're going to come for me again. And then again. I'm not stopping until I've had my fill of you."
His other hand moved from your mouth to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine. The slight sting of pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, creating a cocktail of sensation that had you teetering on the edge.
"Please," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Jack, I need toā"
"Come," he commanded, his voice like a whip. "Come now."
The orgasm crashed over you with devastating force, your body convulsing around him, your cry muffled by your own shoulder as you bit down to keep from screaming. He didn't stop, didn't slow, fucking you through the waves of pleasure, prolonging them, drawing them out until you were sobbing, tears pricking at your eyes from the intensity of it.
"That's one," he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. He withdrew slowly, making you whimper at the loss, and turned you back to face him. Your legs were jelly, barely holding you up, but he caught you, lifting you again, wrapping your legs around his waist.
"Jack, I can'tā" you started, but he cut you off with a kissādeep and claiming, his tongue sweeping inside to taste you.
"You can," he murmured against your lips. "And you will. I told you I was going to reward you. We're just getting started."
He lowered you onto a stack of folded linens on a lower shelfāthe rough fabric scratchy against your back, but you barely noticed. He loomed over you, his eyes dark and hungry, his cock still hard and straining, glistening with your arousal.
He grabbed your knees, pushing them up and out, spreading you completely open for him. The vulnerability of the position made you flush, but his gaze was worshipful, reverent, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him.
"Beautiful," he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs, making you shiver. "Absolutely beautiful."
He positioned himself at your entrance again, teasing, rubbing the thick head of his cock through your folds, gathering your wetness, making you squirm and beg.
"Jack, pleaseā"
"Please what?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm, though you could see the strain in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me," you gasped, the words spilling out, filthy and desperate. "I want you inside me. Please, Jack, stop teasingā"
He thrust deep in one hard movement, filling you completely, and you arched off the linens with a cry that he swallowed with another kiss. He set a brutal pace, each thrust driving you into the rough fabric, his pelvis grinding against your sensitive clit with every stroke.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice strained. "I want to watch you touch yourself while I fuck you."
Your hand moved without conscious thought, sliding between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pounded into you. The dual sensation was overwhelmingāhis cock filling you, stretching you, your own fingers working your most sensitive spot.
" Fuck," he groaned, his eyes locked on where your bodies joined, where your hand worked yourself. "That's it. That's so fucking hot. Look at you. Look at how much you want this."
You were climbing again, impossibly, your body still sensitive from your last orgasm. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your veins, every grind of his hips driving you higher.
"JackāI'm going toā"
"Come with me," he gritted out, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "Come with me. Nowā"
He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside you, his body shuddering against yours. The feeling of him coming, the way he lost control, the raw, primal sound of his releaseāit pushed you over the edge. You came with him, your body convulsing, your vision whiting out, your cry lost in the space between you.
For long moments, they held you there, pinned against the linens, both of you breathing hard, trembling, coming down from the high. He collapsed slightly, his weight pressing you into the rough fabric, but you didn't mind. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling his heart thunder against your chest.
"Fuck," he breathed, his face buried in your neck. "Fuck, that wasā"
"Yeah," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah."
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. The wild intensity had faded, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, tender.
"Hi," he said, his voice rough.
A laugh bubbled up in your chest, unexpected and giddy. "Hi."
He smiled thenāa real smile, not the tight, controlled expression he wore in the ER, but something genuine and warm. "I've wanted to do that for months."
"Months?" you echoed, surprised.
"Since your first day," he admitted, slowly withdrawing and lowering you back to your feet, steadying you when your knees threatened to buckle. "You walked in, looked me in the eye, and didn't flinch when I asked you a question. Everyone flinches. You didn't."
You stared at him, processing this. "So you've been... what? Torturing me for eight months because you liked me?"
"Professional torture," he corrected, though his eyes were dancing. "I had to maintain standards. But yes. I've been wanting to drag you into a supply closet since approximately day three."
You shook your head, incredulous, but you were smiling. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your swollen lower lip, "here we are."
He kissed you thenāsoftly, gently, a complete contrast to the desperate, filthy encounter that had just transpired. It felt like a promise, like a beginning, and you leaned into it, into him, into whatever this was.
"We should probably get back," you murmured against his lips, though you made no move to pull away.
"In a minute," Jack agreed, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. "Let me just... hold you. For a minute."
You melted into him, your head resting on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of himāsweat and antiseptic and sex. The ER would still be chaos outside this door, the shift would still be brutal, the world would still be waiting.
But for this moment, in this supply closet, with Jack Abbott's arms around you, you let yourself have this.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, his hand stroking down your back, "dinner. My place. I'll cook."
You lifted your head to look at him, surprised. "Jack Abbott cooks?"
"Jack Abbott does a lot of things," he said, that predatory smile returning. "You've only seen a small sample of my... skills."
Heat flooded your cheeks, and he laughedāa warm, rich sound that you realized you'd never heard before. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear it every day.
"Okay," you agreed. "Dinner. Your place."
"And after dinner," he continued, his hand sliding down to grip your ass again, "I'm going to take my time with you. No supply closet rush. No fear of interruption. Just you, me, and a bed. And I'm going to find out exactly what makes you scream."
Your breath hitched, fresh arousal pooling in your belly despite the fact that you'd just come harder than you ever had in your life.
"That soundsā" you started, but the sound of voices in the hallway made you both freeze.
Jack stepped back quickly, adjusting his scrubs with efficient movements, while you scrambled to straighten your own clothes, your fingers trembling slightly. You caught sight of yourself in the reflection of a metal cabinetāflushed, disheveled, your neck sporting visible bruises that would be impossible to explain.
Jack followed your gaze and smiled, reaching out to adjust your collar with surprising tenderness. "Wear a turtleneck tomorrow," he advised, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. "Or don't. Let them wonder."
The voices passed, fading down the hall, and you both exhaled.
"I should go first," Jack said, though he didn't move. "Give it a few minutes, then follow."
"Jack," you said, catching his hand before he could leave. "This... what is this?"
He turned back, his expression serious, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "This is me finally doing what I've wanted to do for months. This is me telling you that you're brilliant, and I'm in awe of you, and I want to see where this goes. If you want that too."
Your heart swelled, a warm, tender feeling mixing with the lingering arousal in your veins. "I want that."
"Good," he said, leaning in to press a quick, hard kiss to your lips. "Now get some rest. Tomorrow, you're mine."
He slipped out of the supply closet, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the scent of him on your skin.
You leaned back against the shelves, your legs still shaky, your body still humming with aftershocks. The shift from hell had just become the shift that changed everything.
And tomorrow, you thought with a smile, Dr. Jack Abbott had promised to take his time.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, smut, supply closet sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, wall sex, praise kink, power dynamics (attending/resident), canon character/reader insert, established tension/UST, post-shift exhaustion sex, marking/hickies, dom/sub undertones
Summary: Sixteen hours into a brutal mass casualty shift at Pittsburgh Trauma, you're running on fumes and adrenaline. When Dr. Jack Abbott corners you in a supply closet and pins your wrist above your head against the wall, all that professional tension finally snaps. He whispers praise against your neckāand then he shows you exactly how he rewards competence.
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The fluorescent lights of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ER had never felt so harsh. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of screaming patients, arterial spray on your scrubs, and the kind of decisions that would haunt you in your sleep. The mass casualty incident had stretched the department to its breaking point, and you were running on fumes, adrenaline, and the dregs of cold coffee from six hours ago.
You'd lost track of how many lives you'd touched tonightāstitched, stabilized, or said goodbye to. Your hands were still shaking slightly as you peeled off your bloodied gloves in the empty supply closet, trying to find a moment of quiet in the chaos.
That's when you felt him behind you.
You didn't hear footsteps. You never did with Jack Abbott. The man moved like a shadow when he wanted to, all coiled intensity and controlled silence. But you felt the shift in the air, the way the temperature seemed to spike, the prickling awareness that danced across your skin.
"Don't turn around," his voice rumbled, low and rough from hours of shouting orders over the din of trauma bays.
Your breath caught. You'd been working under Dr. Abbott for eight months now, enduring his exacting standards, his brutal teaching methods, the way he demanded perfection and settled for nothing less. He was relentless, uncompromising, andāGod help youāabsolutely magnetic in his intensity.
"Jackā" you started, but his hand was already moving, lightning fast, closing around your wrist.
"Up," he commanded, and you felt yourself lifted, your arm raised above your head as he spun you, pressing your back against the cold metal shelving. His body crowded against yours, all hard planes and coiled strength, the dark scrubs beneath, still damp with sweat from the marathon shift.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as he pinned your wrist against the shelf above you, his other hand coming to brace beside your head, caging you in completely. The supply closet suddenly felt impossibly small, filled with the scent of himāantiseptic, sweat, and something darker, masculine and intoxicating.
"You were incredible today," he murmured, his mouth hovering inches from your ear. His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I watched you. That chest tube in Bay Three. The kid in respiratory distress. You didn't flinch. You didn't break."
Your throat went dry. "Jack, we can'tā"
"Can't?" His laugh was dark, almost dangerous. "I've watched you for months. Watching you bend over stretchers, your ass in those scrubs. Watching your hands work, steady and sure. Do you know what that does to me? To watch competence made flesh? To want someone who knows exactly what they're doing with their hands?"
He pressed closer, and you felt it thenāthe hard, thick outline of his arousal grinding against your hip. A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.
"Now let me reward you," he whispered, and then his mouth was on your neck, hot and demanding.
His teeth grazed your pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise, to mark, and your knees went weak. You'd imagined thisāGod, you'd imagined thisāduring late-night shifts when he stood too close, when his hand brushed yours passing instruments, when those storm-gray eyes pinned you with a look that felt like it stripped you bare.
But imagination was nothing compared to reality.
Jack Abbott kissed like he practiced medicineāwith absolute confidence, devastating precision, and no mercy. His tongue traced the column of your throat, licking and tasting, while his free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.
"You have no idea," he growled against your skin, "how hard it was to watch you save that kid tonight and not drag you into the nearest empty room. Do you know what competence does to me? To watch someone be good at something that matters?"
His hand slid lower, palming your ass and squeezing, grinding you against the hard ridge of his cock. You gasped, your free hand flying to his chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heart beneath your palm.
"Jackā"
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze was wild, blown wide with desire, the controlled attending completely shattered. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll walk away. We'll pretend this never happened."
You looked at himāreally looked at him. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the way his hair was mussed from running his hands through it during the crisis. He was beautiful in his intensity, in his hunger, in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth having.
"Don't stop," you breathed.
A predatory smile curved his lips. "Good girl."
His mouth crashed against yours, and the kiss was devastatingādeep and filthy, his tongue sweeping inside to claim you, to taste you, to take. You moaned into it, arching against him, feeling the hard planes of his body pressed flush against yours.
His hand left your hip to grip your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, opening you to him. The new position had him grinding against your core, and even through layers of scrubs, the friction made you see stars.
"Fuck," he groaned, breaking the kiss to pant against your lips. "You feel that? That's what you do to me. That's how hard I am for you. Sixteen hours of watching you be brilliant, and I've been hard since hour three."
His hand slid between your bodies, finding the waistband of your scrubs and pushing inside. You gasped as his fingers brushed over your stomach, dipping lower, lower, until they found the damp heat of your underwear.
"Already wet," he observed with dark satisfaction. "Were you thinking about me while you were suturing? While you were saving lives?"
"Yes," you admitted, the word torn from you as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding your clit with unerring accuracy.
He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with devastating precision, his medical knowledge of anatomy apparently extending to exactly how to make you fall apart. You cried out, your head falling back against the shelf, and he took advantage, mouthing at your exposed throat.
"Keep quiet," he commanded, even as he increased the pressure, rubbing tight, perfect circles that had your hips bucking. "Unless you want half the ER to hear what I'm doing to you."
You bit your lip, stifling another moan as he slid lower, two fingers pressing against your entrance before pushing inside. The stretch was exquisite, his fingers thick and skilled, curling to find that spot inside you that made your vision blur.
"Jackāoh Godā"
"That's it," he encouraged, pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm, his thumb continuing to work your clit. "Let me feel you. Let me feel how tight you are, how much you want this. Want me."
You were spiraling, the dual sensation of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your neck overwhelming. The supply closet, the hospital, the brutal shiftāall of it faded away until there was only Jack, his hands, his voice, the way he owned your pleasure with the same intensity he brought to everything else.
"Please," you whimpered, feeling the coil tightening in your belly. "Please, Jack, I needā"
"What do you need?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me. Say it."
"I need you inside me," you gasped, the words spilling out, filthy and desperate. "I need your cock. Please, Jack, fuck meā"
The groan that tore from him was animal, primal. He withdrew his fingers, making you cry out at the loss, but then he was fumbling with his scrub pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself.
You looked down and your mouth went dry. He was thick and heavy in his hand, the tip already slick with precome, veins running along the length of him. He was beautiful, terrifyingly so, and the thought of him filling you, stretching you, made your inner muscles clench with need.
"Condom," you managed, even as you ached for him.
Jack paused, his jaw tight with restraint, and reached into his white coat pocketāof course he had one, the prepared bastard. He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it down his length with efficient, practiced movements that had you squirming.
Then he was lifting you, his hands gripping your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back pressed against the cool metal of the shelving as he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained. "Look at me while I take you."
You met his eyesādark, stormy, absolutely wreckedāand then he was pushing inside.
The stretch was exquisite, burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by inch, until he was seated to the hilt. You both groaned, the sound mingling in the small space, and for a moment he just held still, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in harsh pants.
"Fuck," he gritted out. "Fuck, you're tight. You're perfect. You feel likeālikeā"
"Move," you begged, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Jack, moveā"
He didn't need to be told twice.
He pulled back and thrust deep, setting a punishing rhythm that had the shelves rattling. Each stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, the friction delicious, the angle devastating. You were reduced to whimpers and gasps, clinging to him as he fucked you against the wall with the same relentless intensity he brought to everything.
"So good," he growled, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking fresh bruises into your skin. "So fucking good. You take me so well. Look at you, taking my cock like you were made for it."
His words were filthy, degrading in the best way, reducing you to nothing but sensation, to the place where he ended and you began. You could feel your orgasm building, tightening, coiling like a spring ready to snap.
"Jack," you gasped, "I'm closeāI'm so closeā"
"Not yet," he commanded, slowing his thrusts, making you whine in frustration. "Not yet. I'm not done with you."
He withdrew completely, ignoring your cry of protest, and spun you around before you could process the movement. Your chest hit the shelving, your cheek pressed against cool metal, your hands gripping the edge of a shelf for purchase. He kicked your feet apart, spreading you wide, and then his hands were on your hips, tilting you to the perfect angle.
"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. "Look at you. Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
He thrust back inside in one smooth motion, the new angle even deeper, hitting places inside you that made your vision blur at the edges. You cried out, unable to stop yourself, and his hand came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound.
"Quiet," he reminded you, his lips at your ear even as he began to move againāslow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve ending. "Can you be quiet for me? Can you take what I'm giving you without screaming?"
You nodded frantically, your teeth sinking into his palm as he picked up the pace. His free hand slid around your hip, finding your clit again, rubbing in tight, desperate circles that had you seeing stars.
"Good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. "Such a good girl. Taking my cock so well. Do you know how many times I've imagined this? Imagined bending you over, spreading you open, fucking you until you can't remember your own name?"
His words were filthy, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge. You were babbling now, incoherent pleas and gasps, your body trembling with the effort of staying quiet as he pounded into you.
"JackāpleaseāI can'tā"
"You can," he insisted, his fingers working your clit faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. "You can. You're going to come for me again. And then again. I'm not stopping until I've had my fill of you."
His other hand moved from your mouth to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine. The slight sting of pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, creating a cocktail of sensation that had you teetering on the edge.
"Please," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Jack, I need toā"
"Come," he commanded, his voice like a whip. "Come now."
The orgasm crashed over you with devastating force, your body convulsing around him, your cry muffled by your own shoulder as you bit down to keep from screaming. He didn't stop, didn't slow, fucking you through the waves of pleasure, prolonging them, drawing them out until you were sobbing, tears pricking at your eyes from the intensity of it.
"That's one," he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. He withdrew slowly, making you whimper at the loss, and turned you back to face him. Your legs were jelly, barely holding you up, but he caught you, lifting you again, wrapping your legs around his waist.
"Jack, I can'tā" you started, but he cut you off with a kissādeep and claiming, his tongue sweeping inside to taste you.
"You can," he murmured against your lips. "And you will. I told you I was going to reward you. We're just getting started."
He lowered you onto a stack of folded linens on a lower shelfāthe rough fabric scratchy against your back, but you barely noticed. He loomed over you, his eyes dark and hungry, his cock still hard and straining, glistening with your arousal.
He grabbed your knees, pushing them up and out, spreading you completely open for him. The vulnerability of the position made you flush, but his gaze was worshipful, reverent, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him.
"Beautiful," he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs, making you shiver. "Absolutely beautiful."
He positioned himself at your entrance again, teasing, rubbing the thick head of his cock through your folds, gathering your wetness, making you squirm and beg.
"Jack, pleaseā"
"Please what?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm, though you could see the strain in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me," you gasped, the words spilling out, filthy and desperate. "I want you inside me. Please, Jack, stop teasingā"
He thrust deep in one hard movement, filling you completely, and you arched off the linens with a cry that he swallowed with another kiss. He set a brutal pace, each thrust driving you into the rough fabric, his pelvis grinding against your sensitive clit with every stroke.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice strained. "I want to watch you touch yourself while I fuck you."
Your hand moved without conscious thought, sliding between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pounded into you. The dual sensation was overwhelmingāhis cock filling you, stretching you, your own fingers working your most sensitive spot.
" Fuck," he groaned, his eyes locked on where your bodies joined, where your hand worked yourself. "That's it. That's so fucking hot. Look at you. Look at how much you want this."
You were climbing again, impossibly, your body still sensitive from your last orgasm. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your veins, every grind of his hips driving you higher.
"JackāI'm going toā"
"Come with me," he gritted out, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "Come with me. Nowā"
He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside you, his body shuddering against yours. The feeling of him coming, the way he lost control, the raw, primal sound of his releaseāit pushed you over the edge. You came with him, your body convulsing, your vision whiting out, your cry lost in the space between you.
For long moments, they held you there, pinned against the linens, both of you breathing hard, trembling, coming down from the high. He collapsed slightly, his weight pressing you into the rough fabric, but you didn't mind. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling his heart thunder against your chest.
"Fuck," he breathed, his face buried in your neck. "Fuck, that wasā"
"Yeah," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah."
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. The wild intensity had faded, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, tender.
"Hi," he said, his voice rough.
A laugh bubbled up in your chest, unexpected and giddy. "Hi."
He smiled thenāa real smile, not the tight, controlled expression he wore in the ER, but something genuine and warm. "I've wanted to do that for months."
"Months?" you echoed, surprised.
"Since your first day," he admitted, slowly withdrawing and lowering you back to your feet, steadying you when your knees threatened to buckle. "You walked in, looked me in the eye, and didn't flinch when I asked you a question. Everyone flinches. You didn't."
You stared at him, processing this. "So you've been... what? Torturing me for eight months because you liked me?"
"Professional torture," he corrected, though his eyes were dancing. "I had to maintain standards. But yes. I've been wanting to drag you into a supply closet since approximately day three."
You shook your head, incredulous, but you were smiling. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your swollen lower lip, "here we are."
He kissed you thenāsoftly, gently, a complete contrast to the desperate, filthy encounter that had just transpired. It felt like a promise, like a beginning, and you leaned into it, into him, into whatever this was.
"We should probably get back," you murmured against his lips, though you made no move to pull away.
"In a minute," Jack agreed, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. "Let me just... hold you. For a minute."
You melted into him, your head resting on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of himāsweat and antiseptic and sex. The ER would still be chaos outside this door, the shift would still be brutal, the world would still be waiting.
But for this moment, in this supply closet, with Jack Abbott's arms around you, you let yourself have this.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, his hand stroking down your back, "dinner. My place. I'll cook."
You lifted your head to look at him, surprised. "Jack Abbott cooks?"
"Jack Abbott does a lot of things," he said, that predatory smile returning. "You've only seen a small sample of my... skills."
Heat flooded your cheeks, and he laughedāa warm, rich sound that you realized you'd never heard before. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear it every day.
"Okay," you agreed. "Dinner. Your place."
"And after dinner," he continued, his hand sliding down to grip your ass again, "I'm going to take my time with you. No supply closet rush. No fear of interruption. Just you, me, and a bed. And I'm going to find out exactly what makes you scream."
Your breath hitched, fresh arousal pooling in your belly despite the fact that you'd just come harder than you ever had in your life.
"That soundsā" you started, but the sound of voices in the hallway made you both freeze.
Jack stepped back quickly, adjusting his scrubs with efficient movements, while you scrambled to straighten your own clothes, your fingers trembling slightly. You caught sight of yourself in the reflection of a metal cabinetāflushed, disheveled, your neck sporting visible bruises that would be impossible to explain.
Jack followed your gaze and smiled, reaching out to adjust your collar with surprising tenderness. "Wear a turtleneck tomorrow," he advised, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. "Or don't. Let them wonder."
The voices passed, fading down the hall, and you both exhaled.
"I should go first," Jack said, though he didn't move. "Give it a few minutes, then follow."
"Jack," you said, catching his hand before he could leave. "This... what is this?"
He turned back, his expression serious, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "This is me finally doing what I've wanted to do for months. This is me telling you that you're brilliant, and I'm in awe of you, and I want to see where this goes. If you want that too."
Your heart swelled, a warm, tender feeling mixing with the lingering arousal in your veins. "I want that."
"Good," he said, leaning in to press a quick, hard kiss to your lips. "Now get some rest. Tomorrow, you're mine."
He slipped out of the supply closet, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the scent of him on your skin.
You leaned back against the shelves, your legs still shaky, your body still humming with aftershocks. The shift from hell had just become the shift that changed everything.
And tomorrow, you thought with a smile, Dr. Jack Abbott had promised to take his time.
You, robby and jack are best friends, best friends who kiss each on the lips, who puts their hands on your thighs when you're sitting next to each other. Best friends who sleep in the same bed with you in the middle in nothing but a cami and panties. Best friends who give each other hickies. You sit on their laps in cars (even though theres loads of space) with their hands underneath your skirt because you're best friends. Best friends who grind on each other in their sleep. Your best friends who have their hands up your shirt when you're watching movies. You're best friends.....
(you already know how I feel jfc) I may or may not have gone temporarily insane with lust, it's fine
and they were roommates
perv!Rabbot x naive!reader goodness | masterlist ā next
reader is a too naive and gentle and these two fuckers are gross and I love them | mdni +18
You don't think about it too much when Robby offers you his spare bedroom after your lease is up. He insists on it, actually. Why spend so much money on a stupid studio when you can come live with him in his three bedroom condo for free?
You rationalize it. He says it's to help you save money, who are you to question it?
You also don't question when Jack volunteers his truck to help you with the move. You've filled it to the brim with boxes and bags, so much so that there's only one available seat for both you and Robby.
He settles in first, quickly grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to sit down over his lap. You shift briefly, adjusting yourself as something hard presses against you but you honestly don't mind. The drive is short anyways, you don't want to make Robby uncomfortable.
Robby turns slightly to pull at the seatbelt when he notices there's no room to click it into place. So instead his arms wrap around your middle, settling absentmindedly over your lap.
Something down there clenches at the touch, practically burning through your workout shorts as he presses down, holding you tight against him.
"Gonna have to hold onto you while we get there," he grumbles against your temple. "You okay with that?"
You hum sharply, not daring to move. You simply cannot be getting worked up over this. It's Robby you're talking about, sweet, caring, friendly Robby.
You will not make this awkward.
And you definitely do not catch the look Jack gives his friend through the rearview mirror as the truck starts moving.
You can't stop complaining as you sit on Robby's couch.
"I just don't understand why our taxes aren't going to important things like fixing all those potholes!" you flail your arms in emphasis. "I mean, one or two is fine, but eight? I can't even imagine someone trying to drive with a car lower to the ground."
Robby chuckles, handing you a beer as he joins you and Jack on the couch, squishing you against the two of them. You'd been comfortably sitting with your legs crossed, but the second that Robby settles, you make room for him, throwing your leg over Jack's and propping the other over Robby's.
"It's just crazy."
Crazy for you maybe. Not Jack who made sure to hit every single bump he could find, almost getting into a couple accidents as he kept glancing back in the rearview to catch your blissful expression as you bounced against Robby's obvious erection, the older man shamelessly pressing you down against him every single time.
Robby makes it a point to not set up your bed yet.
There's room on his massive kingsize, you can just sleep with him tonight. And well, look at the time, it's too late for Jack to go home anyway, especially not after spending dinner drinking, that would be irresponsible.
So while they insist you go shower while they clean up, Jack makes it a point to...misplace the boxes with your clothes. It's fine, they're just in the pantry.
You walk out in a towel, tightly wrapped around your body, a little tipsy from the beers and wine, happy to be starting a new chapter in your life with the two people you consider your closest friends.
You try to look for your clothes, you swear, but all you can find is a pair of tiny, lacy panties that you honestly forgot you had, mixed in with your winter clothes.
You grab them, walking into Robby's bedroom like you own the place, because you do, and rummage through his closet in search of a shirt you can wear.
You drop the towel as you can hear Jack in the living room and Robby in his own shower so you know you're alone. You quickly put on your panties, bending over and showing both men, who have strategically moved into the bedroom, the roundness of your ass and just the tiniest sliver of your pussy before you cover it all up with one of Robby's undershirts.
When you turn back around, they're no longer there.
You find yourself in bed a little later, Robby to your right, back propped up against the headboard, thick glasses handing off his nose as he checks something on his phone.
Behind you, Jack has already started āsnoringā, putting on a show for you to let your guard down. One hand flops over your hip, casual and unassuming. You donāt flinch, donāt kick him off, you simply say goodnight to Robby and close your eyes.
Itās half an hour later, while youāre stuck in that weird in between awake and asleep fuzzy space that you start to feel it.
Behind you, Jack has pressed himself against your ass, his hips slowly rocking back and forth. Youāre too tired to register it fully, losing yourself to the feeling of his hardness seeking your warmth.
You hum, back arching slightly to give him better access.
In front of you, Robby chuckles softly, adjusting himself so that his own crotch bumps into the tip of your nose.
āRobby?ā You murmur, still pretty out of it, hand reaching forward to put some space between you and accidentally grazing his cock.
āShhh, itās okay honey,ā he coos. āJust go back to sleep.ā
You try to listen to him, but just as your eyes fall shut once more, Jack pulls his cock out from his boxers and slides it in between your legs.
The hotness radiating from him is enough to pull you away from slumber a little more as you begin to feel the roughness of your panties pressing against your wetness.
You groan, cheeks heating up at how pathetic you must seem to them, how uncomfortable youāre clearly making them. So you pretend to still be asleep. Itās not your fault theyāre making you feel so good, if youāre not awake to witness it then it doesnāt count.
Before you know it, Jack's hardness is rutting swiftly against your soaked folds, his hisses and groans the only indication that you weren't going crazy and having a vivd dream.
Poor Jackie, he must be so far gone that he doesn't even realize he's doing it and who are you to judge your friend for that? For wanting to feel wanted?
You don't get time to process as you feel Robby's own leaking tip rock against your mouth. You don't even think, your lips parting on their own as your tongue sticks out to suck on it.
A jolt of electricity courses through Robby's entire body as he realizes you're actually rocking yourself to sleep while sucking him off, the gentle rocking movements actually calming you down and sending you back into a dreamy state.
The two men make eye contact then, identical devilish smirks all over their faces.
Summary: A home gym made perfect sense for Jack's schedule, but by suggesting putting it in the same space as your office you may have set yourself up for failure. Now your husband is catching on to an odd desire of yours.
Contents: Jack Abbot x fem!reader, reader and Jack are married, sweaty post-workout smut, scent kink, armpit kink, armpit sniffing & licking, daddy is used once, petnames (hon, sweetheart, dirty girl), thigh riding, a smidge of nipple play & titty fondling(m!receiving), a lil bit of mean!Jack, really just teasing. if this isn't your thing that's completely understandable but please just move along!
Note: i know that my pope x virgin!reader was supposed to be my next fic posted, but the brain worms took over and i couldn't stop thinking about sweaty, post-workout jack so here we are. could be considered a part 2 of laundry fiend. kinda nervous posting this one cause i feel like armpits can be kind of a controversial thing, but ive posted freakier so im jus gonna go for it!
thank you @snoopy-abbot-archives for the home gym idea! credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider.
Word Count: 2k
Ao3 Link: read here!
In theory, it was a great idea. A home gym made perfect sense. It means Jack no longer has to waste time commuting to and from the gym. After working out he can wash off immediately in the comfort of his own shower equipped with all the amenities he needs. He loves it, and you're happy that he does.
In practice, it has proven to be a severe and continuous test of your will powerāa distraction like none other you've had to endure before.
Truly, you brought this upon yourself when you suggested putting the gym in the same room as your office. It was a big enough space that often went under utilized otherwise. What you didn't take into account is the fact that you would have to deal with your incredibly attractive and handsome Jackie using said gym while you work.
Working from home is usually a blessing. With Jack's unordinary work schedule it allows for flexibility you normally wouldn't have. You can't be more grateful for all the extra time you get to spend with him. But you're also human, and there's only so much you can handle when it comes to your husband's hot and sweaty visage.
Your eyes flick up, peering across the room from over the top of your monitor. Jack is finishing his final set, and you seize the opportunity to eye him up for the umpteenth time. His silver curls have gone damp, flattened at the crown. A few strands are plastered at his temples and the springy curls at the nape of his neck cling to his skin. His shirt cleaves to his torso, the fabric darkened at the pits. You swallow hard. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across a his skin, providing a canvas for sunlight to sketch a golden outline around him. He looks heavenly, and he's all yoursāor he could be if you hadn't let the deadlines pile up.
A frown tugs the corners of your lips downwards. Your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. It's a little embarrassing that you've let something like this affect your work so much. Just as your hands return to your keyboard, Jack ambles over. You perk up a little as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about lunch, but it's in one ear and out the other. You can feel the heat radiating off him. His scent floods your senses, and your thighs shift in your chair, pressing together. Fuck. Your body slopes nearer, chasing closeness where he's managed to barely slip away.
"Hon?" You blink and you're dragged back down to this plane of existence. "Everything okay? I asked if you wanted lunch."
"Yeahāyes, just trying to catch up on some deadlines," you nod towards the screen, but as you speak you can practically feel his suspicions growing. He gives you a once over, brows furrowing before smoothing over. A chuckle rumbles from his throat and that's how you know that he's clued into what exactly is afflicting you.
His gaze darkens, lids slanting heavier over his eyes as he regards you with a maddeningly smug look. What a predicament it is to be ināto have Jack Abbot aware that he's got you wrapped around his finger. Though something tells you the depths of your perversions haven't quite been fully realized. How every cell in your body is urging you to submerge yourself in himāin his scentāto burrow under his arm and live there for a little while, or an eternity if the constraints of reality would allow.
"Why don't I go shower then we can pick this back up after?"
"No!" The word bursts from you and you're helpless to stop it. It's followed up by a meek correction. "Don't please."
You think over your next words with more care this time around, determined to stop making such a fool of yourself. It's just Jack, your loving husbandā¦ who also happens to love poking fun and teasing you endlessly over anything and everything, your brain inopportunely reminds you.
Your voice surfaces even quieter this time. "I like how you areā¦ right now."
Constantly stealing his clothes and wearing his unwashed hoodies is one thing. That is a hurdle you've long since gotten over. Wanting to taste the sweat off his skin and bury yourself into every crevice of his body is something entirely differentādefinitely not something you're raring to admit to your menace of a husband.
"All gross and sweaty?" He asks with an arched eyebrow.
"S'not gross, you smellā¦" Divine, delicious, aphrodisiacal, like sinful temptation itself. You settle for something less assuming in an attempt to preserve your image that he seems keen on tarnishing with all his teasing. "Nice."
Jack towers over you for a moment longerāall corded in muscles still pumped from his workout. It makes his shirt look a size too small around his swollen biceps. Then he grabs you and pulls you up from your chair before swapping places with you.
The chair creaks as he settles. It leaves him looking up at you, but somehow you still feel small under the weight of his undivided attention. His thick thighs part until they tap against the arm rests. He's offering himself up to you. You accept eagerly, bringing yourself over one of his thighs. A hand slides along his arm, mapping out the veins that traverse all the way up the freckled length of it. Your fingers skate the edge of his sleeve, and two slip beneath the fabric, inching closer to the summit of their hike.
"Nice?" He tilts his head. The single syllable stops you in your tracks. Your lip quivers, and you chance a look at him. He's leaned back against the back of the chair, relaxed, hazel eyes assessing you. His hands are braced on the armrests, fingers twitchingāitching to reach out and lay themselves on you but he doesn't move them. He's lying in wait, watching you dig yourself deeper and deeper until you have no choice but to outright admit what you want. Your every filthy desire.
And dug a hole you have. Fuck it.
"Yes, so niceā¦" you purr, tipping forward to bring your head to the crook of his neck. You fist at his t-shirt as you leave a smattering of kisses along his skin and over his clothed shoulder.
"Didn't know my wife was such a pervert," he mutters. You should feel mortified by the comment, but it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. The tip of your nose brushes right over the crease of his armpit. His scent is most potent there but still obscured by cotton. "Yeah, you like daddy's scent? Is that it?"
That makes your eyes shutter closed and roll behind their lids. Your clit pulses between your legs like it's got a heartbeat of its own.
"Mhmā¦!" You can only manage a stifled sound before he's shuffling beneath you, the muscle of his thigh flexing where you're slotted over him. He loses his shirt quickly, peeling it from his sweaty chest and tossing it somewhere on the floor.
"You aren't very subtle, sweetheart." His arm lifts, and he cups the back of his head baring his armpit to you. You salivate at the sight, wide eyes slashing between his gaze and the current epicenter of your desire. At first, you're hesitant despite the encouragement.
"Go on, you're practically drooling," he says, "bet your cunt's drooling too."
It wouldn't take much to prove his words right. Only a couple of thick fingers tucking themselves into your pants, but there's no need. You're sure he can feel the damp heat of you over his leg. Reluctance falls apart at the seams, and you move closer, inch by inch. Except, you don't start where he expects.
As avid as you are, you begin elsewhereāat his stomach, where a slight pudge pours over the waistband of his shorts. Warm flesh dimples as you knead at it. His skin is tacky from a layer of cooling sweat. Your lips descend as your hands climb up, up, up, racking over his ribs then crawling around to cup his pecs. Languidly, you drag your lips down the wide column of his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob.
"You smell so good..." you murmur. Along the way, you pepper kisses over his sternum, moving closer and closer toāa small, throaty sound ruptures his bout of silence, pulled from him when your lips close around his nipple, tongue flicking gently. Eventually, your patience begins to wear thin like flame whittles a candle wick.
And once it's all burnt up, you're moving fast, advancing on the place you've been pining after this whole time. Your face comes to rest against the shallow divot of his armpit. All it takes is one deep inhale and you're already lightheadedādrunk off his scent. There's a subtly sweet undertone. Musk and honey and sandalwood and him. Maybe you're so out of it that you are hallucinating it all. Either way, it is intoxicating, it is addicting, and it makes you fucking feral.
You nose at him. The thatch of hair there tickles your skin. It's as if this little hollow was carved into your mountain of a man for the express purpose of being the perfect cradle for your face. Sweat has gathered there in excess. Dewdrops beaded along warm skin. Your tongue rolls out and you run it flat over the curve of his underarm. Salt and tang bursts on your taste buds.
Underneath you, his knee jumps. It jolts you and rattles a muffled moan from your lips. Nipping lightly, you draw a muttered curse from him, low and raspy. In response, he grabs a handful of your ass and hauls you closer, dragging your clothed cunt over his leg. You slide back and he pulls you close again. It starts as a sluggish back and forth motion, like the ebb and flow of the tide coming in and out, but it escalates.
Sensation is dulled by the layers between you and your movements turn franticāa desperate, stuttered rutting as you bring your clit up and down his meaty thigh, mewling open mouthed into his sweaty armpit each time the swollen bud catches on the fabric of his shorts.
"Shitāyou close, baby?" He rasps above you, your frenzied movements giving you away. You nod against him and he helps as best he can, grappling at your waist and guiding your movements again. Up. You're closer. Down. Nearly there justāup again. You shudder.
It's pure ecstasy. Stars erupt behind your eyelids. Every nerve from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes igniting all at once. Your movements falter and your mouth falls open, face nesting further into the concave of his underarm. You drown yourself in his scent as your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing helplessly as you come to a standstill over his thigh.
His large hand smoothes over your side, stopping to pinch at your hip. "You're fuckin' filthy," he huffs. It's completely hypocritical.
"You're one to talk," you say, reluctantly pulling your face away just to speak. You can bet good money he's hard as a rock right now. In factāyour hand slithers between you, and sure enough. A groan threatens to bubble up but he bites it back.
"Yeah? How long have you been fantasizing about this?" He grinds out while you continue to palm him through his shorts. The answer to that question is far more incriminating than you'd like it to be, but before you can even attempt to save face, he's interrogating you further. "This why you moved me in here, for your own personal show?"
"You are much, much more attractive when you aren't talking."
Jack laughs at that. He doesn't believe you for a second, but he takes the hint and doesn't press further on that front. Smart man. "You had your fill, dirty girl, or have I yet to earn your permission to go shower?"
"Hmā¦ " you hum, pretending to think it over, "only if you extend an invite."
"That was the plan," he remarks, jutting his hips up and pressing his erection into your touch for emphasis.
Summary: Youāre doctor Robbyās younger daughter, and you are waiting outside for him in front of the ER. As usual he doesnāt make it out of work on time. So, instead youāre greeted by his best friend, Jack Abbot.
Contains: Daddy issues, absent father, dads best friend, age gap, forbidden, almost getting caught, couch makeout session, dry humping, hand kink, words like ākiddoā, Abbot drives a truck, desperation, praise kink, fingering
One thing you hated was the fact your dad worked in the ER. Especially the ER in Pittsburgh that never seems to get a break.
You wait on a bench outside of the noisy hospital. Ambulances rolling in and out every now and then. Your hands are tucked away in your dadās green coat. You sniffle as your nose runs from the cold. It grows numb at the cold breeze.
You didnāt mind waiting in the cold though.
Every time the sliding doors open you canāt help but glance up in hope itās your dad. Each time itās someone different; some familiar faces but it was never your dad.
The sliding doors open once more, your eyes flick up, and to your surprise itās a more than familiar face.
"Dr. Abbot?" You say, almost like it was a question.
"You waiting up for your dad?"
You scoot over on the bench as he inches closer. He just has on black scrubs, a grey shirt under, and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck.
"Yeah." You kept your response short.
With a soft grunt he sits down next to you. He leans back a bit and his legs spread open slowly in a manspread you canāt help but notice.
Your eyes flick away quickly.
"Robby is going to be held up a bit tonight." His tone makes you worry. Your eyes flick to his.
"Should I be worried?" Something in your stomach twists.
"There was a car pile up on the freeway tonight. Some of the local hospitals computer systems went down, so they had to transfer them over." He explains.
"Heās been in there for almost twenty-four hours." You mumble.
"You know how your dad is, kiddo."
Kiddo.
"The sun is rising practically, and I see the night shift doctors going home." You point at the night shift doctor who has a Dunkin' drink with him everyday, leaving.
"I know youāre upset-"
"Upset? Yeah, I hardly get to see my dad because his second home is a hospital for crying out loud." You shout angrily.
Abbot seems taken aback at your frustration, but he understands. He places a hand on your knee and gives it a squeeze.
"I get your frustration ā I do. Your dad just works hard," Abbot tries to defend your dad.
You shake your head, "But when do I get a say when I want to see my dad."
You squeeze your hands into a fist, theyāre tucked away in the long sleeves of your dadās coat. You feel the tears of frustration starting to rise in your eyes. You bite your lower lip to try to stop anything from escaping but itās hard with the cold air smacking you in the face. A tear escapes and so does a hushed sniffle.
"Hey, hey, woah," Abbot turns to you and you refuse to look up at him. "These tears arenāt worth it."
He grabs your face and his calloused hand glides against your cheek. Your eyes flinch at the touch. His hands are surprisingly warm. His thumb brushes away a tear under your eye.
"How did you get here?" Abbot asks you.
"I took the bus." You sniffle.
"Iāll text Robby that Iām taking you home today, okay?" You feel your heart rate increase at the idea of being in Abbotās truck, just you and him, going to your house.
You nod and wipe away the tears from your face, "Okay." You softly say.
The car ride felt like it was the longest car ride. The soft hum of the engine, and the smell of the cars heater blowing in your face. You can tell his truck is a little older. It is a nice rustic red, and it suits him. Everything Abbot has or does suits him.
He pulls into the driveway of you and your dadās house. Your own car, a 2016 Volkswagen Beetle, which broke down on you about a month ago, sits peacefully next to his truck.
"You took the bus but you have your beetle?" He points to your red beetle.
"She broke down on me last month. I think somethingās wrong with the transmission. Dad was supposed to take it to the shop last week, but he got busy."
As usual.
"I can always take it into the shop. I know a mechanic who could probably get her back up and running." You canāt help but smile.
"Youād do that?" Your eyes flick between his.
With a soft nod and a smile that you canāt help but stare at, "Of course. Iād do anything for you, kiddo."
Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your palms grow sweaty. Your stomach twists and turns like you have to throw up.
"You should come in," You blurt out.
Abbot looks surprised, "You want me to come in?"
"I mean, dad wouldnāt like you to not come in. You drove me here you must be hungry or thirsty or ā something." You ramble a bit.
Abbot chuckles at you and shakes his head. He reaches for his key fob and turns off his truck.
"Okay, Iāll go inside." He rests his hands on his legs.
His black scrubs fit nicely on his body. It squeezes around his legs and his black shirt accentuates his biceps.
You guys get out of the truck and you take out your key. Itās on a keychain with a picture of you and your dad, a small stuffed bunny, and a red heart. The keys jingle and you fumble a bit trying to unlock your door. You can feel Abbot staring at the side of your face and at the lock.
Once you get the door open you are instantly greeted by your cat Cinnamon. Sheās a smaller tabby cat, and she rubs against your legs. She doesnāt hesitate to go to Abbot next. Rubbing on his black scrubs; her fur clings to it.
He leans down to pick her up. He lays her on her back and she purrs loudly. He takes his middle and ring finger and begins to pet her gently in the stomach.
"Such a pretty girl," He hums and rubs her fur slowly.
You lick your lips and swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your eyes canāt help but focus on his veiny hands and the thickness of his two fingers rubbing your cat.
He sets her down and when he gets back up he softly groans.
You blink out of whatever fantasy you were playing in your head.
"Are you thirsty?" You ask and walk over to the kitchen.
"Coffee would be great," He nods.
"Coffee after doing the night shift?" You tease and he huffs as he sits down on your sofa.
"Coffee is like water to me now, kid."
"You realize Iām nineteen. Iām not a kid," You glare at him.
"I know, I know. I just like saying it," He smiles.
You put the pod of coffee into your Keurig. It begins to rumble as the water starts to heat up. You awkwardly stand in the kitchen not knowing if you should go over to the couch or not.
"Donāt be so uptight in your own home," You flinch at the husky voice and look over at Abbot.
He pats the cushion next to him and hesitantly you begin to walk over. You stand in front of him and his head tilts up to look at you. You sit down slowly next to him. You can feel his eyes on you; watching your every move.
You guys sit in silence, you can hear your heart beating loudly. Youāve been around Abbot many times but this one time youāre with him alone.
You notice him bringg his hand up, and it finds your leg. He places his hand on your leg and brings your chin over his lap.
You watch him.
He knows youāre watching.
He slides his hand up to your chin slowly ā rubbing your skin. Shivers run up your spine at his warm hands caressing your legs.
He turns his head and his eyes lock with yours.
You swallow.
"Abbot," you say almost breathlessly.
"Yes?" His voice is deeper than before.
You lean in more, your butt pressing against his thigh. Your legs are now both over his lap, but youāre not sitting in his lap ā yet.
"Keep going," you say. "Please."
His eyes flick between yours. Something new lights in them and you can tell heās enjoying this as much as you are.
You lean in to his neck as he continues to stroke your legs. You get a smell of his musk that makes him smell more like a man. You place a soft kiss on his neck and his hand halts on your chin.
You pull away and look up at him.
"Kid," Abbot begins.
His hand reaches out for your cheek. His thumb traces your bottom lip as he holds your face. A breathy gasp escapes between your lips. You stare up at him; he licks his lips slowly. Before you left him finish his sentence you place your mouth on his. His breath gets caught in his throat, but he doesnāt fight the kiss. His mouth wanders yours; his tongue protruding the entrance to your mouth. Your tongues fight against each other.
You find yourself now straddling him. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, squeezing and pulling on his shirt. The more you two kiss, the more you want.
He breaks away from you. Youāre both breathless and he stares into your eyes. You can feel your lips are swollen but you donāt mind.
"Kid, we shouldnāt have done that." He says.
"But I wanted it to happen," You whisper.
He tilts his head back a bit and you bite your lip. You inch towards his face again and he doesnāt mind. You place another soft kiss on his lips. You can feel the heat from his breath on your lips. His breath smells like peppermint, and you canāt help but crave it.
Your tongue glides along the bottom of his lip, and slowly you rock your hips forward. With the movement of your hips you can hear him grunt in your mouth.
Everything around you disappears. All you can focus on is the feeling of your pussy slowly grinding against his growing hard on, and the way his breathing grows erratic against your mouth.
"Fuck," He groans.
He stared at you intensely through hooded eyes. You rock your hips and a shot of pleasure shoots through you.
You lean forward a bit and your head meets his muscular shoulder. His hand slides into your hair and the fingers that were once petting your cat were now racking through your hair.
You let out a muffled moan into his shoulder at the feeling of your cunt grinding and his hand roughly playing in your hair.
"Keep going," He encourages through a groan.
You press down harder and roll your hips. Your breath hitches softly.
"Yeah," He breathes. "Just like that."
You moan again at his words.
"What would your dad think?" He whispers. "Him coming home and seeing his daughter grinding against his friend, huh?"
You whimper in response.
You lean back and look at him. Your chest heaves up and down.
"I want more," You gasp. "Jack, please."
"Jack, hm?" He moves his hands down onto your thighs and up to your hips.
He squeezes and massages them slowly.
"What more do you want?" He asks.
"Touch me, anything, please." You beg.
"Touch you?" His hand slides closer to the button of your jeans.
He rubs his finger around the button. You watch the way his index finger slowly does circles on the piece of metal. You feel yourself pulsing at the idea of his fingers doing that to you.
He unbuttons the button and glides down the zipper. He can see your pink lace underwear youāre wearing. His thumb glides against the silky underwear and he looks up at you ā looking for an answer.
"Please," you beg. "Touch me."
Without anymore hesitation he slides his hand inside of your underwear. You let out a mixture of a gasp and a moan as his index finger slides up your wet folds and runs over your clit, slowly. You rub is back and forth in a slowly flicking motion. You moan and tilt your head back a bit and rock your hips forward.
"You think you can take my fingers?" He wraps his free hand around your neck and tilts your head back to look at him.
You bob your head and he gives a smirk.
Slowly he pushes between your folds and slides his index finger inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling of his finger going in. A mixture of pain and pleasure rush over you. His index finger slides in and out slowly but his thumb finds its way down back to your clit. In a motion you fingers you and rubs circles on your clit.
"Look at that," he hums. "Such a good girl."
You moan loudly at the way heās treating you and the words he speaks. You can feel the nerves bundling up and the pleasure becoming intense on you.
"Oh God," You whimper. "Iām going to cum." You moan out.
"Itās okay," He reassures. "I got you; cum for me."
With those words, it felt like an explosion hit you. Your body trembles as you reach your climax and you let out a loud moan. You bite your lip and collapse onto his shoulder once again. He pumps his finger slower inside of you until all thatās left is your body twitching.
You sit up and catch your breath. You two are both breathless and you canāt help but smile. Jack cracks a smile back at you.
He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing gets out as you both hear the sound of keys entering the front doors lock.
You jump off Jackās lap and zip up your jeans. You quickly tuck your hair behind your ears and glance at Jack once more. You notice him adjust his dick in his scrubs before the door opens.
"Hi dad," You blurt out.
"Hey sweetie," Robby sets down the keys in the bowl by your door and he walks over and kisses your forehead. "Sorry Iām home so late."
"Itās fine," you say. "Dr. Abbot kept me company."
how i'd love to go to paris again (and again) | j. abbot & m. robinavitch
pairing jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
summary after jack casually floats the idea of adding a third, you donāt let it stay theoretical for longāwhat starts as curiosity turns into something a lot more real when robby gets pulled into the space you and jack have built together. (#threesometime #neverforgetchallengers) (ao3)
tags/warnings MDNI (18+) explicit sexual content, age gap (mid-20s / 50s), established relationship with you and jack, living together, unlabelled jack and robby sexualities (bi?), attempt at a true love triangle (et tu, challengers (2024) except no cheating & u and jack r <3. but rabbot under(over?)tones), unprotected p in v, oral (f/m, m/f) handjobs (f/m, m/m), masturbation, praise & teasing, dom!ish robby, bratty!ish reader, lowkey switch/softdom jack idk, finger sucking, domestic, drinking, brief hospital/medical stuff / orthopaedics (r3), porn with... context?, hint at robby internalised homophobia? possibly ooc for jack sorry, title reference to the 1975 but not inspired by the song more just bad pun bc... paris... threesome... get it
wc 18.3k words
spin off of the fic: my (wo)man on willpower | j. abbot - can be read solo!
Robby doesnāt look confused so much asā¦ unconvinced.
He sits back in the booth, one arm slung along the backrest, beer loose in his hand, eyes moving between you and Jack like heās watching a consult go sideways.
āā¦You two wanna try that again,ā he says, slow, ābut in English this time?ā
Jack huffs under his breath, already regretting opening his mouth. He drags a hand over his jaw, glancing at you like heās half-tempted to pull the plug on the whole thing.
āTold you,ā he mutters, low. āBad pitch.ā
You nudge his knee under the tableānot hard, just enough. Donāt bail.
Robby catches it. Of course he does. His eyes flick down, then back up, something sharpening.
āOh, donāt tap out now,ā he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on the table. āYou brought it up. Iām listening.ā
Jack opens his mouth againā
āāNo,ā Robby cuts him off, not even looking at him. āShe talks.ā
Thereās that tone. The one he uses with residents when theyāre dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Justā¦ direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactlyāmore the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.
Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.
You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.
āItās notā¦ open,ā you start, careful. āWeāre not looking toāchange anything. Not really.ā
Robby watches you the whole time. Doesnāt interrupt. Doesnāt fill the silence for you.
āItās justāā you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, āāwe trust you. Both of us do. And youāve beenā¦ there. With us. For a while.ā
āUnfortunately,ā he mutters.
Jack snorts. āSpeak for yourself.ā
But Robby doesnāt look away from you.
You hold his gaze. āItās not random. Itās notā¦ about finding some person to fool around with. Itās you.ā
That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesnāt disappear, but it tightens around the edges.
āā¦Right,ā he says, slower now.
Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. āItās not a free-for-all,ā he adds, dry. āWeāre not pitching some kind of ER orgy.ā
āShame,ā Robby says flatly.
You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.
Jack shoots him a look. āBe serious for one second in your life.ā
āI am serious,ā Robby says. Then, to youāāIām just making sure I understand what the hell youāre asking me.ā
His gaze drops brieflyāto your hands, the way theyāre curled loosely around your glassāthen back up again.
āWhat are you actually offering here?ā he asks.
You hesitateānot because you donāt know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.
āItās not just sex,ā you say, quieter now.
Robbyās brow lifts. āNo?ā
You shake your head. āItāsā¦ us. Still us. Justāā you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, āāwith you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.ā
Thereās a long beat.
Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.
āYou two have been together, what,ā he says, glancing at Jack, ātwo years now?ā
āNearly three,ā Jack corrects.
āNearly three,ā Robby repeats. āYou know, youā¦ you live together. Donāt kill each other. Thatās impressive.ā
āThank you,ā you say, dry.
His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this timeābut heavier, too.
āAnd youāre both telling me this doesnātā¦ complicate things.ā
Jack answers this time, steady. āEverythingās already complicated. This wouldnāt change what weāve got. Weāve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.ā
Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. Thereās history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.
āā¦Youāre serious,ā he says finally.
āYeah,ā Jack says.
Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like heās trying to reset his brain.
āJesus Christ.ā
You donāt rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, itās different now. Less amused. Moreā¦ considering.
āYouāre asking about the three of usā¦ā he tries, trailing off.
You nod. āYeah.ā
His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jackās, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.
āAnd youāre both just- youāreā¦ good with it,ā he says.
Your voice is quieter when you answer. āWouldnāt be sitting here if we werenāt. Youāre attractive, smart, funny. And I think youāve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.ā
Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.
ā...Christ,ā he mutters again, but thereās a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.
Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.
āYou always this persuasive?ā He wonders.
You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. āOnly when it matters.ā
That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.
āYeah,ā he says. āI can see that.ā
Jack shifts beside you, not tenseābut alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.
Your phone buzzesāonce, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.
You glance down, already half-standing. āIāve gotta go. Park needs meāIsla called in sick.ā
Jack doesnāt even hesitate. Heās already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. āTake the car. Iāll ride back with him.ā
You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. āThanks, baby.ā
You lean downāmeant to be quick, but it doesnāt quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.
Thereās a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turningā Robbyās already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.
āMichael,ā you say, softer, a small nod.
He repeats your nameāflatter, rougher, like heās testing how it sits in his mouth.
You donāt linger. You head out.
The door swings shut behind you.
Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like heās resetting.
Robby doesnāt look at the door. He looks at Jack. Thereās a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Justā¦ processing.
āAlright,ā he says. āWhoās idea is it?ā
Jack doesnāt bother pretending. āMine.ā
Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. āYouāre kidding.ā
āNope.ā
āWhen?ā
Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. āRemember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?ā
Robby snorts. āYeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself Iāve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.ā
āAppreciate that.ā
āWalking around likeāā Robby gestures vaguely, āālike a cat in heat.ā
Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. āYeah, well. After you left that morning, we had ourā¦ you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -ā
ā-get to the point,ā Robby says, with a slight snicker.
āSome point, I mentionā¦ I donāt know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, andā¦ weāre just talking.ā
āTalking,ā Robby repeats, deadpan.
āYeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.ā
āHard pass.ā
Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. āIt came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What weād be into, what we wouldnāt.ā
āAnd you landed on me,ā Robby says.
āYeah.ā
Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. āā¦Both of you.ā
āBoth of us.ā
That lands differently.
Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking nowānot just reacting.
āThatās your girl,ā he says finally. āYouāve built something there. Iām notāā he shakes his head slightly, āāIām not interested in screwing that up.ā
Jackās expression doesnāt change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.
āI wouldnāt be asking if I thought you would.ā
Robby glances at him, sharper now. āYou donāt get to decide that for me.ā
āNo,ā Jack agrees easily. āBut I do know you.ā
A beat.
āAnd I trust you,ā he adds.
it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.
āā¦Yeah,ā he mutters. āThatās the problem.ā
Jackās brow lifts, faintly amused. āThat I trust you?ā
āThat I donāt take that lightly,ā Robby shoots back.
Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.
āAnd youāre fine with it,ā he says. Not a question. āMe and her.ā
Jack doesnāt flinch. āYeah.ā
āReally.ā
āYeah.ā
Robby studies himāsearching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesnāt find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasnāt a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.
āā¦Sheāsāā he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. āYou know what she is.ā
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. āYeah. I do.ā
āTwenty-something,ā Robby continues. āSmart. Looks likeāā he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. āYouāve seen her.ā
Jack smirks faintly. āI have, yeah. A lot of her. Itās great.ā
Robbyās mouth twitches despite himself.
āAnd she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,ā he adds.
Jackās expression softens just a fraction. āSometimes.ā
Robby nods once, slow. Thenā
āā¦You really telling me youāve never thought about it? About herā Jack asks, casualābut not careless.
Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.
āThatās not a fair question.ā
Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.
Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like heās debating how honest he wants to be.
Then he looks back at Jack.
āā¦Well Iām not blind,ā he says.
Jack doesnāt react much. Just watches him.
āSheāsāā Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, āāsheās a lot. Sweet.ā
Jackās mouth ticks. āShe isā¦ You ever think about her while jerking off?ā
Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, theyāre being honest. āYes.ā
Robbyās a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable.Ā
āWhat?ā Robby scoffs. āYouāre cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time isā¦ what, some sort of line being crossed?ā
āI didnāt say anything, alright. Iām all good here. Just didnāt think youād admit it,ā Jack nods with insistence. āWhat about during sex? Thought about her then?ā
ā...On occasion, yes, Iāve- sheās popped up there, yeah.ā Robby admits with brief hesitance.Ā
Thatās as far as he pushes itābut itās enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesnāt threaten anything.
āFair,ā he says.
Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. āYouāre taking that a lot better than I thought you would.ā
Jack shrugs. āSheās hot. Youāre not dead. Tells me youāve got a working dick, at least.ā
Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.
Jack took a sip of his beer, thenābecause he wasnāt finished, because he never really was with Robbyātilts his head slightly.
āWhat about me?ā
Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. āOh, come on.ā
āNo, seriously,ā Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. āNo shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.ā
Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. āYouāre unbelievable.ā
āHave you?ā Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.
A pause.
Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.
āā¦You first,ā he mutters.
Jack doesnāt even blink. āYeah.ā
Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.
āMan, itās not evenāā Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. āHalf the time that shit doesnāt mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesnāt make you anything.ā
Robby let out a short, humourless huff. āRight.ā
āWhat,ā Jack presses lightly, āyou worried about the gay implications?ā
Robby shot him a look. āDonātāā
āāWhat? Say āgayā?ā Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.
Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.
āWeāre talking about whether Iāve jacked off thinking about another guy,ā he says, flat. āYeah, theā¦ āgayā of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.ā
Jack just nods, like that was fair.
āI justā¦ I guess, I didnāt realiseāā Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. āI mean, you know, are youāā
Jack shrugs, easy. āIāve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Donāt really care to.ā
Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. āFigrues. Army man.ā
āYeah, well,ā Jack mutters. āYou donāt have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesnāt have to mean anything bigger than it is.ā
āIām aware,ā Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieterālike it cost him somethingā āā¦Itās crossed my mind.ā
Jackās mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruelājustā¦ satisfied.
āCrossed your mind,ā he repeated. āInteresting wording.ā
āDonāt start,ā Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. āIt was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. Thatās saying something.ā
āFuck you,ā Robby mutters, rolling his eyesābut there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.
Jack shrugs, taking another sip. āOptions apparently on the table.ā
Robby shakes his head, but didnāt argue. Didnāt fully look away, either.
Something in the air had shiftedāsubtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.
Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history thereāyears of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.
Jack didnāt push. Just leaned back, easy.
āThink about it,ā he tries. āOr donāt. Nothing changes.ā
Robby nods once, short. āYeah.ā A few seconds of quiet. āā¦You still need that ride home?ā he asks.
Jack snorts. āOh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.ā
āShut up.ā
āFlirting now, are we?ā
āYou are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, donāt think otherwise,ā Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.
ā ā ā
2 WEEKS EARLIER
threesomenoun ā threeĀ·some ā ĖthrÄ-sÉm
1: a group of three persons or things : trio
2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately
3: a sexual encounter involving three people
āAre you trying to say you wanna play golf?ā Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.
The kitchen smells like garlic and butterāonions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. Heās got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.
Youāre perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.
āYes,ā you say dryly, scrolling. āIām deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the ballsāā
āāI get it,ā Jack cuts in. āYou want a threesome.ā
You look up at him, unimpressed. āI donāt want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.ā A beat. āBut Iām not opposed toā¦ expanding the sample size.ā
Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. āExpanding theāJesus. Thatās how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?ā
āYou brought it up,ā you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. āDonāt act like this wasnāt your idea. āOh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notesāāā
āI did not sound like that.ā
āāIf anything,ā you continue over him, āI think you wanna fuck your best friend.ā
āAlright,ā Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. āNot what I sound like. And cāmonāyou know youāre all I wanna fuck.ā He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. āI think these are done.ā
āTheyāre not.ā You donāt even look up when you say it. āAnywayā¦ I doubt heād even be down for it,ā you say. āI barely think he likes me as a friend.ā
Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.
You narrow your eyes. āWhat?ā
āI think heād fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,ā Jack says, like itās obvious. Then, distracted againāāI really think these are done, hon.ā
āTest the carrot,ā you say, still scrolling. āIf itās soft enough, itāll break with pressure.ā
He presses the spoon into one. It doesnāt budge.
āā¦Needs longer,ā he admits.
āHow do you know that?ā
āI just did what you said, Iāā
āNo,ā you interrupt, looking at him properly now. āHow do you know Robby would fuck me?ā
That slows him down.
Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.
āI know him,ā he says. āTwenty years of it. And I know you.ā A beat. āThereās something there. A thing. Youāve always had good chemistry.ā
You huff lightly. āA vagueā¦ thing, maybe.ā
You hesitate, thenābecause you donāt really do half-truthsā
āI did have a bit of a crush on him,ā you admit. āBefore I met you.ā
Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.
āI donāt anymore,ā you add quickly. āIt faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was earlyābefore I started coming down to ED properly. Heād come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was justā¦ā you shrug, searching, āā¦older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.ā
Jackās mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.
āGlad to know you donāt have a type,ā he mutters.
You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.
āHey,ā you murmur. He glances up at you. āI like them a little shorter,ā you say softly.
Jack blinks.
Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.
āUnbelievable,ā he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips.Ā
ā ā ā
The thing about a thirdāabout this thirdāwas that itā¦ kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.
It wasnāt sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.
Robby had never been separate from Jack.Ā
Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edgesāthis is where I end, this is where you beginābut that had never been the case with them.Ā
Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either.Ā
Theyād dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settledāsomehowāinto their forties without ever untangling.
They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.
And Robby had always lived in that tension.
He didnāt soften easily. Didnāt trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that ruleāsteady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didnāt mean absence.
There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didnāt exist, but because saying them wouldāve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding.Ā
It was easier to file it under something elseāloyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didnāt have to be examined too closely.
Then you came along. And you didnāt disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it.Ā
You didnāt wedge yourself between them, didnāt ask Jack to choose, didnāt look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.
And Godāthere was something about you.
Not just that you were beautifulāthough you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.
The way you saw Jackāfully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.
And worseā
The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.
Heād noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didnāt pull back when he got too close, didnāt flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.
You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And thatāmore than anythingāwas what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.
That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.
But wanting you like thisāin the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didnāt have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines heād spent years pretending werenāt there.
And Jackā¦
Jack, who didnāt do anything halfway, who didnāt offer things he wasnāt sure aboutāwas sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasnāt a risk so much asā¦ an opening.
That was what threw him. It wasnāt the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.
And Robby didnāt trust himself nearly that much.
That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simpleābut real in a way that resisted being dismissed.
Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.
Not in the way people usually were about relationshipsācareful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasnāt built like that. He didnāt gush, didnāt sentimentaliseābut if heād had a couple drinks in him and itād been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.
Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.
In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there.Ā
The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.
Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasnāt discomfort exactlyāmore likeā¦ he didnāt know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jackās mouth like that that sat strange in his chest.Ā
āWhat the fuck do you mean six times?ā Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.
They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadnāt aged out of itābacks damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didnāt talk about sat heavier.
It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasnāt being watched over by the hospital.
Jack didnāt even open his eyes. āI mean she came six times,ā he said, easy. āWorking up to eight.ā
Robby snorted. āYouāre talking like itās a personal best.ā
āIt is,ā Jack said. āYou donāt set goals, you stagnate. Thatās what my therapist says.ā
āJesus Christ.ā
Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. āWhatās your number?ā
Robby shrugged, taking another sip. āI donāt know. I donāt have a number.ā
āYes, you do.ā
āNope.ā
āBull.ā
Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. āā¦Four. Maybe.ā
Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.
āFour,ā he repeated.
āSome of us arenāt treating it like a competitive sport,ā Robby muttered.
Jack huffed. āItās not me,ā he said. āItās her. Sheās a natural.ā
āShe really that good?ā Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack wouldāve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.
There was a beat.
Robby stared up at the sky like it didnāt matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.
āSheāsāā he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didnāt sound ridiculous and failing. āShe pays attention. Like sheās studying you. Figures out what works and thenājustā¦ doesnāt let up. Like Iām constantly high around her. And man, she-ā Jack cleared his throat. āShe does this thing with her tongue.ā
Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.
He didnāt say anything.
āShe swirls it, right around the underside, traces itāthe entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then sheāllāfuck,ā Jack had mused. āā¦Sheāll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I canāt describe how good it feels,ā Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. āFuckingā¦ incredible.ā
Robby couldnāt have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.
āShe makes the prettiest noises, like aā¦ I donāt even know,ā Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. āMoans and screams, and soā¦ Christ. Like she doesnāt even realise sheās doing it, possessed.ā
āAlright, thatās enough,ā Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.
Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. āYou asked.ā
āI didnāt ask for a breakdown.ā
āSemantics.ā
Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.
A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Thenā
āWhatās the deal with you and Noelle?ā Jack asked, casual in that way that wasnāt casual at all.
Robbyās jaw shifted.
āSheāsā¦ fine,ā he said.
Jack cracked one eye open. āThat sounds promising.ā
Robby huffed. āItās notāā he cut himself off, shook his head. āDonāt think itās going anywhere.ā
Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like heād expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself
āYeah,ā he said. āBummer.ā
Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.
āDonāt think Iām built for it,ā he said finally.
Jack didnāt move. āFor what?ā
āThis,ā Robby gestured vaguely. āRelationships. The staying. Theā¦ showing up part.ā
Jack was quiet for a second.
Thenā
āNow thatās bull,ā he said, not unkindly.
Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. āYeah?ā
āYeah,ā Jack said. āWeāve known each other, whatātwenty years? Youāve stuck around that long.ā
āThatās different.ā
āIs it?ā
Robby didnāt answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.
āYou donāt get to pretend you canāt do something just because you havenāt done it right yet,ā he said.
Robby scoffed lightly. āDidnāt realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.ā
āYeah, well,ā Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. āHate to break it to you, man, but youāre not some unfixable case.ā
Robby laughed at thatāshort, real.
āGarcia said Iād make a good ex-husband,ā he said.
Jack snorted. āSee? Even she thinks you can commit.ā
āThatās not what that means.ā
āClose enough,ā Jack sighed. āLie down, will you. Youāre so damn tense.ā
Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second.Ā
The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.
They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after yearsāno need to fill it, no need to perform.
āAw, you two are so cute.ā
Jack sat up immediately.
You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlampāscrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like youād been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jackās old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there.Ā
For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason theyād been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.
āHey, baby,ā Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. āYou finish alright?ā
You just nodded, already moving toward him.
You didnāt hesitateānever did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.
āMiss me?ā you murmured, barely pulling back.
āAlways,ā he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.
Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.
You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediatelyāinstinct, habitāsliding over your arms, grounding, checking.Ā
Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.
You exhaled like youād been holding it all day.
āJesus,ā you muttered. āKeep doing that.ā
āYeah?ā Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.
āMhm.ā
You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.
Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always gotāhalf amused, half something else he never quite named.
āRobby,ā you said, glancing over at him, āhow the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.ā
āSometimes a drinkās all you get,ā he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flickedābrief, involuntaryāto where Jackās hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. āOrtho mustāve been a dream, though.ā
You let out a dry laugh. āOh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.ā
āSounds about right,ā Robby muttered.
Jackās hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.
āCareful,ā he said. āYouāre gonna fall asleep right here.ā
āHonestly?ā you said, eyes half-lidded now, ātempting.ā
There was a beat. Quiet againābut different this time. Fuller.
You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.
Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.
You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.
āā¦You been talking about me?ā you asked.
Jack snorted, immediate. āWhat?ā
āYouāve got that look,ā you said, squinting at him. āAnd heās looking at me weird.ā
āI always look at people weird,ā Robby said, flat, from the grass.
You didnāt even look at him. āYeah, but this is a different weird.ā
Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. āWe were just talking about yourāwhat was itāimmense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.ā
His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldnāt quite help himself.
Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. āItās not far off.ā
You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.
āWhat did you say to him,ā you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasnāt entirely seriousābut not entirely not.
Jack leaned in, said something under his breathātoo quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.
You smacked his legāright on the prostheticāwith a sharp thwack.
āJack.ā
He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.
āIf you actually told him that,ā you said, pointing at him, āI swear to god Iāll take this thing off and beat you with it.ā
āThatās dramatic,ā Jack murmured, still holding your hand. āAnd also physically unlikely.ā
āItās true, though,ā he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. āYouāre very good at it.ā
You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.
Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadnāt agreed to sit through, but couldnāt quite look away from either.
āSo the tongue thingās real then?ā he asked, almost idly.
Jack groaned. āAlright. Weāre done here.ā
You laughedābright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of youāand turned into Jack properly this time.
It wasnāt quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.
Robby looked away. Not fast enough.
You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jackās.
āIāll drive,ā you said quietly. āYouāre drunk.ā
āIām not drunk,ā he said automatically.
āYouāre pretty drunk,ā you corrected.
A beat.
āā¦Alright. Could be a little drunk,ā he conceded.
You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.
āDonāt lose the car,ā he muttered.
āNo promises.ā
You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.
āYou good?ā you asked, softer now.
He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.
āYeah,ā he said. āIām good.ā
You nodded like you believed him.
āNight, Michael.ā
There was a flicker at thatāsomething small but real.
āNight,ā he said.
Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.
āText me when you get home,ā he called back to Robby.
āSure. Have fun with your girl.ā Robby had said, lying back down.
āI definitely will,ā Jack nodded.
You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laughāsomething private, something just for him.
Robby watched you both go.
Didnāt move.
The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.
So, when you and Jack finally put it to himācornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you hadāRobby wasnāt as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably shouldāve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermathāthose were the things a smarter man mightāve led with. But that wasnāt where his mind went first.
It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.
Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruelāif he held your head down and made you choke on him?
And Jackā¦ steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robbyās hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?
It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasnāt even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.
About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existedāintimate, closed, completeāand being told there was room for him inside it.
And thatāmore than anything elseāwas what made it difficult to dismiss.
ā ā ā
Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.
The patient is already underāintubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.
āYeah, thatās a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,ā you say, pen tapping the screen. āYou can see the displacement here, and the overlapāthis is why the leg looks shortened clinically.ā
Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. āFuck.ā
You shake your head. āIt looks dramatic, but itās stable from what weāve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.ā
Santos lets out a breath.
You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. āWeāll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But sheās straightforward.ā
āThank god,ā Santos mutters. āI was so not bothered to call for another consult.
A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.
Robby.
Heās already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.
āOrthoās down in ED?ā he says.
āYeah,ā you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. āSantos messaged me. Femur fracture.ā
He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shiftsāclinical, but not entirely neutral. Heās tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.
āLooks like a clean nail,ā he says.
āAssuming ortho behaves,ā you reply.
He huffs something like a laugh. āThey wonāt.ā
āNo,ā you agree. āWe never do.ā
Santos clears her throat. āWhile Iāve got youāHuckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.ā
You pause slightly.
āA Parisian party?ā you repeat.
āYeah,ā Santos says, warming to it. āParis-themed. Likeā¦ French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.ā
Robby makes a quiet sound behind youāalmost a laugh, quickly disguised.
You glance at him, but heās still looking at the scan like nothing happened.
Santos continues, mildly confused. āHave either of you been to Paris?ā
āNo,ā you say.
Robby: āNope.ā
Santos nods like that still tracks logically. āYeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.ā
Thereās a beat.
āAnyway,ā She adds, already backing toward the door, āYouāre invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. Youāre all closeā
ā...Sounds good, Santos, weāll let you know,ā Robby says with a nod. āNorth Twelve?ā
āConsider it done.ā Santos says dry, nodding.
The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back ināclean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that youāre aware of him in a way you shouldnāt be during a trauma consult.
He glances at the CT again. āParis-themed party,ā he repeats flatly.
āDonāt even,ā you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.
āWhat?ā he says innocently.
You turn slightly toward him. āI know exactly what youāre thinking.ā
He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. āIām not thinking anything.ā
āYouāre absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.ā
āIām thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,ā he says.
āLiar.ā
That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.
āYou think youāll go?ā he asks.
āNo,ā you say. āJack and I have the night off. Weāll be busy.ā
āRight,ā he nods.
A beat.
āYou?ā you ask.
āIād rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,ā Robby says with a quiet exhale. āSo, no.ā
āCome over then,ā you offer, stopping at the nursesā station.
Robby gives you a look. āThought you said you two were busy.ā
āYou can be busy with us,ā you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. āOr just Jack. Or just me. He told me youāve thought about it either way.ā
A faint sigh leaves him. āRight. I forgot he canāt keep anything to himself.ā
He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the stationāDana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like sheās clocking something she hasnāt labelled yet.
āHave you?ā he asks softly.
āThought about you? In that way?ā you clarify.
He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.
You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.
āYes,ā you admit. āYouāre tall. Kind. Your beardās nice. Youāre probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.ā
That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.
āAbbotās a lover boy at heart,ā Robby says. āGives in easily. āSpecially for you.ā
You nod, like that tracks. āMost of the time, yeah.ā
That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, āIs it true you had a crush on me?ā
You tilt your head. āGod, he really justā Doesnāt keep anything to himself.ā
Robby exhales through his nose. āNot at all. Iāve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.ā
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.
āWas it a yes?ā
āTo the crush?ā You consider it. āYeah.ā
That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.
āBefore Jack,ā you add, like it matters in a technical sense. āOlder, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailableā¦ I think I might just have a pattern.ā
Robby hums, low. āTracks.ā
Thereās a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, āAnd now?ā
You donāt look away when you answer. āNow, itās justā¦ different.ā
That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.
You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.
āIāll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.ā
And then youāre goneāalready walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.
A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.
Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like sheās been waiting for exactly this moment.
āWhatās with that?ā she asks.
ā...Whatās with what?ā he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.
āI mean,ā she says slowly, āwhatās with flirtinā with Abbottās girl in front of everybody?ā
He doesnāt look at her when he answers.
āThatās not flirting,ā he says evenly. āWe were just talking.ā
Dana hums, unconvinced. āTalkinā real close.ā
āYeah,ā she says, nodding toward the bay. āJust rolled in. Need you over there.ā
āAlright,ā he says.
And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.
ā ā ā
āāHey. Hold on a second,ā Jack says, breath a little uneven.
āNo, donātādonāt hold on,ā you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waistāfirm, grounding, stopping you.
āHey. Easy.ā A breath. āJustāgimme a second, alright?ā
You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit.Ā āThis better be good.ā
He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. āYeah, Iāll try not to waste your time.ā
A beat. He looks at you properly nowāfocused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.
āJustā¦ wanna get this straight,ā he says.
Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. āOkay. Then say it.ā
He nods once. āHe can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.ā A pause. āBut there are lines.ā
You tilt your head, watching him. āSuch as?ā
His grip tightens just a fractionānot enough to bruise, enough to mean something. āSuch asāyou donāt forget who youāre with.ā
You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. āHard to forget when youāve got your dick in me half the time Iām not at work.ā
āSmartass,ā he mutters. Then, quieterāāIām serious. He doesnāt get to know how you taste. Thatās mine.ā
āUh-huhā¦ā You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. āSo this is allowed?ā You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.
āYeah, allowed,ā Jack nods, his jaw tight.
āMm. This?ā You lean down and kiss himāsweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.
He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.
āYeah? What about this?ā You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.
āAll allowed,ā he grates out, ābut his mouth isnāt getting near this, alright, thatās allāā He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of youāloud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.
āYeah? That good with you?ā he asks, voice rough.
You nod, already starting to ride himāslow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. āWhat about you and āim?ā you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.
Jack shrugsāor tries to. āWhat donāt you want?ā
āNo blowjobs either, then,ā you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. āāS for me.ā
āSounds good to me.ā His hands find your hips again, but he doesnāt guideāhe just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.
You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.
His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.
āRight here,ā he murmurs.
You meet his gaze. That same lookāsteady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.
āGood,ā he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.
And when you move again, itās slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him againādirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.
āYeah,ā he breathes against your lips. āThatās better.ā
ā ā āāā
Itās late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.
āNo, canāt,ā Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. āIām home. Sheās cooking. Smells like Iām about to get fat and happy.ā
āBaby, can you come try this?ā you call from the kitchen.
āOne sec,ā he says, then quieter, back into the phoneāāWhatād you wanna do?ā
āNothing,ā Robby mutters. āIā¦ I donāt know, man. I donāt feel like crashing Santos and Whitakerāsā¦ house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.ā
Jack stops mid-step. āA hike,ā he repeats. āAt nine-thirty at night.ā
A beat.
āYeah, not happening,ā he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.
Youāre at the counter in that barely-there nightgownāsoft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.
Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.
Thenābusiness as usual.
āAlright,ā he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. āWhat am I trying?ā
You nod at the stove. āCarbonara.ā
He leans over, tastes it, humsālow, approving.
āYeah,ā he says into the phone. āSheās showing off.ā
You bump his arm lightly. āI am not.ā
āYou are,ā he says, kissing you quick, easy, like heās done it a thousand times. āItās working.ā
You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.
On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.
āHikeās dumb,ā Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. āWhatās actually going on.ā
āNothing,ā Robby says. āJustā¦ canāt sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldnāt shut the fuck upāā
āāHey,ā Jack cuts in, calm, steady. āTake a breath.ā
You glance over at him. Heās not looking at you anymoreāfocused now, locked into that mode.
āYouāre good,ā he says. āYouāre not thinking anything dumb, right?ā
A pause.
āā¦No,ā Robby says. āJust need toā¦ get out of my head, I donāt know.ā
Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.
āHe can come here,ā you say, like itās obvious.
Jack looks at youāquick, assessingābut thereās no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.
āYeah,ā he says into the phone. āCome over. Foodās ready soon.ā
āI donāt know, manāā Robby starts.
You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jackās hand.
āHey, Michael.ā
Thereās a beat.
Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.
āā¦Hey,ā Robby says, slower. āHeard you were cooking.ā
āMhm,ā you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jackās where he stands beside you. āPlenty to go around.ā
Jackās hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessiveājust there.
Robby hears the shift anyway.
āThis a setup?ā he asks.
You smile slightly. āYou always this suspicious, or just with me?ā
A quiet scoff from him.
āYou should come,ā you add, softerābut not innocent. āYou sound like you need it.ā
A beat. Jackās thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.
Robby exhales. āYeah. Guess I can make it.ā
āGuess you can,ā you say easily.
Silence againābut itās different now.
You glance at Jack.
He nods once.
āDoorās unlocked,ā you say. āTwenty minutes.ā
You hand the phone back.
Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. āYou heard her. No pressure.ā
A pause.
āā¦Alright,ā Robby says.
The line clicks dead.
Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.
āWhat?ā You raise a brow.
āNothing. Nothing at all. Iāll finish the laundry.ā He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. āYou gonna stay in this?ā He asks.
āāS that alright?ā You wonder, leaning into his touch.
He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. āSure.ā
ā ā ā
Youāre out on the balcony when it comes up.
Jackās place sits high enough that the city feels almost stagedāPittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. Itās one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. Thereās music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you canāt see but can feel in the background.
The balconyās not smallāwide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, itād be on something worth standing still for.
Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.
āHave either of you done this before?ā Robby asks.
Jack shakes his head immediately. āNo.ā
You donāt answer.
Youāre thinkingāactually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jackās arm like you need him to hold on a second. Thatās when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadnāt come up when the idea itself had.
āā¦Have you?ā Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.
āI am thinking,ā you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.
Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.
āWhat do you mean youāre thinking?ā Jack presses. āThatās notā¦ I donāt know, something you half do or something. Youād know.ā
āOr something,ā Robby mutters under his breath.
You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. āOkayāno. I donāt think Iāve had a threesome.ā
āHow can you not think youāve had a threesome?ā Jack wonders.
You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You donāt notice how both menās gaze drop there.
You exhale, already regretting engaging. āBecauseātechnicallyāno one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?ā
Thereās a beat.
Robbyās mouth twitches.
Jack blinks. ā...Right.ā
āOkay?ā you continue, defensive now. āIt wasāhands. Thatās it. Group situation, but notā¦ full commitment.ā
Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. āGroup situation,ā he repeats.
āShut up,ā you mutter.
āAnother guy or girl?ā Jack asks, too quickly.
You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. āā¦Both.ā
Jack leans back like youāve just told him something deeply inconvenient. ā...Huh.ā
Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. āSo not a threesome. Justā¦ poor project management.ā
You laugh despite yourself. āOh my god.ā
āThatās a foursome that lost direction,ā he adds, dry.
āWhatever,ā you shrug. āMed school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.ā
Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. āIām just saying, thatās a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.ā
You smirk faintly. āIām surprised you havenāt.ā
Jack scoffs. āIāve had opportunities.ā
āMm,ā you hum, unconvinced.
Robby glances at him sideways. āThat sounds like a lie.ā
āItās not a lie,ā Jack says, defensive now. āI justānever felt the need.ā
āRight,ā Robby says. āTill now.ā
Jack gives him a look. āTill now.ā
Something passes thereāquick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.
After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.
Inside, you hear Jack movingāplates, running water. Robbyās voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.
āThanks, baby,ā you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.
You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.
āThank you,ā he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.
You push him away lightly. āDonāt start.ā
Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.
āNext to the fridge?ā he asks, like he hasnāt been here a hundred times alreadyālike tonight isnāt slightly different.
āYeah,ā you nod. āRecycling. Thank you.ā
He gives a short nod and turnsā You catch his wrist. Itās not forceful. Just enough.
āHey,ā you say, softer.
He looks down at you.
Thereās a pauseāhis eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. Youāre close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.
You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightlyā and kiss him. Itās not rushed. Itās far from tentative either. Close. Testing.
His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a secondāthen responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasnāt decided where itās allowed to land.Ā
Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. Thatās what does it.
āStarting without me?ā Jackās voice cuts in, dry. āBit mean.ā
Robby pulls back instinctively, like heās been caught doing something he shouldnātāeven thoughā
Even though.
You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.
āNext to the fridge,ā Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.
Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.
Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesnāt move out of the way.
He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.
You end up on the couch.
It happens naturallyāplates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.
Jackās in the middle, halfway through some story from workāone of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he canāt quite let go of.
Youāre tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neckāfingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.
Robbyās behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thighāslow, absent movement, like heās not even fully aware heās doing it.
Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.
Jack keeps talking.
You lean in without really thinking about itāyour lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.
Jackās hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.
Robbyās hand doesnāt stop. If anything, it shiftsājust slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.
Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your backāthen relaxes again.
He doesnāt pull you away. Doesnāt say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.
And for a secondājust a secondāyouāre aware of both of them at once.
Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavierāwatching more than speaking.
Jackās gaze lifts. Meets Robbyās. Thereās a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between themāwordless, measured. Something you canāt read.
Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robbyās jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.
Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this timeāslow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.
When you pull back, itās not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.
Robbyās already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like itās nothingālike itās always been this simpleāand kiss him too.
Different. Not softer, not harderājust new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like heās grounding himself in it.
Thereās a quiet breath from himāalmost a huff, almost disbelief.
āThis is fun,ā You murmur.
You donāt give him time to overthink it.
You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.
Jackās mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.
Robby hesitates for a fraction of a secondā then doesnāt.
The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like heās learning something heās not used to having.
You exhale, a soft sound you donāt quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctivelyāone finding Jackās hair, the other Robbyās, fingers threading through both, holding them there.
For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.
Then you shift, just slightlyāhands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robbyās hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.
Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like heās checking inālike he always does.
His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.
You lean back into him, lips finding his neck againādragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.
When you pull back, itās only barely. Your breath catchesānot dramatic, justā¦ aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.
Jackās hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.
āBaby,ā he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. āFeeling needy?ā
You nod against him, answering with your mouth insteadākissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.
āYeah,ā he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. āI know, hon.ā A beat. Then, quieterāāYou want me, or him?ā
You hesitate. Not longābut long enough to matter.
Robbyās hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightlyātesting, not taking. Waiting to see what youāll do with it.
āItās alright,ā Jack starts, voice still calm, like heās talking you through something he already trusts. āGo ahead. She likes it when youāā
āāIāll ask you for help if I need it, alright?ā Robby cuts in, low and even.
They exchange a lookābrief, sharp, understood.
You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jackās cheekāsomething sweet, groundingābefore shifting your weight and climbing into Robbyās lap.
He stiffens for a second. Just a second.
Robbyās always been hard to read. Timeās etched itself into his face, but thereās still that wall thereāsomething held back, something controlled. Maybe itās nerves. Maybe itās you. His best friendās girl, sitting on him like thisāclose, warm, curious.
āYou okay there, Sasquatch?ā you tease, tilting your head up at him.
His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicksādown, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.
āSasquatch? Really?ā he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. āThatās what youāre going with?ā
āBeard, tallā¦ same thing, no?ā you shrug lightly.
That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.
āShe always cracking jokes before getting fucked?ā Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties
āDepends,ā Jack admits. āOne time I got G.I Joe for an hour.ā
āHe was in uniform, in my defense,ā You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robbyās fingers, eager. āCome on, Michael.āĀ
Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him.Ā
āWhat a cute noise you make, sweetheart,ā Robby murmurs. āAsk me nicely now.ā
You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.
āAsk or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,ā Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.
āPlease,ā you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. āPlease fuck me with your fingers.ā
You crash your lips to hisāharsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussyāno mercy, no prep.
You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digitsāwalls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.
āMove your fingers toward her ventral,ā Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.
Robby exhales sharp through his noseāmild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.
āChrist, youāre making a mess on me, arenāt you, kid? Huh?ā Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sightāyour swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic.Ā
He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrustāwet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.
He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot.Ā
āYou getting close?ā He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. āThat right?ā
Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.
āWhat else she like?ā Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.
Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.
Robby yanks his fingers free abruptāyour pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively.Ā
His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deepātongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.
āAtta girl, youāre a fuckinā mess now arenāt you?ā Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. āYou wanna cum?ā
You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.
āNot yet,ā Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. āBarely seen what you can do.ā
You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.
āGo over to him. Make him feel good,ā Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.
You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.
āOn the floor, knees, now,ā Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.
You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.
āYou alright there?ā he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.
You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining thereāheat pulsing under your touch.Ā
You tug the waistband down, freeing his cockāthick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.
Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead firstātongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.
āLook pretty down there,ā Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.
āYouāre so soft with her,ā Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.
Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steadyāsaliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.
Robby's gaze burns hotāflicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalpānot shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.
āGood job, sweetheart,ā Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm.Ā
Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.
He groans low, head lolling back, āFuckingā¦ perfect. So perfect, always.ā
Tension crackles thicker between themāJack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.
āYou alright there, man?ā Jack scoffs, a light smile. āCanāt handle it?ā
Itās a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.
Jack knows exactly what heās doingāknows the tells. The slight tilt of Robbyās head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. Heās seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.
Robby doesnāt back down from anything. Least of all him.
Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jackāsāsteady, unflinching.
āOh, I can handle it just fine,ā Robby agrees with his own smile. āGo āhead.ā
Jack groans at your relentless mouthāfast and wet, then slowing perfect against himāhis hand stroking over Robbyās clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby'sāsloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.
You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fistāpumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.
āOh fuck,ā Jack moans into Robbyās mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.
Your free hand joins Jackās on Robbyās cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jackāyour hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure.Ā
Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jackās cock.
Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. āFuck, feel that grip? Sheās got hands made for this,ā he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.
Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. āLet him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.ā
You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes overāfist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheekāwet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.
āDreamt about this once,ā he admits, voice low. āThe way Jack described it, youād think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?ā He wonders.
You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.
āSeemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,ā You remark, not looking away from Robbyās gaze.
His jaw tightens. āHeās pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.ā
You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutalāhalf his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw.Ā
You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robbyās thigh.
āShitāyeah, like that,ā Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the paceāpulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in.Ā
He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.
You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robbyās cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robbyās hand tightens harder in your scalp.
Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. āEnjoying yourself?ā
āFuck off,ā Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.
Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.
āIām good,ā Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. āSlow down, sweetheart.ā
Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroatāthroat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.
Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: āFucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?ā He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheekāleft, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skinābefore you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.
āShe can take it,ā Jack murmurs, voice thick. āCan you, baby? Come on, speak now.ā
You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. āMhm.ā You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.
āSo damn sweet now,ā Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. āThat feel good?ā
You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberateāthumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.
āNo more of that, alright?ā Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. āYeah? You listening?ā
You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. āFuck youāyou wanna cum, I get to cum too.ā
Robby tilts his head, that piercing lookāthe one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. āNot how it works,ā Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.
You glance at Jack, pleading.
āDonāt look at him,ā Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. āPut both hands behind your back if youāre gonna act like a fuckinā brat.ā
Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lipsāslow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.
Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob franticāsuction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist.Ā
You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.
āJesus Christāyeah, there we goā¦ā Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight.Ā
He floods your mouth suddenlyāhot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.
āFuck,ā he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.
You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.
You smile at that. āGo on,ā Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. āJack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?ā
Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.
āAtta boy,ā You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. āYou think you can still fuck me, old man?ā You whisper.
āWatch it,ā Robby murmurs.
āYou can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.ā You whisper. āJack,ā you grab Jackās hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.
āUp and at it,ā Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.
āFucking hell,ā Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.
You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.
In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined pantiesācrotch soaked darkāand a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.
Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yoursāpassionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.
Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.
Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neckāsucking a mark deliberate.
āBaby, lie down for me,ā Jack instructs.
You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robbyās lips trail over his skin.
āEnjoying yourself?ā Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. āYou gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?ā
āFuck off,ā Jack murmurs. āGo sit in a corner and wait, or somethinā,ā Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.
āThink I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,ā Robby says. āUnless youāre not as skilled as youāve been bragging to be.ā
āOh, my god, one of you make me cum or else Iām doing it myself, Jesus,ā you whine.
āOh, baby,ā Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. āIām leaving you waiting here.ā
āSheās being a brat. Have some patience, honey,ā Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. āBut sheās right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.ā
Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh.Ā
Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show.Ā
"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck,"Ā
Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.
Jackās tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise.Ā
Your eyes stay fixed on Robbyās as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.
āWider,ā Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. āStop squirming. Take it.ā
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissectionācalm, analytical, utterly in control. āHow close are you?ā he asks, his tone clinical.
āMm, close,ā you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jackās tongue flicks hard over your clit.
āYou make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,ā Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. āCallinā me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.ā He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.
Jackās tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes donāt leave Robbyās as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.
āWant me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?ā Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips.Ā
He doesnāt miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like heās holding you together.
Youāre too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.
āAnswer me,ā Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. āWho do you want first?ā
āYou,ā you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.
Robbyās smirk widens. āYou hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.ā He doesnāt look away from you as he says it.
He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robbyās fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.
āI was right,ā you murmur, breathless. āKnew youād be mean.ā
āYeah? You like it?ā Robby wonders, though he already knows.
You bite your lip, refusing to answer.
He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure commandādark, expectant. Obey.
āI like it,ā you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jackās hair. āFuckāIām gonnaāoh fuckāā
āYeah?ā Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. āEyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep āem right here.ā His gaze holds yours captive. āGood girlā¦ good girl, arenāt you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isnāt that right?ā
You whimper as Jackās tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.
āGood job, baby. Fucking hell,ā Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise.Ā
He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robbyās on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.
āMy favourite girl in the world, you know that,ā he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.
You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robbyās mouth.
āYou arenāt a brat, are you baby?ā Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. āNo, honey, not for me, isnāt that right? Yeah, I know, I knowā¦ my sweet girl,ā He replaces Robbyās mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss.Ā
āTold you. Lover boy,ā Robby remarks to you.
You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robbyās lips.
You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. Itās harsh and sweet all at onceāa clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest.Ā
Robby stands, briefly cupping Jackās jaw in a gesture thatās both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robbyās hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.
He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.
āAss up, sweetheart,ā Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.
You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a wordāa seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.
"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.
Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.
Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.
āShit,ā Robby mutters. āFuckinā hell, you know much Jackās raved about this pussy? Callinā it the treasure of the fucking ocean.ā
His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythmāpounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. āPerfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?ā
You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him.Ā
āHow the fuck do you leave home, Jackā Jesus Christ,ā Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.
āLife or death, and thatās it,ā Jack says.Ā
āCome on, give him some love, kid,ā Robby tells.
Jackās cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. āFuck, just like that,ā he rasps.
Youāre split between themāRobby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jackās length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robbyās hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet.Ā
āYou like being used like this baby?ā Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him.Ā
You donāt answer, focused on the sensation of Robbyās cock harsh within you.
āHe asked you a question,ā Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.
āUh-huh,ā you nod.Ā
āSee? Not so hard,ā Robby groans.
Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jackās cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.
"Just like thatā¦ Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."
The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."
You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.
"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you.Ā
Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.
"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder.Ā
Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fuckingāhell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"
His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke.Ā
"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent.Ā
You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.
"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."
āGo ahead, cum,ā Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electricāeach thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. āNow.ā
You moan around Jackās cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robbyās thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.
"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.
He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you.Ā
āGoddamnit,ā Robby murmurs, a pant.Ā
Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jackās cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.
āYour turn,ā Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.
But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until youāre straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jackās chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robbyās cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jackās length.
Jackās hands come to your hips, steadying you. āEasy, sweetheart,ā he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. Heās kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jackās fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.
You open for him, tasting Robbyās salty tang on Jackās skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jackās eyes never leave Robbyās as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.
Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
āAtta girl,ā Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.
Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. Youāre so sensitive itās almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.
You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jackās thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
āThatās it,ā Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your bodyāgripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.
You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.
āEyes open, sweetheart.ā
Robbyās command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. Heās moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where youāre joined with Jack. Heās watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.
āLook at you,ā Robby murmurs, his voice thick. āTakinā him so well."
His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.
āBaby, Iām gonna cum,ā Your moan, soft.
āFucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum fāme,ā he moans.Ā
Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.
Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. āFuckingājust like thatāā
As youāre pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jackās mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. Itās raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.
Robby breaks the kiss. āLift up for a second, kid,ā he breathes against your skin.
Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jackās slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robbyās hand replaces you, wrapping around Jackās shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.
āMissed the taste of you,ā Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friendās face as he works him.
Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jackās cock until youāre fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.
āGo ahead, finish,ā Robby growls, his command for both of you.
You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. Heās closeāyou can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.
āCome on, Jack,ā Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. āFill her up. Give her what she needs.ā
That does it. With a shattered cry, Jackās hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robbyās already there, flooding you.
Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarboneāchecking, not asking out loud but asking anyway.Ā
Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.
āYou alright?ā he murmurs, voice rough, softer than itās been all night.
āMhm,ā You nod, catching your breath.
āThere she is,ā Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.
Robby doesnāt move right away.
Heās sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier nowābut thereās something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at leastā¦ dialed down.
You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, thereās that flickerāuncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Justā¦ recalibration.
Then you lean in and kiss him. Itās different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.
Robbyās hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demandingājust holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didnāt realize heād been holding onto something.
When you pull back, you stay close.
āHey,ā you say, softer.
āHey,ā he echoes.
Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when heās settling you.
Jack kisses gently at your bare back, āBe right back,ā he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic.Ā
You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.
You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jackās shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.
āJesus,ā you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. āI think my legs might actually fall off.ā
That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.
Heās sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looksā¦ different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.
āYeah,ā he mutters. āThink youāll live.ā
You glance over at him, managing a small smile.
Heās already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low lightāthe Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. Thereās something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.
Thereās a beat.
Then, softerā
āā¦You good?ā You ask.
He turns your head toward you. āYeah.ā He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admitā āNeeded that. Needed to beā¦ not alone, I think.ā
You watch him for a secondāsomething thoughtful in your expression.
āThat something youād wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?ā You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. ā
Robby doesnāt answer straight away. He looks at youāreally looks, like heās trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.
Your hairās a mess, Jackās shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Justā¦ asking.
His jaw shifts slightly.
āā¦You always this direct after something like that?ā he mutters.
You huff a quiet laugh. āIām an ortho resident. I donāt have time for interpretive dance.ā
That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like heās trying to settle something under the surface.
āItās notāā he starts, then stops. Tries again. āItās not really a āone and doneā kind of question.ā
You tilt your head slightly. āWhy not?ā
He glances at the doorāwhere Jack disappearedāthen back at you.
Because Jackās not just some guy. Because this isnāt just sex. Because thereās history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.
You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. āDo you haveā¦ like, real feelings for him? Or me?ā
Robby scoffs a chuckle. āI donāt have time to think about that.ā
āJust time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure heāll give me a complaint about that later.ā You murmur.
Robby smiles a bit. āYou two areā¦ perfect for each other. I still donāt get how he found you.ā
āI donāt know either, to be honest,ā You admit. āBut he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And itās not just because your dick is great, promise. Youāre always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We arenāt picky people.ā
āPicked up on that,ā Robby nods, quieter now. āWhat are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.ā
You smile a littleāmore to yourself than anythingāyour hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.
āNo idea,ā you admit. āHowever long he wants me around, I guess.ā
Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. āWell, if ageās anything to go by, youāve got a good couple of years.ā
You smack his arm lightly. āYouāre literally older than him.ā
āIām not marrying you,ā Robby shoots back, deadpan.
āYouāre an ass,ā you sigh.
That earns you a small smile.
The door opens.
Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweepāquick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.
āMy legās killing me,ā Jack mutters, like itās an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. āYou okay?ā
āIām fine,ā he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like painās just background noise. He hands you the glass. āDrink.ā
You take it, still watching him. āYou say that about everything.ā
āBecause everythingās fine.ā
Robby snorts under his breath. āYeah. Thatās a healthy coping mechanism.ā
Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. āOh, Iām sorryādid you want to compare notes?ā
Robby raises his brows. āNot particularly.ā
Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automaticallyāabsent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.
His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.
āWhatād I miss?ā he asks.
You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. āMarriage.ā
Jack huffs. āOne night with my girl and youāre already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.ā
Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.
āWith you, idiot,ā you correct.
Jack glances down at you. āOh, him and I are getting married now?ā
You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby insteadācurling lightly into his side.
It lasts all of two seconds.
Jackās arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.
āRelax,ā he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.
Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.
Robby stays the night.
Not in the same wayāthereās a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.
Heās not intrusive. Never has been.
But he doesnāt leave, either.
if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D
a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.
anyway thank u guys all for the support on my (wo)man on willpower, so proud of that fic and so sweet the reblogs and comments! i wish u could see my grin every time! and yall hammered me for this so i hope its up to standard, meets an expectation or two. i had a lot of fun just exploring the dynamic, you x robby, robby x jack, jack x you, like i am a true believer in true love triangles, so hopefully that came across, but admittedly, still keeping jack and reader endgame obvi, so.. also sorry if it aint gay enough, i told yall i do not read mlm stuff, just not for me. i love it! just dont like, actively read it yk! i also just wanted to have fun with the prose, emotional stuff, etc, and idk. hopefully the smut isnt terrible, that shit is hard as hell! like, positions, dirty talk?! dirty talk is hardddd guys!! then like the build to it, ugh. i wish i had a smut class at my uni or something so i could really get into the weeds of it, and spend time endlessly editing it. i really couldve spent another few days editing this but honestly wanted it OUT and DONE !! need to lock in got exams soon team. okay sorry for this long as hell authors note ! lmfaoo. hope yall liked!
summary: jack returns home from work, earlier than you expect him to, and catches you getting off to another's man voice. (2k)
pairing: jack abbot / fem!reader
contents: established relationship, shy!reader, basically just an excuse to write smth about that shawn hatosy quinn audio lol, not proofread, cw for smut 18+ (MDNI), caught in the act, oral (fem receiving), while listening to audio porn
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
In retrospect, Jack knew something was off the second he stepped through the door.
It was the strange quiet that tipped him off ā your absence, more so. There was no soft padding of your footsteps down the hall, no half-distracted greeting from the couch where youāre usually curled up and watching some reality TV show (that Jack swears he hates but always gets a little too invested in), no absentminded āhi, honeyā tossed over your shoulder as you tend to daily household chores.
Jack, for the first time in a long time, is greeted by nothing but silence. The clinking of his keys hitting the coffee table sounds much louder in the foreign quiet ā so does the sound of his creaking footsteps down the hall. He worries that youāre sick, or worse, and then forces himself to shake away that thought as he heads for the bedroom.
āBaby?ā he calls into the quiet, as his fingers twist on the cold brass knob. The silence he gets in return is hardly reassuring.
He pushes the squeaking door open, then freezes in the threshold when he finds you there ā perfectly well and languishing in the unmade sheets. Your bulky headphones are snug over our ears; your head is tossed back against the pillow; your eyes are fluttered shut. Your phone rests just beside you, the screen glowing faintly in the lamplit room.
And, in the stillness, Jack can hear a subtle and unmistakable humming sound coming from beneath the blankets, where your knees are bent and spread.
Jack almost retreats. His instinct tells him to ā to give you your privacy, to close the door, to pretend he hadnāt walked in on such an intimate moment. But something deeper roots him in place; the strange warm feeling swirls in his chest, maybe.Ā
Thereās something strangely intimate, he finds, in watching you when you think no one is looking ā when you have nothing and no one to perform for. You look peaceful, completely undone, totally in your own world.Ā
Jack freezes in the doorway when you shift on the bed, sinking further into the mattress as you adjust the vibrator between your thighs. It seems to hit the spot, as you exhale a whimpered sigh a second later.Ā
So Jack just decides to watch you ā he migrates to the desk chair, in hopes of relieving the strain of his prosthetic, but the old floorboards betray him with a soft creak.
You donāt react immediately, but your expression flickers a bit, as a subtle awareness prickles up your spine. You worry, briefly, that someone may be watching you ā you always are, in a way, especially when your headphones are on ā but you struggle now to shake the feeling.
Your eyes flutter open, if only to prove to yourself that thereās no one there, and they widen in shock when they land on Jack in the corner of the room.
āWhat the fuckā?ā you exclaim, clicking the vibrator off with one hand and slinging off your headphones with the other.
Jack startles, too. His hands lift in surrender as a laugh sputters from his lips. āSorry! Sorry, Iā I didnāt mean to scare you.ā
Your face burns red-hot. You can feel the heat climbing up your neck and to your ears as your eyes flit to his eyes and away again. āH-How long have you been standing there?ā
āNot long,ā he shrugs and crosses his strong arms over his chest. His freckled biceps strain against the sleeves of his black tee, which he wears tucked into his camo fatigues. A crooked smile tugs slow at his mouth as he tilts his head. āTwo minutes. Give or take.ā
āI thought you werenāt coming home until laterā Why didnāt you say something?ā
āI tried to,ā he quips, brows raised to his hairline. āBut then I realized you were having a pretty good time in here, soā¦ I didnāt want to interrupt.ā
You bury your burning face into your hands. āThatās so embarrassingā¦ā you groan, muffled into your palms.
Jackās laughter doesnāt make you feel any better.Ā
āWhy is it embarrassing?ā he chuckles as he closes the distance between you.Ā
You can tell that heās limping from the quiet scuff in his step. The mattress sinks under his weight as he sits on the edge of it, relieving the ache in his amputated limb that heās been carrying all day.Ā
He looks over his shoulder at you, lips curling into a sly smirk when he can still hear your headphones playing from just beside you. Itās a muffled, indistinct humming that he canāt quite make out, but itās very obviously someone elseās voice.
He nods towards it, silver curls turning golden in the amber light. āWhat are you listening to over there, huh?ā
āNothing,ā you answer, a little too quickly, as you take the headphones back into your hands.
āOh, yeah?ā he hums. āLet me see.ā
You jerk them away when he reaches out for them. āDonātā¦ā you murmur, all shy, like a scolded child.
āIām not upset, baby,ā he assures with a gritty laugh. āI just wanna know what youāre into. Thatās all.āĀ
He eases the headphone from your grip; this time, with little protest from you. He holds your weary gaze with his glimmering one as he slips them over his own ears. Heās met with a bassy, masculine voice: āāGod, youāre so sexyā¦ Look at how youāre dripping on my fingers, babyā¦ā
You watch, mortified, as confusion etches across his weathered face ā eyes squinting and brows lowering. āWho is this?ā he asks.
āNo one,ā you mutter, gaze averted, as you pick at pills of cotton on the blanket with anxious hands. āHeās justā¦ some guy on the internet. I donāt even know what he looks like, he just makesā¦ You knowā¦ Audio stuff.ā
āAudio stuff, huh?ā Jack echoes with raised brows, before huffing a quiet laugh. āGod, Iām oldā¦ā
He slides the headphones from his silver curls and passes them back to you with something different etched across his features now, something thoughtful. Curious. Interested, even.
āā¦Youāre not mad?ā you wonder in a timid voice.
āWhy would I be mad?ā he scoffs, then bounces a shoulder in a lazy shrug. āI think itās hot. I like knowing what youāre into.ā
He leans in to kiss you, and your stomach does a back flip. His scruff brushes your delicate skin when his lips meet yours. You melt against him with a heavy sigh through your nose, as some of the embarrassment from before slips from your skin.
āCāmon,ā he slurs between his kisses. āKeep listeninā for meā¦ā
You pull back, features screwed. āReally?ā
āYeah,ā he nods once, without taking his unwavering stare off yours.
Your fingers tremble with hesitancy as you go to put the headphones back over your ears. Jackās hand catches your wrist in a soft, calloused grip ā redirecting you with a gentle touch.Ā
āNo,ā he says in a gravelly voice, eyes low and lidded. āLet it play.ā
He reaches over and taps your phone screen with his pointer finger ā once to disconnect the wireless headphones and second to unpause the audio. The voice resumes, sounding a little foreign now as it plays throughout the otherwise silent bedroom.
āāYou always get so sweet for me when I kiss your neck,ā the masculine voice slurs.
Jack doesnāt miss a beat.Ā
He props his fist beside your blanketed thighs and twists his upper body to lean in closer. His warm breath fans over your jaw right before he plants a wet kiss to your neck. Your jaw tightens as you fight back a shiver.
āSee? I can feel your heart racing for meā¦ā the stranger mumbles between mimed kisses. āLet me see if I can find that sweet spot, huh? Rightā¦ hereā¦ā
Jackās teeth graze over your pulse point ā not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch. You raise your hands to his shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt into your fists. His mouth curls into a slow smile against you, and you sigh when his scruff brushes your delicate skin.
āYou love this, huh?ā Jack mumbles into your skin.
āThis isā¦ā you trail off in mild anguish. āBoth incredibly hot and wildly embarrassing.āĀ
āWhy is it embarrassing?ā the older man laughs, as his lips slide over the thrumming tendon of your neck.
āI donāt knowā¦ā you mumble, trailing your hands up and over his broad shoulders until your fingers find the silver curls at the nape of his neck. āI feel likeā¦ Like you just caught me watching porn or something, and now weāre watching it togetherā It just feels weird.ā
Jack hums against you, as if it were a proposition that needed considering.
āSounds pretty fun to me,ā he hums and pulls off of you with a quiet click. His mouth is softly swollen from his kisses, and his eyes are lidded and glittering with mischief when they lock with yours. āWanna try that later?ā
You swallow hard, features crumpling in distant shame as you squeak out, āYeahā¦ā
Jackās grin widens right before he presses it to your mouth ā in a lengthier and more languid kiss that pushes you slowly back into the mattress again. You sigh hard through your nose when his tongue licks into you, like velvet in your mouth. Your fingers tug harder at his silver curls, and you smile to yourself when he groans quietly against you.
He follows the direction of the foreign male voice spilling from your phone, and it leads him to your spread legs ā where a wet patch has already started to form in the thin cotton of your underwear. You melt into the mattress when his strong arms wrap around your thighs to hug you close against him.
āLook at how wet you are for me, babyā¦ Your pussyās just begging for my mouth, huh? God, youāre such a little slut for me, arenāt you?ā
Jack freezes, mid-kiss on your inner thigh. He flashes you an amused look up your clothed body, clad in one of his oversized t-shirts thatās slipping off your shoulder now.
āDo you like being talked to like that?ā he asks.
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water for an embarrassing moment. āIā¦ I donāt knowā¦ Maybe?ā
āHmā¦ Good to know,ā Jack nods and gets back to work.
āIāll warm you up with my tongue first, okay? Nice and slowā¦ā
Jack takes the instruction in stride.Ā
He slips his pointer finger in the hem of your panties, slipping the fabric to the side, until your drooling pussy is on display for him ā already needy and craving the orgasm it missed beforehand.Ā
Jack ducks down to lick a fat stripe up the length of your cunt in time with the sound effects of the audio. His tongue slots just perfectly within your silken folds.
Your mouth parts in a silent moan as your head tips back against the pillow. You feel Jack smiling against you when your hips buck instinctively to chase his mouth.Ā
āYou like that?ā he mumbles, in time with the foreign voice playing just beside you.
You exhale a breathless laugh that turns into a moan when Jack returns to your pussy, kissing you there like he would your mouth. He groans against you when your fingers twist harder in his curls; the vibrations only add to your sensitivity. Your whine swells within the walls of the quiet bedroom, entwining with the wet sounds from the audio and the realer ones coming from between your thighs.
āNowā¦ How about I suck on the pretty little clit, huh? Get it nice and swollen for meā¦ā
Your face flares at the overtly crude language.
Jack doesnāt miss a beat.
He spreads your velvety folds with his thumb and forefinger, bearing the most sensitive part of you for him. His lips wrap around your clit a second later, and your thighs clench instinctively around his head. His scruff prickles at your delicate skin when you jerk against him. A cry spills from your parted mouth before you can stop it.
āWait, wait, waitāā you hear yourself say.
Jack pulls off of you with a quiet smack. His eyes are lidded; his mouth is swollen; his chin is coated in a layer of your slick. āToo much?ā he asks.
You lift your head to stare down your body at the man between your thighs, nodding until the words catch up to you. āIāllā Iāll cum too fast if you keep doing that.ā
His brows lift as something teasing swims in his heavy eyes. āIsnāt that the point?ā
Jack returns to your weeping pussy, licking and sucking you there, with noises far more lewd than the ones spilling from the speaker beside your head. There is no further protest from you, as he drags an orgasm from your trembling body ā a much more powerful one than you wouldāve gotten with just your vibrator, had he not walked in on you. His fingers threaten to dig bruises into the plush of your thighs as your hips twitch wildly against his face.
āGood girlā Good fucking girl,ā the strangerās deep voice croons throughout the quiet bedroom, coaching you through the orgasm Jack gives you with nothing but his tongue.
He caresses you gently on the comedown, with his calloused hands and his wet mouth, molding you back together again as he kisses his way back up your trembling body.Ā
The voice on the phone continues while the two of you work with graceless limbs to undress ā your fingers scramble with the buttons of his camo pants while he tugs his shirt up and over his body by the neckline.
A heavy sigh grumbles in the back of Jackās throat when you free his half-hard cock from the confines of his boxers, pulling the hem down beneath his heavy balls. His muscular chest, flushed with need, heaves as you take him into your hand.
āIām gonna fuck you now, okay?ā the masculine voice continues to slur. āYou donāt have to beg for it, baby, Iām gonna give it to you. Iām gonna give you all of itāāĀ
Jack reaches for the phone again while you massage his cock the rest of the way hard; he feels like heavy velvet in your fist. He taps the screen to pause it.
āAlright, enough of that,ā he huffs as he shifts on his knees. āI need to focus.ā
You blink up at him, a little dazed from your lingering orgasm, as a smile curls slowly at your lips. āArenāt you supposed to be good at multitasking, Dr. Abbot?ā
āMultitaskingās for paperwork, baby,ā the older man quips with a smug smirk and a pair of squinted eyes. He takes his stiff cock in his fist and eyes you carefully as you lean back onto your elbows, thighs nice and spread for him. āAnd thisāā
He nudges the drooling tip of his cock against your already sensitive clit and grins wider when your head tips back with a moan.
āThis deserves my full attention, donāt ya think?ā
summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)
tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you donāt have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and Youāre Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes readerās family :)
a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger iām sorry iāve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If youād like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]
NOT-SO-FRIENDLY-PSA: Any comments asking me to write more, post another chapter, or anything of the sort will be deleted. Please do not send an ask into my inbox either. Screaming in my inbox (not about wanting more, general screaming) is totally fine though!
You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.
Five months of being the untouchable, āperfectā intern. Robbyās newest addition to his growing list of āwork-wards.ā
Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.
Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that youāre not fit to be a doctor.
Tonight isnāt the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isnāt even the first time youāve been removed from a case. Itās not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and itās certainly not the first time youāve made a mistake.
Youāre an intern. Itās your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. Thatās what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. Theyād ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasnāt meant for you, but hell if you donāt say it to yourself every night like a prayer.
But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. Youāre stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.
The patient isnāt dead. Despite your mistakes, they didnāt die. Thereās really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.
And yet, here you are.
Your first mistake wasnāt terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern whoās drilled sterile protocol into her head until itās muscle memory.
For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.
And, well. Thereās no time to re-scrub, so there wasnāt a need for you in the triage room anymore.
Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if youād focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.
It was a test. Not your first.
And you ripped the fucking purse strings.
Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until āyou get your head back in the game.ā
And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who canāt handle some criticism and correction. Youāre a hard worker. Youāre good at this. You have to be.
So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.
Youāve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)
Youāre just so upset with yourself. Youāre better than this. You know you are. Youāve proven that you are. You donāt drop scalpels. You donāt break the sterile field. You donāt rip purse strings.
But you did tonight. And maybe one day youāll laugh, but today is not that day.
You just donāt get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. Youāre on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robbyās respect.
But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.
You canāt be burning out, right? Thatās not how burn out works. Thereās like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but thatās because you work in medicine. And youāre an intern. Youāre supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe youāre not? You do enjoy your work, and itās exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this canāt be burn out. You donāt burn out. Thatās not you. Right? No. Of course not.
You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.
Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you donāt quite hear the door open.
You do, however, hear the quiet āOh.ā thatās mumbled a few moments later.
Of-fucking-course.
You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you werenāt just crying on the ground.
āDr. Abbot! Iām so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise Iām still working on itāā
He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.
āJust needed some four by fours, kid.ā
Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.
āā¦Those are three by threes.ā
Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.
āRight,ā You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. āIāll just get out of your way. Sorry.ā
You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.
āLook,ā Dr. Abbot starts. āYouāre one of Robbyās adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?ā
āThat is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.ā
His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)
You donāt know what to do. Heās looking at you. Your boss doesnāt fluster you. Youāre chill. Youāre normal. Youāre cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.
āRobby doesnāt adopt interns lightly. Donāt let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.ā
You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.
The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.
Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.
āWhat, it doesnāt happen to you?ā
A jolt of panic stabs your chest. āNo! Of course it happens to me, I didnāt mean to imply that Iām like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at allāā
Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. Youāre a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.
Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. Heās got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldnāt be hot, but heās got his hand on your shoulder and youāre having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?
āUsually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you donāt get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesnāt mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.ā
He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost donāt notice because he said you do good work.
Abbot gives you another grin. āAnd I didnāt stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.ā
āBut I ripped the purse strings,ā You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, āLike an idiot.ā
āYou ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.ā
āI practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didnāt happen!ā
He tilts his head, almost cat-like. āDid you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?ā
āā¦No?ā
He snorts. āExactly. Dr. Garcia probably wonāt hold it against you. Sheāll give you shit for it, but itās not like sheās never going to give you another chance.ā
You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbotās reassurances echoing in your head.
āThank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I donāt usually do that.ā
Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. āWouldnāt judge you if you did, kid.ā
ā
Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.
He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because heās always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.
Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now heās an attending. Night shift lead.
He started to get restless again.
He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didnāt sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.
And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.
And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.
That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasnāt him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jackās stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.
Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasnāt tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didnāt actually know cats could snore like that.
Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.
Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shiftās conclusions. Heās picked up a very special language of gauging what heās getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest internā a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. Heād heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.
Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.
Heād watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because itād fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks āOh.ā
And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks āWell, thereās something to do.ā
Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how youād looked at him when heād assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.
He tells himself that heās just going to keep an eye on you. For Robbyās sake. Heād do the same for Whitaker.
The next time you have a night shift, youāre clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.
When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where youāre diligently filling out a chart.
āThat one yours, then?ā
Jack shakes his head. āItās not like that. You make me sound like a creep.ā
Another raised eyebrow. āSure it isnāt.ā
āSheās Robbyās intern.ā
āMhm.ā
āSheās way too young.ā
Parker shrugs. āSheās good.ā
āShe is.ā
The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. āThink sheāll burn out?ā
āMaybe.ā
Parker crosses his arms. āAre you gonna let it happen?ā
āSheās not my intern.ā
Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.
āItās an HR nightmare.ā
Parker shrugs. āYou just said sheās not your intern.ā
He narrows his eyes. āYou know what I meant.ā
āDo I? Itās been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.ā
āParker.ā
āJack.ā
He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. āYouāre the worst.ā
Parker just laughs. āSure I am.ā
To your credit, he doesnāt find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesnāt last.
You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isnāt far enough to account how youāre shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.
Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what heās not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.
Jack blinks, and in the next second heās in the room, standing in between you and the patient.
āExcuse me, what the fuck is going on here?ā
Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.
āI said I want a real doctor, not this fuckingāā
āGet the fuck out of my hospital.ā
Shen peaks his head in. āSecurityās on their way.ā
Jack reaches behind him to where youāre still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jackās never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled āIām fine, really, he just surprised me.ā
Thankfully, security doesnāt take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, heās out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before heās beelining for it.
When he opens the door, youāre sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like youāve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.
āWhat the fuck are you doing?ā
You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
āDr. Abbot!ā
Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics donāt lend to much mobility and heās too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, thereās a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.
He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.
āCan Iā¦?ā Jackās voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble thatās seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.
You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.
āHe had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didnāt really notice until I got here.ā
āParker and Shen didnāt notice?ā
You look at your lap. āI told them I was fineā¦ And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. Itās just a little cut.ā
Jackās fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.
But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.
Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesnāt look that bad either.
But thereās still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesnāt think heās going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.
āIf I leave you here so I can get supplies,ā He starts, voice a little rough, āCan I trust that youāll stay here and not do anything stupid?ā
āUh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?ā
Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. āThatād be preferable.ā
Later, when heās at home in his bed, heāll assure himself that the night shift wasnāt truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while heās busy.
No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.
What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack whoās got a thing for fixing.
He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. Itās something heās generally very good at āwhich is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at allā but youāre looking up at him and thereās something really dangerous in the air and it mustāve gotten into your blood stream or something cause itās swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.
He decides he could at least tone it down. Youāre an intern. Robbyās intern. So what if youāre bleeding all over the break room? Jackās just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. Thatās all.
āTilt your head up.ā
He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so thereās no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he canāt get the sound of the slap out of his head and itās all just kind of a lot.
He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like youāre burning up.
Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.
He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.
āDid you walk to work today?ā
You wince. āMy car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didnāt just leave my car in the middle of the road.ā
He blinks.
āYour car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didnāt tell anybody?ā
You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.
āYeah? I carry a knife and Iāve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.ā
Thereāsā¦ a lot to unpack in your answer.
āKid,ā He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, āWhat was your plan to get home?ā
āWalk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so Iām probably going to text her.ā
Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didnāt think to let your boss know that your car broke down and youād be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.
God.
āItās really fine though,ā You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. āMy place isnāt that far, and itās not the first time my carās died. The batteryās kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and itās like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. Iāve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.ā
He wishes youād stop talking so heād stop hearing things that make him want to do things he canāt and shouldnāt do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.
Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.
āIāll drive you home. If youāre fine with that.ā
Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.
āOh no, you really donāt have to. I promise Iāmāā
āPlease stop saying you're fine,ā He begs, āYou donāt have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think youāre coming down with something.ā
The smile thatās seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.
āWell,ā You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, āThings certainly arenātā¦ great, but Iāll survive. Iām not like, incapable, or anything.ā
Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.
He hums. āIs that what you think? That I or someone else here will think youāre not competent or that youāre weak if you take a break or ask for help?ā
Your face falters again. āNo, no, of course not I justā¦ I donāt know. Iām an intern. Itās my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just donāt want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I needā internships are competitive. Theyāre competitions, really. And I want to win.ā
Jack Abbot knows what itās like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that youāre capable and strong and unfailing.
So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.
āYouāre a smart kid,ā He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, āAnd youāre going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.ā
He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. āThis industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you donāt take care of yourself. I get it. Weāre doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. Itās okay toā¦ not be okay for a minute.ā
You huff a watery laugh. āIsnāt that what energy drinks are for?ā
He shakes his head. āWhat, trying to die faster?ā
āAnything to shake those student loans. Canāt be in debt if youāre dead.ā
āDonāt they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?ā
āI donāt think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think itāll hold up in court.ā
Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isnāt sure.
He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.
āI gotta get back out there,ā He jams his thumb towards the door, āBut feel free to take five. No oneās judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, Iām telling you to take a break.ā
You roll your eyes. āWhatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For theā¦ā
You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. āā¦And for the advice.ā
He shrugs, like taking care of you hasnāt become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesnāt matter, like heās just doing his job.
āOffer for the rideās still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.ā
And with that, heās out the door.
Itās the end of shift, and youāre staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.
Youāre not exactly rushing out the door.
Youāre clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that itās been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?
The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.
āStill raining out there?ā
āYep. Looks worse now.ā
āNot great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.ā
āMhm.ā
āDid you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?ā
āNo. I didnāt want to wake her up.ā
Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.
āCome on, kid.ā
The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesnāt think itās awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.
Heād been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and itās only thanks to Sabrina Carpenterās voice that you donāt feel like completely freaking out.
You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.
āāI get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guyāā
āāTreating me like youāre supposed to do, tears run down my thighsāā
By the time youāve realized that perhaps this isnāt the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and whoās car youāre currently riding in, the words āI get wetā have already left your mouth so thereās no real point in stopping.
On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.
Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. Youāre considering changing the radio station because god.
āSo,ā You start, just to say anything that drowns out āknee-deep in the passenger seat and youāre eating me out, is it casual now?ā, āDid youā¦ have a good shift?ā
That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?
Dr. Abbot snorts. āShouldnāt I be asking you that question?ā
Ah. Right. The Incident.
āI told you Iāmāā
āDidnāt I tell you to stop saying that?ā
Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?
He continues. āFine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didnāt leave a mark, thatās still shitty.ā
āHave you been hit by a patient before?ā
He huffs. āHell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. Itāll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.ā
āSorry you had to step in. Iāve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.ā
āOh yeah?ā
You nod. āIt was during my Pedes rotation, actually. Iāve always known working with kids probably wasnāt going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.ā
āWhat, did she slap you too?ā
āNope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.ā
āFucking hell, kid. Whatād you do?ā
You shrug. āKept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.ā
Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. āAlways the patients you least expect.ā
āThe importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.ā
The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.
Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesnāt take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.
Your last thought before falling asleep is that you donāt remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.
Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.
āWhat?ā You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: āWhamfgh?ā
Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. Youāre absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.
Oh right, your apartment.
āOh,ā You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.
Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.
You rub at your eyes. āHow long have I been asleep?ā
āLittle over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.ā
āIt doesnāt take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.ā
Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.
āDid you justā¦ park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?ā
He just shrugs. āLike I said. You looked like you needed it.ā
Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.
āSorry. You didnāt have to wait.ā
āIf I didnāt want to, I wouldnāt have.ā
Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isnāt nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.
Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet āheyā you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.
Itās a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbotās. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. Itās nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an internās budget.
āFor the next time your car dies,ā He clarifies, as if the jacketās purpose is the thing thatās stupefied you, not the fact that heās the one giving it to you, āIn case of rain.ā
āYou really donāt have to,ā your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, āI mean, I can just buy my ownāā
āFirst of all,ā He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, āDo I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I donāt want to? And second of allā¦ā
He tilts his head, gaze sharp. āAre you really going to buy one for yourself?ā
Your mouth goes dry.
āI was planning on looking onlineāā
Dr. Abbot interrupts you. āNow you donāt have to.ā
Like itās that easy. Does he want it to be?
āDr. Abbot, Iāā
āJack.ā
His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.
āJack,ā you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. āI can take care of myself. You donāt need to give me your jacket. Iāve been doing just fine on my own.ā
āKidāā
The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.
āDonāt call me kid like Iām stupid.ā
Dr. Abbā Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.
He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.
āI donāt call you kid because I think youāre stupid. I donāt think youāre stupid. Youād know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. āKidā is aā¦ā He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, āā¦Nickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but itās not derogatory.ā
Jack holds up a second finger.
āYou have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldnāt have a low grade fever, and you wouldāve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. Youāve been surviving. Thereās a difference.ā
Shame burns white hot through youā all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.
Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.
āDonāt beat yourself up about it. Itād be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents donāt do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?ā
āThat depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?ā
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. āExactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesnāt actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.ā
He nudges the jacket on your lap. āSo just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.ā
Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.
āYou worry about me?ā
Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.
āI worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.ā
Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. Itās not like Jack actually likes you or anything.
You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jackās car.
āWell. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.ā
āNo problem, kid.ā
And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, thatās no oneās business but yours.
ā
From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.
Whether itās something heās doing on purpose or youāve just developed a heightened sense to his whereaboutsā it doesnāt matter. Sometimes itās a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didnāt choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, heās there.
Youāre being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.
Working a double isnāt horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jackās solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, youāre quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.
Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.
Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe itās the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) Itās probably both of those things.
But there isnāt really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.
Youāre distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.
Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.
āHey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to haveā¦ bled through.ā
If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.
āFuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,ā You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. āRight. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.ā
In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.
āTo tie around your waist,ā He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.
You donāt actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you donāt particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldnāt be working here. Robby wouldnāt let that kind of thing slide.
So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.
What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.
The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this timeā a tiny bag of pretzels.
She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.
āBad shift?ā
āBad life,ā You grumble. āDr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesnāt know what pad sizes are for.ā
Dr. King nods thoughtfully. āHe asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and heās a doctor.ā
āHere here,ā You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. āHow did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?ā
āWeāve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,ā
She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. āBut to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasnāt an option. Which. Probably isnāt helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something thatās nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so itās just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?ā
You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasnāt Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.
Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in variousā¦ situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldnāt be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.
Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like youāre going to explode and die if you donāt have someone to confide in right this very second. You havenāt heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.
āMel,ā You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, āCan I tell you a secret?ā
She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. āUm. Sure?ā
āHave you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?ā
Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. āIs this about Dr.āā
āI have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think itās ruining my life.ā
The words burst out of you all at once, and Melās expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.
āAh,ā She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. āUm. Well I personally donāt have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.ā
You bury your face into your hands and groan. āItās awful. Itās so cliche. Itās so fucking Greyās Anatomy.ā
āIāve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.ā
Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.
āHave youā¦ acted on it?ā
āNo!ā You snap your head up. āI mean. No, I havenāt. Iām not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. Heās an attending and Iām an intern.ā
She leans in. āButā¦?ā
āBut sometimesā¦ I wonder? I donāt know. Iām probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, thatās normal, right?ā
Mel nods. āFrā Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we donāt. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?ā
āRight. Yeah.ā
She takes the pretzel bag back. āIs there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?ā
Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.
āHe gave me his rain jacket. To keep.ā
āOh.ā
āYeah.ā
Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.
āIām honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. Iāve been told I can beā¦ dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.ā
You shrug. āYouāre a great listener, and you havenāt steered me wrong in the past.ā
She brightens. āThatās good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with yourā¦ particular situation.ā
Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. āIāll let Robby know youāre taking ten, so donāt worry about someone looking for you while youāre changing.ā
āYouāre the best. I love you.ā
The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.
ā
Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? āHey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?ā
Additionally, sheās kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohanās work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.
After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.
āHey!ā She jogs up to you as youāre walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.
āSorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?ā
āRight!ā You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think youāre capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like sheās the only expert around. āYes. That. Itās a really normal question, you know.ā
Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. āUh, sure?ā
Thereās a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.
āThis is about Abbot, isnāt it?ā
You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. āAm I that obvious?ā
She laughs goodnaturedly. āNo. Probably not. Youāre just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.ā
āHeās so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like Iām dying.ā
She makes a noise of sympathy. āHe is. Itās fucking annoying, at a certain point.ā
āThank you!ā You shout, āLike itās just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead Iām just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.ā
āHave you ever seen Greyāsāā
āYes. I know. I canāt be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?ā
Mohan purses her lips. āWell. You did just say you felt like you were dying.ā
āI know,ā You sigh. āIt makes me feelā¦ shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.ā
āIt canāt be that bad.ā
āOn my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.ā
She winces. āOh. Thatās notā¦ great.ā
Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. āHe found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.ā
Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. āWell, if itās any consolation, Iāve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think itās a right of passage. And as for that second partā¦ā
She shrugs. āAbbot gives credit where credit is due, but he wonāt coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.ā
āThatās what he said. It just didnāt really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.ā
Mohan actually looks taken back.
āOkay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?ā
āWhenever I have a spare twenty dollars.ā
She grins. āI happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?ā
āYes please.ā
Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samiraās is much more enjoyable than you expectedā considering the fact that youāre an intern and sheās a resident. She confides that she doesnāt have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have āreal girl-timeā.
She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.
You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.
Maybe everything will be okay.
ā
Everything is not okay.
Youāre now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, youāve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.
Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.
You shoot her a look. āSupportive as ever, Dr. Santos.ā
āI try.ā
You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.
It doesnāt help much.
Thereās a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because youāre still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.
Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and itās one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.
The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.
Youāre justā¦ having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. Itās the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while youāre awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.
A vacation. A week off. Youāre describing taking a week off work. Itās comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.
You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, youāre the only liability he has to really worry about.
Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while youāre charting.
āYouāre flagging.ā
Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. āIām fine. I just need a Redbull or something.ā
He slides the tablet out of your hands. āPart of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Canāt be a good doctor if youāre falling asleep during the exam, right?ā
āI would never fall asleep during an exam.ā
He shrugs. āIāve seen it happen.ā
Jack jerks his head towards the break room. āTake five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.ā
āYes sir.ā
He rolls his eyes. āGet going.ā
Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patientās doctor fantasy.
Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.
Your shift ends with little fanfare. Itās honestly a miracle you survived. Youāre exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.
Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, itās fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, itās dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.
āFuck,ā you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that heās already texted.
Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.
And thatās just the last straw, really.
You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samiraās contact through blurry eyes. When you think youāve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.
The phone rings for a bit, and youāre about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.
āHello?ā
Itās not Samira who answers. Itās Jack.
You sniffle. āWhy are you answering Samiraās phone?ā
āI didnāt. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?ā
āOh,ā You decide to ignore his question, āI meant to call Samira. Sorry.ā
āWait,ā Jackās voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, āAnswer the question. Are you okay?ā
Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.
āThe powerās out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power wonāt be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but itās cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever wonāt go away.ā
āDo you have a place to stay?ā
Always a man of action, Jack is.
You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he canāt see it. āI was supposed to call Samira and see if sheād let me sleep on her couch.ā
āI have a guest bedroom.ā
The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jackās encouraging advice, Jackās steady presence, Jackās warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.
āJack?ā
āYes?ā
āWhatās your address?ā
The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. Itās just that kind of day.
You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jackās apartment as directed.
Itāsā¦ fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.
The actual building itself isnāt very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so itās not exactly surprising that Jackās apartment is the penthouse. Itās just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt youāve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.
Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.
If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesnāt hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldnāt have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.
His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.
He makes a low noise in his throat.
āOh, you poor thing. Come here,ā
Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying ācome insideā but the dam breaks the moment he says āpoor thingā and you donāt have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than āJack=Comfort and Safety".
Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then youāre crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.
Jack doesnāt react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe youāve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.
āPoor girl,ā he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, āThey been running you ragged?ā
You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut openā like youāve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you canāt stop it.
āIām so tired.ā You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything thatās happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you donāt talk about that happened before.
āI know sweetheart, I know,ā Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. āHow about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?ā
At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.
āSorry,ā You say, voice barely above a whisper. āI think I got snot on your shirt.ā
āTrust me kid, itās seen worse.ā
He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.
Itās nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesnāt, actually, look the inside of a dentistās office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctorās office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when youāre a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.
Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.
Thereās a feeling under your skin you canāt place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light youāre watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if heās got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.
But thatās a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.
Jack isā inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.
āBy the way,ā Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? āI have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably wonāt come near you, but be warned, heās an asshole when he wants to be.ā
āOh, thatās fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.ā
āThat explains a lot of things.ā
His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you donāt care to parse through at the moment.
āUm,ā You start, feeling a bit unsteady, āIsā Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feelā¦ grimy. Your apartment seems clean and Iād hate to get my hospital grime on anything.ā
Jack just chuckles. āOne, I wouldnāt care if you got āhospital grimeā on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?ā
āI mightāve forgotten to grab those.ā
Another huffy laugh. āThatās fine. You can borrow some of mine. Iāll leave them on the bed.ā
Thatās like. Wow. Yeah. Youāre just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. Youāre going to shower in Jackās shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.
āI already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?ā
Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.
āYeah,ā You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, āYeah thatās fine. Thank you.ā
Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. Youāre not sure if thereās an intention behind the word choice.
Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. Thereās a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and itās not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.
Maybe thatās your problem. You havenāt felt like anything is in the right place in years.
You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jackās water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.
They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.
Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholicās is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you donāt feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.
(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)
The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. Youād read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But heās dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.
Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon heās stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.
He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.
āFeeling better after your shower?ā
You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.
āIsnāt it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?ā
He shrugs. āItās dinner for us. Or, well, me. Iām not sure your body knows what meal it is.ā
He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. āAny word from your landlord?ā
āNo. Sorry forā¦ all of this. I know youāre tired.ā
āI wish youād stop apologizing for things I donāt mind doing for you.ā
You donāt really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.
You clear your throat. āI can call Samira whenever. Sheād probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Donāt feel likeā I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.ā
āDo you want to leave?ā
You wish heād stop asking questions you donāt want to answer.
You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robbyās kid, through and through.
āWell, I canāt have you getting sick of me. Youāre the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesnāt pan out.ā
Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. āWho said Iād get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.ā
āDo you?ā
You ask the question before youāre aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But youāve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.
Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesnāt look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like heās disappointed that you had to ask.
āHave I given you any reason to think otherwise?ā
āI donāt know,ā You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, āI donāt want to assume anything.ā
āYouāve already assumed quite a bit.ā
You scrunch your face. āThatās different. Those are safe assumptions.ā
āAre they?ā
āObviously, itās safer to assume that you donāt want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do Iāll bother you and I want you toāā
You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. Itās not hard to figure out what you were going to say.
I want you to like me.
Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then heās rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him ānever turn you back, never let your guard downā and then heās standing in front of you, over you, and youāre not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.
Itās pathetic. Itās embarrassing. Itās impossible to ignore.
(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)
He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you donāt, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.
Itās cleaning the cut from the slap, itās a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.
Unlike that day in the break room, thereās no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.
Itās just you and Jack, in Jackās apartment, wearing Jackās clothes, and pretty soon youāre going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.
And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and youād make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.
He doesnāt. He starts talking.
āI like knowing that youāre safe. That youāre taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because Iām the one making sure of it.ā
Your breath hitches in your chest.
āThatās kind of a lot of work, though.ā
He hums. āIt is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.ā
Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so itās not surprising that you start crying again.
Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything heās been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.
āYou donāt have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. Iāll do whatever you want.ā
Thereās the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?
Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.
Jack said you donāt have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you donāt do something youāre going to be sick with everything thatās swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jackās perfectly decorated walls.
That would be something, wouldnāt it.
You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jackās back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesnāt talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like heās making sure youāre still there.
Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so thereās no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.
Thereās a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.
You start crying again, in earnest.
āIām sorry,ā You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. āIām sorry, I donāt know why Iāmā I donāt know. I donāt know.ā
Youāre hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.
Your life hasnāt been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.
āIāll do whatever you want.ā
āHey, hey hey hey, shhh,ā Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isnāt Jack. āYouāre okay, youāre safe, youāre okay, I got you.ā
He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesnāt tell you to stop, or to calm down, or youāre being too much too fast.
āYouāre okay, youāre gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. Iām not going anywhere.ā
āIām not going anywhere.ā
ā
You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.
You wake up in Jackās bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. Thereās the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.
Holy shit. What the fuck.
Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of whatās around you.
In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jackās handwriting on it.
Kid-
Iāll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.
Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably wonāt leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.
The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. Itās not ideal, but youāre wrung out and donāt have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what youāve heard, Langdon isnāt really in a place to say anything.
On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isnāt too terribly awful.
Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.
Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdonās general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.
You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.
āThere are more of you here then thereās supposed to be,ā You grumble, scrubbing at your face. āWhy are you all here?ā
Mel is the first to speak.
āIt was Frank actually!ā Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, āHe figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didnāt tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!ā
Wow, okay, thatās. A Lot.
You squint. āThat doesnāt explain why youāre all here. I mean it does, but only like, why youāre here physically.ā
Robby frowns. āWe heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.ā
Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like heās about to have an aneurysm.
Robby shoots her a look, but continues. āWe care about you. Weā I donāt want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.ā
Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. āJee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.ā
Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.
"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."
Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.
ā
At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.
It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:
Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.
Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.
ā
When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.
He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.
And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.
You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.
"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'
You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."
You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."
Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.
Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.
Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.
The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.
Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.
"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"
He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.
"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."
He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.
"Why did you put it on?"
You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.
"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."
The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."
You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."
"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."
You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."
Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.
"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."
Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.
He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.
He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.
"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are youā I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortableā"
"I want to kiss you."
Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.
He continues when you don't speak.
"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."
"Oh."
"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."
You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.
"I thought I was just reading into things!"
"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"
Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.
"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"
He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.
"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"
For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.
"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."
reblog and make a wish!
this was removed from tumbrl due to āviolating one or more of Tumblrās Community Guidelinesā, but since my wish came true the first time, Iām putting it back. :)
holy fuck, I didnāt expect this to work, I was like psh, whatever itās just a quick reblog, but I wished my Dad would actually respond back to me AND HE FUCKING DID A FEW DAYS LATER, I GOT A FUCKING TEXT FROM MY DAD TODAY WHO HASNāT SPOKEN OR RESPONDED TO ME IN MONTHS HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC IT WORKS.Ā
WTF OKAY SO THIS SHOT ACTUALLY WORKS BECAUSE WHEN I WISHED, I HAD WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD LIKE ME BACK AND GUESS WHAT? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW. WHAT THE HELLLLL?????
ok Iāve said this before but IM DOING IT AGAIN THE FIRST TIME I SAW THIS, MY WISH DID COME TRUE SO I REBLOGED AGAIN AND SAID IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I WISHED FOR SMTH ELSE AND IT LITERALLY LITERALLY HAPPENED LIKE A COUPLE DAYS LATER WHAT THE HELL SO NOW IM WRITING THIS HERE FOR YOU BC I DONT BELIEVE IN THIS CRAP BUT STILL ITāS AN AWFULLY BIG COINCIDENCE
THE BOY I FELL I LOVE WITH LEFT TO TRAVEL THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN GONE NOW FOR 3 MONTHS. WE HAVENT SPOKEN SINCE BECAUSE I DIDNT WANT TO MAKE HIM FEEL TRAPPED TO ME AND NOT ENJOY HIS TIME SO I WAITED FOR HIM TO CONTACT ME FIRST. I SAW THIS ON A PARTICULARLY LOW DAY WHEN I WAS MISSING HIM SO MUCH I CRIED FROM THE PAIN, GUYS I REALLY LOVE HIM, SO I THOUGHT MEH WHAT THE FUCK, AND WISHED HE WOULD JUST LET ME KNOW HE WAS OKAY.
guys ok ur probably thinking that this is all just bs right? WELL I THOUGHT SO TOO BUT I WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD CHAT ME AND HE DID AND IM FREAKING OUT not even kidding i swear on my grampas grave this works
Taika Waititi accepting his BAFTA by saying that it's nice to come from a colony to Britain and steal some of their gold and bring it back to where it belongs is a level of iconic behavior that is unparalleled
