vic. twenty seven. she/her. main @passthescoobysnacks reblogging the shit ton of fan fic I read Minors dni. +18 Mostly bucky barnes, and maybe a splash of Steve Rogers, and a suprise teen wolf or crit role fic in there too, and also the Pitt apparently
Canon-typical language, Drunk patron, Harassment, Protective Frank Castle, Flirting, Reader drinks alcohol, No use of Y/N
✧ Summary
A ficlet based off of Maria/Mari/Isa’s imagine that they posted on tik tok @motherwitch11:
Imagine: You see him at a bar. He's already seen you first.
The small group of friends he came with keeps trying to pull him back into their conversation, but he's too focused on you. When you sit at the opposite end of the bar, he waves over the bartender and tells her, "Put her on my tab."
And you haven't even spoken a word yet...
Just a glance.
Author’s Note:
I've always loved the idea of Frank before someone knows he's The Punisher—just another quiet guy at Josie's who happens to notice everything.
This is a softer, first-meeting take on Frank that leans into the subtle protectiveness he shows in Daredevil and The Punisher: not because he thinks the reader can't handle herself, but because stepping in is second nature to him.
Hope you enjoy. ❤️
Imagine: You see him at a bar. He's already seen you first.
The small group of friends he came with keeps trying to pull him back into their conversation, but he's too focused on you. When you sit at the opposite end of the bar, he waves over the bartender and tells her, "Put her on my tab."
And you haven't even spoken a word yet...
Just a glance.
…….
Lily slides your way, cleaning a glass with a mischievous glint in her eye. She only gets that look when someone seems remotely interesting.
"What did he want—my number or to buy me a drink? I'm surprised you let him send you instead of telling him to do it himself."
Your eyes glitter in the faint neons as you scan tonight’s scene at Josie’s. The city's been lively lately, and this weekend is no exception. Your favorite local dive is comfortably packed, the neighborhood celebrating the big win together. Everyone’s raucous, loudly exclaiming, boisterously laughing except for Mr. Brooklyn Lager glooming at his corner stool.
You noticed him the second you walked in. He was hard to miss, dressed entirely in black among a sea of denim, khakis, and button-downs. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched as he rested his elbows on the bar, slowly sipping his beer while reruns of the game played on the mounted TV. He hadn't said more than two words to the group of guys standing nearby, and the only time you'd seen him speak was when he called Lily over.
"I'm surprised too," she says with a grin. "But it looks like all your drinks are on him tonight."
She sets your usual on the bartop, sliding it toward you with a wink.
"Drink up."
Your brows furrow as your gaze drifts from the drink to him—
Only to find him already watching you.
The air catches in your chest as the intensity of his gaze pins you in place. Everything around you seems to fade into silence. He holds your attention without moving, almost as though he's silently beckoning you over. His eyes are sharp, cataloging every feature of your face, every subtle shift in your posture, as if he can hear thoughts you've never spoken aloud. He doesn't wave. Doesn't smile.
He just watches.
Then, almost imperceptibly, his expression softens.
He tips his beer toward you in a quiet toast before turning back to the television.
You blink rapidly, desperate to shake yourself free from the spell of dark, brooding eyes and unfairly perfect cheekbones.
God.
You grip both the edge of the counter and your drink for dear life, taking several long swallows before pressing the cold glass against your flushed cheek.You glance back. He's still watching the TV. Good, great even.
Because you were starting to think one look from Mr. Brooklyn Lager was enough to short-circuit your entire nervous system.
The night rolls on, and you spend most of it avoiding the magnetic aura of Mr. Brooklyn Lager by playing a few rounds of pool. There are a handful of newcomers tonight, so you decide to take it easy on them. After all, as Josie's reigning pool champ, crushing first-timers isn't exactly sporting. Unfortunately, every casual game eventually attracts one thing: a misogynistic asshole who's a sore loser and one drink past his limit. You've already had enough of Benny—or was it Brian?—by the time you head back to the bar for a refill.
Naturally...
He follows.
"Heeeyyy..." he slurs, stumbling toward the bar. "I wasn't fin'shed playin'. C'mon, you gotta come baaack... 'cause I was winnin'. I was absolutely winnin'. Tha's not fair."
You turn toward him with a sigh.
"Brian, I—"
"Ma name's Benny!"
"Right. Benny. Listen, you lost every round we played. You've gotta cut your losses, dude."
"C-CUT MY LOSSES?"
You raise an eyebrow as his voice climbs louder. You pick up your third drink, silently hoping you won't have to violate Josie's no-fighting policy. You really like your neighborhood bar. You'd hate to have to walk another five blocks to the next closest dive because you broke some idiot's nose. Before you can finish calculating whether it'd be worth it an unmistakable presence looms behind you.
Judging by the sheer terror spreading across Benny's face, you know exactly who's standing there.
So...
He's tall.
Really tall.
Your spine prickles with awareness as warmth radiates from his body through the thin cotton of your button-down. Maybe it was his proximity. Maybe it was simply the thought of him nearly touching you.
"I think the lady said to cut your losses, Brian," he says, his voice deep and gravelly. Gravelly enough that you feel it before you fully hear it. “And she won't say it again."
The low rumble vibrates through you as he leans over your shoulder. You catch the scent of cedar with something darker beneath it—musky, almost metallic.
For reasons that are almost certainly tied to your third drink, you lean fully back against Mr. Brooklyn Lager's chest.
He freezes.
Every muscle tenses beneath you long enough that you're certain you've made a terrible mistake. Then Benny sways uncertainly, and Mr. Brooklyn Lager relaxes. One arm slides past you, bracing against the bar, boxing you safely into the space between him and the counter. The other settles around your waist, drawing you gently closer.
Protective.
Possessive.
Neither of you acknowledges it.
"But... my name's B-Benny..."
"I don't fucking care what your name is."
The words come out calm. Almost conversational. Which somehow makes them ten times scarier.
"Do I look like I fucking care what your name is?"
Benny doesn't answer.
"Get the fuck out of here before I make you."
Your hand instinctively settles over his forearm, your thumb tracing slow circles against the inside of his wrist. He's hot when he’s mean. Which is... honestly a little unfair.
You can't even see his face.
Benny, poor guy, wisely disappears. Probably deciding tonight isn't the night to die and practically scrambles away.
"Stay away from assholes, sweetheart."
"Oh? So we've skipped introductions and gone straight to pet names?"
You smile as you relax comfortably against him.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." His chest vibrates with quiet amusement. “Your friend Lily already told me everything I needed to know."
"And now you and my favorite bartender are conspiring against me? I see whose side you're on. Looks like I might be an asshole magnet."
He ducks his head, resting his forehead lightly against your shoulder as though trying not to laugh too hard.
And somehow...
That tiny gesture feels even more intimate than the arm around your waist.
You slowly turn in his arms so you can actually look at him.
God.
He really is handsome.
Rugged, with dark brows softened by kind eyes. Built like he’s used to taking up space and making people move around him. There’s a smattering of pale scars along his jaw and sharp cheek bone. The meanest post-military fade you've seen in years, grown out just enough to feel lived-in. But it’s his eyes that hold you.
Steady.
Watchful.
Strangely gentle in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him at all. He follows your movement as you study him, not flinching, not performing—just letting you look. He glances over your head, scanning the room one last time before looking back down at you.
"Sorry about that," he says quietly. "You shouldn't have had to deal with him."
"I could've handled it."
"I know you could've."
That answer catches you slightly off guard not disagreement, just certainty.
Then he adds, softer:
“Still shouldn’t have happened.”
A beat passes between you.
The noise of the bar feels farther away now than it did all night.
You recover first.
"Well," you grin, "now that you've scared him off... you ready to get your ass handed to you in pool, Mr. Brooklyn Lager?" His brow lifts slightly.
“What did you call me?”
“Brooklyn Lager.” You nod toward the bar without breaking eye contact.
“Your beer of choice. Since you apparently know my name but I don’t know yours.”
His nose wrinkles as a quiet huff of laughter escapes him— short, rough, almost disbelieving.
“You’re gonna be a piece of work, aren’t you?”
“Guilty.” You smile wider. “Mr. Brooklyn Lager.”That earns a real laugh this time. It’s low and a little rusty, like it hasn’t been used often enough to come easily.
He shakes his head.
“Frank,” he says finally. “Call me Frank.”
The name lands differently than the nickname. He watches to see how you take it. You don’t hesitate.
“Well, Frank…” You lace your fingers through his large, calloused hands and he lets you tug him gently toward your favorite corner pool table. “….let me show you why my name's still at the top of that champions list."
And for the first time all night, he lets you lead. The noise of Josie’s swallows you whole again, laughter, clinking glasses, the crack of a cue ball. But this time, he stays close behind you.
And the rest of the night disappears into laughter, close games, and Frank coming dangerously close to stealing your title.
Summary: You and Jack have been keeping your relationship quiet for months. It works, mostly, until a firefighter comes in as a patient and one of his teammates decides to flirt with you right in front of him. Jack trusts you. He does. But standing five feet away while another man acts like you’re available? That is a very different problem.
Author’s Note: Huge thank you to the lovely @jackr-abbott who requested this one. “He’s supposed to be your favorite man in uniform” immediately rewired my brain, and jealous, careful, secretly-in-love Jack was so much fun to write. I fear this may be my new favorite smut fic I’ve ever written. I hope this is everything you were hoping for.
Xoxo, Del
The firefighter came in bloody, pissed off, and trying very hard to pretend he was not in pain. It was just after two in the morning, which meant the emergency department had settled into that strange night-shift rhythm where everything felt too bright and too quiet until it suddenly wasn’t.
Crus was at the nurses’ station attempting to fix a jammed printer. Shen was half a hallway down, talking to a drunk college student about the emotional consequences of a fractured wrist. Ellis was already pulling gloves on when the ambulance bay doors opened. And Jack was beside you at the foot of trauma two, expression calm in the way that meant he had already started building a plan before the stretcher crossed the threshold.
“Thirty-four-year-old male, firefighter, injured on scene,” the paramedic said as the stretcher rolled in. “Partial ceiling collapse during overhaul. Took debris to the shoulder and left flank. No loss of consciousness. Vitals stable en route.”
The firefighter on the stretcher opened one eye. “You make it sound dramatic.”
“You got hit by part of a ceiling,” another firefighter said, walking in beside the stretcher with the run sheet in one hand. “It was dramatic.”
The patient frowned. “I walked out.”
His teammate looked down at him. “You were carried out.”
“I assisted,” the patient said.
“You complained,” the other firefighter corrected.
You bit back a smile as you stepped toward the bed. “Sounds like he’s alert.”
The teammate’s mouth curved. “Unfortunately.”
Jack’s mouth did not move, but you felt the almost-smile in him anyway. Jack braced one hand on the rail. “On three. One, two, three.”
The team transferred the firefighter to the trauma bed. He hissed through his teeth, jaw tightening hard as you helped guide his injured side down.
“I’m fine,” the firefighter said.
Jack looked at him over the end of the bed. “That usually means you’re not.”
You almost smiled again.
The firefighter’s teammate noticed. His attention shifted to you, quick and interested, and his mouth curved like he had decided the night had improved.
You held out your hand for the run sheet. “And you are?”
“Mason Brooks,” he said, passing it over. “Station Four.”
You glanced down at the paperwork. “Patient’s name?”
“Ryan Hale,” Mason said. “Lieutenant. Stubborn. Hero complex. Bad at following directions unless there’s active fire involved.”
Hale turned his head on the pillow. “I can still hear you.”
“Good,” Mason said. “Maybe this time it’ll sink in.”
You scanned the sheet. “Any meds? Allergies?”
Mason shifted closer to the end of the bed. “No known allergies. No daily meds. Unless coffee counts.”
“At this hour, it does,” you said.
Mason’s grin widened. “See, I knew I liked you.”
Jack’s hand paused for half a second on the bed rail. Half a second. Nothing more.
You kept your attention on the patient. “Lieutenant Hale,” you said, leaning into his line of sight. “I’m going to cut through your shirt so we can look at your shoulder and ribs, okay?”
Hale grimaced. “Whatever you need.”
Mason leaned a little closer, eyes still on you. “That offer extend to the rest of us, or just him?”
Crus, who had just stepped into the room, looked up immediately. Shen appeared in the doorway at exactly the wrong time, chart in hand. Ellis stopped opening a pack of gauze. You did not look at any of them. You also did not look at Jack. You could feel him perfectly well without that.
“Patient first,” you said, sliding the trauma shears through the fabric of Hale’s shirt. “Flirting never.”
Mason laughed, low and pleased, like you had given him exactly the answer he wanted. His eyebrows lifted. “Never?”
Jack reached over and adjusted the monitor lead near Hale’s shoulder. He did not need to. You knew that because you had already placed it. Still, his forearm came briefly into your space, a clean line of muscle and restraint under fluorescent light.
“Brooks,” Jack said.
The room went still in the way a room could only go still while everyone inside it kept working. Mason glanced at him.
Jack did not look away from the patient. “She needs room.”
Mason lifted both hands, grin still there. “I’m out of the way.”
Jack finally looked at him. “More.”
Crus looked down at the supply cart with sudden, religious interest. Shen pressed his lips together. Ellis coughed once into her shoulder. Mason took one step back. But he did not stop smiling. That was probably what did it. Because he was not being creepy. He was not interfering. He was not saying anything you could not handle. He was just obvious. Obvious enough that everyone in the room knew exactly what he was doing. Obvious enough that Jack had to stand beside you and pretend he did not care.
You palpated carefully along Hale’s shoulder. “Left shoulder tenderness. Possible clavicle involvement.”
Jack moved with you. Again. He stepped in at Hale’s other side, close enough that the two of you fell into the old rhythm before you could think about it. You checked the shoulder. Jack checked the ribs. You reached for gauze, and he passed it to you before you asked. Your fingers brushed. Barely. It was nothing. It was everything.
Jack kept his eyes on Hale. “Any trouble breathing?”
Hale shook his head. “No.”
Jack’s hand stilled near the bruising along Hale’s side. “Pain when you take a deep breath?”
You reached for the tablet beside the bed. “Already paging X-ray.”
Jack’s gaze cut to you. For one second, there he was. Your Jack. Not Dr. Abbot. Not the attending pretending he had not kissed you against your apartment door less than eight hours ago. Your Jack. The one who knew how you took your coffee on the night shift. The one who texted you to make sure you got inside when you drove home after dark.
Then he blinked, and the wall came back up. “Good,” Jack said.
Not thank you. Good. Professional enough to pass. Intimate enough to make your stomach turn over.
Mason glanced between you again, and even though he could not possibly know, you hated that he sensed something.
“So,” Mason said, looking at you while Jack checked the bruising along Hale’s flank, “you always make trauma look this easy?”
You reached for tape. Jack got it first. Again. He handed it to you without looking away from Hale. You stared at the roll in his hand for half a second before taking it.
“Only when men in uniform behave,” you said.
Crus made a strangled noise. Shen turned halfway toward the door like he needed a moment.
Ellis muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.
Despite yourself, your mouth curved. It was small. Barely there. The kind of smile you would have swallowed immediately if you had realized anyone was watching.
Mason saw it anyway. His own smile turned delighted.
“There it is,” Mason said.
You looked at him. “There what?”
Mason leaned lightly against the wall, still at the distance Jack had ordered him to keep. “That smile. I was starting to think you were going to make me work for it all night.”
Jack set the chart down. Quietly. Too quietly. Crus froze. Shen looked at Ellis. Ellis looked at you.
You kept your voice light, but final. “Mason.”
Mason held your gaze for one second, then nodded like he knew he had found the line.
“Too much?” he asked.
You gave him a pointed look. “Yes.”
Mason lifted one hand in surrender. “Got it.”
And he did. He stepped back, posture still easy, but his mouth finally closed, which you appreciated more than you wanted to admit. Jack moved to Hale’s other side, all precise hands and unreadable expression.
Jack glanced at Mason. “Anything else clinically relevant from the scene?”
Mason looked at him. This time, he did not smile. “No, sir,” Mason said.
Jack nodded once. “Good. Then we’ll take it from here.”
Mason looked toward Hale. “I’ll check back when they decide you’re not dying.”
Hale closed his eyes. “Bring coffee.”
Mason huffed. “You don’t deserve coffee.”
You smiled despite yourself. Mason saw it. Jack saw Mason see it. You knew because Jack stepped closer to the bed, blocking Mason’s line of sight like it was an accident. It was not an accident. Your breath caught. Mason’s gaze flicked to Jack’s back. Then to you. Then he nodded once, like something had finally clicked enough to make him curious.
“Nice to meet you,” Mason said.
You gave him a polite nod. “You too.”
Jack did not move until Mason left the room. Then the trauma bay exhaled. Crus was the first one brave enough to breathe like a person.
He looked at the supply cart. “I’m going to take these somewhere else.”
Jack did not look at him. “Good.”
Crus picked up a pack of gauze. “Great.”
Shen backed toward the doorway with the chart still in his hand. “I have a wrist fracture.”
Ellis gave him a look. “You personally?”
Shen ignored her and left. Ellis glanced between you and Jack, then dropped the unopened gauze onto the counter. “I’ll check on X-ray,” Ellis said.
Jack’s eyes stayed on Hale. “Thank you.”
Ellis left, too. Which left you with Jack, the patient, the beeping monitor, and the awful knowledge that Jack was standing close enough to touch you and still refusing to do it. Hale opened one eye.
“I’m on pain meds,” he said carefully, “so I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice any of that.”
Jack closed his eyes for half a second.
You pressed your lips together. “Notice any of what?” you asked.
Hale looked at you. Then at Jack. Then back at you.
“Exactly,” Hale said.
The corner of Jack’s mouth almost moved. Almost. Then the wall came back up.
“Rest,” Jack said.
Hale shut his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
The trauma bay emptied out in pieces after that. Hale went to imaging. Mason left with the rest of Station Four. Crus disappeared the second Jack gave him another look, though you knew he would be back the moment he thought it was safe to breathe near you again. Shen pretended to have somewhere to be. Ellis actually did. Which left you at the counter outside trauma two, finishing the chart with one hip pressed against the cabinet and the leftover adrenaline of the call still humming beneath your skin.
Jack stood a few feet away, reviewing Hale’s orders on the computer. He had not said much since Mason left. That was not unusual for Jack during a shift. It was unusual for Jack with you. You were still trying to decide whether you should say something when another night shift nurse, Drew, slid up beside you with a fresh roll of tape in one hand and a grin already working its way across his face.
“So,” Drew said.
You did not look up from the chart. “No.”
Drew laughed. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to,” you said.
Drew leaned his shoulder against the cabinet. “I was about to say Station Four was looking very heroic tonight.”
You paused. Across the counter, Jack’s typing stopped. Only for a second. Then it resumed. You felt your stomach tighten. Drew did not notice. Of course, he did not notice. He lowered his voice in the exact way people did when they thought they were being subtle and absolutely were not.
“Brooks was flirting hard,” Drew said.
You sighed. “He was doing a handoff.”
“Please.” Drew rolled his eyes. “He was doing a handoff, making prolonged eye contact, and trying to get your number through trauma paperwork.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. Tiny. Controlled. You saw it anyway.
“Drew,” you warned.
Drew smiled wider. “What? He was cute.”
“I’m not dating a firefighter,” you said.
Drew frowned. “Okay, but we love a man in uniform.”
Jack went still. Not enough for anyone else to call it that. Not enough to be obvious. But the air around him changed again. You hated that your first instinct was to look at him. You hated more that you could not. Because looking at Jack right now would say too much. Instead, you kept your eyes on the chart and forced your voice to stay light.
“We?” you asked.
Drew pointed the roll of tape at you. “As a community.”
You gave him a look.
Drew shrugged. “A broad and beautiful community of people with eyes.”
Despite yourself, you almost laughed. Almost. Jack closed the chart on his screen. A little too carefully. You heard the click of the mouse. You felt it somewhere behind your ribs.
“I’m good,” you said.
Drew made a face. “You’re still doing that no-dating thing?”
You swallowed. The no-dating thing. Right. The harmless lie you had told people months ago when you and Jack had started becoming something neither of you had wanted to expose to hospital fluorescent lighting.
No dating. Too busy. Not worth the complication.
A clean little excuse that had felt easy at the time.
Now, with Jack standing five feet away while another nurse encouraged you to go for a firefighter who had made him spend an entire trauma case pretending not to know you, it felt cruel.
“I’m good,” you repeated, softer this time.
Drew studied you for a second, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if Brooks comes back asking about you, I’m telling him you’re single and mysterious.”
“Drew,” you said.
He lifted both hands. “What?”
You pointed at him. “Do not do that.”
Drew grinned. “Fine. Single and terrifyingly unavailable.”
Jack looked up then. You felt it. His gaze on you. Not long. Not enough. Just a brief, controlled flick of his eyes that landed like a hand around your wrist.
Drew finally seemed to register the temperature of the room. His gaze shifted from you to Jack, then back again.
“Oh,” Drew said.
Your heart kicked once. Jack’s expression did not change.
“What?” you asked.
Drew blinked. “Nothing.”
“Drew,” you warned.
“Nothing,” he repeated, suddenly fascinated by the roll of tape in his hand. “I’m going to restock three.”
He left too quickly. You stood there with your pen in your hand, your chart unfinished, and the awful knowledge that Jack was still looking at you. For one second, neither of you moved. Then Jack lowered his gaze back to the computer.
“Patient in four needs discharge papers,” Jack said.
Professional. Careful. A clean line drawn in the middle of the hallway.
You nodded, even though he was not looking at you anymore. “Okay.”
Jack clicked into another chart. You watched the muscle in his jaw move once. Then nothing. No comment about Drew. No sharp little confession. No hint that he cared whether Mason thought you were single, mysterious, available, unavailable, or anything else. Just Jack going quiet in the exact way that meant he was locking something down before it could get loose.
That was worse, somehow.
Because you knew him well enough to hear everything he refused to say. I know you are not going to go for it. I know you do not want him. I know this is not your fault. I still hated every second of it.
For the next twenty minutes, Jack stayed close. Not close enough for anyone to call it anything. Close enough that you noticed. He took the chart from your hand before Shen could reach for it. He stepped in beside you when Hale came back from imaging. He passed you gauze before you asked, tape before you reached, a fresh pair of gloves when yours tore at the wrist. Every touch almost happened. His knuckles almost brushed yours. His shoulder almost grazed your back. His hand almost settled at your waist when he moved behind you in the narrow space between the counter and the supply cart. Almost. Almost. Almost.
And each time, Jack pulled back before contact could become evidence. It was maddening. It was careful. It was so painfully him that you wanted to scream.
When Mason came back to check on Hale, Jack was already at your side.
Mason stopped near the doorway, gaze flicking from Hale to you. “How’s he doing?”
“He’ll live,” you said.
Hale groaned from the bed. “Barely.”
Jack looked at the tablet in his hand. “No fracture. No pneumothorax. Observation for pain control and repeat exam.”
Mason nodded, but his eyes came back to you. “Good. I’d hate to think I left him in the wrong hands.”
You opened your mouth. Jack answered before you could. “She has it handled.”
The room went quiet. Mason’s brows lifted slightly. You looked at Jack. Jack did not look at you. His eyes stayed on Mason, calm and unreadable.
Mason’s mouth curved, slower this time. “I can see that.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. You set the tablet down before either of them could say another word.
“Lieutenant Hale needs rest,” you said, voice light but firm. “And I need both of you to stop having whatever conversation you think you’re having over his bed.”
Hale opened one eye. “Thank you.”
Mason laughed once, lifting both hands. “Fair.”
Jack finally looked at you. There was heat there. Frustration. Something too sharp to be professional and too controlled to be anything else. You held his gaze for half a second too long. Then Jack looked away first.
“Brooks,” Jack said, voice even. “You can check back in after he’s had some rest.”
Mason nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
He looked at you one last time. “Good seeing you again,” Mason said.
You gave him a polite nod. “You too.”
Jack moved before Mason fully cleared the doorway. It was subtle. A step to the side. A shift of his body. Nothing anyone could call possessive. But it put him directly between you and Mason’s line of sight. Your breath caught. Mason saw it. You knew he saw it because his expression changed just enough. Curiosity. Recognition. Not understanding, exactly. But close. Then Mason left.
Hale looked between you and Jack from the bed.
“I’m still on pain meds,” Hale said carefully, “so I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice that either.”
Jack’s eyes closed again. You pressed your lips together. From the doorway, Crus made the mistake of appearing with Hale’s updated paperwork. He looked at Jack. Then at you. Then at Hale.
“I can come back,” Crus said.
Jack turned his head. “Crus.”
Crus nodded. “Coming back.”
He disappeared immediately. You exhaled through your nose and grabbed the tablet from the counter.
“I’m going to restock,” you said.
Jack’s gaze followed you. “Now?”
“Yes,” you said, not looking at him. “Now.”
You made it halfway down the hall before Jack caught up. He did not call your name. He did not say anything at all. He just reached past you, opened the supply closet door, and said, low enough that only you could hear, “In.”
Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him. “Excuse me?”
Jack’s eyes held yours. “Please.”
That was worse. That was much worse. You stepped inside. The second the door clicked shut, Jack’s hand closed around your wrist. Not hard. Just firm enough to turn you back toward him before you could take another breath.
“Jack—”
He kissed you.
The word disappeared against his mouth. For one stunned second, you froze, caught between the metal shelf at your back and the heat of him in front of you. Then your body caught up faster than your brain did. Your hands found his scrub top, fingers curling into the fabric as Jack stepped closer and kissed you like he had been holding himself back all night. Because he had. You knew it in the way his mouth moved over yours.
Controlled, but only barely. Careful, but not calm.
His hand slid to your waist, pulling you in once before he seemed to remember where you were and stopped himself from dragging you fully against him. When he broke the kiss, his breath was uneven. You stared up at him. Jack’s eyes were dark.
Your lips parted. “Oh.”
His jaw flexed. “Don’t.”
“You’re jealous,” you said.
Jack looked toward the closed door like it had personally offended him. “I’m not doing this here.”
“You pulled me into a supply closet and kissed me,” you replied.
Jack exhaled. “I needed to talk to you.”
You lifted your brows. “That wasn’t talking.”
Jack’s eyes cut back to yours. There he was. Irritated. Wound tight. Too handsome for your peace of mind.
“You’ve been acting strange all night,” you said.
Jack dropped his hand from your waist, but he did not step back. “I’ve been working.”
Your eyes narrowed, “You’ve been keeping me within arm’s reach.”
Jack did not answer. That silence landed harder than a confession.
You softened your voice. “Jack.”
His gaze stayed on yours, stubborn and hot and miserable.
“Is this because of Mason?” you asked.
Jack laughed once, short and humorless. “Mason,” he repeated, like the name tasted bad.
You bit the inside of your cheek. Jack looked away, but this time there was something grumpy and sharp tucked into the movement.
“Drew had plenty to say about him,” Jack said.
The memory came back immediately. Station Four was looking very heroic tonight. He was cute. Okay, but we love a man in uniform.
Your mouth curved before you could stop it.
Jack saw it. His eyes narrowed. “What?”
You shook your head. “Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing,” Jack replied.
You tilted your head. “You’re mad about what Drew said.”
Jack replied instantly. “I’m not mad about what Drew said.”
You gave him a look.
Jack’s mouth tightened. “He said you should go for it.”
You sighed softly. “He was teasing.”
“He said everyone loves a man in uniform,” Jack replied, short, slightly clipped.
You stepped closer, letting your hands smooth slowly up his chest.
“And you think I was looking at Mason in uniform?” you asked.
“I think,” Jack said, each word too controlled, “Brooks knew exactly what he looked like walking into that room.”
You hummed. “Did he?”
Jack's tone sharpened into a warning, “Baby.”
There it was. The first slip. The first crack in the professional distance he had forced between you all night.
Your stomach flipped, but you did not let him off the hook. “He’s not the man I want to see in uniform.”
Jack went still. Not tense. Not cold. Still. Like the words had gone straight through him.
“No?” Jack asked.
You shook your head. “No.”
The supply closet felt smaller suddenly. Too quiet. Too warm.
Jack’s eyes held yours. “Careful.”
You continued despite Jack’s warning. “You are.”
His mouth parted slightly. You let your gaze move over him, slow enough to be cruel.
“And you know exactly what you look like in your SWAT gear.”
Jack’s hand braced on the shelf beside your head. He was not touching you. Not yet. But his body crowded yours, all heat and restraint, and your pulse jumped like it had been waiting for permission.
“I pulled you in here because I was jealous,” Jack said, voice rough. “And now you’re talking about SWAT gear.”
“No,” you said, fingers curling in the front of his scrub top. “I’m telling you, Mason could never.”
Jack’s gaze dropped to your hands.
You tugged him closer by a fraction. “He could never make me feel like you do.”
Jack’s eyes lifted back to yours.
“He could never kiss me like you do,” you said.
Jack kissed you again. Harder this time. The shelf pressed into your back as his mouth found yours, and you made a soft, startled sound that disappeared into him. Jack swallowed it like it belonged to him. His hand returned to your waist, fingers tightening once, and the possessive edge of it made your knees go weak. He kissed you like a man trying to prove a point he had no business proving at work.
Then he pulled back just enough to breathe. You should have stopped. You did not. You caught his wrist before he could move his hand away.
Jack’s eyes sharpened. “Baby.”
You held his gaze and guided his hand back to your waist. “He could never touch me like you do.”
Jack’s fingers flexed against you. You moved his hand lower, slow enough that he could stop you if he wanted to. He did not. His palm settled over your ass, firm and hot through your scrubs, and his jaw went tight enough to make your stomach flip.
Your voice dropped. “Never.”
Jack’s breath left him roughly. His hand tightened once before he forced it still.
“You need to stop,” Jack said.
You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his scrub pants and pulled him closer. Not much. Just enough. Jack’s hips pressed into yours, and the sound he made was low, wrecked, barely controlled.
You looked up at him. “He could never fuck me like you do.”
Jack snapped.
His mouth was on yours before you could take another breath. This kiss was not careful. Not at first. It was hot and rough and immediate, his hand tightening on your ass as he pinned you back against the shelf with the solid heat of his body. Your fingers twisted in his waistband, pulling him closer while his mouth opened over yours, swallowing the small sound that slipped out of you. For one dizzy second, there was no hospital. No night shift. No Mason. No Drew. No secret. Just Jack’s mouth, Jack’s hands, Jack’s body pressed hard against yours as if he needed you to feel exactly how much he had been holding back.
Your hand slid up his chest. Jack’s hips pushed into yours again, and your breath broke against his mouth.
“Jack,” you whispered.
He kissed you once more, deep and hungry, and then stopped like it hurt. His forehead dropped to yours. Both of you were breathing too hard. His hand stayed on you for one more second. Then his fingers loosened.
“Not here,” Jack said.
Your eyes opened slowly. “Jack.”
His voice was rough, almost unsteady. “Not because I’m jealous.”
Your fingers were still hooked in his waistband. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint pulled tight through every line of his body. He lifted his head enough to look at you.
“Not at work,” Jack said. “Not where anyone can walk in and make you pay for it.”
Your chest squeezed, even through the heat still crawling under your skin. “You think I’d regret it?” you asked.
Jack’s expression softened for half a second, but his voice stayed wrecked. “I think I care about you too much to find out in a supply closet.”
You stared at him. “That is so annoying.”
His mouth twitched, though his eyes were still dark. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” You let go of his waistband slowly, even though it cost you. “Responsible. Principled. Deeply inconvenient.”
Jack’s hand slid from your ass back to your waist. Just once. Firm. Careful. Then he let go. He leaned close again, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear.
“Finish the shift,” Jack said.
Your eyes fluttered. “And then?”
Jack stepped back, putting space between you like it physically hurt. His gaze moved over your face, lingering on your mouth before coming back to your eyes. “Then you come home with me.”
Your pulse jumped. You tried to smile. “And?”
Jack reached for the supply closet door, but he looked back before opening it. “And then you can say all of that again.”
You stepped out of the supply closet first. That had been Jack’s idea. He gave you thirty seconds, like that would somehow fix your mouth, your breathing, your pulse, or the fact that your whole body still felt marked by his hands. You made it three steps before Crus appeared at the end of the hall. He looked at you. You looked at him. Crus’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth. Then he looked at the supply closet door behind you.
You lifted a finger. “Don’t.”
Crus nodded immediately. “Wasn’t going to.”
Your eyes narrowed, “You were thinking.”
“I can stop,” Crus said.
You nodded once, “Do that.”
Crus pointed vaguely toward the nurses’ station. “I’m going to go over there.”
You nodded. “Great idea.”
Crus took two steps backward before turning around completely. You waited until he disappeared, then pressed the heel of your hand beneath your collarbone like that would keep your heart where it belonged. Thirty seconds later, Jack came out. You did not turn around. You did not need to. You felt him behind you the same way you had felt him all night. Close. Controlled. Ruining your life with restraint. Jack passed you without touching you, but his voice dipped low enough that only you could hear. “Breathe.”
Your eyes closed for half a second. “Don’t start.”
Jack paused beside you, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. “I’m not starting anything.”
You looked up at him. “You absolutely started something.”
His mouth twitched, but he kept his eyes on the hall. “Finish the shift.”
You exhaled shakily. “You keep saying that like it’s easy.”
Jack’s gaze cut to yours. For one second, the supply closet was there again. His mouth on yours. His hand at your waist. His voice against your ear. Then Jack looked away first.
“I didn’t say easy,” he said.
Your stomach flipped. He walked away before you could answer. You stood there for one more second, furious with him for being principled and even more furious with yourself for finding it attractive.
You lasted eleven minutes. That was generous, considering the state Jack had left you in. Eleven whole minutes of pretending you could chart, restock, answer Drew’s question about room six, and not think about Jack’s mouth on yours in the supply closet. Eleven minutes of watching him move through the department like he had not just pinned you to a shelf and then ruined your life by being responsible about it. He was at the nurses’ station when you looked up again, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of coffee, the other scrolling through something on his phone. His shoulders were relaxed. His face was calm. He looked controlled.
That annoyed you. It annoyed you enough that you reached into your scrub pocket for your phone. The photo was not new. You had taken it two nights ago in Jack’s bedroom, sitting on the floor in front of his mirror while he was in the shower. Your face was hidden behind your phone, one knee bent, your other leg folded beneath you. Lace hugged your hips, one strap sitting soft against your shoulder, the whole thing intimate and quiet and unmistakably meant for him.
It did not show everything.
It did not have to.
Jack knew what that set looked like in person. Jack knew what it looked like on his bedroom floor. You stared at the photo for half a second. Then you looked across the department. Jack lifted his coffee to his mouth. You selected the photo. Underneath it, you typed: For the record, Mason never got one of these.
You pressed send. Across the station, Jack’s phone lit up. He glanced down. His thumb moved over the screen. For one second, nothing happened. Then his coffee stopped halfway to his mouth. Your stomach flipped. Jack lowered the cup slowly. Very slowly. His jaw tightened.
Your phone buzzed in your hand.
Jack: Fuck. You’re beautiful.
Your breath caught. For half a second, all the smugness drained out of you. Then another message appeared.
Jack: And you know exactly what you’re doing.
Your mouth curved. You typed back. You: Good.
Across the station, Jack looked up. His eyes found yours immediately. Dark. Focused. Not even close to calm. Your phone buzzed again. Jack: Careful.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket and picked up the chart in front of you. Jack kept looking at you. You did not look back. That was the point.
For the rest of the shift, you behaved. Mostly. You answered call lights. You updated Hale’s chart. You helped Drew turn over room three. You gave Ellis the lab results she had been waiting for and listened to Shen complain about discharge instructions with the appropriate amount of sympathy. And every so often, you made Jack’s life worse. Not loudly. Never obviously. You were smarter than that. You brushed past him in the narrow hallway with just enough space between you for plausible deniability and not nearly enough for mercy. Jack’s hand tightened around the chart he was holding. You did not smile until you were past him.
Five minutes later, you reached around him at the counter for a roll of tape you did not actually need. Jack went still when your chest nearly touched his arm.
You kept your voice sweet. “Excuse me.”
His eyes cut to yours. “There are three rolls on the other side.”
You looked down at the tape in your hand. “I like this one.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. Drew passed behind you with a stack of blankets, looked between you and Jack, and immediately changed direction.
“Nope,” Drew said.
You turned toward him. “What?”
Drew kept walking. “I have no questions.”
Jack leaned closer under the cover of reaching for a pen. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear. “You’re being a brat.”
Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him, all innocence. “Am I?”
Jack’s eyes held yours. “Yes.”
The word landed low in your stomach. You swallowed. Jack noticed. For one second, the corner of his mouth almost moved. Then he straightened, professional mask sliding back into place like he had not just knocked the air out of you with one word.
“Room four needs vitals,” Jack said.
You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, doctor.”
His gaze flicked to your mouth. “Careful,” Jack said.
You smiled because you had no survival instinct left. “Trying.”
You were not trying. You both knew it.
By six, the department had thinned into the gray, half-awake quiet that came right before day shift started filling the halls with fresh voices and clean coffee. Hale had been admitted for observation. Mason had not come back. Drew had given you exactly one suspicious look and then wisely chosen to become fascinated by a supply cabinet. Shen had avoided the trauma hallway entirely. Ellis handed you a stack of discharge papers without comment, then looked at your face for half a second too long.
You narrowed your eyes. “What?”
Ellis lifted one shoulder. “Nothing.”
You exhaled. “That sounded like something.”
“It was internal,” Ellis replied.
You nodded. “Keep it that way.”
Ellis nodded in return. “Absolutely.”
From the attending station, Jack signed off on a chart and handed it to Crus. Crus took it carefully, like it might explode.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Crus shook his head. “Nothing.” Jack stared at him. Crus swallowed. “Lots of nothing this morning.”
You pressed your lips together and turned away before you could laugh. Jack’s gaze found you anyway. It landed on the side of your face, warm and heavy and impossible to ignore. You looked down at the chart in your hand and tried to remember how to read. When your shift finally ended, you made it to the staff room before Jack did.
A little after seven, you changed out of your scrub top with fingers that were not as steady as you wanted them to be. You shoved your things into your bag, checked your phone, then checked it again, even though nothing had changed. Jack had not texted. He did not need to. You both knew where you were going. Still, when you stepped into the hallway and found him waiting near the exit, your breath caught. He had changed into a dark jacket over his T-shirt, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his keys. He looked tired. He looked composed. He looked like the man who had stopped himself in a supply closet and expected you to survive that information.
Jack’s eyes moved over you once. “You ready?”
You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Are you?”
His jaw shifted. You watched him fight a smile and lose by half an inch. “Car’s this way,” Jack said.
You followed him into the parking garage without another word. The walk to his truck felt longer than it should have. Neither of you touched. Neither of you spoke. Your hands kept brushing close enough that you could feel the almost of it, and by the time Jack unlocked the truck, you were so aware of him it felt embarrassing.
He opened the passenger door. You looked up at him. “Still being responsible?”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Trying.”
You quirked a brow, “How’s that going?”
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Poorly,” he said.
You slid into the seat before you could do something stupid in the parking garage, too. Jack closed the door with more care than necessary. The drive to his place was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged. The kind of quiet that had weight. The kind that pressed between your ribs and reminded you of everything waiting on the other side of his front door.
Jack kept one hand on the wheel. The other rested near the gear shift. Halfway there, you reached over and touched his wrist. Jack’s fingers flexed once, but he did not look away from the road.
You traced your thumb over the inside of his wrist. “You okay?”
His throat moved. “No,” Jack said.
Your chest tightened. He glanced at you then, quick and honest in the dark cab of the truck. “But I will be.”
You nodded and left your hand where it was. Jack turned his wrist beneath your touch and threaded his fingers through yours. It was the first real contact since the closet. His thumb dragged once over your knuckles. Slow. Controlled. The way he did everything when he was trying not to lose his mind. You looked down at your joined hands and felt your pulse jump. He was touching you now. He was still holding back.
Jack pulled into the small driveway behind his townhouse and cut the engine. For one second, neither of you moved. Your hand was still in his. His thumb moved once across your knuckles, slow and absent, like he was reminding himself you were there.
You looked over at him. “Jack.”
His eyes stayed forward. “I know.”
You waited. Jack exhaled through his nose, then turned his head enough to look at you. The porch light cut across his face, catching the tired set of his eyes, the rough edge of his restraint, the stubborn line of his mouth. He looked like he had survived the shift. Barely.
“You coming inside?” he asked.
Your heart kicked. You nodded. “Yeah.”
Jack’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. Then he opened his door. You watched him get out, watched him come around the front of the truck, watched him open your door like the silence between you was not doing half the work for him. He held out his hand. You took it. Jack helped you down, then let go immediately.
You frowned. “Really?”
He shut the passenger door. “Inside.”
The word landed low in your stomach. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and followed him toward the back door. He did not touch you while he unlocked it. He did not touch you when he stepped aside to let you in first. He did not touch you when the door closed behind him, and the lock clicked into place. That was how you knew you were in trouble. You stepped into the familiar quiet of his townhouse, and something in your chest softened before you could stop it. His boots were lined up neatly by the door. Your shoes from two nights ago were tucked beside them. The mug you always stole was upside down in the drying rack. The blanket you liked was folded over the back of the couch, neater than you had ever left it.
The sweatshirt you kept stealing was draped over the stair railing. Evidence. Everywhere. Tiny, domestic evidence that you belonged here. Jack set his keys in the bowl by the door. You watched his hands. Slow. Controlled. Infuriating. Then he turned back to you.
“Bag down,” Jack said.
Your breath caught. You lifted your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
His eyes held yours. “You heard me.”
You stared at him for a second. Then, because apparently you had learned nothing from the supply closet, you smiled. “Is this the part where you get bossy?”
Jack stepped closer, not rushing, not touching, just taking up space until the air between you felt thinner. “This is the part where you listen.”
Your stomach flipped. “Because I sent you a picture?”
Jack’s gaze moved over your face. “Because you sent me that picture at work.”
“You liked it.”
His eyes darkened. “I loved it.”
The honesty in his voice nearly ruined your smugness. Nearly.
You tilted your chin up. “Then I don’t see the problem.”
Jack’s mouth curved, but it was not soft. Not yet.
“The problem,” he said, “is that you knew exactly what you were doing.”
You let your bag slide off your shoulder and drop gently beside your feet. “There,” you said. “I listened.”
Jack glanced at the bag. Then back at you. “Good.”
The single word moved through you like a hand. You swallowed.
His expression shifted by half a degree, the corner of his mouth barely moving.
“There she is,” he said quietly.
Your pulse jumped. “What?”
Jack stepped closer. “You were very brave at work,” he said.
You held his stare. “Was I?”
His hand came to the wall beside your head, not touching you, not yet. “Sending pictures. Brushing past me. Reaching for things you didn’t need.”
Your back met the door. Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You had a lot to say for someone who still had a shift to finish.”
Your breath came shallow. “You told me to finish it.”
“I did,” Jack replied.
You inhaled. “So I did.”
Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “You made it difficult.”
You smiled, slow and sweet. “Good.”
His hand finally came to your waist. Firm. Warm. Possessive enough to make your knees feel unreliable. Jack leaned in, his mouth near your ear.
“That’s the last time you say that without thinking first,” he said.
Your eyes fluttered shut. For one second, the brat in you went quiet.
Then you opened your eyes and turned your face toward his. “Or what?”
Jack went still. The room changed. His hand tightened at your waist once, not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you he had heard every bit of challenge in your voice. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. But there was something else there, too. Something tired. Something honest. Something that made your chest ache even while your body was still humming from the way he had you against the door.
“Or,” Jack said, voice low, “you’re going to make me forget what I actually need to say to you.”
Your smile faded. “Oh.”
His thumb moved once against your waist. “Yeah,” he said.
You softened under his hand. “Jack.”
He looked at you for a long second. Then the confession started, quiet and rough and bigger than the jealousy. “I hated it,” he said.
Your chest went still. You searched his face. “Mason?”
Jack shook his head once. “No.”
You waited. His jaw worked like the words were fighting him on the way out.
“I hated standing there like I didn’t know you,” Jack said.
Your throat tightened. He looked away, but only for a second. When his eyes came back to yours, there was no professional distance left in them.
“I hated hearing him talk to you like you were available,” Jack said. “I hated Drew saying you should go for it and knowing I couldn’t say a damn thing.”
You lifted your hand to his chest. “Jack.”
“I know why we’re careful,” he said.
His voice was low. Controlled. But not cold anymore. Never cold. “I know why it matters. I know what people can be like, and I know your career matters more than me needing to prove a point in a trauma bay.”
You stepped closer. “It’s not more than you.” Jack’s expression shifted. You held his gaze. “My career matters. So do you.”
He swallowed once. “I know you didn’t want him,” Jack said.
“I didn’t,” you agreed.
“I know,” he said again, softer this time. “That was never the problem.”
You took another careful breath. “Then what was?”
Jack looked at you for a long second. Then he said it. “Careful felt a hell of a lot like pretending tonight.”
Your breath caught.
His eyes stayed on yours, tired and dark and finally honest. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”
The room went quiet. The kind that settled around the two of you and made every other sound disappear. You stared at him. Jack’s hand tightened once at your waist. For the first time all night, he looked uncertain. That did something worse to you than the jealousy had. Worse than the supply closet. Worse than his hand on your waist, his mouth at your ear, his voice telling you to finish the shift.
You slid your hand up his chest. “You’re in love with me?” you asked.
His eyes searched your face. “Yes.”
The word was simple. No defense. No sarcasm. No place to hide. Your heart folded in on itself.
You touched his jaw. “Good.”
Jack’s brows drew together. “Good?”
You nodded, your thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble along his cheek. “Because I’m in love with you too.”
Jack’s breath left him slowly. Your chest ached with it. “With me?” he asked.
You gave him a look, even though your eyes were starting to sting. “Jack.”
His mouth curved faintly, but the vulnerability in his eyes stayed. “I had to ask.”
You shook your head. “You did not.”
“I did,” Jack replied.
You shook your head again and stepped closer until your body nearly touched his. “You are a ridiculous man.”
Jack’s hand finally settled more firmly at your waist. Like he had needed to hear it first. Like he had been waiting for permission to believe you. You covered his hand with yours and pressed it harder against you. His eyes darkened.
“There,” you whispered. “That’s better.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. “You have been a problem all night.”
Your mouth curved. “I have?” He gave you a flat look. You widened your eyes. “Was it the photo?”
Jack’s hand flexed at your waist. “Among other things.”
“I took that for you,” you said.
Jack nodded once. “I know.”
You slid your hands down his chest, watching the restraint settle back into his body for a very different reason now. “No one else gets that,” you said.
Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “No?”
You shook your head. “No.”
His thumb moved once against your waist. You let your voice soften into something sweet enough to be dangerous.
“No one else gets me in your room,” you said. “No one else gets your shirt on my floor. No one else gets those pictures.”
Jack’s breathing changed.
You lifted your chin. “And no one else gets to touch me the way you do.”
His eyes snapped back to yours. There he was. The same heat from the supply closet. The same jealousy. The same need. But now there was no hospital around it. No door someone could open. No chart waiting. No secret making him stand five feet away. Just Jack’s townhouse. Jack’s hand on your waist. Jack looking at you like he had finally stopped pretending.
“You said something like that earlier,” he said.
Your stomach dipped. “I said a lot earlier.”
His mouth curved, slow and rough at the edges. “You did.”
You held his gaze. “Which part?”
Jack’s other hand came to your hip. “The part where you said he could never.”
Your pulse jumped. You let your hands slide lower, fingers catching lightly at the waistband of his jeans this time.
“He couldn’t,” you said.
Jack stepped into you. Your back met the door again. The sound was soft. The shift in him was not. He crowded you slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, every chance to push back, every chance to choose something else. You chose him. You hooked your fingers more firmly into his waistband and pulled him closer. Jack’s breath caught.
You looked up at him. “He could never make me feel like you do.”
His hand slid from your waist to the door beside your head.
You smiled, because apparently you had not learned a single thing. “He could never kiss me like you do.”
Jack leaned in, his mouth hovering over yours. His voice was low. “You’re still being a brat.”
Your stomach flipped. You held his stare. “Maybe you’re still jealous.”
Jack’s eyes darkened. “Yes, baby,” he said. “I’m jealous.”
Your breath caught. His mouth brushed yours, barely a kiss. “But I’m also in love with you,” Jack said. “So if you want to keep being a brat about it, you’d better be very sure.”
Your fingers tightened in his waistband. You smiled against his mouth. “I’m sure.”
Jack kissed you then. Not like the supply closet. Not like a man trying to steal something before the rest of the world noticed. This was slower. Deeper. Worse, somehow, because there was nowhere for either of you to go now. No alarms. No monitors. No hallway footsteps. No coworker who might round the corner and force Jack to become Dr. Abbot again. There was just his townhouse. The locked door at your back. His hand at your waist. His mouth moving over yours like he finally had permission to take his time. You made a small sound into the kiss and felt his fingers tighten.
Jack pulled back just enough to breathe. “Say it again.”
Your eyes opened. He was close enough that his nose brushed yours, close enough that you could see every careful piece of him coming apart.
You swallowed. “I’m sure.”
Jack’s gaze darkened. “Not that.”
Your chest went soft. Oh. You slid your hand up the side of his neck. “I’m in love with you.”
His breath left him. For one second, he did nothing but look at you. Then Jack kissed you again, harder this time, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other pressed at your waist and pulled you fully against him. You went willingly. Of course you did. You had been going willingly all night, even when you were being impossible about it. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and Jack made a low sound against your mouth when you pulled. You did it again, just to hear it.
He broke the kiss with his lips still brushing yours. “Careful.”
You smiled against his mouth. “You keep saying that.”
“And you keep not listening,” Jack replied.
You tugged at his shirt. “Maybe you should do something about it.”
Jack went still. Only for a second. Only long enough for you to feel the air shift.
Then his hand covered yours, stilling your fingers against his chest.
“You are really committed to testing me tonight,” he said.
You opened your mouth, but Jack kissed whatever answer you had been about to give right out of you. Your back hit the door again, softer this time, his body crowding you in. He did not trap you. Not really. The space was there if you wanted it. You did not want it. You wanted him closer. You slid both hands beneath his jacket and shoved it off his shoulders. Jack let you get one sleeve down before he helped, shrugging out of it and dropping it somewhere near your abandoned bag. Your fingers went right back to his shirt. Jack caught your wrists.
You huffed against his mouth. “Jack.”
His grip stayed firm. “Slow down.”
“I waited all shift,” you replied.
Jack exhaled. “You teased me all shift.”
You lifted your chin. “You survived.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. Your pulse jumped. “That mouth,” he said quietly.
You smiled. “You like my mouth.”
His gaze dropped to it. “I love your mouth.”
The words went straight through you. Before you could recover, Jack’s hand slid to the hem of your top. His eyes lifted to yours. You nodded. Only then did he pull it up. You raised your arms, and Jack drew the fabric over your head, tossing it aside without looking away from you. His gaze moved over your bare shoulders, your chest, the rise and fall of your breathing. Not rushed. Not careless. Like he was taking inventory of every inch he had been denied all night.
Your breath caught. “Jack.”
“I know,” he said.
His hand came back to your waist, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb brushed the line where your bra met your ribs, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. You reached for his shirt again. This time, he let you. Your fingers dragged the fabric up his stomach, over his chest, and Jack ducked his head enough for you to pull it off. You dropped it beside your scrub top and forgot about it immediately. Because Jack was there. Warm skin. Bare chest. The muscles in his stomach shifting as he breathed. The dark look in his eyes when he realized you were staring. Your mouth went dry.
Jack’s hand slid up your side. “Still thinking about Mason?”
You almost laughed. It came out breathless instead. “No.”
His brow lifted. “No?”
You set both hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I told you. He could never.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. You felt it under your fingers, that tiny fracture in his control.
“He could never what?” he asked.
You knew what he was doing. You knew he wanted to hear it. You also knew you had spent the entire shift making him wait.
So you gave it to him. “He could never make me feel like this.”
Jack’s hand tightened at your waist. “Good girl,” he said.
Your knees nearly gave out. His mouth found yours again, and the kiss turned messy for the first time. Not uncontrolled. Jack was never uncontrolled. But rougher. Hungrier. His hand slid to your back, unclipping your bra with a practiced motion that made your entire body go hot.
You broke the kiss to look at him. “That was fast.”
His mouth brushed the corner of yours. “I’m a doctor.”
You laughed once, breathless and ruined. “That is not a medical skill.”
Jack slid the strap down your shoulder. “It is today.”
Your laugh caught when the bra slipped down your arms. Jack’s gaze followed. His expression changed. Not dramatically. Not in some obvious, theatrical way. But enough that your teasing vanished.
His thumb brushed beneath your breast, barely touching. “Fuck.” Your breath shook. Jack looked back up at you. “Beautiful.”
Your chest tightened at the softness in his voice. You reached for him again, but Jack caught your wrist and pressed your hand back to the door beside your head.
“Not yet,” he said.
You stared at him. “Not yet?”
His mouth curved faintly. “You heard me.”
You swallowed. Jack leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw, then the sensitive place beneath your ear. His hand moved slowly down your body, over your ribs, your waist, your hip, stopping at the waistband of your scrub pants.
“You were very brave at work,” he said against your skin.
Your eyes fluttered. “Was I?”
“Sending that picture,” Jack said. “Brushing past me. Reaching around me for tape you didn’t need.”
You gripped the doorframe with your free hand. “I liked that tape.”
Jack’s teeth grazed gently beneath your ear. Your breath caught.
“You liked making me watch you pretend you weren’t doing it on purpose,” he said.
You turned your face toward his. “Maybe.”
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants. Your hips shifted toward him before you could stop yourself.
Jack’s mouth curved against your jaw. “There she is.”
You hated how much you loved when he said that. You hated more that he knew.
Jack drew back enough to look at you. “Say my name.”
Your lips parted. “Jack.”
His eyes darkened. “Again.”
You swallowed. “Jack.”
He kissed you once, deep and slow, then hooked his fingers in your waistband and started to pull. You lifted your hips from the door just enough to help him. Jack lowered your pants inch by inch, taking your underwear with them, his eyes on yours until the fabric slipped down your thighs. You stepped out of them. He stayed standing. Still half dressed. Still in control. Still watching you like he had all the time in the world. You were bare in front of him, goosebumps erupting across your skin. Jack followed your gaze. His mouth twitched.
You narrowed your eyes. “It’s cold.”
Jack’s hand slid to your bare hip. “Baby, you are shaking for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.”
Your face warmed. “You’re very smug right now.”
“I’m very patient right now,” Jack corrected.
You gave him a look. “Are you?”
Jack’s eyes moved over you once, slow and devastating. “No,” he said. “But I’m trying to make a point.”
Your stomach dipped. “What point?”
He stepped closer, his jeans brushing your bare thigh. “That you are going to remember exactly who you came home with.”
Your breath left you. Jack’s hand came to the back of your neck, tipping your face up.
“Who did you come home with?” he asked.
You stared at him. “You.”
His thumb brushed the side of your throat. “Say my name.”
“Jack.”
His mouth ghosted over yours. “Good girl.”
You surged up to kiss him, but Jack pulled back before you could catch his mouth. You made a frustrated sound. He smiled then. Just barely. Mean enough to make your pulse trip.
“Upstairs,” Jack said.
Your body went still. “What?”
His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, holding you there gently. “Upstairs,” he repeated.
You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “Like this?”
Jack’s gaze dropped over you. Then came back to your face. “Yes.”
Your breath caught. You glanced toward the stairs, then at his jeans, still very much on, still entirely unfair. “You’re dressed.”
“I am,” Jack replied.
You glared. “That seems uneven.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “You had your fun at work.”
You blinked at him. “So this is revenge?”
His expression softened for half a second, just enough to remind you that underneath all of this, he loved you. Then his thumb brushed your lower lip. “No,” Jack said. “This is me taking my time.”
Your stomach flipped. You turned toward the stairs, trying very hard to pretend your legs felt steady. They did not. Jack stayed close behind you as you started up, close enough that you could feel the heat of him without him touching you.
You looked back over your shoulder halfway up. “You coming?”
His eyes dragged over you, slow enough to make you regret the question. “Keep walking,” Jack said.
You faced forward immediately. Behind you, Jack made a low sound that might have been amusement. You gripped the railing and kept going. By the time you reached his bedroom, your skin felt too tight, every nerve lit with the awareness of him behind you. The room was dark except for the faint glow from the hallway and the weak morning light edging around the curtains. You had been in this room before. You knew the dresser. The bed. The chair in the corner where Jack folded his clothes too neatly. The mirror where you had taken the picture that had started all of this. But with Jack behind you and your clothes scattered downstairs, it felt different. It felt like a consequence. Jack stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. You turned toward him. He looked at you for one long second. Then his gaze flicked to the bed. “Sit,” Jack said.
You sat. Jack did not move right away. He stood near the closed bedroom door, shirtless, jeans low on his hips, hair slightly mussed from your hands, and looked at you like you were something he had been waiting all night to get alone. Your knees pressed together on instinct.
His gaze dropped briefly, then came back to your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he said.
Your breath caught. You eased your knees apart. Not much. Enough.
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Good girl,” he said.
The praise went straight through you. You gripped the edge of the mattress. “Jack.”
He stepped closer. “What?”
You looked up at him, bare and aching and already tired of him being so controlled. “Come here.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “That sounded like an order.”
You lifted your chin. “Maybe it was.”
His eyes darkened. For a second, you thought he might make you take it back. Instead, Jack crossed the room slowly, each step measured, until he was standing between your knees. Close. Still too dressed. Still too smug. You reached for his waistband. Jack caught your wrist. Your pulse jumped.
His grip was gentle, but it stopped you completely. “No,” he said.
You blinked up at him. “No?”
Jack’s thumb moved over the inside of your wrist, the same place you had touched him in the truck. “You’ve had your hands where you wanted them all night.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You sent me a picture at work,” Jack said. “You brushed against me every chance you got. You reached around me for tape you didn’t need.”
“I liked that tape,” you murmured.
“And now,” he said, ignoring you completely, “you think you get to decide when you touch me.”
Your mouth went dry. Jack looked down at your hand, still caught in his. Then his other hand moved to his belt. The buckle clicked open. Your fingers went still.
His gaze lifted to yours. “There she is.”
Your breath caught. “Jack.”
He slid the belt free slowly, leather dragging through denim, the sound quiet and devastating in the dark room. Your thighs tensed around his legs. Jack folded the belt once in his hand. Then he stopped. His expression changed, just enough that the heat in the room made space for something steadier.
“Tell me no, and it goes on the floor,” he said.
Your chest rose and fell once. Then again. You looked from the belt to his face. He was not smiling now. He was waiting. Making sure. Letting you choose.
“Yes,” you said.
Jack did not move. “Yes, what?”
Your pulse beat hard beneath his fingers. “Yes,” you said, quieter now. “Use it.”
Only then did Jack move. He brought your hand to your other one, gathering your wrists together with a care that made your throat tighten. He looped the belt around them once, then again, not tight enough to hurt, not tight enough to frighten you, just enough that when he held the end in his fist, your hands belonged exactly where he put them. Jack slid one finger beneath the leather, checking the space. Your stomach fluttered.
“Too tight?” he asked.
You shook your head. His eyes held yours. “Words.”
“No,” you said. “It’s not too tight.”
“Good.” He lifted your bound wrists and kissed the inside of one. The gentleness almost ruined you. Then he guided your hands above your head and pressed them to the mattress as he leaned over you. Your back met the bed. Your breath left you. Jack hovered above you, one hand holding the end of the belt, the other planted beside your head. His body did not cover yours yet. Not fully. He was making you feel every inch of space. Every second of waiting. Every consequence of what you had done to him all night.
“You still feel brave?” he asked.
You swallowed. “A little.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “A little?”
You tugged experimentally at the belt. His hand tightened. Not rough. Certain. Your body reacted before you could pretend it hadn’t.
Jack’s gaze sharpened. “Oh,” he said softly. “More than a little.”
Your face warmed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes,” Jack said. The honesty made your stomach drop. He leaned down, mouth brushing your jaw, then your throat. “I loved the photo.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
“I loved knowing you took it for me,” he said against your skin. “Loved knowing no one else gets that.”
His mouth moved lower, over your collarbone, down the center of your chest. Your wrists shifted above your head. Jack held them there.
“But you knew exactly what it would do to me,” he said.
You arched when his mouth brushed your breast. “Jack.”
He paused. His eyes lifted to yours. “Say it again,” he said.
Your mind felt slow. “What?”
“My name.”
Your breath shook. “Jack.”
His mouth closed over you. Your back arched off the mattress. Jack’s grip on the belt held firm, keeping your hands above your head while his tongue moved over you with the same patience that had been ruining you all night. You pulled against the restraint. He did not let you move. You made a frustrated sound.
Jack lifted his head. “What do you want?”
You stared at him. “You.”
“You have me,” Jack answered.
You exhaled, “Jack.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Use your words.”
Your thighs shifted restlessly. “Touch me.”
He kissed the center of your chest. “I am touching you.”
You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to never stop hearing him sound like that. “More,” you said.
Jack’s eyes darkened. “There you go.”
He kissed lower. Slowly. Too slowly. Down your stomach, over your hip, along the inside of your thigh until you were trembling before he had even put his mouth where you needed it. You tried to reach for him. The belt stopped you.
Jack looked up from between your thighs. “Hands stay there.”
Your breath caught. “You’re holding them there.”
“I know,” he answered.
You huffed. “Then why are you telling me?”
His mouth brushed your inner thigh. “Because I like hearing you try to listen.”
Your eyes closed. “You’re impossible.”
Jack kissed higher. “You love me.”
Your chest went soft and hot at the same time. “I do,” you whispered.
Jack went still. Not completely. Just enough. Then his eyes lifted to yours. “Say it again.”
Your breath caught. His hand loosened on the belt slightly, not enough to free you, just enough for his thumb to brush over your knuckles.
You looked at him, your chest tight, your body aching. “I love you,” you said.
Jack’s expression shifted. For one second, all the teasing left him. All the controlled heat. All the jealousy. There was only Jack, looking at you like he had heard something sacred. Then he turned his head and kissed the inside of your thigh.
“I love you too,” he said against your skin.
Your eyes burned. Then his mouth found you. Your thoughts scattered. “Oh—” Your back arched. “Jack.”
He hummed low, one arm hooking beneath your thigh to hold you open, the other still keeping the belt steady. His mouth moved like he had been waiting all night for this too, like every second of restraint had sharpened into focus. You tried to close your thighs around him. He did not let you. “Jack, please.”
He lifted his head just enough to answer. “Please what?”
You made a sound that was almost a sob. “Please don’t stop.”
His eyes darkened. “That’s better,” he said.
Then he went back to you. You lost track of the room after that. There was only Jack’s mouth, his hand, the belt around your wrists, the rough warmth of his voice when he told you to keep saying his name.
“Jack,” you gasped.
His fingers joined his mouth, careful at first, then certain when your body opened for him. Your hips moved. Jack held you down with one forearm across your lower stomach.
“Stay,” he said.
You shook your head against the mattress. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Jack replied.
You started to say, “Jack—”
“You wanted to make your point,” he said, voice rough. “Make it.”
You blinked down at him, dazed. “What?”
His fingers curled. Your whole body jerked. Jack’s eyes stayed locked on yours. “Who makes you feel like this?” he asked.
Your breath came in short, broken pulls. “You.”
He did it again. You cried out. “Say my name,” he said.
“Jack,” you said immediately.
His fingers curled inside you. “Again.”
“Jack, please,” you moaned.
His mouth returned to you, and the sound you made was not quiet. You pulled hard against the belt, your body tightening, thighs trembling around his shoulders. Jack did not stop. He did not rush. He kept you there, right on the edge, until you were almost crying with it.
“Tell me,” he said.
You could barely think. “Only you.”
Jack’s fingers slowed. Not stopping. Threatening to.
Your eyes flew open. “No, no, please.”
“Only me what?” he asked.
Your breath broke. “Only you can make me feel like this.”
His eyes flashed. “Keep going.”
You shook beneath him. “Only you can touch me like this.”
“Good girl.”
Your body tightened at the praise. Jack felt it. His mouth curved against you, and then he gave you exactly what you had been begging for.
You came hard.
Hard enough that your vision went white at the edges. Hard enough that your voice broke around his name. Hard enough that your wrists strained against the belt and your back bowed off the mattress while Jack held you through it, mouth and fingers working you through every second until you were shaking too much to do anything but take it.
“Jack,” you gasped. “Jack, Jack—”
“That’s it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “There you go.”
You were still pulsing around his fingers when he lifted his head. His mouth was wet. His eyes were dark. He looked absolutely ruined. And somehow, somehow, he was still wearing his jeans.
You stared at him through the haze. “That is so unfair.”
Jack’s mouth curved. He withdrew his fingers slowly, and your whole body twitched. “Careful,” he said.
You laughed once, breathless and weak. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I really don’t.”
Jack kissed your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach, moving back up your body with devastating patience. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply. You tasted yourself on him and whimpered. Your wrists shifted above your head. The belt held.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at you. “You okay?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
His eyes searched your face. “Tell me.”
Your chest rose and fell beneath his. “I’m okay.”
The last bit of tension in his jaw eased. His thumb brushed over the inside of your bound wrist. “Still good?” Jack asked.
Your throat went tight at the care in it. “Yes,” you said. “Still good.”
“Any pain?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No.”
His gaze stayed on yours for one more second. Then the heat came back into his face. Slow. Certain. Dangerous. “Good,” Jack said.
You reached for him on instinct. The belt stopped you. Your breath caught. Jack looked at your wrists, then back at your face.
His mouth curved faintly. “I didn’t say you were done listening.”
Your stomach flipped. “Jack.”
He stood at the edge of the bed, shirtless and still in his jeans, the loose end of the belt wrapped securely in his hand. You were naked beneath him. Still shaking. Still trying to catch your breath. Still so sensitive that the way he looked at you felt like another touch. Jack’s gaze moved over you slowly. Then he said, “Watch me.”
Your mouth went dry. He kept one hand on the belt as his other moved to his jeans. The button was already open. The zipper followed. The sound moved through the room like a warning. Your wrists shifted again.
Jack’s eyes flicked to them. “Hands stay there.”
You exhaled, “They are there.”
His mouth curved. “Good girl.”
Your breath caught. Jack pushed his jeans lower on his hips, just enough, and your whole body went hot. He was hard. Thick. Flushed. Affected. For all his control, for all his patience, for all the ways he had made you fall apart first, there was no hiding what you had done to him.
Your voice came out thin. “Jack.”
His hand wrapped around himself. You pulled against the belt before you could stop yourself.
Jack’s gaze snapped to yours. “No,” he said softly.
You swallowed. “I want to touch you.”
“I know,” he replied.
“Please,” you said, barely a whisper.
His hand moved once, slow and firm. Your breath caught so hard it almost hurt. Jack watched your face as he touched himself, his jaw tight, his eyes dark, the muscles in his stomach shifting with the effort of his restraint.
“This is what that picture did,” he said. Your body clenched around nothing. His mouth parted slightly as his hand moved again. “This is what you did every time you brushed past me,” Jack said. “Every time you looked at me like no one else in that hospital knew what you were thinking.”
“Jack,” you whispered.
His grip tightened around the belt. “Say my name again.”
You obeyed. “Jack.”
His eyes closed for half a second. Only half. Then they opened, and the look on his face nearly ruined you all over again.
“Only me?” he asked.
Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Only you.”
His hand moved over himself again. You whimpered. Jack’s gaze dragged down your body, then back to your face. “Only I get you like this?”
You nodded quickly.
His eyes narrowed. “Words.”
“Yes,” you said, breathless. “Only you get me like this.”
Jack’s breathing changed. You could see it now. The crack in him. The place where his control had thinned to almost nothing. He touched himself once more, slower this time, deliberately enough that your thighs shifted apart without you meaning to.
His mouth curved, rough and pleased. “Look at you.”
Your face went hot. “Jack.”
“You came two minutes ago,” he said, his hand moving over himself again. “And you’re still looking at me like that.”
Your wrists strained against the belt. Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. “You want more,” he said.
Your breath shook.
His mouth curved. “Tell me.” Jack’s thumb moved over the head of himself, and your wrists strained against the belt. You glared at him weakly. His hand slowed. You made a small, desperate sound. Jack’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me what you want,” he said.
You answered immediately. “You.”
Jack grinned. “You have me.”
Your breath shook. “I want you inside me.”
Jack went still. There it was. The shift. The end of patience. He let out a rough breath, then leaned over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other holding the belt.
His mouth hovered over yours. “Say it again,” he said.
You lifted your hips toward him. “I want you inside me.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Good girl,” Jack said.
Then he kissed you. It was not gentle. It was not patient. Not anymore. Jack kissed you like the last piece of his restraint had finally snapped, one hand still gripping the belt above your head while the other braced beside your shoulder. His body came down over yours, hot and solid and finally close enough that you could feel how much he wanted you. You arched into him. Jack groaned into your mouth. The sound went straight through you.
Your wrists pulled against the belt on instinct. “Jack.”
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe. “I know.”
You gasped. “You don’t.”
His eyes lifted to yours. “Don’t I?”
You shook your head, already gone enough to be honest. “I need you.”
Jack’s expression shifted. Something hot. Something pleased. Something almost undone. His hand tightened around the belt. “Say my name.”
Your breath caught. “Jack.”
His mouth brushed yours. “Good girl.”
You whimpered, hips lifting toward him. Jack’s gaze dropped between your bodies. Then he cursed softly under his breath.
“Turn over,” he said.
Your pulse jumped. You stared at him. “What?”
His eyes came back to yours, dark and focused. “Hands stay where they are. Turn over.”
Your stomach flipped hard. “Jack—”
He leaned down, mouth at your ear. “You said he could never.”
Your breath caught.
His lips brushed the side of your jaw. “You were right.”
You swallowed. Then you nodded. Jack loosened his hold on the belt enough to guide you carefully, never letting the restraint pull too hard, never letting your wrists twist uncomfortably. Even now, with his control hanging by a thread, he moved you like you were something precious. Something his. You rolled onto your stomach, then shifted onto your knees when his hand settled at your hip. The belt stayed around your wrists. Your hands pressed into the mattress above your head, and Jack gathered the loose end in his fist again, holding it with just enough tension to remind you that he could move you exactly where he wanted you. Your cheek brushed the sheets. Your whole body trembled. Behind you, Jack went quiet. Too quiet. You turned your face enough to look back over your shoulder.
He was staring at you. His jeans were pushed low, his hand wrapped around himself, his chest rising and falling like the sight of you had cost him something.
Your voice came out soft. “Jack?”
His jaw flexed. “You have no idea what you look like right now,” he said.
Your thighs pressed together. Jack’s hand came to your ass, broad and warm, smoothing over the curve of you once before gripping. Your breath caught. “Open,” he said.
You shifted your knees apart. His hand tightened. “More.”
Your face went hot, but you listened. Jack exhaled roughly. “That’s it,” he said. “Good girl.”
The praise made you clench around nothing.
Jack’s thumb dragged along your hip. “Look at you.”
You swallowed. “What?”
His hand tightened, just enough to make your body answer before your mouth could. “So good when you want something.”
Your eyes fluttered shut. “Jack.”
He bent over you, his chest brushing your back. His mouth found your shoulder. “You were very mouthy downstairs,” he said.
You shivered. “You liked it.”
His teeth grazed your skin. “I did.”
His hand slid along your side, then down between your legs from behind. You jerked when his fingers found you. Jack made a low sound against your shoulder. Your wrists strained against the belt. Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. “You want more,” he said.
Your breath shook. His mouth curved against your shoulder. “Tell me.”
You closed your eyes. “I want more.”
“More what?” Jack asked.
You made a frustrated sound. “Jack.”
His fingers slowed. You almost sobbed. “More what?” he repeated.
You turned your face into the sheets. “More of you.”
His breathing changed behind you. “There you go,” Jack said.
He withdrew his hand, and you heard him shift behind you. Your body went tight with anticipation. Then Jack paused. One hand slid up your spine, warm and grounding. “Hey,” he said.
You turned your face enough to see him. “What?”
His eyes searched yours. “Still good?”
Your chest softened. “Yes,” you said.
Jack’s thumb brushed along your back. “No pain?”
You replied instantly. “No.”
“You need me to stop, you tell me,” Jack said.
“I know,” you whispered.
His gaze held yours.
You swallowed. “I promise.”
The last bit of tension in his face eased. Then the heat returned. Slow. Dark. Certain. Jack reached toward the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. You heard the quiet tear of foil, the rustle of movement, the sound of his breath catching once as he rolled the condom on. The waiting nearly killed you. You shifted back toward him. Jack’s hand landed on your hip.
“Still,” he said.
You bit your lip. He noticed. His thumb pressed into your skin. “Don’t.”
You released your lip slowly. Jack’s hand moved from your hip to your jaw, turning your face just enough for him to see you.
“That’s mine too,” he said.
Your breath left you.
He leaned over you, mouth brushing yours from the awkward angle. “Say it.”
Your eyes stung with how badly you wanted him. “Only you.”
His eyes darkened. “Only me what?”
“Only you get me like this,” you answered.
Jack kissed you hard. Then he pulled back and lined himself up behind you. The first press of him made you gasp. Jack froze. One hand stayed on your hip. The other still held the belt.
His voice was rough. “Talk to me.”
You shook beneath him. “Don’t stop.”
His jaw tightened. “Baby.”
“Please,” you said. “Please, Jack.”
He pushed in slowly. Inch by inch. Careful enough to make you ache. Deep enough to make your hands curl uselessly against the mattress. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out. Jack stopped when he was only halfway inside you, his fingers digging into your hip like he was fighting himself.
“Breathe,” he said. You tried. It came out broken. He bent over you, his mouth at your shoulder, his voice low against your skin. “That’s it,” Jack said. “Take your time.”
You turned your face toward him. “I don’t want to take my time.”
A rough laugh left him. It barely sounded like a laugh at all. “You never do when you’re being a brat.”
You pushed back against him. Only a little. Enough.
Jack’s hand tightened on the belt. “Careful.”
Your breath hitched. “Make me.”
Jack went completely still. For one second, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing. Then his hand slid from your hip to the back of your neck, not pressing, just holding you there. His mouth brushed your ear. “There she is,” he said.
Your whole body went hot. Then Jack pushed the rest of the way inside you. You cried out. He groaned at the same time, low and broken, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his body finally met yours completely. For a second, neither of you moved. You could feel him everywhere. The weight of him behind you. The belt at your wrists. His breath against your skin. The stretch. The fullness. The way your body had no idea what to do with finally having him after waiting all shift.
“Jack,” you gasped.
His hand tightened at your waist. “Say it again.”
“Jack.”
He pulled back slowly. Then pushed in again. Your eyes rolled shut.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s my girl.”
The words broke something open in you. You clenched around him, and Jack’s rhythm faltered. His curse was rough against your shoulder. “Do that again,” he said.
You barely managed a breath. “What?”
His hips rolled into yours, deeper this time, and your voice broke. “That,” Jack said. “When I call you mine.”
Your wrists pulled against the belt. “I am yours,” you gasped.
His pace changed. Not fast yet. Not careless. Just harder. More certain. Each thrust pushed you higher on the bed, and Jack held you where he wanted you, one hand gripping the belt, the other locked at your hip.
“You spent all night trying to make me jealous,” he said.
You shook your head against the sheets. “No.”
Jack thrust into you again. Your answer turned into a moan. “No?” he asked.
“I was trying to remind you,” you breathed.
His hand stilled on your hip for half a second. Then his body covered yours again, chest against your back, mouth near your ear. “Remind me of what?”
You turned your face enough to find his eyes. “That I’m yours.”
Jack’s expression broke. Just for a moment. Then his mouth found yours, messy and desperate from the angle, and he kissed you while he started moving again. This time, he did not hold back as much. The bed shifted beneath you. Your breath came in short, helpless sounds. Jack kept his mouth close to your ear, voice rough and low and entirely yours. “Who makes you feel like this?”
“You,” you gasped.
His hips drove into yours again. “Say my name.”
You gasped. “Jack.”
“Again,” he said.
“Jack, please,” you cried out.
His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, pulling you back into him, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Please what?”
You were shaking now. “Please don’t stop.”
Jack exhaled. “I’m not stopping.”
You began, “Jack—”
“I’ve got you,” he replied.
Your eyes burned. He did. He had you. Every part of you. The secret part. The soft part. The bratty, aching, desperate part that had sent him that photo and brushed past him all shift because you wanted him to know no one else even came close.
“Only you,” you said, voice breaking.
Jack’s rhythm faltered. “What?”
You swallowed a moan. “Only you can make me feel like this.”
His grip tightened. “Keep going.”
Your body tightened around him. “Only you can touch me like this.”
Jack made a rough sound behind you. “Good girl.”
You were close again. Too close. Already. It rolled through you fast, heat building low in your spine, your thighs starting to shake. Jack felt it. Of course he felt it. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you exactly where you needed him. You sobbed his name.
“There,” he said. “That’s it.”
“Jack, please,” you begged.
“You going to come for me again?” Jack asked.
You nodded desperately. His fingers slowed. Your eyes flew open.
“Words,” he said.
“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, please.”
“Only me?” he asked.
Your breath broke. “Only you,” you said. “Only you can make me come like this.”
Jack’s control snapped. He drove into you hard enough to make you cry out, his fingers working you in tight, perfect circles, his mouth at your shoulder, his voice wrecked in your ear.
“Come for me,” he said. “Say my name and come for me.”
You did.
You came with his name in your mouth, your whole body locking down around him as the pleasure ripped through you. It was harder than the first one, deeper, dragging every sound out of you until you were shaking beneath him, helpless against the belt and his hands and the way he kept talking you through it.
“That’s it,” Jack said. “Good girl. I’ve got you.”
You barely heard him over the rush of your own pulse. But you felt him. The way he held you. The way his rhythm turned uneven. The way his breath broke when your body kept tightening around him. He lasted three more thrusts before his control finally broke. You felt it happen. In the sudden uneven snap of his hips. In the way his hand tightened around the belt. In the rough sound that tore out of him when your body kept clenching around him.
“Fuck,” Jack breathed.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt his whole body go tense behind you, every muscle locking as he drove in deep and stayed there. Your name left his mouth. Low. Broken. Almost helpless. Then he came hard, hips jerking once, twice, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself as deep as he could get and held you there through it.
For a few seconds, Jack did not move. He just breathed against you, heavy and uneven, his chest pressed to your back, his hand still wrapped around the belt like letting go too soon might undo him completely. For a moment, everything went still. Jack’s body was heavy over yours. His breath was hot against your skin. His hand loosened on the belt, but he did not let go completely. Not yet. You both stayed there, tangled and shaking, while the morning light edged slowly around the curtains. Then Jack kissed your shoulder. Once. Twice. Softer each time.
“You with me?” he asked.
Your throat felt raw. You nodded.
His mouth brushed your skin. “Tell me.”
You closed your eyes. “I’m with you.”
Jack exhaled against you. Then, carefully, he shifted his weight and eased out of you. Your body twitched at the loss. Jack noticed.
He kissed the back of your neck. “I know.”
You laughed weakly into the sheets. “You do not get to be smug right now.”
His mouth curved against your skin. “I’m not.”
“You are,” you replied.
“A little,” Jack admitted. You huffed, but it came out soft. His hand moved to your wrists. The belt loosened immediately. Jack unwound it with careful fingers, taking his time now for a different reason. When your hands were free, he caught both wrists and brought them down slowly, rubbing warmth back into your skin with his thumbs. You rolled carefully onto your back. Jack sat beside you, still breathing hard, still bare, still looking at you like he was trying to memorize whether he had hurt you anywhere. He checked one wrist, then the other. His thumb brushed over the place the leather had been.
“Okay?” he asked.
You nodded. “Okay.”
His eyes lifted to yours. “Really?”
Your chest went soft. You reached for his face. “Really.”
Jack turned his head and kissed your palm. The room went quiet again. Not charged this time. Warm. Full. He leaned down and kissed your wrist. Then the other. You watched him, throat tight.
“You know,” you said softly, “Mason really could never.”
Jack froze for half a second. Then his shoulders shook once with a quiet laugh. He looked up at you, exhausted and amused and so painfully yours that your chest ached.
“Baby,” Jack said. “I’m begging you.”
You smiled. His mouth curved. Then he climbed back onto the bed and gathered you carefully against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other hand still holding yours like he was not quite ready to stop touching you. You tucked your face against his neck. Jack kissed your hair. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then you felt his thumb move over your knuckles. Slow. Absent. Tender.
“Still jealous?” you asked.
Jack sighed against your hair. You felt his mouth curve. “A little.”
You pinched his side weakly. He caught your hand and kissed your fingers. “Completely in love with you,” he said. “The jealous part is secondary.”
Your heart folded. You lifted your head enough to look at him. “Secondary?”
Jack’s eyes softened. “Very secondary.”
You smiled. He kissed you once, slow and sweet and nothing like the door. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “No more pretending,” he said.
Your chest tightened. You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “No more pretending.”
Jack kissed you again. And this time, there was nothing careful about the way he held you.
Summary : After dating for six months, Bucky is now your emergency contact. Yelena, your best friend, finds out the hard way.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x New Avengers!reader (she/her) | Best friend! Yelena
Warnings/tags : Kinda Tower fic!!! Fluff with angst if you squint. Protective!Bucky x chaotic!reader, Reader is ex-red room and thinks of Yelena as a sister, established relationship, mild injury, mild concussion, alcohol concussion, tipsy reader, mentioned bar fight, reader beats up harassers, Bucky being down bad. Set after Thunderbolts (Let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count : 8.2k
Note : I love a platonic buddy cop Bucky and Yelena dynamic. Enjoy!
Yelena had been your emergency contact for as long as you had a life outside the Red Room.
It just made sense. Back when you just had started to be free, neither of you had exactly known how to be people in the ordinary way everyone else seemed to manage. You knew how to run on little sleep, how to disappear into crowds, how to take apart a weapon by touch alone. You knew how to lie without blinking, how to hide injuries beneath sleeves, how to make one fake passport stretch across three countries and four very bad decisions. You did not know how to list a dentist, or pick a primary care doctor, or fill out forms that asked for a “next of kin” as if your family was simple enough to write on a dotted line.
So you wrote Yelena.
You wrote her number.
You wrote her most recent address
Again and again and again, on medical forms, on paperwork, on apartment leases, on job applicants and anything that asked who should be contacted if something happened to you.
It had always been Yelena.
Once, a hospital called her at two in the morning after you dislocated a shoulder in a rooftop in Queens, and she had arrived in the ER in pajama pants, combat boots, and a face so flat with irritation it was almost comforting.
“You are lucky I love you, sestryonka,” she had said, watching a nurse snap your arm back into place.
“You are not much older than me,” you murmured under your breath, not even flinching.
Another time, when you had been grazed by a bullet and insisted it was “basically nothing,” she had threatened to staple your mouth while a doctor stitched you up because, apparently, your pain scale was “made by idiots, for idiots.”
That was Yelena. She was not gentle, not exactly. But she was there for you. Every time a hospital called, she came.
She was your best friend and your sister in every way that mattered. You had not shared parents or a childhood in the traditional sense, not even in the sense that Natasha had been to her. Still, you had shared training rooms, handlers, bruises, and survival. You had shared the particular feeling of being made into weapons by the same machine and then escaping with pieces missing, only to decide, stubbornly and badly, that you were going to be normal people anyway.
Yelena had been your emergency contact because she was the person you trusted to be there.
She was also the person who understood, better than anyone, that your definition of an emergency was not normal.
“You do not have to stab every man who deserves it,” she had told you once, bailing you out of jail in the early hours of Saturday morning. The cops had let you off on self-defense later, which was true but Yelena found it pleasantly shocking, especially considering how bad the wound you left was. She had her suspicions: mostly that you must’ve tampered with the documents, but who was she to judge?
“I don’t stab every man who deserves it.”
“No,” she said, dry as dust, “only because there are not enough hours in the day.”
Which was probably why, for years, she had answered the emergency calls with the patience of a saint who had accepted her role in your life as sister, accomplice, and getaway driver.
Then Bucky Barnes happened.
—
You and Bucky lived next to each other in the Tower because Valentina had decided the New Avengers needed a base, a schedule, and probably several court-mandated group therapy sessions.
Not just you two, really. All the new avengers, after the Void incident, got crammed into one still-in progress building with too much fragile glass, too many cameras, and far too many sharp objects for people who pretended they were “doing better.”
You noticed Bucky because it was impossible not to.
He was quiet, but not empty. He was always careful, and you always saw him against a wall. He was always watching doors, windows, reflections, and hands. He moved through life like a man who had learned the world could turn on him without warning.
You understood that.
Maybe he noticed you for the same reason.
You both had old ghosts in different rooms. You might have had different handlers, but they did the kind of damage.
The first kiss happened after a mission.
You had made it home. You had showered. You had told Yelena you were fine, which made her stare at you like you had insulted her intelligence. Then you went to the training room because your body was still buzzing with murderous adrenaline and there was nowhere else to put it.
You hit the bag until your knuckles ached.
That was when Bucky said your name.
You stopped and turned. He stood by the door in a black Henley and sinful grey sweats, hair loose, brows furrowed as if he understood.
“I’m fine,” you said, pretending your knuckles weren’t bleeding through the wraps.
His mouth curved up, but he was not really amused. “Yeah. I know that one.”
You looked away.
He came closer, giving you every chance to tell him to leave.
You didn’t.
You just stood there, breathing hard, throat tight.
Bucky stopped in front of you. Suddenly, the room felt smaller.
You told yourself it was because he was being a good leader. That was all.
He was checking on his team. Emulating Steve, maybe, in that painfully earnest way he did when he thought no one noticed. He was just making sure everyone made it back from the mission in one piece.
That was what leaders did, right? They noticed when a member went too quiet. They followed them to the training room. They stood too close with that gentle, worried crease between their brows and made it almost impossible to breathe normally.
It was definitely not because he was getting closer to you.
Definitely not because, over the last few months, he had started caring about you in ways that felt too intense to be casual. He had stitched you up when Yelena hadn’t been around, sitting close enough that his knee touched yours while his fingers worked carefully over your skin. He had found you in the common room after a nightmare once, shaking in the dark with your knees tucked to your chest, and instead of asking too many questions, he had disappeared for two minutes and come back with one of his too-big hoodies. He had handed it to you without a word, then sat beside you until the sunrise turned the windows gold.
It was definitely not because you had almost kissed him three times in the past two weeks.
Not in the kitchen at two in the morning, when you had both reached for the same mug and ended up standing too close, his eyes dropping to your mouth before he looked away.
Not in the elevator after the Berlin mission, when the power had flickered and his metal hand had caught your waist on instinct, steadying you even though you didn’t need steadying at all.
Not in the hallway outside the med bay, when he had brushed blood from your cheek with his human thumb and froze afterward, like he had only just realized he was touching you.
No. This was not that, right?
Bucky Barnes was merely being responsible.
He was your teammate. Your leader, technically. He cared because he cared about everyone. That was all.
Except he was looking at you like you were not everyone.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said.
That almost broke you. So, naturally, you tried to get mean about it. “I’m not pretending.”
Bucky’s eyes did not change. “Okay.”
You hated that. You hated his stupid patience, his awful gentleness, the way he didn’t push and somehow made you feel more transparent because of it.
Anyone else would have argued. John or Ava would have told you to sit down. Alexei would have made some loud, affectionate declaration about strength and soup. Bob would’ve given you a self-help book and hoped it fixed you. Yelena would have stared at you until you confessed out of irritation alone.
But Bucky just stood there.
“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, turning away from him. “You can go back to bed.”
“I could.”
“Great.”
“I’m not going to,” he tilted his head.
You let out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you’re not.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The good man thing.” You gestured vaguely at him, at his stupid stance, the stupid caring voice, the stupid beautiful blue eyes that kept finding every crack in you no matter how hard you tried to cover them up with plaster and concrete. “The checking-on-the-team thing. You’ve done it. Congratulations. I’m checked on.”
Bucky’s teeth tightened, just barely. “I’m not here because of that, and you know.”
That made your throat close, looking away too fast.
“Don’t,” you said.
His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to give me hope.”
The words left you before you could stop them.
Bucky could only stare at you, and for one terrifying second, you thought he would step back. You almost wanted him to; it would have been easier if he did. It would’ve been easier if he proved you right, if he retreated into duty and all the safe, noble reasons a man like him would follow a woman like you into a dark room after a bad mission.
But he didn’t move. He only said your name, not like scolding you. Instead, it sounded like he was trying to give you a rope, a lifeline, something to reach out to so you could get yourself out of the well you had willingly jumped in yourself.
Your eyes burned, and you hated him a little for it.
Not really, but almost.
Because Bucky had always gotten to you in ways no one else had, not even Yelena. Yelena knew your damage because hers had grown beside it, root tangled with hurt twin root, rotten as a result of the same poison in the same soil. She understood you like a blade understood a knife made in the same forge.
Bucky was different.
Bucky looked at you like he knew what it was to be made into a weapon and still wanted to touch whatever soul was still left underneath. He looked at you like he was not afraid of your pain, because he had spent a lifetime bleeding on his own. He didn't meet your defenses with force. He just stood there, ruinously patient, until your walls began to feel dumb for being up at all.
You shook your head and stepped back.
“I don’t need this.”
“I know you don’t,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Bucky took one careful step closer.
“You can push me away,” he said. “You can tell me to leave. If you really mean it, I’ll go.”
Your chest ached.
“But don’t lie to me because you think it’s easier.”
You swallowed hard.
His eyes dropped briefly to your wrapped hands, to the tremor you had not been able to hide, then came back to your face.
“I know easier,” he said quietly. “Easier doesn't mean it helps.”
And that was it.
That was the stupid, gentle thing that finally cracked you open.
Your shoulders lowered by half an inch. Your breath went thin. You looked down at your hands, at the loose wraps, and suddenly the whole room felt too bright, too much like the place you had been trying to run from inside your own head.
“I hate when it comes back,” you whispered. “I hate that they still get to have me like that.”
His face changed, not out of pity. Instead, it was recognition.
His hand lifted carefully, like touching you was sacred and dangerous all at once. When you didn’t move away, his fingers settled against your cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye.
Bucky didn’t look shocked by the confession. He looked like he had been waiting for you to stop holding it alone.
“Look around,” he said, voice almost rough.
You swallowed. “Buck—”
“No,” he insisted. “Just look.”
So you did.
Past him, past the punching bag still swaying faintly from where you had been hitting it, past the mirrored walls and polished floor and bright lights. Beyond the training room doors was the rest of the tower. You could see the hall that led to the common room where Yelena kept pretending she didn’t leave snacks out for you when she knew you hadn’t eaten. The kitchen where Alexei made too much food and called it portion control. The hallway Ava drifted through like a ghost when she was tired. The pool table where John had taught Bob how to play when he was close to relapsing, just so he could take his mind out of the drugs he was craving.
You were here, in the strange, broken, impossible home all of you had built because none of you knew what normal looked like.
“You’re safe,” Bucky reassured. “You’re in the tower. You’re surrounded by the only people in the world who could maybe come close to understanding you.”
Your throat tightened when he stepped a little closer, his hand still on your face.
“We protect each other,” he said. “We look out for each other. Because we’ve established, pretty clearly, that none of us can be left alone without causing some kind of international incident, right?”
A broken laugh slipped out of you despite trying to hold it back.
Bucky’s mouth gentled, but his eyes stayed serious.
“They don’t have you,” he said. “Not anymore.”
Your breath shuddered as his thumb moved once over your cheek.
“We have you,” he said, smaller now. “Yelena has you. The team has you.”
He hesitated, as if the last part would cost him something. As if saying it out loud was more dangerous than any mission he had ever walked into. But because it was you, he said it anyway.
“I have you.”
Oh.
Bucky looked at you like he meant every word.
It was not duty, not leadership, not the good man thing you had accused him of earlier. He was simply standing there in front of you, asking for nothing, offering everything, and trying very hard not to look terrified by how much he wanted you to believe him.
You stared at him.
His hand was still warm against your face. His body was close enough now that you could feel the heat, close enough that you could see the rapidly healing little cut on his forehead from the mission, the bruise blooming near his neck, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and then dragged themselves back up like he was trying to be good.
He was trying so hard.
That was what undid you: the way Bucky Barnes, who could have taken apart the whole room without breaking a sweat, held you like you were sacred and waited for you to choose.
So you did.
“Buck,” you whispered.
His breath caught. “Yeah?”
You rose onto your toes and kissed him first.
Just like that.
You were aware of how warm, aching, and sudden it was. Your hands held the front of his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric. For half a second, Bucky went completely still, like his body had forgotten what to do with being wanted.
Then he made a small sound against your mouth, not quite a groan as much as a sigh of relief. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, while his metal hand settled at your waist like he needed to anchor you without trapping you. He kissed you back like he had finally snapped, but softly. He had been holding himself back for weeks, maybe months, and now that you had crossed the distance first, he still refused to rush you.
You pulled him closer, and he came willingly.
The kiss deepened, enough to make your heartbeat trip, enough for his breath to turn uneven against your lips. Your hands moved up his chest, and Bucky’s fingers flexed at your waist before he forced them to be gentle again.
You felt that too.
When you finally pulled back, barely, his forehead rested against yours.
Neither of you spoke for a moment. The punching bag had stopped swinging. Your hands had stopped shaking.
Bucky’s eyes stayed closed, his breath warm against your mouth.
“I have you,” he whispered again, like a promise.
“I know,” you whispered back. “I know.”
You kissed him once more, smaller this time.
When you finally pulled away, Bucky looked wrecked.
Yours, though neither of you had said it yet.
You touched his stubble with your thumb.
“We don’t have to talk about it tonight,” you said.
His eyes closed for half a second.
“Mmm,” he hummed, then he kissed your forehead, right between your brows.
And when he took your hand and led you out of the training room, neither of you let go.
—
It took a week for anyone to mention it.
A full week.
Which, considering you all lived on the same floor and had the collective subtlety of a grenade launcher, was honestly impressive.
You and Bucky had not exactly been hiding it well, anyway. He stood closer now. His hand found your lower back when he passed behind you in the kitchen. You wore his shirts more often than your own clothes. He had started looking at you across rooms with this horribly longing expression that made you want to throw a magazine at him and kiss him stupid in equal measure.
The whole thing came apart in the common room on a Thursday evening, because John Walker had the social grace of a brick through a window.
You were reaching over the counter for the ketchup when John looked up from his steak, frowned slightly, and said, “You smell different.”
Every single person at the table froze.
You turned your head. “Excuse me?”
John, apparently realizing too late that this was a weird thing to say out loud, gestured vaguely with his fork. “Not bad. You just smell like Barnes.”
Bucky stopped chewing.
Yelena’s eyebrows shot up.
Ava looked down into her mug like she could already see where this was going and wanted no part in preventing it.
Alexei leaned forward with immediate interest. “Like Barnes how?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know. His soap? Cologne? Whatever old men use.”
Bucky looked offended. “Old men?”
Before you could save the conversation, Bob, who had been peacefully munching on his fries at the end of the table, said, “Oh. It might be because they were making out in the sauna earlier.”
What followed was utter catastrophic silence.
Your hand tightened around your mug.
Bucky stared at Bob like he had just launched a missile.
“You saw us?” you hissed.
Bob looked up, mildly confused by everyone’s reaction. “Yeah.”
Bucky’s voice went very careful. “And you didn’t say anything?”
Bob thought about it. “You both looked busy.”
John dropped his fork with a clatter. “I’m sorry, what?”
Alexei slapped both hands onto the table. “In the sauna?”
“It wasn’t—” you started.
Bucky said at the exact same time, “We were not—”
Yelena pointed at both of you. “Oh my god.”
You looked at her, bracing yourself for the protective sister routine. Maybe an interrogation, or a threat. Instead, Yelena broke into the most smug, delighted grin you had ever seen.
“I knew it.”
Bucky’s head turned toward her. “You knew?”
“Obviously.” She leaned back in her chair, looking disgustingly pleased with herself. “You two have been making eyes at each other for months. It was pathetic.”
“It’s really not,” you said.
Ava hummed, because apparently this was a good time to speak up. “It was a little.”
You felt betrayed. “Ava.”
Alexei looked between you and Bucky with shining eyes. “This is beautiful. Two damaged assassins finding love in luxury wellness room.”
Yelena waved a hand. “Whatever. You two are perfect for each other.”
That, weirdly, was what shut you up.
Bucky froze beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. You could feel him looking at you, you could feel that private warmth that had started between you in the training room and somehow survived a week.
“You think?” you asked, more vulnerable than you meant to.
Yelena’s eyes softened just slightly. Then, because she was Yelena, she ruined it immediately. “Yes. You are both dramatic, emotionally constipated, and terrible at pretending you are not in love.”
Alexei looked near tears. “I support this union.”
“There is no union,” Bucky said, ears pink.
You glanced at him, half joking. “No?”
His mouth opened, but closed almost immediately.
“Yet,” Bob said under his breath.
Yelena made a triumphant noise. “Ha!”
Bucky rubbed a hand over his face while the entire table erupted, everyone talking over each other at once. John was asking when it started. Alexei was demanding to know who kissed who first. Ava calmly said she had assumed it happened months ago because Bucky had stopped looking like a kicked dog whenever you walked into a room. Bob asked if the sauna was now off-limits for everyone else.
And through all of it, Bucky’s hand found yours under the table.
You looked at him.
He looked mortified. Happy, though.
So happy it made your chest hurt.
You squeezed his hand back and smiled into your drink while Yelena loudly declared, “Finally. Maybe now the sexual tension in this Tower will stop clogging the ventilation.”
—
For six months, Yelena thought the whole thing was very funny.
At first, anyway.
It was funny when Bucky started leaving his jackets in places you could “accidentally” find them, as if anyone in the tower believed you just happened to keep ending up swallowed in navy cotton that smelled like him. It was funny when you and Bucky tried to sit normally on the couch and still ended up pressed shoulder to shoulder, your knee hooked over his, his hand resting on your thigh like he had forgotten other people had eyes. It was especially funny when Alexei called him your American house cat and Bucky looked personally wounded while you gave him doe eyes, trying to convince him that you both should adopt an actual house cat.
Yelena teased him mercilessly. She teased you worse.
But mostly, she liked it.
Because in the end, Bucky was good for you. He understood the coldness you wrapped yourself in after bad missions. He didn't flinch when you woke up violently from nightmares. He never asked you to be smaller than you were.
And, irritatingly, you were good for him too.
You made him laugh more. Not loudly, not often, but enough that Yelena noticed. You made him less haunted in the mornings. You made him complain about normal things, like burnt toast and John stealing his protein powder and Alexei singing in the shower. You made him human in little ways he had forgotten he was allowed to be.
So, yes, for six months, Yelena thought it was cute.
Until one night, when she decided it wasn’t.
It was one of your nights.
You had it once a month or so. You called it “me time.”
Everyone else called it, “the night you went out alone to random bars, played darts against biker gangs, wagered full-grown men out of their cash, and came home at two in the morning smelling like beer and smuggled cigars.”
Bucky hated those nights, and not because he wanted to stop you. He knew better than to try. You were not a houseplant. You were not fragile. You were a former Red Room operative with excellent aim and a deeply concerning fondness for humiliating men named things like Tank and Moose at bar games.
Still, the second you left, Bucky became useless. He checked his phone. He checked the windows. He made coffee and forgot to drink it. He stood in the kitchen like a widower in a war film, staring at nothing until Yelena threw a peanut at his head and told him to sit down before she sedated him.
Yelena didn’t worry. At least, not openly. She knew you. She knew you liked the adrenaline, the anonymity, the very specific joy of walking into a place where everyone underestimated you and leaving with an ego boost and cash in your pocket. It was stupid, yes, but not unusually stupid for you.
Besides, you always came back.
So once a month, everytime you went out for your “me time,” Bucky and Yelena would hang out together and pretend they were not both slightly empty without you.
They played cards. Sometimes they watched terrible action movies just to complain about the fight choreography. Sometimes they made food neither of them admitted you usually supervised. They never called it waiting up. But they were definitely waiting up.
The two of them were embarrassing without you. Truly embarrassing.
That was how they had ended up at the kitchen island playing heads-up poker with ammunition.
Yelena had dumped a box of bullets onto the counter and divided them into two little piles like poker chips.
“This is bad gun safety,” Bucky scolded.
“These are not in gun,” Yelena said, dealing the cards. “So it is fine.”
“That is not how it works,” Bucky complained, but took the cards anyway.
“You are losing,” Yelena insisted. “Stop distracting.”
“I’m not.”
“You have three bullets left,” she pointed out.
Bucky looked down at his sad little pile, and Yelena smirked. “Very tragic.”
“I’m distracted.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Because your girlfriend is not here and you are useless without her.”
He gave her a look over his cards. If this was how she was going to act, then two can play at that game. “You’ve checked your phone six times.”
“I am monitoring,” She sneered.
“You’re useless too.”
She kicked him under the counter, and he just glared at her.
This, somehow, was what they had become.
Two people with probably the highest body count in the tower, sitting in the kitchen past midnight, playing poker with loose ammunition because neither of them knew what to do with themselves when you weren’t there.
Yelena tossed a card down. “Raise.”
“With what?” Bucky sighed. “You have all the bullets.”
She slid one bullet forward. “I am generous.”
Bucky opened his mouth, but his phone rang before he could answer. He looked at the screen to see: Unknown number.
He furrowed his brows before he picked it up.
Yelena saw it and sat straighter, all the teasing draining out of her face.
“Barnes,” he answered.
What followed was a couple of seconds of terrible silence as he listened to the voice on the other side.
Then his eyes flicked to hers. Yelena was already standing.
“What happened?” he asked, her voice low.
Her chair scraped back. “What is it?”
Bucky lifted one hand slightly, as if to say wait. His fist clenched slightly. “Is she conscious?”
Yelena’s stomach dropped. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and threw Bucky’s at him before he had even ended the call.
“Metro General,” Bucky said into the phone. “I’m on my way.”
He hung up. “It’s her,” he said.
“I figured that out, genius.” Yelena shoved her arms into her jacket. “How bad?”
“Forehead cut and a possible concussion,” he repeated back the information. Awake, but mostly being difficult, apparently.”
Yelena exhaled through her nose. “So alive.”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” she said, “I can kill her myself.”
They moved fast. Bucky barely remembered to grab his keys. Yelena scooped the ammunition back into the box with one sweep of her hand, because even in crisis she was not leaving loose bullets on the kitchen counter for her papa to find and turn into a story.
They hit the elevator together and the doors slid shut.
For two floors, neither of them spoke.
Then Yelena frowned. “Wait.”
Bucky looked at her, tilting his head.
“Why did they call you?” She narrowed her eyes. “I am her emergency contact.”
For a second all Bucky could think was why does that matter so much— oh.
You had changed it.
To him.
Bucky looked down at his phone.
He tried very hard not to react. He really did. His face went blank in that deeply annoying winter soldier way, but Yelena had known him too long now. She saw the tiny shift, the warmth growing under the panic. She saw the stunned realisation in his eyes.
The pleased, fuzzy glow.
He was worried, obviously. But underneath it, was this absurd, boyish pride.
You had chosen him over her for emergencies. For hospital calls. For the ugly, inconvenient, blood-on-your-shirt parts of being loved.
Bucky looked like you had just handed him the moon and told him he was allowed to keep it.
Yelena stared at him. “Do not,” she said.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Do not look all pleased.”
“I’m not pleased.”
“You are very pleased.”
“She’s in the hospital,” he insisted. “I’m worried.”
“And yet your face is saying, oh, I am her emergency contact now, this is very special for me.”
His ears went pink.
“You are pleased!” Yelena gasped. “This is disgusting. She has head wound and you are having moment.”
Bucky dragged a hand over his face. “I’m worried.”
“Yes, and pleased,” she crossed her hands over her chest.
“I didn't even know she changed it,” Bucky said, exasperated now.
“I know.” Yelena sighed.
“I didn’t ask her to.”
“I know, Barnes.”
His voice lowered after a moment of silence, feeling a little guilty now. “She didn’t tell you either?”
Yelena looked away.
There it was: The small hurt she had been trying not to feel.
For years, it had been her number. Her phone ringing at two in the morning. Her job to show up with a jacket and a lecture. Her name on your forms because she had been your person before either of you had learned how to have people properly.
Now it was his.
Which was fine. Obviously.
Normal.
Healthy.
Terrible.
“I am fine,” Yelena forced out, knowing it wasn’t the answer to his question
He did not say anything, but she could tell he didn’t buy it.
She hated him a little for that too. For not believing her. For knowing what fine meant in their shared vocabulary. Her reflection looked back at her in the elevator doors, blonde hair loose around her face, teeth clenched enough to ache.
“I mean, it is practical,” she said, forcing a shrug. “You are her boyfriend. You are tall. You can carry things.”
The elevator kept descending.
His mouth twitched, barely. Apparently, he thought this was a good time to be the leader he always was during difficult moments. “She still loves you,” he said.
Yelena scoffed. “Obviously. Everyone loves me.”
Then the elevator dinged.
Saved by the doors.
She stepped out first. “Come on, emergency contact. Your girlfriend has probably insulted three hospital staff by now.”
—
Metro General smelled like antiseptic, cheap coffee, and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they were either guilty or about to confess to a hidden treasure on a death bed.
By the time Bucky and Yelena found you, you were sitting on an exam bed in a curtained-off bay with your boots dangling above the floor, one knee bouncing restlessly, a wad of gauze pressed near your eyebrow, and the loose, bright-eyed expression of someone who had definitely been drinking before getting into a fight she absolutely considered justified.
A doctor stood in front of you with gloved hands, carefully stitching the cut along your forehead. He looked like he had already asked you to sit still several times and had not been listened to once.
“Okay,” he said, leaning closer with the needle. “I need you to stop moving your eyebrows.”
“I’m not moving them,” you said, “it’s just my face.” You frowned then, which made him pause immediately.
“See?” he said.
You tried not to laugh. It came out anyway, both tipsy and unhelpful.
Yelena reached the edge of the curtain first, already halfway into her usual annoyed rescue mode, one where she would call you an idiot while checking the color of your lips and the steadiness of your pupils. But Bucky was beside her, stupid and all boyfriend-y. His eyes went to the gauze, then your hands, then the doctor, then back to your face, cataloguing every visible inch of you like he could put himself between you and the past hour if he tried hard enough.
Then you looked up.
The second you saw them, your whole face changed.
“Bucky!” It came out warm and embarrassingly kind. His name left your mouth like he was home, like even a little drunk and bleeding beneath hospital lights, some part of you knew exactly where safety was standing.
He moved before he could stop himself, stepping into the bay like the sound of his name in your mouth had pulled him by the ribs.
Yelena froze, just for half a second.
Of course. Bucky. Not her.
Her mouth curved up into a fake smile because that was easier than letting disappointment show.
“Right,” she said under her breath. “Him. Not me. I am just the sister, obviously. Not important.”
“Hey, trouble,” he said when he got to you.
You smiled up at the nickname, sweet and entirely too pleased with yourself. “You came.”
His frown was a little devastating then. It was as if the part of you that thought he would not come had hurt him. He looked like it made him want to gather you up and never let anything touch you again.
“Of course I came,” he said, holding his human hand out to yours.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Please don’t lean forward while I have a needle near your face.”
You blinked, realizing you had leaned toward Bucky without noticing. “Sorry.”
“You are not sorry,” Yelena said from behind him.
Your gaze drew past Bucky, and your expression brightened again. You had missed her entirely the first time, though you still sounded pleased. “Oh. Lena is here!”
Yelena’s smile went thin.
Lena is here.
As if she would not be. As if she had not once crossed three boroughs at three in the morning because you had texted only the word problem and a blurry picture of your own bleeding arm. As if she had not been showing up for you since before either of you knew what showing up was supposed to look like.
“Wow,” she said. “Lena is here. Incredible. Shocking. Who could have foreseen this plot twist?”
You squinted at her, trying to understand why she sounded like that through the warm blur of alcohol and adrenaline. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Yelena said immediately.
Bucky glanced back at her.
Yelena pointed at him. “Do not.”
He wisely turned back to you.
You reached for more of him without thinking, fingers curling around the hem of his jacket. Bucky noticed. He noticed everything about you, every wince you tried to bury, every joke you used as misdirection, every time your breathing went uneven. His hand covered yours, warm flesh over bruised knuckles, and you melted a little under the touch despite the doctor still working at your forehead.
You loved him so much it felt stupid sometimes.
It felt especially stupid now, with blood drying at your temple and your head pleasantly spinning, because all you could think was that he was so beautiful when he was worried, beautiful like a storm held back by sheer will.
Bucky’s thumb moved across your knuckles. “How much did you drink?”
You considered lying.
Yelena snorted before you could answer because she knew that look. “Do not.”
You knew exactly what she meant and scoffed. “I was not.”
“Tell him the truth.”
You looked back at Bucky. “A few drinks.”
“How many is a few?”
“Less than many.”
The doctor made a sound like he was trying not to laugh and it was taking everything for him to stay professional.
Bucky closed his eyes for one second. When he opened them again, they were still worried. He was not angry with you. You could handle anger, but Bucky looking at you like you were precious and reckless and his made you want to crawl directly into his arms in front of medical professionals, which was inconvenient.
“What happened?” he asked.
You sighed, because this part was obvious to you and apparently baffling to everyone else.
“I was playing darts with Moose and drinking,” you said. “Normally. Like a normal person.”
Yelena made a rude noise.
“I was,” you insisted, looking offended. “But then there were these guys.” You gestured vaguely, almost hitting the doctor’s wrist.
The doctor caught your hand midair and placed it firmly in your lap, resuming the stitch. “Hands down.”
“Sorry.”
“Thank you.”
You looked back at Bucky, lowering your voice like you were sharing state secrets. “They were being gross.”
Yelena tilted her head. “To you?”
You hesitated. “At first.”
Bucky’s jaw ticked, as if he was going to find these very same guys in here and was going to massively increase their hospital bills.
You waved a hand quickly, or tried to, before remembering the doctor had forbidden it. “I ignored it. Then I had to scare them away. It worked.”
“Mmhmm,” Yelena said.
“But then they started harassing the bartender while she was working,” you continued, ignoring her, “and these guys kept bothering her. Like, they asked for her number once, and she said no.”
Bucky nodded.
“But they didn’t stop,” you said, voice losing some of its tipsy brightness. “They kept leaning over the bar and calling her sweetheart and asking what time she got off. One of them said she was being stuck-up, and another one tried to grab her wrist when she turned away.”
The air in the little bay changed.
Bucky went quiet, and Yelena’s expression flattened. You shrugged, though your own fist tightened at the memory. “So I told them to leave her alone.”
The doctor tied off one stitch and moved to the next. “That’s not exactly how the police report phrased it.”
You frowned. “The police report lacks emotional context.”
Bucky’s mouth twitched up despite himself, as if thinking, that’s my girl.
Yelena crossed her arms. “And then?”
“And then one of them told me to mind my business.”
Bucky looked at you. You looked back at him.
“And I felt,” you said carefully, “that it had become my business.”
“Reasonable.” Yelena nodded once. “So you threw hands.”
You brightened again and confirmed. “I threw hands.”
A nurse, who had been mindlessly standing at your side, looked at your report and said, “this says you threw a barstool.”
“I used the environment,” you shrugged.
“And a pool cue,” she flipped a page.
“That was already in my hand.”
“Ummm,” the nurse started, reading more, “this said it wasn’t.”
Bucky looked down at your bruised knuckles, trying his hardest not to sound proud. “How many?”
You pursed your lips.
The nurse answered before you could. “Seven injured men were brought in separately. None critical.”
You looked offended. “Eight.”
The doctor blinked. “Eighr?”
“One slipped on beer,” you nodded, “I feel like I contributed to that.”
Yelena let out a startled laugh before she could stop herself.
The nurse glanced up from your chart. “You did tell the paramedic, repeatedly, that he should see the other guys.”
You pointed at her. “Because he should.”
“You also asked if anyone had written down your dart score.”
“That was important,” you frowned. “I had a winning streak.”
“You might have a concussion,” the doctor corrected.
You sighed and looked at Bucky, as if he hadn't just heard it himself. “They’re saying concussion.”
Bucky’s thumb stroked the back of your hand again, and the motion pulled your attention back to him like gravity. He loved you so much. It was everywhere when you knew how to look. In his hand around yours. In the set of his shoulders. In the way he kept glancing at the doctor’s needle like he disliked it for hurting you, even though it was helping.
The doctor finished the last stitch and began cleaning around the wound.
“So,” he said, returning to a more professional tone, “the CT was clear, which is good. But given the head injury, the alcohol, and the history, we’re treating this as a mild concussion. She’ll need to be monitored for the next twenty-four hours. No alcohol. No strenuous activity. No driving. No sleeping without periodic checks. If there’s vomiting, worsening headache, confusion, vision changes, unusual behavior—”
You smiled sweetly, interrupting him. “They know concussion protocol.”
Bucky repeated, “We know concussion protocol.”
Yelena said, “Unfortunately.”
The doctor looked between them, then at you. “Right. Avengers.”
How fortunate.
—
Yelena drove because Bucky refused to be more than an inch away from you, and because you were still tipsy enough to keep trying to wave goodbye to the hospital security guard through the back window.
It was late enough that the city had gone a bit quieter for New York standards. Streetlights streaked gold across the glass and rainwater from earlier in the evening shone black on the road. The heater hummed, filling the car with warmth, while you sat in the back seat tucked so securely into Bucky’s side that you might as well have been part of him.
His human arm was wrapped around your shoulders. His vibranium hand rested carefully over your knee, tapping every so often when your head began to loll too comfortably against his chest.
“Stay awake, sweetheart,” he cooed.
“I am awake.”
“Mhmm.”
From the driver’s seat, Yelena snorted before she could stop herself.
She was still bitter. You could tell, even through the pleasant, cottony haze in your head. Yelena’s bitterness had a very specific texture: too sarcastic and too much focus on the road. She had her hands at ten and two like she was angry at the steering wheel. She had been making jokes since the hospital, which meant she was hurt enough to hide behind them.
Bucky noticed too.
His thumb moved gently over your knee. “You doing okay?”
“Mmm.” You tipped your face up toward him. “You’re very handsome when you’re worried.”
His ears went pink.
Yelena made a gagging sound from the front. “Please remember I am trapped in this vehicle.”
You smiled lazily. “But he is handsome, Lena! Don’t you think?”
“Gah,” she said, not even wanting to think of him that way.
Bucky’s mouth turned into a faint smile, but the amusement faded quickly. His eyes dropped to the bandage near your forehead, then to your bruised knuckles, then back to your face. He had been doing that all night, checking you in pieces like he could not trust the whole of you unless he inspected every injured part.
Finally, after a bout of silence, he asked, “Can I come out with you next time?”
Your eyes opened properly, widening in an instant.
In the rearview mirror, Yelena’s eyes flicked up. This was going to be fun.
Bucky looked almost embarrassed as soon as he said it, but he kept going anyway. “Not to stop you. I know you can handle yourself. I just…” He looked away a little. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
Oh.
Your poor heart melted stupid inside your chest.
You reached up and patted his cheek with perhaps slightly too much affection and not enough coordination. “I love you,” you said, very seriously, “but don’t dote.”
He huffed despite himself. “Come on, sweets. Why not?”
“Because,” you almost scolded, “you’re no fun.”
Yelena laughed then. It was a small, surprised laugh that broke through her mood before she could lock it down again.
But Bucky frowned.
He wasn’t exactly heartbroken. It was just a little crease between his brows, his mouth settling into that wounded line he got when he was trying not to take something personally and failing because he loved you too much to be casual about anything you said.
Immediately, you gasped, hearing yourself.
“No. No, no, no.” You pushed yourself upright from his chest, and Bucky’s arm tightened at once like you had attempted to dive out of the moving car. “Baby.”
“It’s okay,” he said, which meant he absolutely was not.
“Baby,” you repeated, cupping his face with both hands. Your palms were warm against his stubbled skin, your thumb brushing clumsily near the corner of his mouth. “Baby, baby, I don’t mean it like that.”
His eyes searched yours. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, then winced because nodding was apparently not your friend. “Ow. Anyway. I mean… if you come with me, then no one underestimates me anymore.”
Bucky blinked blankly.
You pointed at him with one hand, nearly poking his cheek. “Because you’re all… this.”
“This?”
“Big,” you said. “Beautiful. Scary. Murder boyfriend.”
Yelena coughed so hard it was almost a laugh.
Bucky stared at you for a second.. “Murder boyfriend?”
“You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “I really don’t know if I do.”
“You do. You walk in and suddenly no one thinks I’m harmless.” You sounded genuinely disappointed by the concept. “Then it’s not fun anymore.”
Bucky looked torn between fondness and despair. “I’m sorry my presence ruins your bar ecosystem.”
“It does.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“You can’t,” you sighed, hiccuping a little before continuing. “You’re too threatening.”
This time, Yelena did laugh.
Then your whole face brightened, like a solution had dropped straight out of the sky and into your concussed little head. “Oh! I know.”
Yelena’s smile vanished with immediate suspicion, because that sounded like you just came up with a bad idea.
“Lena should come with me next time!” you exclaimed.
Oh.
What?
Yelena looked at you in the rearview mirror. “Huh?”
You smiled at her, tipsy and so painfully sincere that Bucky looked like he was actually considering it. “You should come with me. It’ll be fun.”
Yelena didn’t know what to make of it
You leaned forward, eager now, and Bucky immediately caught the back of your jacket to stop you from lunging yourself forward over the center console.
“Careful,” he warned.
You ignored him completely, eyes still on Yelena in the mirror. “We barely go out together anymore.”
Her hands tightened on the wheel.
The streetlights passed over her face in brief yellow flashes, there and gone, there and gone. Yelena was never gentle in the way people usually were, but her anger faltered, just enough for you to see the hurt underneath it.
“I miss going out with you.” Your voice went smaller. “I miss you.”
Yelena looked away from the mirror too fast.
Fuck.
You did?
All this time she thought she was replaceable, you missed her?
She blinked hard, and if her eyes watered a little, no one in the car was stupid enough to point it out.
“You are just concussed,” she said, trying not to sound too sentimental. “And drunk.”
“But I still mean it.”
Bucky’s hand slid over your arm, warm and steady. You settled back against him, still looking at Yelena, your smile hopeful now instead of bright.
That was the thing, wasn’t it? You loved Bucky. God, you loved him. You loved him with the dizzy certainty of a weapon who had found a place to lay down her weapons and still be known. You loved his worried eyes, the way he said sweetheart, the way he looked at you like he was lucky to hold you at all.
But Yelena was your sister. The one you knew as child soldiers in the battlefield. The one who yelled because she was scared. The one who had dragged you through survival and gave you a life.
You had always known that there was room enough in your heart for both of them.
Yelena just needed to hear it.
Bucky seemed to understand that, too, because he lifted to the rearview mirror, meeting Yelena’s eyes there, as if saying, see? She does care.
“She’d be safer with you,” he said.
Yelena swallowed.
The car hummed through another stretch of wet road before she nodded once, like she was accepting a mission.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take care of your girlfriend, Barnes.”
You sighed happily and melted back against Bucky’s chest. “See? Perfect.”
Bucky pressed his mouth lightly to your hair, careful of your injury. “Perfect,” he echoed.
“Now,” you added, holding up one finger with great importance, “you can be both our emergency contacts!”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Now that is pushing it.”
Bucky laughed then, his chest shaking beneath your cheek. You giggled into his jacket as he pulled you closer.
Up front, Yelena pretended to be annoyed. She rolled her eyes, muttered something in Russian under her breath about how grossly in love you two were, and kept both hands firmly on the wheel.
But she ended up avoiding all the potholes she had planned to run over on the way home.
✧･ﾟ:Bucky gets cold when you fight. Not rude. Not loud. But closed off. Like the door he usually leaves open in his heart, just for you to walk through, needs to be shut. It hurts every time, no matter how angry you are. Part of you wishes he’d just scream at you like a normal couple, but instead you’re just kept on the outskirts. Like he can’t bear to have you near.
✧･ﾟ:He nods to you like you’re a co-worker. Opens the car door like he’s an attendant. You extend your hand for him to take, and he stares at it before walking away. There’s no lingering near you like there used to be. No softness in his eyes, because they won’t meet yours at all. You curl up in the bathroom and take deep breaths, knowing the storm will pass. It wrecks your home all the same.
✧･ﾟ:And Bucky hates it just as much. Maybe more. But for him, it’s like the world has been flipped upside down. You’re his ground, and it’s shaken. The walls close in, and he has to be stiff to shove them back apart. He hears you crying and kicks himself, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want this to hurt any more. He curses himself for letting it hurt this much.
✧･ﾟ:He finds his way back slowly and suddenly. You don’t look up when he sits next to you, but don’t fight when he pulls you into his arms. Bucky murmurs that he’s too old to fight like this. You giggle despite yourself and mutter that he’s too old to do anything. That earns you a stern glare, but there it is. The affection is back.
✧･ﾟ:He’s clingy after. Hanging over you while you do the dishes, holding your hand through dinner like he thinks you’ll slip away if he lets go. You shower together. Bucky kisses your nose, and murmurs that he missed you. You tell him you’re right here. He still doesn’t think it’s close enough.
✧･ﾟ:He fucks you slow and careful that night. Wandering hands touch you like you’re made of the finest silk, and you could unravel any second. Even if the teasing drives you insane, you let Bucky take his time. He needs it more than you, and with how he kisses and touches your pussy, you could get a far worse bargain.
✧･ﾟ:He stays buried in you for a while after. You hold him tight, sighing in his ear, and he smiles against your skin.
✧･ﾟ:The world is back in its place now. You’re back in Bucky’s arms, and everything is just fine.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: from this headcanon request. sad old men i love u✦
Do you guys think that stiles gets a little teary-eyed the first time derek's relaxed enough to fall asleep before him? Because I think he gets a little teary-eyed. He's often shown to be the one to realize the implications and gravity of a situation, especially in regards to information about Derek.
Inspired by their wonderful fic Virginia is for Lovers (heed the warnings!) - set twenty years after season 1, it beautifully navigates Derek's recovery process after a traumatic event and Stiles' burnout from the FBI.
Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader x Jack Abbot (quite the ménage à trois!)
Summary: You have a simple arrangement with Dr. Jack Abbot. You live in his house. You work from home. You are available to him whenever he is home. In exchange, you live rent-free and have great sex. You like that there's no strings attached. The two of you are simply roommates who fuck every now and then.
But your arrangement is about to get complicated…because his identical twin brother has just been released from prison early. You know very little about Andrew Cody, other than the fact that Jack calls him Pope for some reason.
So, when Pope ends up having to live with you two at Jack's house for an undetermined amount of time, it shakes up your whole world. Because he wants you for himself. And he's not going to let his brother get in the way this time…
Word Count: 18.4k
A/N: Since people liked the last crossover idea I cooked up, here's another one! This is set in like an alternate season one of Animal Kingdom, though you, again, don't really need to have watched the show to read this fic. Same thing goes for The Pitt. It's just background setting stuff, nothing too nitty gritty from either show. I just throw in some references here and there for those who have seen it!
I will say, I don't necessarily consider you pursuing Pope as “cheating on Jack” because you and Jack aren't in a committed relationship (you are literally in a situationship lol sorry…). But because some people might be a little squeamish about infidelity, I figured it would be important to mention that you will end up with both of them in a consensual, polyamorous arrangement. So, a happy ending, guaranteed! How you get there is…well, you'll just have to see for yourself.
You can see a full list of warnings on the fic on my AO3, or you can go in blind! That's up to you!
Again, this is mostly porn, some feelings but very little plot. The whole scenario is a bit nonsensical but hey, this is fanfic so who cares! Hope it's a fun read ♡
You have no idea how Jack convinced you to come with him to pick up his estranged twin brother from prison. Maybe it was because it was so out of the blue. The two of you have always kept each other at arm's length when it came to any personal stuff.
So, when he asked you if you would come with him, you didn't know how to say no.
Because you wanted to say yes.
You have been curious about Andrew Cody since the moment Jack mentioned he had a twin brother. They don't share a last name.
And technically, they're triplets.
But his mother had decided to only keep Andrew and his sister Julia. Jack never knew his deranged mother, who his brother calls Smurf for some reason. She had dropped Jack off at an orphanage and he was adopted by a family who lived on the east coast. His adopted parents, the Abbots, were lovely people. He was raised in a happy household.
The same cannot be said for his brother Pope.
“Why do you call him Pope?” You ask Jack on the drive to the prison.
“That's what he told me to call him.” Jack shrugs. “I didn't pry. It's not my place.”
You're unsure if you agree with that. If you found out randomly one day that you not only had a nearly identical twin, but that twin is in prison for an armed bank robbery gone wrong and goes by a strange nickname, you would definitely be asking a lot of questions.
But Jack doesn't seem to have the same sense of curiosity that you do. He doesn't even know why he asked you to come with him. The two of you never go out together, unless it's convenient like for grocery shopping. He keeps a distance because his work is too hectic for him to be in a committed relationship. At least, that's the excuse he will keep telling himself because his feelings for you would grow out of control otherwise. Then he'll start imagining a life with you, one where you're his.
A life he cannot have. Or won't allow himself to…
He has no idea that you feel the same way about him.
And you aren't going to tell him.
Because you don't want to ruin a simple arrangement. You are perfectly comfortable warming his bed whenever he's home. Even if it kills you sometimes to think that this could all end the moment he finds someone else. You try not to think about that.
You focus back on Pope. “Will he be living with us?”
“Until he gets on his feet. He'll stay at the guest house.” Jack has a small guest house in the backyard, the size of a studio apartment. It has its own bathroom so Pope would only have to come into the house for the kitchen.
“How long do you think that'll be?” You can't imagine how rough the transition back into regular life is after being in prison for years…
“Who knows. Shouldn't change things.” Jack had already set aside a fund for Pope. Sort of like a weekly allowance, at least until he finds work. That's why he has been picking up SWAT shifts. All that money was being put aside for this.
“I'm sorry about your sister.” Pope had told Jack that their sister, Julia, had died of an overdose recently.
That's why Pope doesn't want to go back to Oceanside. He didn't even tell any of the Codys that he's being released. Though, they never went to visit him anyways, not even to tell him Julia died. He had to find out over the phone when he called Baz and Baz told him that her son J is staying with Smurf now. Pope meant to tell Baz at the very least but he ended up keeping his release to himself. None of them ever called him so he knows they won't find out either way. They probably figured he'd find a way to get himself stuck in prison forever…
“I never knew her so there's nothing to be sorry about.” Jack wonders how different his life would've been if his mother hadn't given him up for adoption.
Him and Pope could not be more different. They may look alike but their life trajectories have skewed dramatically in opposite directions. Jack is a veteran and an attending physician for a very successful Emergency Department. Pope is a felon who is lucky that overcrowding had him booted out early on parole.
“Still, it sucks you never got to meet her. Do you think you'd ever want to meet your half-brothers?”
Jack shakes his head. “If what Pope has told me about them is true, I think it's best if they don't know I exist.”
The only reason Jack knows about Pope is because he had treated a patient that was obsessed with robberies. One of those online sleuth types. They thought Jack was Pope in disguise. That's how he found out he had an identical twin.
They've been exchanging letters ever since. Jack has even gone to visit him a few times prior to his release. It was strange. Like looking into a mirror that's crooked.
“It's kind of you to house him while he's readjusting.” It's a bit reminiscent of how you and Jack met.
You were like a stray cat. He always saw you shopping late at night at the same twenty-four hour market he goes to, buying small handfuls of things here and there. One day, he asked you about why you only shopped at night. You asked him the same question. He told you that he works the night shift so he keeps that sleeping schedule even on his off days. You told him it's because you like the dark.
You slept with him for the first time that night. In his truck, in the empty parking lot. That's when he knew you were just like him. You both had the same tastes in bed. He hasn't slept with anyone else since. Neither have you.
You both are comfortable with each other. Not comfortable enough to admit the layer of feelings that neither of you want to address, but comfortable enough to fuck for hours at a time.
Everything is about to change, though.
You and Jack stand outside the gate, waiting for Pope to come out. You notice the way Pope walks. There's a cadence to it that is…unique. The closer he gets to the two of you, the more your gut seems to churn.
A weird sense of foreboding.
You shake it off when Pope is in front of you. He looks at Jack then asks, “who's she?”
Jack introduces you to Pope. “She lives with us.”
“Why?” Pope furrows his brow at you.
You do not have an easy answer to that. Neither does Jack.
“Cheap rent.” You say with a shrug. Technically, you aren't lying. Free rent is cheap rent.
He keeps his eyes on you, his gaze a bit more intense than any look you've ever seen on Jack's face. It's uncanny how similar they look. If it weren't for Pope's shorter hair, you might not be able to tell them apart…
Pope stares at you the entire ride back out of the corner of his eye, since you have to sit between him and Jack in the truck. He can't tell if the two of you are in a relationship and just don't want to tell him. But there's no affectionate touching that couples would usually do. Jack keeps his hands on the wheel. You even lean more towards Pope than Jack.
Maybe the two of you are just roommates. Pope doesn't believe it though. Because you're stunning. And small. Perfect to toss around in bed.
You feel your ears heat up. You don't want to turn your head to check but you're sure Pope is staring at you. He keeps his hands at his sides and on occasion, his fingers brush against yours. You can't tell if it's on purpose or not. It has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering up a storm.
“First meal out of prison, what do you want?” Jack and Pope had talked about this at length in their letter exchange. “Still want that burger I was telling you about?”
“Can I shower first?” Pope hasn't showered alone in years. He needs it. To feel somewhat normal again.
“Sure. I'll drive home. I stocked your bathroom already.”
Jack's words give you pause. When did he do that? Was that the reason he had a bunch of random packages these last few weeks? It was all stuff for Pope?
“Thanks.” Pope is uncertain still if he trusts Jack's hospitality. He knows Jack is a doctor, which means he is well versed in treating a patient.
But is Pope his patient or his brother?
Pope doesn't know which he'd prefer. He doesn't have a great relationship with his brothers, even though he would do anything for them. Including taking the fall for a robbery gone wrong.
They could've, at the very least, visited him…
He was lucky the prison he was sent to was on the east coast near Jack so he had one visitor. It made him feel less alone. But very uneasy too.
Because Jack has everything he would ever want.
Except for you, for some reason.
Pope watches the way the two of you interact when you all get to Jack's house. Jack doesn't hold the door open for you, going into the house first. Pope grabs it and holds it for you, letting you step in before him.
“Thanks, Andrew.” You tell him reflexively then catch yourself. “Shit, sorry, Jack told me you go by Pope.”
“You can call me Andrew.” He likes how his name sounds coming from your lips.
Jack shifts his attention back at Pope when the door closes then gestures, “let me show you where you'll be staying."
That seems to be your cue to leave. You disappear into the nearby hallway. That must be where your room is.
Jack catches how Pope still has his eyes on you as you walk away. That unsettles him. But he has no real claim on you.
That's what disturbs him even more. The fact that Pope could pursue you if Jack doesn't step in to stop him…
“She's pretty.” Pope says when he sees Jack looking at him with the same eyes Baz does when Pope would look at Catherine. Strange to see that look on his face.
Is that how Pope would look if another man was eyeing his lover?
So, the two of you definitely aren't just roommates.
Jack doesn't comment on that. He just goes, “come on. You should wash up and then I'll take you out to eat.”
“She's not coming with us?” Pope's question drives Jack insane.
Because he doesn't invite you out to eat. That's too intimate in his mind. He buys you take out if he picks something up on the way home from the hospital. Coffee on occasion. Usually after he texts you and asks if you want it. Because it's convenient. Not because he likes how you smile when he comes home with a treat. Definitely not…
“You can ask her if you want.” Jack leaves that up to Pope.
“Okay.” Pope sees a challenge when it presents itself. Jack probably figures he won't do it.
He's in for quite a surprise.
The guest house is like a tiny cottage in the backyard. It has enough space for a king sized bed surprisingly. Pope hasn't slept on such a large bed in years. It'll probably take a while for him to adjust to. Maybe he won't be sleeping at all…
“There's clothes in the closet for you. I figured we're about the same size but let me know if anything doesn't fit right.” Jack sorted through his wardrobe for clothes that were a bit less fitted, in case Pope was more filled in than him.
Pope nods then says quite bluntly, “do I get a key to the house?”
“Your key is right here.” Jack points to the rack on the wall. “It opens the door that leads to the backyard and this guest house. The sliding door that leads to the kitchen is never locked so you can enter from there.”
Pope tries not to be bothered by that. It's a bit too much like back at Smurf's. They never used the front door. Always entering the house from the pool into the kitchen.
Thankfully Jack doesn't have a pool. Pope would probably go crazy if he did. He's already pretty crazy to begin with. His brother doesn't need to know that just yet, though.
“I'll be in the living room. Meet me when you're done.” Jack tells him before leaving.
Pope takes a moment to look around the room. He straightens out the sheets on the bed. He grabs the chair that was at the small desk Jack keeps in here and faces it towards the door. He sits down, checking if this is a comfortable angle. He needs to be able to see any entrances. For his paranoia that a prison guard will come in at any moment and assault him.
Once he has done that, he goes to shower. He spends a long time in the shower, doing everything he hasn't been able to do. Including jerking off. Thinking about you and your lovely voice saying his name. How soft your hand was when he'd brush his fingers against it at any bump on the road. Wondering what it would feel like wrapped around his cock.
Would you be gentle with him? Would you want him to be gentle with you?
In the living room, Jack can't shake off what Pope had asked him earlier so he gets up and goes to your room, knocking like he always does. You open the door and say, “Jack?”
“Pope is going to ask you to come with us for dinner.” He just states it outright.
“Okay?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks for the warning?”
“Are you going to say yes?” Jack doesn't know why he's even asking. He has asked you a lot of strange things today…
“I haven't eaten.” That's the truth. You are hungry. “A burger sounds nice.”
Jack can't really tell you to decline now. “Then I'll tell him you want to tag along. I'll come get you when he's ready.”
You nod then shut your door. Jack stands there, biting back a sigh. What the hell is he doing?
You're asking yourself the same question. Does he not want you interacting with Pope? You want to convince yourself that this is some kind of jealousy but you don't think Jack values you enough to be possessive over. That's what you think. That isn't the truth, however.
Jack is growing more possessive now that he realizes he might have competition for your attention. His own brother. He has to figure out a way to dissuade Pope. But that would require admitting that he wants you to be more than just a fuck buddy and he is not prepared for that yet.
For the potential of losing you entirely if he screws everything up…
When Jack sees Pope open the sliding door, he says, “meet me outside.”
“I still have to ask our roommate if she wants to tag along.” Pope purposefully emphasizes that fact.
“I already asked. She is.”
“Then I'll go tell her we're heading out.” Pope walks past Jack. He already memorized where your room is in the house. Jack can't stop him from knocking on your door.
You open it and see Pope. “Oh, hello.”
“Are you ready to eat?” Pope notices you've changed clothes. Did you shower too? You're dressed much more relaxed now.
“Yeah.” You close your bedroom door behind you. When you turn back around, you nearly jump because Pope is still standing right there. Very close to you…
“Do you need your wallet?” He sees you're bringing a bag with you. “I'll pay for your meal.”
“That's sweet of you, Andrew.” You say kindly because it is a nice gesture. “But it's alright. You should save your money. At least until you get a steady income.”
“I'll buy you a meal when I do then.” He gestures for you to walk ahead. He wants to be able to look at you for a bit longer.
You feel flush because it's been a while since someone's been that forward with you. His gaze is right on you as you two step outside. Jack is already in his truck, waiting. Pope opens the passenger side door for you and you hop in, sitting between the two of them again.
You clutch your bag in your lap, feeling a bit shy at how it feels to be sandwiched between them. You shake your head of thoughts you definitely should not be having.
Maybe you should've said no to going out to eat…
It's a local fast casual restaurant, done up to look like a diner in the 70s. Jack has picked up food from this place for you before. They do have great burgers.
The host sits the three of you at a booth and Jack gestures for you to sit down first before he chooses to sit next to you, making Pope sit on his own across from you.
Pope doesn't mind this. It just means he gets to look at you the whole time.
Your heart is hammering in your chest at how intense his gaze is. That's probably why you stumble on your order when the server comes by asking if you all want something to drink. You end up ordering a mixed drink and the two brothers get beers. The alcohol will help ease your nerves, hopefully.
“Do you two go out to drink often?” Pope asks and Jack knows he's probing on purpose. He has to hide his annoyance at that.
“No.” Jack says to Pope directly, hoping that's the end of his questioning.
Pope turns to you. “Do you like to drink?”
You shrug. “Sometimes.”
“So, how did you two become roommates?” He asks the question Jack has been trying to avoid the most.
You answer. “He told me he had a free room and needed someone to watch his house when he was at work.”
“How nice of Jack.” Pope says, his eyes drifting to your lips for just a second.
“Why do people call you Pope?” If Pope is going to push Jack, he's going to do the same thing back.
“Because I robbed a church when I was a teenager and beat up a priest.” Pope answers right as the server comes with the drinks. They give him a concerned look as they set his beer in front of him. He holds a very cold expression until they walk away.
Once Jack knows you all aren't in earshot of anyone, he tells Pope, “don't think about doing that shit while you're living with me. Move out first.”
“Don't worry. I'm not doing anything that will land me back in prison.” Pope smiles right at you as he says, “I'd hate to jeopardize such a nice living situation."
It's fun to lie through his teeth. Because he knows everything he wants to do will upset the delicate balance between you and Jack. Doesn't mean he won't do it though.
Like brush his foot up against your ankle under the table.
The first time, you figure it's an accident. The second time, you know he's doing it on purpose…because he takes a swig of his beer right when you feel his foot trail up your calf.
Again, it makes you nervous enough to mess up your order when the server comes back for the food order. Pope likes how you look when you're nervous.
“Can I get another beer?” He tells the server, who nods immediately before quickly walking away.
“Don't overdo it while we're out.” Jack doesn't want to drag a drunk Pope home. “I have beers at home.”
“Are you saying I can get drunk at your house?” His words hold a strange weight to them. It's that unease…
“I'm saying you don't have to drink here.” Jack has to keep Pope in check. That'll prove to be more difficult than he imagined.
It never crossed Jack's mind that Pope might be tough to deal with. When he had visited Pope in prison, Jack met a very different version of his twin. More timid. A bit hardened. Probably from whatever he was experiencing in there.
Freedom is making Pope act differently than Jack expected. More bold…
You are experiencing that boldness right now. You aren't going to pretend you aren't attracted to Pope. You're very attracted to Jack so…it only makes sense that your body reacts to Pope as well. But you have to nudge his foot away from you. He doesn't bother you again after that. He keeps his gaze on you, though. Because he wants to enjoy looking at you with that shy expression on your face. He finds it so cute.
Once you're all done eating, Jack pays and then drives you all to a nearby grocery store, since he wants Pope to be able to buy his own groceries.
You notice how precise everything he buys is. Square bologna. Cheddar cheese slices that are exactly the same size as the bologna. A loaf of sliced bread that is just big enough that the cheese and bologna will be perfectly sandwiched. He buys cereal and milk too. Simple things. He pays with them with the card Jack gave him.
Pope points to the candy and gum that is always available near the register. “Want anything?”
“Oh.” You're caught off guard. Maybe that's why you pick a pack of gum and place it on the belt with the rest of Pope's things. “Thank you, Andrew.”
“You're welcome.” The smile he gives you makes your stomach churn. You can't tell if you like the feeling or not.
Once he pays, Pope hands you your pack of gum. He intentionally brushes his hand over yours when you take it, making your heart skip a beat.
“Do you want a piece?” You open it, since you like to chew gum after you've eaten a meal.
“Sure.” He takes one from the pack.
You turn to Jack, who has been keeping quiet this whole time when the two of you have been interacting casually. “Do you want one?”
Jack takes a piece. “Thanks.”
You all chew gum as Jack drives home. It's like a different kind of quiet. Just the sound of gum chewing. Yours is very delicate. Pope is blowing bubbles. Jack chews it with the back of his teeth.
“Have a good night.” You tell them both before you head down your hallway, which is close to the front door.
Pope watches you leave and waits until he hears your door close to say to Jack, “are you sleeping with her?”
“What?” Jack looks his brother in the eye when he answers. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Do you think she'd sleep with me?” Pope has to be baiting Jack. There's no other reason he would be asking Jack this otherwise.
“Why would she sleep with you?” Jack hides his irritation.
“Because we look alike.” Pope meets Jack's eyes. The same hazel eyes that he has. “I bet we fuck the same.”
“I don't care what you do or who you do it with.” Jack hates that he's lying but he can't say otherwise. “Just don't do anything that will land you back in prison.”
Pope knows what Jack is implying with his words. “You think I'm going to rape her?”
“No.” Jack doesn't think so. But he has to ask for his own peace of mind. “Would you?”
“Nope.” He would only take you willingly. He doesn't want you to look at him with fear in your eyes. Just pleasure. “I told you, I'm not going back to prison for any reason.”
“I'll hold you to it.” Jack wishes he felt less tense but he can't shake the feeling.
“Why don't you date her?” Pope keeps pressing Jack to his very limits.
“I don't want to.”
“I've always wondered what I look like when I'm lying.” Pope points at Jack's expression. “Must look a lot like that.”
“Why does it matter to you?” Jack can't hide his frustration anymore.
“Because if I pursue her, I don't want you getting in my way.” Pope smiles in a way that sends chills down Jack's spine.
“I won't.”
“Liar.” Pope pats him on the back. “Have a good night, Jack.”
Jack watches Pope walk away and when the guest house door shuts, Jack curses under his breath, “motherfucker.”
Against his best judgment, Jack locks the sliding door. Meaning Pope won't be able to come in until the morning. Then, he goes to rinse off the anger he feels in the shower. But not even a cold shower can settle his mind.
He knows this is bothering him bad because he feels the phantom ache in his leg. That only happens when he's hung up on something. His mind will always wander to the missing feeling.
He has to do something about this.
So, when he's dressed again, Jack heads to your room. He knocks, like he always does, and you open it.
“Jack?” You weren't expecting to see him again today. “What's—”
Jack grabs a hold of your face, kissing you all of a sudden. He kicks the door shut behind him and then locks it before he starts pulling off your shirt. You don't resist. Because you want him too.
You just aren't prepared for him to shove you back on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge. He kneels down between your legs, tugging off your pajama pants, leaving you completely naked while he's still fully dressed. Your hand barely has time to grip onto his hair. His mouth is on your clit in an instant, sucking the life out of you. He hasn't been this impatient in a while.
You cum quicker than usual from it, the sudden aggression turning you on more than you'd like to admit. You can't stop the moan that leaves your lips when his tongue dips inside of you, trying to find that spot that he can flick with the tip of his tongue that makes you scream.
Once he finds it, you're squirming, the pleasure building too fast. You try to slow him down, “Jack, it's too much, please—”
He doesn't listen. Instead his hand slides up the length of your stomach until he squeezes your breast, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You can't stop yourself from cumming right then.
Jack won't let you breathe. He stays like that until you're grinding your hips against his face, no longer trying to pretend like you aren't loving this. You usually don't let him spoil you like this. It makes you crave it too much.
You'll start craving the way he demands, “cum on my face.”
You do. It's hard not to. He's lapping it up like he hasn't taken a sip of water in ages. There's an intense hunger in his movements. Like he can't get enough of you.
“Jack, I need a break, please—” You cry out when three of his fingers slide inside of you, curling right up against the spot his tongue was just abusing. “I'm going to—”
“Just cum.” He commands. “Don't think. Don't resist.”
You listen too easily. Your orgasm is so intense that you squirt on his fingers, drenching his hand. He presses his palm and kneads your clit in response, forcing more out of you.
“Please, I need—” You can't finish your sentence because you're cumming again.
“What do you need? Say it.” Jack won't stop until you do.
“Your cock.” You tell him desperately as your pussy squeezes around his fingers. “I need your cock.”
“What do you need my cock for?” He's not letting you off that easily.
“I need you inside of me.” You plead. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Beg for it.” He starts moving his fingers violently side to side, making you see stars as you cum harder than you have all night.
“Please fuck me.” You pant out in your orgasmic haze that's still going on because he simply will not stop fingering you. You don't care how needy you sound as you beg, “please, I need your cock inside of me, I want to cum on your cock, please make me cum on your cock.”
“Flip over.” He snaps at you to hurry as he pulls his fingers out of you, making your legs shake. “Spread your pussy for me.”
It's humiliating to be on your knees in bed, with your hand between your legs, spreading yourself wide for him. But you're instantly rewarded with the entire length of his cock ramming deep inside of you.
“Rub your clit.” He doesn't want you to move your hand away just yet. “I want to feel you cum like a little whore.”
You muffle your moans into your pillow as you rub your clit while he pounds into you from behind. You're cumming with every thrust, your hand soaked with your own release. You'll have to change your sheets. You see how dark the fabric is where your knees are.
“You're making such a mess.” Jack smacks your ass as punishment, which makes you cum harder. “Do you squirt on every cock that fucks you like this?”
You shake your head. He sees it. That satisfies a nasty desire of Jack's. The one that wants you all for himself.
“So just my cock then?” He angles himself more so he can rub up against a deeper spot inside of you. The one that has you gasping for air every time the tip of his cock pounds against it.
“Yes.” You repeat that word over and over again until you cum. “Oh fuck, Jack, I can't—”
You can't cum anymore. You feel like you'll go dumb if he keeps this up. You're drowning in pleasure. And it won't stop.
“Please…” You don't know what you're begging for anymore.
Do you want him to stop or do you want this to last forever?
You're scared that it's the latter when he tells you, “be my good little whore and keep cumming for me.”
There's something intoxicating about the way he degrades you and praises you at the same time. You tighten up so much when he talks to you like that.
You cry out his name when you finally feel him cumming inside of you, filling you up so much that you can feel his cum leaking out of you. You hear his heavy breaths behind you, the sound flooding your mind with desires you shouldn't have.
Jack pulls out of you and you collapse onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up anymore. You expect him to leave. He usually does once he cums.
But he doesn't.
Instead, you feel him pull your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. He cradles you like this. You don't know how to feel about it. It's so intimate.
Especially when he whispers in your ear, “spread your legs.”
Your legs are so weak but your body listens without a second thought, your legs parting for him. His hand slides down from your stomach before slipping between your open legs. You gasp when his fingers thrust inside of you again.
“Jack…” You turn your head back to look at him and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours.
And now, you don't care about how your actions will look.
Your arm hooks back, so you can keep his head steady as he kisses you and fingers you at the same time. You moan against his lips when he starts kneading your clit with his palm. You arch your back against him when you're getting close. His other hand grips your breast, playing with your nipple between his fingers. This position makes your mind go hazy from the pleasure.
You cum while his lips are still on yours. You swear, this is a first. You've never cum while he's kissing you. He doesn't kiss you often. You assumed it was because it was too intimate for your relationship with him.
But tonight, he wants to kiss you. He wants your tongue to tangle with his as his fingers torture you. He wants you fully focused on him in this moment.
You feel how hard he's grown again, his cock rubbing against your ass. You want him inside of you again already…
Jack does too. But he needs to hear you say it so he breathes out against your lips, “do you want me to fuck you again?”
“Yes.” You stare into his eyes, your voice all light and airy. “I always want you.”
Jack pulls his fingers out of you. His eyes are locked on yours as he licks them clean, making you shiver all over. Then, he lays you down on your back and gets on top of you, much to your surprise. You and Jack rarely do missionary. Again, too intimate…
But you cling onto him when his cock slides back inside of you. This time, he's so slow with his strokes that it's almost agonizing. Like the look on his face.
Jack is staring down at you like he's afraid to lose you. You reach up, cupping his face in your hands. He leans into your touch. This is the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.
“Kiss me, Jack.” You can't think of anything else to say that would reassure him that you want him. You can't say the words you want to say, so you hope that's enough.
Jack hooks his arms under you, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you nice and slow as his lips return to yours. The orgasms he pulls out of you now are so gentle but overwhelming at the same time. Because there's a layer of something unspoken.
Something that doesn't remain unspoken for long. When Jack feels like he's getting close, he pulls away from your lips, looking into your eyes when he says, “if you want me to cum inside of you, promise me something.”
“Okay.” You nod, waiting for him to tell you what.
It takes all your remaining willpower to keep your expression calm when he tells you, “promise me you won't leave me alone.”
“Oh, Jack.” You trail your fingers along his jaw and he closes his eyes, showing you how much he likes your touch. “I won't leave you alone. I promise.”
He seals that promise with a kiss and with a few more gentle thrusts, you feel his release inside of you again. You hold onto him because you don't want to let him go. Not after he said that.
“I don't care what happens.” Jack breathes out, every word warm against your lips. “As long as I get to hold you like this again.”
It isn't a love confession. It's something else entirely. Something deeper than love.
The fear of complete loss.
“You will.” You promise him. “I won't go anywhere. I want to be here.”
Some might say that Jack should ask for more of you. To ask you for your whole heart. But he doesn't feel worthy of that. So he'll settle for a constant place in your life. A guaranteed place, no matter what.
Jack kisses your forehead. It's so sweet and tender. Then he helps you into your bathroom. He draws you a bath and gently sets you into the tub.
“Good night.” That's all he says before he leaves you in the tub.
You don't know how to feel. You want to be happy with this development. He said it in his own way that he wants you. That should make you feel good.
You sink into the bath, dipping your hand between your legs. You trail along your folds, feeling how sensitive you are after what just happened. You close your eyes, remembering the way Jack's lips felt on yours with his fingers buried inside of you. You can't stop yourself from touching yourself to the memory of it. You cum for the last time tonight, the pleasure making your mind almost as fuzzy as Jack's words did.
Jack leaves your room but stands there for a while. He doesn't know what that was. What compelled him to do that, to say those words, to want to hear your response to them. His chest aches in an unfamiliar way.
Then his stomach churns when he sees that the sliding door is unlocked…
Jack definitely locked it before he went to your room. So, how is it unlocked?
Unless…
Jack glances out to the guest house. He sees that the lights are on through the window in the front. Pope must be in there.
He is, sitting in his chair, staring out at Jack through the sheer curtains that cover the window. Pope squeezes his fists open and close, over and over, thinking.
Thinking about how loud you were moaning while Jack was fucking you. How distracted the two of you were that neither of you heard him picking the lock to the sliding door and opening it. How neither of you felt his presence at your door, listening to everything with his hand wrapped around his cock.
That's the second time he has cum today because of you.
A trend he is certain will continue.
Life with Pope is interesting. That's the best word you have for it. It's been a week since he started living with you and Jack. The house is spotless. Pope spends most of his day deep cleaning. You haven't seen the wood floors this polished ever.
It is a bit distracting, however. You usually work on your laptop in the living room but with Pope fussing around, it's hard to focus. But you don't like working in your room because you want to keep work separate from where you sleep.
Pope notices that you can't sit still and tells you, “there's a desk in the guest house. You can use it.”
That is a good idea. You need to get this edit finished.
“Thanks.” You follow him out there.
When he lets you into the guest house, you notice that the chair is nowhere near the desk. The desk is in front of the house but the chair is all the way in the back. He grabs it for you and sets it at the desk. You don't question it and set up your laptop.
“What do you do for work?” Pope has his hand on the back of the chair, his knuckles brushing along your back.
You try not to stutter but his hand is distracting, “I-I edit novels.”
“So you read all day?” He lowers his body until his head is hovering over your shoulder, looking at what's on your computer screen. “That looks like a lot of reading.”
“It can be a lot. That's why I work from home.” You can't imagine having to go into the office and drown in text.
“What kind of novel is this?” He brings the hand that was on your chair forward, draping over your other shoulder, pointing at the screen.
Pope smiles out of your view at the way your breath catches in your throat in reaction. He has you trapped. Your heart is racing in your chest. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears.
“It's…um…it's a science fiction novel.” You scroll up to show him the synopsis you wrote.
With how close his head is to your shoulder, you can actually feel his chin move as he mouths the words while he reads. “Interesting. So, what happens? How does it end?”
“Happy ending, of course.” The publishing company you work for specializes in novels that have happy endings.
Pope turns to look at you. When you turn your head to see what he's doing, you're ill prepared for how close his face is to yours. He smiles before leaning in. You half expect him to kiss you but he brushes his nose against yours instead. A little tease.
“You should get back to work.” You feel every word of his against your lips. “I'll come back when I'm done cleaning.”
Pope pulls away, leaving you with your heart pounding in your chest. When the door shuts, you try to shake off what just happened. This isn't the first time Pope has come in close contact with you.
You've noticed how casually he'll touch you. A hand on your back to move you aside as he walks by. Brushing an eyelash off your face with his thumb. He likes touching you.
And you're worried you like it too…
Ever since that night with Jack, he hasn't visited your room. Is it because the two of you came to an agreement that you won't suddenly leave him? You hate how needy you feel. Especially after having experienced such an intense night. Your body is craving intimacy more than ever.
Maybe that's why you don't push Pope away when he gets close to you. It's horrible to say but…you like the attention. You like that he has his eyes on you whenever you're in the same room as him. It makes you feel wanted. Something you thought Jack was going to make you feel after that night.
But he has been so busy working. He has been at the hospital every day this week due to a staffing shortage. So you can't really blame him. He can't give you the attention you crave, even if he'd want to. He's exhausted by the time he comes home.
It's why Jack can't commit to a relationship. Because if he knew someone was waiting at home for him, it would kill him inside. He doesn't know that you are always waiting for him. Or, he just chooses not to believe it.
You finish editing the novel when it's well into the evening. Jack has probably left for work already after sleeping all day. Pope still hasn't come to check on you. Not that you're waiting for him to come back…
You finally close your laptop, leaning back in the chair, sighing. That was the last big project you had to do for work. The next few days should be a lot lighter, mainly fixing small mistakes that the proofreaders caught. You'll get a bit of a break until they've sent in the errors they find.
You walk out of the guest house to…Pope and Jack having a pretty heated discussion. Neither of them notice that you're watching. They're standing in the kitchen. The sliding door is open just a tad, which is why you can hear everything they're saying.
And you are in utter shock.
“You work too much.” Pope tells Jack. “She's getting lonely.”
“What does this have to do with you?” Jack has been hearing the same shit from Pope all week.
Pope just shrugs in response. “Maybe I don't like seeing her all mopey.”
“She is not…” Jack bites back a curse word. This is exactly what he was afraid of and someone is finally confronting him about it. He does not like it one bit. “I can't control how she feels.”
“You can control how you act.”
Jack is tired of Pope's bullshit.
“Is that what you're doing? When you stand outside her bedroom at night?” His words finally crack the nonchalant facade Pope has been trying to maintain. He pushes further. “I know you unlock the sliding door at night. I know what you do, Pope.”
“What do I do?” Pope snaps back, walking up to Jack to confront him face to face, his aura threatening. “Tell me.”
Jack doesn't want to say it. But he has seen Pope outside of your room, just staring at your door. It's why Jack hasn't been coming to your room. He doesn't want to give Pope material to jerk off to. He doesn't want your private moments with him to be heard. Because he cannot keep Pope out.
There's not a lock on Earth that would be able to keep Pope from you.
Jack glances down at his watch. “I'm late for work.”
And that's all he says before he leaves.
Jack doesn't notice that you're standing there, in disbelief. But Pope notices. His eyes shift to you and your heart stops. Then, it starts to pound loudly in your chest when he makes his way over to you.
“Did you hear everything?” Pope knows you did. You wouldn't have such a surprised expression if you hadn't.
“I-I…” You can't find the words to say. You just swallow the lump in your throat.
“How does it make you feel?” He steps closer to you and you don't back away. You're frozen in place as he says, “knowing that I've heard you touch yourself so desperately these last few nights?”
A wave of shame and embarrassment floods over you. There's a reason you picked that specific room in the house. It's the furthest room from Jack's. Meaning, you can touch yourself while calling out Jack's name and he would never know. You checked the soundproofing. He would have to be pressed up against the door to hear you and Jack would never do that.
But Pope would.
“What does he do to you that makes you scream his name when you make yourself cum?” Pope closes the space between the two of you and you choke on your own breath when he asks you, “how do I get you to do that for me?”
“Please don't tell him.” You can't have Jack knowing this. It's not something you're proud of…
“He doesn't know how lucky he is.” Pope reaches forward, cupping your cheek with his cold hand. You don't even flinch. Because his touch is like an alternative version of Jack's. A bit more jagged, but so similar.
“Lucky?” You don't get what Pope is saying.
So he explains, “it would be a privilege to have you scream my name like that while you're feeling good. How did Jack get so lucky to have a beautiful woman do that for him?”
You place your hands on his chest, using your laptop as a makeshift barrier. You don't push him away but you don't pull him closer. You're building a wall between you and Pope. Because you're scared what will happen if one of you leans in.
You don't think you'd be able to resist.
So you keep your hands on his chest, giving you just the space of your elbows. If he gets any closer, you'd feel his body heat too much. It makes you dizzy…
“Are you scared of me?” Pope asks and his question confuses you.
“No.” You shake your head. “That's not…”
“You are afraid of me.” He tells you, his words piercing you in unspeakable ways. “You're afraid of me making you feel good.”
Now that the truth is in the air, you're more overwhelmed than you were a few moments ago. It's like he caught you red-handed. He did catch you red-handed…
“Why were you outside my door?” You look him in the eyes when you ask, “did you want to come in?”
“I could've.” You don't lock your door. Not like that would've deterred him if you wanted him to be there. He'd pick that lock in a heartbeat.
“You didn't.” You don't know what you would've done if Pope opened your door while you had a toy buried inside of you, fucking yourself with it.
“Would you have wanted me to?” He doesn't move closer. He wants you to do it. He wants to see you give in to your desire.
You take your hands off of him then, taking a step back.
Because you were about to say yes.
You try to ground yourself, clenching onto your laptop tighter.
You're getting swept up in Pope.
That's why you need to say, “you're only interested in me because of Jack. Whatever you feel for me, it'll pass.”
It always does. You have been in enough shitty relationships to know that no one has ever stayed interested in you. Especially not when you start to let yourself crave more of them. They always back away then. Calling you needy, unbearable, tiring.
At least with Jack, you know where you stand. He's not stringing you along. You feel secure in your relationship with Jack.
You don't feel secure in your relationship with Pope. You feel like you would drown in his affection. Something you are more than desperate for. But you can't take that risk.
It'll only hurt you more later.
His response makes you ache all over, “I'm interested in why Jack is willing to risk losing you to someone else. I wouldn't take that risk. I would've made you mine ages ago.”
You shake your head. “You wouldn't. Trust me, I…”
You wrap your arms around your middle, clutching your laptop like a shield, pain sweeping over you. It's a familiar feeling. Heartache.
“I'm just a good fuck.” You tell him, choking back the sob that threatens to leave your lips. “I'm not anything more than that.”
But you saying that does not dissuade him at all.
Instead, Pope steps closer. He has decided that you won't be able to make the first move. You won't allow yourself to.
“You never answered my question.” He grabs a hold of your chin, making you look him in the eyes as he repeats himself, “would you have wanted me to come into your bedroom while you were touching yourself and give you what you really want?”
You can't hide from the intensity of his stare. You can't run away. Your body has gone completely rigid.
Because you can't say no.
Why can't you just say no?
Tell him no!
Pope licks his lips as his thumb brushes across your lower lip. Your whole body quivers in response. Just from a small touch…meaning you won't survive more than this. He'll corrupt you completely.
“If you say no, I won't bother you ever again.” He gently caresses your cheek before trailing his hand down to rest at the nape of your neck. His thumb glides along the column of your throat, making it hard for you to breathe. Though maybe it's his words that make you breathless. “If that's what you really want. I promise, you will never have to interact with me again.”
That same heartache from before stabs into you like a dull blade. You've never experienced this before. Someone willing to give up their affection because you said so. Usually, you're the one doing that. The one who has to let go even when you don't want to because they don't feel anything for you anymore.
Pope feels something for you. Enough for him to suppress it at your command.
So, tell him. Tell him that you don't want him. Tell him so that he can leave you like everyone else has.
Tell him the truth.
“I don't want that.” You can't take back the words once they leave your lips. “I don't want you to leave me alone.”
All of a sudden, you understand exactly what Jack felt the other day…
“What do you want?” Pope leans in closer, now that he knows you're willing. “I'll do whatever you want.”
“I don't know.” That's the truth. You really don't know.
“Do you want to know what I want?” He pulls you closer to him by your neck. It's gentle and forceful at the same time.
You can't speak. You can only nod.
“I want…” Pope leans in, his lips resting on the shell of your ear as he whispers, “you, underneath me, screaming my name instead of his. Would you like that?”
Again, you can't speak.
And again, you can only nod…
“Good girl.” He gives you a kiss on the forehead. “I'm glad you can be honest.”
You feel a mixture of fear and excitement. Fear that you'll enjoy this too much. Excited for it to happen regardless.
Pope smiles at you, at the bashful face you're making. He basks in the desire in your eyes. “Where do you want me?”
You can't answer because you're unsure if you could take him to your bedroom. It would be impossible not to think about him if the two of you slept together on your bed. You'd relive the memory every time you lay down. That's what happened with Jack.
“I don't know.” You're so nervous right now.
“Let's go to the guest house then.” Pope decides for the two of you. That way, he can reminisce about you every time he lays down in bed. It might actually make him want to sleep in bed.
He puts his hand out for you to hold. You take it and follow behind him as he walks you back to the guest house. You set your laptop back down on the desk.
Then, when your hands are finally free, Pope comes up to you, his eyes taking you in completely. You're so beautiful to him. He knows you'll be even more stunning without any clothes on.
But you press your hands against his chest when he tries to come closer. He looks at you, puzzled. You swallow your nerves to tell him, “can I use your shower?”
You've been sitting at a desk all day, mulling over words on a screen. You're sweaty and you don't want him to touch you for the first time when you're not clean.
“Can we use it together?” Pope wouldn't mind a nice shower.
“Okay.” You and Jack have never done that before. Only baths, since he can't stand in the shower. He probably could with his prosthetic but he prefers not to get it wet if he doesn't need to.
“Can I take off your clothes?” Pope wants to be the one that undresses you.
You nod, letting him come close again. His hands hold onto the hem of your shirt and you lift your arms so he can pull it off of you. He does the same, pulling off his shirt, so you don't feel alone.
It's actually crazy how similar him and Jack look. Even their bodies are only slightly different. The main difference being how much more intimidating Pope carries himself.
Pope rests his hands on your hips before he pulls your pants off of you. You step out of them, leaving yourself in just your bra and underwear. He takes off his pants, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. You try not to notice that he's hard.
“Turn around.” Pope instructs and you listen. He unhook your bra and then gently pulls down the straps one at a time, making you shiver all over from the soft touches.
He steps closer to you, close enough that you can feel his hard cock against your back. His hands slide down from your stomach to the waistband of your underwear.
Then, he whispers in your ear, “you don't have to wear these anymore. It would be easier to fuck you whenever I want if you went without.”
He pulls them off of you at that moment, letting you stand there, stunned by his words. You know he has pulled his off because the heat of his bare cock is back on your back. He feels big. Jack's is pretty big.
Could they really be that similar?
“We should head into the shower.” He says to you, pressing a kiss against your bare shoulder. “Before I can't control myself any longer.”
Pope takes your hand and guides you into the shower. He turns it on, shielding you from the cold water that sprays out first. You take that instance to look down at his cock.
He catches you. “Are you comparing us in your mind?”
You definitely are. They're about the same size but different in one very distinct way. Pope is uncut. You can't remember the last time you fucked someone with foreskin. You're a bit surprised by that.
“You might as well touch it if you're going to keep staring that hard." Pope takes your hand and wraps it around his cock. “Go ahead, touch me.”
You stroke up the length of his cock until you reach the tip. You like how hot it feels in your hand. You also like the look on Pope's face when you start to move your hand. He grabs your wrist, stopping you.
“If you keep doing that, I'll fuck you right here.” He isn't going to cum until he's buried inside of you.
You pull your hands away from him. He hands you a bar of soap. You wash your body while he does the same. You don't get your hair wet, thanks to him shielding you from the shower until you're ready to rinse your body.
“Thank you.” You appreciate his consideration.
“Can you say my name when you thank me?” He wants to hear his name from your lips more often.
“Thank you, Andrew.” You tell him as he helps you dry off with a towel.
Then, he takes your hand again and walks you over towards the bed. It doesn't look like it has been touched at all.
Where has he been sleeping? The floor?
You can't think straight anymore when he pushes your back up against the wall and closes the space between the two of you. There's so much warmth radiating off of him after the shower. It's making every breath you take heavy.
You try to ignore the way his cock rests against your lower stomach, throbbing. You can't ignore the way Pope cups your face with his hands before he kisses you for the first time. You're taken back by how gentle his kisses are. Perhaps you judged him prematurely. You expected him to be more aggressive.
You haven't been touched like this in a long time. Like you're precious to him. Like he's afraid that one wrong move will turn you off.
“Your lips are so soft.” He says, nipping at your bottom lip lightly with his teeth. “I could kiss you all day.”
“Would you?” You look at his lips, reaching up to touch them.
“Are you saying you'd let me?” He leans in again, kissing you once more. The butterflies are dancing around in your stomach.
“I wouldn't stop you.” You wouldn't stop Jack either. But he never has. Will Pope?
“I understand now.” He starts to kiss down the side of your neck, feeling the way his words make you shiver, “you like being used whenever, wherever.”
His hands slide down to your waist, holding you against the wall as his lips make their way down to your collarbone. He kisses along the length of it and the gentleness of it is driving you wild.
Especially when his words don't match his actions. “Have you always been a ready and available hole for Jack?”
“Yes.” You don't hide it. You like when he would just fuck you wherever you were in the house.
“Will you be that for me?” His lips trail lower, hovering over your breasts. He just stares at them, refusing to touch them. He's purposefully avoiding the areas that make you feel good.
Pope likes the build up. You're squirming from it, and his question.
You only nod in response, giving into your desire. If he wants to use your body, you're ready and willing. You hope he actually does it. But he keeps his hands away from anywhere sensitive. It's killing you…
“Please touch me, Andrew.” You can't stand waiting any longer.
“I am touching you.” He smiles, resting his hands on your shoulders. “See?”
“That's not…” You gasp when his hands slide to meet in the middle, closing around your neck.
“Do you not like these touches?” His thumbs press down on the center of your throat. Any air you breathe in is trapped right there. Your body is trembling.
Pope gently spreads your legs apart with his thigh, pushing it right up against your pussy. You're embarrassed by how wet you are from this. Surely he can feel it on his thigh now.
“Let me see you cum like this.” He tells you, gesturing to his thigh between your legs. “Grind those hips like the whore you are.”
He heard. He must've heard you and Jack. He knows how much you like being degraded and humiliated…
You nearly cum just from that. You don't hide anything anymore. You show him how needy you are, grinding against his thigh, desperate to cum. The friction against your clit is incredible. The way Pope is staring at you is electric.
You lift your hands up to wrap around his wrists and for a moment, he expects you to tug his hands off your neck. But instead, you pull him closer, wanting him to choke you. He's never wanted someone so badly before, his cock throbbing like crazy.
Pope applies more pressure, forcing your eyes to roll back in your head. You can't breathe. You're still grinding against his thigh, getting closer and closer to your release.
Then, he whispers in your ear, “cum right now or I'll snap your neck.”
His hands squeeze your throat harder, his threat apparent. You cum all over his thigh in an instant, choking on your own moans. You ride his thigh through your orgasm, wanting it to last longer.
All the while, Pope has the loveliest smile on his face. When you've come down from your high, he lets your neck go and returns to holding your face tenderly, kissing you with so much sweetness. The contrast sends such shock waves through you. You can't tell which side of him you like more…
“You did very well.” He praises you, your heart skipping a beat in response. “Now lay down for your reward.”
Pope likes how obedient you are. You lay down right away on the bed, hands clasped over your stomach, patiently waiting. He can see now why Jack keeps you here.
Why would anyone let you go?
“Are you comfortable?” He climbs on top of you. “Do you need another pillow?”
You shake your head. There's tension coiling in your stomach because you have no idea what's going to happen next. You don't know what a reward looks like from Pope.
It starts with him finally cupping your breasts with both of his hands, grasping them firmly. You bite back a whimper when he rolls his thumbs over your nipples. A few more swipes and they're nice and hard for him, so he leans in and takes one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
Then, he trails lower, kissing a line down your stomach until he's between your legs. His eyes are locked on yours when his tongue drags up along your folds until he reaches your clit. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue and you can't hold in your voice anymore.
“Andrew.” His name comes out all raspy from your lips as your orgasm builds from him playing with your clit in his mouth.
The expression on his face is pure delight. He loves how you say his name when you're about to cum. He needs to hear it more. So he takes his time, learning what makes you rasp out his name, not letting you cum.
You wouldn't consider this a reward. This is more like torture. He keeps edging you, bringing you so close to cumming only to pull away at the last second.
“Please, Andrew.” You can't take it anymore. “I want to cum.”
He knows that. He can tell from how much slick has built up. He can probably slide right into you right now. But he won't.
“What's the rush?” He says, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. “We have all night.”
This is different from the sex you've had with Jack. Usually, it's hot and intense. There's no stalling anything. If he wants to fuck you, he does.
With Pope, he just spent years in prison. He's not looking to do anything quickly. He has to savor everything now that he's free.
“Just let me cum once.” You barter because you can't handle getting so close and then not going over the edge.
“You already came once. Don't tell me you forgot.” He smirks.
You're so frustrated right now. The denial is making you insatiable. You want to cum. You want to cum a lot. But he won't let you.
“I thought I was supposed to get a reward.” You whine because you have no other options.
“You're right.” He says, his gaze shifting down to your core. “I did say you'd get a reward.”
You scream the moment two of his fingers thrust inside of you without warning. You're not ready at all for the sudden burst of stimulation, his fingers curling inside of you until your body is shaking.
“Wait, wait, wait—” You try to move away, to try to stop yourself from bursting at the seams.
But then he locks his lips around your clit and starts to suck, pressing his fingers upwards inside of you right below it, and you cum hard. So hard that you squirt and it won't stop. His fingers are relentless. He slips another one in, stretching you out, watching as your back arches in response. Your body wants him deeper.
But your mind is completely blank. The pleasure fogging all your senses. You haven't stopped cumming.
“Andrew!” You plead for him to give you a break. “Please, I can't keep—”
Pope watches your body convulse from the consecutive orgasms. He just stares at you, at how utterly helpless you are. Your pussy is squeezing his fingers so tightly, he can't possibly let go.
Unless… “It's either my fingers or my cock. Which would you prefer?”
You answer almost too fast, “your cock, please.”
“Are you on birth control?” Either way, he's going in raw.
You nod, craving him inside of you. He pulls his fingers free then presses down on your lower stomach. He licks his lips when you cum again from the pressure, drenching the sheets beneath you. He can't help himself. He leans in, having a taste.
You grab a hold of his head and hold him there, angling yourself so he can give you another orgasm before he fucks you. Because you wanted a reward for enduring that.
You rest your hands on his shoulders when he climbs back up over you, lining his cock up at your entrance. You spread your legs wider, so it's easier for him.
“Jack is the stupidest man alive.” Pope says to you bluntly. “Because why would he ever let someone else fuck you when you're this perfect?”
You dig your nails into his skin when his cock pushes inside of you. You're so wet that he hilts with ease, your hips meeting his. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer to you.
Pope closes his eyes. He wants to etch this feeling to memory. The very first time your pussy squeezes around his cock.
“Andrew?” You reach up to caress his face, running your fingers along his jaw. “Are you okay?”
He opens his eyes, staring down at you. You've never seen this look before. Not even on Jack's face. It's darker, more intense.
Because the only thought in his mind right now is that he wants to own you. You're his to use as he pleases.
His.
“How do you like it?” He asks, rolling his hips. “Nice and slow or do you want me to fuck your brains out?”
You bite your lip, not wanting to rush your answer. How do you like it?
“Use me.” You tell him. “For your pleasure.”
And just like that, you show him again how perfect you are.
You hold in a whine when he pulls out of you. Pope snaps at you, “where's your vibrator?”
You feel a surge of heat run through you. “It's in my room.”
“Go get it for me.” He likes how you stare back up at him, all desperate and confused. Because you were expecting him to fuck you. “The faster you get it, the quicker I'll be back inside of you.”
“Can I borrow a shirt?” You look over the closet in the room. “Please?”
You've never been fully naked other than in your bedroom and now here. Usually if Jack fucks you out in the open, you're still semi-dressed.
“Only because you said please.” He gestures for you to grab whatever you need.
You quickly throw on a shirt and then head back to your room. You're tensing up from the thrill of walking through Jack's house, dripping between your legs from how hard Pope made you cum. Your heart is beating so loud in your ears by the time you're back at the guest house with your vibrator.
Pope puts his hand out and you set it in his grasp. He examines it, imagining what it must've looked like when you were fucking yourself with it when you thought no one could hear you. It's a pretty simple design. Slightly curved, thicker head, smooth.
“Lay back down.” Pope pats the bed next to him.
You do as he says and he climbs back on top of you. You don't hold back the sigh of relief when he buries his cock back inside of you. You can't hold in your voice when he turns on the vibrator and presses it against your clit. Your whole body shivers in response at the sudden stimulation.
Pope isn't moving at all. He's just waiting to see how you'll react, holding the vibrator steady with one hand and pinning you down to the bed by your lower stomach with the other.
You're gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to hold yourself still. But your body is shaking like crazy. Tears are building in the corner of your eyes. The intensity of the vibration on your clit, the pressure of his hand pressing down over his cock inside of you, the way he's stretching you out, buried deep, everything altogether is too much.
The moment you cum, it's impossible to stop. Pope stares at you with that intense gaze of his as you cum over and over again, your body writhing beneath him like you've been possessed. And he hasn't even fucked you yet.
“I need a—” You need a break, your clit is so overstimulated. “I need—”
Pope turns the vibration up and you explode. You're cumming so hard that your vision goes blurry.
That's when he starts pounding into you. You're screaming his name, shoving at him, trying to get him off of you. Because if he keeps fucking you like this, you're going to go crazy. You won't be able to resist wanting this again.
“Andrew, you have to stop, I'm going to—” You pinch your eyes shut, tears dripping down your face as the next orgasm is drilled into you with how hard he's thrusting.
“I'll stop if you tell me “we can't do this, Andrew. He's your brother. I can't betray your brother.”” Pope's twisted desires flood out when he feels how tight your pussy gets when he tells you that. “Say it.”
“Oh god.” You're clawing at his chest, squirting on his cock when you scream, “please, Andrew! We can't do this. He's your brother. I can't—”
Pope slams into you harder, your toes curling in response to him driving so deep into you, “you can't what? You can't believe you're cumming this hard on my cock instead of his?”
“Yes.” You drag your nails down his chest the moment he turns the vibration to the highest setting. You're an absolute mess after that. You try to get him to stop but he keeps ramming his cock into you over and over again, kneading your stomach, forcing you to be all too aware of how deep he is inside of you.
Pope wants to make sure you never forget how he can make you feel. That you memorize the shape of his cock pounding into you. That you remember every time you use your vibrator how he used it on you.
He wants to make sure the name that crosses your mind you cum is his, not Jack's.
“Beg for it.” He's getting close but wants to hear you want him. “Like you're my whore, not his.”
“Please cum inside of me, Andrew.” You're going to unravel completely when he does. You know it. “I need you to. I can't cum unless you do. I don't deserve to cum unless you do.”
Your pussy squeezes him to death. You're holding it in. You won't cum unless he does.
You really are perfect.
Pope hasn't cum that hard in ages. He's surprised at how much spills out of him. You are too, because the more he releases inside of you, the harder you cum. It doesn't help that he's still abusing your clit with the vibrator. You're never going to cum from normal sex again. He's ruined you…
He pulls out of you, but then slides the vibrator down. You gasp when he thrusts it inside of you. You're not prepared to feel the intense vibration in your thoroughly fucked pussy. You can't breathe when you feel the vibration push up against your womb where he just came. It makes you all too aware of how warm it is, trapped inside of you by your toy.
“Andrew, take it out.” You push at his arm as your orgasm builds too quickly and you're scared of what might happen if you let yourself cum from this. “Please, take it out!”
“No.” He shakes his head at you and starts fucking you with the vibrator instead. “You told me to use you for my pleasure. That's what I'm doing.”
Because Pope will feel incredible the moment you completely give in. The moment you shed that shame and embarrassment and just show him the most depraved side of yourself.
He's showing you his right now. The sadistic need of his to torture you.
And you're showing him how much you love being just a plaything. How it satisfies something unspeakable inside of you.
“Hold this for me.” Pope moves your hand to the vibrator. “I need to get my phone.”
Jack had given him a phone and he hasn't used it yet. He needs to right now. Because he wants to be able to watch back this moment whenever he wants.
You keep the vibrator inside of you. You should pull it out. You should…but Pope told you to hold it. And you're a good listener.
He hits the record button, taking a video of you writhing against his bed with the vibrator held inside your pussy. He takes it from you then, keeping his camera hand steady as he drives the vibrator into you over and over again until you're squirting all over the bed with every thrust. You're screaming his name now and he has it all on video.
You can't think straight anymore. Your body has a mind of its own, obsessed with the pleasure of it all that you don't have a care in the world anymore.
You're just his to use. That's all.
Pope pulls the vibrator out of you, turning it off and tossing it aside, then sinks his now hard cock back inside of you. He smiles when he sees how you've stopped resisting. “Look at you, grinding your hips on me like a whore.”
You can't help yourself. You don't want to stop cumming, especially now that his cock is back inside of you.
You grab his hand, wrapping it around your neck. “Punish me for being such a whore.”
Pope grips harder, moving his phone closer so he can record how tight his grip is around your throat. Then, he shows the camera the face you're making in response. Pure bliss.
You have your hands around his wrist, holding him to you, not wanting him to pull away as he pounds into you exactly the way you like it. Without any air coming in or out, your moans are getting caught in your throat. The thrill of being completely at his control makes every orgasm he drags out of you a million times more intense.
And it only picks up when he demands, “tell me that you don't want to betray Jack.”
He loosens his grip on your throat and slows his thrusts, giving you ample space to breathe out, “please, Andrew. We shouldn't be doing this. I-I don't want to betray Jack.”
You feel Pope's cock twitching like crazy inside of you. He's more aroused than he has ever been. He feels like he could burst at any moment.
He nearly does when you say, “please get off of me. You're scaring me, Andrew.”
Pope growls back, choking you again all of a sudden, “good. Be scared of how hard you're going to cum on my cock. Don't forget to scream my name when you do.”
The moment he's fucking you again, you're clutching the sheets, your back arched, your orgasm causing your body to spasm uncontrollably. His name leaves your lips in strangled gasps. He can feel every attempt you make to scream it on his palm clasped around your throat. It drives him wild.
“Give me your hand.” He demands for you to let go of the sheets and hands you back the vibrator. “You know what to do, my little whore.”
You turn it on and press it against your clit as he pounds into you until you feel his hot release spill deep inside. Then, when he pulls out of you, you slide the vibrator down, slipping it inside of you, trapping his cum right where he wants it.
You're not ready for him to hover over you, throwing his phone away so he can press both of his hands over your throat, strangling you. His lower body holds the vibrator steady inside of you as he squeezes.
You start clawing at his arms, digging your nails in hard, scraping down his flesh. He revels in the pain, in knowing you're the one doing it to him.
“I want you to cum so hard that you'll never forget this night for the rest of your life.” Pope demands to be one of the memories you touch yourself to.
You do exactly as he wishes. Your eyes roll back, your toes curl, your stomach twists and you cum so hard the vibrator pops out of you from the sheer force of it, landing in the space between you and Pope. He frees you from his grip and you swallow in air, shivering all over. Then, you're clinging onto him, the shockwaves still surging through you from how intense that was. He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside, so he can memorize the sound of your heavy breaths.
Pope cradles you, laying you down against his chest, and you crumble in his hold, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He gently rubs your back, soothing you slowly. He waits until your breathing has returned to normal and your heart isn't beating out of your chest to lift your chin up to look at him.
He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, admiring how beautiful you look all dazed like this. Then he leans in, kissing you. You melt into his kiss completely.
“Good job.” He praises you, giving your forehead a light peck. “You did really well for me. That was incredible.”
It gives you a different kind of pleasure to hear that. You never thought knowing you did a good job in bed would make the butterflies in your stomach dance so happily.
“Was that okay?” He moves your head side to side, checking your neck. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”
“I'm good.” You feel bad for being surprised that Pope is caring. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. “Thank you for checking up on me, Andrew.”
“I know I have…strange tastes.” He wasn't expecting you to fulfill his fantasies so readily.
Pope will never let you go now. Jack will have to kill him to keep him from you.
“Then I guess I have strange tastes too.” You say back shyly, admitting out loud that you thoroughly enjoyed all of that.
“I can delete the video, if you want me to.” He would prefer not to. He'll keep it in an encrypted folder on his phone, so no one has access to it but him.
“You don't have to. Just don't show anyone…” You shouldn't say this next part but…you do anyways, “except Jack.”
Pope doesn't hide his devilish smirk. “You want him to see it?”
“Is that…bad?” You don't know where the boldness comes from.
Maybe it's because you want Jack to feel a bit threatened. You promised to never leave him alone, but you never promised you'd make staying easy for him.
“You're asking me to test my brother.” Pope draws a line down your side, the casual touching so intimate as he tells you, “you realize I want you for myself, right?”
“I guess you'll have to fight him for me.” You present a challenge because you suddenly have a surge of confidence.
You know exactly where you stand with both of them.
And you want them to push it to the limit.
Jack has never been this angry before. Not even after the incident that made him lose half his leg. He is genuinely more pissed right now than he has ever been.
Because he comes home from a long shift and when his eyes glance out to the guest house, he sees your silhouette behind that sheer curtain getting railed by Pope.
You're pressed up against the window with only the fabric of the curtain covering you up, as Pope fucks you from behind. You and Pope went straight to sleep once you were all washed up again after the night you two had and then the moment you woke up, he was between your legs. You haven't had a second to breathe since your eyes opened. And now your body is pushed up against cold glass and you can see Jack through the curtain staring right at you.
“Let him watch.” Pope says all low in your ear. “He'll fuck you better later if he sees us.”
He doesn't pretend not to notice how tight you get when he says that. You cum way too easily at the thrill of what Jack might do to you once you see him after this.
Jack storms off to his bedroom, the rage boiling inside of him. He got a text from Pope he has yet to open. Because it had an encrypted link to a video. And from what Pope texted him, it wasn't a video he could view at work.
Pope: I promise I didn't rape her. She told me to send this to you. Enjoy, brother.
Against his best judgment, Jack opens the video. He told himself he should just delete it without watching it. But when he sees the preview picture on his screen, he clicks the video too quickly.
Then, he tosses his phone aside and storms out to the guest house. The door isn't locked so he swings it open. Pope has you pressed down against the bed, still fucking you from behind. Neither of you are facing the door, but both of you definitely heard Jack come in.
“Get off of her right now, Pope.” Jack practically prowls up to you two, glaring. “Move.”
Pope doesn't listen because you're squeezing his cock so hard now that you know Jack's watching. So, he does the exact opposite. He pounds into you faster, until you're screaming his name and the freshly washed sheets are now stained once again. Then, Pope pulls out of you and cums all over your back, marking you. You shiver all over when you feel the warmth hit your back.
“She's all yours.” Pope steps aside, sitting down on the bed. “I even left her pussy clear for you. Aren't I a good brother?”
“I should fucking kill you.” Jack can't contain the anger.
“You've got a gun. Go ahead.” Pope invites him to. “But I think our roommate would miss me if you shot me. Isn't that right?”
Pope reaches over, smacking your ass. You bite back a moan in response, which is enough of an answer.
Jack flips you over onto your back so you can see the death glare on his face as he spits out, “is this what you want?”
“No.” You sit up and then reach forward, immediately unbuckling his belt. “This is what I want.”
You're through pretending you aren't obsessed with him. You want him to know exactly how much you want him.
Jack is so stunned that he doesn't stop you from pulling his hard cock out of his pants. You lean forward, taking him into your mouth with ease, despite how big he is. You swallow him whole, your lips humming at the base of his cock. You've missed his taste.
You feel him throb in your mouth when Pope asks Jack, “so were you hard from watching me fuck her or did you open that video I sent you?”
“Shut the fuck up and get me that vibrator.” Jack snaps at Pope and then grabs the back of your head, forcing more of himself down your throat. Your eyes are watering now as he fucks your face. “Get on your fucking knees and take it.”
You kneel on the bed without hesitation and Pope knows exactly what Jack wants from him. He grabs the vibrator, turning it on before thrusting it into your pussy. You moan around Jack's cock, allowing him to stuff even more of himself down your throat. You gag but your tongue keeps swirling around him and your mouth keeps sucking.
“Your mouth is like a pussy.” He degrades you exactly how you like it, sending such a thrill through you. “What a fucking whore. Spreading your legs for my brother of all people.”
That's enough for you to cum hard enough to squirt and launch the vibrator out of your pussy. His cock muffles your scream from the sudden loss and the wet feeling dripping down your thighs. Pope chuckles at your humiliation.
“You've got to keep it in you.” He pushes the vibrator back inside, making your toes curl when he increases the vibration and starts thrusting it at the same rhythm as Jack is fucking your mouth.
Jack can't last much longer. He hasn't fucked you in a week. He needs to cum.
But not without establishing your punishment first. “I'm going to cum in your mouth and you are going to keep it there. No swallowing. No spitting. Got it?”
You nod, and the moment he coats the back of your throat with his release, you squirt all over Pope's hand while he fucks you with the vibrator through your orgasm. You don't swallow as Jack pulls himself out of your mouth and tucks his cock back into his pants. He grabs you by the chin, lifting you up to look at him.
“Show me.” Jack demands.
You open your mouth, letting him see that it's filled with his cum. He spits in your mouth then closes it for you. Your body convulses in response and you nearly cum from that action alone.
“Turn it off.” Jack tells Pope, who listens, turning off the vibrator. “But keep it there.”
Pope is enjoying this a lot. He likes seeing the look on Jack's face. Because that's the look on his face when he's in that exact mood.
Jack turns his attention back to you. “Listen to me carefully. We're going to watch you cum hard enough to push that vibrator out. Only then do you get to swallow. Got it?”
You nod, the taste of Jack in your mouth numbing your mind. You lay back, letting both men watch you as you turn back on the vibrator and start fucking yourself with it. You're grinding your hips to the rhythm, already getting close from how heated their gazes are.
Because their eyes are on you, you give them a show, grabbing a hold of your breast and pinching your nipple between your fingers. You moan with a full mouth, wishing it wasn't full of cum but with a cock instead.
“God, she's perfect.” Pope says, staring at you, his cock already getting hard again. “You really let me fuck her?”
“You're lucky I'm letting you.” Jack knows it's either this or you having to pick between one of them. And Jack won't take the risk that you'll pick Pope, so sharing you is the best case scenario.
“Don't let anyone else, okay?”
“Fuck no.” Jack will not give you to anyone else. “She's ours and that's it.”
When you hear that, your whole body tenses then explodes.
The vibrator launches out of you as you soak the bed again with how hard you squirt and you swallow right after so you can tell them, “please fuck me. I want to be all yours, both of yours.”
“Then get that pretty mouth over here.” Pope sits up against the headboard, his cock ready for your mouth to sink down on. “I've already enjoyed her pussy today. You should have a taste, Jack.”
Jack watches you crawl over to Pope on the bed. You lean down, dragging your tongue up along the base of his shaft. He grabs a hold of you by your hair as you close your lips around the tip of his cock, groaning when you start to suck.
The temperature in the room rises to the point where Jack needs to strip off his clothes before climbing onto the bed. He grips your hips and then buries his face into your pussy, dipping his tongue right in. You moan on Pope's cock and he pushes more of himself down your throat in response.
“Pay attention to the cock you're sucking or I'll start fucking your face.” Pope's meaner tone heats your skin up and you focus more on making him feel good. “Good girl.”
Jack doesn't make it easy for you, though. He's tormenting your clit with the way he slides into you then pulls out to drag the tip of his tongue along your clit before slipping back in. It's so inconsistent that your legs are shaking from the denial.
“You aren't allowed to cum.” Jack smacks your ass when he says that and you gag on Pope's cock, making him laugh darkly at you. “Not until he shoots his load down your throat. Hold it until then.”
That proves to be a challenge because Jack thrusts three fingers into you and starts moving them in that side to side motion that has you tearing up. You want to cum so bad but Pope is nowhere close to his release.
Not until you move your mouth off his cock and look him in the eyes as you say, “don't let me cum from Jack's fingers. Make me cum from your cock fucking my mouth, Andrew.”
It's like a switch flipped in Pope. He slams you back down onto his cock, burying himself deep down your throat before he starts rolling his hips, fucking you just like you asked. You're gagging and crying but you're in heaven from how full you feel on both ends and how close you are to what you know will be one of the best orgasms of your life.
“Keep my cum in your mouth like you did for Jack.” Pope instructs and you nod. “Fuck, your mouth is like a pussy. What a perfect whore you are.”
You clench around Jack's fingers when you taste Pope spilling his cum down your throat. Jack pulls his fingers out of you with a pop and before you can have a moment to react, his cock rams inside of you. Your orgasm hits right then and there and you nearly drool out Pope's cum from your mouth but he grips your chin tight, stopping you from losing any.
“It must feel good to cum while tasting our cum. Open up.” Pope taps your cheek and you open your mouth, letting him spit into your mouth like Jack had earlier. “Now we're even. Swallow for me.”
You swallow at the same time Jack spits on your ass. You aren't prepared for that at all, the feeling completely foreign to you. He rubs along the tight ring with his thumb, the motion causing your body to tingle all over.
“Relax.” He tells you. He keeps the strokes of his cock steady as he teases your sensitive ass. “It'll feel good. You said you wanted us both. We have to train you to take us both.”
“Come here.” Pope gestures for you to grab a hold of his shoulders. You do just that and he pulls your face towards him. “Focus on me.”
He leans in and kisses you in that soft way of his. It coaxes you into calming down, your mind focused on his lips on yours. Jack slips his other hand down to rub your clit as his thumb presses into your ass slowly. All the sensations you're experiencing are warring inside of you. But Pope's reassuring hold on your face and Jack's slow, methodical circles over your clit coupled with his gentle rhythm of his cock pounding into you make it easier to accept his thumb slipping completely inside your ass. You moan against Pope's lips when you feel him start to move his thumb, getting you used to the feeling of being touched there.
“It's just another place for us to make you feel good.” He breathes out against your lips. “We'll take it slow.”
You nod, laying your head against his shoulder, letting yourself feel everything without distraction. You muffle a scream into Pope's skin when you cum around Jack's cock and he pulls out of your pussy, cumming all over your ass right as he pulls his thumb out. He rubs his cum with his fingers along the tight ring before slipping his forefinger in. Now, it's the only sensation you're feeling.
“Isn't it dirty?” You've never had to prep your ass before.
“We aren't fucking your ass today.” Jack quells your worry there. “We already came twice. If I'm going to fuck your ass, you're getting my first, full load of the day buried deep inside of you.”
“Is he always like this?” Pope asks you, chuckling under his breath.
You shake your head. “I think you're a bad influence.”
“Or a very good one.” He pecks your lips sweetly before saying, “now, be a good girl, and learn to enjoy the feeling.”
Jack manages to slip another finger past your tight ring and he's careful in how he moves, not wanting to overstimulate you and make this more painful than it has to be. You take deep breaths, allowing it to happen, wanting to feel good from this. Imagining it's his cock not his fingers. Though, his cock would split your ass open, so you do appreciate that they're going to slowly prepare you for this instead of rushing in.
When three fingers fit without too much difficulty, Jack knows it's time for the next part. He grabs your vibrator and you brace yourself, tightening around his fingers when he slips the vibrator back inside your pussy, gathering up as much of your slick as he can before he pulls it and his fingers out.
“Trade with me.” Jack tells Pope. “I need to wash my hands. I don't want to risk any infections.”
“Ah, the doctor is in.” Pope smirks and gives you another kiss before he slips away and subs in for Jack, taking the vibrator from him. “I'm glad I get to have a bit of the fun.”
Jack leaves to clean up as Pope turns on the vibrator for a second, teasing around the sensitive flesh before shutting it off again. You put your arms under your pillow, gripping it up towards your mouth to smother your moans.
“Inhale.” Pope says and you listen, letting him slip the tip of the toy past that tight ring. “Exhale. Good job.”
You feel flushed at how much you like hearing him praise you. Though, that might be also because he's pushing more of the vibrator inside of you. You've never felt this full in that area before.
When he hilts the vibrator, Pope applauds you, “well done. I'll let you get used to it. You can lay down if that's more comfortable.”
You lay on your side, tired of holding your body up. You take in deep breaths, trying to adjust to the feeling. Pope lays down next to you, caressing your sides, looking at you with so much care.
“There's no rush.” He doesn't want you to think this has to happen right away. “It should feel good. Tell me if it doesn't.”
“It's…different.” That's the best way you can put it. “But not bad.”
“We can work with that.” Pope says, looking up as Jack returns from the bathroom. He plops down behind you, the mattress weight shifting. “Thankfully this is a king sized bed.”
“Still a bit cramped.” Jack scoops you into his arms, spooning you from behind. It makes you reminisce about the other day, when he held you like this.
“Are we planning to sleep together like a big, happy family?” Pope has you lay on his chest.
“I'd like that.” You say quietly, not sure if you should've admitted it. You did like sleeping with Pope last night. Jack usually doesn't sleep with you after the two of you have sex, to keep that distance, so you're unsure how he'll react to your words.
He surprises you. “Then we'll sleep together. I don't mind but you'll have to adjust to my sleeping schedule.”
You turn back to look at him. “Really?”
He nods, leaning in to kiss you before saying against your lips, “I'm tired of pretending that I don't want to spend every moment of every day with you.”
“Thankfully, I never had to pretend.” Pope turns your head back so he can kiss you. “I knew you were perfect for me the moment I saw you.”
“It's okay if you both change your minds later.” You don't want them to feel trapped in this arrangement. “I'll enjoy this for as long as it lasts.”
Pope and Jack share a look. And for the first time, it's like they have that twin telepathy. They both have the exact same thought.
That they're never letting you go.
Because this will last forever.
As long as you want them both.
“We should be saying that to you.” Jack tells you, holding you a bit tighter as he does. “If you ever want this to end…”
Pope can see the panic in your face as you reply, “I don't. I mean…I would understand if you two wanted to end things but…I don't think I would ever. But maybe that's selfish of me…”
“What's wrong with being a little selfish?” Pope looks at you with that intense stare of his. “I wouldn't be here if I was trying to be considerate. So be selfish and want what you want. Don't hold back.”
You place your hand on Jack's and then you put your hand out for Pope to give his for you to hold. You squeeze them both and your heart melts when they squeeze back, the feeling so comforting.
“If I get to be selfish…” You take Jack's hand, sliding it back to the handle of the vibrator. Then, you take Pope's hand, sliding it between your legs. “I want you both to make me cum.”
“Greedy little whore.” Jack whispers in your ear, making you shiver all over. Those shivers intensify when he turns on the vibrator. You're squirming at the feeling of it.
Pope takes that as the perfect opportunity to thrust three of his fingers inside of you, curling them right up against where the vibrations are pounding into you. You gasp, clinging onto him, your hips absentmindedly shaking already. He steals your breath away again by kissing you.
Then, you feel Jack grab your chin, pulling you away from Pope's lips so he can kiss you. He breathes out on your lips, his breath so warm and lovely, “you're so unfair. You better cling onto me next time.”
“I will.” You reach up, trailing your fingers along his jaw before leaning up to kiss him. “I'll treat you both equally, I promise.”
“I don't mind if you ignore Jack.” Pope pulls you back towards him, kissing you with a smirk on his face.
Jack is definitely glaring at Pope so he gets his payback by grabbing the handle of the vibrator. He starts slow thrusts and you moan against Pope's lips, the feeling becoming more pleasurable than you thought it could be. It helps that his fingers are buried in your pussy, making you very aware of where you're feeling each sensation.
“Oh god, I'm going to cum so hard.” You're practically shaking already, the tension coiling exponentially inside of you. “You guys are going to make me cum so—”
Pope wraps his other hand around your throat, cutting you off from saying anything else as your eyes roll back and you release all the tension in your body all at once. Pope pulls his fingers out of you, wanting you to cum just from your ass. Jack immediately pounds into you faster with the vibrator, increasing the vibration, and now you're screaming their names as you squirt uncontrollably. Pope holds your legs apart, not letting you hide it.
“Let it all out.” He wants to see you completely unravel.
“I heard anal orgasms make women squirt but I never thought it would be this intense.” Jack whispers right into your ear, “keep going until you can't anymore. You can do it.”
It doesn't end. There's tears dripping down your face as you spasm with every orgasm. Jack doesn't stop pounding your ass with the vibrator, each thrust making you feel faint. You didn't even know you could cum like this.
When you're thoroughly spent, Jack carefully pulls the vibrator out of you and gets up to go wash it, prepping a bath for you too. Pope picks you up into his arms and takes you to the bathtub, setting you down there.
“I'm going to shower in my room.” Jack tells you both and heads to the door. But then, before he leaves, he goes, “meet me there when you're done here.”
Jack walks back to you, not holding back his desires anymore. So, he leans down, kissing you once on the lips and then another time on the cheek.
“Have a nice bath.” He says so sweetly before he leaves.
You sink into the water, not believing that just happened. You must be so flushed because Pope goes, “are you really smiling because of another man in front of me?”
Pope gestures for you to move and you shift so he can get into the tub with you, wrapping his arms around your waist.
He nuzzles his face against the nape of your neck and then says, “I'll let it slide because he's my brother. But don't you dare smile at any other man or I'll do something that'll send me back to prison.”
You giggle, leaning back into him. “I promise, I only have eyes for you two.”
“And we only have eyes for you.” Pope says “we” because he knows even though it took Jack this long to admit it, he feels exactly the same way Pope does.
“We've only known each other a week though.” You turn around, wanting to straddle his lap to look at him. “Are you sure this is okay? I feel like maybe I'm taking advantage of you…”
“No one has ever wanted me before.” He cups your cheek with his hand and you lean into his warm touch. “I wouldn't care if you took advantage of me. At least you want me.”
You have no idea about the horrors Pope has gone through when it came to intimacy. It wouldn't be the first time he was taken advantage of. He's just happy to be chosen.
Your heart breaks a little hearing that. You meet his gaze, then rest your forehead against his, telling him softly, “I will never let you feel unwanted.”
You kiss him then and Pope holds you closer to him, believing that someone truly does want him for the first time. So he will do the same for you, “and I'll make sure you know how much I want you everyday.”
“I'd like that.” You give him a little squeeze before getting out of the tub. You stop him from leaving, though. “Will you give me a few minutes with Jack? I should talk to him alone too.”
“Fine.” Pope will be fair. For now. “Don't keep me waiting for too long.”
“Never.” You lean down to give him a parting kiss and he deepens it before you can pull away. You sigh against his lips, “Andrew…”
“Can't help myself.” He nudges your nose with his before letting you go.
You steal a shirt from Pope's closet and then scurry back to your room to change into comfortable pajamas before heading over to Jack's room. You knock on the door and he opens it.
“Where's Pope?” Jack wasn't expecting to see you alone.
“I told him to give us a few minutes alone. We haven't really talked since…”
“Come in.” Jack shuts the door behind you, locking it. It won't stop Pope from coming in if he really wants to but it'll stall for time so you and Jack can have this conversation.
You sit down on his bed and he joins you, the weight shifting over to him. You turn to look at him then say, “if this is ever too much for you, just know that I won't hold it against you if you want to reel it back. I'm happy, truly, just being with you in any capacity.”
“You shouldn't be happy with that.” He tells you, sighing. “Pope is right. I'm an idiot. You're a wonderful woman and I…just was so wrapped up in my own bullshit that I convinced myself I wasn't worthy of anything but the occasional fuck.”
Jack is finally letting his insecurities peek through. He has plenty to worry about. He's not getting any younger. He has a prosthetic leg. He works too much. He's bad at communicating.
But he wants to change so he tells you, "you will never be too much for me. I can't get enough of you.”
His words make the butterflies in your stomach flutter around so happily. “I like you, Jack. I always have. I always would've, too. So, I'm really happy we get to finally be close. Even if it's a little scary…”
“Are you sure you want me?” He knows he can be a handful. He doesn't want you to feel obligated to commit to him.
“I have been waiting for the day that you'd kiss me just to kiss me.” You refer to earlier in the tub. “I can't not want you after that.”
Jack grabs a hold of your face, pulling you towards him. “I've always wanted to kiss you just to kiss you. There were so many moments where I wanted to but I…”
“That's in the past.” You lean in, kissing him. He kisses you back without hesitation. Then, he pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him like you had done with Pope.
They really are brothers.
“I'm going to spoil you from now on.” Jack makes this vow. “And Pope will hold me to it.”
“Is it…okay that I like Pope too?” You know it's asking a lot of Jack to share. It is a complicated situation.
“I think it's good.” He answers honestly. “He fills in the gaps I physically can't. It is like having another version of myself take care of you.”
“You both took very good care of me earlier.” You giggle, going in for a big hug. “I liked how demanding you were.”
“Did you really tell Pope to send me that video?” Jack just has to ask.
“Did you not enjoy it?” You smile mischievously.
“I'd enjoy it more if I got to do that too.” He wants his own video of you screaming his name like that while you cum over and over again.
“I can make that happen.” You wouldn't mind it. You haven't watched the video yet but you're sure it would send you into a frenzy in the good kind of way. “Maybe we can have Pope film us.”
“Or we could just get a camera set up.”
“Do you like watching me get fucked?” You can feel him getting hard underneath you. “I'll take that as a yes.”
“You're killing me. I was exhausted from work and yet somehow, I still want to fuck you again.” Jack has no idea where the stamina came from. Must've been adrenaline.
“Maybe after a nap.” You pat the bed. “I wouldn't mind one. Pope kept me up all night.”
“I do not need to know that.” He glares at you and you love that look on his face.
“You get comfy. I'll go get Pope.” You hop off the bed and go to the door. You open it and say, “speak of the devil.”
“I was wondering when you two would finish talking.” He says with a yawn. “I'm ready to sleep.”
You notice he brought two pillows with him to add to Jack's bed, so now there's three sets on it. You plop down in the middle and Jack immediately pulls you in to spoon you and Pope has you rest against his chest.
You don't usually sleep during the day but…maybe this is something worth getting used to.
You really like being sandwiched between them like this.
You hope it'll never end.
A/N: I was debating for a while on what the cut off would be because I do want to eventually write more for this concept but if I kept writing now, this would've been a ridiculously long oneshot…
So, I decided I'd stop here for now since it gives me a nice avenue to hear what people think of where this could go! I, of course, want to write the eventual double penetration (can't help it…I love a good smut!) but I also want to write a date, since that would be just so cute. I did plan on Pope getting a job too because writing the whole tension that causes when both him and Jack are working sounds like a ton of fun. There could also be a Cody family reunion. A lot of possibilities for the sequel!
Until then, I hope you enjoyed what my brain cooked up! ♡
“hey,” jack finds you smoking a cigarette in the ambulance bay. when you hold it out for him to take, he shakes his head. “not tonight.”
“that’s a good sign that shit hasn’t hit the fan yet.” you grin, lips closing around the cigarette held between your fingertips.
“offer again in two hours.”
you chuckle, looking over at him, “i heard your conversation with dana. you haven’t talked to robby yet?”
“and i won’t.” he admits, and you take another drag as you consider his words.
“because you’re too similar.”
abbot pauses and you nod in realisation.
“you won’t talk to robby because you know you’ll sound like a hypocrite.”
“something like that.”
“i thought you were doing better, jack.” you say softly, and he knows you mean no harm. the way your eyes fill with concern makes him feel guilty.
“i am,” he reassures you with a nod. “i’m still going to my therapy sessions. some days are just better than others, you know?”
“yeah,” you flick the ash from your cigarette. “yeah, i do.”
“robby knows he can call me,” jack says. “i don’t know what else there is for me to say to him.”
“he won’t call, jack,” you whisper. “you know that.”
abbot looks away, scared that your words are true.
“all i can do is hope that he does,” he responds. “i called you, didn’t i?”
your eyes soften as you remember the phone call that took place between the two of you at four in the morning during a difficult shift abbot was having.
need an organized crime au where Derek is a lieutenant in the family and keeps going places around NY and recognizing this guy who seems to keep turning up… he’s cute and loud and smiles at Derek as if he doesn’t know who he is, or maybe doesn’t care, and after noticing him a couple times, Derek introduces himself and offers to buy him a drink
and for a while Derek is pretty sure Stiles believes him when he says he’s nothing more than a restauranteur with a poker hobby. they start dating in earnest and Derek lies about where he’s going and what he’s doing, and Stiles all but moves in after a couple weeks, because they just can’t keep their hands off each other
Stiles doesn’t ask questions beyond what Derek likes, wants, or needs - he’s impressed and excited by every gift Derek gives him, gets along easily with all of Derek’s associates, and makes himself available to Derek whenever he wants
one night, when they’re out at a club owned by one of Derek’s “brothers,” some drunk asshole stumbles into Stiles and then refuses to apologize, and Derek sees red. he has enough restraint not to draw blood right there in a crowd with normal people - not that he has any reason to fear the police in his family’s town - but he makes a low and very serious threat right in the guy’s ear and makes him piss his pants before he stumbles away
Derek worries, after that, that Stiles will be - scared of him, maybe. but that night, they have crazy intense sex and Stiles drops “I love you” for the first time
so Derek relaxes a little bit, becomes more himself in front of Stiles. he still uses innuendo and code when discussing business in front of his lover, but he learns that Stiles seems to like his…power. and Derek likes that Stiles likes it. he starts to flex his status even more, his money, his authority; every time he worries that he’s going to make Stiles uncomfortable, he finds instead that Stiles is enthusiastic about every splurge, every show of strength, every time he casually ignores rules or enforces some of his own
I have a bunch of other ideas but basically mob spouse Stiles who purposefully tracked Derek down and seduced him because he wanted a mob boyfriend (and maybe Stiles is from like a Polish crime family and his grandmother taught him how to pick a good man idk just a thought 🫣🫣) and they’re in love idk idk idk
We all have weird hobbies, right? Jack finds out about what you’re doing outside of work
menace!jack x menace!resident!reader | prev ⋆ masterlist ⋆ next
"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as you snap the curtain close. "Talk about indecent exposure, gonna give Robby a heart attack flaunting those around."
Jack is stunned into silence, his muscles contracting as your voice processes through the leftover adrenaline coursing through his body. He's contorted awkwardly, trying to clean a wound on his back that he clearly can't reach.
He doesn't chuckle at your joke, doesn't do more than shyly try to cover himself up a little, as if hiding away something that he broke after being explicitly told he shouldn't touch it.
He's honestly half expecting you to yell at him, invalidate his feelings and tell him what he's doing exposing himself to the line of fire is stupid or reckless.
But you don't?
"Gimme that," you hold out your now gloved hand.
He hands over the q-tip begrudgingly, body slightly relaxing as you step around him and roll the tip in the ointment jar again.
"You're not mad?" his voice is uncharacteristically soft.
Your brow scrunches in confusion. "Why would I be mad someone shot at you?"
There's a tinge of anger in your voice, and he can almost convince himself that it's directed at whoever dared try to hurt him.
He shrugs, as much as the purpling on his back will allow. "It's not exactly a...safe hobby."
You chuckle. "Yeah well, we all have weird hobbies, who am I to judge?"
Your nonchalance starts to scare him but the prospect of a new morsel of information that he can pick at takes precedence.
"We do?"
You still for a split second and he simply knows he pulled correctly.
"Y-yeah..." you clear your throat. "Shen collects Pokemon cards, Ellis runs marathons, Dana’s really into WWE, Robby…he's practically married to that stupid bike, you volunteer to get shot at—”
“And you?”
You smile, heart beating a million miles per second.
“I…am a perfectly well adjusted adult that likes to order takeout and watch trash tv after a long shift.”
He scoffs. “Yeah right."
You chuckle, setting the q-tip down and picking up a piece of gauze and scissors.
"Don’t worry, I’ll find out on my own.”
Now it’s your turn to laugh. “I mean, there’s nothing to find out, so…”
“Sure there isn’t.”
You don’t dignify that with a response, securing the gauze to his back before discarding your gloves.
You really shouldn’t have poked the bear, should’ve given him some lame, fake hobby that way he would not have spent the last two weeks hounding every single person that knew you just a little bit better than him for information.
Luckily, no one bit. And he was offering a lot of money for even the smallest morsel of information.
Fortunately for him, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to find it. Unfortunately for you, you really should’ve taken him seriously.
It happens at shift change three weeks later.
You’re there earlier than him, all of the student doctors huddled around you conspiratorially at the hub as you all whisper in hushed tones.
He pretends he doesn’t see it, gives you space and instead walks over to leave his bag in his locker, waiting for them to come to him.
And like a grizzly bear in the middle of a river patiently waiting for jumping fish, they all come to him in a swarm.
At first it's the usual chatter, excited to go home, running a bubble bath, nothing out of the ordinary.
But then he sees it.
Tucked and hidden beneath the arms of every single woman you know, and Whitaker, there’s a book.
It looks normal enough. Maybe you started a book club, hell knows Walsh tried that a few years back with zero success.
But then he notices something stranger.
None of the books have cover art. Only a title and an author name.
Jack knows nothing about books but even that’s weird to him.
So he waits patiently, saying hello, pretending to check his messages until one of them puts their copy down and he's able to take a quick picture of it.
Bingo.
You're already working the floor when he returns, unfortunately, which only gives him more time for the snowball to turn into a full blown avalanche.
He's actually giddy all through handoffs with Robby, the satisfaction of knowledge so close he can practically taste it.
The adrenaline from it keeps him going until the early hours of the morning when he finally has the chance to sit down and open up google.
Whatever he's already imagining is nothing compared to the sweetness that is connecting the dots.
At first he thinks he's projecting, maybe you're just working with the author, nothing major. You've never mentioned writing before, at least not directly to him or in passing.
But then he finds a TikTok from Dr. J where she's promoting a novel and it's enough for him to know.
He doesn't pounce right away with this information, however.
Instead he waits, patient and calculated, all the way until the launch of book one a month later.
He's not invited, obviously, but he doesn't need to be.
He preorders his copy and it arrives the day before the party, which you’ve taken off so you can go.
Meanwhile, he spends the entire shift reading, obviously disguising the cover with a sleeve from another book, one of Robby’s adventure ones.
To say he’s hooked would be an understatement.
Who knew you were this good? He certainly would’ve never guessed that you would be the one to write a book. He always guessed Javadi.
It isn’t until he gets to the first turning point that he’s introduced to the main love interest.
And boy does he let out a loud and boisterous laugh that has the entire ED coming to a stop.
He makes his move the next afternoon.
You're gonna be taking off for two weeks on a national tour, nine cities. And of course you’re starting it in Pittsburg.
The day shift has been posting stories congratulating you all day, which he knows because Trinity did him a solid a few months ago and introduced him to the joyous world of “fake” Instagram accounts.
He knows exactly where to go. Makes sure to be last in line before it gets cut off.
He’s in line for a total of twenty minutes. He can feel you visibly relax as you notice there’s only one more person left.
“Hi, who should I make this out to…”
Your voice trails off as your gaze lifts to meet his Cheshire smile.
“Motherfucker.”
“That’s no way to treat your fans,” he smirks, holding out his copy for you to sign.
Your eyes narrow, annoyance overflowing. You snatch the book from him, focusing on the blank page and start signing it.
“You know, when you said you had a weird hobby,” he starts, teasing and slick. “I never thought it was attached to a five figure deal.”
You scoff. “You make just as much working with SWAT.”
He chuckles. Touché.
You slam the cover shut, handing him the book back.
He grabs it but you don’t let go. You stay there, taunting the other for what feels like a short eternity.
Until Jack brings forward his other arm that had been hiding behind his back.
A bouquet of lilies, pink and white, your favorite.
You stammer, your grip faltering enough so that he can take the book from you and tuck it under his arm as if it’s an afterthought.
He steps forward, pressing the flowers forward until you finally snap out of your haze and grab them.
Tears swell in your eyes as you hold them close to your chest.
“Congratulations, sweetheart.”
You beam, cheeks heating up at the pet name.
“Thank you Jackie.”
“Do you want go get dinner?” He asks, suddenly timid. “Officially.”
The smile you give him is so bright it could rival the sun.
“I would love to.”
He waits while you say goodbye to the event organizer, take pictures with staff and literally take the time to thank every single person still standing.
By the time you’re done, he wraps an arm around your waist and walks you out of the little independent bookstore where the event was held.
“So…” he starts, pulling you closer into him. “This Jackson character—”
“Oh my god shut up!” You shove him, hard, but neither of you can help the burst of laughter that escapes you, your bodies drifting back to each other as you keep walking, hands interlaced together as he continues to tease.
Sum: An average day at works takes a turn for the worst, as Pittfest comes to greet you with a gun. OneShot!
(This story is separate from my other BAU x Pitt works and features my attempt at my Asks/Requests for BadassBAU!Reader! I hope it was worth the wait and please read the warnings my duckies! <3)
CW: TGun violence against you and the pitt shooter, talks of killing and saving people by killing them. M/M/F, Pittfest, you're a second year resident so agegap relationships and power dynamics. A small bit of smut, daddy kink, and descriptions of body parts at the end. Very brief mentions of overdosing, a hand in a blender, Myrna. Implications of you tricking the unsub by agreeing to said crazy talk. F!Reader - mentions of you being smart, kid as a nickname by our two men. MDNI
As you're getting ready for your shift, you can't help but think about how different your life is now.
The Pitt, as Robby affectionately called it, was grueling. On your first day, you had seen two people overdosing, someone's hand stuck in a blender, and met Myrna, who decided you'd your pretty face was worth switching sides for a night or two.
Sighing, you couldn't help but laugh as you thought about how being a second-year resident was no different from being in the BAU.
Least I don't have to worry about serial killers with too much time on their hands planing their revenge on me, you think with a snort.
While you still kept in close touch with everyone back at Quantico, even offering advice and help when needed, you wouldn't go back unless you absolutely had to. Sides, what would your favorite grumpy attendings do with you? You giggle, thinking about Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby.
You had grown close to them, finding comfort in their presence. They reminded you of the best parts of Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, and Derek. When your feelings had turned romantic for the both of them, you really didn't know what to do, confiding in Spencer and Penelope. They encouraged you to try, but fear stops you, not wanting to ruin what you had.
It was enough, knowing they shared little laughs with you in rare downtimes, how they took turns being your coffee or secretly walking you to and from work. If they asked for more, you'd give it to them immediately.
But nothing goes on the Pitt without Perlah and Princess knowing, so you can only imagine what the betting sheet looks like. Most of the day shift argued you'll end up with Robby, while the night shift was rooting for Abbot.
——
As you head in, you can already sense this was going to be a tough day shift. Sailing you up to the roof, spot your favorite old man duo.
"Room for one more?" You ask, joining them.
"For you, baby? Always," Abbot smirks out, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the sadness in his eyes.
You quietly move in between them as Abbot grabs you firmly. Face buried into your hair, taking in your sweet scent, before passing you to Robby. Giggling lightly, you hang off Robby as he gives you a squeeze.
"Everything okay?" You ask, glancing at the two and noting the letter in Robby's hand.
"Just your usual existential crisis. Let's go, kid."
——
The three of you head down as you take note of the already drowning patient board, and group of new doctors in front of the nurses' station.
"We've got new students," Robby informs you as he leads you to them, leaving Abbot behind to chart. Your hand carefully brushes against his as you walk away, a silent goodbye.
"God help them," you snort out, making Robby huff.
"Alright, welcome to the Pitt. I'm your attending Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby. Over here, we have our charge nurse, Dana; she's the one really in charge and will be your best friend here if you want to make it. Your senior residents are Dr. Langdon and Dr. Collins. If you can't find me, you can go to them. If you can't find any of us, you go to Dr.L/N here, or honestly, just go to her anyways," he informs them, placing a large hand on your shoulder, giving it a playful squeeze.
You give a little wave and smile to the new team.
"Careful, Robby. Your favoritism is showing," Dana jokes, watching the two of you and shaking her head.
"Walking HR violations, those two." Collin joins her as they share a teasing look.
Sticking your tongue out, you sigh, glancing at the patient board. "Let's do this, yeah?"
--
Patient after patient, you barely had a second to breathe. You can tell the day's getting to Robby, as last night had to Abbot. You follow him to the bathroom, pushing him back in when he tries to come out.
"Jesus y/n. What the fuck.” he breaths out as you lock the door, blocking it with your body. "Talk to me, Robby."
He glares at you, unwilling to talk. "Move. Now. I don't have time for this."
"Hey. Please. Don't hide from me." You whisper as you move closer to him.
He drags his hands over his face. "Today, of all days, is fucking shit."
Closing the gap fully, you drag him into your arms. His body shakes as he burrows his head into your neck, arms wrapped around you. His scruff tickles you, just for a second, as his signature scent warms you.
Sighing, he unwillingly lets you go. "Walking HR violation, you know."
Smirking, you watch his brown eyes darken as he takes you in once more. The three of you have been playing this dance for a while, and you wondered once again when the dam will finally break.
——
"So, are they dating?" Santos asks Garcia, Perlah, and Langdon as they work on the same patient. She caught the two leaving the bathroom together, looking a little.. disgruntled to say the least.
"Honestly? That's the running bet. Either him or the night shift attending," Garcia answers, passing her a scalpel.
"Minimum bids $20," Perlah chimes in as Santos asks to be put down for Robby.
——
At some point, you help Whitaker get new scrubs, feeling bad for the kid.
"It's fucking shit day, kid, but you're showing up and trying. We can't ask for more." You say, giving him a clap on the shoulder before walking away.
"She's so cool," he whispers as he joins Mel, Mateo, and Javadi.
"Dr. L/n? She's the coolest and like hella smart. Used to be a therapist, I think, for Quantico or something before coming here." Mateo informs them, nodding your way.
"I feel like I know her from somewhere; I just don't know where," Javadi says as she watches you move with confidence.
"Dude has like five degrees. She's smart like you," Mateo adds, making Javadi blush and stutter.
"She really is cool," Mel adds. She likes you. You and Langdon have easily become her favorites here.
But of course,
It was near the end of your shift when everything went wrong.
—-
"We’re a MASH unite now. Old school. That means no fancy X-rays, electronic charting, EKGs, or anything," Abbot orders out, putting on his orange vest.
"How will we chart them then?" McKay asks, raising her hand. Abbot nods her way. "Great question. Everyone gets a patient chart attached to their wrist. Write as you go, and if you run out of room, write on their foreheads."
"Seriously?" Javadi says as Abbot smirks, "Seriously."
“Alright.” Robby claps his hands, getting everyone's attention. "You know your zones, and remember to listen to your zone leaders. Abbot, L/N with me for a second. Everyone else, go."
The group breaks up into their colored zones, tensions running high as they wait. It would be any second now.
Nodding, you join Abbot and Robby, giving the former a hug. "Thank god for you, your crazy scanner, and go bag of like everything."
"Even got your favorite protein bars, kid," making you smile. "Marry me?"
But before either can respond —
The ambulance sirens ring loud and true. heart pounding and palms sweating. It was time.
——
It was a fucking mess.
So many victims as you look around. You feel pulled in twenty different directions, but it has to be done. Jake's girlfriend is dead, and Robby is missing. You don't get a second to breathe as you go to help Abbot.
"How do you know so much when you're only a second year?" Santos asks, helping with the red zone as the pink calms down.
"Kids a certified genius," Abbot answers for her, as he performs a tracheostomy. "Call Walsh. This one's ready for surgery."
"Seriously?" She asks. Langdon chimes in as he works next to you guys. "L/Ns got like 4 degrees"
You can't help but smirk "and a nice rack," getting a deep chuck from Abbot.
The two of you notice Robby's back, pulling Whittaker with him. You share a look with Abbot, knowing you'll all be talking soon.
"I've got the next one. Go help Mohan," you tell him as the next victim rolls in.
"Bullet wound in the arm," Shen tells you as you take over.
The guy's lanky with a large black sweater and jeans on. You can tell he's covered in blood despite it bleeding in with the fabric. The hair on the back of your neck stands. You note that the armed police are only outside.
"You with me sir?" you ask as you look his arm over, taking over the pressure.
"Yeah, the guy got me good," he says, avoiding eye contact with you.
"I got you." You carefully let go of the pressure, only to notice it's just a graze. A graze that's way too light to have been from whatever gun was used on everyone else here. You don't stop your movements, eyes traveling to his hands and waist.
"Did you see what happened?" You ask slowly, taking in his jittery frame. Fuck, you think. Your far from the police outside, and he's in perfect range to hurt the most amount of people possible.
"Yeah, I got to see it all." You still for just a second, and it happens.
He grabs you in a headlock, gun out, and presses it to the side of your head in a matter of seconds.
"Nobody move!"
Screams fill the air as you watch your team cover patients with their own bodies, Abbot and Robby rushing towards the center before stopping. Fear. That's the only thing they know now as they watch. Abbot's hands are clenched, knowing that trying anything would put you in a worse position.
The armed guards rush in from the ambulance entrance as the man holding you screams at them to stop.
He's frantic, head whipping from the crowd to the police. His grip on you firm, squeezing you tightly to the gun.
"Move, and I'll blow her fucking brains out," he orders, panting heavily. You can feel his body shake.
"Who the fucks in charge," the shooter continues. As Robby slowly raises his hand, Abbot beside him.
"How many did I fucking kill" the shooter spits out.
Robby swallows, not wanting to answer, so you answer for him.
"Six," you whisper as he looks down at you, moving the gun to your temple.
Whimpers fill the room as everyone watches in horror. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Abbot take a step closer before the shooter starts laughing hysterically.
"Six? All those fucking guns. All that time planning. Shooting myself in the arm to kill fucking six?? You were all supposed to die. I was supposed to save everyone, but you ruined it," he screams out at the end, and you can tell he's losing control rapidly.
You needed to act fast. You needed him to loosen his grip, just for a second.
"I know they did", you whisper calmly to him as he stares you down again. His eyes are wild, wide, and blown.
"You were going to save all of us? Weren't you?" You continue softly. He nods, looking unsure for the first time.
"You can still save us. I see you. You're who we needed, who I needed all along," you say, turning fully into his embrace. Your hand creeps slowly up his chest, trying not to spook him.
You hear terrified gasps in the background but ignore them, focusing solely on the unsub.
"That's right, that's right," he whispers. "You see me?"
You smile innocently at him, pushing your head further against the gun for just a second.
"I see you."
There.
His hold loosens as his mind wanders, but you got him.
Quickly, you move, stomping on his foot as your hands grand the gun and his wrist, twisting it harshly like Hotch taught you.
The shooter screams in pain as you rip the gun out and pistol whip him before dropping the gun and kicking it to Abbot -- Who quickly dismantles it.
"Unsub down!" You call out.
The police run in as you back away from the shooter arms up in the air.
——
You're silent. The police chief, someone you had worked with before, just finished interviewing you as you manage to avoid everyone. Up on the roof, you finally breathe. You feel the adrenaline leaving your body as you lean against the rail.
"Room for two more?"
Looking back, you see Abbot and Robby. Their eyes rimmed red, exhaustion deep in their bones. The three of you pause before Abbot breaks the spell, striding to you.
His hands grasp your head, forcing you to make eye contact. "You ever try to do that again? I'll fucking hog tie you down. Fuck, I'm so mad and proud," your eyes teary as you stare into his.
"Can you hog tie me anyways?"
"This girl," you hear Robby laugh out as Abbot buries his head onto the top of your head. Robby moves to join you two as your squished between them. It feels like hours have passed.
"How the fuck did you do that?" Robby asks, after making sure you're actually okay.
"Remember I used to work for the FBI?"
They give you a blank stare.
"You were a therapist?"
Snorting, you shake your head. "You guys just assumed I was! I was with the BAU for a long time."
The blank stares continue.
Robby opens his mouth and then stops. "So… not a therapist."
"No!, you sexist old men!," laughing as Abbot pushes you.
"I'll show you old," he continues, grabbing you by the waist. He shares a look with Robby over your head, getting a nod back before leaning down to do something he's been waiting months for.
His kiss shocks you to the core. Lips warm, a little chapped but it's perfect, like him. Controlled and demanding obedience. You whimper into it as it feels, his fingers digging into your side and hardening cock against your tummy.
Letting go, you look at him and then Robby before he finally moves. He leans down, kissing you in a way that's fully Robby. Moments later, he lets you go.
The men stare at each other, you in between them again. You watch as their heads tilt towards each other, sharing their first passionate kiss. Another whimper escapes you as your core heats up. They're fucking perfect, you think.
Abbot clears his throat. "We should go home together." He stares you both down in a way that only Abbot does.
Giggling, you agree, as Robby's ears and neck turn red. "Let's close shop first? Then mine, Yeah?"
——
To your embarrassment, claps fill the air as you reenter the ED. Dana hugs you first. "Don't ever do that again."
Smiling, you feel relieved. "Don't really plan on it."
Your heart swells at how worried everyone was, a part of you was nervous they would have taken your crazy words to the shooter for real.
Javadi is the first to put it together.
"Holy fuck your y/n l/n!!! The Y/N L/N from the freaking BAU!! You work with David Rossi and the FBI!!!" She's in shock, having been a fan of the team, and couldn't believe she didn't put it together sooner. You looked different t in your cute scrubs, having usually seen you heels and power suits.
"I thought you were a therapist!!" Landon questions before you raise your hands in defense.
"You guys just assumed! I'm retired BAU!"
"You're too young to be retired from anything!!" He argues back, giving you a hug. "I will bite you!!!" You growl back as you both laugh. He hugs you firmly, thanking you quietly.
The two of you have always had a brother-sister relationship, and you're glad it's not going anywhere, even with his current problems.
“Alright, alright, let my girl breathe," Robby
"My girl," Princess whispers to Perla's in Tagalog excitedly! But Perlah shakes her head as she points out the way Abbot is looking at you.
"But we have questions!!,” someone calls out.
Laughing, you agree to answer a few.
"What's David Rossi like!" Victoria blushes out as you giggle.
"As charming as you think but way too old for you," you smirked at her.
"How did you stop him, the shooter?" Whittaker asks.
"It's something I'm trained for, so for the love of god, please never try that on anyone for any reason." You look at your coworkers firmly.
A sigh escapes you as you answer a few more questions about your time at the BAU. Yes, you know how to use a gun and caught some bad guys. Finally, Abbot called it quits for you and drags you back to the locker with Robby.
He grabs your bag for you, and you smile gratefully. As you leave the building, it's almost shocking how normal it is again. A room full of new patients waiting, with Myrna asking to see Abbot biblically later.
Giggling, you follow the two men home.
——
Robby's place is a quick walk. It's spacious, for just him. Neat, cozy, and almost exactly what you pictured. Photos of him, Jake, his family, and your nights out with the rest of the staff. You try not to analyze him, a part of you that's hard to stop.
You're unsure of what this means for the three of you, but you're willing to try.
"Shower?" Robby grunts out before he nods. He leads the three of you to a bathroom with a large walk-in shower.
Abbot swallows as he notices a shower bench and wall handles, his heart squeezing. "Those?…" he nods towards it.
"Yeah" Robby smiles gently, "Got crutches and Y/Ns favorite soaps too" and for once, Abbot is stunned silent. He places a soft kiss on Robby's lips, before stripping his shirt off.
You watch them, heart swelling with love and need. Their bodies are still hard from the demands of your profession. Their shirts are off before they help you with yours.
"Arms up, baby", Abbot commands as Robby removes your shirt. Your bra, pants, and undies are next. Their eyes dark with desire as they take you in.
"Fucking beautiful baby," Abbot groans, his fingers ghosting over you.
"Could watch you all day pretty girl" Robby's brown eyes taking in every inch, as he tries to ignore his rapidly growing cock.
"Shower first, please." you tiredly laugh out.
You help Abbot with his leg as he settles on the bench. You try not to stare at his salt-and-pepper happy trail, large thighs, or swelling cock.
Robby turns on the water as you help each other bathe. The water and soap feels cleansing, like a new beginning for the three of you.
——
Making your way into Robby's bedroom, the three of you lay on his bed. It's a tight fit, but its perfect.
Kisses are traded as fingers continue to feel, group, and touch. It's all so new and overwhelming, but you refused to stop. You need them now.
Abbot sits up, leaning against the headboard, and settles you into his lap. You can't help but whine and grind your ass against his cock. It's large and thick at the base, while Robby's is just a little longer.
"Naughty little girl, wanting us to take care of that perfect wet pussy huh?" He whispers in your ear as Robby spreads your legs open, kissing his way down from your thighs.
"Please, Daddy," you whimper out, having to stop yourself from humping the air. Their groans fill the room as your words sink in.
"We got you, baby, we got you. Gonna fill you all night long, we promise.”
The night was the first of many in your unconventional relationship and one the three of you would never forget.
Lying on your side between the two older men, one leg thrown over Jack’s hip in front of you, while Robby’s hand helps hold you steady from behind. They are taking turns thrusting into you. Currently, Robby is stretching you out with his big cock, thrusting into you from behind, hitting deep within you from the angle. Hands roaming over your plush thigh and waist. Gripping harshly to pull you back onto him.
Jack is using your hand to jerk himself off while watching. His big hand swallows your own in its grip while he wraps it around his thick length. His mouth is permanently attached to your tits, sucking and biting all over them while his friend fucks you.
Your head is thrown back on Robby’s shoulder, moans flowing out of your mouth every time he snaps his hips into you. The hand not occupied by Jack stretched over you to grip the head of the bearded man at your back. Fingers digging into his hair and scratching at his scalp. The feeling of both of them pressing into you, crowding you on the bed, was overwhelming. They had been at it for maybe an hour already, switching every time one of them was about to come, just so they could overstimulate you. You had already come three times by now, your body was exhausted and overly sensitive.
“Fuuck, baby, your pussy feels so good around my dick. Gonna make me come inside this pussy.” Robby’s words go straight to your core, making you clench harder around him, almost pulling him in further. “Yeaaah, you like that, don’t you? Want me to come deep inside you?”
All you could do was nod dumbly and moan at his words, feeling that coil inside you tighten again, close to snapping just by the filthy rambling coming out of his mouth.
“What do you say, Jack? Wanna fuck her after I’ve had my fill of her? Fuck my cum into her and then fill her up even more?”
Jack’s dick twitched in your hand as he envisioned it, feeling Robby’s cum around his cock as he fucked you even more full of his seed. Breeding you as much as they could. He had to stop your hand’s movement so as not to blow his load prematurely. You feel the vibrations of his groan on your skin as he answers Robby, “Fuuck, man, you gotta shut up or I’m gonna come too soon.” The scruff on his face scratches your sensitive nipples as he shakes his head.
The rumble of Robby’s laughter carries through your back. His hand grips you even tighter as he drives into you with renewed purpose. The new pace makes your thigh tremble as you come on his cock again, but this time he doesn’t pull out when he feels himself get closer to the edge. He fucks you through your orgasm, his own hips smacking into your ass before they finally still, pressed as close as he could get. His dick is twitching inside you, spurting his seed deeply into your used cunt. Robby groans almost animalistically into your neck as the pleasure comes over him. He stays inside you for a moment, peppering kisses over your neck before pulling out of you slowly.
Jack is quick to replace him inside you, not even giving you a break before he starts pushing into you. The sounds your bodies make together are sinful, the squelching of your pussy as he fucks Robby’s cum even deeper into you. “Ah shit, you really filled her up. I can feel it dripping out of her..” Jack’s head is also thrown back, eyes closed as he disappears in the pleasure. His mouth is slightly open as he pants at the effort.
Robby pushes you even closer together, squishing you between the two men, making Jack slip even deeper into you, which rewards him with both of you moaning. You feel him raise himself on one arm and reach his head over you. Jack almost jumps when their mouth connects, but quickly kisses back.
All you could do was watch as their lips work messily over each other, making out while Jack works himself closer to orgasm inside you. They looked so beautiful, eyes closed, sharing the same breath as they brought you and themself to pleasure. You almost don’t hear as Robby whispers softly against Jack’s mouth, “You gonna breed her? Gonna fill her up until she spills over from our cum? Go ahead, baby.”
Jack’s hand flies to grab at Robby’s shoulder as he comes hard, hips snapping harshly against you as he works himself through his orgasm. Growling into the other man's mouth when he feels your cunt clench down on him, a small wave of pleasure rolls over you at the display. It’s all your body can muster right now, but it’s enough to drive him crazy. Small whispers sounding like ‘good boy’ come from Robby.
Robby finally lies back behind you, and you take in a deep breath. Jack is still inside you, not wanting to separate from you yet, as all of you catch your breath. Robby’s hand is stroking your sweaty skin, soothing the small ache in your hip from the position.
A huff is let out as Robby gets up from the bed, and you all hear how something cracks. And then he laughs, “Fuck, we’re getting too old for this. Can’t keep going for this long.”
“Hey, the hell you mean ‘we’? I’m feeling fine.” Jack is holding you closer now, “Go get us a towel, grandpa.” A random shirt from the floor is bundled up and thrown at Jack, but actually hits you as both of you start laughing.
Contains-a heap of breeding, a hint of cold play, a dash of somno, a healthy serving (or two) or hyperspermia, a little oral, a pinch of overstim and two tablets of Viagra, just to make things interesting. Oh, and men kissing men kissing women.
✨There is no scene wherein consent is discussed, but it has been very much given, as will become evident. Everyone has agreed to all things. The warnings are in red at the top, and if you keep reading after reading those, that’s you giving consent to being exposed to those in this work of fiction. And yes, this is because of that stupid fucking post the other day. Have fun. Get wet/hard.💋✨
Also, I decided against plot. It should also be noted that I believe that Robby is an absolute little shit when he’s not having the worst day of his life.
You let out a small laugh as your back hit the bed with a bounce before two sets of hands went to work stripping you with an efficiency that you really shouldn't find so hot. While Robby worked from the waist down, Jack took the waist up. In seconds you were bare, stretched out in the bed, with Robby’s head between your thighs and Jack’s hands on your tits.
You were off for the next three days and none of you were planning on leaving the bed. A sudden, hard suck to your nipple had your hands flying into Jack’s curls, and you cursed. Between that and the way Robby was fucking you with his tongue, teasing your clit with his nose, you weren’t going to last long. “Cl-close,” you tried to warn them, but they both just doubled down, Jack pinching your other nipple while Robby slid two fingers in, crooking against your g-spot. You broke, pulling hard at Jack’s hair, arching up into both of their mouths, and tightening your thighs around Robby’s head–or trying to anyway, his broad fucking shoulders were holding you open.
You drifted slightly as they moved about, letting them manhandle you into position–knees on the edge of the bed, ass up, shoulders down, torso between Jack’s legs and his cock in your mouth. Robby sliding his thick cock into your sopping wet cunt had you moaning around Jack, the sudden vibrations causing him to buck up, triggering your gag reflex and making you tighten around Robby. Matching groans filled the room, one higher than the other two. Firming his grip on your hips, Robby started moving you back into his thrusts and forward onto Jack’s cock. Several thrusts later and Jack was pulling you off his cock, sliding his thumb in your mouth instead. “Not looking to come yet, Kitten, not ‘til I’m buried in that sweet hole.”
Your whine turned into a sob when Robby slid a hand around your neck and used it to pull you upright against him, fucking up into you at a deeper, tighter angle. “Play with her clit, Jack. Make her come on my cock,” Robby demanded, licking and nipping your ear. Jack kneeled, pushing right up against your front, flattening your chest against his. Grabbing your chin, he made sure you were watching as he sucked two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his saliva, before teasing them in little circles around your clit. Jack kissed you before using his grip on your chin to turn your head towards Robby, making you watch as they kissed deep, tongues tangling and gliding around and against each other. Watching as Robby sucked on Jack’s tongue, you felt Jack’s fingers moving faster and Robby’s rhythm start to stutter and you shattered, falling apart in their arms.
Jack moved, guiding your upper body back to the bed and Robby tightened his grip even further, sure to leave bruises that you’d relish pressing against later. Leaning over your back, Robby thrusted harder once, twice more before pulling you hard into his hips, making sure he was buried as deep as possible as he came. And he came. And he came again, rope after rope of hot cum flooding you, trying to leak out around his thick cock. Hyperspermia for the win, you thought with a giggle, already sex stupid. Groaning, Robby dropped his head against your back, giving you a couple more weak thrusts, before he started to ease his way out of you, fingers reluctant to unclench from your hips.
You hummed as Jack lightly tugged your at your hand, urging you to him with a soft C'mere Doll. Arranging you on your side facing him, Jack lifted your leg over his hip and pulled you tight against him. Reaching down, Jack slid first his fingers and then his cock through the mess Robby made of you, rubbing his tip against your clit just to hear you whine, before sliding balls deep with a single thrust. Swallowing your moan, Jack rolled his hips, keeping his thrusts shallow, the coarse hair around his cock providing delicious friction against your clit. Nipping your bottom lip, Jack trailed kisses down your neck, licking your pulse before sucking hard, leaving his own marks on you. You could feel the pleasure building, slow and thick like molasses. A large, warm hand turned your head, Robby claiming your mouth in a deep kiss as he slid in behind you, slotting his fingers with Jack's on your thigh, using it to pull you both further into his bulk. You broke the kiss on a gasp as Jack took the opportunity to fuck into you harder, faster, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, both of you quickly unraveling. Robby pushed his hips against you, grinding his soft cock against your ass, "Come for me," he demanded, at the same time as Jack thrust deep, and you had a brief moment to wonder which one of you he was talking to before you came hard.
You were vaguely aware of Jack coming, of Robby slipping something in your cunt that fit snug with a murmured 'Gotta keep you full of us and ready, Kitten' and Jack's soft 'Sleep, we'll wake you when we're ready to go again', giving a barely there hum of affirmation as you fully gave into the post multi-orgasm crash.
You were jostled awake sometime later, sleep muddled and confused as to why the bed was moving. But you quickly realized that you were what was moving as Jack rutted into you from behind. You clenched around him, throwing off his rhythm and grumbled, "You were supposed to wake me up." Jack huffed a laugh, "I did, I just chose to use my cock." Reaching back you swatted at him and then started rolling your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Where–where's Robby?" you gasped, angling your hips so that Jack's tip hit that special spongy bit that made you see stars. "Kitchen. Had to, fuck baby, had to grab something," he grunted, letting go of your hip to brace against the bed. You were both so close, heads dropped and eyes closed. The sudden press of something hard and cold against where Jack was fucking into your cunt had you both screaming, going rigid as you came. Jack's 'What the FUCK, Robby' had you half flopping on your side to glare at his smirking, unrepentant form.
Robby just wagged the bottle of Gatorade at Jack, holding another out for you. "It's important to stay hydrated and replenish electrolytes when engaging in rigorous physical activity." He was far too smug. Shifting onto your back, you stretched, watching as his eyes practically devoured you. Smirking, you spread your legs as you purred "Is that your professional opinion Doctor Robinavitch?" and laughed at the deep blush that spread rapidly from his face all the way down to his hard, ruddy cock, that definitely twitched in interest at his title. Robby's only response was a gruff 'here' as he dropped the bottle in Jack's hand before lunging for you. You shrieked, trying to scramble away, but Robby was faster and stronger and had you pinned against him before you'd moved a couple of inches.
"Uh uh uh" he tutted, "And just where do you think you're going?" Robby rolled, pulling you on top of him. Pushing against his chest, you sat up, straddling his hips as you asked, "How are you two already going again? It's only been, what, an hour? Two?" You circled you hips against Robby's and raised an eyebrow at his response of 'the wonders of modern medicine', “You don't normally need them." Jack was the one to answer this time, "Normally you don't ask us to 'use me until I'm fucked out, useless and full of you' either". You bobbed your head in an 'you got me there' kind of way as you started to rock against Robby, using Jack's cum to slick the way. Robby groaned every time his cock caught on your hole, flexing his hips to try and slide in as you teased him. Growing desperate and leaking copious amounts of precum, Robby firmed his grip, stilling your hips and lifting you up far enough to notch the head of his cock just inside your swollen cunt and then dropped you into his lap, spearing you on his cock.
Your shriek would have been more impressive if he hadn't knocked all the air out of your lungs. You pitched forward, catching yourself on your forearms at the last moment, unable to hold yourself up at the brutal pace Robby set. Jack's hands slid around your hips, helping hold you still for Robby's pistoning cock. "I can't, I can– I can't come again," you whimpered, trying to squirm away. Someone's hand soothed along your flank, though you couldn't tell who's, nor could you place the voice that reassured you that you could, 'because your our Kitten, our good girl' and 'C'mon, give it to us, be a good Kitty'. One of them pinched your clit and you sobbed, collapsing against Robby entirely as your orgasm ripped through you. You could feel him moan, long and deep, as he came, pumping you full of rope after rope again.
This time when you woke up, you were clean, wearing Robby's shirt and Jack's boxers, sandwiched between the two on fresh linens and entirely too warm. You tried to slip out of the bed, but were caught around the waist and pulled back in.
"Where you goin' Doll? We still have two days."
"Kitten, we're just getting started."
I just realized that I’m not sure if this is technically breeding? 🤷🏻♀️
Was just going to be a quick sketch to add on as a bonus to the first post but it kinda took on a life of its own lol
Coming up with sleep-talk for stiles is just too much fun! Context for the curious under the cut
Panel one sleeptalk is taken directly from the wikipedia page on the Cook-Levin theorem i ended up at after yet another a night of snow-balling wikipedia articles about subjects i barely understand lol. I love advanced physics and maths topics, they end up with the most uncomprehensible jargon 😂
Panel two is where my brain immediately went when I learned that, in very early stages of foetal development, gravity is needed for the development of the first axis (basically how the cells can decide what's 'up' vs 'down'). My brain went 'what if someone got pregnant in zero g then - mutant babies in space!!'. There's actual research on this btw.
Panel three is a stray thought i had a couple weeks ago leading to what I'm sure is a very entertaining string of google searches for my FBI guy to go through. Unfortunately the sodium and chloride contents of the cerebrospinal fluid isn't a high enough concentration to consider it a brine, and thus the brain a pickle, but hey. One can certainly argue the point!
Panel four is just... Well. Your bones are wet! What the fuck!
when the bf insists on going to a college party only to conk out on the designated jacket-chair in the corner, so you get called to go pick him up
Sleep-deprived-stiles falling asleep in inopportune places and long-suffering derek picking him up and lugging him home, my beloved 🫶
Inspired by Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales by @always-the-little-spoon, that does this trope beautifully along with an oblivious Scott as outsider POV - what's not to like!
What was supposed to just be a little add-on that took on a life of it's own, so it gets its own post instead: [part 2]
an: need jack to choke me with his arm. thats all.
You’ve really been pushing your luck all day.
First, it was getting a fresh set of nails with your card, not his. Then, at work, it was questioning his orders. Giving him lip when he asks you to ‘hand me those forceps’ or ‘step back and let me do it’. Asking Dr. Shen or Dr. Ellis to look over your notes instead of him. Purposely ignoring his pointed looks across the ER floor when you’re charting or talking with Lena.
And you can tell your efforts haven’t been in vain. Dr. Jack Abbot is close to his breaking point.
Good. You think, feeling very smug and satisfied when you see that tense tic in his jaw. Let him stew for a bit.
You’ve been pissed off at Jack for the last few days. He’s been snappy and curt at work, and just as grumpy when you both get home afterwards. He gets like that sometimes, when he’s stressed or in his head about something, but you’ve reached your wits end with his moodiness. You’re pent up - Jack hasn’t touched you since he started brooding, opting instead to either go to bed or pout with his police scanner.
You’re sick of it. So, to knock him out of whatever fucking hole he’s decided crawl into, you’ve been going out of your way to be the worst brat you can possibly be. You even slept on the couch yesterday.
You can feel the weight of his stare from your seat at your workstation. Your new nails clack pointedly on the keyboard as you chart information from your last patient, your eyes fixed on the screen.
You feel a presence move in behind you. You don’t look up.
“Hey kid, walk with me. Do you have a second?”
There it is. Hook, line, and sinker.
“Sorry Dr. Abbot, but I need to finish my charting.” Your voice comes out cool and professional. “If it’s something important, I’m sure you can grab someone else to help.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. You keep typing.
“I’d much rather it be you.” There’s an edge to his voice that makes your stomach flip with excitement despite the fact that you’re currently charting about blood in stool. “You can step away for a minute, doctor.”
You let the moment drag out. Check your punctuation in the chart. Make sure the final period you type is sharp and final. Then, you finally swivel in your chair and look up at Jack.
“No, I don’t think I can.”
God, watching the way his face changes as he processes your words in real time sends a thrill through you. His brow quirks up in disbelief. There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes. Then, his entire face settles into something firm. Something dangerous.
“Oh yeah?”
Oh yeah, there it is. This is the reaction you’ve been looking for.
“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ just to tick him off. “I’ve got a lot of charting to do. I’m sure Dr. Shen would be happy to assist you instead.”
You’ve never brushed him off before.
Jack blinks at you; he’s studying you, waiting for you to crack. You hold his gaze.
“Alright. Finish your charting.” He slaps the desk next to you once with his hand, light and quick. The little motion has your spine straightening just a hair as you recognize it for what it is - a warning. “We’ll talk later.”
Yeah, you will.
The promise of talking later is what gets you through the rest of your shift. The song and dance of defiance continues all night - it draws some attention from the rest of the crew and then the questions start. Why are you and Dr. Abbot acting so weird? Did he piss you off? Did you have a fight of some kind? Is he in a mood? Are you in a mood?
The entire thing amuses you, even as you meet Jack in the parking garage to go home after you hand off with the day shift. You sling your backpack into the back seat with his before getting into the passenger seat with a groan.
Jack is quiet when he gets into the car and buckles up. You busy yourself with texting a couple friends as he starts the car and begins to drive home. The silence is thick and charged, and it’s taking everything in you not to crack and say something first.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“You wanna tell me what all that was about?” He jerks his right thumb back over his shoulder towards the hospital. His left arm flexes when he grips the steering wheel, and the sight of his forearm makes your mouth water. “Because what that looked like was twelve hours of you continuing to be a pain in the ass for no reason, babydoll.”
You sniff, examining your nails in the morning sunlight. Man, your tech did a stellar job. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack reaches out at the next red light and snatches one of your hands in his, ignoring your annoyed little scoff as he examines your manicure. You can tell despite his stony expression that he likes them; he always does, which is why he always pays for you to get them done.
“And this?” He waggles your hand in the air between you before you snatch it back indignantly. “What the hell is this, huh?”
“Cut it out. I’m a big girl, Jack. I can pay for my own nails.”
“Yeah? And the coffee and bagel you had on your break? You pay for that too, Miss Big Girl? After you told me you weren’t hungry?”
“No, John got me those.”
You almost smirk at the way he gets all huffy and tense.
“So you let Shen buy you lunch but not me?”
“Yup.” You lean back in the seat, crossing your arms then your legs. “I didn’t want you to pay for me.”
“Is that right?” Jack shoots you a look that’s less than amused. “Why’s that, baby?”
“Because I’m mad at you.”
“Mad at me?”
“Mhm.”
He raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk creeping across his face that makes you want to smack him. Or kiss him. Maybe both.
“And why, exactly,” The way his voice dips make you shift, your heart skipping in your chest. “is my sweet girl mad at me, huh?”
You have to stand strong. You will not be the one to break first here. You’re gonna make him work for it.
“Figure it out yourself.” You snap a little bit meaner than you intend to on purpose, just to see the way he clenches his jaw. “I just worked twelve hours, I’m not in the mood to play twenty questions. God.”
You even throw in a little eye roll. Jack lets out a slow, controlled breath through his nostrils. You can see the cogs turning in his head - he’s probably wracking his brain for whatever he did to warrant your behavior these last couple of days. You don’t speak again, content to let him stew as he navigates morning traffic to your shared apartment.
Jack beats you to your bag when you park at the complex. You try to get it first, wanting to stubbornly carry it in, but he snatches it up and swings it onto his shoulder with his just before you can grab it. You give him a dirty look, but he just smiles.
God, he’s so sexy it’s frustrating.
You continue to ignore him in the elevator and stay quiet when you both trudge down the hall and get inside your place. He only just tossed the keys in the dish and put your bags down when you’re hurrying to the shower. Your plan is to keep being as frustrating and insufferable as possible until Jack does something about it; you can tell his patience is wearing thin, and you know his gentle, mild mannered facade won’t last. You’re banking on it.
Your shower is quick. Jack says nothing to you when you emerge and breeze past him; he just goes quietly into the bathroom after you. You go about your usual after work routine - pulling on a clean pair of panties and one of Jack’s shirts, filling your water bottle, taking your meds. Then, you grab your pillow and a blanket and set up camp on the couch like you did last night. You have no intention of falling asleep. You know Jack will come find you.
Sure enough, his shadow falls over you a few minutes after the water cuts off.
“What the hell are you doing?”
You crack your eyes open. He’s standing over you, those big arms crossed across his chest. God, you want to sink your teeth into his pecs so bad. Trace all his freckles with your tongue and leave him covered in bite marks. Too bad you’re still annoyed. You try not to let the sight of his bare chest distract you.
“Going to sleep.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch again, babydoll.”
“You’re not letting me do anything.” You scowl up at him. “This is my apartment too. If I wanna sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the fucking couch-“
“Stop talking.”
Your mouth clicks shut. His voice has that firm, commanding undertone that makes your thighs clench together under the blanket. Finally.
“You know, I’ve really been thinking hard about what’s got my girl so fucking mad at me.” He starts, tilting his head as he looks down at you. “And I think I’ve finally figured it out.”
“I’m mad at you because you’re not letting me sleep, Jack.” A lie. “Can you just fuck off?”
“Realized I’ve been a little snippy this week.” He’s acting like you didn’t even speak, and you hate how much it’s turning you on. “In my head about shit. Haven’t really been here.”
Jack leans in just enough to brush some hair away from your forehead. You try to pull back, making a face, but he stops you in your tracks by grabbing your chin; his fingers dig into your cheeks just hard enough to make your lips poke out.
“And you’ve been missing me, haven’t you baby?” Bingo. He’s hit the nail on the head, finally, but you don’t dignify him with an answer. He doesn’t seem to need one. “That’s why you’ve been acting all mean to me, right?”
His grip shifts - he releases your face and grabs your bicep to tug you up sharply. You nearly fall off the couch, legs tangling in the blanket as you scramble to both right yourself and tear yourself out of Jack’s grasp.
“Hey - what the fuck, Jack?” You’re practically being dragged to your shared bedroom. Even though this is what you wanted, there’s a brief moment where, in a flash of annoyance as you’re pulled along, you consider kicking his prosthetic out from under him. “Stop, let me go-“
You’re hurled unceremoniously towards the bed. Catching yourself with your hands, you try to stand up to whirl around and give Jack a piece of your mind.
Key word being try.
A firm shove has the fronts of your thighs hitting the mattress, then you’re getting bent over by a big hand between your shoulder blades. You grab fistfuls of the sheets and give one half assed push back against Jack’s solid body to no avail.
“I’m sorry, babydoll.” He coos, rucking up your borrowed shirt so it’s hooked above your hips. He gently kicks your ankles further apart with his good foot; then takes his other hand and slaps between your thighs. You jolt when he makes contact with your pussy. The cotton of your panties is already damp. “I’ve been a bad partner. What kind of man doesn’t make sure his girl is satisfied?”
He slaps your pussy again and you cry out, the noise catching in your throat when he keeps his warm hand pressed against you. Your knees feel weak when he rubs you through the fabric, his fingertips nudging your clit just right. Fuck. Finally.
“It’s a man’s job to make sure his girl is happy and well taken care of.” Jack tuts, the playful click of his tongue making you clench around nothing. “And I’ve clearly been lacking. Lemme make it up to you, baby.”
All you manage is a weird sort of whimper. Jack chuckles, and the sound seems to tingle all the way up your spine and wrap around your brain. Oh, yeah. You needed this. You try not to seem too excited when Jack tugs your panties down to your knees. He drags his fingers through your slick folds, just barely dipping his middle finger into your entrance; you clench immediately.
“Christ, you poor thing.” The immediate loss of his hand makes you want to groan. You hear Jack suck his finger clean, then rustling as he shoves his sweats and boxers down. The thick head of his cock rubs against your slit and you moan.
“Jack-“
“Oh, I know, sweetheart.” He notches himself just inside of you, pushing in one, two inches and pausing just to hear you whine. “Just let me take care of you.”
You’d thought, given his sweet behavior, that you’d gotten off the hook for your behavior. That there’d be no punishment once Jack realized his mistakes, that he’d just give you what you want.
You’re proven wrong when he fucks into you hard - bottoming out in a single, rough thrust that makes you squeal and collapse forward onto the bed. You try to put a little distance between you, the stretch burning, but Jack presses his chest to your back and bends over, leaving you completely blanketed by his body.
“Ah ah ah - hey, where are you going?” Jack slides his right arm between your neck and the bed then flexes - and suddenly you find yourself trapped between his thick bicep and forearm. “This is what you wanted, right? Why you’ve been throwing such a hissy fit?”
The only sound that escapes you is a pitiful little moan as he constricts your airway. Jack’s choked you before, sure; but never like this. You can’t help but clench around him as he fucks you rough and deep, your vision going a little spotty as his arm keeps squeezing.
“Mm-“
“Fuck, baby, you’re tight.” He grunts, bracing his other arm next to you on the bed. Another harsh thrust makes you squeak, and you can hear the grin in Jack’s voice when your hands fly up to dig your nails into the arm around your neck. “Good girl, good baby. Scratching me up with those pretty nails, huh? You gonna let me pay for them next time? Like I’m supposed to?”
You nod as well as you can. It’s hard to think with his thick cock bruising your insides and his arm wrapped around your throat, but you’re trying your best. Jack moves his left arm down, wedging it between you and the bed to rub your clit as he pounds you from behind. You’re fairly certain you’re drooling. You can feel yourself getting close, the feeling spreading through your insides like wildfire, but you try your best to hold it back just to spite Jack.
“You’re close, aren’t you babydoll?” Of course he can tell. He always can. “C’mon, honey. Give it to me. Quit being stubborn and just let go.”
You couldn’t disobey him if you tried (and you were definitely trying). Your orgasm hits you like a brick wall, your pussy squeezing and gushing around Jack’s cock like a vice as he fucks you through it. Your eyes burn as a few tears escape them.
“Fuck, there you go.” His bicep is hot against your throat, squeezing tight enough to have you choking and gasping. God, it feels amazing. “There’s my girl. Shit, m’sorry for being such a jackass, baby. I won’t do it again. Gotta keep my girl happy.”
And boy, are you happy. There’s really nothing like being pinned to the bed as Jack fucks you like he’s trying to put you through the mattress, even if you are twitchy and overstimulated from your orgasm. A broken, weak little noise escapes your lips, and Jack hushes you.
“I know, I know. I’m almost finished.” His voice is strained, his breath warm against the back of your head as he pants. “Keep squeezing me like that, babydoll. Fuck, just like that-“
One more rough thrust forward and Jack’s cumming inside of you, his arm flexing so hard around your neck that you can’t even gasp for breath. The warmth of his release floods your insides and fills you (no pun intended) with an immediate, satiated sense of calm. Everything feels right in the world now. Your reign of bratty terror can finally come to an end.
Jack finally relaxes his arm and you suck in a big, desperate gulp of air. Coughing and gasping, your head falls onto the mattress as Jack pets your hair and leans down to kiss your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“You okay?” He murmurs. You manage to open your eyes and see nothing but love and concern swimming around in his gaze. “I didn’t break you, did I?”
“I’m not the one you need to be worried about.” You croak, voice hoarse. Jack lifts himself off of you; the skin of your back and his chest are tacky with sweat, your shirt sticking, and you miss his warmth as soon as the cool bedroom air prickles along your spine. “You didn’t throw out your hip, did you?”
That earns you a hard, firm smack on the ass. You yelp, your pussy fluttering weakly around his soft cock.
“Jesus Christ.” Jack pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. “I thought you were done being a pain in my ass? Did I not fuck you hard enough or something?”
When he steps back you pull yourself a little more onto the bed, then roll onto your back to look up at him with a tired, shit eating little grin.
“Mm…I don’t know. Might need you to do that again. I still feel like buying my own dinner.”
Jack scoffs and shakes his head, but the look on his face makes your stomach flip.
