pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: somehow pope ends up being your fake boyfriend
content warnings: they fake date to get craig to stop flirting with you, mention of parties + alcohol and drugs, reader's mentioned to have soft hair + puts it in a ponytail, reader sits in pope's lap, some angst in the middle, kissing - lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: by far my longest fic!! which is quite exciting to be honest and also very nerve wracking. also yes, i did include a bunch of references from my favorite pieces of media in this!! gif credits to @wesandresons!! <3
wc: 11k
♡ bambi!reader and pope cody
It was really an act of desperation.
You had in no way planned to ask Andrew Cody to be your fake boyfriend.
The party was loud as always, and you were stuck. Literally. Stuck beneath Craig Cody's arm as he watched some girls play games in the pool. And you were too polite to tell him to please, please get his heavy arm off your shoulder.
And you were warm. It was too hot outside, and you hadn't realized there was a party going on when you arrived, and when you did, Craig had already pulled you towards the crowd.
So here you were in your dress, warm and in desperate need of the Cody's house's chilly air conditioning.
You let out a quiet huff, feeling more and more exhausted by the second, and failed to notice Pope walking up to the two of you, tapping Craig on the shoulder.
He would've resorted for a shove though he worried that shoving Craig would drag you down with him. His younger brother looked over his shoulder and his face fell, promptly lifting his arm off your shoulder with an annoyed sigh.
Pope watched you glance up at Craig, confused but relieved at the same time, rolling your shoulders.
You finally turned, following Craig's gaze, until it landed on Pope. "Andrew!" you sounded so excited and Craig rolled his eyes at the sound.
Pope wasn't sure how anyone could be annoyed upon hearing your sweet voice, but then again he knew he was always the reason for it. He never had to wonder what it would be like to be on the other end of it.
He held out his hand and for a second he cursed himself, What if you didn't want to leave Craig's side? But it took you exactly two seconds to put your soft hand in his and let him drag you away from the loud party.
Over your shoulder, you managed to say goodbye to Craig just in time before you were out of reach. Pope suppressed a smile, knowing it wasn't exactly politeness to his younger brother but rather a stab to an already existing wound.
He tugged you into the house, your flip-flops producing wet noises on the floor as you continued to trail behind him towards his room. He shut the door behind him, blocking out the noise, and you let out a relieved sigh.
"Thank you." You gave him a smile, brushing a hand over your dress, getting rid of imaginary dirt, before taking a seat on his soft bed.
"You should tell Craig you don't like him touching you," he said quietly, still standing in front of you, arms crossed.
"Don't wanna be rude." You toyed with the soft fabric of your brown dress.
Pope's eyes lingered on your legs for a second, before getting a hold of himself, finally deciding to take a seat on the other side of the bed.
"S'not rude to tell him that you don't want him to touch you." Pope shot you a look. One you purposefully avoided as you straightened your back against his headboard, settling comfortably against it.
"To you." you mumbled.
"To everyone," he corrected, eyebrows furrowed, irritated almost.
You finally met his hazel eyes, and he stared back at you, still holding the same annoyed expression. It wasn't the first time he'd told you to tell Craig to back off.
You lowered your gaze. "I'll try to tell him next time."
Key word try.
Pope prayed there wouldn't be a next time, because the sight of you and Craig this close, upset him in ways he didn't think was possible.
You both sat shoulder to shoulder, staring at nothing before you turned to look at him. "Does it—does it seem weird that I let Craig just… flirt with me?"
You've had this fear for a while, worried that everyone would think you were torn between two brothers, that you were playing with both of them. You had seen the looks Deran shot you sometimes, like he knew you were pining hard after his older brother, and you feared that he thought you were stringing Craig along.
In reality, you just…hated saying no.
Pope looked at you, tilting his head lightly as if to figure out what you were thinking. "No. Do you like it?"
He couldn't help but ask. He needed to know if you did. Because god knows his fingers have been itching to get you a flower bouquet these past weeks. Every time he walked past the flower shop at the beach, he resisted the urge to get one. But the idea always faded when he saw Craig flirting with you. Pope would be quick to crumble, shaking his head and getting rid of the fantasy where you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as you took the flower bouquet. Maybe you really did just want Craig.
"No—no." How could you tell him that you tolerated Craig's absurd flirting because it made you feel less alone? You knew how desperate that sounded.
But the teasing made you feel like there was actually someone out there who thought of you pretty enough to pine after. Even if Craig's idea of pining wasn't exactly to your taste.
"I don't like it." You concluded after a long silence, crossing your legs beneath you as you stared at his white wall in front of you. "I guess I just—I let him, because I worry that if I won't, I can't come over anymore."
Yeah, you were that lonely. Besides being unable to say no to anyone, you also couldn't bear not having to do anything all day besides your job.
Pope watched your profile, the way your lips curled in embarrassment, and how you were rubbing a finger over your heart necklace. "Yes, you can." he appeared sincerely perplexed, not comprehending how you'd gotten to that conclusion. "I'd invite you."
You turned your head and your heart fluttered at his earnest expression. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Pope replied quietly, watching you try and cover your smile by looking down at his blue bed sheets. "Will you tell him to shut his damn mouth then?"
You raised your eyebrow, turning to him, clearly caught off guard by how he just phrased the question, not fond of it. "Will you tell him to—stop talking to you like that?"
"Uh—I'll try." You leaned your head back further against the headboard staring up, avoiding his eyes again.
"You won't," Pope stated, sounding disappointed and almost hurt.
Did you not trust him to keep inviting you over? He would, he really would.
You continued to stare at his plain ceiling. "I don't think he'll back off unless I—I don't know get a boyfriend or something and even that wouldn't stop him," you replied quietly.
"I can make him stop."
"I appreciate that, but—it's fine, I'll just deal with it."
Pope shook his head. "I can make him stop if you tell him you have a boyfriend."
"I don't have a boyfriend," you said, confused, now finally meeting his eyes.
Pope's lips twitched. "You can lie."
You shook your head. "He won't believe me."
"Why not? You're—You're nice and—and really pretty." He gestured with his hand in the air before placing it back in his lap, timidness setting in. He kept staring at his entangled hands in his lap, even as you raised your head to look at him. "He'll believe you," he added quietly.
Really pretty.
You opened your mouth before closing it, but then you shook your head. Again. "No, he would want to meet the guy, and then he'll realize I don't have anyone, and it'll just be this huge embarrassing thing and—"
"Just tell him I'm the boyfriend."
Pope doesn't know what came over him to say such a thing, to propose the idea of being your fake boyfriend. He really, really didn't.
Even you had sat up now, mouth agape as you just…stared. "Craig would get really mad" was all that managed to come out of your mouth.
Pope tilted his head, an arrogant expression taking over. "I can deal with him."
His way of saying that if he causes his any trouble, he would beat him up. Pretty easy to understand.
You stared, and then the answer came out easy, had been ready on your tongue the moment he asked. "Okay."
Pope stared at you, repeating the word. "Okay."
The two of you stared at each other for a while, each one of you more shocked about what was happening than the other.
And then he quickly got off the bed, boots thudding loudly on the wooden floor. "Do you—do you want anything to eat?"
And before you could reply, he was already answering the question himself. "I'll get you water. It's hot and you haven't had a sip of water all day."
Right, so he had been watching you earlier.
Then he was gone, out the door and in the kitchen You were left there, staring at the door with your wide mouth open.
Andrew Cody was your fake boyfriend.
Though you hadn't discussed specifics, the idea of it warmed your heart so much that a disbelieved giggle just stumbled out from your throat. He had called you pretty.
Andrew Cody had said you were really pretty and proposed the idea of being your fake boyfriend.
When he came back, he was holding a glass. One glass of water and you wanted to laugh. You weren't' sure if it was obvious to him that you knew he had to calm himself down and that's why he spent five minutes getting you water from a kitchen that was two feet away from his door.
"It's clean. I cleaned it." he mumbled, pointing at the glass with his free hand and you took it, purposely brushing your pinky finger against his.
"Thank you." You took a sip, though you weren't thirsty whatsoever, but he seemed to be content watching you drink and so you drank the entire thing in one go, hoping that'll make him even happier.
His eyes rested on you, as he rounded the back, taking a seat in his earlier spot. He placed his hands in his lap, posture straight, as if suddenly everything was different since he'd stepped through the door a minute ago.
"We should discuss details so—so it's not obvious it's a lie." you said quietly, having had enough time to think about it. You set the glass on his night stand, careful not to leave too much of a rim on the wooden stand. "And we're going to have to put on an… act too."
Pope nodded, still looking down at his hands, remaining silent, so you took the lead. Again. "We can just—just say that you asked me out on a first date. To a restaurant maybe. A few weeks ago."
Was it that easy to ask you out? Should he have done that a long time ago? If he would have asked you out on a restaurant date would you have now been his actual real girlfriend?
"The restaurant at the beach. Your favorite." he said, meeting your surprised eyes. "Craig doesn't know your favorite restaurant."
He held your stare. See i know you better than him. He wanted to prove to you that he was better at than his younger brother, better at knowing you. That there's a reason you agreed to let him be your fake boyfriend and not Craig.
"I don't think Craig knows anything about me." you grimaced lightly, leaning forward and taking your flips flops off, peering over the beds edge as you dropped them on the ground. You scooted then closer, to Pope, facing him this time until your crossed legs were nudging his thighs.
Pope scoffed at that. "Craig doesn't know about anything but himself." Reminding you that was his fault not yours. You were plenty interesting. Craig was just a jerk.
"I asked you to be my—girlfriend after our third date. Ice cream date," Pope knew you had had plenty of those, though you never dubbed them as dates. It was a believable lie.
You nodded, shooting him a small smile, as if telling him good job. "Right. okay. Think that's all right?"
You both knew it wasn't all. It was as just the question of who was going to ask about it.
"I—yes that's all." It definitely wasn't Pope and so you looked up from your lap, spotting his red ears in a second.
Your eyes wandered off to the window, heart still racing as you thought about what a crazy idea this all was, and how much, how desperately you still craved it. Your hands were practically itching to start the lie, to get your hands on Pope, to have him touch you like you were someone he loved.
"I think we should act like a couple in front of Craig." You murmured, eyes still lingering on the tree outside his window.
"How?" Pope watched you, feeling safe enough to watch your pretty face, noting your distraction.
"I don't know." you shrugged, slightly embarrassed, clearly. "How do couples act?"
Neither of you knew. Inexperience evident in the both of you.
"They—touch each other?" Pope proposed and you giggled. "Yeah I guess so."
"I don't know how couples act." his tone turning defensive as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.
You giggled, nudging his thigh with your knee."Just put your arms around me when we sit on the couch or something or hold my hand."
Pope nodded. "I can do that."
Neither of you mentioned how you've already been doing this, acting like a couple, going on dates, being in love.
"Seems like i can finally get rid of Craig."
We. Pope wished to say, but he just gave you a small nod.
It wasn't until days later that your made-up lie came into handy.
You were in the kitchen, looking at the options of cereal Pope was holding out for you. "How sweet is that one?"
"Sweet. Makes my teeth hurt." He tilted his head, looking at the yellow cereal in thought. "Though you have a sweet tooth, so you might like it."
"I'll take that one then," You leaned your chin in your palm as you watched him pick out the red cereal for himself, measuring it carefully.
You tapped your fingers on the counter, turning in your chair lightly, eyes still resting on the eldest Cody boy. You liked watching him in the morning. Sometimes you came over early on purpose, knowing no one was awake during the early hours. You always got to have breakfast with him alone.
Craig's loud groan was heard throughout the entire house and both you and Pope's heads snapped up, forming the exact same disappointed expression.
There goes the quiet.
Pope frowned, turning to grab two spoons from the cupboard. He should've just taken you to a diner this morning.
But he had been so excited to discover that his mother wasn't home, and he hadn't even hesitated to invite you over. This was his home, Smurf or not, and sometimes he liked to share it with you.
"Hey!" Craig grinned, sounding happy upon spotting you until his brother came into view.
Pope pushed your cereal bowl towards you, holding Craig's stare, and stood next to your seat, promptly stopping his younger brother from hugging you.
You replied with a small "Hi," unsure of what to do with the tension between them.
The two brothers stared at each other for a while, until Craig let out a frustrated scoff, holding out both palms as he backed off, opting to grab a drink from the fridge instead.
You pretended to not have seen the entire thing and looked down at your cereal, taking your first bite. "Sweet! I like it."
Pope suppressed a smile by taking a bite from his own cereal, eyes still lingering on Craig. The tall man now stood up, holding a water bottle as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, letting out a loud moan.
"I never get used to hangovers," he groaned, eyes watching you take a bite from your bowl. "Where were you yesterday? Had this huge party going on. Was really damn good."
And then he waited, like he'd actually wanted an answer as to why you didn't come to hang out with his drunk and high-as-kite friends.
"Oh sorry." You gave him a small smile, deciding to just apologize, because it was always the easiest way to get Craig off your back. "I hope you had fun though."
And he took it as a sign to start talking, telling you about all the crazy things that happened that you, quite frankly, had no interest in.
Meanwhile Pope was seething. Had he forced you to apologize for not attending a party? Had Craig never realized that you didn't like them? How did he not pay attention to you?
Eventually, Craig wandered from the counter to where your seat was, hips touching the counter. Pope watched you straighten up, giving the younger Cody an uncomfortable smile. Your spoon abandoned in the bowl, the dish still full of the sweet grain.
Pope set his own spoon back in the bowl, glaring at Craig. But his younger brother failed to notice him or your weak smile, as you tiredly nodded over and over again, having not said a single word in the past five minutes.
Pope slowly rose from his seat, bowl in hand, missing your helpless looks. He cleaned his bowl carefully, setting it in the dishwasher alongside his spoon and then leaned his hands on the counter, listening to his brother as he went on and on about how he had leaped off the roof and into the pool.
Pope swiftly turned around, feeling the anger rise up in him and interrupted his brother mid-sentence.
"We have a date to get to." He reached for your hand, tugging you off the chair, and you hopped down, staring at Pope in the same incredulous manner his brother was.
"You have a date?" Craig spat out, bewilderment flickering in his eyes.
"Yes." Pope pulled you even further away from his brother, until you were practically concealed behind him. "Clean that up." he pointed at the two cereal bowls with his free hand, before pulling you towards the sliding doors.
Neither of you said a single word as he tugged you towards his car, but your smile spoke a hundred words.
Pope opened the car door, like the gentleman he tried so hard to be and waited for you to set foot in the dark truck.
But you paused, smile so bright it felt like the sun was shining in his eyes and blinding him.
"Thank you for saving me back there," You squeezed his hands twice, fingers curling around his hands tight like you didn't want to let go.
"He was talking too much." Pope replied dryly, though his lips were quirking.
"Mhmm." you hummed, smiling as you took one long look at him, eyes shining with joy. With his help, you climbed into his car, settling on the plush cushions as you let go of his warm hand.
He paused, not yet closing the door, and tapped his fingers restlessly against the back of it. "Was—was that okay? What I just said to Craig?"
You smiled softly. "Yeah, it was great."
You sounded so thrilled that Pope let out a puff of relief, closing the door gently.
It wasn't until two days later, that you went over to the Codys again. It was a rainy day, and you didn't want to be alone at home, you never wanted to be alone at home, though somehow you always were.
Determined not to spend the afternoon sulking in front of the TV, you texted Pope asking if it'd be okay to come over and, just as you hoped, he had replied with a 'Yes'.
Pope was already waiting for you in the garage, hands in the middle of a toolbox.
You hopped into the garage, excited to see him as always. "Hi Andrew."
He pulled up a chair next to him wordlessly as he took you in. A frown formed on his lips. "You told me you were coming over in an hour. I would've picked you up." He tilted his head, watching the way your wet hair drenched your clothes.
’S'fine," you smiled. "I love the rain." already turning your back to Pope to watch it pour with a smile.
"Do you like the rain?" you asked right as he stood up behind you, dropping the utensils he'd just been gripping tightly a minute ago. His warm chest pressed up against your cold shoulder, warming you up. Maybe even intentionally.
"Sometimes," he watched the rain pour down on his car with pursed lips. "It cleans everything." he murmured after a while, looking back down at you and the way your hair was starting to curl around your face. "But it's wet."
It sounded like a five-year-old writing his first sentence in the first grade. He always sounded like this, but you never minded. You always liked what he had to say regardless of how he said it.
"It is wet," you mumbled, your eyes traveling from the torrent, down to your jeans and shirt.
A simple outfit really, though you'd tried to look just a little dressed up, hoping to grab Pope's attention. Although you knew deep down in your heart that you've always and always will have it. Your brown shirt was covered in white bunnies, and your jeans had hearts on all four pockets. It was a sweet outfit really. You'd been proud of it earlier, which was a rather rare occasion for you.
Pope was always surprised at how quickly you understood him. You knew he didn't have the vocabulary to tell you that he didn't like being caught in the rain, that he didn't like the feel of his clothes clinging to his skin or the danger of the water on the streets.
"You can have some of my clothes. You're going to get sick."
'M'fine," you mumbled, unconsciously leaning back lightly against his chest, eyes still lingering on the rain.
"Come on," Pope nudged your shoulder lightly, already turning on his heels and back into the house.
You followed without another word, knowing you couldn't deny him the kindness he was granting you, and he knew you too well to know that when you said 'I'm fine' it was your way of saying the exact opposite.
It wasn't until you finally had your shirt in Pope's laundry basket and his brown hoodie on that you encountered Craig in the hallway.
"A date and his hoodie?" he snickered, and you didn't bother with a reply. You kept walking, past him and into the living room where Pope was already waiting for you.
You hurried to take a seat next to the older Cody brother, and always one to follow orders, Pope had already laid out his arm around you and you dropped a bit further on the couch, and Pope's arm followed, hovering just above your shoulder. Looking up at him, you scooted closer, as if giving him permission to close the space fully, and he did. His heavy arm draping around you like a blanket, warming you fully, more than the house air conditioning ever could.
It felt nothing like Craig's arm. No, Pope watched your expression carefully, brushing his thumb over your upper arm, trying to warm you as much as he could.
He was distracted by your shivering form, when he heard Craig approach the living room, and he couldn't help but relish the way Craig paused his steps, watching the two of you with a mortified expression.
"You two seriously dating?" he snarled, the question more so directed at his brother. He was in sheer disbelief that Pope had gotten the girl he had been pining after for god knows how long.
"Yeah."
Craig let out a scoff. "There's no way." he sauntered down the stairs to the living room, blocking the TV and your view. "You seriously with that guy?"
As if Pope was a stranger.
You frowned, now finally getting your voice back. "Yeah, I am." It wasn't as brave as you wanted it to sound, but at least you had said something.
Craig let out a laugh. "Jesus, I can never win in this house." and if Deran hadn't walked in and gotten Craig distracted, you were sure you would've exploded under his livid stare. Had it been from embarrassment or sheer anger, you weren't sure.
While Craig loudly complained and Deran shot you stunned looks, you turned your head to Pope. "Don't think he believes us," you mumbled, careful not to let younger Codys hear you.
"Doesn't matter," he mumbled back, just as quietly as he glanced back at Craig.
As long as the two of you kept it up, he would have to believe you.
But your troubled expression remained, and you glanced over at Craig, clearly just wishing for him to leave. You looked back at Pope, a hesitant expression flashing across your face.
"If you need to make it believable, you—you can."
He lifted an eyebrow, not even glancing over when he heard Deran laugh at one of Craig's displeased comments. "What does that mean?"
"Like—like if you need to kiss me for him to believe us, that's —that's fine." you faltered, now realizing what you had said.
Pope stared at you. Kiss you?
A hundred things went through his mind and he couldn't help the way his eyes wandered down to your lips. Somehow your lip gloss was still shimmering, despite the rain. He looked up again, meeting your big eyes and fear was holding them tight.
You had said too much.
He realized then that you hadn't really meant to say that out loud. He had cornered you by asking what you meant exactly. You figured he knew what the word believable meant, like he was supposed to know that meant kissing you.
"No." Pope shook his head, forcing his eyes from your pouting expression and back to the TV. "Not like this."
You froze, the hand that had been curled around one of the hoodie sleeves loosening. You stared at him for a while, and he didn't move. His eyes remained on the moving screen in front of him.
Stiffly, you turned your body back to the TV, Pope's arm around you now feeling like a rope, choking you.
He didn't want to kiss you.
"Okay." You whispered, hiding your glistening eyes by staring holes into the wall, not even following the show.
The rejection felt like a punch to the gut. You pulled your knees up slowly, moving, so his arm wasn't as surrounded as it was before. You didn't have it in you to think about what not like this meant. All you heard was the clear and loud no. The quick and easy no. Like kissing you was this crazy horrible thing to do.
You suddenly felt uneasy in his hoodie, too warm, too hot, too nauseous.
Maybe you had forced him into this whole fake boyfriend thing. Maybe he just wanted to be a good friend and help you out. This probably meant nothing to him, and you had made it out to be this huge big thing in your head. You felt your stomach turn as the embarrassment set in, humiliation coursing through your veins.
Oh my god, you'd just asked Andrew Cody to kiss you and he'd said no.
You hid your lower face in the hoodie, despite yourself, biting hard on your lip until you felt it bleed. You barely took notice of the way Deran asked Pope questions. You weren't even fully present, sick with humiliation as you missed Pope stuttering the answers out.
It seemed like Deran was happy for you or, so you guessed by the small smile he shot in your direction.
The moment the two boys were out, announcing their goodbye by Craig's loud stomping, followed by his complaints, you stood up quickly, your legs shaky.
"Rains gone. I'm—I'm going home," you mumbled, not looking at the startled man. You walked up the stairs to his room in a hurry, heading for your bag. You just wanted out of the house.
It didn't even take Pope five seconds before he was up from the couch and following you. "Why? It's still wet outside. Your shoes are going to get wet."
He knew you really cared about your ballet flats. He had been surprised to see you come over in them, not realizing you had worn them for him ever since he had timidly complimented them once.
You shook your head, finally spotting your bag. You grabbed it off the hooks and swung it over your shoulder, still not looking at him. "I'll see you around Andrew."
But Pope wasn't one easy to shake off. "I'll drive you."
You didn't reply, already sliding the doors open and stepping onto the wet pavement, flats hitting the concrete hard, almost hurting your sole.
But your escape was cut short, as Pope grabbed your upper arm, gently turning you around to face him. "Why are you upset?"
"I'm not upset." You raised your chin, as if to say here see? I'm fine.
He tilted his head. "Yeah, you are." His thumb lifted to your face, gently grazing the skin below your eye. "Your eyelashes are wet." His brows drew together. "Did Craig make you sad? Do you want to stop lying?"
Wrong damn thing to ask.
You shot him a look, and it was the closest Pope would ever receive to an angry look from you. Yet it was mixed with too much vulnerability and hurt for him to consider the anger. All he saw was the pain.
"I'm going home. Alone."
Of course Pope couldn't stay away from you.
You had left in a hurry, and you had been sad. And he didn't fix it.
So he hurried to take care of the shirt you had left behind, putting it in the laundry and two hours later he was knocking at your door.
You seemed even more sad than before, when you opened the door. Eyes rimmed red as you stared at him. "Andrew," and his name didn't sound as sweet coming from your pretty lips as it usually did.
Pope felt his stomach turn.
"I washed your—your shirt and thought you might need it." He held out the meticulously folded shirt. You stared at it, before taking it out of his hand quickly, as if you wanted to close the door as soon as you could.
"Thank you," You replied quietly, still holding the door like he wasn't allowed to come in yet, and Pope felt his skin crawl as he waited for the typical invitation.
You always invited him in.
"I'll get you your hoodie. Give me a minute." And then you were gone. The door opened half an inch, but no invitation.
Two hours and you had already taken his hoodie off.
Pope pushed the door open, walked in and closed it behind him. Quickly taking off his shoes, setting them down carefully by the door. He marched towards your bathroom, where he heard you mutter curses under your breath over the slow washing machine.
The washing machine still had an hour left.
So you had worn his hoodie at least for a while.
"What did I do?"
"Andrew!" you called out, turning around in panic, the fear quickly evaporating from your face when you realized it was him.
"Did I say something wrong? Did I make you sad? Was it what I said to Deran? If you don't want to do the —the lying thing anymore, that's —that's okay." He was wringing his hands nervously in front of him,
And you realized with a jolt that he was terrified you didn't want him anymore.
You lowered your gaze to his hands, watching the movement, and any other time you would have reached for his hands, stopped him from digging his nails into his skin. But you didn't want to touch him, the earlier rejection still echoing in your head.
You looked away. "Everything's okay, Andrew," you replied quietly, moving past him so you wouldn't have to see his heartbroken expression anymore.
He swiftly turned around, reached for your hand and spun you around, until you were facing him. "Stop saying that. You've been lying to me since—since earlier—just — just tell me what i did wrong, so I can fix it." He was scared, petrified that you were going to leave him. "I'll fix it. Whatever it is, I'll fix it."
And God did you hate seeing his eyes glisten and his expression this grief-stricken. He was biting the insides of his cheeks so hard you worried he was bleeding, but still, he was unable to hide the shaking in his bottom lip.
Maybe pride wasn't as important as you thought.
"You said you didn't want to kiss me and—and that's fine, but you'll have to give me a minute to not be—hurt about it." You blurted out, nibbling on your bottom lip in frustration. You sounded like a petulant thirteen-year-old girl and even worse than that, you felt like one.
Your words hit him like a slap to the face. "I didn't mean it like that."
"It's fine really," you managed a feeble smile, though your eyes remained wet. "I know I came off—" You weren't sure how to phrase it. Direct? Clingy? Desperate? You looked away instead, deciding not to continue your weak defense.
Pope watched the shimmer in your eyes, the way you were holding on for dear life to hold back the tears that oh so desperately wanted to roll down your cheeks.
Why not be honest? Why not put everything on the line? As long as you stopped sniffling and your chin stopped trembling from how hard you were trying to stay composed.
"I want to kiss you," he blurted, eyes flickering down to your lips, just begging for your teeth to stop sinking into the soft skin of your already too red lips. "I just—I don't want it to be—not real."
"You want to kiss me?" was all you heard as you blinked up at him with your glistening eyes.
"Yeah," Pope admitted in a low tone, relief flooding his veins when your tongue wet your lips, trying to get rid of the burn you had caused yourself.
So many thoughts swirled around in your head. Any other man and you would've thought he was lying, but Pope didn't lie to you. Ever. Sometimes he was brutally honest, something you and your chaotic kitchen had more than once been made aware of.
"Okay," you replied quietly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he'd said those words and that you weren't dreaming.
Your vocabulary had run out. You were sure your high school English teacher would be disheartened to know that, as of now, your vocabulary consisted of the same eight words. Andrew Cody said he wanted to kiss me.
"Are you still sad?" he asked nervously, tilting his head to catch your eyes.
You shook your head quickly, stepping closer, finally wringing his hands out of one another, clasping them in yours instead.
"No," you looked down, inspecting where on his palm he'd sunk his nails in and brushing gently over the mark, attempting to get rid of the burning pressure he had left behind. "I wasn't sad earlier, or maybe I was — I don't know. I just— your answer wasn't something I expected."
You didn't mean to admit that. To admit that you had been thinking about the fact that Andrew Cody might just like you, that you've indulged yourself so much in that fantasy that it almost became reality to you.
Pope's ears burned and even in the dark hallway you were able to see it.
You smiled softly, dropping his hands to spare him the humiliation of being put on the spot and having to answer in any way that would be revealing and vulnerable.
But he quickly reached back for you, except this time, his hands drifted upwards, to the sides of your neck. He placed his palms there, his thumbs brushing delicately across your cheekbone. "I'd like to kiss you—when the time is right."
You watched him wordlessly, and he waited, used to how much it took you to absorb information and accept that maybe the good things in your life are real and not a figment of your imagination.
"Yeah," you beamed, and your hands traveled up to hold onto his wrists, brushing tenderly across his racing pulse. "When is the right time?"
You couldn't help but ask, eyes already on his lips, and he loosened his hold around your face, pushing your hair behind your ears. "When Craig isn't bothering you anymore and when—when kissing counts as real."
Your cheek tilted into his palm, letting his hand engulf half of your face. Your eyes dropped to his chest, still recalibrating, trying to adjust to the words you just heard, unaware of Pope stepping closer until he closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to your forehead.
You froze, hands dropping from his wrists to his stomach. His lips were soft, and the kiss came so unexpected that you almost had to physically restrain yourself from letting out an incredulous giggle.
When his lips left your forehead, you looked at him, and he was already awaiting your reaction, unease in his eyes as he awaited your judgment.
"Is that a prelude of what's to come?" you whispered.
And his lips quirked up, his hands falling nervously away from your face, while your hands went to rest on his stomach, feeling his heartbeat racing there.
"Yeah," he breathed out, getting progressively more warm under your sweet touch and your even sweeter look. "I mean—if you liked it."
He had no idea if he was a good kisser. He hoped this had been nice enough for you.
"I liked it," you whispered quietly, watching the relief set in his face.
"Then yeah,"
Beach day with the Cody's wasn't something you had ever been invited to, not that you wanted to anyway. You had no interest in surfing and all the Cody brothers did was surf. But now that you were Pope's girlfriend, you forced yourself to go and Pope couldn't be happier.
You were sitting on a towel Pope had set out for you while Deran and Craig stood close to the water, holding their surfboards and discussing the waves.
Pope, meanwhile, was seated on the towel next to you, concerned that it might be too hot for you to wait and that you should just join him.
"No way," you shook your head, watching the waves crash onto the beach. You turned your head, shooting him an apologetic look. "Have fun though."
He frowned, more concerned about leaving you here alone than the fact that you didn't want to surf. "I'm staying here with you."
"No, you're not, Andrew," you smiled softly. "I want you to have fun."
Pope wasn't used to that. Allowed to have fun without having to give a piece of himself away. Smurf always tricked him, giving him an insincere smile, and telling him to do what he wanted. Later on, the punishment would come in the form of a horrible job or some nasty jab at him. He would never know.
He pursed his lips, searching your face for any duplicity. Things like this always reminded him how deep-rooted his mother was, made him wonder if she would ever leave him, or if he would just doubt every good thing for the rest of his life.
"Hey," You leaned in closer, until all he saw was your face and not his brothers quarreling in the background. "I'm waiting to watch you surf." You smiled softly, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress around your knees. "I'm sure you're better than those two."
His hazel eyes, with the sun now shining on him just green, continued to bore into yours, but he seemed to warm up to the idea of having you watch him and admire him. "I am," he mumbled, and your smile widened.
"Go on then." Your eyes sparkled as you watched him stand up, board in hand.
You were sure Pope was the one swimming the waves the fastest, though you couldn't be sure which one of them he actually was. You just hoped your eyes were following the right black bodysuit.
They didn't last long. Or well, Pope didn't. Coming back after at least thirty minutes, he set his board in the sand beside you, still catching his breath.
"You were great!" you smiled at him, and it shone brighter than the sun above you two.
"Thank you," he replied quietly, settling down on the blanket next to you.
You glanced at his wet suit. "Need help with the zipper?"
"No, it's fine," he mumbled, but you were already kneeling behind him, hands on the metal.
"Girlfriend duties," you mumbled.
"No one's here," he mumbled back, eyes glancing forward to where Craig and Deran were riding the waves with cheers.
"They could be watching. You never know." You unzipped the bodysuit, down to his waist. Pope hoped you couldn't see the goosebumps forming alongside the length of your touch.
You settled beside him again, watching him take the suit off until it was bunched up around his hips, bare chest now glistening in the sunshine.
"You didn't surf for long," you spoke again, mostly to have a conversation and not focus on the fact that he was next to you half naked.
"Told them I didn't want to leave my girlfriend alone for too long," he murmured and turned his head to catch your expression.
You lit up, nose and eyes crinkling with joy, though you hid the expression by turning your face away from him, eyes on the beach.
His eyes lingered on your profile, noting the way your teeth were biting into the soft plump flesh of your lips.
"Not putting on sunscreen is dangerous." he said slowly, now slowly noting the way your skin wasn't glistening like his or his brothers.
"I'll be fine. It's not that sunny anyway." You shot him a quick smile, your eyes wandering back to his younger brothers, who were now taking on a big wave, their yelling reaching you and every other person taking a stroll on the beach at 7am.
Pope turned, reaching for your bag, knowing you always came prepared. You had handed the sunscreen to Craig and Deran earlier, and asked Pope if he wanted help, but seemingly hadn't used it for yourself.
He found the small bottle quickly. "Turn around," he instructed, and you looked over your shoulder, confused, until you noticed the white bottle shining in his hands.
"I can apply it myself." you said quietly, even as you turned towards him, facing him.
He didn't reply but instead set the bottle aside, reaching for your wrist, where he pulled your hair tie off. You watched him wordlessly as he carefully reached for your hair, shortening the distance between you until he was able to tie your hair into a loose ponytail.
Your eyes swept over to his curls, watching the water trickle down to his neck. Your gaze lingered on the freckles covering his cheeks, wondering if you would ever get to count them.
Pope was so good at taking care of you that sometimes you felt emotion threatening to overwhelm you almost instantly.
The frown of concentration on his face remained as he set your hair tie in place, trying his best to remain careful as to not hurt you. When he was done, he carefully pushed your ponytail behind your shoulder and leaned back, picking up the sunscreen.
Applying it to his fingers, he finally looked up, meeting your eyes.
And the look in your eyes froze him in his tracks. It was so painfully obvious, even to him, that you were so very fond of him. He could see the sheer adoration in your eyes.
His eyes quickly darted away, focusing on squeezing out the cream onto his fingers. Meanwhile, your fingers were pulling at your necklace, twisting and turning it nervously, as you waited for him to touch your face.
He lifted his hand and finally started applying it, light brushes across your cheeks and forehead, careful to smear it proportionally.
"Thank you." you whispered quietly, your warm exhalation grazing his face.
You've never had anyone do this for you, or at least not since you were a child and eager to run back into the water. Now, you weren't eager to go anywhere.
You leaned in closer, your crossed legs brushing up against his thigh. You just wanted more, more of his big hands on you, more of his warmth engulfing you. You loved the feeling of them on your face, tenderly stroking the apple of your cheeks.
Pope took his time. On purpose.
He didn't want this small intimate moment to end. Even when he was done applying sunscreen to your face, he just moved on to your arms, deciding to drag this out as long as he could.
You giggled when he got to the inside of your elbow, making his lips quirk up. "Didn't know you were ticklish." he commented quietly, moving down to your fingers.
You eyed him with wary eyes. "Why does it matter?"
He shrugged, though there was an amused glint in his eyes that you caught, making you smile. "It doesn't."
The two of you were in your own little bubble taking no notice whatsoever of the two Codys approaching you, not until they were standing next to you and Pope noticed the shadow fallingover you.
He glanced up, a frown immediately forming on his lips, the lightness disappearing off his shoulders replaced with the heaviness of knowing that this moment was over.
"Wow." Craig huffed. "So you weren't even watching?"
You glanced up, startled upon realizing that he was talking to you. "No, I did watch." You defended yourself weakly, not looking at Craig, instead resorting to watching Deran walk away and head towards the car.
Pope looked up and shot his brother a look. One that was fairly obvious in its meaning.
Craig stared at the two of you, watching the way you curled your fingers around Pope's hand, clearly nervous and the way Pope merely continued to apply the cream to your skin gently. You chewed your lips nervously under Craig's stare, growing more uncomfortable by the second and the younger Cody watched his brother take notice of it.
Pope glanced up. "Anything else?" he grunted, visibly irritated and on edge.
"Unbelievable," Craig muttered under his breath, taking a step back, fixing the weight of the board under his arm. "Good luck on however long this little thing will last between you. He's crazy," he pointed at Pope, clearly now directing his words at you. "You won't last long," And then he was walking away, quicker if you dared to say, as if he knew Pope wouldn't let him just say those words and walk off.
But you tightened your fingers around Pope's hand when you felt him loosen his hold. "He's stupid," you mumbled, scooting closer as you tapped a spot on your arm.
He wordlessly spread the cream on the spot, and you couldn't help but feel the heat of anger spread through your body, making you feel warmer than you already were.
Why couldn't anyone just let Pope be? Why did every single thing have to be ruined for him? Every time there was just one moment of peace, it was ripped away from him.
He didn't ask for much. Pope didn't ask for anything. Yet still he couldn't even get that. Even the things he had were taken away from him, torn down to nothing. Like Pope had always, since the day he was born, been undeserving of anything. And seemingly anything good that happened to him was already too much.
It seemed as though Andrew Cody was stripped to nothing, and he was meant to be okay with it. That nothing was all he was ever allowed to have.
Pope sealed the sun cream bottle, carefully making sure it was shut, before setting it back in your bag, listening to the rumbling of his brother's car as they drove off.
Your hands were left to fall into your lap, no warmth from Pope rushing through them anymore, keeping them alive, making you feel alive.
You stared at your spotless hands. Not a single smudge of white was on your skin. He always took care of you so perfectly. You felt your stomach turn as you watched him stare out into the ocean, posture straight, fingers twitching lightly against his swimsuit.
"Andrew," you said quietly, deciding being brave was more important than whatever shyness always crept up on you and ruined every sentence that lingered on your tongue.
He turned his head, giving you his full attention.
"I like you."
Pope's eyes darted away for a second before they snapped back up to yours, not properly registering what had just come out of your mouth.
"I'm waiting for you to kiss me. Not Craig," you added quietly.
Pope knew how terrifying this was for you, to say it so plainly, but he hadn't realized until now how much he had craved to hear those words come from your mouth, to have it finally confirmed.
Yet Pope wanted to tell you that his younger brother was right.
That you won't last long, that no one ever lasted long with him, that he always made a mistake. He always did something that ended up hurting the person that made the mistake of caring about him. He couldn't help but spill the words, just like you'd been vulnerable, he was too. The scorching hot sun above you seemingly burning holes in your hearts, forcing you to spill the words because they had no place in the organ to rest anymore.
"You won't last long," he said quietly. "He's—He's right. I'm not good for you."
You frowned. "You don't get to decide that."
Pope looked up at you, mirroring your troubled expression. "You don't want to be involved with me."
"Yes, I do," you retorted, and it was these clipped answers that were irritating him.
And he was about to open his mouth, about to counter your words, but you were already shaking your head. "Andrew," you said quietly. "We were having fun, before Craig decided to ruin everything."
You looked back to the ocean, thoughts drifting far away. "You were fine." You sounded genuinely hurt and Pope lifted his eyes in surprise, watching the emotion play out on your face. "I like you and that's enough for me."
You didn't turn your eyes back to his, fingers tapping restlessly on your necklace, pulling at it lightly.
He knew what you were asking.
Was you liking him enough for him? Would knowing that you liked him be enough for him to stop spiraling whenever his family decided to open their mouths and ruin whatever good he had going on?
"It's enough for me."
You turned your head, lips in a thin line as you stared at him, looking for the truth he usually held ready for you. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he mumbled, holding your gaze, despite everything in him screaming to back off, that he was ruining you.
Perhaps for once in his life, Pope wanted to be selfish for himself, not selfish for his family, in which he took everything and anything from strangers and handed it to the people that raised him. No, selfish in which he took something and kept it for himself, far away from everyone else.
You were the first selfish thing he would have in his life.
Weeks passed.
Weeks in which you and Pope held up the deal. It took a while to get Craig to fully stop. It took hundreds of arguments between the two brothers, countless fake dates which you actually ended up going on, and even more miserable comments from Craig.
And one day, the long-awaited end of the deal happened. One day, the two of you walked into the house and Craig watched the two of you wordlessly, before taking his car keys and leaving. And that was it.
Nothing happened for a while after that.
It was merely clear that the fake boyfriend-girlfriend ordeal was over. The plan had been a success.
Nothing changed between you and maybe that had been the clearest sign of all, that the two of you were and had always been moving like a couple, that you two had been treating each other with the grace and love a significant other would.
Two days later, the two of you ended up in your apartment, finally. It had been a while, to keep up your act the two of you had been constantly staying at his house, trying to hurry up the process of getting rid of Craig.
Pope let out the biggest sigh of relief as he settled down on your couch, leaning his head against the back of it.
You set down a soda in front of him and plopped down next to him. "Can you hear that?"
Pope stayed silent, listening, but all he heard was the waves crashing against the shore and maybe your neighbors' music if he listened really closely. "No?"
"Exactly." you giggled. "No Craig!"
His lips curved upwards, and finally a real smile formed on his face. Your smile widened when you noticed the lightness in his shoulders, and you took it as a sign to scoot closer, until your shoulder was brushing up against his.
The TV was playing some random nature documentary, one you'd put on before he arrived, mostly to get him settled. It had been a while since he had come over, and you worried that he wouldn't feel as comfortable again. But there seemed to be no need to worry.
You lifted your knees onto the couch and without a word his hand drifted towards your thigh, resting there.
You bit your lip hard, as you stared down at his big hand. God, you craved his touch so badly. You turned your head, resting it against the couch as you watched him, not even bothering to hide your stare.
He seemed distracted, distracted by the peace he was finally getting and the TV. He hadn't had this much peace in so long, and it made him feel both tense and at ease at the same time.
You felt him squeeze your thigh every time a predator animal caught a prey one. You watched the way his lips lightly tugged down, an almost sorrowful expression forming on his face, yet he didn't look away from it.
After a while, you placed your socked feet under his thighs, and you observed the way he drew his lower lip between his teeth. His hand loosened his hold on your thigh, hovering above it as he stared down at your entangled position, but then he lowered his hand again, squeezing your flesh.
You spent so long watching him that, sooner or later, you started counting his freckles. You were on freckle twenty-one on his cheek, when he turned his head and caught your eyes, lightly startled. His head tipped back a bit to create some distance. He could feel his ears burning bright red.
"Will you stay tonight?" you whispered.
Pope nodded wordlessly. The first time the answer has ever come this easy, and relief coursed through your veins as your eyes crinkled happily.
Pope was sure, that despite the many and countless intimate moments you've had, this was by far the most intimate one, and he felt his fingers twitch nervously against his thigh. Your eyes drifted down immediately, as if you had known when and why the bashfulness would creep up on him.
"It's real now, right?" you whispered, as you straightened up, your feet leaving the warmth of his thighs.
He hesitated but then nodded, managing out a breathless "Yeah."
You lifted a finger up to your lips, biting the tip of your nail anxiously, before asking. "Can I sit in your lap?"
He quickly sat upright, and his hands landed beside his thighs on the couch now, still twitching nervously. You slowly set one knee on each side of his thighs, before sitting down, not hovering like last time. No, this time you took what you wanted.
Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you watched him just as nervously as he watched you. His heart was racing, and you wanted to say it was almost as fast as yours, but it appeared worse. You brushed your thumb over it, hoping it would be a comforting gesture.
Still, he was the more courageous one out of the two of you.
He lifted his hand, as he, rather clumsily, pushed away your hair from your face. And you couldn't help the way you leaned into the palm of his hand, squeezing it between your shoulder and cheek.
He was so warm and so nice, and really not many people were those things to you. You wanted to be in this little bubble —in his lap— forever.
You leaned forward just a bit, and his hands fell away immediately, gripping the plush of your couch, as if he was worried he was making you uncomfortable.
You shook your head and took them gently into yours, placing them on your waist. "There, that's good." you whispered.
Pope would've given you a quick twitch of his lips had it not been for the way his mind was racing. He was scared.
You leaned forward and Pope met you halfway through. Your foreheads pressed together, and your fingers curled tight into the fabric of his shirt. You tightened your hold, gripping the fabric, and Pope would've complained in any other situation, but right now all he could think about was you, and nothing else.
Your breath grazed his lips and he shut his eyes, trying to adapt to the fact that this was really happening, that you really wanted this. With him.
Your nose pressed up against his, and Pope opened his eyes, keen on watching you, seeing what you were feeling. Your eyes were closed, and you were pressing your teeth hard into your bottom lip, nibbling on it almost.
Pope raised his hand, dragging your bottom lip away from your teeth, taking a look at the bruised skin, before smoothing over the red spot with his thumb.
And then he closed the gap. He brushed his lips tentatively against yours, and you did the rest of it. You pressed your soft lips against his and let out a hum.
Your hands traveled up to his face, thumb brushing across the apples of his cheeks as you pulled him closer, until your chest was brushing up against his. He squeezed your waist in response, tilting his head to follow your movements. When you pulled back, he was breathing heavily, the rise and fall of his chest visible.
Despite the fact that this had been the most gentle kiss there ever could have been. The gentlest one he had ever received in his entire life.
Your eyes flickered across his face, clearly waiting for some response, some verbal response, but Pope didn't have one.
He lifted his hand to the back of your head, pulling you back down to him and pressed his lips against yours, again. This time, his lips captured yours properly, moving back against yours the way he had craved since the day he met you.
You wanted to smile, but the worry that you would ruin the moment, scare him off, worried you, so you tangled your hands in his curls, pulling him closer.
The grip in his hair, forced him to open his mouth and he felt the brush of your tongue against his before pulling back for air.
His eyes flickered across your face, hands brushing through your hair in disbelief. He held it gently, fingertips running through it as he stared at it. And then he breathed out the words you loved so much but never asked for. "You're so pretty."
He raised his head again and kissed you again.
He couldn't get enough of you. Your lips were so soft, and he hadn't felt soft in a while. His nose pressed up against your cheek, yet he still leaned it even more, his hand still on the back of your head as he pressed you even further down to him. His other hand remained loosely around your waist, careful to keep you in his lap.
Finally, you pulled back, and he followed your movement without a word, wanting more, more gentle kisses from you, more kindness from you.
But it was your turn to be breathing heavily now, and you pressed a hand against his chest. He fell back without a word, his hand dropping to your hips.
There was too much distance.
And so he pulled you forward by your hips, closing the distance between the two of you as much as he could without having your mouth pressed up against his.
He felt so out of it, so dazed as he looked up at you. You looked like an angel, lips soft and kiss bitten and smiling so brightly he wasn't so sure it was night anymore. He glanced down at his hands, palms up as he stared in incredulity.
You were still catching your breath, and you caught his hands the moment you noticed his spaced-out stare.
"This is nice," you whispered, interlocking his hands with yours, placing them into the small space between you.
And he felt himself shudder at how kind you were, how you decided to grace him out of all people with sweetness. Pope nodded sluggishly, and your lips curved into a smile. You looked down and your hair covered half of your face, as you peeked up at him from your eyelashes.
He gave you a small smile, yet the same dazed expression remained in his eyes. You didn't want to ask if he was okay, fearing it might trigger the exact opposite reaction of what you wanted.
So you just leaned in, pecking his lips lightly, smiling at how quickly he responded to the kiss. "Haven't kissed anyone in a while. Was—was that okay?"
By a while you meant the spin a bottle challenge in high school, but your embarrassing admission was worth it as long as you received some information about how he was feeling.
"Was good," he whispered, nose nudging against yours and his lips once again curved into a small smile. "You are good."
He meant the ambiguity of the sentence.
Not only were you the sweetest kisser ever, making him trace his lips with his tongue just so he could taste your vanilla lipstick again, but also good.
You were so incredibly good. Good to him.
He felt the realization of it hit him even more when your lips wandered to his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss there, before letting yourself fall into his arms. Your arms came up around his neck, and you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, your lips grazing the skin where his shoulder met his neck. His arm wrapped around you carefully and he closed his eyes, breathing you in, breathing in your vanilla scent, breathing in the scent of his home.
"So are you," you whispered.
He knew that you needed no conviction to believe that you were good. He knew that there were no great sins that you had committed, that you didn't hurt people.
But he did. He needed conviction to hear it, yet right now, hearing it from the kindest person he knew, the girl that personified goodness for him, hearing that you believed he was good, was seemingly enough for tonight.
Enough for him to believe that there was a chance of him being good.
SUMMARY: When the unimaginable happens and you are attacked in the comfort of your own home, you are wheeled into the Pitt where Jack loses all sense of professionalism when he sees the state that you are in. In the chaos, the secret of your relationship unravels, and Robby makes a tense situation worse on everyone including himself with his reaction.
NOTES: Mentions of an armed break-in (stabbing), mentions of physical violence, descriptions of physical injuries and blood, surgical procedures, canon-typical medical settings, family conflict (Robby is stressed and therefore mean), secret relationship.
REQUESTED BY: @mysticrisingroses
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The heavy, metallic tang of disinfectant and cold morning air had a way of clinging to the back of your throat during the twilight hours of a hospital shift, but Jack Abbot had long since stopped noticing it.
It was ten past six in the morning, that strange, liminal window in the emergency department where the exhausted night crew was desperately trying to hand off their last few chart files while the incoming day shift shuffled in with steaming paper cups of cheap coffee.
Jack stood at the central nursing station, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over a computer terminal as he signed off on his final discharge summaries. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw stubbled, and every muscle in his back ached with the heavy, familiar fatigue that came with twelve relentless hours of trauma calls.
He was looking forward to nothing more than driving home, taking a scalding hot shower, and slipping into bed where he hoped you would still be sleeping peacefully, entirely unaware of the chaos he spent his nights wading through.
Keeping your relationship a secret had been your idea originally, though Jack had agreed without much resistance, knowing precisely how protective and intensely possessive your older brother could be.
Robby was a brilliant physician, but he viewed the emergency room, and everyone within it, through a lens of strict, professional compartmentalisation, and he guarded his family with a fierce, almost suffocating tenacity.
Jack knew that if Robby discovered his close friend and colleague was quietly slipping out of his younger sister’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, the fallout would destabilise the delicate balance of the entire department.
So, you had kept it hidden for four months, snatching quiet moments in empty breakrooms, lingering hand-brushes by the elevator banks, and long, warm nights wrapped up together away from the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital.
The sudden, piercing blare of the telemetry alarms and the sharp, urgent rattle of the double doors being thrown open shattered the low hum of the morning shift change. Dana looked up instantly from her desk, her brow furrowing as the paramedics burst through the entrance, pushing a stretcher at a dead sprint.
Jack didn't think much of it at first, traumas rolled through those doors every twenty minutes, until he caught the sheer, pale panic on the lead paramedic’s face, and the distinct, sickening crimson pattern soaked into the white sheets draped over the gurney.
Jack stepped forward purely out of muscle memory, his voice raspy from a long night of shouting over sirens. "What have we got, guys?"
"Twenty-eight-year-old female, victim of a aggravated burglary at her residence forty minutes ago," the paramedic rattled off at breakneck speed, her heavy boots squeaking against the polished linoleum. "Neighbour called it in after hearing a struggle and glass breaking. Stab wound to the left upper quadrant, deep laceration to the right forearm, massive blood loss at the scene."
Jack took two paces toward the stretcher to take the chart, his eyes dropping casually to the patient’s face to assess her airway, and in that split second, the entirety of his world shattered into jagged, unyielding pieces.
The color drained from his face so rapidly that Dana actually reached out a hand, thinking he was about to faint. The woman lying pale and motionless beneath the blood-soaked trauma blanket was you.
The breath left Jack’s lungs in a harsh, strangled gasp, his professional distance evaporating so violently that he stumbled forward, his hands trembling uncontrollably as they hovered over your bloodied, chest-stained clothes. "No... no, no, Jesus Christ—"
"Jack? What the hell are you doing?" Dana barked, her eyes widening as she grabbed his elbow, shocked by the total collapse of his usually unflappable demeanor. "Get back, let us transfer her! Shen, I need a trauma team right now! Call down to blood bank, give me four units of O-negative on the rapid infuser!"
Jack didn't hear her. The sterile, controlled world of the Pitt was completely obliterated, replaced by a terrifying, primal panic that choked the throat right out of him. He grabbed the side rail of your stretcher, his knuckles turning stark white, his eyes wide and wild as he looked down at your face. You were barely conscious, your eyelids fluttering weakly, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow, wet breaths.
"Look at me, hey, look at me," Jack begged, his voice cracking, entirely devoid of his usual calm authority as he reached out and cupped your ice-cold cheek with a hand that was shaking like a leaf. "I'm right here. You're at the hospital, you're with me, you're going to be okay. Please, sweetheart, stay with me, stay open for me."
You turned your head toward his voice, your eyes unfocusing as you tried to track him through the thick, terrifying haze of shock. "Jack?" you rasped, a tiny, frail sound that nearly brought him to his knees right there on the blood-spattered floor. "Jack, it hurts so bad..."
"I know, I know, I’ve got you," he sobbed out, not caring in the slightest that half the nursing staff was staring at him in utter shock. He pushed alongside the paramedics, helping to physically lift your limp body onto the trauma bed.
The scene erupted into controlled chaos around him. Clothes were being cut away with shears, cardiac monitor leads were being slapped onto your icy skin, and the metallic thump of suction devices filled the small room.
Jack stood at the head of your bed, his gloved hands cupping your face, his head bent low so he was inches from yours, whispering desperate, broken promises against your hairline while Shen sprinted into the room, snapping on a pair of sterile gloves.
"Abbot, what is going on with you? Step back, I need space at the airway!" Shen yelled over the shrill, alarming beep of the heart monitor, which was ticking at a terrifyingly rapid rate. "Who is this?"
"It's... it's her," Jack choked out, his eyes never leaving your face. "It's Robby’s sister. Shen, please... "
Before Shen could even process the devastating weight of Jack's plea, the door to the trauma bay swung open with a bang, and Robby walked in, holding a tablet and adjusting his stethoscope around his neck, looking fresh and prepared for his morning shift.
"Hey, what's the noise down here? Dana said we had an unstable stab—" Robby stopped dead in his tracks. The tablet slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the hard floor. His eyes swept over the blood-soaked trauma shears, the bags of crimson red blood hanging from the IV poles, and finally landed on your pale, bruised face surrounded by monitoring wires.
"Y/N?" Robby’s voice was barely a whisper, a hollow, disbelieving sound that shattered the room. In three long strides, he shoved past a nurse, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror as he grabbed the edge of the bed. "What happened?! What the fuck happened?!"
"Robby, listen to me—" Shen tried to interject, stepping between him and the bed.
"Get off me!" Robby screamed, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of grief and rage as he looked at your open, bleeding abdomen where Shen was applying heavy, firm pressure with sterile gauze to slow the massive internal hemorrhage.
"Why was she brought in like this?!" Robby’s eyes swung wildly around the room until they landed on Jack, who was still standing at the head of the bed, his shoulders shaking with silent, ragged sobs.
Robby froze, his mind racing through the dark, frantic puzzle of the room. He looked at the way Jack was holding you, not like a doctor holding a patient, not even like a friend holding a colleague's relative, but with the terrifying, desperate agony of a man watching his entire life bleed out on a stainless-steel table.
Robby stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, lethal fury. "Jack... why are you holding her like that? Why are you touching her like that?"
Jack didn't look up. He couldn't take his eyes off your face, watching your oxygen saturation levels dip dangerously low on the overhead monitor. "Robby, please, not right now," Jack pleaded, his voice thick and broken. "She's bleeding badly, she needs to go straight to theatre—"
"I asked you a fucking question, Jack!" Robby roared, lunging forward and grabbing the front of Jack’s scrub top, pulling him away from the bed with such violent force that the cardiac monitor cart rattled. "Why are you looking at my sister like that?! What is she to you?!"
"Robby, stop it!" Dana yelled, stepping boldly between the two grown men, her hands slamming against Robby’s chest to keep him from shoving Jack into the wall. "She is in hemorrhagic shock! Look at the fucking monitor, Robby! Look at your sister!"
"I love her!" Jack snapped, the secret ripping out of his chest like a jagged blade, his voice echoing loudly over the frantic, rhythmically failing beeps of the cardiac machine. "We’ve been seeing each other for months, Robby! I fucking love her, and she was attacked in her home while I was sitting here doing paperwork! So hit me, tear me apart, do whatever the hell you want, but do not make this about us while she is dying on this bed!"
Robby reeled back as if he’d been physically struck, his hands dropping from Jack’s shirt. His face twisted into a complex, ugly storm of betrayal, shock, and profound, terrifying panic. He looked from Jack’s blood-stained hands to your quiet, still face.
“You... you were lying to me? Both of you?" Robby’s voice shook, a bitter, wounded sound. "You were sleeping with my sister behind my back while—"
"Robby, her blood pressure is insane!" Shen yelled, his voice cutting through the rising argument like a scalpel. "We don't have time for a surgical team to come down, we need to open her right here or she goes into cardiac arrest in minutes!"
The harsh reality of the medical emergency slammed back into the room like a tidal wave. Robby blinked, the anger in his eyes instantly drowning in a wave of sheer, unadulterated terror as he watched your heart rate spike, the waveform on the screen flattening out into dangerous, erratic rhythms.
“No," Robby breathed, his voice small, vulnerable, and completely stripped of his usual arrogance. "No, no, no, look at me. I'm right here. You stay with me, do you hear me?"
"I need a thoracotomy tray and a laparotomy kit, right now!" Shen shouted, his hands working furiously to pack more gauze into your side. "Someone get on the suction! Robby, you need to step out!"
"Like hell I'm stepping out!" Robby yelled, shoving his way back to the side of the bed, his hands trembling violently as he reached for a pair of sterile gloves. "She's my sister! I am operating!"
"You cannot touch her, Robby, you know the protocol! You’re not doing shit either, Abbot," Dana sternly intervened, putting her body directly between Robby and the instrument tray. Her face was set like granite, though her eyes were filled with deep, maternal sympathy. "You will freeze or you will make a mistake, and she will die because of it! Out! Both of you, get out of this bay right now!"
"No!" both men barked in unison.
"I am not leaving her!" Jack yelled, his knuckles white as he grabbed a pair of gloves, his eyes fixed on Shen. "Shen, let me assist! My hands are steady, I swear to God my hands are steady!"
"Jack, look at yourself, you're shaking so hard you can barely stand!" Dana snapped, taking Jack firmly by the upper arms and physically pulling him away from the head of the bed. She looked at Robby, then at Jack, her voice dropping into a fierce, commanding tone that left no room for argument. "If you two care about this girl, if you love her at all, you will get the hell out of this room and let Shen and the trauma team do their jobs! Every second you stand here fighting like children is a second she doesn't have! Move!"
She didn't wait for them to comply, she aggressively pushed both men out of the sliding glass doors and drew the blue privacy curtains shut with a sharp, definitive snap.
The waiting corridor outside the main trauma suite felt like a cold, sterile tomb. The morning sunlight was just beginning to bleed through the high frost-tinted windows, casting harsh, pale light across the linoleum floor, but inside the hallway, time had ground to a complete standstill. The only sound was the distant, muffled shouting of medical commands from behind the blue curtain, punctuated by the steady, terrifying rhythm of automated alarms.
Jack stood leaning against the far wall, his hands buried deep in his curls, his body slumping down until he was on the floor. His scrub top was ruined, smeared with bright crimson streaks of your blood that had already begun to dry into stiff, dark patches.
Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like glass, his chest tight with a crushing, suffocating guilt. He should have been there. He should have insisted on driving you home after your shift two days ago, he should have checked your locks, he should have protected you. The image of your bruised skin and the frail, terrified sound of your voice calling his name kept repeating in a horrific, endless loop behind his eyelids.
A few yards down the hallway, Robby was pacing like a caged beast. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging drawn blood into his own palms. Every time he turned around, his furious, bloodshot eyes landed on Jack sitting against the wall, and the bitter, hot rage inside him flared back to life, offering a brief, desperate distraction from the sheer, paralyzing fear that his little sister was dying on the other side of that glass.
Robby marched over, stopping directly in front of Jack. "Get up," Robby spat, his voice trembling with venom. "Get up and look at me, you coward."
Jack slowly lifted his head. His face was ghastly, his eyes hollow, dark, and utterly deadened by grief. He didn't offer any resistance, didn't raise a hand to defend himself. He just looked up at Robby with a hollow, broken expression. "Go ahead, Robby. Say whatever you want. It won't be worse than what I'm already telling myself."
"You lied to me!" Robby shouted, his voice echoing down the empty, quiet corridor, causing a few passing nurses to flinch and walk faster. "For months! I treated you like a brother, Jack! I trusted you with my life in this department, I took shifts for you, I let you into my home, and the whole time you were sneaking behind my back with my sister! You manipulated her!"
"I didn't manipulate anyone!" Jack rasped, standing up slowly, leaning his heavy back against the cold wall to keep his legs from buckling beneath him. "I love her, Robby! I didn't plan for this to happen! It started off slow, and then... Christ, she became the only good thing in my life! She asked me not to tell you because she knew you'd react exactly like this! She was terrified you'd make her feel guilty for just wanting to be happy!"
"Don't you dare put this on her!" Robby barked, stepping directly into Jack's personal space, poking a harsh, rigid finger into Jack's chest right over a dark bloodstain. "She is my little sister! My responsibility! She was hiding things because of you! You put her in danger!"
"You think I don't know that?!" Jack suddenly roared back, his composure snapping entirely as he grabbed Robby's wrist and shoved his hand away, tears spilling freely over his blood-stained cheeks. "You think I'm not sitting here wanting to tear my own skin off because I wasn't there to protect her?! I would have taken every single one of those fucking knives for her, Robby! I would lay down on that table and let them cut my heart out right now if it meant she gets to wake up! So don't you dare stand there and pretend you're the only one who cares whether she lives or dies!"
Robby stared at Jack, his jaw working as if he wanted to scream, but the sheer, raw agony in Jack's voice hit him like a physical blow. The anger drained out of Robby just a fraction, leaving behind the hollow, terrifying reality that neither of them had any control over what was happening behind those blue curtains.
Before Robby could fire back another bitter insult, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open, and Dana walked out alongside Shen. Both of them looked thoroughly exhausted, their blue gowns splattered with blood, but their faces were calm, settled into that weary, professional relief that both Robby and Jack knew so intimately.
Jack was across the hallway in a fraction of a second, grabbing Dana's forearms with desperate, trembling hands. "Is she... is she alive? Please, Dana, tell me she's alive."
Dana looked down at his hands, then up into his terrified, bloodshot eyes, her expression softening into a gentle, reassuring smile. "She's alive, Jack. She's stabilised."
A long, ragged sob burst from Jack's chest as he slumped against the wall, covering his face with his hands as the suffocating weight lifted off his lungs. Robby let out a shaky, desperate breath of his own, running both hands over his face, his shoulders slumping in profound, overwhelming relief.
"The blade missed the important stuff by less than a centimetre," Shen explained quickly, pulling off his surgical cap and wiping his damp brow. "Park and the guys are finishing up her sutures right now. She's going to be okay, guys. She's strong."
"Can I see her?" Robby asked immediately, his voice thick with emotion, stepping toward the trauma bay doors.
"She's being moved up to a different unit in a few minutes once she comes round from the anesthetic," Dana said gently, stepping smartly into Robby's path and laying a firm hand against his chest. She gave him a stern, motherly look that made even the senior attending doctor pause. "And before you step foot into that room, Robby, you are going to take a long, deep breath and leave your ridiculous ego at the door."
Robby blinked, taken aback. "Dana, I—"
"I don't want to hear it," Dana interrupted smoothly, turning her cool, unyielding gaze between Robby and Jack. "I have watched the two of you act like absolute idiots for the last forty-five minutes while that poor girl was fighting for her life. Robby, your sister just survived a horrific, traumatic assault. She does not need to wake up to her brother screaming at the man she loves. She needs peace, she needs rest, and she needs both of you to pull yourselves together and be adults."
Robby looked at Dana, his mouth opening to argue, but the sheer authority in her posture held him silent. He glanced over at Jack, who was still standing by the wall, wiping his face with the back of his wrist, looking entirely drained, hollowed-out, and deeply ashamed.
"Go up to the fourth floor," Dana added softly, her tone loosening into something kinder. "Clean yourselves up. Change out of those ruined scrubs. By the time you look like proper doctors again, she'll be awake in her room."
Your room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp and the gentle, rhythmic pumping of the IV drip monitor. The harsh smell of the trauma bay was replaced by the clean, faint scent of lavender soap and fresh linens. You lay propped up slightly against two large pillows. A thick white bandage was wrapped securely around your right forearm, and beneath the heavy hospital blanket, your abdominal dressing sat quiet and intact.
When the heavy wooden door pushed open, you turned your head slowly toward the sound. The heavy pain medication made your head feel light, floaty, and distant, but the moment you saw Jack and Robby walking into the room together, the fog cleared just enough for your heart to ache with sweet, overwhelming relief.
Both men had changed into clean, dark scrubs. Robby walked in first, looking hesitant, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual confident posture replaced by a cautious, quiet guilt. Behind him stood Jack. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, his eyes were bruised with dark circles, his jaw tight with anxiety, hovering near the doorway as if he wasn't entirely sure he was permitted to be in the same room as you.
"Hey, kiddo," Robby whispered softly, walking over to the right side of your bed. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his face softening into a look of pure, unadulterated big-brother affection. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a very large truck," you rasped, your voice scratchy and dry. You offered him a weak, tired smile. "Dana told me that you were making a scene down there, Robby."
Robby let out a soft, wet laugh, dropping his head for a second as a fresh wave of emotion hit him. "Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of me. I thought, God, I don't even want to say it." He took your uninjured hand, holding it tight between both of his. "The police caught the guy, by the way. He was a petty burglar who panicked when he realised the apartment was occupied. He's in custody. He won't ever come near you again."
"Good," you murmured softly, squeezing his hand weakly. Your eyes drifted past your brother's shoulder, locking onto Jack, who was still standing quietly by the door, staring down at his shoes, his posture heavy with guilt. "Jack, come here."
Jack lifted his eyes, looking at you with such a raw, desperate tenderness that it made your chest tighten. He glanced cautiously at Robby, then slowly walked around to the left side of your bed. He stopped a few inches away, looking as though he wanted to reach out and touch you, but was terrified of breaking you further.
"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, his voice cracking on the words. "I am so, so sorry. I should have been there. I should have stayed with you last night, I shouldn't have taken this shift—"
"Jack, stop," you interrupted gently, reaching your left hand out toward him. "Stop that right now. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."
Jack lowered himself to the floor, wincing at the discomfort. He brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against your knuckles, tears slipping quietly from his eyes and wetting your skin. "I thought I lost you," he choked out, ignoring Robby's presence entirely now as he leaned his forehead against the mattress beside your arm. "When they brought you through those doors... I've never been so terrified in my entire life. I don't care about anything else. I just need you to be okay."
You ran your fingers through his curls, feeling the heavy, frantic racing of his heart slowly begin to settle against your side. "I'm okay, Jack. I'm right here."
Across the bed, Robby watched the two of you. He saw the way Jack held your hand not with possessiveness, but with a deep, reverent care that was entirely selfless. He saw the way your face relaxed the moment Jack touched you, the way the lingering fear in your eyes melted away into complete, absolute safety.
Robby let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. "You two are absolute idiots, you know that?" he said softly, breaking the quiet emotional tension in the room.
Jack lifted his head from the mattress, looking over at Robby with a guarded, wary expression. You offered your brother a small, pleading look. "Robby, please don't be mad at him. It was my idea to keep it quiet. I didn't want you making things complicated at work."
"I am mad," Robby admitted honestly, though the harsh edge in his voice was completely gone, replaced by a weary, warm acceptance. "I'm fucking furious that you both lied to my face for months. I'm furious that I had to find out while my sister was bleeding out." He paused, looking directly at Jack, his dark eyes firm. "But... I saw you down there, Jack. I saw how you looked at her."
Jack stood up slowly, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around yours, meeting Robby's gaze across the bed without flinching. "I love her, Robby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry for lying to you, but I am never going to apologise for loving her."
Robby stared at Jack for a long, silent moment, before a small, dry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, leaning over to kiss the top of your head before stepping back from the bed.
"Well... at least I know if she ever gets hurt again, the attending doctor will be too terrified of failing to let her die." Robby walked toward the door, turning back with his hand on the handle. "I'm going down to the cafeteria to get some decent coffee. Real coffee, not that shit in the breakroom. Jack, you're staying right here until I get back. And then we're going to have a long talk about boundaries."
"Understood," Jack said softly, offering a quiet, respectful nod.
Robby looked between the two of you one last time, his expression softening into pure relief. "I'm glad you're alive. Don't do it again." With a final, gentle click, the door swung shut, leaving the room in a warm, peaceful quiet.
Jack immediately leaned in close, wrapping his arms around you with extraordinary gentleness, careful to avoid your bandaged abdomen as he buried his face in the warm crook of your neck. You wrapped your uninjured arm around his back, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours.
"You really scared me, sweetheart," Jack whispered against your skin, his hands smoothing down your back with a soft, desperate rhythm.
"I know," you murmured, kissing the side of his neck, breathing in the clean scent of soap and his familiar, comforting warmth. "I'm sorry. But I'm safe now. You've got me."
"Yeah," Jack breathed, pulling back just enough to look down into your eyes, his face lit by the soft golden light of the bedside lamp. He leaned in, pressing a slow, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips that tasted of salt, relief, and quiet promises for the future. "I've got you. And I'm never letting you go."
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u/dr-abbot.j: AITAH for provoking my girlfriend because i think it's hot when she acts crazy?
+18 mdni, age difference, fem reader, bratting/brat taming, jealousy (from both jack and reader!), lowkey ragebaiter jack, size difference, 'i'll pay for it' jack abbot, oral sex (f! and m!receiving) semi public, cum swallowing, finger sucking, overstim, dirty talk, praise, possessive behaviour, one use of the word daddy said unseriously, alcohol consumption, club culture, unprotected piv, clit stim, begging, creampie, written in one day and bareeely edited!
┊MASTERLIST┊AO3┊
everyone always tells jack abbot that what he needs is a real nice girl to settle down with. someone who will bake him sweet treats and warm dinners, who will make cozy nights in alluring enough to get him to stay home every once in a while.
but the thing is, jack likes the chaos of his life. he likes working twelve hour shifts and then clocking in to dodge bullets immediately after. his therapist says it's a coping mechanism—can't relive old ghosts if you're fast enough to outrun them.
and that might be true for some things, but not with this. not with you.
sure, jack can't deny that he loves the little rush he gets when you somehow manage to look down your nose at him even though he towers over you. he loves that crazy look you get in your eye. he loves when you raise your voice and point a perfectly manicured finger in his face (a manicure that he paid for, mind you).
but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.
he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.
sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.
jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.
he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"
lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."
you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"
he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"
"me, or your other girlfriend?"
it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"
you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.
he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.
"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"
and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.
there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.
jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.
when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"
you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.
by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).
jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.
the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.
the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.
but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.
your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.
you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.
"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"
"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"
you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.
jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.
you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.
jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.
"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."
he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.
"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"
he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.
"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."
you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.
he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.
jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."
he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.
that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.
but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.
you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.
jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.
and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.
later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.
the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."
and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.
you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"
jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.
you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."
at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.
jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.
you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"
jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.
the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.
beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."
it makes jack laugh.
because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.
and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.
you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.
"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"
"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.
"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."
"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"
"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"
"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"
he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."
the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.
when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."
he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.
you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.
with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"
and he knows the answer before you narrow your eyes at him and say, "your favorite girl, jack? how many girls do you have?"
you and jack forget just how paper thin the walls are on vacation with your coworkers
MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX
PAIRING jack abbot x fem!reader
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, p in v, secret fwb relationship, enemies w benefits more like, hate sex, angry sex, mutual antagonism, consensual rough sex, competitive/power-struggle dynamics (?), manhandling, physical restraint, rough dirty talk, insults & verbal degradation, shared vacation rental, risk of being caught, accidnental exhibitionism
WC 2.5k | REQUEST here!
Your back hits the mattress hard enough to make the old springs squeal beneath you and Jack’s first hiss isn’t one of pleasure.
“Shut. Up.”
His hand closes around your jaw before the laugh can properly make it out, fingers digging into the hinge just shy of painful. His thumb finds the soft under of your chin and presses until your mouth falls open for him.
It’s supposed to be corrective, presumably. Intimidating. To make you reconsider whatever smart thing you were about to say.
Instead, you turn your head just enough to catch the heel of his palm between your teeth. Salt. Sunscreen. Jack.
You bite down lightly and watch the quick flare in his eyes that says try me again.
It makes you want to try him again.
This is perhaps your most enduring character defect, the congenital need to worry at Jack Abbot until something gives, to poke one finger into every concealed pressure point and keep pressing until that pleasant facade finally fractures and you get the man underneath, irritated and looking at you like patience is a finite natural resource you have personally exhausted.
Conveniently, this defect has also made the two of you very easy to hide.
Wanting Jack has never looked substantially different than hating him. Same symptoms, really.
At work it manifests as narrowed eyes across the nurses’ station, remarks delivered half an octave louder than necessary, shoulders knocking in hallways wide enough to accommodate two functioning adults.
In private, the argument merely changes medium.
You end up underneath him with your thighs spread around his hips while he fucks every complaint back into you, and somehow neither of you has to concede the point.
That is, more or less, what is happening now.
Jack is attempting to fuck a confession out of you, specifically the admission that he had been right when he told you not to challenge the ocean after three frozen margaritas and one declaration that rip currents were mostly “a mindset.”
In your defense, this had sounded perfectly reasonable at the time. The ocean disagreed.
You made it maybe six yards before a wave hit your broadside, folded you clean in half, stole your sunglasses, and deposited you at Jack’s feet with enough seaweed caught in your bikini to suggest the beginnings of marine conservation.
You called him an insufferable bastard for saying he told you so.
Now he keeps insisting he “rescued” you because he hauled you upright by the waist while you sputtered saltwater.
He would like an apology. You would like him dead. Compromise remains unlikely. You would swallow your own tongue before giving him the satisfaction.
You nip him again, sharper this time, then grin around his thumb. “Go on — make me. You’ve been trying all day.”
“Fucking brat.” He drags his thumb free, replacing it with two thick fingers that press insistently at your tongue. “Keep talking and I’ll stuff you so full the only word you remember is sorry.”
He’s close to delivering on that promise, hips battering the breath from your lungs until all you can do is claw the navy sheets below you.
You almost give him the noise he’s hunting for, but feeding Jack’s ego has never been on your to-do list, so you smother the sound and glare your defiance instead.
You clamp down on his fingers, hard enough to make him grunt, and he jerks back, slick digits slipping free.
“Jesus — watch the teeth,” he growls, shaking the sting before flattening your wrist to the mattress. “You want a muzzle, sweetheart?”
You swipe your tongue over enamel, savoring the residue. “So many threats, Doctor. I’m starting to think you’re all talk.”
“Careful,” Jack murmurs with a hollow laugh. “You might hurt my feelings.”
He apparently decides conversation has exhausted its usefulness.
One second you are on you looking at him; the next he has you flipped facedown, dragged your hips into the air, and buried himself back inside you with enough force to make the entire bed complain in sympathy.
His chest covers your back, breath searing the shell of your ear. A half-moan, half-sob cracks loose out of you, palms skidding for purchase as your pelvis jerks forward as if distance could blunt the stretch, make it more manageable.
Jack only laughs again, settling both hands over your shoulder blades as he lets his weight weld you to the sheets.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” Each thrust stakes you there, sensation cresting so hot the edges of the room tremble out of focus and into watercolors.
You mash your face into the pillow, trying to hide the choked noises bleeding from you but they seep through cotton and feathers just the same.
“Listen to you,” he croons, mock-tender, thumb stroking a false comfort along your spine. He grinds you down while he pushes in again, slow enough you feel the catch of every ridge. “So fucking mouthy until I start making you feel good.”
His hand snakes beneath you, palm burning a trail down your stomach until two fingers find your clit. The first tight circle detonates in your core. Supernova heat.
“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t fight common sense,” he purrs. “Just admit it — You were right, Jack. Should’ve trust you. Smartest guy I know. That’s all I want.” Another figure-eight of his thumb, another planet collision behind your eyes. “I keep you safe, I make you feel good — why’s it so hard to give me a little credit?”
“Because — you’re such — a cocky — asshole,” you gasp, the insult dissolving into a helpless whine when his thumb presses harder.
“Dirty mouth on you,” Jack tuts. “C’mon, honey. Be sweet for ten little seconds — tell me I’m right — and I’ll let you come.”
You give him nothing but a furious side-to-side wobble, hair stuck wetly across your cheeks.
He can make your thighs shake and turn your brain into warm soup but he cannot make you surrender a point you are still technically convinced is yours.
The knot low in your belly winds tighter in retaliation, every muscle beginning that little climb towards something inevitable, and then Jack simply stops.
Fingers gone. Thrust halted. He holds himself inside you like a blade sheathed to the hilt, every inch throbbing but inert, punishment by deprivation.
Your muscles fire once more on instinct, grasping at a phantom that’s already gone, walls twitching uselessly around empty air.
The knot loosens with insulting patience — twist, release, release — until climax slips from reachable to hypothetical.
A brittle, involuntary sound hooks in your throat, proof that your body has accepted what your mind refuses to: Jack Abbot means to leave you suspended in this awful limbo until you fold.
“Please — no.” You writhe beneath him in shallow arcs, powerless under the weight pinning you. “Need you — need you to keep going.”
He slips a broad palm under your jaw, lifting your mouth off the pillow for your gasps to reach him unfiltered. “You know what I need, honey. Say the words, and I’ll give you everything you’re begging for.”
“I — I’m sorry,” you finally spit out. “You were right, Jack. Always are. Just — please — don’t stop.”
The words hit like blood in the water. He buries himself with a hoarse snarl, rhythm turning brutal, inexorable, as though the apology were a starting gun. Wood knocks hard against the plaster wall and your body jolts forward with every drive.
“Was that so hard?” His voice drips triumph while his teeth worry a shallow crescent into your shoulder. “Christ, sweetheart, what’re you always fighting me for? You know I’m gonna get my way.”
The only reply you manage is a shaky “uh-huh — ah, Jack —” strangled into the pillow, every syllable climbing higher until it breaks apart in a thin, urgent keen that tells him exactly how close you are.
“There you go, pretty girl. Give it to me — yeah, just like that.”
That’s all it takes.
Your body locks, squeezes, and he answers with a raw-throated groan, bracing you inside the bracket on his arms while your trembling tries to shake both of you off the bed.
Then everything goes incandescent. A long, rushing hush, white and depthless, flooding every corner of your mind as you come all over his length.
Somewhere inside all that brightness, Jack loses whatever rhythm he had left.
He lasts two more strokes.
“Fuck — sweetheart.” His hips snap tight against your ass, burying himself as deep as he can go, filling you in heavy surges that make your already-softened core flutter all over again.
You barely understand it at first, only feel another strange wave roll through you, your body squeezing reflexively around every throb until his arms tighten and his forehead drops heavily between your shoulder blades.
Jack stays folded over you until both your breathing begins to settle, the hard rise and fall of his chest gradually slowing against your spine.
When he finally moves, it is with considerably more care than anything he has done in the last thirty minutes.
He withdraws from you slowly, and your cunt manages one useless twitch at the emptiness he leaves behind. Pathetic, really, but apparently it's all the reaction your spent body can afford.
Sensing the weakness, the bastard takes advantage.
He rolls you onto your other side until you're nose-to-nose, the world tilting under the authority of a man rearranging furniture. Normally, you'd bark at him to ask first. Right now you just marvel that you're the furniture.
You blink at him through the pleasant cotton packed between your ears.
Jack studies the damage he's done, mouth curling like he's content with his handiwork, then lowers himself to press a kiss above your hipbone.
He works upward without hurry, lips brushing warm over skin still prickling with aftershocks, teeth occasionally catching in a light nip that makes you squirm before he kisses the same place better.
Your fingers slide into the silver-flecked hair at his temples, nails scratching lightly until you feel the growl rumble against your ribs.
“Funny how suddenly you like me again.”
“Like is generous.” You give the silver strands at his temple a tug. “Give me five minutes. I’ll remember everything I hate about you.”
“Mm. I can do a lot with five minutes.” He lifts his head just enough to give you that smug, crooked look.
“Four and a half now.”
Jack laughs, apparently delighted by the threat of your imminent return to hostility, and works his way up until there is nowhere left between you for him to kiss.
He folds down beside you and takes your mouth one final time before you can decide whether final kisses are perhaps too affectionate for people who supposedly cannot stand each other.
“Better use ’em wisely, then.”
He does, in fact, use them wisely. Spending what remains of his allotted minutes with his mouth between your thighs and apparently deciding there is some obscure world record for orgasms induced out of spite that he intends to break before sunrise.
But by breakfast, the consequences have arrived.
You sit at the island with a fork slack between your fingers, pancakes cooling untouched beneath a generous pour of syrup.
Your eyelids keep flirting with gravity; every time they drop Jack clears his throat in exaggerated warnings, as if falling face-first into breakfast would somehow be his fault.
It would be. Somehow. You'd make it so.
“Late night?” Frank asks from across the island, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s doing to his coffee.
Your head lifts approximately half an inch.
“No, I'm fine,” you say, far too quickly. You hear it the second it leaves your mouth, that bright little note of guilt you have apparently developed overnight, and clear your throat before anyone else can appreciate it. “I'm fine. Just tired. All that swimming yesterday wore me out.”
Dana, standing at the sink with her sleeves pushed up, lets out a thoughtful hum as she rinses a plate.
“Funny, everyone seems to be dragging this morning,” she remarks, flicking water off her wrist. “Can’t imagine why.”
“I can.” Robby lifts his mug. “Some of us were awake until two in the morning. Against our will.”
There is a tiny, merciful interval where you almost misunderstand him.
Of course people were awake. There are more than twenty coworkers crammed into one beach house, sleeping on couches and air mattresses and whatever other horizontal surfaces they could claim before someone else did.
Somebody is always awake. Somebody is always opening a refrigerator or flushing a toilet or talking too loudly in the hallway.
But when you finally drag your eyes up from your pancakes and find several people already looking at you with expressions ranging from tired amusement to outright accusation, the alternate interpretation arrives all at once.
They heard you. They heard Jack. Possibly extensively.
Fuck.
You lower your eyes and shovel another piece of pancake into your mouth.
Then again, maybe they're staring for some completely unrelated reason. A syrup stain, bed hair, the fact that you still haven't blinked in ten seconds.
“So, Jack,” Trinity suddenly says from the other side of the island, casual enough that for one stupid second you don’t hear the trap opening beneath your feet, “how's it feel being right all the time?”
You keep chewing.
“I mean, so right,” she adds, her voice climbing into a suspiciously breathy imitation. “The rightest man alive, apparently.”
The pancake becomes significantly harder to swallow as a hot ribbon of mortification slides up your throat. You manage a strangled cough and focus on sawing your next bite into pieces the size of atoms so you don't have to lift your head and meet anyone's eyes.
Without missing a beat, Jack wipes a smear of syrup from his thumb and shrugs. “Feels pretty nice, if I’m honest.”
“You are such a smug little —”
“Language,” Dana cuts in from the sink without even turning around.
You clamp your lips together, cheeks still burning, then lean just enough into Jack’s line of sight and mouth, shit.
His smirk cuts sideways across his face, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before coming back up darker than they were a second ago. His nostrils flare faintly, then his thighs spread another inch beneath the island as he leans back.
A minute repositioning of his hips that would mean nothing to anybody else and means everything to you because you know exactly what Jack looks like when his body gets ahead of his better judgment.
“Ew,” Trinity says suddenly, pointing between you and Jack with her fork. “This is flirting, isn’t it? You two have just been doing foreplay in front of us for, like, years.”
Robby grimaces. “Freaks.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” you insist, despite the heat steadily colonizing your entire face.
Jack undermines you immediately as he shoots you a wink. “It’s worked pretty well for us.”
Your eyes widen ten sizes. “Shut. Up.”
His grin only gets worse, teeth showing this time, and something about that makes you want to kick his ankle under the island just to restore the natural order of things.
Frank shakes his head. “Get a room.”
“We had one. Apparently that was the problem,” Jack says.
A chorus of disgusted groans answers him.
MARIA NOTE jack abbot getting pussy as a direct consequence of being annoying… terrible precedent to set actually 🍋🫧🌀 HOPE YOU ENJOY I LOVE YOU ALLLL
Dinner with the Cody’s and playing footsy with Andrew under the table (you are NOT together) and he’s confused and has those big pleading eyes and pressed tight lips because he thinks you’re touching the wrong brother (maybe Craig is right next to him idk let’s not think too hard about table placement) even tho he likes you and wants you SO bad he wants you SOOOOO bad :(
and he’s trying to move his leg out of your way but you just chase him with your toes with a big smile on your face, looking right at him.
And his mind is racing because WHY would you be touching HIM! Why are you smiling all pretty with big soft eyes at HIM! Why does it seem like your foot reaches higher and higher up his leg ???? And oh no he’s kinda hard and he gets all clammy idk
He just abruptly gets up from the table and declares that he’s done!!!! (done eating) and he goes to his room where he can sit straight up on his bed with his hands nervously flexing at his sides and his dick painfully hard
when you sneak away you find him all squirmy and nervous and you lock the door behind and you ask him why he left and he’s like “did you know you were touching me?”
and you’re like yeahhhhhhh duhhh???? You’ve been flirting with him for weeks??? You thought he would like it??? But you’re so sorry if it made him uncomfy :(
but he’s just baffled (and still hard) that it was HIM that you were PURPOSEFULLY flirting with and he asks again why???? And you’re like ??? Cause you’re hot and always polite and not like. A rabid horny animal like his brothers????
but he kinda feels like a horny animal with the way you got him all hot and bothered and unable to even sit at a dinner table…………
but also he definitely cannot and DOES NOT WANT to say no when you sit on his bed and offer to FINALLYYYY give him a little relief :)
IDK???!))!!!!! Andrew being flustered when flirted with and confused about being wanted but also wanting it soooooooo bad :)
the one where bunny has trouble cumming (bunny hybrid reader x dog hybrid pope cody x jack abbot)
cw: overstimulation
wc: 840 (ish)
a/n: someone called me antisemitic and it genuinely threw me off my game so i apologize if this is rough.
previous part!
jack and pope have just come home from the store to a wet spot on a pillow.
they can tell by the smell that it’s from you.
“pope, i think bun used your pillow for some alone fun.”
pope picks up the pillow and smells it. he frowns, which worries jack.
“what’s wrong? do you want me to tell her to knock it off?”
pope continues to smell the pillow, shoving his nose into the fabric. he licks the wet spot and says,
“she didn’t cum.”
“really? it’s soaked.”
“probably because she was trying for a long time.“
“okay, i’ll go check out her pussy and see if it’s irritated.”
jack finds you in your burrow (obviously).
he sits down infront of it and pats the floor to get your attention. you crawl out of your burrow and into jacks lap. he smiles at you and says,
“hey pretty girl, were you just napping?”
“mhm, did you get me cherries from the store?”
“yes, i got two big bags. bun, can i take a little look at your princess parts? it’s been a while since i gave you a checkup.”
you nod and jack takes you to the bedroom while pope puts away the groceries. jack tells you to undress from the waist down.
he ties your ankles to the bed frame so that you don’t try to close your legs while he checks you out. he puts on some gloves so that you know he’s in doctor mode.
when he sees your pussy, it’s a mess. your clit is all red and puffy and you’re leaking slick all over the place. jack sighs and kisses your clit lightly.
“bun, what happened?”
“nothing!”
“you’re not in trouble, it’s okay for you to touch yourself when we aren’t here. i just wanna know why it looks like you’re hurting.”
you whimper and look away. you mumble,
“i was trying to feel how you and pope make me feel…”
“you were trying to cum?”
you nods shyly. jack takes off the ankle restraints and helps you sit up.
“so you tried to cum, but it didn’t work?”
you start to tear up as you nod in confirmation. jack coos at you and rubs your back.
“no bun, it’s okay no need for tears. this is all my fault, i never showed you how to take care of yourself.”
jack whistles and pope sprints upstairs. jack covers your ears and says to pope,
“pope, can you go grab a few toys from the nesting room?”
“which ones?”
“easy ones. vibrators and small dildos.”
pope scurries off and jack uncovers your ears. he says,
“i’m sorry for not teaching you earlier bun, but i’m gonna help you now.”
───────── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ─────────
it’s been a solid half hour of jack and pope trying to guide you through using a simple vibrating dildo.
you are sandwiched between the two of them as they try to help guide you.
you are getting very frustrated.
“it’s not working!!”
“because you’re going too fast. keep trying, pope and i are here.”
“i don’t wanna keep trying!!”
pope growls at jack as you let out a little sniffle.
“jack, she doesn’t feel good.”
“she’s okay pope. she needs to learn this.”
“jack.”
“pope.”
you throw the toy on the bed in defeat.
you just couldn’t do it.
it’s mostly due to a mental block.
why are you being touched by something that isn’t pope or jack?
jack can’t handle the sad little look on your face.
“okay bun, let’s take a break for today. do you still wanna cum?”
“yeah but it hurts…”
“what hurts, your princess hole?”
when you nod, jack sighs. he feels bad for pushing it. he pets your hair and says,
“okay bun, i’ll just give your clit some kisses. go cuddle with pope.”
pope grabs you and sets you in his lap. he helps you rest your back against his chest. he uses his legs to keep you spread open.
jack kisses up and down your thighs. his chin accidentally bumps your sensitive little hole and you whine.
jack immediately starts to coo at you.
“i’m so sorry bun ill be more careful.”
he goes back to sucking and licking at your clit, making sure he doesn’t touch anywhere that is too sensitive.
pope keeps you still, assuring you that it will be over soon.
they both know that you're overwhelmed.
you cum with only a few licks, soaking jacks face.
jack helps you ride out the orgasm but he pulls away after.
he really doesn’t want to make you even more overstimulated than you already are.
he lets pope pick you up and take you to the bathroom for aftercare.
pope lets out a little “ruff” to encourage jack to follow. they work together to clean you up. jack mumbles,
Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x wife!reader x toddler!daughter (Juliet, 4/5 y/o)
Warnings: fluff, pregnancy reveal, Andrew being soft.
Summary: It's Andrew’s birthday and your daughter and you have a surprise for him.
A/N: I forgot I had this one in my drafts sorry 😭
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
It was early in the morning when a tiny missile like weight crashes onto Andrew.
"Daddy! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
His daughter, Juliet, is already straddling his waist, with an explosive energy that only a toddler on a birthday morning can muster.
Before Andrew can even blink the sleep from his eyes, a gold crown is shoved down onto his head.
"Happy biwthday daddy!" Juliet announces loudly. "You're the king today. Mama said so."
Andrew sits up slowly, the crown rustling against his messy bedhair. You watch the scene with a smile, leaning against the doorframe.
"A king, huh?" Andrew's voice is deep with sleep.
"Yeah. And kings get presents!" Juliet declares, scrambling sideways across the bed to retrieve a small gift wrapped in shiny dinosaur paper.
She shoves it into his lap, vibrating with excitement. She had clutched that box like it was state secrets for three days straight.
Andrew carefully peels back the tape, folding the paper away to reveal a sunglasses case. He pops it open. Inside sits a modern pair of dark sunglasses.
You push off the doorframe, walking over to sit on the edge of the mattress.
"She insisted on these," you say. "She looked at them at the store, and decided you needed an upgrade. She thinks you look pwetty cool in them."
Andrew pulls the glasses out, turning them over in his hands. He looks at the frames, then up at Juliet, whose little face is glowing with anticipation, waiting for his verdict.
"Try 'em on, Daddy!" she urges, bouncing.
Andrew slips the sunglasses on.
Juliet claps her hands together, a grin spreading across her face.
"Daddy pwetty cool!" she squeals.
Andrew lets out a smile as he reaches out to scoop her up into his arms, pulling her tight against his chest while kissing her cheek. "Thank you, my princess."
Juliet giggles and climbs down from Andrew’s lap, instantly distracted by the dinosaur wrapping paper on the floor, shredding it into even smaller pieces.
"Okay, King Andrew," you say softly. "There’s one more thing."
He tilts his head up, looking at you. "Thought the sunglasses and the crown were the main event."
"That was her surprise," you reply, pulling out a small box. You place it gently into his hands. "This is mine."
Andrew sets the sunglasses case aside on the nightstand. His fingers make quick work of the ribbon, unfolding the crisp paper.
When he opens the top of the box, he stops.
Inside, resting on a bed of white tissue paper, is a tiny pair of knit yellow baby booties. Tucked right beside them is a clear plastic casing holding a positive pregnancy test, the two bold pink lines practically glowing against the white background.
The room goes entirely still.
For a second, Andrew just stares into the box, his breath catching in his throat. He slowly pulls the sunglasses down, revealing eyes wide with shock.
"Are you... is this...?"
You smile, nodding as a tear slips down your cheek. "I am. Five weeks pregnant. Happy birthday, my Andy."
Andrew sets the box aside and reaches out, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you tightly against him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his shoulders trembling just a little as he holds you close, kissing you again and again. Repeting I love you against your skin.
"Look, Daddy!" Juliet giggles, blissfully unaware of the magnitude of the moment, holding up a bootie she just noticed. "Shoes for baby!"
Andrew pulls back to look at you, his eyes shining with a smile across his face.
Juliet’s little jaw drops as she stares at the tiny knit bootie in her hands. Her eyes light up with sudden realization.
"OH! THE COLORS!" she gasps, clapping her hands against her cheeks.
Without another word, she tears out of the room. Andrew blinks, still holding you tight, looking toward the hallway in confusion before turning back to you.
"What colors?" he whispers.
You throw your head back against his shoulder and groan lovingly, pressing your forehead to his cheek. "God, Andrew. It was so difficult to keep her quiet, I swear to you. I thought she was going to burst every single day this week."
Before Andrew can even ask, Juliet comes back, holding a crumpled piece of paper. She scrambled back onto the mattress, sliding right between the two of you and proudly presents her masterpiece.
It’s drawn entirely in bright crayon strokes. On the left is a tall figure with a huge yellow crown: Andrew. Beside him is a figure with long hair, representing you, featuring a massive rounded purple circle drawn right over your midsection. Inside the circle, painted in a chaotic rainbow of colors, is a tiny stick figure with a huge smiley face.
"See!" Juliet beams, pointing at the purple circle on your tummy. "Baby! In Mama's belly! I not tell you cause was a secret, but I drew colors so baby would be happy!"
Andrew stares at the crayon drawing. He looks at the exaggerated purple tummy, then at the bright smile on your face, and finally down at his daughter's proud expression.
"You kept the secret? All these days?" Andrew asks softly, reaching out to brush a stray curl from Juliet's forehead, his thumb lingering on her cheek.
"I didn't say nothin'!" Juliet declares, puffing out her little chest. "I was super quiet!"
"She asked me about fifty times a day if we could tell you yet," you laugh. "I had to bribe her with extra snacks just to keep her from screaming it the second you woke up."
Later, the night falls softly over the house. But Juliet’s mind is racing at a hundred miles an hour.
"Daddy, can we get baby pink shoes? Like mine?" she whispers loudly, her hands clutching her stuffed animal. "And I'm gonna teach how to skateboawd. Mama said I'm big enough to teach!"
Andrew gently tucks the blanket up to her chin, his hand resting flat on her tiny chest to calm her. "We'll see, babygirl."
It takes nearly an hour of soft reassurances, gentle head scratches, and endless promises about tomorrow before her eyelids finally grow heavy, her rambling thoughts trailing off into deep breaths.
Andrew stays for a few extra minutes, just watching her sleep.
Then, he makes his way down to your bedroom. Inside the bathroom, you're standing in front of the mirror, gently smoothing moisturizer over your face. You catch his eye in the mirror reflection and smile.
"She finally went out?" you ask, turning off the tap. "I thought I was going to have to send in backup."
Andrew doesn't say a word. He just walks up behind you.
He slips his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hands slide down, coming to rest flat and heavy over your lower stomach, right where your beautiful secret is resting. He rests his chin on your shoulder and you lay your hands over his, lacing your fingers through his ones, looking up at him in the mirror.
"Took a while," Andrew murmurs softly into the crook of your neck, his thumbs tracing tender circles over your hips. "She's... she's very excited. Kept talking about being a big sister."
Andrew lingers there against you, his cheek resting against yours. "I didn't think..." He stops, clearing his throat to steady the slight crack in his voice. He turns his head, pressing a kiss to that spot just below your ear. "I didn't want to pressure you. With everything... with how wild things get, and how much Juliet takes out of us."
You turn slightly in his arms, turning around within the circle of his embrace so you're facing him. You reach up, cupping his jaw.
"What are you saying? Have you been thinking about another baby?"
A smile touches his lips as he looks down at you.
"For months," he admits softly, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Every time I watched you with Juliet, or saw her outgrowing her clothes... I kept thinking about doing it all over again with you. Holding another little you or me. Giving Juliet a partner in crime."
He lets out a breath, his thumbs stroking the sides of your waist.
"I just wanted to make sure we were ready. That I was doing the right things with Juliet," he whispers, his gaze searching yours.
"We're ready, Andrew," you smile, sliding your hands up into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down closer. "You're an amazing dad. You know that, right?"
"Only because I've got you by my side," he murmurs against your lips.
He kisses you then, slow, deep, and unhurried.
There's no rush.
Just the quiet sanctuary of the home you've built together.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are glossy with emotions. He slides one hand back down to rest over your tummy, looking down at it.
"Two of them," Andrew chuckles softly. "Gonna have to buy a bigger house if this one's as loud as Juliet." he jokes.
"You love every second of it," you tease, wrapping your arms tight around his shoulders.
"Yeah," he whispers, pressing a long kiss to your lips as he feels his whole new world in his hand. "I really do."
⊹ jack abbot makes you ride him while you finish fighting
warnings: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, established relationship, multiple positions ( spooning, prone, cowgirl ) fingering, dirty talk, overstimulation, biting, jack jealousy-bating, jack provoking overandover again, angry sex!!!! lots of name-calling, hair pulling/tugging, light spanking, literally them using sex to take out frustration ⊹ notes: ANDDDDD POST BYE !!!!!! queued her
pettiness was your strong suit. it was – in fact – one of the reasons why jack had fallen for you in the first place, back when it had been aimed at anyone but him. he’d found it utterly delightful, his little menace that could hold grudges like a steel trap. it’d turned on him now.
you’d folded into the far side of the bed, facing the wall, your spine all stiff. you’d stormed in here twenty minutes ago mid-argument and claimed the bed like a fort, and you’d been lobbing grievances over your shoulder ever since, even as jack finished getting ready in the bathroom, even as the water shut off and his footsteps came and went.
“and another thing,” you announced in the direction of the wall. “if it were my work thing, you would not call that a date. you’d call that watching me work. which is what this is. so don’t act like you’re being romantic – ”
“are you done?”
you were, in fact, just getting started. if all went according to plan, you would’ve continued this after the event (you weren’t that petty) and been mad in his ear allllll night long, lullaby-ing him to sleep with a list of all his wrong choices; you would’ve named a problem for every hour in a sweet sing-song voice.
you made your first mistake by glancing over your shoulder at him; shirtless, slacks open and belt dangling, hair still slightly damp, standing in the doorway like he had all the time in the world and no fight to lose.
it was, frankly, a cheap shot to show up looking like that in the middle of an argument you were winning.
he raised a brow, then shook his head before he crossed the room in three long strides and climbed in behind you. his fingers went straight to the hem of the t-shirt you’d put on after finishing your makeup and pulled it over your head. you made a sound of protest, but lifted yourself up just slightly to let him do it. answer enough, you supposed.
he tossed it aside, and his hands were immediately on you, sliding down your ribs until one hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying, while the other dipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and giving it a squeeze that made you inhale sharply.
“still mad?” he asked, leaning in for his mouth to brush against your shoulder blade. his hand kneaded at your hip, moving to the soft inside of your thigh.
“yes,” you said, but it came out weaker than before. “jack – ”
your words stopped as his hand moved from your hip to your breast, gathering the weight under his palms before his thumb came up to brush against your hardened peak.
“hello? cat got your tongue?” he said through a snort, pulling you flush against him, chin going into the curve of your neck. he ground his hips against you then, letting out a low breath through his mouth. he pushed a fist into the mattress by your ribs, caging you in. “what d’you wanna talk about?”
“i’m serious, jack,” you said, trying to force your voice even. “you wouldn’t call it a date.”
he hummed, fingers shamelessly sliding down as he said, “come on, baby. if you wanna keep talkin’ about this, you gotta do better than that.”
“do better – ” you let your neck turn back to face him, and he immediately tilted his head down, his tongue peeking out as he tried to bite back a grin. “ – my points are good enough.”
he ducked and caught your mouth, teeth nipping at your lip the same second his fingers slid under the lace. he smiled into the kiss, fingers running down your folds. you pulled away immediately, going to face the wall again.
“did this happen when you called me a smug asshole?” he circled the pad of his finger once over your clit, causing you to shudder slightly against him. “or when you decided i’m a liar?”
“jackass,” you muttered.
“real creative.” he shifted behind you, other hand going to shove his slacks further down his hips, freeing his cock. he pulled back slightly, and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once – twice – before pressing the head of it to the curve of your ass. he exhaled once through his nose, intertwining his fingers through yours and moving them around him.
“i’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes,” he supplied casually, then groaned when your fingers instinctively moved around him.
“i’m still mad at you,” you said, but you were already moving your hand because you did also want him inside you. it’d been too long.
he rocked himself into your hand. “yeah – okay. let’s fix that, too, while we fix this.”
he moved to his side, lining himself up between your thighs before fitting himself in between. his fingers slid down your underwear again, fingers grazing over your folds before pressing down on your clit.
his fingers continued circling, while two others slid lower, the hard line of his cock pressing heavy against your ass each time he rocked forward.
“can’t call this a date,” you muttered, even as your breathing picked up.
“no?” he murmured. “this won’t do?” he nodded absentmindedly behind you, then his fingers came up just to slide down your underwear over the curve of your hips and down your thighs until the lace was sitting at your knees.
“two weeks – missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, and immediately pressed back into you, sliding his cock fully between your thighs now, the head of him dragging through your folds with every roll of his hips.
“also, it is a date – i’m takin’ you – ” he said, angling his hips so his head notched against your entrance. “ – as my date.”
“it’s not.” you pushed your hips back against him.
he tutted softly, hand holding the base of him as he pressed his tip against you, just enough to make you feel the pressure of the stretch starting, then pulled back.
“impatient,” he murmured, doing it again.
“we don’t have time,” you shot back. “just put it in – ”
“yes, ma’am,” he breathed out, amused, and angled himself to sink into you with one slow, sharp push. his entire body went rigid the second he bottomed out, a groan rumbling in his chest as the stretch hit you.
a broken sound came out of your throat before you could swallow it, after two weeks of nothing. your walls instinctively clenched around him, and his grip on your hip went bruising-tight.
“fuck, been so empty haven’t you?” his forehead dropped to your shoulder blade. “sorry, sweetheart. forgot you just needed me like this.”
you tried to glare, albeit at the wall, but your hips pushed back to take the last inch of him. “shut up.”
he just laughed softly, already pulling back to go again. “i know i’ve been thinkin’ about this every night.”
your teeth grit together to hold back the moan, your fingers twisted into the sheets as your body clenched around him on instinct, spine arching even while you fought to stay rigid.
“so mad at me – shit, huh?” his fingers came up with some tremor to your shoulders, pulling you into him even further as he slid in. “just ‘cause you missed this, baby? should’ve asked hours ago instead of arguin’ with me about tonight.”
your hips moved back to bury him to the hilt, causing his palm to tighten on your shoulder with a groan. “no, i missed you,” you said sharply. “you, asshole.”
his breath shuddered, and you felt him nod against your skin. “makin’ such sweet words sound so mean.”
he punctuated his words by moving his hand down to your spine and shoving you forward, forcing your chest flat against the mattress. he followed you down, pinning you completely – chest-to-back, hips locked tight against your ass – prone. his knee nudged yours wider, letting him sink even deeper on the next stroke.
he blew out a sharp, deliberate breath into your ear. “can’t run that mouth so easy when i’ve got you like this, can you?”
“are you trying to shut me – ” you started, words coming out into the pillow.
“huh?” he dipped his head to the side to meet your smushed face, brows rising in amusement. his forearms came up to rest at the curve of the back of your neck. “sayin’ something?”
you twisted just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still trying to form the argument – something about obligations and dates and missing him so much – but the words stayed half-formed when he pointedly drove in particularly deep and your breath left you in a sharp, broken sound.
he watched your face with a small, smug smile, not slowing.
“yeahhh, that’s what i thought,” he muttered and kept fucking you. his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “poor thing, can’t even finish a sentence. needed this, huh?”
“i did not – ”
“mhm, lying now, too – ” his forearm flexed, fingers coming out to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face. “thought i was the liar.”
“don’t touch me,” you muttered, turning your face into the pillow again.
“stop squeezing me so tight then,” he said through a rough pant, thrusting up once meanly.
“i’m not kidding – ” you said, firmer now. “it was a – fuck – shit thing for you to do.”
“mhm.”
“i’m not being unreasonable.” you had to grit your teeth together when one of his palm came down to knead the side of your hips. “a date is you and me – your being a shit boyfriend when i haven’t – ”
your words cut off with a sharp gasp as he rolled the two of you in one irritated motion, keeping himself buried as he put you on top. his hands clamped hard on your hips, pushing you down until you were seated fully on his cock.
the sudden shift punched the air from your lungs, and before you could steady yourself, he was already driving up into you.
“jesus, you just can’t let up,” he muttered, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “wanna look at you ride me while you keep running that mouth.”
“getting tired, old man?” you raised a brow.
he shook his head softly, fingers reaching out to rub over your clit.
“old man, shit boyfriend – m’fucking you and letting you argue.” he pressed a harder circle, pausing only to come down on your ass in a sharp slap suddenly, making you gasp. “giving you everything you need at once, and i’m a shit boyfriend.”
he reached out to press his palm flat just below your navel.
“can’t take me on a date – ” you used his chest to pull yourself up, then come down, “ – though.”
his eyes flicked up to your face with a small, strained smirk as his fingers pressed down firmer on your stomach.
“it is a date,” he said, as he drove up hard to meet you on the next downward slide. his other palm flexed on your hip to keep you down as he pushed up even further. “fuckin’ – nice event. you. me. dressed up.” he took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as your nails dug into his chest. “sounds like a damn date to me.”
“it’s work,” you shot back. “you’re just calling it a date so you don’t have to feel bad about cancelling.”
“i didn’t cancel – anything.” his hand came up to push into your hair, pulling your face closer. “i invited you. you want me to leave you home, huh?” his jaw was tight as he tugged your hair back slightly. “things happen. plans change.”
“i don’t want to watch you work, i want to spend time with you,” you managed, surprised by how even your voice came out, considering.
“christ – ” he used the grip on your hair to keep you close, foreheads nearly touching. “actin’ like i signed us up for a week in the desert. it’s dinner. you don’t wanna go?”
he leaned to press your forehead against his. “don’t. imagine alllll the women who’ll try to talk to me, huh?”
“asshole,” you breathed out, nails digging into his shoulders now as you lifted and dropped again. “asshole.”
he snorted through his nose, tugging once on your hair before letting go, leaning back down onto the pillow. “keep ‘em coming, baby. keep punishin’ me for havin’ a job while you’re sittin’ on my cock.”
his hand went to your thigh, spreading on wider so he could push up even deeper.
“you want time with me?” he muttered. “this is time. right now. i’m in you. you’re on me, and you’re still finding ways to be pissed.”
he tilted his chin to catch your lips between his teeth. “you want me to yourself at dinner? i’ll fuck you in the bathroom if you want that, too.”
“this isn’t the same and you know it.”
“isn’t it?” he sat up further, both arms going around your back so your chests were flush. “because from where i’m at, i’ve got my girl riding me, calling me names, and still taking inch like she’s been starving for it. feels pretty damn close to spending time together.”
“principle – ” you tried to say, words cutting off as your hands got distracted to tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck harshly.
“principle’s pretty shit when i can feel you’re close,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.
“yeahhh,” he breathed out, feeling you clench on him as your thighs started to shake. “we’ve got ten minutes and if you wanna finish this fight, you finish it on my cock.”
“won’t make it better,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the building pressure – chasing it, pushing it away. “you still – jack – made this whole thing about you – ”
your sentence broke off into a sharp, helpless moan as the orgasm crashed into you. jack didn’t let up, if anything he held you down tighter, hips rutting up against you as you came.
his eyes were trained to your face, pupils thoroughly darkened. “aw, i’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers coming up to brush the hair off your face. “you were in the middle of tellin’ me off. don’t let me interrupt you.”
you opened your mouth to keep going, voice still shaky, and jack’s arms slid up your back to pull you down flush against his chest, crushing you into him so your face was buried in his chest.
“please finish what you were saying,” he muttered against your ear, one forearm caging you in. he let out a soft snort when you only whimpered, then added, “i’ll help. you were saying i was making this whole thing about myself.”
“you always – always do this. make everything about you and then act like i’m being difficult,” you – well, lied.
jack groaned low at your words, only spurred on even more.
“i do? y’really think so?” he mused, almost conversationally. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and pressing there, holding the pressure while driving up in one-timed strokes that made you gasp. “i make everything about me?”
“you do – ” you started, but the words dissolved when he pressed his palm flat against your lower belly, the pressure from both angles sudden and overwhelming, making everything tighten impossibly.
you groaned into his neck, and he tilted his face to the side to press his lips along your hairline.
“yeahhh, clearly i do.” he pressed a kiss to your ear, almost tender. “it’ll make me feel better to know you’re sittin’ all mad throughout the dinner you don’t wanna go to filled with me.”
robby, who pulls into his usual mechanic to get his bike looked over and is met with the sight of you, the pretty girl who’s working at the garage (at the front desk) to pay for school.
you’re a welcomed surprise as he’s not seen you around and it’s a shock that you would be working somewhere like this garage. he imagines you more in bookstores (or pretzeled in his bed on your back while he dwarfs you).
he would call out to larry (his usual mechanic) and casually ask who you are after saying he needs a routine check on his bike. larry would call you over and introduce you to each other, you hand grasped in his as you flash a soft smile and a ‘hi’.
up close it’s worse, you’re so pretty and soft and he’s getting lost in the sparkle of your eyes and your glossy lips are making the front of his pants tighter and your outfit clings like heaven.
you two get to talking while robby waits because it’s one of his rare days off and he doesn’t want to waste a second of the time he has with you. he asks what you’re studying and you say medicine, specifically paediatrics, and robby casually mentions that he’s the senior attending at ptmc.
you flash him a smile and look up at him through your lashes, saying you’re hoping to do your residency there and all robby can think is just how good you’ll look in those scrubs and if he can do anything to make it happen.
synopsis you and Robby had been going casual for a while now, but when Jack comes into the picture and wants your attention Robby has to share, but with how much the two of them talk about each other while with you, you suspect they might be more than happy with the situation... (7.3K words)
warnings smut MDNI. Three ways kinda. fingering, breast play, handjobs, making out, p in v sex, pussy eating, getting frisky at work, three way kissing? langauage, age gap but no specified
author note consider this my sorry for no part two to golden girl.... there probably won't be a part two to this though either....
the pitt masterlist! other rabbot x reader work!
You had never known two men to be as competitive as Jack and Robby.
Two men who admitted to themselves they were both good doctors- great even, though they had different styles. They could look past each other's ways of doing things in order to support each other. One could lead with authority and drive, the other moving round his leadership with kind steps and guidance.
Except when it came to you.
When it was you, they were two teenage boys on the pitch trying to impress a field of girls.
When Jack had asked you for drinks you'd been overjoyed that your lingering glances and petty touches had been enough to convey your interest. However, you then had to explain yours and Robby's arrangement.
You'd been fucking quietly (as in on the down low, nothing about the way you fucked was quiet) and needed to make sure Jack was okay knowing that wouldn't be stopping just because he was taking you on one date. As much as you'd been looking at Jack, hoping for his attention, you couldn't stop the attraction you had to Robby. It had come first, afterall.
You'd said as much to Robby with his cock deep inside of you. Your hands on his shoulders as you bounced, the plap plap plap of skin bouncing off his bedroom walls. “Jack- Jack asked me for drinks,” you gasped.
Robby's skin glowed in sweat. His hands dug into your hips, helping you move up and down at a brutal pace. “My Jack?”
Something about the way he insisted Jack was his had you moaning out, your walls tightening around him.
“Fuck, don't do that,” Robby grunted, head thrown back on his headboard with a whack.
“Your-your Jack. Yes!” Your hands reached back to his thighs, fingernails digging into his skin.
It thrust your chest in Robby's face and he didn't miss a beat to trail his tongue messily across your chest, tasting your sweat and groping at your breast to take your nipple and swirl his tongue around the bud. He moaned around it, sucking like a baby and sending stimulation through your body.
“Fuck-fuck, Robby,” you moaned, dragging your core over him in delicious circles.
He hummed and watched you with encouraging nods. He pulled away from your breast and took your neck, bringing you in to him sharply. He nodded along with the movements of your body. “Come on my cock, scream my name, then we can talk about your date with Jack.”
Come on his cock you did, body shaking, mouth hung open soundlessly as Robby held you close into his chest and rutted up into you till he finished, painting your walls and biting down on your shoulder.
Moments later you were tucked into his side, Robby twirling bits of your hair with his head rested against yours.
“So Jack, huh?” he'd asked. “You want to go.” He wasn't looking at you but at the empty space at the bottom of his bed. There was a chest at the bottom with the essentials for such activities: towels, wipes, condoms, lube, maybe even some toys you'd slipped in as a joke all well within reach for him.
“Yeah I do,” you said. “We're only casual right, I'm within my rights to see who I want, aren't I?”
It was all teasing. You knew Robby didn't really want to share you but couldn't commit either so until then you'd be exercising your freedom.
Till he broke, because you knew he would.
That's how you ended up at a bar with Jack, crowded together in a small booth in the corner just days later. A few empty glasses sat around you, as well as an empty basket of chicken wings you'd shared earlier in the night.
Jack's arm was thrown around the booth, finger so close to touching, thigh almost pressed to yours but he kept just beyond touch. Either out of respect for yours and Robby's arrangement, or to drive you crazy.
“How long's this thing with you and Robby been going on?” he asked.
“Few months. We both needed a release with no strings attached kind of thing and it just happened that way.” You weren't ashamed of it. Not embarrassed that you'd given in to Robby the way you'd always wanted to. You didn't care that he was your boss or older than you by some decades. If stuff like that bothered you, you wouldn't have been sitting in the bar with Jack.
“You ever thought of asking me?” he asked with a smirk.
“If you were there that day, I just might have.”
It wasn't like you could ever ignore how attractive Jack was. Just as you couldn't ignore how attractive Robby was.
“And if I wanted to take you on more dates,” said Jack. “How would that work with you and Robby?”
You took your time in running your fingers over the rim of your glass.
The fact of the matter was you thought it wouldn't get better than Robby. Same hours and the same needs bled into sex that had your body shivering and never left you without pleasure. You liked it. You hadn't thought about changing it. You didn't know if you could find as deep a knowing as you had with Robby.
“I-I don't know,” you said, frowning to yourself at your own admission.
“Hey-hey,” said Jack, hand brushing back your hair and cradling your cheek. “I'm not asking you and Robby to stop.” Jack shuffled closer, finally touching you. “I'm just asking if you had room for one more.”
That's how you ended up in the back of Jack's truck pulled around to the dark corners of the bar, sprawled naked along the backs of his seat, legs spread and his mouth hot and heavy on you.
He'd got an orgasm from you pressed up against the wall, fingers curling and circling in the ways you liked like he'd been studying for this.
“Yeah... yeah...” Jack talked down to your pussy, your arousal coating his lips and almost dripping down before he dove back in, fingers spreading you wide and tongue slotting in.
“Jack! It's-it's too much!” you cried, desperate to close your thighs but his hands darted out and kept one high up on the back seats and the other limp on the floor. “Jack!”
His tongue fucked into you. “Just come. Come for me baby and I promise I'll stop, I promise-”
Condensation rolled down the windows of his truck, your body moving against the seats as you withered in pleasure. You had come on his tongue, not that it stopped Jack as he promised it would.
You had to explain to Robby the next time you saw him why there were bruises he definitely didn't leave at your thighs and why the pussy he'd memorised the taste of had something different to it.
That's how the challenge started.
Your time was split three ways: Work, Robby and Jack. Downtime was spent in Robby's apartment or Jack's place. You had a perfectly divided sets of your favourite clothes in each wardrobe, had given enough hints for each of them to get in your favourite snacks and a toothbrush in each bathroom.
You had, you would say, perfectly trained them.
They knew it. They knew they'd somehow become your toys. They knew if you weren't with one of them you'd be with the other and they used your body like a telegram to read each others messages, but as far as you knew they'd never brought it up with each other in person.
“What are you doing tonight?” asked Robby, hovering next to you, looking down at the tablet in hand.
Around the two of you the Pitt carried on moving. The doctors and nurses conversed and walked, the patients complained and crashed and nobody looked twice at the boss talking to a resident. If they'd looked too close they might have realised how often the two of you did speak in work.
You stood, staring at the board, trying to find a blank spot to slide into. “Uh, dinner with Jack.”
From the corners of your eyes you spotted Robby shifting his weight, head lowering as he huffs.
“Dinner with Jack, second time this week, huh,” he said. “Wonder how this place can manage without him.”
A smirk graced your lips as you turned to consider him.
“Someone feeling neglected?”
“Noooo,” he said, dragging it out and finding something on the tablet cover that was much more important than staring at you. He quipped his head to the side. “Just... you and Jack been going on dinners a lot, this week.”
“Our second one?”
“I could take you for dinner too.”
“But you never do.”
“Do you want me to?” he tried to sound casual but his brows rose at once.
You shrugged. “Ask me.”
“Got to book in time to see you now?” Robby asked. His head bent lower to your ear until you could smell the mint on his lips and feel the heat of his breath ghost the shell of your ear. He blew on it lightly, knowing how it sent shivers down your spine and made your body curl closer into his. “I was here first.”
You tried to hold back a smirk as you stepped back, turning to him. “Is someone jealous?” you teased.
Robby pulled his lips into a frown and shook his head, but he couldn't meet your eyes.
Casual was what Robby wanted, what he thrived on and the only thing he thought he was consistent at. So consistent it was his only relationship. Really, he had no right to be jealous and yet you saw the way his eyes narrowed when patients flirted with you. You knew he felt it when he fucked you hard after doctors on higher floors came down and stared too long at the way you leant over a computer. Casual was what Robby was good at, so he'd never admit he was getting it wrong.
“I'm a single girl,” you reminded him.
“That you are,” he trailed every word longer than it needed to be, saying it as if he didn't quite believe himself.
“And I'm allowed to have dinner with whoever I want?”
“It's not about the dinner,” he said, eyes following a nurse that walked a little too close to the two of you. “It's the fact that I want you in my bed tonight and you tell me you have plans.”
“If you wanted me in your bed more you could just make me your girlfriend?” you said, biting down on your lip to stop your smile.
You watched a glimmer of panic flash in front of his face before it gave way to relief. He knew you weren't really asking because casual worked for you too. Not having to remember dates, or buy anniversary presents or text constantly. It was what you needed. And yet, you loved to tease him with the G and B words.
“I don't have to. You'll come around,” Robby shrugged. “You always do. Tell Jack I said hi.” He walked past you then, hands grazing your elbows as he shuffled by like there wasn't plenty of space.
The small touches he teased you with through out the day was never enough to sustain you. That's why he did it: to keep you coming back for more.
Your dinner with Jack ended how it did almost every night, you in his lap in his apartment, lips moulding against yours, hands running up your back.
Jack always took it slow like the pleasure of you was something to savour, like he didn't believe he'd ever get the chance again. But it had been three months of going back and forth between the two, three months of your body bathed in their kisses and walking around with your head in the clouds.
As much as you loved being with Robby, Jack was new and you were still learning.
“Grinding down on my lap?” he teased slightly breathless, pulling back enough to speak.
You hadn't even realised you were until you felt your panties dampening, till you felt the tension in your hips and the smirk on his lips.
Jack seethed in a breath and went back into you, hand catching the back of your head to draw you in as he encouraged your movements. “Does Robby not satisfy you?”
You smiled against his lips, nipping. “You boys,” you muttered, shuffling closer into his hardening cock, hidden behind his jeans. “Really want to out-do one another, huh?”
“Just want to make sure you're not wasting your time,” he said. Jack pecked your lips over and over again as his hands found the buttons to your jeans, deftly popping them. “With either of us.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
It didn't take long for Jack's fingers to wriggle themselves into your jeans, running lines against your clothed pussy that cried for him. He loved to watch how you moved against his smallest of touches, how you reacted slowly, needy.
“Jack,” you gasped, tilting your head back as his thumb pushed down on your clit, circling slowly. “Robby-Robby says hi.”
Jack hummed. “Does he?” his middle finger slid past the elastic of your panties, finding a home in the warmth of your walls. “He can come say it to me, no good using our girl for messages.”
His lips kissed sweetly at your temple, his endearing move that would catch you off guard in the dirtiest of moments. When he was coaching orgasms out of you through curling fingers or driving into you with your cock, his lips would find your forehead and stay there, mumbling encouragements and compliments that had your body grow fuzzy in a different way.
It was the same way Robby pulled you into his side, fingers twirling around your hair or knuckles grazing your forearms.
They had ways of surprising you, still.
“I got you something,” said Jack, pulling back to get a look at you.
“Oh?”
Jack nodded and tilted his head to nudge against your hose like some horse begging for attention before he withdrew his finger from you. He patted your thighs and you climbed off, falling back into his sofa and letting the cushions swallow you.
You watched as he put his finger in his mouth, licking off the taste of you as if it was a taste of his favourite dish.
Your eyes trailed down his body as he disappeared. The swing of his hips, the pull of his pants over his crotch and the veins that pulled in his arms that had you drooling.
When Jack returned there was a small box in hand and he settled down next to you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa and offering you the box.
“What is it?” you asked without taking the box. The instinct to sit on your hands to not reach out was a hard one to fight against.
You didn't do gifts, at least not with Robby. His gifts came in litters of kisses and drawn out pleasure throughout long nights. The only present he'd ever got you was a set of lingerie that had only ended up in strips and tears of fabric sprawled along his bedroom floor.
Jack shrugged. “A puppy. You want him to suffocate?” he teased.
With a roll of your eyes you pulled the lid open as Jack tugged your legs into his lap, running his hands up and down.
A thin chain lay on a small velvet, black cushion, a delicate J hanging on the end.
You could feel Jack's eyes on you, watching and waiting for a creation. You were scared to reach out and touch it. Terrified that you'd reach out and the lid would snap shut, that the chain would strangle you. It was as if you'd never been given a gift so beautiful. You hadn't. “Jack, I... I don't know what to say.”
Was it too much? If you and Jack were as casual as you and Robby how could you wear his initial on a necklace?
But you didn't want it to disappear.
You thought about the J hanging over your heart, the chain dangling when you slowly sank onto Jack's cock. You imagined Robby finding it, the way his fingers would push down on the letter till J was etched in there. Or when you rode him, lingering over him to watch his pleasure, would he take the metal letter into his mouth and keep it warm?
“I think you should say-” said Jack, taking up the chain and slowly moving, resting it around your neck. “I love it.”
You moved your hair aside, allowing him to clasp it and relishing in the cooling metal against the flush of your skin. “I do. I love it.”
Jack kissed over the clasp against your skin. “Yeah?”
When your head turned his lips were there, waiting and kissed yours sweetly, hand crawling up to your neck to lay you flat against him. He tested the taste of you with his tongue. His hand ran down your front, pulling at your shirt and exposing the skin only just healing from your last night with him.
“This way,” he said, lips moving against yours with enough time to find words. “When you're with Robby, I'm there too.”
Robby caught sight of the necklace a week later.
“Hey,” he said, eyeing Samira who stood over your shoulder. “Can I borrow you? Ten minutes? Fifteen, tops?”
Sometimes with how well you and Robby played co-workers you couldn’t tell the difference between needing to see a patient and him needing you.
“Course.” Your chair scraped back as you bid a see you later to Mohan and followed after Robby.
He was making a hard line through the department, wearing out his trainers as he didn’t once look back to see if you were hot on his heels. You were.
“Everything okay?”
He led you out the doors and past the stairwell where the on call room was tucked in a corner. It was a room you’d grown familiar with. You knew the desk was rickety and wasn’t best for the kind of activities you and Robby got up to in the room. You knew it was best to cushion the headboard with a cushion, not because there were neighbours to worry about, but to stop anyone else passing by from hearing the thud.
Robby pressed his key into the door and held it open for you, checking the coast was clear before nudging you in and slamming it closed behind the two of you.
His hands were on you, fisting your scrub top, lips claiming yours like he wanted to share his very breath with you.
In spite of the patient you had waiting on discharge, the chairs that you never seemed to quite catch up on and the monitors still ringing in your mind, you held onto Robby with just as much fever. Your hands gripped his shoulders, finding his scruffy hair and pushed your tongue against his.
“You know better than to tease me at work,” he said.
You bit down on his bottom lip, tugging it out.
Robby guided you back to the bed with steady hands on your hips. “Or at least I thought you did.”
When the back of your knees met the bed frame you fell back, dragging Robby with you.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” you mumbled, hands winding under his top, scraping at the roundness of his belly and feeling the bristle of his hairs.
He hummed, pressing his weight into you. “No?”
“Nuh-uh,” you said.
Robby pulled back enough for you to catch the darkness in his eyes, your slightly tinted lip balm smudging his lips. “I thought you were clever, huh?”
Teasing. You'd only been leaning over charting, maybe jutting out your hips a little more. Maybe grazing against Robby more than you needed to.
There was little time to reply before Robby was licking into your lips again, groaning at the taste and the push of himself into you. He opened your mouth and sort your tongue, hands pushing and pulling up your scrub top until skin gave way to skin and he could feel the plains of you, the warmth you were giving off. He tugged and moved at the skin and pulled off your scrub top.
You knew how it would go. In ten minutes Robby would work you up, have you teetering on the edge of insanity and want then send you back out to the ward. He'd demand you to double up on patients and get them all discharged before you left. He'd get you begging by the end of the night.
Your scrub top was thrown to the corner and Robby's hands grabbed your breasts, groping and moving, licking over what spilled from your bra and nipping.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him in closer-
Then- he grew cold and still, his lips moving away from his chest.
“Huh? Robby, what?” You shook yourself out of your haze and looked at him.
“What's this?” his voice was low in his throat as he pulled back.
There was cooling metal rested on your chest. Your spine tingled as a finger traced the letter there.
Robby was staring down at the necklace with a frown, eyebrows pinched together and mouth twisting.
You'd imagined Robby finding out about the chain a dozen times, but you didn't expect the look of hurt or anger there. “It's nothing. It's just- Jack, a gift.”
“Gift?” he questioned.
You nodded and gulped, suddenly worried. What if Robby said he couldn't do it anymore? He couldn't share you? Would he insist upon you ending it with Jack to have you all to himself, or would he ditch you and leave you to Jack's capable hands.
The both of you shuffled. Robby swung his legs over the bed, running a hand through his hair as he hunched over and you sat up.
“It's nothing, just a gift, I promise, Robby. I promise,” you said, holding onto his shoulders and pressing a kiss into his shoulder.
Robby stared down at his hands. “It's pretty,” he grumbled.
“You're prettier,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder.
Robby turned and pulled a face at you.
You smiled and kissed his shoulder again. “Don't think anything of it.”
He inhaled, body moving against yours as he did. “Hard not to. His fucking letter of his name is sitting in between my favourite place.” His eyes flickered down to where your chest was lying in temptation.
You stilled as his hand darted out, picking up the J and fiddling with it.
There was an odd look to him. There was a clench in his jaw and you could feel his body tense but that familiar darkness was still in his eyes. He still licked his lips like he wanted to take a bite from every bit of your flesh and he wasn't letting go of the initial at your chest.
You'd seen the ways your boys acted. When you mentioned the dinner with Jack and watched Robby try to act like he didn't care. When Jack stripped you bare and eyed the bites Robby had left the nights before. Jack would give time to making those marks worse, deeper in colour and mixing Robby's dried spit with his own. How even with his cock deep inside of you Robby would go the lengths of asking for excruciating details on your dates with Jack.
“Well, I have a theory,” you said, swinging yourself into his lap. His hands fell upon you, working like velcro. “You quite like it, the challenge.”
His brows rose, hands casting up and down you. “Challenge?”
“You and Jack. Sharing me.” To test the waters, you rolled your hips against him and felt his cock answer. “The back and worth. Wanting to do better than the other.”
“Don't I?” he asked, kissing over the chain between your shoulder and neck. He picked it up between his teeth and dropped it back down.
“You both have your talents,” you whispered, tilting your neck back and grinding down on him.
“Yeah?”
“Your favourite things... your favourite parts...”
“Parts?” Robby's eyes were wide and pleasing, looking up to you.
You nodded and closed your eyes, chasing the feeling of him. “Jack... he likes to be down there more,” you said with a particular roll down on your hips. “You like to be up here.” You brought your hands up and squeezed at your breasts to bring them together.
Robby's eyes practically bulge out his head and he latches himself between them, groaning into your skin like this was the only rest bite he craved. The only place he needed to be.
“Jack's staking his claim,” you moaned. “Making sure... you see him.”
His tongue left a trail of his saliva over your chest. “Then I guess I better stake mine.”
Three days later, Robby's head was between your thighs, nudging his tongue in deep, rubbing his nose into your wetness.
You were calling his name, moaning his name when a new smaller cold chain wrapped around your ankle. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking through the haze of pleasure to see a band around your ankle, a delicate R hanging there.
Robby's eyes flicked up to you, smirking and your arousal wetting his lips.
“An anklet, huh?”
“You started it,” said Robby. “A necklace?”
Jack shrugged. “It was something nice.”
“It was a dig.”
Jack shook his head innocently. “No.”
The two of them were leant casually over the counter, stealing a few minutes of relative peace before Robby had to lead him room to room and tell him who was going home and who was not. Who had good chances of living a normal life and those that did not.
Their idea of peace was staring at you from across the floor, where you lingered with Dana. You were talking, just talking with the occasional smile but it was enough for the two of them.
They kept their conversations timid regarding you. They could say everything they needed to say by leaving little bits of each other on your skin.
It seemed the new gifts suddenly sprang on you was encouragement enough.
“So what do we do about it?” asked Jack.
Robby was reluctant to tear is gaze away from you as he slowly dragged his gaze to check on Jack. “On what?”
Jack nodded toward you. “We gonna do this forever?”
“Seems to be working,” said Robby.
“Forever?”
Robby nerves grew on him. He turned his body to Jack, considering him as he considered you. “Has she... said something?” Robby knew he wasn't what made boyfriends or husbands, but were you not happy with what you had?
“No,” said Jack, moving to look down at his hands. “We just gonna keep sharing her? I don't like the idea that I'm stealing your guys time from you.”
“We make it work,” said Robby.
The both of them returned to observing you.
“I like her,” said Jack.
Robby agreed. “Yeah. More than me?”
Jack's eyes ran up and down from you. “Only time will tell.”
“If you're worried about her time we can work something out,” said Robby.
He had the feeling you'd like something like that too. Your time together exhausted him in the best way possible before work so he wasn't sure how you managed splitting your time between him, Jack and work and supposedly getting some rest all between it.
“Work something out?” asked Jack, frowning at the words. It seemed the both of them were stubborn about you. “What? Like a schedule?”
Robby's head fell side to side. “Something like that.”
It took two more weeks of shared dates and beds before you, Robby and Jack could finally be in the same room that wasn't the hospital.
You'd noticed the two of them were talking about each other more. It wasn't unusual for one to bring up the other with arms firm around you, lips etched to your neck.
“Has Jack found that little spot that gets you whining yet?” Robby would ask, sucking on said mark with thick fingers curling into you.
Jack had but you didn't need to answer that for him to know.
“Mmh, mmh, I love this pussy,” Jack said one night when he'd already spent fifteen minutes in lucking and sucking up your pussy. “Can fucking taste Robby in here.”
It was becoming apparent to you, even if it wasn't them, that they really, really liked seeing each other in you. Liked kissing over the same marks and tracing the same path.
Robby had invited you over under the pretence of just casual drinks. You'd said you had plans with Jack (his nights off getting increasingly more likely) and saw the tick in Robby's jaw that you had plans again. Plans that meant his time with you was limited to what he could steal in the staff lounge and on-call room.
Which was why Robby had invited you and Jack around to his. For drinks. Casual.
It didn't stay casual for long.
“Oh, come on,” said Jack taking a swig of his beer, all sweaty from how he'd held it most of the night. “If both of us approached you at a bar, who you picking?”
“I'm not answering that,” you laughed.
You were sandwiched between the two of them on Robby's sofa, curled up between the meat of their thighs that were spread to touch you. Around the back of the sofa, Robby rested his arm while Jack watched you with his head rested on his arm propped on the back of the sofa.
“What? You have to,” said Robby.
“No, I don't,” you said again with a laugh, taking a sip of beer.
“We're big guys, we can handle it,” said Jack with a shrug of indifference.
You doubted they could, whoever you picked. The other would take you to bed and fuck you into the mattress and lick their name against your spine.
Robby's finger prodded into your shoulder for an answer.
“Okay,” you said. You leant forward and ditched your can on the coffee table before settling back with their bodies closer to you. “How does it work?”
“How does what work?” asked Robby, very intrigued by the prospect of who you'd go for.
You rolled your eyes and flattened your feet on the floor. “Dress it up for me. What's the bar like? Who am I with? What are the two of you doing?”
Robby made some sort of pfft sound and laid back.
Jack rubbed a finger over the bottom of his lip and dedicated time to think about it. “The bars dark, low, that kind of thing you'd find downtown,” he recited like he'd thought about this a hundred times. His hand comes to your knee, circling it till you jerked at the tickle. “You'd come with a bunch of your girlfriends and Robby and I-”
“- at the bar,” interjected Robby. His eyes drifted from Jack to you. “We met for a couple drinks, tired from work.”
“Oh, this is very realistic,” you smirked.
Robby gave his own back. “And then you walk in. Little dress, like that black thing you wear sometimes.”
“Practically begging to be noticed,” said Jack. “How could we not? Two old men, down on their luck and a pretty, young thing like you walks in.”
The tingle down your body ran deeper, fuzzier than ever with Jack's hand on you and Robby's eyes lingering. Their breaths and heat co-existing drove you slowly mad.
“Then you start throwing down favours? Is that it?” you asked quietly.
“Rest of the night carries on a bit,” said Robby, drawing your attention to him. He shifts his head side to side as if weighing up the different ways this hypothetical night could go. “Jack and I are having drinks, keeping an eye on you all night.”
“Some of your friends decide to call it early but you want to keep having fun,” said Jack, his hand travelling further up your leg. “Wild girl.”
You had no time to retort before Robby was reaching for you, talking again.
“Jack and I had been waiting for you all night, watching, thinking about buying you drinks every time you got out your card out.” His voice was low, body leaning into you.
“I approach you at the bar, some cheesy line I know you'd secretly like-” added Jack.
“You come sit with us,” said Robby, “Stuck between the two of us just like you are now.”
Robby's breath fanned your pulse thumping in your neck and Jack's hand travelled to the height of your thigh, rubbing his hand up and down. You could imagine it. The bar with the lights down low, catching the eye of the two men who leaned in to talk to each other. Maybe Robby would spot you first as he was saying something to Jack and un-able to take his eyes from you Jack would just have to take a look also.
From there you'd dance with your friends, swing out your hips more than needed, brush back your hair with every sway. You'd check they were watching, enamoured by you every once and in a while and of course they were. How could they not?
“I'm sitting with you now?” you ask, voice breathless as you struggled with knowing who to look at.
Jack's head nodded as his hand came up, popping the button of your jeans. You didn't rise to meet him, nor did you try and stop him.
Neither did Robby.
“Just like now. A good girl, sat between two men who are just slowly, slowly trying to get a taste.” Robby's voice dropped lower and lower, head ducking until he brushed hair from your neck and pressed light kisses along there.
You could feel your own chest heaving, see the the quick moves of it under your hooded gaze.
Jack's hand had slid down your pants and was making a slow observation of your clothed pussy, wet like he'd never known it to be.
You leant your head back for Robby as another warmth spread along the other side of your neck. “Do I let them?” you asked. “Get a taste?”
“Oh yeah,” said Jack, on the account of Robby finding a home in your neck and kissing and licking over his favourite spot. The spot that had your panties growing wetter. “Yeah you let them try, you're so sweet like that.” He pressed a kiss onto your clothed shoulder.
“Whose do we go back to?” you asked, your hands coming up to cradle each of their heads.
“Mine.”
Both of their voices were muffled from lips pressed to different parts of you, but both were just as possessive.
Your fingers curled delightfully around the backs of their heads.
The two of them retreated, looking to each other.
“No cat fights now, boys.”
You leant into Jack first just to grate against Robby's nerves. You pressed your lips into his, holding his face to yours as your lips parted his and you swallowed the sound of surprise he gave you. He groaned and moaned into your lips as he fingers prodded at the gate to heaven under your panties. You were sure he was making more of a noise and more of a show of it because Robby was at your other side.
You didn't know if you'd expected Robby to groan and complain about the show the two of you were putting on. Whether or not he'd get up from his sofa and demand you both leave, ending what you'd been teetering on for months.
Instead, you felt him remain steady and close behind you, his eyes burning into your skull.
You pulled back from Jack slowly, the wet smack of lips leaving the room.
Robby eagerly took you in his arms when you leant back into him.
He sighed at the taste of your lips but as soon as your mouth opened up he moaned at the taste of you mixed with Jack, some forbidden fruit he'd taken the first bite of and become addicted to.
“Oh my god,” Jack groaned from behind you, finally slipping two fingers past your panties and into you folds.
You gasped against Robby's mouth, teeth clashing with his. He held your neck, holding you in to draw out the kiss as his tongue flicked against yours.
You felt Robby's arm stretch out and you expect the feel of his warm embrace, of his hands cupping your chest or pulling back your hair. Instead, he moved past you and wrapped his fingers around Jack's wrist, urging him to move his fingers inside of you in a steady pace.
“Oh-” you moaned, back arching up into Robby was he dropped his head to your neck.
“You're squeezin' me like that, honey,” Jack mumbled against your ear. “Feel like you're already gonna come, huh?”
Robby made a noise into your neck. “We got her excited.”
With your eyes closed in bliss and focusing on not rocking into Jack's hand you blindly reached out. A hand gripped onto Jack's thigh that tensed under your claws digging in and the other to Robby's cock that strained against his jeans.
“Please,” you said, breathless.
Any other time maybe Robby would have put up a fight, make you work for just a glimpse of himself but he smiled and clicked his tongue before he shifted in his seat and started to pop the buttons slowly.
Jack bit down on his lip, his finger working you open and curling but eyes on where Robby's hands fumbled for the belt. “Yeah, that's what you wanted? Wanted Robby's cock?”
“Yes,” you said with a lick of your lips.
Jack brought out his fingers and spread you arousal all around you before circling that small bundle of nerves.
Your head was thrown back, stretching out the skin of your neck. “J-Jack!”
His teeth scraped your neck.
“Gonna come already?” asked Robby, amused at the state of you. He'd never had a front row seat to the effect Jack had on you and by what you'd felt through his boxers and jeans, he was enjoying it.
You shut him up when you bypassed his layers of clothing and wrapped your hand around his cock.
Robby seethed and laid back as you reached around for him, taking what arousal was leaking for the head and dragging it down him.
“You're so good at that, aren't you, baby?” asked Jack as set a steady rhythm upon you. “So good.”
“Jack,” you panted. “Please, I wanna- I wanna-”
He nodded against you.
“You wanna come?” asked Robby from behind you, a hand running up and down your back. “So soon?”
“Let her finish,” said Jack pulling back and staring at you. He worked his fingers over your clit faster, dipping into your heat to drag up your want and repeat it until you were starting to tremble. “Not her fault she's excited by the both of us against her.”
Robby grumbled but couldn't find the words to say much else as your thumb swept the tip of him repeatedly.
“J-Jack!” you came onto his hand with a breath of a moan, your hand squeezing Robby.
“Fuck!” he groaned as he watched you come down from your high.
Jack sent a smirk over your shoulder. “What? Gonna come so soon?” he teased, licking a finger into his mouth and cleaning you from himself.
You caught your breath, slowly taking away your hand from Robby's cock and sitting up straighter. Your heart hammers, your ears were left ringing like you'd just gone through something life changing. You think you had.
Both of the men at your sides shuffled to sit up on either side of you.
“What's up?” asked Jack. “No regrets?”
You looked between the two of them and shook your head.
Before you knew it Robby took to one side of your neck, Jack the other. You were left sitting there as they held you up for them to do their diligent work.
Your eyes closed as you focused on the rub of Robby's beard as he sucked a deep mark onto you. On the other side Jack's slight stubble grazed as he scraped his teeth against different spots of you, unable to settle.
Their hands were hot as Robby's ran over the length of your back, coming around to squeeze at your breasts and earn noises of relief as reward while Jack focused on pulling down your jeans, on pulling open your thighs, desperate to be slotted in between them.
You guided Robby up by his chin, kissing him with a heavy tongue and eager lips writing everything you wanted him to do to you. His cock was still out, protruding and begging for attention with every messy swipe of your lips.
Jack was still on you, making a work at your neck.
You pulled away from Robby, his eyes still almost black from need when you moved to Jack, to kiss him and give him a taste of Robby.
You didn't know if it was just the adrenaline of the two of them kissing you, working you open and apart but you swear you'd never felt the two of them kiss you like they did then. With the other watching, with the other just within reach and with their lips still on the soft skin of yours.
You kept like that for a while, in between them, kissing each one moment, the other breathing hard on you. At some point Jack had gotten his own hardening cock out, rubbing it up and down leisurely as if you had all night to enjoy everything.
Delicately, you dragged your nails down their necks, cupping their chins and kept them steady and like putty in your hands.
Enamoured and under you spell neither realised when there wasn't just one tongue but another. When your smooth skin gave way to stubble neither blinked and when the hands became gruff and coarse, they relished in it.
All until you could guide Robby and Jack's mouths in together, settling back on the sofa like you were about to watch your favourite show.
You watched as Jack's grey and Robby's brown brows furrowed in as they focused in on the new taste, the rougher lips and hotter tongue. Their hands were searching these new bodies with grips and grasps.
Their cocks bobbed with their movements and you watched, mouth salivating.
Noises you'd never heard them make before left them but you weren't even jealous. You were wet and trying to remember what they looked like caving into each other to keep in the back of your mind for months to come.
Only when their faces were reddening and you feared they might fait from suffocation and you'd have to call PTMC and explain why their cocks were out, you clapped your hands once.
Their eyes opened, mouths still against each other as they caught their breaths before looking to you slowly, eyes hazy and faces red, lips swollen.
“Well, this has been fun,” you said, patting their thighs and wedging yourself out from between them. “But I should call it, work tomorrow, early night and all.”
The two were frozen, dumb-founded like teen boys realising they might like their guy friend a little too much.
You were already at the door, throwing your hair over your shoulder and showing the beautiful litters of marks they'd left on you. “See you in work!”
You left gratified. You'd got to come by Jack's hands once and had watched them make out. And even though you were accustom to a drawn out night of pleasure, you were more than set up for the rest of the night with the image of the two of them safely stored away.
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Brains dump where Jack Abbot delivers his own baby.
You’re fuming. Like absolutely raging. 8 months pregnant with change and your crib is still not put together. Part of you didn’t want the crib until you were passed all your health checks - call it superstition.
Jack promised he’d build it but nights and unexpected SWAT raids got in the way. So you decided, hand on your belly “we’re gonna do this just ourselves, huh jellybean.”
Oh was Jack fuming when he came in to you, Stanley knife in one hand and balancing the large box against your leg as you ripped open the packaging.
“What’re you doing, sweetheart? I told you I’d build it.”
“Yeah, well you’re never home and at this rate our baby isn’t going to have a crib.”
“Sorry I’m trying to pull extra shifts so everything is good to go when you pop! Put the fucking knife down and sit down!”
“I’m pregnant not porcelain you idiot!” You’d yell back, not caring if the neighbours heard at this rate. If they couldn’t put up with a heated argument how would they put up with a screaming baby in a few weeks.
His face turns pale as the knife drops from your hand and you scrunch your face in pain.
“What was that?” He’d ask, not caring about the crib or the fact you’d just insulted him.
“Just those hicky things”
“Braxton hicks, honey. When did they start?”
You’d turn away from him, utterly furious, suddenly walking towards the bedroom. “Stop being dramatic. You’re my husband not my doctor!”
“I’ll stop being dramatic when you actually start acting like you’re pregnant and start looking after yourself!”
He didn’t miss the way you started throwing things into a duffle bag, things for you and the baby. “Come on now, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Just. Sit down for me, take a breath.”
“I can’t jack, because my water broke about three insults ago!”
Fuck…he’d seen the traffic on the way home. There was no way he was gonna make it to the ER on time with you.
Jack fucks you hard after an argument. It's not even out of anger, necessarily. It's more so a way to get kiddo to shut up, to breed the fight out of you before he says something that makes you cry. To stop the bitter bits from going any further because he doesn't like fighting with you.
He can be rough for rough's sake, pounding your squelching hole with your cheeks smushed between Jack's grip if he's nose to nose with you, or slapping your jiggling ass with a proud force if he's taking you from behind.
But...there's degradation in the form of teases over your pulsing cunt. Teases in the form of degradation when he's fucking you harshly for fun. There's nothing of the sort when he's stuffing your warm, wet, perfect insides like there's no tomorrow, when it's after the two of you fought.
The degradation, no matter how fun, would defeat the point of fucking kiddo quiet in the first place.
...But, Jack will never not take care of you.
You may fold into his sweat and sinews after you've shaken and cried on his cock, playing with the slit of his tip, smiling at him with your cheek smushed into his chest--it's your way of telling him the fight's long forgotten, but he'll never feel like he can ever make anything up to you.
...Yet, the guy tries.
It's after Jack lets you sleep in. Then, he slips off your panties, if you ever managed to put them back on in the first place.
He peppers your thighs with kisses before making way to your cunt.
"Daddy's sorry, kiddo."
You're still asleep as he eyes your lip pouting in a dream. It's the best thing for his cock when you're still asleep.
He kisses every inch of your crotch. He starts at the mound and trails down to the sides of your slit. He can only peck or press a finger into your clit, and the same goes for your labia.
Licking or pinching usually wakes you up earlier than you need to.
If you're not shaved or waxed, Jack likes brushing his nose against your hair. It's what he does before seeing how it fits in your little hole and whether or not it'll clench this time. It's like you're flinching. It's silly. Ridiculous. Adorable.
"Mm. I think I cleaned you up a little too well."
He wishes you would sweat as much as he does, and he always makes the wish when he breaths deeply, nose shoved in your hair and cunt. It'd be him still being selfish with you when he's trying to apologize.
"M'm...Jack? What're doing---"
Jack doesn't perk up, he only goes to start tonguing your hole, lapping in an up and up movement a half-second after your sleepy voice hits his ears. He can use his tongue now. He can be selfish. He can want forgiveness. He can want to make you feel good, good, good.
He tilts his head forward for an easier in as you squeak and moan out high, and it's not a deliberate choice. It's natural in its filth.
"Not Jack, Sleepy."
Jack blinks up at you, rubbing your ankles as you already settle into a c-curved spine and a head thrown back. He places your hands on his curls, practically a demand to fist his curls.
Told you, kiddo. He's selfish when he comes to you.
"...Daddy."
You fist Jack's curls. The pink of his tongue finds your clit with a harsh circle, and a mouth sucking on the rest of you. He almost smiles when he can feel his spit already making way down to your asshole.
"Daddy was thinking, if you're good, we can go shopping, since he was so bad, but only if you're good---"
"Yo-you're being silly--"
Jack pulls on that button of yours before pushing his dripping bottom lip into the bottom of your slit. That shuts you up.
Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Jack Abbot x Reader
Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist
Fic summary: set almost a year after season 2, when Robby drags Jack along with him on a spiritual recovery, Jack encounters far more than he expected in the form of his best friend’s new welcome buddy. As your path keeps crossing that of the rugged night shift attending who’s always up for a flirt but never seems ready for anything more, you begin to question whether your recently begun sabbatical from romance is even worth it anymore.
Chapter 9 summary: Robby gets a little hint into how close you and Jack are getting as Gabe starts to recover; an unexpected tragedy throws you for a loop
Word count: 4.9k
Chapter warnings: 18+ mdni, MAJOR angst, infant death (unnamed character), grief, trauma, yearning; this is a story heavily featuring Jews and Jewishness. If that bothers you, you may want to find another fic.
Reader notes: Reader is plus-sized AFAB, uses she/her pronouns, is a Reform Jew (both culturally and religiously), autistic, type 2 diabetic, and wears glasses for severe vision impairment
a/n: I hope no one terribly minds the formatting of this one - I’m still kicking my feet about the chemistry in the first half. Also PLEASE do heed the chapter warnings (and yes I stole the end’s plotline from ER, and I’ll do it again!)
Chapter inspos - The Lighthouse’s Tale by Nickel Creek * Eli Eli by Ilana Chava
Chapter 9 - Dubiously Optimistic
“That’s awesome, buddy,” you say with a wide grin, despite only about half of what Gabe just said being in any way discernible as words. He’s sitting up easily in the bed, dwarfed by it but leaning excitedly over the little wooden instruments puzzle you got for him from the gift shop.
Gigi’s in the chair in the corner with half a Subway footlong balanced on her bump, eyes glued to the episode of Storage Wars that’s droning quietly. You’re perched on one of the too-tiny folding chairs next to Gabe’s bed just watching him be awake and okay, all of you waiting for Taya to get back from her staff meeting.
Your phone buzzes twice in quick succession. You try to ignore the nervous flutter in your chest that occurs before you check the screen, and doubly try to ignore the sudden flush of relief and giddiness that it is indeed Jack. You haven’t seen each other since Monday night, but you spent all of yesterday texting back and forth about nothing.
Before you can actually read his messages, there’s a quiet but insistent knock at the door. “Come in,” Gigi calls, and Gabe looks up at the door in excitement. When it’s not his mom, he immediately turns back to the puzzle.
“Hey, Robby,” you say in bright surprise. He’s here with the neurologist, Dr. Martin.
“Hey,” he says with a tired but genuine-seeming smile for you, “nice to see you looking human again.”
“Wish I could say the same for you. Exhaustion a requirement down there?” He barks a laugh as he walks over to give you a fist bump and peer down at Gabe’s puzzle.
“Requirement, mandatory benefit, special feature - whatever you wanna call it.”
“You hanging in there, though?” You raise an eyebrow at him pointedly. He gives a one-shouldered shrug and tilts his hand back and forth, squinting.
“By my fingernails maybe, but yeah.” Honestly, you’re more relieved to hear that than to hear a rote “yep everything’s fine” that ends up hiding so much worse.
“Well, you have my number. And hopefully I’ll see you Friday anyway.”
“I believe you will, yeah. Anyway - sorry, Tom. Go ahead.”
“No worries,” Dr. Martin says easily, giving the room a thumbs-up. Gigi has gotten up to come stand on the other side of Gabe’s bed and is waiting anxiously. “So we’ll have to wait a couple of weeks for all of the results on genetic markers to come back, but based on what we can run here and the clinical exams, I would say that yes, little Gabe here has chronic insensitivity to pain.”
Gigi sucks in a little breath, but nods, reaching out absently to pet Gabe’s head, which he leans into without taking any of his attention away from his activity.
“Now, while he’s still young, this can be a bit unwieldy, as it’s hard to get children to actually participate in body scans, and on top of that, they already don’t have the cognitive impulse control to avoid dangerous activities - when you take away the pain triggers that can pull them out of something harmful, obviously that can spiral pretty quick.
“The benefit, though, is that since we’ve discovered this young, you can start teaching him how to externally check in for injuries or illness and it can become a habit before he hits that real exploratory, rough and tumble phase around ages seven to ten.”
“I understand. What can we do to help him stay safe in the meantime?”
“I actually have some pretty helpful literature here for you.” He hands her a few trifold papers that are absolutely riddled with text. Gigi looks like she’s going to cry, so you reach over and put your hand on her arm.
“I’ll help you guys sort them out,” you say softly. She swallows and nods cautiously.
“Do you - do you think you could come back and tell my wife all that? I don’t want to miss anything.”
“I can help you remember,” you say, at the same time Robby says, “I can come back up when I’m off, yeah.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” you say with a frown. “I feel like our family is single-handedly de-staffing the Pitt.”
“Hardly,” he laughs, “and like I said - when I’m off.”
“Alright. If you really want to,” you acquiesce, letting out a brief sigh.
“Perfect. Thanks, Robby,” Dr. Martin says. “Any other questions while I’m here?” You and Gigi both shake your heads, and he leaves. Robby looks between you both.
“You guys will be alright, especially this guy. Great support system you’ve got here, and he seems like a pretty sensible kid - as sensible as three-year-olds get.” Gabe glances up at him, seemingly aware he’s being discussed. Robby’s face crinkles up in a smile, and Gabe beams back, extending the trumpet piece to him. Robby accepts it with great care, then gestures down. “Want me to put it there?” Gabe nods enthusiastically, then claps when the little horn song plays upon the piece settling in its spot.
You’re all grinning stupidly at him; then, where it’s laying face up on the edge of Gabe’s bed, your phone buzzes again. You silently curse yourself for having your display text set to the largest font possible.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺 - 3 new messages
Robby’s eyes widen discernibly, though he clears his throat and tries to school his expression. You feel heat flood your cheeks anyway, and stifle the urge to explain yourself - considering there’s literally nothing to explain, anyway. Two adults who know each other are allowed to text. Obviously.
Gigi looks back and forth between you and Robby, then down at your phone, and squints, barely.
“I can’t believe he told you,” Robby says, shaking his head slowly and rubbing the backs of his fingers on one hand against his beard.
“It was…an exchange,” you say without looking at him. He hums a flat noise that reeks of skepticism. You press your lips together, hard, and he scoffs a chuckle before clapping you firmly on the shoulder.
“I’ll see ya this evening, assuming you’re still here.”
“I will be.”
“Oh and, don’t quote me, but I’d bet this little champ is gonna be out of here by Friday or Saturday. Sounds from his chart like he’s healing great.”
“Oh, thank you,” Gigi says in relief, brushing her thick hair back out of her face in a clearly stressed gesture.
“No trouble. Bye,” Robby says, and with one more definitely noticeable glance down at your phone, he leaves.
“So, bearing in mind there are little ears here, I need you to fill in the four letter blank - what,” and Gigi pauses exaggeratedly, mouthing the fuck, “was that?”
“It - I mean. It was nothing, really. He’s just…surprised.”
“Yeah, I gathered that part,” she laughs. “Who’s Jackrabbit? And more importantly, who is Jackrabbit to Dr. Robby? And most importantly, who are either of them to you?” You roll your eyes and sigh, preparing to tell her, essentially, nothing and no one.
But your traitorous phone buzzes again.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺 - 4 new messages
And even worse, your traitorous eyes snap to the screen eagerly. Gigi tilts her head and puts her tongue in her cheek, expectant and smug.
“It-it’s Dr. Abbot. Jack. And you can’t tell anyone - including him! - about that name, because I scout’s honor swore on it, okay?” She snorts.
“Okay, scout’s honor too, I guess.”
“And he and Robby are best friends. They’ve known each other for forever. And anyway, you know who they are to me - you’ve chatted with both of them at shul!”
“So they’re just newbies that you took on?” she says in a completely neutral tone.
“Yeah, exactly,” you say defiantly. “And they happen to have been very helpful with Gabe. Is all.”
“Oh yeah, I totally forgot about your storied and exciting text conversations with the last newbies you welcomed - Ethel and Rudy, was it? I imagine ninety-year-olds have a lot of great stories to tell.”
You send her a flat look of irritation, and she laughs far more boisterously than it deserves. “Oh man, oh man, Dee - that? Right there? The clamming up? That tells me everything I need to know.” She practically skips back over to her chair, rescuing her sandwich from the tray table. You pinch the bridge of your nose briefly, until Gabe babbles a question-shaped noise at you.
He’s bored of the puzzle, so you dig in his activity bag and get his little water coloring book thing out; once you’ve filled the pen and he’s scribbling happily, you take a deep breath and open your phone.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
0958: I’m fixing to head to bed, but I saw this sticker on a stop sign outside the gym, thought of you.
0958: Attachment: 1 image
1007: Oh and yes, I am going to be at that opioid task force meeting next week. Forgot to answer that part.
1009: Would you potentially like to travel to that together?
You
1018: I’m only mildly offended that you assume I’m into Lord of the Rings. I’d be more offended if you weren’t correct
1019: And sure, I’d love to
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1020: Try giving off more jock energy or something if you don’t want to be interpreted correctly, I don’t know.
1021: And great. We can work out details on Friday?
You
1021: HA, jock energy, you’re SO funny -_- yes, we can work out details on Friday. Weren’t you going to bed? Like almost an hour ago?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1022: Excuse me, I said I was “fixing” to go to bed.
You
1022: “Fixing” takes you a while, eh?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1023: Why are you so unkind to me?
You
1023: You say unkind, I say observant, one of us is wrong
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1024: You can be unkindly observant.
You
1024: Yes, but I’m not
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1025: Hard disagree.
You
1025: Hard disagree with that, so
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1027: I’m trying very valiantly to come up with a joke along the lines of “well I guess we’re both just hard and disagreeable” that doesn’t sound completely gross.
You
1028: And how’s that venture going for you?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1028: Poorly. Very poorly.
You
1029: I’d never have guessed lol
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1030: It’s fine, my sense of humor will just die in a ditch somewhere, never to be seen again.
You
1031: Tad dramatic
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1031: What can I say, I feel things deeply when I’m sleepy.
You
1032: If you’re sleepy, perhaps you should finally finish FIXING to go to bed
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1032: This is part of my fixing.
You
1033: What, yapping with me?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1033: Yep.
You
1033: I can’t believe I’m featured in your bedtime routine, an honor
The three dots that indicate he’s typing pop up and disappear a solid five times.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1037: “Routine” is probably generous for a sequence that entails: get home, get shower, eat food, pass out.
You
1038: *get home, get shower, eat food, robustly claim to be getting ready for bed, yap, pass out
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1039: Where is this “robustly” coming from? Who said anything about robust?
You
1040: You said “I’m fixing to head to bed” in a very ostentatiously convincing way
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1040: It was a TEXT message.
You
1041: I could still hear the tone. Arrogant, even
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1042: Oh so we’re just being ridiculous now. Got it.
1042: What’s my tone there?
You
1044: Condescending with a little touch of resignation. And a whiff - JUST a whiff - of amusement
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1045: Fuck. Maybe you can hear tone via text.
You
1045: It’s my superpower
1046: You probably should get to bed though, yeah? Don’t you work tonight?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1047: I should because yes, I do.
1047: But I don’t want to.
You
1048: Go to bed or work tonight?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1048: Either, both. More the going to bed part.
You
1049: It must be hard trying to sleep during the day
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1050: Eh, I fucked my circadian rhythm up properly, I’m used to that part of it.
1051: I’m not used to having to cut off enjoying myself just to get some sleep, though.
You
1051: What, yapping with me is considered enjoying yourself?
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1052: No no, I just meant the fixing to go to bed, deeply enriching experience.
1053: My tone there is sarcasm, if you couldn’t tell.
You
1053: Oh thanks, I couldn’t tell, actually
1054: Would ya look at that? Mine too
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1054: You’re a goof.
You
1055: Certified, thanks
1055: You’re a man that needs to go to sleep
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1056: Ouch. Quit observing.
You
1057: Only if you promise to quit being observable. By going to bed. And sleeping.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1058: I’m still observable in bed.
You
1058: Extremely, I’m sure
You stare in disbelief down at your phone. Did you actually just send that? The little “delivered” symbol instantly morphs into “Read at 1058” and you press your hand to your mouth. In complete and utter trepidation, you watch the three dots appear. They’re there for a long, long time before they vanish and return for a markedly shorter duration.
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1102: I don’t feel quite so bad about my hard and disagreeable joke anymore.
You
1103: Oh good, I just wanted to level the playing field
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1103: Consider it flat as a pancake. And also consider yourself the victor - I will in fact go to bed.
You
1104: I didn’t know we were competing about that
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1104: Oh we were both competing against my insomnia. We won.
You
1105: Truly a satisfying accomplishment
1105: Goodnight, Jackrabbit
🩺Jackrabbit🩺
1106: Good morning, Chickadee.
As silently as humanly possible, you draw in a deep breath and let it out shakily through your mouth. Biting your bottom lip, you reread the last few messages. You can’t help but wonder what he was going to say after you sent that ridiculously bold message. Or what he was going to say about you being featured in his bedtime routine.
What I wouldn’t give to be a mind reader, you think idly.
*****
“Nah, it makes complete sense to me,” Taya says casually. “I don’t think there’s anything you could’ve missed.”
“And I don’t think there’s anything we missed, either,” you confirm for Gigi, who’s sitting squished against Tay in the empty hospital bed that’s in the room. Gabe is napping peacefully, and the three of you just finished going over the literature about CIP that Dr. Martin left.
“Well then you can tell Dr. Robby he doesn’t need to come all the way up here,” Tay says firmly, “I’ll feel bad if he takes the time for nothing.”
“I wanted to go down to the cafeteria before it closes, anyway, I’ll swing by the ER and let him know.” You groan as you unfold yourself from the armchair. “I can’t wait to spend my days in decent furniture again.”
“You and me both, sister,” Tay says in commiseration, and she gives you a little salute as you leave the room. You realize as you glance at the big clock on the wall that the cafeteria will close at seven, so you’ve only got fifteen minutes. Heading there first, you snag a little pack of hummus and pretzels, along with a steak burrito from under the warmer that feels a little limp, but it’ll do.
You sit at one of the tables just outside the cafeteria, in the dim coffee cart area, and scarf your items. Following the signs back to the emergency department, you end up on the opposite side than you came in with Gabe, feeling a little turned around. The waiting room is probably only half full, although everyone in it seems agitated; you thread your scooter carefully between people’s feet so you don’t knock into anyone.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” you say to the gal behind the glass at the registration desk, “um, Dr. Robby was going to come up to the eighth floor to see my family - I just wanted to let him know he doesn’t need to anymore, we got our questions all sorted.”
“What was your name?” she asks, but as you’re giving it to her, Robby passes by the back of the registration area and does a double take. He comes in and says something to the tech that you can’t hear through the glass, and the door to the ER buzzes. Robby waves for you to go through it.
“Hey, everything okay?” he says worriedly, and you nod quickly, waving your hands back and forth as though to scrub the possibility of it not being okay right out of the air.
“Everything is great - I just wanted to tell you that my sister has all the info she needs. We all read the pamphlets together and we’re all good, all clear on everything.”
“Oh, excellent. Thanks for coming all the way down here to tell me that.”
“We just didn’t want you to take the time out of your time off if you didn’t need to.”
“It would’ve been fine. But I’m glad you all feel okay about everything.”
“Dr. Robby!” you hear a voice call from down a hallway. You recognize Gloria from the few times she’s been in meetings with you; she’s bustling toward Robby in a bright purple pantsuit that suits her well. You watch Robby’s eyes shutter closed for a second before he pastes a tight smile on his face and turns to walk and meet her. “Glad I caught you. I need you to be at the meeting with the board of directors on Monday. We’re going over the distribution of the latest grants and I need them to hear how some of this money is being spent.”
“Do youuuu happen to have someone to cover for me down here during that time?” Robby asks, clasping his hands behind his back.
“As a matter of fact, I do. We have a visiting attending starting that very day.”
“A visiting attending?” Robby says sharply, tilting his head.
“The Air Force reserve station overhired - they have more medical staff than they know what to do with. The city has partnered with them to utilize their time and skills, while they remain on the Air Force payroll, at least for the duration of their contracts. We’ll be getting a few nurses, as well, another night shift attending, and one more senior attending who’s willing to flex on-call. Not to mention the smattering of first and second year residents that would like to add to their resumé by picking up a few shifts here and there.”
Robby looks absolutely stunned. “When - when did this happen?”
“I emailed you about it last week,” Gloria says tiredly.
“Well that’s…that’s excellent news,” Robby says, pulling his head back, and you can see the overwhelm swirling in his eyes. And you get it - of course more manpower is amazing, especially in healthcare; but also, any significant change in staff is destabilizing, let alone changes that were made without the actual team leadership. He just looks like he needs to process, but Gloria looks like she’s about to load more onto him.
“Gloria, I’ve been meaning to catch you!” you exclaim, sidling up to them both (insofar as you can really sidle right now). She glances over at you, already dismissive, but then she recognizes you. She warms instantly - you two are often at odds in terms of bureaucracy, but you get along very well otherwise.
You both shake hands briefly but sincerely. “What can I do for you?” she asks, and you see Robby slip away out of the corner of your eye, taking advantage of the escape route you secured for him.
“Have you heard about the piggyback grants HHS is looking to give out?” Before she can answer, you hear a loud chorus of “HOO-AH!” coming from the other end of the nurses’ station; it makes you both jump slightly.
“Night shift,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “There’s a reason I’m usually out of here before five.” You catch a glimpse of Jack’s silver curls as he disappears down a hallway, and you hide a grin. “Anyway - piggyback grants?”
“Yes,” you say, refocusing yourself. “Basically, they’re running this program where they’ll partner an urban healthcare facility with a rural one - or in some cases, with just one or two doctors in an area - so that the rural facilities can get some hands-on training. Both facilities get matching grants for participating, and the sponsor - that’d be PTMC - just has to send a few doctors and nurses a few times a year out to these communities to help them keep up with CEs and any cutting-edge stuff they might be able to utilize.”
“Hmm,” she hums in what seems to be true interest. “Can you email me the details?”
“Absolutely. And hey - if you want any assistance writing for it, you just let me know. It falls under my liaison work.”
“Excellent!” She beams, then reaches out to shake your hand again. “Great to see you.” Looking around briefly (and fruitlessly), she huffs a sigh and heads for the elevator bank.
You go to head back out to the waiting room when the registration tech from earlier stops you. “Hey, you can go through the back if you want, since you’re a friend of Robby’s. Might wanna avoid the shitshow.”
“Oh, I appreciate it - which way?” She gives you a few simple directions, and you start to make your way.
Through the ambulance bay doors, you hear shouting - a frantic woman, and other increasingly frustrated voices. The woman is speaking in broken English interspersed with words you’re trying really hard to catch over the din, fluttering frantically around a gurney that has a horrifyingly tiny body laid upon it. Three medical staff rush to meet it - two docs and a nurse, you think, if you’ve been interpreting the scrub colors correctly all this time.
You finally manage to catch a couple of full sentences of what the woman says, and yep - it’s Hebrew. Making your way over to the rushing set of people, you make eye contact with the paramedic that’s pumping the respirator bag. “I can translate!” you call over the noise, and his eyes widen.
“Hey, hey!” he barks. Everyone stills for just a second, and he uses his head to gesture to you. “Translator.”
“What do you need to know from her?”
“How long has he been down, did he ingest anything, does he have any medical conditions?”
You introduce yourself to the woman very quickly, and relay the questions, collecting the answers as the two of you trail the cacophony of lifesaving efforts into a trauma bay.
“Down less than ten minutes before you guys arrived, she doesn’t think he ingested anything other than breast milk, and no medical conditions that she knows of.”
One of the docs you don’t recognize nods firmly, tossing a “thanks,” over his shoulder at you. You pull the mom - Ruthie - to the corner of the room.
“Is he going to live?” she asks you desperately, clinging with one hand on your forearm.
“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly. “They’re trying. It looks like they’re putting a tube in his throat to help him breathe.”
She cries out in anguish, her knees buckling, and you guide her down, settling uncomfortably on your folded legs to hold her as she sobs.
“Fill me in, Dr. King,” Jack’s ever-confident rasp cuts right through the chaos for you. He takes quick stock of the entire room, stopping for just a fraction of a second to frown at you with wide eyes before he returns to the task at hand.
You manage to listen to the resident’s explanation, her words thorough and calm, and you relay it quietly to Ruthie. The news is not good, none of it.
And they try, they really do. One of the nurses asks you to take Ruthie out of the room, so you do, into what’s labelled as the family room. You’re there with her for almost an hour before the door opens, and it’s Jack. Ruthie had finally quieted a bit, leaning her head against her hands which are against her knees, and she doesn’t seem to hear the door open.
You look at Jack questioningly. He gives a small shake of his head, his mouth tight. Closing your eyes and taking a quick, deep breath, you rub circles on Ruthie’s back. “He needs us to go with him,” you tell her. She looks up, her face a mask of anguish. You can see Jack’s minuscule wince.
They’ve done what they can to clean the baby up, it’s clear. But his skin remains lurid, the tiny tube barely protruding from his mouth somehow a mockery of both the effort and the failure.
She touches him reverently, and gasps, gathering him into her arms. “He’s still warm, he’s still alive,” she says desperately, turning to Jack.
“Sh-she says he’s still warm. Still alive,” you choke out, swallowing the vast flood of tears trying to crawl up your throat. Jack’s expression somehow remains neutral, sympathetic. He talks to her, not you, and you’re glad of it.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not alive. Bodies can stay warm sometimes for hours after death.”
You steel yourself and tell her, and now she turns to you, her eyes frantic.
“No, no,” she says, switching to English, her voice breaking, and she faces Jack again, “you fix him. You’re a good doctor - make him breathe. Give him the medicine.”
You can see the tick of a muscle in Jack’s cheek - not that you would need physical evidence to know what this must be doing to him, anyway.
“Ruthie - he is gone,” you tell her quietly, saving Jack from having to try and answer. She whips around to look at you, still cradling her son. “They will try to find out for you what caused it, but there is no ‘why.’ Not one good enough for how much you love him.”
She crumples to the floor, weeping, as a woman who strongly resembles Ruthie and a man with her both burst through the trauma bay door, startling you. “Ruth,” the woman gasps, letting out a low, horrified moan when she sees the boy in her arms. She kneels next to her and begins speaking so rapidly in Hebrew that you can’t follow it.
“This is her sister?” Jack asks the man very quietly, and he nods.
“My sister-in-law. What happened?”
You slip from the room as Jack begins to explain, feeling all at once like you’re peeping through a window witnessing a moment that could never belong to you, and that should not be seen by you.
Shuffling blindly and slowly, you find a stairwell, and you sit, your scooter drifting away and bumping gently into the wall. You wait for the tears to come, but they feel stuck somewhere, so you stare at the wall instead, your hands dangling between your knees.
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