minx

21 ✿ I write to protect my sanity ✿ The Pitt ❀ requests are open! ❀

[minx-md]

⋆༺ masterlist ༻⋆

�͛ stands for nsfw content~MDNI!

꧁ 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆 ꧂

《 𝐴 𝐶𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑁𝑎𝑚𝑒 》

~Frank Langdon × residentfem!reader

⋆✧ Part Ⅰ ✧⋆

⋆✧ Part Ⅱ ✧⋆

~ongoing

☆𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝☆

~fem!reader× Frank Langdon ×Mel King

❀ Introduction ❀

❀ ~busted! ❀ �͛

❀ engagement crisis ❀

❀ Admissible Doubt ❀

❀ kiss and make up ❀ �͛

~ongoing

⊰𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲⊱

non-US IMG reader × Jack Abbot

⊰𝐈⊱

~ongoing

༒ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑⊕𝚝𝚜 ༒

JackAbbot × youngergf!reader

♡ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 ♡ �͛

[scoutshorror]

always take care of your toys 🧸

[minx-md]

This is sooo Jack Abbot coded

[drhobby]

the intervention

ex husband!robbyxf!reader / the pittlings think robby is harassing you and stage an intervention. three little pittlings, one braincell total. based entirely in this request. wc: 1.5 k make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content

Santos was the first to notice. Of course she was. Being the hyper-alert, defensive, and perpetually guarded kid she was, she didn’t blink when Dr. Robby muttered, “If only I were that lucky,” right after you’d grunted, “Oh, fuck me,” while tossing your gloves into the trash. A patient had just refused treatment, claiming it was “toxic” to check the baby with an ultrasound, and your frustration had been palpable.

But that was only the first of many incidents.

There was the time you had backed into him while maneuvering a gurney toward the elevators, and Robby’s hands had instinctively gone to your waist to stabilize you. When you’d muttered a “sorry,” he’d smirked at you with a suggestive, “Anytime.”

Then there was the emergency consult. Your hair was down, loose over your shoulders, and while you attended to the patient, Robby reached out and softly pulled your hair back with a rubber band. When you’d asked, “What are you doing?” he’d simply replied, “Your hair?” You had scoffed, rolled your eyes, and turned to him, spitting out for him only, “Imagining something else, Dr. Robinavitch?” Robby had laughed, and you had turned back to the patient. Your hair was now tied in a low ponytail.

You had shot Santos a glare that she interpreted as, “Save yourself.”

Trinity also knew that Robby didn’t touch anyone. She’d gathered he didn’t like being touched, either. Whenever he needed her, he’d gesture with his fingers to gain her attention; if he was guiding her somewhere, his hand would ghost near her shoulder, but he never actually made contact. Yet with you, his hands were on you all. The. Time. And you didn’t seem to register it anymore. Trinity had seen you shrug his hand off your shoulder once, and that was enough for her to realize that all of Robby’s attention was unwanted. Her heart broke in that specific way it does when you lose a mentor to misogyny.

Without further ado, Trinity sighed, mourning the loss of the man she had once viewed as a father figure, now reduced to just another “me-too” creep.

.

Then it was Javadi. She had noticed the way Robby’s eyes softened when you were around; how his usual frown disappeared, and how, sometimes, he almost smiled. She noticed how he maneuvered around you to hand you whatever you needed, how he reached for the high shelves so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes, and how he’d open stubborn vials for you.

She had even witnessed him pulling out a chair for you to sit, and how you seemed so accustomed to it that you simply muttered a thanks and kept on typing your notes.

Once, you walked up to the Nurses' Hub with your car keys and a new pack of batteries. As you fumbled to open the casing, Robby took the key from your hands and did it himself. He swapped the battery, slipped the used one into his pocket, saying he’d take it to the recycling bin, and handed it back. You had smiled at him, reattached your keys to your lanyard, and walked straight toward the patient he had been discussing with you.

Javadi was also acutely aware that Dr. Robby was tall and had a long stride; she usually found herself jogging to keep up with him, but with you, he always slowed to your pace. He would stare at you while you spoke, never daring to make a move without watching you. So much so that he looked almost clumsy whenever your eyes were on him.

Victoria looked at the evidence and concluded that Dr. Robby had a massive crush on you. And, to her, it looked like you certainly enjoyed the attention.

.

Whitaker had not been paying that much attention. He was too busy trying not to fuck up. The first time he heard Dr. Robby call you “honey” in the Trauma Room he believed to have misheard.

The second time it was you were leaving an exam room, taking off your gloves and discussing the treatment plan with Robby, when he had said “Thanks sweetheart.” And left. You went on your way to the elevators without addressing him. But also without lashing out. Dennis’ brows creased.

The third one, after a successful save, Robby had all but chanted “great job, baby” as he smiled at you with the hazy look of adrenaline rush. You muttered “Thank you, doctor Robby” to him with a clipped smile and that was enough for Dennis to feel the interaction had been wrong.

That day he had gone to Trinity and told her what he had heard. She looked at him with those angry blue eyes and pulled him to the ambulance bay.

“I noticed too.” She spat in that angry voice she used when she was hurt. “Should we say something?” 

“Say something about what?” Javadi asked, who had apparently followed them outside. 

Santos simply huffed and Dennis explained all the inappropriate behavior they have seen from Doctor Robby to one of the OB-GYN attendings. And that yes, it was only towards her but that it was still sexual harassment.

“She doesn't really seem to mind?” Dennis said, still uncertain of what he was saying, or defending. 

“Do you think she is going to report the Chief of Emergency Medicine?” Santos asked, rolling her eyes. 

“Guys” Victoria chimed in, laughing, “He obviously just has a crush with her. He is all acts of service when she’s around!” 

“Yeah and he also touches her inappropriately.” Trinity argued.

“And calls her baby” Dennis muttered, disappointed.

“And you know what? Everyone knows!” Trinity’s voice was rising. Her anger palpable. “They all know, hear it, see it and they just laugh. Dana scoffs and shakes her head. Abbot even encourages him!!” She took a deep breath. “We should talk to him” 

“Talk with who?” 

Robby stood nearby, head tilted, looking slightly concerned by the intense, secret meeting his interns were holding. They all froze, eyes widening in fear. He clearly understood the subject of the conversation was himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Robby pressed. 

They exchanged glances, but his gaze was focused on Santos, who seemed to be the leader of the rebellion.

“We think–” Santos began.

“I don’t” Javadi scoffed, raising both palms as if to physically distance herself from the mess.

Robby placed his hands on his hips and looked down at them. “Yes?” 

“Well, Huckleberry and I think that you’re harassing another attending”

Robby’s eyes could’ve dropped out of his eyelids. He felt to had been physically pushed back. “What?” He asked. And not because he hadn’t understand the statement, but because he didn’t understand anything about it. 

Then Santos said your name, raising her chin in that solemn way she does when she is certain of something. And Robby laughed. He just laughed. The stress he had felt seconds ago vanished into laughter. 

“It is not funny, Doctor Robby.” Santos insisted, but he kept laughing. “You’re abusing your power as Chief to harass her knowing she won’t report you to the board.” 

“Hold on” Robby wiped a stray tear of laughter from his cheek, “you think she needs the board to put me in place?” 

Trinity’s mouth opened. Then closed again.

“We just wanted to let you know we are not comfortable with that behavior.” Dennis gathered all the bravado in his body to mutter that sentence. 

Robby’s heart softened, his eyes rolled fondly. “She’s my ex-wife. I am not harassing her, I am trying to win her back.” 

A collective “ohh” echoed in the ambulance bay. The three of them stared at him puzzled. Trinity was still not buying it. Javadi was shocked, like she didn’t believe he was your ex-husband. And Dennis seemed relieved. 

“Thank you for your concerns. Get back to work.” Robby ordered. He watched them scramble back into the ED and followed them inside, only to find you walking in at the same moment. 

“Hey, honey.” He greeted, for your ears only, he hoped. “My interns just did an intervention on me” 

You stopped and looked up at him, concerned. “What about?” 

“They think I am sexually harassing you.” 

You laughed.

“That I am abusing my power as Chief to harass you knowing you won’t report me.” 

“Mmmm” you tapped a finger to your chin, “perhaps I should report you” 

Robby’s face fell. But you continued. 

“Loosing your license might be the only way to stop you from working your ass to death.” 

He let out a full, unguarded laugh. “Yeah? And what would I do without a job?” 

You offered him a smile; a cruel, calculating curve of your lips. “Be a trophy husband, of course.”

You winked and walked into the ED.

tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics

[minx-md]

I LOVE when people come up with stuff like this omg like just the idea is making me giddy lol

[drhobby]

the intervention

ex husband!robbyxf!reader / the pittlings think robby is harassing you and stage an intervention. three little pittlings, one braincell total. based entirely in this request. wc: 1.5 k make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content

Santos was the first to notice. Of course she was. Being the hyper-alert, defensive, and perpetually guarded kid she was, she didn’t blink when Dr. Robby muttered, “If only I were that lucky,” right after you’d grunted, “Oh, fuck me,” while tossing your gloves into the trash. A patient had just refused treatment, claiming it was “toxic” to check the baby with an ultrasound, and your frustration had been palpable.

But that was only the first of many incidents.

There was the time you had backed into him while maneuvering a gurney toward the elevators, and Robby’s hands had instinctively gone to your waist to stabilize you. When you’d muttered a “sorry,” he’d smirked at you with a suggestive, “Anytime.”

Then there was the emergency consult. Your hair was down, loose over your shoulders, and while you attended to the patient, Robby reached out and softly pulled your hair back with a rubber band. When you’d asked, “What are you doing?” he’d simply replied, “Your hair?” You had scoffed, rolled your eyes, and turned to him, spitting out for him only, “Imagining something else, Dr. Robinavitch?” Robby had laughed, and you had turned back to the patient. Your hair was now tied in a low ponytail.

You had shot Santos a glare that she interpreted as, “Save yourself.”

Trinity also knew that Robby didn’t touch anyone. She’d gathered he didn’t like being touched, either. Whenever he needed her, he’d gesture with his fingers to gain her attention; if he was guiding her somewhere, his hand would ghost near her shoulder, but he never actually made contact. Yet with you, his hands were on you all. The. Time. And you didn’t seem to register it anymore. Trinity had seen you shrug his hand off your shoulder once, and that was enough for her to realize that all of Robby’s attention was unwanted. Her heart broke in that specific way it does when you lose a mentor to misogyny.

Without further ado, Trinity sighed, mourning the loss of the man she had once viewed as a father figure, now reduced to just another “me-too” creep.

.

Then it was Javadi. She had noticed the way Robby’s eyes softened when you were around; how his usual frown disappeared, and how, sometimes, he almost smiled. She noticed how he maneuvered around you to hand you whatever you needed, how he reached for the high shelves so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes, and how he’d open stubborn vials for you.

She had even witnessed him pulling out a chair for you to sit, and how you seemed so accustomed to it that you simply muttered a thanks and kept on typing your notes.

Once, you walked up to the Nurses' Hub with your car keys and a new pack of batteries. As you fumbled to open the casing, Robby took the key from your hands and did it himself. He swapped the battery, slipped the used one into his pocket, saying he’d take it to the recycling bin, and handed it back. You had smiled at him, reattached your keys to your lanyard, and walked straight toward the patient he had been discussing with you.

Javadi was also acutely aware that Dr. Robby was tall and had a long stride; she usually found herself jogging to keep up with him, but with you, he always slowed to your pace. He would stare at you while you spoke, never daring to make a move without watching you. So much so that he looked almost clumsy whenever your eyes were on him.

Victoria looked at the evidence and concluded that Dr. Robby had a massive crush on you. And, to her, it looked like you certainly enjoyed the attention.

.

Whitaker had not been paying that much attention. He was too busy trying not to fuck up. The first time he heard Dr. Robby call you “honey” in the Trauma Room he believed to have misheard.

The second time it was you were leaving an exam room, taking off your gloves and discussing the treatment plan with Robby, when he had said “Thanks sweetheart.” And left. You went on your way to the elevators without addressing him. But also without lashing out. Dennis’ brows creased.

The third one, after a successful save, Robby had all but chanted “great job, baby” as he smiled at you with the hazy look of adrenaline rush. You muttered “Thank you, doctor Robby” to him with a clipped smile and that was enough for Dennis to feel the interaction had been wrong.

That day he had gone to Trinity and told her what he had heard. She looked at him with those angry blue eyes and pulled him to the ambulance bay.

“I noticed too.” She spat in that angry voice she used when she was hurt. “Should we say something?” 

“Say something about what?” Javadi asked, who had apparently followed them outside. 

Santos simply huffed and Dennis explained all the inappropriate behavior they have seen from Doctor Robby to one of the OB-GYN attendings. And that yes, it was only towards her but that it was still sexual harassment.

“She doesn't really seem to mind?” Dennis said, still uncertain of what he was saying, or defending. 

“Do you think she is going to report the Chief of Emergency Medicine?” Santos asked, rolling her eyes. 

“Guys” Victoria chimed in, laughing, “He obviously just has a crush with her. He is all acts of service when she’s around!” 

“Yeah and he also touches her inappropriately.” Trinity argued.

“And calls her baby” Dennis muttered, disappointed.

“And you know what? Everyone knows!” Trinity’s voice was rising. Her anger palpable. “They all know, hear it, see it and they just laugh. Dana scoffs and shakes her head. Abbot even encourages him!!” She took a deep breath. “We should talk to him” 

“Talk with who?” 

Robby stood nearby, head tilted, looking slightly concerned by the intense, secret meeting his interns were holding. They all froze, eyes widening in fear. He clearly understood the subject of the conversation was himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Robby pressed. 

They exchanged glances, but his gaze was focused on Santos, who seemed to be the leader of the rebellion.

“We think–” Santos began.

“I don’t” Javadi scoffed, raising both palms as if to physically distance herself from the mess.

Robby placed his hands on his hips and looked down at them. “Yes?” 

“Well, Huckleberry and I think that you’re harassing another attending”

Robby’s eyes could’ve dropped out of his eyelids. He felt to had been physically pushed back. “What?” He asked. And not because he hadn’t understand the statement, but because he didn’t understand anything about it. 

Then Santos said your name, raising her chin in that solemn way she does when she is certain of something. And Robby laughed. He just laughed. The stress he had felt seconds ago vanished into laughter. 

“It is not funny, Doctor Robby.” Santos insisted, but he kept laughing. “You’re abusing your power as Chief to harass her knowing she won’t report you to the board.” 

“Hold on” Robby wiped a stray tear of laughter from his cheek, “you think she needs the board to put me in place?” 

Trinity’s mouth opened. Then closed again.

“We just wanted to let you know we are not comfortable with that behavior.” Dennis gathered all the bravado in his body to mutter that sentence. 

Robby’s heart softened, his eyes rolled fondly. “She’s my ex-wife. I am not harassing her, I am trying to win her back.” 

A collective “ohh” echoed in the ambulance bay. The three of them stared at him puzzled. Trinity was still not buying it. Javadi was shocked, like she didn’t believe he was your ex-husband. And Dennis seemed relieved. 

“Thank you for your concerns. Get back to work.” Robby ordered. He watched them scramble back into the ED and followed them inside, only to find you walking in at the same moment. 

“Hey, honey.” He greeted, for your ears only, he hoped. “My interns just did an intervention on me” 

You stopped and looked up at him, concerned. “What about?” 

“They think I am sexually harassing you.” 

You laughed.

“That I am abusing my power as Chief to harass you knowing you won’t report me.” 

“Mmmm” you tapped a finger to your chin, “perhaps I should report you” 

Robby’s face fell. But you continued. 

“Loosing your license might be the only way to stop you from working your ass to death.” 

He let out a full, unguarded laugh. “Yeah? And what would I do without a job?” 

You offered him a smile; a cruel, calculating curve of your lips. “Be a trophy husband, of course.”

You winked and walked into the ED.

tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics

[minx-md]

I LOVE when people come up with stuff like this omg like just the idea is making me giddy lol

[vihyura]

truly

[snowflakeb0ttles]

[sagethegremlin]

[minx-md]

I'm having the craziest writers block rn sorry guys

[ridgeflaw]

i love you, baby; i promise - J.A.

blurb: girlfriend!reader acting extra needy with a tired, cranky jack abbot so he’s forced to correct their (your) behavior 😵‍💫

content warnings: 18+, established D/s dynamic, DD/lg, down bad & desperate reader, bratting, kneeling, finger sucking, illusions to collaring & pet play, deep throating, crying, spit swallowing, orgasm control & denial, pussy spanking, CMNF, begging, corporal punishment, throat holding, objectification, light degradation, love, aftercare, praise, dom jack being really mean and strict with you :( but you deserve it :)

word count: 6.6k

author’s note: please read the cw label and also understand this is fantasy and deeply self indulgent. it’s not for everyone and that’s okay. that being said, i had a lot of fun writing this and, if interested, i hope you have just as much reading it <3

jack’s barely stepped through the front door after a long shift when you suddenly appear, slip into his space before he’s even slipped off his backpack, trying to climb him. needy after an equally long night alone with yourself and your thoughts of him, of all the things you could’ve been doing together.

‘oof,’ he huffs, surprised arm coming up to catch you at the waist, keys digging into your lower back as your hands fit themselves over his shoulders, the nape of his neck.

‘missed you,’ you say, sort of, more a muffled collection of consonants pressed against his throat, his short stubble scratching over your mouth as it opens, closes.

‘yeah?’ jack asks, dry and amused as he shuffles you awkwardly back into the kitchen, your feet balanced on the toes of his boots.

he drops the keys onto the table, his bag landing heavy next.

‘yeah,’ you confirm, maybe whine.

you’re next to go. lifted up bodily onto the kitchen table, your knees opening on instinct, creating space between your legs that jack immediately takes up, hooking your ankles behind his thighs.

‘you miss me?’ you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, mouth curling up at the corners.

jack hums like he’s not quite sure, mock debating, before tilting his head down and kissing you stupid. the kiss is long and sweet, and perfectly wet, his tongue sliding in to taste you for just a second before it retreats.

when you try to follow, hungry, tugging on his curls as you press yourself against him, he tilts his head, kissing your jaw instead, that little spot below your ear that always drives you crazy. the scrape of his stubble makes your toes curl in your socks.

another kiss and then he abruptly interrupts the spell he’s put you under, huffs a self-deprecating laugh, says, ‘i had a long night and i smell like hospital.’ there’s a pause as your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden loss, then the next words are exhaled quietly into the space between your neck and shoulder. ‘i’m gonna shower.’

‘what? no,’ you complain as jack pulls back, managing to dislodge your hands from his hair, and if the protest is a little too loud, a little too petulant for a full-grown woman, well, everyone is allowed their small moments of weakness you suppose.

and can’t he see you’re horny? that you need him to take care of you?

you pout. ‘i like the way you smell.’

it’s not a total lie. he smells stale and a little metallic, like the sweat and blood have accumulated in thin layers beneath his scrubs. that and also the cigarette he most definitely snuck during hour four or five. but underneath it all, it’s still jack. still your favorite person in the world.

jack’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘i think you need your head checked.’

you pout some more.

he rolls his eyes, extricating himself from between your legs to sit heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. he bends down, starts undoing his boot laces.

‘you eat anything today?’ he asks.

it’s your turn to roll your eyes, annoyed at the very un-sexy turn this conversation has taken. ‘yes.’

he lifts his head to pin you with a look. ‘with protein?’

you lean back on your hands, legs swinging. ‘not everything requires protein, jack.’

‘you do,’ he says, pulling off his left boot. ‘your brain does.’

you sniff. ‘my brain is just fine, thank you very much.’

right boot next, foot of his prosthesis slipping free. jack just shakes his head. ‘hand me those, will you?’

you slide off the table, walking to grab his crutches from where they were leant against the far wall, prosthesis expertly doffed by the time you return. the bare skin of his residual limb is a little red and irritated, but no more than usual after twelve grueling hours on his feet.

you worm your way back into his space before he can push himself to standing, fit yourself between his legs in a mirror of your earlier position, hand sliding into his hair, watching the grey curls slip through your fingers.

‘i missed you,’ you say again but with more intention this time, more need, a small furrow appearing between your brows.

‘i missed you too,’ he says, blinking up at you, but there’s no heat behind it, just a tired air, exhaustion set deep into the lines around his eyes.

you lean down to kiss him and he turns his head, your nose and mouth meeting scruffy cheek.

‘baby,’ he says, and the endearment is fond but also so exasperated it makes your ears flush hot with embarrassment. ‘you gotta give me some space.’

you can’t help the frustration that bubbles up in response to his rejection, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you step back. the logical part of your brain that knows he’s well within his rights to ask for space warring with the much louder, much less logical part of your brain that wants to sink your teeth into his trap muscle until he cries out.

and really, it’s his own fault anyway, you think, annoyed, the way he’s got you trained—pavlovian response, like a damn dog—to expect his undivided attention as soon as he walks through the front door. sweet kisses and sweet words; much, much less sweet words also, but you love those just the same, and maybe even more so, coming from him. from jack, from his filthy mouth and his big hands all over you, pulling you close, pulling your hair, wanting you. wanting you so much sometimes, like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t have you. the type of wanting that’s intoxicating, overwhelming. the type that’s more than easy for a girl to get used to.

throw a dog a bone enough times and the dog comes to expect the bone. flash an empty hand, the dog still bites. it’s just learned behavior.

‘i don’t want to give you space,’ you snipe, as he stands, forearms and hands braced on his crutches. ‘i want you to bend me over this table.’

jack raises an eyebrow at you. ‘good to know it’s only what you want that matters in this relationship.’

you flush even hotter, the skin on the back of your neck prickling. ‘that’s not what i’m saying.’

‘no?’ he says, beginning to navigate his way through the kitchen and out into the hall. you follow after him. ‘then what are you saying?’

you struggle for words, good words, convincing words, but come up empty. all you manage is a childish, ‘it’s not fair.’ like you’re a toddler who doesn’t want to share her favorite toy, one second away from throwing a tear-filled tantrum.

‘life’s not fair,’ jack snorts, infuriatingly so, back muscles shifting beneath his scrub top with each careful step. ‘if it was, then i’d still have two whole legs. but that’s not how any of this stupid shit works.’

maybe you’re ovulating, you haven’t checked the app in at least a week. too busy with work and endless emails and the podcast you remember to tune into just enough per episode to follow whatever tangent the hosts have gone off on this time. or maybe jack’s just turned you into the type of depraved person who sees her boyfriend come home and can’t stop imagining humping his leg long enough to have a single, intelligent thought. such as, not bratting a man who was in the military for six long years.

‘yeah, well,’ you say hotly, stupid and brazen, ‘that IED might as well’ve blown your dick off too, for all the good it’s currently doing me.’

he pauses, actually pauses with his left foot just past the threshold of the master bedroom, whole body going unnaturally still before his head turns to give you an incredulous stare. it pins you in place, socked feet to the hardwood, freezing you like a deer in headlights.

jack’s silent for a long moment, long enough that you can hear the way your pulse has quickened beneath your skin, jumping and skipping at your carotid. the clock on the wall, too, suddenly audible in the room, the thin hand, the tick, tick, tick as the seconds pass.

finally he says, low and clear, ‘for your sake, i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that. i’m going to take a shower and when i get out, if you haven’t fixed your attitude, i’m going to fix it for you.’

he disappears into the bedroom, leaving you to chew on his parting words, standing alone now in the hallway. you, the clock, the sound of the birds chirping happily in the magnolia outside the window. and there’s something deeply wrong with you, possibly on a fundamental level, molecular, because the warning just makes you shudder, makes your cunt messy between your legs.

while jack showers, you cook him breakfast. you’ve never been particularly good at cooking, but eggs have always liked you, flipped right in the pan, yolks intact before you plate. eggs, toast, some sausage that gets an uneven color but will taste just fine regardless. you debate for a few uncertain seconds if you should bother cutting up the strawberries gone soft in the fridge when the water pipes groan to completion.

you shut the fridge door, anticipation zipping up and down your spine in unsteady bursts. you can’t keep still. you open the fridge door again and grab the pitcher of water, fill up a glass and chug it. then you put the used glass in the sink, lip down, return the pitcher, and shut the fridge door again.

you’re standing next to the table where you’ve set everything down when jack reenters the kitchen. he’s damp and clean, and somehow better looking than when he last left it. which is, by all standards, deeply unfair, you think. a drop of water clinging to the curl beneath his right ear falls to his shoulder, blooming on the fabric.

you avert your gaze, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and focus instead on the tops of your pink and white socks where your toes are once again curling, this time against the floor.

‘wow. this all for me?’ jack says, settling himself down in the empty seat.

you nod at your toes. they’re very interesting. all ten of them. big toe, pinky toe, the ones in between.

‘baby,’ jack says.

you look up at him. he’s peering intently at your face.

‘this all for me?’ he repeats.

you blink, momentarily confused, before you realize he wants you to speak. ‘yes, sir.’

jack continues to scan your face for a few more seconds then, seemingly satisfied, he pulls out the seat next to him. ‘that’s very sweet. you want to sit with me?’

you glance towards the empty chair and a vivid memory, in fine detail, flashes across your vision. wrists tied securely behind your back, stomach settled in his lap, large hand tracing the hot skin of your ass cheek, his voice going, ‘oh, that’s a really pretty color, sweetheart.’

you swallow, throat dry. ‘no, sir.’

he quirks an eyebrow and you fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt, thighs squeezing together.

‘yes, sir, no, sir,’ he mocks softly, ‘being so polite, someone might get the impression you want something.’

your whole body warms. it’s such a casually cruel comment. it makes your cunt throb.

god, you just want him to touch you.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. you swallow and try again. ‘can i sit at your feet?’

‘sit or kneel?’ jack clarifies.

you bite your lip. ‘kneel.’

he nods his head toward the living room. ‘get a pillow.’

you scurry off and grab the closest one off the couch, bringing it back with you. you set it down next to his bare foot on the tile and begin to crouch down.

jack reaches out and takes you by the chin, stilling you. you blink owlishly up at him.

‘hands,’ he reminds you.

you clasp your hands behind your back, maintaining eye contact with jack as you slowly settle down, knees on top of pillow, ass on top of heels, head level with his left thigh.

‘good,’ jack says, tapping once beneath your chin before he draws his hand back.

he picks up his fork and knife and starts to eat.

you’ve kneeled many times for jack over the course of your two-year relationship. you’ve kneeled in costume, in heels so high they’ve questioned your ability to walk, completely bare, after work, before work, on christmas, on his birthday, on your birthday (three times), and, of course, like now, whenever you’re feeling absolutely desperate to receive a single crumb of his measured affection.

in relation to jack, it’s one of your favorite places to be. second only to being folded up like a pretzel and made to take his cock as slow as he wants to torture you with that day, your knees bracketing your ears. his face hovering above your face, watching every tense and subsequent relaxation of your expression, the lines that smooth out as your eyes go glassy, your mouth slipping open, a little wet, a little dumb. for him, always for him. but it’s a close second, that’s for certain.

he smells good, clean like his body wash and the fabric softener he picks up on the way home when you tell him the container’s running low. dye-free, for sensitive skin, for yours, the way it’s always acting up in the winter time. brutal and dry pittsburgh january’s. something beneath that too, that’s innately jack, a scent you could find blindfolded, upside down, spun in circles until you were sick.

you feel yourself tilting forward but do nothing to prevent it. it feels inevitable, magnetic, this tilting. and when your forehead settles against the solid bulk of his thigh, thin fabric of his sweatpants bleeding warmth, you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

he doesn’t chastise you, just settles his big hand on the back of your neck, slots his thumb into that space behind your ear. grounding you so you don’t float away on him, up to the ceiling like a balloon. by nature, you’re not overly-romantic, but it is something you’ve always appreciated. his weight, the configuration of his body in its relation to yours. as though you were two pieces from different puzzles that impossibly fit together.

after some time, you feel his hand start to smooth over the back of your head, stroking your hair. you keep count of the number, reveling in it as it ticks ever higher. jack pets you like you’re a sweet animal nuzzled up against his leg. like you’re something he collared and brought home. his to keep, his to play with. the thought has your cunt clenching down around nothing, disappointingly empty as it was.

you let out a quiet moan and his hand pauses.

no, no, no, no, no, you think as you suddenly freeze, breath held tight in your chest, don’t stop.

after a tense moment, jack’s hand resumes its soothing repetition, delicious pressure over your hair, the back of your head, your nape if you get lucky with his pinky.

you exhale, your shoulders dropping, press your forehead firmer into his thigh in silent gratitude.

minutes pass. you can tell from the way the birds have gone mostly quiet outside the window. tinkling bird call replaced with the soft sound of your breathing, the shifting and settling of the kitchen chair as jack adjusts his weight, never perfectly still. it’s a minute thing, a tiny ephemeral space in a big, complicated world that could blink out in a moment’s notice or less, but selfishly you think you could live down here, on your knees with jack’s hands on you, turning your brain syrupy and slow.

his hands are just so damn big, is the thing. you don’t know how anyone could have a taste and not become addicted. addicted to the feeling of them holding you, caressing you, tracing the dimples at the small of your back. the feeling of them prying open your mouth, your legs, the hot, slick mess of your cunt when you’re needy for him. you are, if translated into a perfectly divided piechart, much more often than you’re not. data doesn’t lie, not about your feelings, or the unshakable truth that you’re obsessed with jack abbot’s hands in a way that would be concerning, if you cared to consider truths like that. but there have always been much worse obsessions, when it comes to him, such as his voice, or how far his cock reaches down your throat if you’re eager enough to try, so you won’t worry too much about this one just yet.

times stretches, first long and then short. like a rubber band that’s reached its limit, snapping back, reminding you of your physical existence in space, on the floor, in your touch-deprived body. you tilt your head so the next pass of jack’s hand sweeps over the sensitive skin of your ear, callused palm cupping and warming it. a light shiver courses down your spine, makes your belly momentarily tense and then release. you can feel him in there, a familiar background noise that crisps and clarifies when he’s close enough to hear, to swallow in through your mouth and hold in your stomach. this phantom tug at your core, reminding you of the coiled tight desire that’s scratching at the walls, rabid, for release.

you want him badly enough that the want is creeping in at the edges of your vision, tunneling it. a focus that sharpens as much as it dulls, diverts your attention exactly where it needs without distraction. one simple line from point a to point b. you see him in your mind’s eye and he’s sitting there above you still, but he’s now looking down at you, tilting your head back; his hand’s wrapping around your throat and he’s telling you to open, to take what he wants to give and drooling straight into your open mouth, making you swallow his spit; calling you his filthy little girl, his perfect wet hole, shoving his thumb in directly after.

oh, god, please. yes, please please please.

you tilt your head further to the side, temple to thigh, so the next pass of his hand grazes your face. his fingers barely pause, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, stroking back and forth. and you’re pushing your luck here, you know that, but you need direct contact, as much skin on skin as possible because otherwise you’re going to lose your damn mind.

he can tell, right? he can tell you’re teetering on the edge of disaster? nervous system collapse, or worse. a black hole swallowing you up from the inside. and he’ll take pity on you. he’s never done it before, of course, but this time will be different. this time he’ll take one look at your big, wet eyes and the shameful mess you’ve made between your legs and he’ll give you exactly what you need. he’ll take care of his sweet baby. you need him to take care of his baby.

you take his thumb into your mouth the next time it’s swept too close, like an untrained, nippy dog who’s just been brought home from the pound. your head turning and your mouth sucking it warm and deep, cheeks hollowing out in your naked enthusiasm. his finger is now exactly where it should be. inside you. there should always be part of him inside you. you know this. you know. you suck his thumb like you want it to be something else because you do. you want jack to push the waistband of his sweatpants down and fill your mouth up with his cock instead, pull you forward until your nose meets his pubic bone, the length pushing past your gag reflex and into your throat.

you moan, around it, around the soft salt taste of his skin, more than familiar on your tongue, your knees shifting restless beneath you on the pillow. maybe he’ll really do it, maybe he’ll let you suck him off. hold your head as he grunts and comes straight down your throat, into your tummy. you’re good at it. you’re really, really good at it. he’s told you so a hundred times or more. sweet baby and her sweet mouth, almost as sweet as her cute little pussy when it winks at him, so desperate for his tongue to be shoved deep inside.

jack suddenly grips the bottom of your chin and jerks it upward, meeting your startled gaze.

‘i didn’t say you could do that,’ he says.

the whiplash makes you whimper, the hard split between reality and dream, like a bucket of cold water turned over your head, making you tremble and shiver on your knees.

you’re caught between jack’s fingers and he’s currently looking at you like you’re a gasping fish he’s not sure if he wants to keep or throw back, dangling you off the edge of his boat.

he presses his thumb down into the muscle of your tongue and makes sure you feel it.

‘what happened to my polite little girl, hm?’ he says, thick condescension in his voice. ‘where’d she go? i liked her.’

you blink at him, uncomprehending, your brain processing on a slight delay, yanked from your fantasy and fuzzy with denial.

jack clicks his tongue. ‘i forgot. your cunt gets wet and you stop thinking.’

he drops your chin, thumb slipping from your mouth, and picks up his phone instead, like he’s done touching you. like he’s regarded you and found you entirely unworthy of further consideration.

no!

‘please,’ you beg, scrambling for some sort of excuse that doesn’t exist, not really. ‘i didn’t mean to, sir, i just—,’

‘just what?’ jack says, sounding deeply unamused, ‘thought you could take what you want without asking? that’s not polite. that’s greedy.’

‘i’m sorry,’ you plead and your voice is quickly rising in pitch, edging toward the upper limits of its range. ‘i won’t do it again. i promise.’

when jack doesn’t spare you a glance, you rub your face against his thigh, whining high and pathetic. begging him to pay attention to you.

‘please, daddy, i promise! i’ll be so good for you. a perfect angel.’

he snorts, scrolling through his phone. ‘i don’t believe you, baby.’

a frustrated noise escapes past your teeth and if you could stomp your foot while kneeling, you would. he’s just being so mean, so unfair. it’s not like you’re asking for very much. just a tiny bit of attention, a tiny bit of pressure. he could give you his leg, you could rub your pussy against it, hump it until you orgasm, get his pant leg all wet. fuck it, at this point, your own fingers would suffice, you should just—

you move to slide your hand between your thighs and jack says, flatly, ‘touch that cunt and regret it.’

you freeze, your fingers a hair’s breadth away from your waistband, close enough that you can feel your clit pulse in proximity to the heat.

your vision zooms out, and you find yourself standing on the top of a familiar, grassy hill. you’ve been here before, agonized about the exact same decision, devil and angel sitting atop your shoulders like old friends and debating whether you should take that final step forward, uncertain of the consequences that lie below at the bottom, the one you can’t quite see from here, from all the way at the top. whether your feet will out last the journey or fold beneath you, ankles twisting, flimsy ligaments that send you sprawling, face first, to compacted earth. the promise of how good it will feel before that, if it even happens, how regardless of anything, of the fall, of the bruised scraped shins, flimsy ankles, the exhilaration is guaranteed, is a kite that lifts up, suspended wind below your hair and body.

the devil wins, as usual, the house always wins, and you step. you step forward, down. your thoughts and you both running, or half running, half falling, legs carrying you faster down the familiar hill than the rest of you can keep pace—relentless, fearless, this symbolic equivalent of a wheel that picks up speed the longer it rolls, gains traction and blurs to nothing.

touch yourself and daddy will be mad. he's already mad but if you touch yourself he'll be really, really mad. if you touch yourself, daddy will punish you. if you don't touch yourself, he won't punish you. but if daddy doesn't punish you, he's not going to touch you. and you need him to touch you. you need him to touch you or you’re going to combust. you’re going to lose your mind. if he punishes you, he'll definitely touch you. he won’t be nice and he might make you cry but he'll touch you. daddy will touch you. daddy will touch you. daddy will—

your feet fail beneath you, knees buckling, and you slide your hand beneath your waistband.

jack pushes his chair back and the sound of wood on tile is so loud it startles you sideways off your pillow, out of your head. you throw out your free hand to catch yourself before you topple over and brain yourself on the table leg.

‘stand up,’ jack says, voice clipped.

your heart is thumping in your chest, hair wild in your face as you stare up at him. at where he’s carved space between himself and the kitchen table.

a small muscle twitches beneath his left eye, and it looks involuntary. ‘don’t make me repeat myself.’

you scramble to your feet.

jack surveys you for a long, agonizing moment as you stand there. scans you from head to toe and back up again, taking stock of your body like it belongs to him, like he’s making sure his things are in working order. you shift nervously beneath his scrutiny, heart going a mile a minute. the weight of his gaze is as heavy as fingers where it lands, dragging along your skin, speeding up your breathing and making you pant. when it catches on the space between your legs, where you’ve darkened the cotton fabric of your panties, you squirm, a phantom hand between your legs knuckling your clit, teasing you. you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, think about how you dressed this morning thinking only of him, of jack in the wake of your intense, erotic dream, in the hopes he would pull your panties to the side and have his wicked way with you.

he tilts his chin down. ‘strip.’

you hook your thumbs into your ruined panties and tug them down your legs, shivering a little when they pool at your ankles, revealing your pussy to the room, to jack. jack, who's just sitting there and watching you, appearing totally unaffected as you step out of the leg holes. like you’re the world’s least enticing stripper. like he’d rather be doing anything else.

you bite your lip, your stomach swooping, then tug your shirt off as well, your nipples immediately pebbling in the cool air. though you would be convinced it was just as equally, if not more, from the weight of jack's eyes on them, on you. your bare tits moving in time with your rib cage, the short, rapid breaths of a prey animal. then you’re standing in the kitchen in nothing but your birthday suit and your pink and white frilly socks.

you bend to remove those too and jack stops you. ‘leave them.’

you pause, bent naked at the waist. in your mind's eye you can already see it, your body laid out across his lap, little socked-feet kicking in the air as his palm cracks down on your ass, like a little girl punished for not doing her chores, for letting her room get too messy, for not making her bed. the sound of his hand on your ass almost as loud as the sounds coming from your mouth, your begging and your pleading. it’s sick. it’s disgusting. it makes your cunt so fucking wet.

jack motions to the gap between his legs. ‘come here.’

you straighten, stepping forward into his space and moving to get into the proper position, stomach to thighs, when he stops you again.

‘oh no, sweetheart,' he says, mouth turning up at the corner, ‘not this time.’

you blink, and jack twirls his finger in the air.

‘turn around.’

you do as you’re told, confused, and face away from him. you jump a little when he grabs a palmful of your thigh, his big thumb pressing in at the bottom curve of your ass cheek, pushing it open to expose your twitching hole, your wet pussy from the back.

jack huffs a quiet laugh, like the view of your drooling cunt amuses him a great deal. unfortunately, for you, this just makes it drool all the more. you’re not sure if it’s pavlov or stockholm you should be thanking for that reaction.

‘cute,’ he says, digging his thumb into the line where your ass meets your thigh before letting go. ‘sit down.’

you gage the distance and sit carefully down in his lap, knees touching, and jack immediately wedges his hand between your legs to yank them apart.

you fall back against his chest, your precious balance disrupted, and gasp as he props each of your legs over his thighs so you’re spread wide. cool air kisses your wet cunt as it’s exposed, puffy clit visible now between your folds, peeking out from behind its hood.

‘there we go,’ jack says, dragging a warm hand up and down the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. ‘comfortable?’

‘i—,’ you say, nonsensically.

you're so confused as to what's happening, and momentarily distracted by the sensation of jack touching you so close to where you need it. his big hands on your body, teasing you, callused fingers catching a little with each pass. has he been planning on... edging you this whole time? that would certainly be unexpected.

you swallow, and say, much clearer, ‘yes, sir.’

jack takes his free hand and slides it over your chest to wrap around your throat, holds you with his fingers pressed in right under your jaw, making sure not to cut off your air supply. it’s an oddly safe feeling, being held like this, by jack.

‘good, that’s really good, sweetheart,’ jack says, nosing at your temple, hot breath ghosting over your ear, ‘'cause we’re gonna be here for a minute.’

holy shit, he’s really going to edge you. you squeeze your eyes shut, shuddering. your mind is miles ahead of you, already feeling him there, fingers sliding through your slick folds to press at your hole, remind you of where he’s about to put them.

mmffuck, please touch my clit, please please please touch my clit, daddy.

his intense body heat slowly seeps through the layers of his clothing and warms all the naked skin it touches, in utter contrast to the temperature of the room, your hard nipples pushing out, begging for attention, begging for his mouth. the dichotomy makes your head spin, makes your pussy gently weep between your legs.

you need him. you need him to touch you there. you lift up your hips, hopeful.

then jack says, direct and low, nipping at your earlobe, ‘i’m gonna spank this disobedient cunt until you’ve learned your lesson.’

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes flying open. your heartrate immediately skyrockets, jackrabbiting in your chest. oh fuck, oh jesus fucking christ. you have completely misread the situation. a risk calculation so terrible, so far outside the estimated score window, that it's actually embarrassing. you feel so fucking dumb.

‘how many do you think it will take?’ jack muses, his fingers walking up and down the crease of your inner thigh, like he's talking about something inconsequential. the weather, a baseball game. ‘ten? twenty?’

yeah, nope. no, thank you. you start to struggle in his hold, knees drawing up in an attempt to get your feet under you and run, but you have no leverage. when this doesn’t work, you try and use your core to barrel forward out of his lap.

‘wow, you’re so right,’ jack says, winding his thick arm around your waist and locking you into place, imprisoning you back against his chest. ‘thirty is a much better estimate for a petulant brat like you.’

‘no!’ you exclaim, trying to find somewhere for your palms to push against, to dig your nails into until he lets you go, but jack just squeezes your throat in warning and huffs a derisive laugh against your ear.

‘you want to keep fighting me? go ahead,’ he says, ‘i personally cannot wait to learn how high you can count.’

you freeze, horror setting in at the implication, then go utterly limp in his arms. ‘no, wait, i’ll be good. i’ll be good. please.’

‘yeah?’ jack coos. ‘you’re sure?’

you frantically nod.

‘you’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl?’

you nod again.

jack hums against your temple. ‘what’s your safeword?’

‘pringles,’ you murmur.

he pinches your side. ‘what was that?’

‘pringles,’ you say louder, cheeks heating, embarassed as you always were that your under-developed brain had chosen the stupidest safeword on the planet and it had stuck like glue.

jack unwinds his arm around your waist to hover his hand an inch above your pussy. and despite all logic, your fear hasn't dampened the impact of the last thirty minutes. your clit is still more than eager to be touched, perking up at the heat radiating from jack's palm.

‘every time i spank this bratty cunt, i want you to thank me,’ jack tells you.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whimper.

jack meanly pinches your thigh. ‘do you understand?’

you wince, shifting your weight in his lap as much as you can.

‘yes, sir,’ you quickly say.

'good,’ he says and spanks your cunt.

there’s no warning, no advice to take a slow, deep breath or to count down from three. he just spanks your pussy like it’s the ending punctuation to his sentence.

your eyes blow wide at the sting and you squeak. fuck!

jack laughs. ‘what a cute sound, baby.’

he smooths his palm along the inside of your thigh and you try and swallow the pool of saliva that’s collected in your mouth.

‘let’s try some real words next time, okay?’

he spanks your cunt again, harder.

fucking fuck! you squeeze your eyes shut against the pain, trying to block it out, and barely manage the shaky, tight ‘thank you’ he requested.

jack rubs your inner thigh.

‘oh, you’re so welcome,’ he says, like you’re having a normal conversation.

he spanks your cunt again, barely pausing, and it hurts just as much, if not more, as the last. your pussy is getting sensitive, his big hand evenly distributing the sting from clit to hole, making the entire area hot and angry.

‘thank you,’ you repeat, between gritted teeth, pain sweat gathering at your palms, beneath your arms.

your stomach tenses in anticipation as jack raises his hand between your legs again and then rains down three hard spanks in quick succession. you can't stop the cry that tears itself from your throat, your hips trying to scoop inward and away from his hand, belly and thighs shaking.

jack makes a cooing noise in your ear, ‘aw, sweetheart, does that hurt?’

the cruelty of the question combined with the burning, aching skin of your cunt makes your eyes well up with tears.

‘yes,' you choke out, your voice thick with emotion.

jack hums, sounding pleased. ‘what do you say to daddy when it hurts?’

you swallow around the lump in your throat, a tear slipping down your cheek. ‘thank you.’

jack spanks your cunt again. ‘that's right. disobedient brats say thank you when they’re punished.’

between this spank and the next one, the rest of the tears spill over, flow without interruption down your cheeks and over the hand jack has wrapped around your throat. you whine and sniffle the entire time he’s spanking you, like once you un-stoppered the emotion, it turned out to be bottomless.

after the twentieth time his hand comes down between your legs, your thighs automatically close on reflex, a survival defense, knees drawing up to protect you against the pain, the stinging blows.

jack tuts, tapping your knee. ‘open your legs, little girl.’

a pathetic sob bursts from your chest. you don’t want to. it hurts so bad, he’s making you hurt so bad. he’s being so mean to you. you hate it. you hate it even as you listen, as you open your trembling legs to reveal your abused cunt, the blood that’s risen to the surface, lips all puffy and swollen.

you can feel your clit pulse with each heartbeat, a metronome between your legs.

‘ouch,’ jack says, in faux-concern, and then starts spanking your cunt again.

there is a point that's reached during your punishment where the required ‘thank you’s dissolve into mindless apologies, where instead of thanking him, you start blubbering and asking for forgiveness. barely comprehensible ‘i’m sorry’s chanted each time his hand comes down.

you’re an utter mess, inside and out. you feel raw in every way a human being can possibly feel raw. it's horrible and painful and humiliating but it also functions as a successful release of all your pent-up emotion. by the end of it, you feel like a wet rag jack has diligently wrung out with both hands.

jack lets go of his hold on your throat and drags his blunt nails up the inside of both your thighs, making your belly twitch.

‘mm all done, baby,’ he says, inhaling a slow, deep breath at the crown of your head. ‘punishment's over.’

you sniffle, coming down, your heart still pattering in your chest like hummingbird wings, quick and flighty.

jack rubs the stretch of skin just below your navel. ‘say, thank you, daddy, for teaching my bratty cunt a lesson.’

‘th-thank you, daddy, for teaching my bratty cunt a lesson.’

jack kisses the top of your head, and then your temple, wraps both his arms around you in a bear hug. ‘see? you can be a good girl, baby. daddy just has to remind you sometimes.’

you make a rather pitiful noise at this that has jack shifting you, arm sliding beneath your knees to settle you sideways in his lap. he returns his mouth to the top of your head and rocks you gently.

‘okay, baby,’ he says, ‘shh, it’s alright. you’re okay.’

‘i’m sorry,’ you whine, sniffling, rubbing your tear-stained face against his collar, wishing you could climb underneath it, hide inside his shirt.

‘hey, none of that now. no more apologies,’ jack says, ‘you did good. took your punishment so well for me.’

the praise sinks warm into your skin and you nuzzle closer into his chest. ‘i did?’

jack gives your head another kiss. ‘yeah, you did. you were so brave, and you listened the entire time. i’m really proud of you.’

i’m really proud of you. the words make you glow and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face, so you adjust in his lap a little and tuck your face into the crook of his neck to hide it. jack lets you, running a hand up and down your spine.

‘you’re daddy’s favorite girl, you know that?’ he says. ‘no one drives me up the wall quite like you do.’

a surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hiccup into his neck.

jack hums, tucking his chin to kiss your head. ‘yeah, there's the sweet girl i remember. i've been missing her since the second i got home.’

[minx-md]

Lives were changed...

[se7entyrell]

'code blue' masterlist (a pitt one-shot event)

a universe featuring robby x charge nurse!reader, frank x resident!reader and jack x emt!reader - each one-shot follows a shift of one of the couples, but the other two may pop up in the background of each! the one-shots will also be standalone (ie. you can only read frank's if you want, but i would recommend reading all for the added universe lore :))

robby and charge nurse!reader (nickname: pulse) - you and robby have worked together for years. the 'parents' of the emergency department, there's rarely a problem that you both can't solve. except for that of your relationship. sure, you slept together that one time, all those years ago, but it didn't mean anything, right? it's totally normal to accidentally moan your favourite nurse's name in bed with another woman.

frank and resident!reader (nickname: page) - when you started your r2 year at ptmc, the last thing you expected was to be ridiculously infatuated with your senior resident. it's against all your principles, but you can't quite let it go. besides, there's no way he feels the same. a harmless crush never hurt anybody, and you're sure the butterflies will go away with time. until they don't. and frank's gazes start to linger.

jack and emt!reader (nickname: skipper) - jack abbot is too old for you. completely and utterly. it's something you've been trying to tell yourself since you first met him at twenty-five. now, at twenty-nine, there's still nobody that does it like him. he's the only person that understands your drive, your complete marriage to your work. maybe he flirts back a little, but you're sure it's just platonic. until your life is in danger, and everything's suddenly on the line

year one.

NYE. Frank and Page.

year two.

Valentine's Day. Robby and Pulse.

Fourth of July. Jack and Skipper. // part two

Halloween. Robby and Pulse.

year three

Groundhog Day. Jack and Skipper.

Thanksgiving. Frank and Page.

Black Friday. Robby and Pulse.

Christmas Eve. Jack and Skipper.

year four

Easter. Robby and Pulse.

Mother's Day. Frank and Page.

year five

New Year's Day. Jack and Skipper.

Christmas. Frank and Page.

if you'd like to be tagged, my taglist is in my pinned post! 18+ only, no ageless blogs

[minx-md]

damn.

[loulouxox]

a woman has never been so lucky ..god irish and sexy at 50 AND big what the fuck do we do

[aerispilled]

jack abbot, fem, suggestive, 0.5k

You love your nighttime routines; you love putting on a nightie after a shower and doing your skincare; you love looking like a shiny donut once you leave the bathroom; you love laying on Jack’s chest and quietly reading together until you both fall asleep. Other nights, you both watch a movie (your pick, always) and one of you always dozes off. 

Sometimes, Jack has other urges. Tonight, you look nothing short of the evening beauty he always sees you as, nightie on or not. Your skin is shiny with whatever moisturizer you’ve put on, and as you tuck in for bed and pull out your E-reader, all he wants is to devour you. You can feel his eyes on you as you pull back the duvet and scoot onto your side of the bed.

An arm slings around your shoulder to pull you closer into his broad chest. Of course, he’s shirtless because of the Pittsburgh summers; humid and hot, even at night. You cuddle closer to him and open your E-book to the last chapter you left off. 

His blunt nails draw up and down your arm, giving you goosebumps. He presses his thigh closer to yours and dips down his head to brush his nose against your earlobe. You squirm, feeling his breath against your skin. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he breathes, seeking out your neck. You smell like soap and fresh laundry after your shower, and it does nothing except stir him. 

You shift and he pulls your thighs closer together with his free hand while he kisses down your neck. “Jack.”

“Yeah.” He grunts, gently guiding you down onto the pillows and forcing the E-reader out of your hand. He presses you against the mattress, caging you in with his body. There's a hand tangling in your hair and another arching you into him.

“Jack.” You groan, trying to push him off. “I was reading. I’m on the last chapters!”

“Mm,” is all he replies with. He’s too busy kissing your face and sucking at your neck to coherently respond. Too full of his want for you. You’d welcome it if you didn’t have other matters at hand, say, your murder mystery that you’ve been itching to get to the bottom of. 

“Jack!” You try again, trying your best to push off his full body weight on you. You grumble, asking, “Can we compromise? Please?”

At that, he finally lifts his head. You see hazel pupils swallowed by darkness, a flush on his face, and glossy, swollen lips. He murmurs, “Like what?” in his roughened voice before kissing you once.

You giggle, “Give me fifteen minutes. Okay?” Putting a finger to his lips, you repeat, “Fifteen minutes to finish my book.”

“Fifteen?” Jack’s panting like a dog by now, a stray hand still squeezing at your hips. “You’re gonna make your old man wait?”

“Oh, shush.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve lived 50 years, you can survive 15 minutes.”

Appeased, he rolls off you. You scoot yourself up to sit against the headboard again, and he lays his head in your lap, eager. Now unbothered, you grab your E-reader and start reading again.

You feel him huff and puff against your thigh. “What if I have a heart attack within these fifteen minutes?”

“You work in an ER.”

But he gets what he wants, because it takes fourteen minutes for you to put your E-reader away and finally kiss Jack. 

[minx-md]

Wowweeeee!!! This was so realistic and idkkkk I'm smilingg ;))))

[spiroagnewfan80]

we're deprived of fiction that caters to my specific niche fetishes

[lovaeir]

making out with jack and he has to keep reminding you to slow down…

MDNI 18+

based of this perfect ask from my sexy hot mootie 🫶🏽

Jacks got you perched on his lap on his couch, his big hands resting on your hips, slowly guiding them back and forth on his bulky thighs. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, tangling in the curls that rest at the nape of his neck.

You’ve been making out on his couch for about a half hour now, and it’s agonizing. You’re sure if you were to get up there’d be a wet splotch on his jeans from how wet you are.

But every time you try to speed things up he’s slowing you down again. Both of your chins slick with saliva, you move your lips quicker against his, pushing your head forward to get impossibly closer.

But he’s raising a big rough hand to your chin, pinching it between his fingers and manually slowing down your movements. You can feel the sleazy smirk he’s wearing as you whine and your hips buck up once more, his hand finally sliding off your face back down your body.

“Stop whinin’” he’s growling roughly from the time his voice has been idle it’s gone a little raspy, “got all the time we want, promise I’m gonna make you feel good, just wanna kiss on you a little” he’s whispering against your mouth before sloppily licking his own saliva off your chin and shoving it back into your mouth with his tongue.

Every time you speed up, even if you don’t notice it, he’s grabbing you and easing your jaw, pulling it down as he licks into your mouth, and slowly pushing it back up to connect with his own lips to yours, setting a speed, a rhythm. He’s nodding when you finally catch onto the speed he’s content with “theeree ya’ go” you can feel his teeth against your lips when he smiles and lets out a little “you’re learning now hm?”

And you’re just nodding and whimpering, hips grinding harder against his jeans.

[storm-of-feathers]

tumblr is great bc its like a diary where I can take other peoples diary entries and glue them into my own diary

[avantgarden-er]

There really is a Day Shift and a Night Shift here at tumblr.org and baby i’m pulling a double

[cursed-carmine]

✴︎ LACE DIVIDERS

ﾉ Please reblog & credit if you use!

For different colors just send me an ask please!

SAKURA

BLOSSOM

ROSES

PUMPKIN SPICE

[portraitoftheoddity]

The problem with having OCs is that sometimes you wanna read about your little guy being in situations but unfortunately he is YOUR little guy and no one is gonna put him in that situation but you. Tragic.

[minx-md]

I would love to read a fic where Frank Langdon performs a pelvic exam on the reader. Lots of praising and comforting. "You're doing so good, just breath" etc.

Hmm... I think I wouldn't be able to write anything like this because I'm also a med student myself, so any type of physical exam is strictly a type of medical procedure for me. I honestly feel weird even thinking about it because it's something that I also learned to perform on patients, so yeah... definitely not.

But!- I would love to hear any other requests/ideas you guys have, please feel free to send them my way!

[minx-md]

kiss and make up

synopsis: Misunderstandings seem to be a recurring theme in your relationship with Frank Langdon. Thankfully, the issue doesn't take too long to be resolved this time around and the leftover tension from your argument that ended too soon, turns out to be useful in a completely different context.

tags: mdni/+18, smut, miscommunication, make-up sex, mentions of impact play, hinted d/s dynamics, subdrop(?), almost getting caught, jealousy, breakup scare. fem!reader×Frank Langdon

a/n: started with intentions to write angst and ended up with full on smut lol. also, this chapter is part of the series Three Is A Crowd and you can read more here.

"I'm not sure I can do this anymore Frank."

-was what left your lips as Frank Langdon was laying between your legs on the couch of your shared apartment while the two of you were watching a show that you had no idea what was about.

Which was ridiculous because you were the one to choose it, saying that you've been seeing edits of it on social media for weeks.

Except, Frank had ended up getting invested and watching the first two episodes without blinking while you were stuck in your own head, thinking about the very topic that had been on your mind for weeks.

No matter how much you thought about it, you seemed to be unable to find a solution other than just... leaving. And you were pretty sure this was a decision you should make yourself, so you hadn't told neither Frank nor Mel.

But after mulling it over in your head again and again, just as you had been doing for the past month, you realised you'd just wasted a whole two hours stuck in your own head when it was supposed to be you and Frank spending quality time together. And that's when you decided that you should just put it out in the open. And maybe your wording wasn't very self-explanatory, but you just needed to start the conversation in some way.

You felt Frank shift between your legs, moving carefully, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. He was still trying to find a comfortable position on the couch as he paused the show, now sitting upright, when he spoke in a tone that sounded like it was charged with... something.

"What are you talking about?"

You sighed, glancing over his wary expression, gesturing vaguely with your hands as you spoke,

"You know... this whole thing. Do I really need to say it? You knew I've been having doubts about-"

Frank cut you off with an arched eyebrow, "No, I really didn't. Look, I know you get... jealous of me and Mel sometimes but-"

You rolled your eyes, completely missing what he was actually talking about. "Jealous? I'm not jealous. Envy though, might be the better word. It's just... so obvious that you guys belong, you know. I feel like an outsider." You felt tears pricking your eyes, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to keep them from spilling out.

Frank sighed, taking a moment to gather his words. His voice was low and calm in an effort to ground you when he spoke again, "I thought we talked about this baby. You know that we love you, we want you here. You do belong. And you belong here, with us."

You were still looking away in an effort to keep the tears in but when he spoke those words so gently and carefully, like he was choosing each and every one of them with utmost care, you felt your resolve break.

Frank watched the tears spilling down your cheeks, his gaze softening as he instinctively reached out to gently wipe them off.

You pushed his hand away, quickly wiping them off yourself- scared that you couldn't think straight once he started touching you and pulling you into his embrace. You needed to stay objective right now. You shook your head before speaking again, "But I don't though, do I? I feel it everytime I see you guys. I feel so... out of place. Like... like-"

Frank cut you off again, catching both of your wrists that had been busy brushing tears off your face, pulling them towards him and giving both your hands small kisses and pecks as he spoke, "I don't know what made you feel this way, but you do belong baby. I've been trying so hard to get you to see that, Mel too, but you're so stuck in your own head that you can't see how much you're needed and loved here. Trust me, please. Tell me where this is coming from and we'll fix it. Together. Okay?"

You were full on crying now, silent sobs escaping your lips as you watched him planting little kisses on one hand still, while he brought the other to his face to put his cheek on your palm as he carresed the back of your hand. You tried to pull away from his grasp, which resulted in him shooting you a stern look. "No. Baby, come on. Don't run. Talk to me."

You opened your mouth, bottom lip wobbling as you tried to calm yourself, taking in deep breaths to keep yourself from crying.

"I-I just... don't feel like this is where I should be. I don't belong, not like you two. You know how sometimes I get an extra shift and work days? I just... that was when I realised, I saw you and Mel working together and... I realised I've been fooling myself. I tried to convince myself I was being paranoid, envious, overreacting. But the more I thought about it the more I realised that... that passion you both have? I don't have it. And-"

Frank was fully frowning now, looking equal parts confused and irritated. "What are you talking about? Yes, Mel and I work well together but that's because we both work days and we had time to create a routine, it's practically muscle memory by now. Just like how you work nights and you work well with the people there. You're turning this into something that it is not."

You sigh loudly, annoyed at how dense he's being. "No that's not... That's not even close to what I'm talking about! Like the other day, I saw you guys during that spine realignment. A-and you had this sparkle in your eye and Mel... she looked so excited, so eager to learn, so..."

Frank stared at you, his voice and words both coming out harsher than he intended,

"And what? You want me to apologise for saving someones life and coincidentally having Mel in the room?"

You flinched like he physically hit you, feeling tears welling up in your eyes again. "W-what? No! I don't- I would never. What part don't you understand? I just don't feel like I belong in the ED! I don't get the same adrenaline rush or a sense of accomplishment a-and... everytime I see surgery or ortho come down and watch them work I just... I feel so envious of them. The things they do.. I thought maybe-"

Your rant is interrupted when Frank sighs loudly, sucking in a deep breath and squeezing the bridge of his nose with both hands as he shuts his eyes tightly.

You pause, confused at the sudden reaction.

"What?"

He runs a hand through his hair and snorts before opening his eyes again, a amused glint flickering in them.

"You wanna change your fucking specialty? That's what this is about?" He asked in a disbelieving tone, a smirk now pulling at the corners of his lips.

You frowned, completely confused and irritated.

"I'm sorry, is me making a career altering decision a joke to you? How is this funny at all? I'm trying to get your honest opinion-"

He was still chuckling slightly while listening to you rant when he suddenly pulled you towards him and crushed his lips againts yours. His tongue pressed insistently on your lips pressed together, his teeth braking skin when entry was denied. You pushed him away after a few seconds, breathless.

"W-what are you doing?"

He laughs again, slightly shaking his head while looking down before he says, "I thought you were fucking breaking up with me. Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack beautiful? You couldn't find a more decent way to bring this up other then saying you can't do this anymore?"

You listened with your mouth slightly agape, a cheeky grin spreading across your face moments later.

"That's why you were so...? Woow... I guess you reaaaalllyy like me huh? Maybe I should dump you for real, see how hard you grovel-"

Frank was on you in seconds, pulling you down from where you were sitting across from him on the couch so that you were now laying sprawled under him.

You breathing had picked up, chest rising and falling rapidly, which made his eyes linger on your chest for a few seconds. He hooked a finger in front of your v neck and pulled the fabric down crudely, smirking at the pink lace showing up under it.

"New bra? Still trying so hard to keep me pleased sweetheart? I doubt you'll be dumping me any time soon with how much money you're spending on keeping me interested."

He watches you roll your eyes but still blush with that self-pleased smile on his face like it's the most fascinating thing he's seen all week. Then blinks once like he's just been snapped out of a trance before he speaks again, "And what about down there? Hmm? Are you matching?"

He drags his hand down your body, reaching inside your loose pajama pants with a ridiculously serious expression like he's running an investigation. When he finally reaches his destination, he hooks two fingers under the lace, pulling it up playfully- making you squirm under him. He quickly glances down at the pink lace peeking through.

"Of course you are. Always so ready to get fucked, aren't you baby?"

You show a hand at his chest, then try to slap him with the other, which he catches instantly.

"Shh, it's fine... I know you work so hard to get me hard all the time. Why don't you apologize sweetheart, and you'll get fucked just the way you like it." His vulgar words, spoken with that pleased grin, sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, crawling up your neck to your ears.

"Apologize for what?"

He acts like he's thinking about for a second, letting his gaze wander off with a little pout of his lips. "For joking about leaving me, for being so smug and such a brat all the time."

His gaze and voice both soften as he keeps talking. "For scaring me so bad. Thinking my sweet girl was gonna leave me. Just because she's so jealous and crazy about me all the time. Making me feel like I failed to comfort her enough, making me think I'm a horrible boyfriend, not treating my girls equally."

He leans down, gently biting at your ear and murmuring, "How about you start there?"

You breath hitches and you feel yourself practically melting at his words, your hands now resting on his toned chest instead of trying to push him off you. Your voice is barely above a whisper and sweet as candy when you manage to find your words again. "I'm sorry..."

Frank chuckles, biting your ear lobe again, this time gnawing at it a bit between his teeth before moving on to sucking your neck in various spots.

"Hmm... That's as good as I'm gonna get from you unless we bring out the belt, is it? Maybe I should get Mel to teach you how to apologize-"

His smug words send a rush of anger through you. He hisses when you manage to knee him somewhere between his legs, pausing a moment before he speaks into the crook of your neck.

"Guess I deserved that..."

"Yup." is all you say before giggling and cupping him through his jeans. "But still... because I'm such a good girlfriend, I wanna make it better." You say in a sultry voice, teasing him with a few playful squeezes.

He hisses through his teeth, pain being replaced by pleasure as you work him up.

"Shit- Fuck. Okay, we have 20 minutes before Mel comes back if we don't want a repeat of what happened last time." He says quickly, pulling his zipper down as you persistently try to pull his t-shirt over his head.

You hum in agreement, watching him take it off, his muscles flexing and making you press your legs together. He throws the t-shirt on the ground next to the couch, frowning when he sees your legs pressed together tightly.

"Baby, I'm telling you we need to be quick, come on, don't be a fucking tease. And slip that top off while you're at it, you spent money on that bra, let me see it yeah?"

You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at him being so bossy, even though you both know it turns you on. Your legs spread open instinctively, hands flying to take your top off.

He smirks as he watches, pleased with how compliant you're being. The bra is nice. Pink, full lace, no pads. Your nipples fully on display. He feels more blood rushing down between his legs, cursing under his breath as he cups your tits roughly.

You moan, head falling back and hitting the armrest, making a thudding sound. You don't even seem to realise it but Frank does, of course he does, and quickly lifts your head with one hand and places a throw pillow under it swiftly.

You open your eyes at the movement, gazing at him with a soft smile. "Always so toughtful..."

Frank pulls his boxer briefs down quickly, rubbing his bare skin on yours with a few playful rolling of his hips.

You bite your lip, instinctively spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around him. He just grabs your thighs, adjusting the angle so both of you are more comfortable, which makes your heart flutter. You glance at the watch on your wrist that Frank bought you as a birthday present and bite your lip anxiously; "We have 15."

By the time you're done, Frank looks like he just ran a 5K while you lay under him, chest heaving and face flushed bright red. He rests for a moment, his full weight on top of you and his shallow breaths caressing the crook of your neck.

You raise one arm to run a hand through his hair, knowing how much he likes it when you gently scratch his scalp with your nails. He moanes at the feeling but instead of enjoying it like he always does, he grabs your wrist with a groan and pulls it away from him.

"If you start doing that I'll just fall asleep. Come on, we still have two minutes. That's enough for you to hop in the shower and for me to change into some new clothes."

He starts pulling out toward the end of his speech, which makes you whine and lock your legs around his waist, slightly shaking your head from side to side.

Frank frowns, trying to reason with you. "Come on baby, you know she said she would be back by-"

"It's not like she'll be here at 6 o'clock on the dot. She's probably still at Becca's."

Even you didn't believe the words coming out of your own mouth. Mel was punctual to a fault. If she said 6, she would here by then. Maybe with a five minute delay at best.

Frank stared at you as if to say-"Do you hear yourself?". He had gone soft inside you already, he would've pulled out by now and put you in the shower if you weren't acting so spoiled right now. He tried a different approach next, holding your wrist and angling it so he could read the time.

"She's about to be here. Come on beautiful, you know how she gets when she sees us like this. Are you really gonna hurt her just because you wanna be a brat today?"

That does it for you, remembering how wounded Mel looked the last time you two got caught. You would never admit it, but some small part of you wants her to see you two like this, you dont know why. While the other part that cares so much about Mel has already took over, making you loosen your thighs grip around Franks waist.

He quickly pulls out of you, making you let out a choked sound at the sudden feeling of loss. He would normally smother you with affection but right now, you were on a time crunch and he had to get you moving.

You felt as if you were watching yourself from a third person perspective, just letting him guide you through the house and sit you down on the shower stool, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature just the way you prefer it.

His diligent care, of course, made him lose precious seconds of critical time management, but he didn't care. He was already feeling guilty about not getting to take care of you the way he normally would afterwards, he wasn't about to make you sit in a cold shower.

By the time he was done with all of it, you had pretty much come back to yourself. You lifted a hand up to his face, briefly stroking his cheek with that sweet fucked out expression of yours that made Frank want to stay in that shower with you all night.

That small moment of peace where the two of you forgot what had you in such a rush in the first place, was interrupted with the familiar sound of Mel's keychains rattling against each other as she fumbled with the lock.

Frank gave you a reassuring smile, quickly stepping out of the bathroom and heading to the kitchen, welcoming her home while he looked busy pretending to be getting something from the fridge.

You could hear their muffled voices through the gentle stream of water hitting the tiles of the shower floor.

"Why do you look so... sweaty?"

"I uh... went for a run. Just came back, like 5 minutes before you."

"In jeans?"

"...Yup."