You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes.

[poetatorturadaa]

anita!! she-her. 19. proud mexican. sitcom enthusiast. sagittarius. infj.

♡ snoopy lover. criminal minds. gerard gibson. dc comics. the pitt. noah kahan. speak now. gracie abrams. noah kahan.

[romanticpursuit]

high at sunrise

summary ... reader and jack have come to terms with being in a situationship after the third attempt of being in a relationship. that title doesn't come out of anyone's mouth, but it's essentially what it is. reader has begun to come to terms with it, but jack has realized he wants more, even if he's the one who agreed to casual.

pairing ... jack abbot x reader

word count... 7.2k

warnings... situationship... that's it.

based on this request … i hope i did this justice!!!

Week 0 of the Situation

It’s the third time this year that Jack has decided to pull away from the mess you once called a ‘blossoming relationship.’ 

You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of your old National Honor Society shirts from high school, while he stands nearly naked by your bathroom door. He’s trying to find his clothes while he rambles on about “needing to go to therapy more.” 

“I threw your stuff in the washer when you knocked out,” you tell him as he pulls the same towel off the ground for the fifth time. “They should be dry now.” 

“Thanks.” He runs over to the dryer, and you hear him struggling to pull his jeans on. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I just can’t be in a relationship right now.” 

“You said that last time.” 

Jack walks back into the room with his shirt on backwards and runs a hand over his face. He digs his thumbs into his eyes and lets out a loud sigh. “I know, and I am really sorry. Seriously. I worked on myself, and I thought I could do it. But I cannot be in a committed relationship.” 

You scoff. You want to tell him, “Okay, whatever, see you next week,” but you stay silent. 

There is still an ache in your chest, but it’s dull, and it only ever lasts a few hours. You’ve learned that whatever is happening between you isn’t serious, even if the idea of it being so races to the front of your mind every so often. After a year, you’ve come to realize that it’s just really good sex, really good meals and conversations, and really bad commitment issues. 

Well, bad commitment issues on Jack’s end. 

Since speaking to Jack, you’ve made it more than clear that if he’d just make up his mind, you would have no problem settling down. You enjoy his company more than the sex. You enjoy cooking for him when he walks into your apartment like a zombie after long shifts. You enjoy the domestic qualities of your whatever-ship – even if they only last a few days, weeks, or months. When you have long conversations about nothing and everything – from your childhood nicknames to your favorite character in a stupid children’s movie –  you can easily imagine your life with him five years down the road. 

But when things become too real, too serious, too lovey-dovey, he pulls away and claims he’s not in the right headspace. 

‘I’m always at work. I can’t be there for you like you want me to.’ 

‘You should find someone else that’s serious.’ 

‘You’re too good for me.’

‘I’m just a depressed widow missing a fucking leg. I’m holding you back.’

Now, the excuse is that he doesn’t go to therapy enough. 

You don’t make a big deal out of it this time around. You don’t shut down and bawl into your hands while he hugs you. You don’t hide in your room and choose isolation for weeks instead of going out and finding someone new to hook up with. 

You just stand up and head to the bathroom. You turn the shower on and let the room fill with steam while you pump face wash into your palm. “If that’s what you need, I won’t fight you on it.” 

“I still want you in my life,” Jack tells you. 

You stare at his reflection for a few seconds with pure confusion. “I can’t be your friend,” you tell him. You get back to scrubbing the makeup and sweat from your face while an even more confused Jack lingers behind you. 

“Well, why not?” 

“Because we have sex and we were really close to getting into a relationship.” 

“Can we try?” 

“To be friends or get into a relationship?” 

“What do you want?” 

“For you to make up your mind,” you state. “But whatever you want, I guess. I don’t want anything happening to you because you lost your favorite fuck.” 

Jack makes a sound that closely resembles a dying hyena. “What does that even mean?” 

“That I’m the girl you love to fuck the most. You know, among all the other women you fuck.” 

“Don’t say fuck,” he admonishes. 

“Sorry,” you laugh. “Shall I say, make love?” 

Jack groans and presses his body against your back. “You’re not a favorite fuck. There’s also not a million other women I have sex with. You’re the only one.” 

You bend down to wash your face off and try to fight off the lump in your throat. You want to ask him why he’s struggling so hard to commit to you when he enjoys your presence. And, it’s only you he has in his house and his bed. 

Figuring that out will probably give you a massive headache, so you choose to brush it off and accept whatever offer he throws at you.

“Your shift starts soon,” you say as you wipe your face off. “You should go.” 

He nods and slowly backs out of the bathroom. He doesn’t kiss you or tell you goodbye. He just grabs his stuff off the bedroom floor and walks out. 

Week 1 of the Situation. Jack. 

Jack can’t stop rubbing his chest as he makes the short drive back to his apartment. He’s had to pull over a few times to assess his symptoms and track everything he’s consumed in the past twenty-four hours. 

He takes note – for the fifth time – that he hasn’t had too much beef jerky or consumed copious amounts of caffeine or fatty foods. All he can think about is the consuming guilt from watching the fed-up expression on your face when he told you he couldn’t commit. 

He knows he can’t keep doing this to you. At one point, he has to let you go so you can find someone who can give you what you want. Someone who doesn’t think twice about settling down with you. Someone who doesn’t back away when things start to feel entirely too domestic. 

But this is easy for Jack. He doesn’t have to fight his avoidance issues because what you have is casual. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, and you know you should seek someone who will fulfill your deepest desires. He also sticks to this entanglement because even if he doesn’t let himself give you the title of his girlfriend, he has you in most ways: in every room of his home with your clothes shoved into his dresser, your name and face in every app on his phone, and your weird food concoctions littering his fridge. 

Thinking about this only worsens the guilt that shoots through his chest. Jack keeps whispering, “I know I need to stop. She’s right, it was almost a relationship, I need to leave,” but he also knows he won’t go through with it. 

Jack parks his car in front of his place and takes himself to the front door. As he pushes his key into the doorknob, he hears rustling and heels clacking against the floor. The movement doesn’t completely faze him, but what does are the heels he clearly hears – and sees – when he steps inside. 

You’re running across the house like a chicken with its head cut off. You’re throwing things into your bag, running into his room, then reappearing with something else he can’t really see. You’re mumbling to yourself while you’re doing this, too, and it’s mesmerizing.

Jack kicks off his shoes by the door and watches you scramble to get your life together without thinking much. He doesn’t even question why you’re ready for work when you’re usually lounging in the living room with a cup of coffee on Saturday mornings. 

“Why are you staring at me?” you question, annoyance loud in your tone. 

He shrugs and pushes himself off the door. “You look good, is all,” he tells you as he walks up beside you. 

You scoff and continue to search through your bag for the fiftieth time in less than five minutes. “Have you seen my cool headphones? Where are they? I can’t find them.” 

“Cool headphones? The big bulky ones?” he asks, trying to make himself useful so you don’t kick him out of his own home. 

“No,” you tell him and stomp into the living room. “The cool ones.” 

“You have to be more specific.” 

You groan and fall back into his couch cushions. “The ones you got me for Christmas.” 

“The Koss headphones?” Jack exclaims, finally understanding what you’re referring to. He quickly goes into the living room and grabs the small basket beneath the coffee table. It’s full of all the things you leave between the couch cushions and scattered across the kitchen island. He throws them onto your lap with a quiet ‘here.’ “I forgot to tell you that I put them in there. All of your CDs and books and stuff.” 

You sit up and softly pat his cheek, then jump off the couch to shove them into your purse. Jack runs a hand over his mouth to smooth out the forming smile and follows behind you. As you’re going through the checklist of things you need – half of which aren’t required in a copy editing office – Jack nuzzles up behind you. His nose is nudging the shirt that’s loose against your shoulders and inhaling your musky perfume. 

“Stay a bit longer. What about breakfast?” 

You groan against his grasp but give up on moving. “You were late for breakfast, and I wasn’t going to be late to work because of it.” 

Jack moves an arm from around your body and checks the time on his watch. “Fuck,” he groans, and the same pain he experienced in his chest a couple of minutes ago returns. “I’m sorry. My shift ran long, and I had to pull over a few times cause of some pain. I should’ve called or texted.” 

You spin around and grab his shoulders, studying his face and the way his chest rises and falls. “Are you okay? Were you hurt at work, or was it your leg? I told you to take more breaks if you’re going to be working longer shifts.” 

Jack rolls his eyes and tries stepping away from whatever assessment you’re making. However, you pull him back and give him a stern look that forces him to stand still. “It’s just some chest pain. It’s probably heartburn.” 

“It was that bad?” you ask. 

He shrugs. “I’ll live. It was worse a bit ago.” 

You rub his chest and offer an empathetic smile, then move around him and immediately open the fridge. “I’m making you something to help with it. I left a couple of things in here a while ago when I had bad chest pain.” 

“It’s fine,” Jack tells you, but he doesn’t go out of his way to stop you. He’s always liked the way you take care of him when he’s under the weather. You come up with these teas and soups your mother used to make for you when you were in the same situation. You will apply creams and ointments to his aching leg or to his nose and chest when he’s sick. It feels nice when he’s the one always taking care of other people. 

You set a glass in front of him two minutes later and say, “Drink up.” 

“Is it bad?” 

You shake your head. “Be a big boy and drink it. And be fast, I have to go.” 

He chugs the drink and raises a brow when he’s done. “Thank you,” he tells you, then sets it down on the counter with a loud ‘clink.’ “Do you really have to go? Or can you give me just a few minutes?” 

You roll your eyes at him and pull your purse on. “I have to leave, but what do you need?” 

Jack throws you a smirk. “A quickie…” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why?” he cries. “I’ll be fast.” 

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his stomach. “I know you can be, but I’ve been late a couple times this past month – because of you, might I add – and I can’t be late again. Especially if it’s just for sex that I’ll definitely have at some point this week.” 

“Ouch,” Jack hisses, then pinches your sides. “I don’t like rejection.” 

You crinkle your nose at his remark and pull away with a little shove. “I don’t like rejection either,” you say. You grab your lunch bag and water bottle sitting on the table and rush over to the door. You take your keys off their designated hook and open the door. Before you leave, you look back at him leaning against the kitchen island, happily looking at you – and your ass in your work pants. “You should have some of the yogurt I bought with a bunch of fruit instead of eggs and bacon. Even if the bacon isn’t as fatty, it might make your heartburn worse. I also can’t make it after work, but I’ll send over some meal prep ideas that won’t kill you. Please make them. You never cook.” 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Have a good day, pretty.” 

You nod and rush out of the door, locking it behind you. 

When Jack can hear you peel out of his driveway, he takes a minute or two to release the air in his lungs that he couldn’t exhale while he was talking to you. He drags his hands over his face, pressing his thumbs into his eyes again—as if, by pushing hard enough, he could flip a switch inside his brain and completely give himself to you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he tells himself. He grabs the glass on the counter and lifts it, moving it up and down and thinking about how something used to be there. Something you made for him because you were worried. “I wonder who the lucky person is who gets to spend forever with her.” 

Jack doesn’t do anything for the rest of the day until you send over a few meal prep ideas. 

Sweetie: Make at least one of the meals I sent. If I come over and there’s nothing in your fridge, I will send you to a nursing home.

Week 3 of the Situation. Jack. 

Jack’s annihilating alarm jolts him awake from a peaceful dream you starred in. 

Your head was in his lap, and he was toying with your earlobes while you talked to him about office drama. He was watching you from above, and you had to stop a couple of times to giggle because the look on his face was too smitten with your appearance. 

This has happened twice now, and it’s getting ridiculous. He only has dreams about you when you can’t spend the night at his place. So far, it’s been five times. 

Five times since last week. 

Jack turns and groans into your pillow. “What the fuck?” he exclaims. 

He doesn’t quite understand the reasoning for his change in attitude towards his incredibly flawed relationship with you. It’s only been three weeks since he told you he couldn’t have a serious relationship, and it has been gnawing on every single part of his body. 

Some days, his chest will hurt, other days it's his leg – even if it’s only been one hour into wearing his prosthetic and hasn’t stood up long enough – and some days, like today, it’s his head. Even though he just woke up, his head is already throbbing, and he knows he’ll have to take a fifteen-minute break at work to shut his eyes and pray the headache away. 

At first, he thought it was from the guilt after he broke the news, but now it’s the discovery that you’re becoming okay with his decision to be casual. 

Jack has noticed that you have skipped on sleepovers, dinner dates, and weekly grocery shopping, where you act as his dietitian for an hour or two. You might have helped him out with meal prep and his so-called ‘heartburn’ two weeks ago, but since then, you have only been around for one sleepover and breakfast date. If he’d even call it that, considering it was eating fast food breakfast in his car before the cut-off time. 

You also only have sex with him and then turn away from him afterwards. You don’t cuddle him like you used to or kiss him all over as a ‘thank you’ for the good head and intense positions. You just hug yourself and drift off to sleep.

Jack sits up on his bed and turns the lamp on. Then he grabs the pen and journal sitting on his nightstand and flips it open to the third page. The first two pages are just about the weird dreams he had after taking melatonin because he wanted to see what you thought about them. 

On the third page, he writes about this dream. Every single thing that happened from start to finish as it’s fresh on his mind. He wants to read it the next time you cancel plans, so he won’t have to make that drink again. 

Week 5 of the Situation. Jack. 

Jack is on the roof with a black leather journal in his hand when Robby finds him. He’s behind the railing, leaning against the iron as he reads another dream entry. 

“I thought you went home,” Robby says, pressing his side against Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack shuts his journal and shoves it between his armpit. “I was going to.” 

Robby stares at his miserable composure and hums. “What’s been up with you recently? I keep getting word from the night shift that you’ve been off your game.” 

“Not off my game,” Jack mumbles. 

“So everyone down there is lying for the fun of it?” 

He shrugs. “I’ve just been having…  romance problems…” 

“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that,” Robby says as he squishes his chin between his fingers. “I thought you and your girl were okay. Wasn’t she okay with you going casual?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is she not taking it well?” 

Jack scoffs and drops his head. He pushes his body against the railing and peers down at the ledge. “She is taking it well. More than well.” 

Robby doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Jack for a minute or two, studying the way the crease between his eyebrows has gotten deeper since he told him about the change in his relationship flow a month ago. He hasn’t ever seen Jack like this, and it’s astonishing. 

“Show me the journal,” Robby says.

“No way,” Jack answers. 

“Show me the damn journal,” he says again, his voice hard and scary and too similar to the tone he uses with Gloria, or the new intern he can’t seem to like. 

Jack grunts a few curse words and slams the journal into Robby’s palms. “Just don’t read it out loud.” 

Robby opens the journal and glances over the first two pages. It doesn’t matter much to him that Jack had magically grown his leg back like a starfish. What draws his attention are the pages after. 

It’s a dream about you and Jack on a vacation after he asked you to be his girlfriend. You were dipping your feet in the sand while Jack fed you apple slices coated in caramel. Jack couldn’t stop kissing you and telling you how much you meant to him. He was being open and vulnerable about his feelings, and you were happy to be there. 

Jack retold the entire dream and ended it with the time and date like he usually did with the previous entries. The only difference was that he added something else after. 

I don’t want to say that I don’t know why I keep dreaming about you. The truth is, I know why. 

I don’t like the way you keep pushing me away after sex. I don’t like that you keep pushing me away when I want to kiss you. I don’t like the way you’re pulling back the way that I always do. I now understand how it feels, and it is absolutely killing me. 

I don’t think I deserve to feel the way I do because I chose this. I wanted this. I wanted you in my life, in my bed, in every single corner of my house, but I did not want to label it because it would make it all too real. I would have to burden you with my every thought and past trauma, and I don’t want to ruin you. You are too perfect for me. 

This past month has terrorized me from the inside out. I can’t sleep, eat, work out, or perform emergency surgery without thinking about you. I can’t function because you cancelled our plans. I can’t function because I won’t stop thinking about you, finding the one person who has beaten me to loving you forever. 

I can’t let you go, and I need to get my shit together. 

Robby doesn’t read past the second-to-last entry. He shuts the journal and gives it back to Jack. “I suggest you work this out and tell her how you really feel… Before you end up accidentally killing a patient.” 

“What if she doesn’t want me anymore and is just trying to find a way to seriously end this?” 

“I think she does want you, but she’s pulling away so she won’t get hurt again.” 

Jack nods and thanks Robby as he goes back to the chaos downstairs. When the door closes, he grabs onto the iron bar and bends down to cross over to the ledge. But then he receives a notification from his phone. 

He pulls out his phone, and your name pops up on his screen. 

Sweetie: I used the spare key to come in last night. I wasn’t a fan of my bed and missed yours. Hope that’s okay. 

Sweetie: I made banana pancakes with your mushy bananas. They’ll be warm when you get back. 

Jack: I’ll be there soon. Thank you, pretty. 

Jack shoves his phone into his pocket and steps away from the ledge. He doesn’t know when he’ll end up telling you how he feels, but he plans on brainstorming on his way to see you. 

Week 7 of the Situation. Jack.

Jack doesn’t exactly tell you how he feels in the most obvious way. He doesn’t sit down with you and explain that he no longer wants to do casual and that he’s ready to commit and work on himself as long as that’s what you want, too. 

No, he does this in a way that only makes sense to himself. He tracks the food you bring into his house and stocks it before you have the chance to replace it. He takes this method to the bathroom, where you keep a handful of your skin and body care – an amount that used to be larger, but you took half back to your place after week two of your arrangement. Jack also tries to cook, even when you’re not around to watch him, partially because it’s getting fun, but also because it avoids your lectures on keeping himself healthy. 

The most obvious method of his deeply flawed plan to win you over is begging for your presence whenever you mention having some free time. 

“Come over, even if it’s for an hour.” 

“Since you don’t have to go into the office for the next two days, how about you come and stay at my place. You like my bed more anyway.” 

“I saw a new coffee shop on my way home. Let’s go tomorrow when I get off my shift.” 

“If you’re free this Sunday night, we should get margaritas at that place you love.” 

Sometimes it works, other times, it fails. He keeps track of that, too. 

Recently, you’ve been going out more without an explanation of where you’re going. You’ll just say, “Sorry, I have plans this weekend.” 

Jack will ask, “Oh, is it with that one friend that moved back to Pittsburgh from New York?” 

You’ll shake your head and look away from him. You’ll scratch your head or fiddle with your earlobes while saying, “No, another friend. You don’t know them.” 

Jack won’t ask questions anymore because frankly, he doesn’t want to know. Your inability to look at him when giving him an answer is an answer within itself. He just doesn’t want to believe that you’re taking the casual thing seriously. 

He knows he should chill out with his excessive acts of kindness now that he knows you’re dating, but he does the complete opposite. 

A day ago, you were lying in Jack’s bed, staring at the ceiling while he got ready for his double shift. He was covering for Robby while he took care of some personal matters, and hated him for it because it was taking him away from you.

“What are your plans for the night?” he asked as he slid on a long-sleeve shirt. 

“Nothing much. I think I’ll go for a run and then go home to answer a few emails.” 

“So, no going out tonight or tomorrow?” 

“No, just staying in. Why?” 

“Can you be here when I get back tomorrow?” 

“You’ve been wanting to spend more time with me, recently. Is everything okay?” you asked. 

Jack shrugged, trying to dust off the fear that previously weighed on his shoulders. He was worried you’d say that you did have plans, and wouldn’t be able to spend time with him – again. “Yeah, I just want to see you more. Is that okay?” 

You didn’t know what to do with your body – whether to dramatically raise your shoulders, purse your lips or sink back into his mattress – so you just looked into his eyes to figure out what was really up with him. He was a bad liar, and you could feel it in your bones that he was choosing not to tell you something. 

“I guess it’s okay.” 

Jack walked up beside you and placed his hands on both sides of your face. He bent down and kissed your forehead, then lingered above your lips before placing the softest kiss on your mouth. “We can order some food, watch a show, or a movie.” 

“Or I can cook.” 

“Or I can cook,” he told you. 

You lifted your head and kissed him again. “No. I’ll cook, and it’ll be warm for you when you get back.” 

“I’ll be here at eight, alright?” 

When he got back from his shift, he was indeed welcomed by a bowl of chicken pasta with half of the greens section at the grocery store. He didn’t mind, though, because it was incredibly delicious. 

Now, he’s sitting on the couch with you pressed against his side, arms wrapped around his bicep with enough force to nearly cut off his circulation. You put on a horror movie about forty-five minutes ago and it’s more gory than anything. You can typically handle horror movies, but this one is on another level. 

“We should probably switch the movie,” he tells you with a chuckle. 

“Just pause it and turn on the lamp. You shouldn’t have turned off the lights.” 

“You asked me to!” he exclaims with a laugh. 

You cling to him as he pauses the movie and turns on the living room lamp. Then you almost climb onto his lap as you try not to recount the scenes you just watched. “Can I spend the night?” you ask him, hands shaking against the groove of his bicep. 

He kisses the top of your head and hums in approval. “Of course you can.” 

You sit in silence with him as you forget about the chopped off limbs and the crazy jump scares you couldn’t prepare for. He rubs your hand and continues peppering your head and temples. 

Jack thinks about replicating this moment until his deathbed. Maybe without you clinging to him like a koala over a mediocre horror film, but holding you and vice versa after long days and nights or simply just because. 

He thinks about what Robby told him two weeks ago: “I suggest you work this out and tell her how you really feel… I think she does want you, but she’s pulling away so she won’t get hurt again.” 

Jack realizes this is the perfect time for him to spill his guts.

His heart starts racing, and the sharp pain he experienced a month ago returns. He grunts and shifts his body so that he’s facing you, but your hands are still clinging to him. “I think we need to talk,” he whispers to you. 

You nod, and for a second, your face loses its cool. You go from being scared to shut your eyes to worried that you’ll be kicked out in the next five minutes. “Is this too much?” you ask him immediately. 

Jack profusely shakes his head. “No! No, it’s not too much. It’s actually the opposite. I really enjoy this,” –  he signals between you two and the way you were trying to step into his skin,  “And I want it to keep going.” 

You slowly nod. “Okay… So what do you want to talk about?” 

“There is a reason why I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you. I want you around for –” 

A series of notifications fills the air, and you and Jack both turn towards your phone that illuminates on the coffee table. The first notification is from someone named Daniel, and the other two are from Hinge. 

Jack looks at you once the screen fades to black and nearly chokes on a breath, realizing he hasn’t actually been breathing. “Uhm, so, actually, don’t worry about it,” he tells you as he pulls away. He grabs your hand and sets it on your lap, then takes the empty bowls and forks and stands to discard them in the sink. 

“Are you mad?” you ask him. 

He’s glad he isn’t looking at you, because he’d probably let go of the tears burning his tearducks. “I wish you had told me is all.” 

“Told you that I’m on dating apps?” 

“Yeah,” he says in a wobbly tone. He drops the dishes in the sink and turns the water on as hot as it can go. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You stand and rush over to the kitchen. You turn on the lights and walk up beside him, staring at the way he hisses when the steaming water settles on his skin for too long. “I didn’t think it mattered,” you tell him. “I thought you couldn’t do a serious relationship, so I wasn’t going to waste my time waiting on you to figure yourself out.” 

Jack shuts off the water and turns to face you. His wet hand grips the counter for some kind of stabilization. “I’m not saying you’re in the wrong. I know I was being an asshole, and I understand why you wouldn’t want to wait.” 

“So then what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that you should have told me you were on dating apps.” 

You roll your eyes and let out a broken laugh. “Why should I have told you? So that you could have a reason to join them, too, and find the next person to terrorize for a year?” 

Jack drags himself away from you and stumbles against the floor like he’s just been shot. “I don’t want to be on dating apps,” he mutters and pulls himself to the living room. He sits down and stares at the moving screen that has shifted from the paused movie to a bunch of paradise vacations. 

You follow him and stand at the edge of the couch, a couple of cushions away. “So what do you want?” you reply in the same tone and cadence. You wipe at your face even though your tears haven’t fallen, and bite down on your lip to stop it from wobbling. 

Jack doesn’t answer. He looks at anything but you. “I think it’s best that you leave tonight. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“No,” you tell him as the first tear falls. 

“I just need some time.” 

“What were you going to tell me?” 

“It’s not important.” 

“I know you’re lying,” you say. You move closer and closer, pushing him to the edge so he can admit to whatever he’s hiding. “Jack, just tell me. Please.” 

“Go home, pretty. I’m not the one you want.” 

“You don’t know what I want!” you cry out, painfully loud. “You’re jealous about this man you know nothing about and upset that I’m on dating apps, but you literally told me you couldn’t commit to me. I just don’t get it. Do you want me or not?” 

Jack covers his face and tugs at the curls bordering his forehead. He can feel a piece of his world collapse, and as much as he wants to grab whatever he can before it gets away from him, he just sits and cries into his hot palms. 

“I don’t think it matters what I want anymore,” he tells you. “There is someone on your phone begging for you and can probably give you exactly what I can’t.” 

You kneel in front of him and rest your hands on your thighs. “I know that you want to be with me, I just need you to tell me,” you plead. “You don’t have to lie, and you know I would love to be official with you. I’ve told you this a handful of times. But it’s getting tiring, and I can’t stick around for you. So if you want me to leave, I’ll leave, but I’m not coming back.” 

Jack looks up from his palms and at your wet face. His red eyes meet yours – stained with mascara and the soft eyeliner you’ve rubbed off. He needs to say something. He needs to admit that he wants you and he is willing to be vulnerable in exchange for your infinite presence. The issue is, he can’t get over how much distress he has caused you. He was wasting your time and doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you again if he decides to commit and comes across some turmoil along the way. He’d much rather you find peace, even if it means with someone else. 

“I want you to leave,” he whispers. 

You wipe your tears and nod. You stand and head to his bedroom, where you collect your things and throw them into the large basket you stole from the coffee table. You re-enter the living room and glance at Jack’s folded position. 

You think of saying something, but decide that silence is better than adding to the fire. 

You step into your shoes by the door and grab your keys. Then you leave. 

When your presence is completely gone, Jack falls back onto the couch and sobs into his hands. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says to himself, over and over again. “You were supposed to patch things up, and now look at what you’ve done.” 

When his crying died down, Jack put his shoes on and went down to the corner store a couple of blocks away from his place. He bought a bottle of cheap whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. 

He hadn’t smoked in nearly two decades, but his body was falling apart every second, so smoking was the least of his worries. 

Jack smoked two cigarettes in front of the shop, then gave the pack to someone asking to bum a smoke. 

He chugged half the bottle of whiskey on his way back home and then fell asleep on his couch, right where you had lain an hour ago. 

Week 8 of the Situation. You. 

You were on a date with Daniel, a high school teacher who taught biology. He had just taken you to his school’s elite science fair, where you judged a bunch of fifteen-year-olds' complex projects. It was unlike other science fairs you had been to, where everyone was in third grade, showing off the projects their moms helped them with. It was more like robotics, but with less computer science.

“It feels wrong judging children,” you say between bites of a vegetarian burger. Squash has replaced the meat, and you’re not quite sure you like it. You swallow it down without much chewing and continue with your words. “It feels better when you’re judging adults.” 

Daniel laughs and bites down on a tofu fry. “How come?” 

“We have experienced more rejection than they have.” 

“Huh,” he says with a shrug. “Now that you say that, I might have to drop out of the next science fair.” 

You laugh. You try to find something else to say to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind. You let Daniel ramble about the next science project he’s going to give his students. You listen, but you don’t really keep up. You just know that you’d hate him as a teacher, and glad you’re in your thirties rather than in your teens. 

Daniel talks for another thirty minutes during the date. You push your food around the plate and think about what it’d be like going on a date with Jack. He would ask you what you’re craving, and then find a place that matches that. He wouldn’t force you to eat at a place that didn’t pique your interest – even though you’d tell him he should choose a place he liked, too. 

Jack would also never spend the entire date talking about himself. He would find a way to insert you, and then spin the entire conversation so you spend the next hour or two talking about yourself. 

Daniel is the opposite. After the science fair, he asked if you were hungry, then said, “Same. I’m craving his vegetarian spot in the city, let’s go.” 

You weren’t mad, just annoyed. You didn’t exactly want to eat squash covered in a million seasonings and deep-fried just to make it feel like chicken for half a second. You also didn’t want to sit in silence while a man talked your ear off about humiliating teenagers in front of their peers. 

You zone him out until your waitress comes to the table with a confused look on her face. “Hi! I wanted to ask if you know someone named Jack. He’s at the front and won’t stop pointing at you. He says he has an emergency that requires your help.” 

You look at Daniel, who’s just as puzzled as you and the waitress are, and turn into a stuttering mess. “I do know a Jack… I just don’t know what would be an emergency. Uhm… yeah, just tell him I’ll be right there.” 

The girl nods and rushes back to the front of the restaurant. 

Daniel laughs a bit and asks, “Is that your ex or something?” 

You shake your head. “No. He’s just… I don’t know. He’s my Jack?” you say, and immediately regret calling him yours. “I mean – We never labeled it, and we cut things off last week. He’s been texting me, but I don’t answer. I guess he thought I was dead.” 

“Why would he think that?” 

“I usually always reply even when we’re rocky,” you say, then grab your bag and get up from the table. “I have to go, though. Thank you for the meal.” 

You walk to the host stand, where Jack is, rocking back and forth. He oogles you despite you only wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans. It’s nothing special, yet he is completely enamored. 

You grab his hand and say a quick ‘thank you’ before dragging him out of the restaurant and into the nearly empty parking lot. You quickly find his car and stomp over to it, where you push Jack against the back door. 

“What the hell?” you seethe. “Why did you show up here? And how? Who the hell told you?” 

Jack lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, let me explain.” 

“No! I thought we ended this. And now you’re showing up to this date unannounced like some sort of stalker. Are you insane? Should I call the –” 

“I love you,” Jack breathes out, cutting off your rambling. 

“Fuck you,” you spit. 

Jack shakes his head and sets his hands on your shoulders. “I love you. I really do. I tried telling myself that what I was feeling wasn’t real. That I just wanted more sexual intimacy or something, but that was all a lie. I have been depriving myself of you because I thought I would ruin you by being open and raw.”

“You wouldn’t ruin me,” you whisper. 

“I know that now. I have spent the past week thinking back on every single conversation we’ve had, and I finally realized that I have been making decisions without asking how you really felt. I haven’t even asked you what I could do better, and I am a fucking idiot for that. I am so sorry, pretty.” 

You grab his face and press a wet kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you say between desperate brushes of your lips and tongues. “You would never ruin me by telling me how you feel. You would never ruin me by telling me what led you to this version of yourself. Do you hear me?” 

Jack brushes his forehead against yours and releases a shaky exhale from the depths of his lungs. His tense shoulders drop, and he melts into the hug you’re pulling him into. “I’m sorry that I’ve spent a whole year just dragging you along. I know that it’s been extremely painful for you. I will spend every single day of my life making it up to you.” 

“Thank you,” you say, and shut him up by strengthening the hug until he releases the last few tears hiding in his eyes. “I accept your apology.” 

Jack chuckles against your head. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he mumbles. 

“What?” you exclaim and pull back. “Even if I was just on a date with someone?” 

“Did you like him?” 

You shake your head. “Not really.” 

“Then I don’t care,” Jack replies. “Be my girlfriend, please. I’ll even beg on my knees.” 

“Don’t,” you say and swat at his chest. “I will be your girlfriend, Jack.” 

“Finally,” a voice says behind you. Daniel. 

You turn right before you go into another series of kisses with Jack, and pull him into your chest as if it’ll hide him from the man you were just inside with. “Daniel! I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I’m just glad this happened right after the first date and not after we married or something.” 

You cackle. “Oh, okay. Very confident man, you are.” 

“I hope this goes well for you two.” 

“Thanks, man, have a good night,” Jack tells Daniel, then returns to look at you, who’s a laughing, dying mess. “Him, really?” 

“I don’t know. I was a bit sad when he asked for a date.” 

“You won’t have to worry about dates with men who take you to vegetarian places ever again,” Jack says against your lips. “Unless that’s what you want, then I guess I’ll accept. But you did just agree to be my girlfriend, so I hope the answer is no.” 

“I want you,” you tell him. 

“Then it’s settled. You’re mine, and I’m yours forever. Even if I’m a bit fucked up.” 

“Even if we’re a bit fucked up,” you echo. 

[thykingdoncome]

his best girl

part one | part two | part three | masterlist | ao3

jack abbot x reader, michael robinavitch x reader

summary: You’re Robby’s favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn’t hesitate to offer you up. Jack takes you home, and the lines you thought were drawn in the sand start to blur.

|| smut MDNI 18+ angst, heavy flirting, free use kink, cuckholding, widower!jack, annoying!robby lol, arguing, possessive behavior, reader does not act like she ought to in this fair warning, pinv, fingering, dirty talk, pet names like baby / sweetheart, mama dana as always, mentions of blood and needles (v brief), complicated feelings, eating and also forgetting to eat, im gonna be so real neither reader or jack are all that well behaved in this, mentions of langdon x reader, , mateo x reader & crus x reader 👀, canon suicidal ideation, fainting, mentions of jack's prosthesis, jack is a little bit of a soft dom here || a/n: first time writing these characters please forgive me !! jack has been the hardest by far to write for me but I hope I made you proud lol I did one good read over / edit of this so !!! im sorry if there's mistakes!! wc: 12k sorryyyyy I got carried away!

“You’re looking mighty proud, Dr. Langdon,” you sang as you stepped into the locker area, fresh off the elevator from hospice care.

You often visited them upstairs. Around a year ago you found it actually helped to see the people that would feed you, keep you sane, and talk to you some of the hardest days. At first you avoided it, would get nauseous just thinking about stepping onto the fifth floor. But over time you realized how much they had been there for you. And now, between Robby and his attendings and residents, and the nurses and doctors upstairs… you really had a community here.

It was still early morning. You’d hitched a ride with Robby on his motorcycle, your hair still a little messy from the helmet now shoved into one of the lockers. The ED was shifting between night and day crews, tired nurses drifting toward the doors with bags over their shoulders while fresh coffee smell started creeping in from the lounge.

When the elevator doors opened, you spotted Frank heading towards you from the opposite end of the hallway.

There was a real smile spread across his face when he looked up at you. Not his usual tired little shy grin you'd gotten used to seeing the past month or so he'd been back for. It warmed your cheeks to look at him like this. Bright enough it immediately caught your attention as he walked past with something close to a bounce in his step, one hand hooked around a Red Bull already cracked open.

“Hey, you,” he chuffed a laugh, ducking his head with a shrug, “yeah—I mean—”

Another breath left him quick through his nose, eyes lit up despite trying to hide his pride.

You turned towards him as he passed, and he did the same—the two of you circling each other through the narrow row of lockers. He grabbed something from inside his and shut it again with his hip, taking another sip of his energy drink and still smiling.

You paused, smiling widely up at him, "Tell me."

He looked so handsome like this: glowing, forehead a little shiny with dappled sweat, tips of his hair hanging in front of his pretty blue eyes.

“I, uh…” he smiled again, almost disbelieving, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just did a reduction on a diaphragmatic rupture.”

Your smile dropped instantly, eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

"You know what that is?"

“I mean, Robby told me about it—holy shit, Frank.” You stared at him, lost for words for a second before going on. “I read about one in last month’s Emergency Medicine Journal that Robby gets, and he kinda explained it to me, ya know, in civilian terms.”

Frank nodded, still trying and failing to hide how pleased he was with himself. “Sixteen year old kid,” he said. “Dirt bike accident. Came in satting like shit. Everybody thought tension pneumo at first.”

"That must've been so intense."

“First night shift since I've been back and I’m apparently supposed to go home and sleep after that somehow.”

“Says the guy drinking a Red Bull.”

He looked down at the can in his hand like he’d forgotten he was holding it, laughing quietly before taking one last swig before turning and tossing the can into the trash across the room.

"How are you?" he asked, turning back to you.

You leaned back against the lockers, letting out a long sigh.

"I…" you pursed your lips. "I'm fine. Probably not as good as you are at the moment." it was meant as a tease, a joke, but came off a little sadder than you meant.

He tilted his head, the smile easing from his mouth as his eyes moved over your face more carefully. “Wanna talk about it?”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him a little. Always attentive, Frank Langdon was. Always patient enough to stand and wait for you to say what you meant, even when you didn’t really want to.

“Not really. Just…” You looked down, folding your arms over your chest. “Not sleeping super well.”

Partial truth. The other half of it was something you weren't entirely sure how to name. You couldn't put your finger on this feeling wriggling around in your head the past few weeks.

Frank nodded, stepping a little closer to you, "You can always talk to me, ya know?"

You looked back up at him, softer now. “I know. Thank you.”

“Mhm.” He leaned a shoulder lightly against the lockers beside you. “Though for the record, I don’t think hanging out upstairs counts much as therapy.”

You laughed quietly through your nose. Of course he knew. “And what does Dr. Langdon prescribe instead?”

“That depends.” His eyes flicked over your face again, brow furrowing in mock concern. “How severe are the symptoms?”

“Hm.” You pretended to think about it, bringing your forefinger up to tap on your chin. “Trouble sleeping, a little irritability. General sense of doom.”

“Ooof,” he nodded seriously. “That’s bad.”

“Mm. Terminal, probably.”

That got another laugh out of him, head ducking for a second before he looked back at you again, something warmer settling into his expression now. He made another face then, one of his thinking faces, though there was a little amusement too.

“What?” you laughed. “What’s that face for?”

“Guess I know how to take your mind off things for a bit, is all.”

“Oh?” your smile widened.

Frank pushed off the locker so he could brace one hand against the locker beside your head, leaning in as he looked down at you. The hallway light caught against the tired lines beneath his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw after too many hours on shift.

“Guess I was just hoping since…” His tongue darted out over his bottom lip absentmindedly. “Since I saved that kid’s life, maybe…”

You smiled slowly, a glint of delight coming back to your eyes. “Do you only save lives so you get rewarded, Dr. Langdon?”

His mouth twitched upward immediately. There was something almost competitive in the way the two of you looked at each other suddenly, both waiting to see who would crack first and say the thing sitting plainly between you. It felt playful. Easy. For one, you were grateful for the subject change. On the other hand, you couldn’t remember the last time Frank flirted this openly with you. Or maybe it was because he usually wasn't so obvious. Though, maybe it was the fact you were laying it on just as thick now.

“Only when I know you’re coming in,” he teased, his voice lowered and warm enough to send heat creeping up your neck.

You lifted an eyebrow, chin tipping up as your eyes dropped to his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to come by more often then. Make sure you’re not neglecting your patients.”

“Guess so,” he murmured.

He leaned closer. Only inches away now, close enough you could smell the fruity aftertaste of Redbull on him, the antiseptic of sanitizer, and lingering scent of his aftershave buried beneath twelve hours of hospital air. You watched with bated breath as he tilted his head, eyelids lowering. He began to dip down toward you, your lips nearly—

"What's goin' on back here?"

Frank pulled back fast, though not completely. His arm still caged you against the lockers. You turned your head toward the mouth of the hallway to find Robby standing there with a stack of papers in one hand, brows drawn tight enough to carve a line between them over his reading glasses.

“Just talking to Dr. Langdon,” you said innocently.

Frank finally stepped back fully under Robby's glare, the warmth of him leaving with it. The confidence he’d had moments ago seemed to drain out of him all at once, shoulders tightening beneath his scrub top.

“Maybe you can let Dr. Langdon get back to work now,” Robby said sharply, pretending to look over the papers in his hands. “West Bridge is rerouting patients to us. Flooding incident. Gonna need all hands on deck.”

“Shit,” Frank muttered, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

But he made no move to leave yet. He just stood in front of you, looking a little out of place suddenly, like he’d gotten caught somewhere between staying and going. You wondered what this past year of meetings and evaluations and drug screenings and apologies had really done to his confidence. If Robby had ever actually sat down and talked to him honestly, or if he’d done what he always did and buried it beneath work until the silence made it impossible to bring up. He sure as hell never wanted to talk about it with you, no matter how gently you'd ask.

The silence stretched.

When the three of you just stood there too long without anyone making a move to leave first, Robby finally spread his arms a little, papers still in hand as he looked between the two of you.

“Now?”

Frank gave a small nod at the dismissal, finally stepping away from you to head down the hallway with him. Robby had already started to turn when you reached out and caught Frank gently by the jaw, your fingers brushing along the stubble there as you turned him back toward you.

“We’ll talk later,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The flush that climbed into his cheeks was immediate, and he brought his hand up to catch at your elbow, giving it a light squeeze. He didn't say anything, but smiled a little, almost sheepish but lighter somehow, like the reassurance settled his nerves even by a fraction.

As you started to follow behind him out into the main open area, Robby suddenly planted a hand against the wall in front of you with a loud smack, cutting you off before you could pass through the doorway.

"What exactly was that?"

"We were just saying hi."

"Hi and a goodbye kiss?" Robby asked sharply.

You shrugged, unbothered on purpose, even as the suddenness of him blocking the doorway made your pulse jump beneath your skin. “You used to like when I flirted with your residents.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Your stare hardened.

“Oh, I see,” you said slowly, folding your arms over your chest. “So there’s suddenly rules now? What else would you like to add?”

“That’s not what I said.” he said, pulling his glasses off and tucking them into his shirt collar.

“No?” You tilted your head, “Cause last I checked, you didn’t exactly mind sharing.”

“Langdon’s different.”

Ah, of course.

“Because he went to rehab?” you asked. “Because before that you had no problem letting me—”

"He's unstable—"

“And you’re not?” you shot back before you could stop yourself.

You saw it in the way his stare sharpened on you, his jaw ticking under his beard as he looked down at you without answering. The morning shift noise carrying faintly from out in the department beyond the archway.

“He’s been back two months,” you said, hissing quietly through your teeth as the irritation grew. “You let him come back. You let him stay. He’s doing everything right and you still look at him like he’s one bad day away from sticking pills in his mouth again.”

Robby shifted the subject, as always. “You seem awfully concerned about him lately.”

And maybe a month ago, you would've backed down. Maybe you would've softened to him, let him steer the conversation away from himself and onto you, but today was different. Hell, the last few weeks had been different. That wriggling in your brain was something ugly, just sitting under your skin since your time with Brendon Park.

You lifted your chin. "What's that supposed to mean?"

“It means,” Robby said carefully, “I don’t think Langdon’s in a position to get attached to things that aren’t his.”

Your eyebrows shot upward and before you could stop yourself, a short disbelieving laugh escaped you.

"Oh my god," you scoffed, "this is about ownership, isn't it? And you're marking your territory."

Robby’s head was already shaking before you finished, one hand pinching briefly at the bridge of his nose. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?" you snapped.

“Like we didn’t already agree to this.” His voice dropped lower still. “To me calling the shots on our… relationship. I think I’ve let you get a little too comfortable lately.”

The word sat strangely between you now. Relationship.

“That’s because, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said, your own voice tightening now, sharpened by defiance, “I’m not your girlfriend. I don’t belong to you. Actually—” you laughed once without humor, “—I don’t belong to anyone.”

Something shifted faintly across Robby’s face at that.

“And also,” you continued before he could cut in, “you agreed to this too. To me flirting. To me choosing sometimes. There was never a problem with it before. And you know what I think?”

Your pulse was beating too hard now. You could feel yourself getting too wound up, too close to saying something you wouldn’t be able to take back. But the irritation sitting under your skin the past few weeks had finally found somewhere to go. You felt petty, and suffocated, and—and—

"I think you are just too prideful to admit you’re more angry at yourself than Frank. Because he fucked up, and somewhere in your head you think that means you—”

"Enough!' he snapped, voice cracking down the center. You both looked at each other for a long time then, silence heavy and stretching until it became harder to look at him directly.

You could feel him looking at you then in a way that made heat creep up the back of your neck, like he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.

“Think it’s time you went home,” he said flatly. "Don't you?"

You held his stare another long second before slowly dropping your arms and smoothing your expression back into something sweet.

“No,” you said softly. “I don’t think so, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Then you stepped around the arm still braced against the wall.

“Think I’ll stay awhile and see what night shift is up to instead.”

The noise of the ED buzzed around you as you walked out into the open area of the desk, the last of your adrenaline flicking through your fingers as you shook them off. Phones rang around you, monitors beeped in an off rhythm, and someone was laughing loud near the lounge, the doors opening and nurses coming in and out. The whole department had that strange early morning feeling to it, night shift hanging on by threads while day shift slowly poured in to replace them, everybody tired in different ways.

Dana was planted in front of the boards, reading glasses low on her nose as she scribbled something down onto a chart balanced against her forearm.

“There she is,” Dana called once she spotted you. She pulled the glasses down fully and opened her arms wide. “Thought maybe Robby chained you to that motorcycle of his or somethin’.”

You snorted, stepping into her quick squeeze before leaning against the desk once she let you go.

“Morning to you too.”

“Mornin’, angel girl.” Dana capped her pen and pointed it at you. “Hey. You busy?”

You opened your mouth to answer before realizing you actually didn’t know. After the weird tension with Robby in the hallway, suddenly the idea of finding somewhere else to be sounded pretty appealing.

“Why?”

“We’re hosting a blood drive downstairs,” she said. “Red Cross is beggin’. Critically low supply again. You should donate if you can.”

Honestly, it sounded perfect. Downstairs, quiet, away from Robby and whatever the hell that conversation had just been.

“Yeah,” you nodded slowly. “Actually that sounds kinda nice. Who's running it?”

“Mateo and Javadi.” Dana narrowed her eyes immediately after saying it. “Nobody’s ever said a blood drive sounds nice.”

You saw her eyes flick over your face and behind you before she handed you the flyer. The paper crackled softly between your fingers as you skimmed over dates and eligibility requirements and little cartoon blood drops smiling in the margins.

As you read over the flyer, your attention snagged suddenly on the feeling of warmth near your shoulder, so close that the fine hairs along the back of your neck lifted before you even turned around. The smell of Irish Spring and coffee suddenly embraced you as a voice said low by your ear:

“Hey.”

The single word slid down your spine.

You turned and found yourself nearly chest to chest with Jack Abbott.

Jesus Christ.

You’d always thought he was handsome, obviously. Everybody did. But up close after a night shift he had this worn roughness to him that somehow made it worse. Dark circles beneath his eyes, jaw shadowed from not shaving for a day or two, black t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. His curly salt and pepper hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times overnight.

His eyes, though, his eyes were focused on you with intent, a small smile pulling the corner of his mouth.

You leaned back against the desk, "Hey yourself."

Amusement flickered across his face, his hands behind his back as he loomed before you as he swayed on his feet, "How are you?"

You couldn't help the way you licked your bottom lip as you inhaled, "Good."

He nodded once, his gaze dropping to your mouth and then over your face slowly enough to make your pulse stumble.

“Good.”

"Oh brother."

You smiled, shoulders dropping at Dana's voice behind you. You could just picture her eye roll as she watched the interaction.

Jack smiled too, barely glancing behind you at all. The thought occurred to you suddenly that he was almost as intimidating as Dr. Park, but an entirely different way. Brendon's attention felt sharp, invasive, like being circled by something dangerous. And with Jack, it felt warm but in a lighter way. Your spine tingled when he looked at you like that—knowing, cheeky even, a twinkle in his eye—your chest pushing out as your flesh lit up in goosebumps, legs beginning to feel wobbly and unstable under his gaze. Where you didn't know Park's intentions when he pierced you with that shark like gaze, you could read almost every thought across Jack's.

"Long night?" you asked.

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “You could say that.”

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

That finally got a real smile out of him, brief but enough to crease the corners of his tired eyes. God, he had a nice smile.

Dana moved around the desk so she could catch your eye as she pointed at you both aggressively with her pen.

“Absolutely not. Nope. I know that look.” She pointed toward the hallway. “Go donate your blood and let this man go home and sleep before he has to be back tonight.”

Jack's gaze never left yours.

“Can’t yet,” he said quietly. “Still got a few patients I need to sign off on. Couple discharges.”

“You’ve been here fourteen hours,” Dana snapped.

“Fifteen,” he corrected absently.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Geez.”

He shrugged one shoulder, swaying a bit in front of you, though there was something almost sheepish about it under your attention now, like he suddenly realized how wrecked he probably looked. His eyes only left yours to look at the flyer behind you.

“Donating?” he asked you.

“Dana’s bullying me into it.”

“Good,” he said simply. "The vampires upstairs in their ivory tower are getting restless."

You laughed softly through your nose while the approval settled warm in your chest in a way that felt embarrassing, considering it was something so silly. Despite whatever hard night it had been, Jack always had a way of lightening the mood, even if it was with terrible jokes.

"Hey, Abbot!" someone called, and Jack’s attention finally pulled away from you and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Dr. Henderson approached from down the hall, ipad tucked beneath his arm, navy scrubs still clean despite the long shift.

"Hey, trouble," he said, nodding his head up to you, his charming gap in his teeth showing as he smiled on his approach.

"Hey, Crus," you smiled, leaning back further against the desk.

Dana made another exhausted little tsk noise as she sidled back behind you at the desk.

Crus looked back at Jack, expression shifting more serious. “Ms. Jones from triage has been waiting ages for that arm x-ray. I’m gonna pull ultrasound down here and clear her myself. No reason for her to sit in this hellhole longer than she needs.”

Jack nodded once. “Cool. See if you can dispo a few more stragglers while you’re at it too so you can get home in one piece.”

Crus nodded, but then paused. So did Jack. There was a bit of an awkward silence.

"Anything else?" Jack asked, eyebrows raised.

Crus glanced down at you, smile turning cockier. “Just wanted to say hello to my pretty friend here.”

“You already said hi,” you teased.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jack's jaw ticking.

“What’re you doin’ after this?” Crus asked.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Dana cut in sharply. “Get your butt downstairs before I gotta start carryin’ around a god damn yardstick to beat these brutes back.”

You stood quickly, grabbing the flyer from her again and turned to Crus, "If you happen to be here when I'm done, I'll come find you."

He smiled even wider at that.

You glanced at Jack then with a little wink before turning away without waiting for anything from him. The last thing you caught was the pursed set of his mouth, his eyes narrowed faintly at your back.

The thing about Jack Abbot and you…was, well, that there was nothing about you and Jack Abbot at all.

Which was strange, considering there had been something with most of Robby's closest residents and attendings. Not everyone, obviously—but enough that you knew that Jack knew what you were to those around him too. Nobody in the ED was exactly subtle.

And then there was the black ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. The one he twisted absently when he was talking to residents, one he never took off, one that seemed to sit between him and everything else like a hazard sign bolted into concrete. Even if his wife had died years ago.

But Jack was flirty with everyone. That was just who he was. Playful, funny, forever making terrible old man jokes just to get a laugh out of somebody during a hard shift. He liked making you laugh especially. You’d noticed that early on.

And while his stares could make heat creep all the way down your chest and settle into your belly, and looked at you sometimes like he was already halfway through some thought he shouldn’t be having, you also knew he never meant anything by it.

Because he never did anything about it. Ever.

You wondered sometimes if Robby had ever even offered, or if there was some invisible line between the two of them that wouldn’t allow for it. They’d known each other so long they were closer to brothers than coworkers. Maybe there were just certain things you didn’t touch when it came to Jack Abbott. The idea of anything being off limits in Robby's mind made your jaw tick again.

You knew you shouldn't have been so defensive earlier, of Langdon or of anyone else. You did have a nice arrangement with Robby, one that made your mind shut off when he took the reins, an arrangement that made you feel wanted and needed and…

You didn’t even want to think the word.

Loved?

Please.

As if any of this meant anything deeper than helping the staff blow off steam after brutal shifts, letting them forget for a little while about dead patients and screaming families and all the things they carried home. That’s all you were. A cute little distraction around the ED.

And in return, you got to feel like you belonged somewhere. You got to feel like even Robby—

"Juice box?"

You blinked hard and looked up.

A curly headed mop of hair tilted down toward you, warm brown eyes and pretty tan skin and a thick-lipped smile waiting patiently while he held out the little apple juice box toward you.

You smiled automatically, fidgeting in your chair as you reached out to take it. “Thank you, Mateo”

He nodded, dark curls falling around his forehead. “I’m about to head out, but you were lookin’ a little pale over here.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “V’s gonna take over now.”

You glanced toward Victoria Javadi helping someone else tape gauze over the inside of their arm, smiling brightly while she thanked them for donating.

“Cool, yeah,” you nodded quickly, forcing your thoughts away from handsome attendings and complicated arrangements. “Sounds good.”

He paused in front of you, "You good?"

"Mhm, sorry—" you shifted around the reclining chair, "just, tired—I think I was starting to fall asleep."

"…or pass out." he corrected knowingly, "I'll get you a sandwich."

You smiled sheepishly, "Okay, fine, thank you."

He winked before stepping away toward the snack cart, and when he came back a minute later with a wrapped sandwich. Instead of leaving again, he dropped down onto the little rolling stool in front of you.

“Gotta take this out first.” He said, reaching for your arm, his fingers warm against your skin as he peeled the tape back from the crook of your elbow. “Can’t let you wander around the hospital still attached to us.”

You laughed softly, welcoming the touch.

"I uh…" Mateo's eyes flickered towards the doorway before coming back to your arm, "I heard you and Robby earlier."

Your stomach tightened, "Oh."

He still wasn’t looking directly at you, focused instead on removing the needle smoothly before pressing gauze firmly against your arm.

“I just wanna say…” He shrugged a little. “I think you’re right to defend Langdon.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“He’s earned the right to be back here,” Mateo continued quietly. “And I know you…” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Well. You’ve helped me through some pretty shitty days too.”

Your eyes softened. People knew Langdon had gone to rehab, though maybe not everyone knew the full story of what happened a year ago, how ugly it had gotten by the end, or the way everything between him and Robby had blown apart afterward. Still, it made something in your chest ease, knowing there were people here besides you willing to stand behind him.

“That being said," Mateo went on, "I don’t want you thinkin’ people only want you around because of…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, flushing faintly. “You know.”

You smiled, a chuff of soft laughter spilling from you, but you let him go on.

“People actually like you,” he finished simply. “You’re cool as hell to have around.”

You reached out without really thinking about it, hand wrapping gently around his forearm. You weren't sure why that made your throat tighten suddenly as you said, "Thank you."

He smiled back at you before finally securing a rainbow bandaid over the little cotton pad at your arm.

“There,” he patted your elbow lightly, “no heavy lifting.”

Without overthinking it, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck before you could leave, sitting up and bringing him in closer. He hugged you back immediately, warm hands settling against your spine before curling around your waist, holding you against him.

“Don’t let Robby’s shit day stop you from comin’ around here, yeah?” he murmured.

You ducked your face briefly into the side of his neck, warm spice and bergamot filling your senses. Your brain betrayed you immediately with flashes of those same hands gripping your thighs months ago, his mouth against your stomach, the low sound of your name on his tongue.

“Yeah,” you sighed softly.

Then when you finally pulled back and looked over his shoulder, you caught Javadi watching the two of you from across the room. The second your eyes met hers, she looked away sharply, mouth tightening as she threw something into the trash harder than necessary.

Your stomach dipped, and you let go of Mateo quickly after that, standing up and thanking him again before making a fast escape out into the hallway.

By the time you made it back upstairs, the little cotton pad taped to the inside of your eblow was starting to itch beneath the rainbow bandaid, your half-finished juice box crinkling softly in your hand every time you squeezed it. The sandwich Mateo gave you was nowhere to be found now, left forgotten probably on your recliner downstairs while you got distracted spiraling through your own thoughts.

Which, apparently, was becoming a habit lately.

The department had picked up since earlier. Stretchers lined parts of the hallway now, triage louder than before, somebody coughing hard near the waiting room while a monitor alarm chirped steadily from one of the trauma bays. You could smell the burnt, forgotten coffee from the lounge in the air and the floor cleaner by the 'wet floor' sign in the middle of the room.

You slowed near the desk, eyes drifting automatically through the movement around the department.

Mostly looking for Crus.

Partially avoiding Robby.

Which was stupid, because the second you thought it, your eyes snagged on him across the department anyway.

He stood in front of Dennis Whitaker, both hands clutching the tubes of his stethoscope while he listened to the resident presenting. Robby looked exhausted already, dark circles beneath his eyes and a pained look across his face as he stood there.

But then he looked up, the eye contact so sudden it made your stomach dip. His attention was caught on you completely, something shuttering carefully across his face as he forced a neutral expression. Whitaker was still talking, oblivious to the sudden change in his attending's attention, and after a long moment Robby finally looked away, turning his attention back towards the chart in Whitaker's hands.

“Look who survived her heroic blood donation,” Dana called without looking up from the computer.

You wandered toward the desk with a quiet sigh. “Barely.”

Dana snorted.

“Crus still here?”

“Mhm. Went up to radiology with one of the nurses maybe ten minutes ago.” She clicked through a chart before looking at you over her readers, “He’ll wander back down eventually."

Well, you sure as hell weren't going to wait down here for Robby to find you.

“I’m gonna go up,” you muttered.

Dana pointed at you immediately. “You wanna eat somethin’ first?”

You waved her off anyway and headed toward the stairwell before she could mother you any harder. The elevator dinged somewhere down the hall and you glanced toward it hopefully, only to find a crowd of transport staff immediately flooding doors again with a patient bed.

Yeah, nevermind. The stairs it was.

Heading up the stairway corridor, the noise of the ED dulled to muffled echoes behind you, the stairwell smelling of dust and stuffy industrial metallic. The only sound accompanying you the further you got was the sound of your footsteps and heavier breathing.

By the third flight, your legs felt heavy, chest heaving in lungfuls that usually wouldn't have winded you so much. Your head felt a little floaty, and you had to tighten your grip to haul you up onto the next landing. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead while you stood there a second, listening to the distant hum of hospital life vibrating through the walls around you. Somewhere above, a door slammed shut.

Two more to go.

You pushed upward again.

When you finally reached the radiology floor, you stepped out into the quieter hallway with another long breath, smoothing your hair back from your forehead. The halls up here always felt strange compared to the ED—slower paced, colder, less frantic.

Before you closed the door of the stairwell, you glanced back and saw something peculiar.

The door across on the landing was propped open with a towel just next to the small sign bolted to the metal.

ROOF ACCESS AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Why was it open?

Something about it made your stomach do a little dance. It wasn't exactly fear, but maybe curiosity. Worry, even. You knew who liked to spend time on the roof, after all.

You stared at it another second before turning toward it instead of the radiology department. The heavy metal door groaned softly as you pulled it open wider, another narrow staircase stretching upward above you. You glanced back once, making sure the towel still sat wedged near the hinge to keep the door from locking behind you, before starting up.

Your lungs burned with every breath, the climb catching up to you all at once. Cold sweat prickled along the back of your neck beneath your hair, the rooftop shifting faintly beneath your feet when you stopped moving too suddenly.

Too many damn stairs.

The air was still cool for a Pennsylvania morning, late summer clinging stubbornly to the afternoons but finally starting to ease, mornings carrying the promise of fall again. The breeze skimmed over the sweat dampening your skin and raised goosebumps along your arms as you stepped fully onto the rooftop.

And there he was.

Standing near the edge with his beck to you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tan cargos. He didn’t turn around when the door shut behind you, and for a second you wondered if he already knew it was you or if he was just too lost in thought to care.

"What're you doin' up here, Jack?"

His shoulders sagged slightly at the sound of your voice, head dipping forward for a second, chin nearly brushing his chest before he let out a long breath through his nose.

“Thinkin’ about throwin’ myself off,” he muttered.

You walked closer slowly. “Mm. Bit dramatic.”

He huffed a little amused laugh at that, though you couldn't see his face. You stood just behind him at the railing. He was so quiet your chest had started thumping against your ribs. Play with me, you wanted to beg, joke back, please.

Down below, an ambulance siren wailed somewhere out on the street while another backed into the bay beneath you, the sharp beeping echoing upward between buildings. A car alarm chirped a few blocks away before abruptly cutting off.

The city moved on while you stood in silence.

"That bad?" you murmured after a moment.

He looked up at the skyline, "You know...I always liked sunrises more than sunsets. Sunsets get all the attention, but there's nothing like seeing the sun rise again and again. Despite how shit it may seem, it just keeps coming, doesn't it?"

"Like you?"

You maybe shouldn't have said it, but you couldn't help it. You wished he'd just look at you. The nausea twisting in your stomach had gotten worse now, your vision still faintly shaky from the climb, but you kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on the broad line of his back beneath the black cotton stretched over his shoulders.

“Had a little girl this morning,” he said instead of answering you. “Left in a hot tub too long. Came in with burns all over. Her little heart was giving out before we could even get her onto high-flow and start pushing fluids.” He shook his head slowly. “Always the kids, man.”

Your eyes dropped toward the rooftop gravel below your shoes. The ground shifted faintly again and you closed your eyes briefly, fingers clenching together as you leaned harder against the railing.

“Shit,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

"Me too." he whispered, almost too quiet against the wind. "Why are you up here?" he asked, barely glancing back.

But the second his eyes actually landed on you, you saw his expression change. He did a double take to look directly at you, his eyes widening as he took you in.

You opened your mouth to answer him but your vision had gone completely fuzzy. You couldn't hold onto the railing, all your strength feeling like it had zapped from you in a moment's notice.

Oh—

Oh, fuck—

Jack turned fully toward you at the exact moment your knees buckled.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—hey—!”

The world dropped violently sideways before a pair of strong hands caught you hard around the waist and shoulders, hauling you against him. You weren’t even sure how he’d gotten to you that fast, only that suddenly there were two of him swimming in your vision.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack breathed.

Your vision came back in strange pieces. Pink and gray sky, his black t shirt. The feeling of his hand gripping the back of your neck.

“Easy,” he muttered, and somewhere in the back of your mind you felt his thumb softly caressing the column of your throat. “Easy, easy. I got you.”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled automatically.

“Bullshit.”

You could feel his breath against your skin, minty from whatever gum he'd brought with him on his shift. Irish Spring soap flooded your senses stronger than before. His body radiated warmth through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"You donated blood this morning, right?" he said, asking quietly.

"Mhm," you said, closing your eyes for a minute.

Jack closed his eyes briefly like he was physically containing his irritation.

“So you climbed seven flights of stairs after donating blood?” His hand tightened slightly at your waist. “Did you eat anything?”

"Forgot my sandwich. Mateo, he…" you sighed, content in his hold, letting your head rest on his shoulder. "Juice box too."

"Okay, baby, we're gonna get you home."

Baby. Jack had never called you that before. He'd flirted with you, made eyes at you, but never the pet name. And with him holding you so close, your stomach was rolling again, but not from the nausea.

You hummed contentedly, and he held you there for a long moment. When you opened your eyes, he was still staring at you.

"You're right" you said gently.

"Yeah?" he breathed, "Why's that?"

"The sunrise is so pretty."

Jack glanced behind him automatically toward the skyline, the sky dusty blue now with long streaks of pink still dragged through the clouds. Morning light painted the side of his face pale gold when he turned back toward you again.

“Makes you look pretty too,” you added, a faint smile pulling at your mouth.

Jack stared back down at you for half a second before he mirrored the look.

“Okay,” he groaned, carefully easing you upright again while keeping one hand firm at your waist. “Definitely time to get you horizontal before you start hallucinating.”

Jack kept his hand against your waist as he guided you back toward the stairwell, watching you carefully every few seconds like he didn’t fully trust you not to tip over again. The rooftop door whined and slammed shut behind you.

“No more stairs,” he muttered immediately, steering you toward the elevator hall instead.

You smiled faintly. “Bossy.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Eventually you made it back down to the ground floor, the ED exploding with noise once the doors opened. The morning rush had hit, the elderly from the nearby nursing homes being wheeled in quickly and codes being called around you.

Jack reached for your hand, guiding you through quickly. It was warm, rough around the palm, fingers curling firmly through yours.

"I gotta tell Robby—" you tried to say, but as you glanced around looking for him, you saw Robby standing with a gown half on him, gloved hands pulling it over his shoulders as him and a group of others stood around a patient. Jesse was there, cutting off a patient's shirt as they began moving quickly.

"Looks a little busy." Jack muttered.

You looked to the main desk, spotting Dana and calling to her as you approached.

"Can you tell Robby I'm heading home?" you asked, jerking your head to the trauma bay he inhabited, "Jack is gonna take me. I feel like shit."

Something gentled slightly across Dana’s face then, less curious than before.

“Yeah, honey. I got it.” Her eyes flicked over your face once and immediately narrowed. “Jesus Christ, you do look awful.”

Before you could defend yourself, she reached into one of the patient nourishment carts, yanked out a wrapped sandwich, and tossed it directly at you.

Or, well, at your head.

Jack caught it one handed without even looking.

“Make sure she eats the whole thing.” Dana snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack answered, back turned to her.

You laughed quietly under your breath while he tucked the sandwich beneath his arm and started guiding you toward the exit again, still holding your hand.

And then that strange prickling feeling crawled up the back of your neck again. Awareness, a sixth sense someone was watching.

As Jack guided you out the doors, you turned around to peak at the ED one last time, and realized people were watching you.

Dana stood behind the desk now talking quietly to Robby, who had stepped partly out of the trauma room. His gloves were gone now, one hand braced against the doorway while he listened to her, but his eyes stayed fixed on you.

Langdon stood farther down the hall beside a patient room, ipad tucked beneath his arm while an older woman spoke to him from the stretcher. But his attention had drifted completely past her shoulder now, blue eyes caught on you too.

Crus had reappeared near the lockers, backpack slung over one shoulder as he headed toward the opposite exit. He slowed slightly when he saw you.

Even Brendon Park, who hardly ever wandered down here, was halfway down the hall with Yolanda Garcia beside him flipping through imaging on a chart. He had looked up at your departure too.

The whole thing felt suddenly surreal.

All these people.

All these tangled little relationships and secrets and conversations and hands on your body and soft moments everyone knew about.

They were all looking at you, with your hand in Jack's, leaving with him. It made your chest tighten oddly, holding onto his hand harder as he guided you out.

“Better?”

You licked the last crumb from your thumb, crumpling up the plastic sandwich wrapper with a sigh as you leaned back into the passenger seat of Jack’s truck.

“So much better.”

Your head still ached faintly, but with actual food in your stomach now, you finally felt like your body was catching back up to itself. The cold shaky feeling had mostly faded too. When you checked yourself in the visor mirror, there was finally color back in your face instead of that ghostly gray pallor from earlier.

You looked over at Jack with a little smile.

He was already looking at you.

“There she is,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“You finally stopped looking like a Victorian child with TB.”

You snorted a laugh immediately. “But a cute Victorian child, right?”

"Very cute," he said, not yet turning on the car as the two of you settled in to the warm leather seats.

You licked the last bit of salt from your lips and slumped further into the seat, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. He was still looking at you a little strangely.

"What?"

His hazel eyes softened slightly. “You scared me a little up there, y’know.”

“So did you.”

He looked away then, one hand settling onto the steering wheel while you studied him quietly from the passenger seat. The salty shade of his scruff that had grown in, the exhaustion still sitting in his eyes despite the teasing. His wedding ring caught dimly in the morning light where his fingers rested against the wheel.

The police scanner clipped suddenly to life near the dashboard.

“—I 376—multiple vehicle MVC, possible ejection—”

Both of your heads turned automatically toward it.

Jack’s posture changed instantly. It was subtle, but immediate— shoulders straightening, his eyes sharpening as he reached over, the static crackling through the speaker.

“—three critical, one pediatric—”

“Shit—sorry—” he muttered, quickly shutting it off.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, willing the thoughts and the memories from your head. Not now, today was already such a mess. Not now. Your stomach twisted unpleasantly, threatening to send the sandwich right back up again.

“Hey.”

You felt his hand wrap around yours then, only realizing afterward how hard you’d dug your nails into your own thigh.

“Hey,” he repeated softer. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you even have that thing?”

Your eyes cracked open again to see Jack leaning across the center console now, still holding your hand, thumb moving against your knuckles.

“I, uh…” He sighed, glancing down toward the space between you before looking back up again. “I don’t like the quiet.”

"You n' me both," you muttered. "But a police scanner? You couldn't try like, white noise? An audiobook?"

He smiled a little at that, "Boring."

“Right. Well I’m sure your cortisol levels are just phenomenal listening to active disasters all day.” You shook your head slightly. "Not to mention your weekend hobby of being shot at."

That pulled a real smile out of him now, teeth flashing briefly. "My therapist said I needed a hobby."

You rolled your eyes, "And fishing wouldn't have sufficed?"

"Too quiet. You're starting to see my dilemma now."

“Oh, I can think of a few things that could keep your mind occupied better than this.”

The second the words left your mouth, heat rushed up your neck. You rolled your lips together, wishing you could've shut your mouth sooner. Shit.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, his eyes dropping to yours, and then he slid away.

You looked away immediately, staring hard out through the windshield toward the concrete pillars of the parking garage while your stomach twisted itself into knots. You could still feel the warmth of his hand around yours, which somehow only made it worse.

God. You wanted to crawl under the truck.

"You know why I haven't given in?"

You blinked, turning your head slightly. “What?”

Jack tipped his head back against the seat, eyes fixed somewhere up toward the roof of the cab now instead of at you.

“Why I haven’t…” He swallowed once. “Been part of all that. With you.”

Your heart was suddenly lodging itself into your throat.

"No." you whispered.

He looked over at you.

"Same reason why everyone else was looking at you when I was holding your hand as we walked out." he said.

His voice had gone softer somehow, lower now, like he was trying not to say too much and failing anyway. Every word came out careful and quiet enough that it made you want to lean closer just to catch them. You’d never imagined this with him—not really. Not beyond the flirting and the long looks and little moments between shifts. This kind of honesty from Jack Abbott felt almost frightening.

You didn't really understand what the meant by that.

He held your gaze for a long second before looking down at your joined hands still resting near the center console.

“But it’s not—” You tried to laugh lightly, though it came out strained. “It’s just hooking up, Jack. Just blowing off steam.”

He gave you a knowing look, "I don't think so, sweetheart."

Your skin felt hot and as awake as a live wire under his watchful stare—the way he could see it all so clearly, the thing you'd been trying to not name in the past few weeks, the thing that made you spit venom at Robby this morning.

"If I…If we—" He stopped himself, tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip while his jaw tightened. Your heart was hammering in your throat now as he went on: "I'm not exactly built for anything casual."

You tipped your head to look at him, trying to keep your face relaxed, forcing a small smile that you didn't feel, "Jack—"

“I’m serious.” His voice sharpened slightly for the first time since getting into the truck. “I can’t do casual. I’ve never been able to.” He looked away briefly, his mouth opening to inhale like he couldn't catch a steady breath. “And after my wife…”

The cab of the truck suddenly felt too small.

“Since Eve died,” he said carefully, “I’m not really right in the head, sweetheart.”

Your chest twisted at the sound of his honesty, the exhaustion not just from the shift but from whatever he was dealing with inside, whatever all the long nights and the police scanner and the active duty seemed to distract from.

"It doesn't have to be like that," you murmured, turning to fully face him, "We don't have to do anything, I like being friends. I've never asked you to—"

"But fuck," he let out a harsh breath, eyes boring into you, "I want to."

You stared at him for a long moment without blinking. Part of you wanted to change the subject immediately, to laugh it off, to rewind the entire conversation before either of you started saying things that couldn’t really be unsaid. Brendon Park's face suddenly appeared behind your eyes:

Because one day someone’s going to slip up and you’re going to realize it’s a lot less about the sex than you think.

You looked away from Jack and back out toward the concrete beams of the parking garage.

“I can’t be your girlfriend, Jack.” Your voice had gone strangely stiff now, every consonant sharp. “I can’t be Robby’s either, and he knows that. That’s why this works.”

"I'm not —"

“The last time I was somebody’s girlfriend,” you interrupted, “my parents died.”

Jack went completely still beside you. Your throat tightened immediately, like your body regretted saying it the second the words were out, but now you couldn’t stop them.

"I had taken them to my boyfriend's house, and his parents were so fucking drunk when we arrived they could barely hold a conversation," you said quickly, your eyes beginning to burn at the corners. "His dad kept getting angrier and angrier, shouting over my mom every time she tried talking, and his mother was making comments about my body, about how I should ‘lock her son down before somebody else does.’” Your laugh came out thin and shaky. “And my boyfriend just sat there letting it happen, laughing at their awful comments.”

His hand tightened around yours.

“I was so hellbent on convincing my parents they weren’t always like that, that he wasn’t always like that, but they wouldn’t listen.” Your breathing had gone uneven now, tears thickening your voice. “They kept telling me I deserved better, and I thought they were judging me for planning to move to the city with him, so I just—I snapped.”

You let go of Jack's hand to press the heels of your hands hard against your eyes.

“I told my own dad I hated him.” The words cracked coming out. “That was the last thing I ever said to him.” Your shoulders shook harder. “And he turned around with this look in his eyes, and that’s when that fucking truck—”

Jack’s arms were around you instantly.

One second you were sitting there trying to force the words out and the next he was leaning hard over the center console, pulling you into him so quickly it knocked the breath from your lungs. You sobbed against his chest, and you could feel his mouth pressing against the top of your head as he said: "I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything—"

You could barely speak, you were crying so hard. You'd never told anyone all of that. Robby only knew pieces, but he never knew why you'd blamed yourself. He was the only one who ever understood without having to know. It was why it worked with him, why everything had been good until now. Both of your own darkness tucked underneath this feeling of being wanted and seen and understood, his and your own.

You clutched onto Jack’s shirt, tears staining through the soft black cotton, until eventually your breathing began to even out into uneven little pulls of air instead of outright sobs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered finally, dragging the back of your hand hard across your cheek as you tried pulling away.

But Jack wouldn’t let you go.

His arms only tightened around you instead, one hand spread broad against the middle of your back while the other stayed firm at the nape of your neck.

As you sucked in air and tilted your head up to look at him, to try to get him to understand, you stopped when you saw the look in his eyes.

You became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he’d gotten.

His face hovered only inches from yours now, your knees pressed against the center console while his body leaned over it to hold you. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the rough drag of his thumb where it rested against the back of your neck.

He whispered your name.

And then was leaning in.

His lips tasted like faded coffee and old minty gum, like a low burning fire— the warmth of standing out in the cold too long, even though it was a tepid day outside the windows of his truck. You parted your lips in surprise, and he leaned in deeper immediately, kissing you harder now, but still so careful you could feel him holding himself back. You could’ve sworn you heard a broken groan slip from his throat at the feeling of you opening for him, his body otherwise perfectly still around you.

He pulled away. The light of the mid morning sun began to paint his face so you could still see just the barest speckle of hazel outlining the pupils that had blown wide with desire.

"That was stupid." he said, only just a whisper.

"Uh huh," you murmured, and then dove back in.

You pressed yourself against him harder, breath hitching as you moaned against his mouth, hands fisting into his shirt, pulling him closer. It felt frantic, like you'd been possessed with a newfound hunger. He only broke away long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere blindly into the backseat before his hands were on you again. He was slipping them under your shirt before downright pulling you on top of him. You went willingly, knees sinking awkwardly into the crux of the seat on either side of him, straddling his hips. The position pressed you flush against him and your breath caught at the hard bulge beneath the cargos pressing against you.

He was kissing you again, and jesus, he kissed like he fucking meant it—tongue plunging into your mouth, suckling at your top lip and letting his teeth graze over it. Your hands went to his hair, fingers carding through like you could only just get him close enough, hips pushing down onto his, and you could feel a bulge in his cargos that only made your brain fuzzier. You tangled your fingers into his hair, over his shoulders, anything to try and drag him even closer while your hips rolled down against him.

"Fuck, Jack—" you whimpered as you ground down again. He let out a pained moan, his hands going to your face, before he pushed you away.

The two of you sat there panting into the same air for a second, his eyelids heavy but still fixed on you completely while your hands stayed curled against his shoulders.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, calloused hands at the sides of your face with his thumbs imprinting into your cheeks. He tilted your head this way and that, and you wondered, with the way he was looking at you now, if he was cataloging this all to memory in case you said no.

You nodded, letting your own hands travel up to his face, feeling the scruff of his graying stubble along your soft digits.

Jack’s eyes fluttered shut briefly at the touch. And then he was opening them again, a fire sparking behind his pained look, and he suddenly pulled your face down so you were mere milometers away from him, feeling the way he spoke more than you could hear it, "Say it."

"Yes, Jack," you whimpered, "I'm sure."

"And Robby?"

Fuck.

“I’ll talk to him,” you whispered, your breath catching when Jack’s mouth brushed slowly against your bottom lip again. “Tomorrow."

"Tonight."

You nodded frantically, "I’ll explain everything tonight.”

“What a good girl you are,” he murmured, and kissed you harder. His hands left your face to push your shirt up over your head, and you couldn’t help glancing around before your hands fell to the clasp at the back of your bra.

Jack’s hands were already there, undoing the hook and eye without fumbling once. “Tinted windows, sweetheart.”

You smiled against his mouth and let the bra slip free, breasts bare beneath his hands. He cupped you gently at first, then rougher, palms working over you with a greedy sort of focus that made your stomach tighten. He broke the kiss again to take one into his mouth, and your lips fell open at the feeling of his tongue against your pebbled nipple, a moan shaking out of you as his other hand kept a tight hold on the other.

“What a cute little thing you are,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the valley of your breasts before taking the other nipple into his mouth fully. You watched his brows pull together almost painfully, his eyelids fluttering as he groaned low against your skin.

"Jesus Christ, Jack, please—I need more—want more of you—"

He unlatched himself from your breast with a pop and nipped your chin, "Backseat."

You scrambled off his lap with a yelp when his palm cracked against your ass, laughter bubbling out of you as you climbed into the wide backseat of his truck.

He followed after you, and you only caught the quick flash of metal from his prosthesis as he climbed over the console before he muttered a curse and dropped down beside you.

"Lemme take this damn thing off—" he muttered, annoyance in his voice.

"Do you need help—"

He shook his head, already working at the straps, cargo pant leg shoved up high over his knee so you could watch him unfasten it. You’d only really seen it a handful of times before, usually when he was adjusting the socket after it rubbed him raw through the day or messing with the suspension during a shift.

It was off soon enough. He set it carefully in the footwell before leaning back against the window, his leg swinging up onto the seat. The fabric of his pants was pulled back down over his shin, sagging slightly once the prosthesis was gone.

“C’mere,” he murmured, giving a small tilt of his head. You started to scoot toward him, but he stopped you with one finger pointed your way. “Those off first.”

You smiled knowingly and unbuttoned your denim shorts, shoving them down your legs until you were left in nothing but your panties. Jack let out a slow sigh, eyes dragging over you in open appreciation.

“Seen enough?” you teased.

“Not even close,” he said with a grin, reaching out to pull you back onto his lap.

He pulled you down onto him with both hands, one settling firm at the back of your thigh while the other cupped your jaw, guiding your mouth back to his before you could even laugh again. The kiss turned messy fast, all heat and teeth and the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin, and you could feel the way he exhaled through his nose when you shifted against him, the low sound he made vibrating right into your mouth.

Jack’s hand slid slowly up the inside of your thigh, broad palm dragging over warm skin until his thumb hooked beneath the waistband of your panties.

“You're a squirmer," he said against your mouth, "Nervous?"

You laughed at first, "And you are a tease—"

But the word broke into a gasp as his fingers slipped beneath the lace of your panties, his rough fingers sliding easily against the supple, wet skin, arousal you'd made in the time from your first kiss to now coating his digits. You grabbed at his shoulders harder, letting him nip and kiss at your jaw, the sharp pricks of stubble tickling your sensitive skin. His fingers moved slowly at first, just sliding back and forth as he cursed under his breath.

"Gonna let me take care of this?" he asked, though his voice was thin and hoarse.

You nodded, gnawing at your bottom lip as you jerked against his touch. He kissed you again while his fingers worked between your legs, slower than you wanted—seemingly on purpose—with teasing circles that had your breath stuttering into his mouth. Jack seemed to enjoy every little reaction out of you, every jerk of your hips, every soft noise you failed to swallow down. You could feel him smiling faintly against your lips each time.

"You make the prettiest sounds, baby," he said. "Wonder what you'd sound like with my cock in you."

"Oh, please please please," you whimpered, dropping your forehead to the broad crest of his shoulder.

“Gotta get you ready first,” he tsked softly, the pads of two fingers sliding from your pulsing clit down to your entrance, making you shudder.

He pushed both in at once, the stretch making you wince. You lifted your head to look down at him, and saw his brows pulled together in a little cooing face.

"Ohhh, I know. But if you can't take my fingers, how will you ever take my cock in this tight little pussy, huh?"

Jesus fucking Christ he was going to kill you with that mouth of his.

You whined as he pushed deeper, knuckle-deep now, and just as you settled against his palm, your clit rubbing against the meat of his hand, he crooked his fingers inside you and your eyes nearly rolled back.

"Oh fuck!"

“That’s it,” he coaxed again. “S’alright, c’mon baby, ride my fingers.”

You whined, petulant, unable to help it. He had you like putty in his hands, fingers hitting that perfect spot inside you that only left you wanting more and more and more. You started lifting yourself off his hand only to sink back down again, your breasts bouncing softly in front of his face. It was so good, just the right amount of stretch and friction, each drop down making your clit swell and brush against his hand.

"Jaaaackkk—" you whined as your impending orgasm came rolling towards you quicker than you expected.

He must’ve felt you tightening around him because suddenly he held you still, stopping your hips before easing you back against the bench seat, crowding over you.

“Hey!” you squealed, the orgasm nearly there before he snatched it away. You watched as he sucked on his fingers before looking back down at you.

“You’re not coming unless it’s on my cock right now,” he growled, kissing at your neck while fumbling with his cargo pants, shoving them down enough to free himself.

You managed to smile, breathless albeit, and snake your hand down between the two of you.

His cock was thick—that was the first thought, girthy and like velvet in your hand. He hissed in a breath as you wrapped your hand around him, and you watched as his eyes rolled back.

"How long has it been, Jack, since you were with anyone?"

His heavy lidded gaze dropped back to you. “Long, long time, baby.”

"Since—?"

He nodded once. “Just me, myself, and my best friend Righty here,” he said with a rough little laugh, wiggling his hand between you.

You laughed with him softly. “Cornball.”

He smiled crookedly down at you before wrapping his hand around himself again, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your back bent up in euphoric bliss as sensitive skin touched sensitive skin, both of you moaning at the contact.

"Tell me again," he said, "I need to make sure you're—you're— oh shit—"

"I'm sure, please for the love of god, fuck me."

"Now who's bossy?" he chided, and then notched his cock at your center, and both of you hitched a breath. Your hands flew to his biceps, toes curling.

“Need you to breathe, sweetheart." he said, though his voice was tight with restraint, "Let me in.”

You looked at him suddenly wide eyed, worry pinching between your brows. “Fuck, I don’t—I don’t think you’re gonna—”

"Fit?" he teased with an eyebrow cocked, and pushed another inch.

"Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod—"

He laid himself over you then, elbows braced on either side of your head so he could cup the back of your skull, kissing you slowly. “Breathe, sweet girl. Tried to tell you I had to get you ready, didn’t I?”

You nodded against his mouth and forced yourself to exhale. The second you did, Jack pushed fully into you until he was buried to the hilt, his balls pressing softly against you.

"Ohhhhhh…" you moaned, head craning back as your eyes disappeared behind your lids.

He kissed you again, letting you adjust, "Jesus, you feel so fucking good." His mouth dropped into the crook of your neck, suckling the skin there as he groaned. He pulled out barely an inch, and you clung to him immediately, arms looped tight around his neck, ankles crossing behind his back.

"No-no—need—need a second,"

“I know, I know, just a little,” he soothed, kissing your ear. “Fuck, this is not gonna last long.”

He pushed himself up just enough to slip his hand between your bodies again, one hand still holding the back of your neck. The second his fingers brushed over your clit, your whole body jolted.

"Ohmygod—"

"How's that feel, pretty girl?"

"So—so good. S'like you're splitting me in half, you're so big, Jack, oh—god—"

He chuckled, kissing your chin before fully kissing you on the mouth, breathing you in, and he began to move.

You whined and moaned and gasped for breath as he slowly began to saw his hips, until you were boneless beneath him, fully adjusted, and he finally began to fuck you in earnest.

His fingers still pressed back and forth over your clit, and he went between watching your face and kissing you, as if he couldn't decide which he liked more.

"Oh fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, jerking his hips up into you "can't believe I waited so fucking long to do this—ah, ah—"

All you could do was moan, as if every word you'd ever learned had melted from your brain. You were molten beneath him, moans and lewd mewling of pleasure spilling from your mouth, his cock pushing deep inside, stretching you open. His breath was heavy, moaning along with you, not a care in the world. Somewhere in the haze, you noticed the truck windows had fogged over completely, the concrete walls of the parking garage barely visible beyond the glass.

"Fuck, fuck fuck, please tell me you're close—can feel her tightening up on me, I'm gonna come, please, oh fuck fuck fuck fuck—"

"Yes, Jack, please, come for me, I'm gonna—me too—" The words finally came back to you just enough to urge him on, your hips lifting to meet every thrust until he hiked your leg higher around his waist and drove deep enough to make your spine bow off the seat.

White burst across your vision at the new angle, making you cry out as the pressure finally tipped you over the edge. His fingers never left your clit while you came around him, gushing and tightening hard, every pulse of your body dragging him right after you as his own finally snapped tight.

His head bent back onto his neck, mouth open, a guttural sort of noise leaving him. You felt the shudder that went through him before he finally let himself collapse into you fully, broad body heavy against yours, his forehead tucked against your neck while both of you fought for air.

The truck felt stifling now, windows completely fogged over, the air thick with heat and sweat and sex.

You stayed like that for a while, your fingers tracing the freckles of his shoulders, the large planes of his back. Eventually his breath evened out and he lifted his head enough to look at you.

“Hell of a first date.”

You stared back at him with a flat expression, though a smug little smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Get off, old man,” you teased, giving his shoulder a playful slap.

He laughed under his breath and finally peeled himself off you, both of you damp where sweat had gathered between your skin, though in your hazy state you could barely bring yourself to care. Getting dressed felt strangely intimate. Every now and then one of you would catch the other staring, and when you pulled your bra on his hands were already on you, straightening a twisted strap.

By the time you both climbed back into the front seat, the truck didn't smell so sweaty as Jack cracked the windows briefly, letting late morning air pour in while he started the engine.

The drive back to your place was quiet, but not in any awkward way. You let Jack turn the police scanner back up, static crackling between dispatch calls while he translated bits and pieces for you as they came through.

He’d asked if you had any lunch or dinner waiting for you at the house, and you told him you did, that you’d probably spend the rest of the day reading or trying one of those YouTube Yoga routines you always saved but never did.

One of his hands stayed loose on the wheel while the other rested on your thigh almost the entire time, thumb dragging back and forth absentmindedly over your leg whenever he stopped at a light. And before you knew it, you were turning down the street into your neighborhood—Robby's neighborhood—and Jack was idling at the driveway.

“You gonna talk to him?”

You exhaled slowly through your nose and nodded once. You knew who he was talking about. “Yeah.”

“Tonight?”

Your fingers twisted together in your lap for a second before you forced them still. “I said I would.”

Jack was quiet, but you saw him nodding out of the corner of your eye.

"Have a good day, Jack." you said gently, hand already at the door handle.

"Hey—hang on."

Your fingers loosened against the door handle as you turned back toward him, nerves fluttering low in your stomach all over again.

“Just wanted to say…” He rubbed at the back of his neck briefly before looking at you again. “I understand. What you meant earlier.”

Your brows furrowed slightly.

“About being casual,” he clarified quietly. “I’m gonna try.”

You nodded, gnawing at your lip a bit, "Good. But...if it's too much, we don't have to do anything you don't want to. I like being your friend."

He smiled, but didn't answer that. Instead, he said: "I appreciate you letting me in. About—everything."

Your eyes settled on him, softening. "Same to you." you said quietly.

He held your gaze for a long moment after that, a small smile pulling at his mouth, almost…a little sad. Like the both of you knew something, but weren't saying it out loud.

“Go to bed, Jack,” you murmured, breaking eye contact first as you pushed the truck door open. “I’ll see you soon.”

previous | next | masterlist | ao3

[gracieabrams]

‘Daughter from Hell’ My third album is out July 17 Hit the Wall this Thursday night Whoa whoa whoa Freaking out I am so ready for it to be yours ❤️ Available to pre-order now

[miserymorgue]

how i'd love to go to paris again (and again) | j. abbot

pairing jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch

summary after jack casually floats the idea of adding a third, you don’t let it stay theoretical for long—what starts as curiosity turns into something a lot more real when robby gets pulled into the space you and jack have built together. (#threesometime #neverforgetchallengers) (ao3)

tags/warnings MDNI (18+) explicit sexual content, age gap (mid-20s / 50s), established relationship with you and jack, living together, unlabelled jack and robby sexualities (bi?), attempt at a true love triangle (et tu, challengers (2024) except no cheating & u and jack r <3. but rabbot under(over?)tones), unprotected p in v, oral (f/m, m/f) handjobs (f/m, m/m), masturbation, praise & teasing, dom!ish robby, bratty!ish reader, lowkey switch/softdom jack idk, finger sucking, domestic, drinking, brief hospital/medical stuff / orthopaedics (r3), porn with... context?, hint at robby internalised homophobia? possibly ooc for jack sorry, title reference to the 1975 but not inspired by the song more just bad pun bc... paris... threesome... get it

wc 18.3k words

spin off of the fic: my (wo)man on willpower | j. abbot - can be read solo!

Robby doesn’t look confused so much as… unconvinced.

He sits back in the booth, one arm slung along the backrest, beer loose in his hand, eyes moving between you and Jack like he’s watching a consult go sideways.

“…You two wanna try that again,” he says, slow, “but in English this time?”

Jack huffs under his breath, already regretting opening his mouth. He drags a hand over his jaw, glancing at you like he’s half-tempted to pull the plug on the whole thing.

“Told you,” he mutters, low. “Bad pitch.”

You nudge his knee under the table—not hard, just enough. Don’t bail.

Robby catches it. Of course he does. His eyes flick down, then back up, something sharpening.

“Oh, don’t tap out now,” he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on the table. “You brought it up. I’m listening.”

Jack opens his mouth again—

“—No,” Robby cuts him off, not even looking at him. “She talks.”

There’s that tone. The one he uses with residents when they’re dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Just… direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactly—more the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.

Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.

You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.

“It’s not… open,” you start, careful. “We’re not looking to—change anything. Not really.”

Robby watches you the whole time. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence for you.

“It’s just—” you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, “—we trust you. Both of us do. And you’ve been… there. With us. For a while.”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters.

Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

But Robby doesn’t look away from you.

You hold his gaze. “It’s not random. It’s not… about finding some person to fool around with. It’s you.”

That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesn’t disappear, but it tightens around the edges.

“…Right,” he says, slower now.

Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. “It’s not a free-for-all,” he adds, dry. “We’re not pitching some kind of ER orgy.”

“Shame,” Robby says flatly.

You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.

Jack shoots him a look. “Be serious for one second in your life.”

“I am serious,” Robby says. Then, to you—“I’m just making sure I understand what the hell you’re asking me.”

His gaze drops briefly—to your hands, the way they’re curled loosely around your glass—then back up again.

“What are you actually offering here?” he asks.

You hesitate—not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.

“It’s not just sex,” you say, quieter now.

Robby’s brow lifts. “No?”

You shake your head. “It’s… us. Still us. Just—” you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, “—with you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.”

There’s a long beat.

Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.

“You two have been together, what,” he says, glancing at Jack, “two years now?”

“Nearly three,” Jack corrects.

“Nearly three,” Robby repeats. “You know, you… you live together. Don’t kill each other. That’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say, dry.

His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this time—but heavier, too.

“And you’re both telling me this doesn’t… complicate things.”

Jack answers this time, steady. “Everything’s already complicated. This wouldn’t change what we’ve got. We’ve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.”

Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. There’s history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.

“…You’re serious,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Jack says.

Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to reset his brain.

“Jesus Christ.”

You don’t rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, it’s different now. Less amused. More… considering.

“You’re asking about the three of us…” he tries, trailing off.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jack’s, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.

“And you’re both just- you’re… good with it,” he says.

Your voice is quieter when you answer. “Wouldn’t be sitting here if we weren’t. You’re attractive, smart, funny. And I think you’ve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.”

Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.

“...Christ,” he mutters again, but there’s a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.

Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.

“You always this persuasive?” He wonders.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Only when it matters.”

That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can see that.”

Jack shifts beside you, not tense—but alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.

Your phone buzzes—once, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.

You glance down, already half-standing. “I’ve gotta go. Park needs me—Isla called in sick.”

Jack doesn’t even hesitate. He’s already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. “Take the car. I’ll ride back with him.”

You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. “Thanks, baby.”

You lean down—meant to be quick, but it doesn’t quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turning— Robby’s already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.

“Michael,” you say, softer, a small nod.

He repeats your name—flatter, rougher, like he’s testing how it sits in his mouth.

You don’t linger. You head out.

The door swings shut behind you.

Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like he’s resetting.

Robby doesn’t look at the door. He looks at Jack. There’s a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Just… processing.

“Alright,” he says. “Who’s idea is it?”

Jack doesn’t bother pretending. “Mine.”

Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“When?”

Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. “Remember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?”

Robby snorts. “Yeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself I’ve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Walking around like—” Robby gestures vaguely, “—like a cat in heat.”

Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. “Yeah, well. After you left that morning, we had our… you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -”

“-get to the point,” Robby says, with a slight snicker.

“Some point, I mention… I don’t know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, and… we’re just talking.”

“Talking,” Robby repeats, deadpan.

“Yeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.”

“Hard pass.”

Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “It came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What we’d be into, what we wouldn’t.”

“And you landed on me,” Robby says.

“Yeah.”

Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. “…Both of you.”

“Both of us.”

That lands differently.

Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking now—not just reacting.

“That’s your girl,” he says finally. “You’ve built something there. I’m not—” he shakes his head slightly, “—I’m not interested in screwing that up.”

Jack’s expression doesn’t change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I thought you would.”

Robby glances at him, sharper now. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“No,” Jack agrees easily. “But I do know you.”

A beat.

“And I trust you,” he adds.

it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.

“…Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Jack’s brow lifts, faintly amused. “That I trust you?”

“That I don’t take that lightly,” Robby shoots back.

Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.

“And you’re fine with it,” he says. Not a question. “Me and her.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

Robby studies him—searching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesn’t find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasn’t a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.

“…She’s—” he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. “You know what she is.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

“Twenty-something,” Robby continues. “Smart. Looks like—” he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. “You’ve seen her.”

Jack smirks faintly. “I have, yeah. A lot of her. It’s great.”

Robby’s mouth twitches despite himself.

“And she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,” he adds.

Jack’s expression softens just a fraction. “Sometimes.”

Robby nods once, slow. Then—

“…You really telling me you’ve never thought about it? About her” Jack asks, casual—but not careless.

Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.

“That’s not a fair question.”

Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.

Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like he’s debating how honest he wants to be.

Then he looks back at Jack.

“…Well I’m not blind,” he says.

Jack doesn’t react much. Just watches him.

“She’s—” Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, “—she’s a lot. Sweet.”

Jack’s mouth ticks. “She is… You ever think about her while jerking off?”

Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, they’re being honest. “Yes.”

Robby’s a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable. 

“What?” Robby scoffs. “You’re cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time is… what, some sort of line being crossed?”

“I didn’t say anything, alright. I’m all good here. Just didn’t think you’d admit it,” Jack nods with insistence. “What about during sex? Thought about her then?”

“...On occasion, yes, I’ve- she’s popped up there, yeah.” Robby admits with brief hesitance. 

That’s as far as he pushes it—but it’s enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesn’t threaten anything.

“Fair,” he says.

Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. “You’re taking that a lot better than I thought you would.”

Jack shrugs. “She’s hot. You’re not dead. Tells me you’ve got a working dick, at least.”

Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.

Jack took a sip of his beer, then—because he wasn’t finished, because he never really was with Robby—tilts his head slightly.

“What about me?”

Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. “Oh, come on.”

“No, seriously,” Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. “No shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.”

Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Have you?” Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.

A pause.

Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.

“…You first,” he mutters.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.

“Man, it’s not even—” Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. “Half the time that shit doesn’t mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesn’t make you anything.”

Robby let out a short, humourless huff. “Right.”

“What,” Jack presses lightly, “you worried about the gay implications?”

Robby shot him a look. “Don’t—”

“—What? Say ‘gay’?” Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.

Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.

“We’re talking about whether I’ve jacked off thinking about another guy,” he says, flat. “Yeah, the… ‘gay’ of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.”

Jack just nods, like that was fair.

“I just… I guess, I didn’t realise—” Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you know, are you—”

Jack shrugs, easy. “I’ve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Don’t really care to.”

Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “Figrues. Army man.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “You don’t have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesn’t have to mean anything bigger than it is.”

“I’m aware,” Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieter—like it cost him something— “…It’s crossed my mind.”

Jack’s mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruel—just… satisfied.

“Crossed your mind,” he repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“Don’t start,” Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “It was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. That’s saying something.”

“Fuck you,” Robby mutters, rolling his eyes—but there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.

Jack shrugs, taking another sip. “Options apparently on the table.”

Robby shakes his head, but didn’t argue. Didn’t fully look away, either.

Something in the air had shifted—subtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.

Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history there—years of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.

Jack didn’t push. Just leaned back, easy.

“Think about it,” he tries. “Or don’t. Nothing changes.”

Robby nods once, short. “Yeah.” A few seconds of quiet. “…You still need that ride home?” he asks.

Jack snorts. “Oh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.”

“Shut up.”

“Flirting now, are we?”

“You are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, don’t think otherwise,” Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.

★★★

2 WEEKS EARLIER

threesomenoun — three·some — ˈthrē-səm

1: a group of three persons or things : trio

2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately

3: a sexual encounter involving three people

“Are you trying to say you wanna play golf?” Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter—onions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. He’s got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.

You’re perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.

“Yes,” you say dryly, scrolling. “I’m deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the balls—”

“—I get it,” Jack cuts in. “You want a threesome.”

You look up at him, unimpressed. “I don’t want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.” A beat. “But I’m not opposed to… expanding the sample size.”

Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. “Expanding the—Jesus. That’s how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?”

“You brought it up,” you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. “Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea. ‘Oh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notes’—”

“I did not sound like that.”

“—If anything,” you continue over him, “I think you wanna fuck your best friend.”

“Alright,” Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. “Not what I sound like. And c’mon—you know you’re all I wanna fuck.” He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. “I think these are done.”

“They’re not.” You don’t even look up when you say it. “Anyway… I doubt he’d even be down for it,” you say. “I barely think he likes me as a friend.”

Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“I think he’d fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,” Jack says, like it’s obvious. Then, distracted again—“I really think these are done, hon.”

“Test the carrot,” you say, still scrolling. “If it’s soft enough, it’ll break with pressure.”

He presses the spoon into one. It doesn’t budge.

“…Needs longer,” he admits.

“How do you know that?”

“I just did what you said, I—”

“No,” you interrupt, looking at him properly now. “How do you know Robby would fuck me?”

That slows him down.

Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.

“I know him,” he says. “Twenty years of it. And I know you.” A beat. “There’s something there. A thing. You’ve always had good chemistry.”

You huff lightly. “A vague… thing, maybe.”

You hesitate, then—because you don’t really do half-truths—

“I did have a bit of a crush on him,” you admit. “Before I met you.”

Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“I don’t anymore,” you add quickly. “It faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was early—before I started coming down to ED properly. He’d come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was just…” you shrug, searching, “…older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.”

Jack’s mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.

“Glad to know you don’t have a type,” he mutters.

You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.

“Hey,” you murmur. He glances up at you. “I like them a little shorter,” you say softly.

Jack blinks.

Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

★★★

The thing about a third—about this third—was that it… kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.

It wasn’t sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.

Robby had never been separate from Jack. 

Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edges—this is where I end, this is where you begin—but that had never been the case with them. 

Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either. 

They’d dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settled—somehow—into their forties without ever untangling.

They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.

And Robby had always lived in that tension.

He didn’t soften easily. Didn’t trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that rule—steady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didn’t mean absence.

There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didn’t exist, but because saying them would’ve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding. 

It was easier to file it under something else—loyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didn’t have to be examined too closely.

Then you came along. And you didn’t disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it. 

You didn’t wedge yourself between them, didn’t ask Jack to choose, didn’t look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.

And God—there was something about you.

Not just that you were beautiful—though you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.

The way you saw Jack—fully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.

And worse—

The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.

He’d noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didn’t pull back when he got too close, didn’t flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.

You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And that—more than anything—was what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.

That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.

But wanting you like this—in the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didn’t have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines he’d spent years pretending weren’t there.

And Jack…

Jack, who didn’t do anything halfway, who didn’t offer things he wasn’t sure about—was sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasn’t a risk so much as… an opening.

That was what threw him. It wasn’t the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.

And Robby didn’t trust himself nearly that much.

That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simple—but real in a way that resisted being dismissed.

Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.

Not in the way people usually were about relationships—careful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasn’t built like that. He didn’t gush, didn’t sentimentalise—but if he’d had a couple drinks in him and it’d been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.

Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.

In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there. 

The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.

Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasn’t discomfort exactly—more like… he didn’t know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jack’s mouth like that that sat strange in his chest. 

“What the fuck do you mean six times?” Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.

They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadn’t aged out of it—backs damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didn’t talk about sat heavier.

It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasn’t being watched over by the hospital.

Jack didn’t even open his eyes. “I mean she came six times,” he said, easy. “Working up to eight.”

Robby snorted. “You’re talking like it’s a personal best.”

“It is,” Jack said. “You don’t set goals, you stagnate. That’s what my therapist says.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. “What’s your number?”

Robby shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t know. I don’t have a number.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Nope.”

“Bull.”

Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. “…Four. Maybe.”

Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.

“Four,” he repeated.

“Some of us aren’t treating it like a competitive sport,” Robby muttered.

Jack huffed. “It’s not me,” he said. “It’s her. She’s a natural.”

“She really that good?” Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack would’ve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.

There was a beat.

Robby stared up at the sky like it didn’t matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.

“She’s—” he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didn’t sound ridiculous and failing. “She pays attention. Like she’s studying you. Figures out what works and then—just… doesn’t let up. Like I’m constantly high around her. And man, she-” Jack cleared his throat. “She does this thing with her tongue.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.

He didn’t say anything.

“She swirls it, right around the underside, traces it—the entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then she’ll—fuck,” Jack had mused. “…She’ll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I can’t describe how good it feels,” Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. “Fucking… incredible.”

Robby couldn’t have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.

“She makes the prettiest noises, like a… I don’t even know,” Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. “Moans and screams, and so… Christ. Like she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, possessed.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.

Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. “You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for a breakdown.”

“Semantics.”

Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.

A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Then—

“What’s the deal with you and Noelle?” Jack asked, casual in that way that wasn’t casual at all.

Robby’s jaw shifted.

“She’s… fine,” he said.

Jack cracked one eye open. “That sounds promising.”

Robby huffed. “It’s not—” he cut himself off, shook his head. “Don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like he’d expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself

“Yeah,” he said. “Bummer.”

Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.

“Don’t think I’m built for it,” he said finally.

Jack didn’t move. “For what?”

“This,” Robby gestured vaguely. “Relationships. The staying. The… showing up part.”

Jack was quiet for a second.

Then—

“Now that’s bull,” he said, not unkindly.

Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’ve known each other, what—twenty years? You’ve stuck around that long.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Robby didn’t answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.

“You don’t get to pretend you can’t do something just because you haven’t done it right yet,” he said.

Robby scoffed lightly. “Didn’t realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. “Hate to break it to you, man, but you’re not some unfixable case.”

Robby laughed at that—short, real.

“Garcia said I’d make a good ex-husband,” he said.

Jack snorted. “See? Even she thinks you can commit.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“Close enough,” Jack sighed. “Lie down, will you. You’re so damn tense.”

Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second. 

The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.

They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after years—no need to fill it, no need to perform.

“Aw, you two are so cute.”

Jack sat up immediately.

You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlamp—scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like you’d been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jack’s old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there. 

For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason they’d been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.

“Hey, baby,” Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. “You finish alright?”

You just nodded, already moving toward him.

You didn’t hesitate—never did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.

“Miss me?” you murmured, barely pulling back.

“Always,” he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.

Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.

You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediately—instinct, habit—sliding over your arms, grounding, checking. 

Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.

You exhaled like you’d been holding it all day.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Keep doing that.”

“Yeah?” Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.

“Mhm.”

You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.

Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always got—half amused, half something else he never quite named.

“Robby,” you said, glancing over at him, “how the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.”

“Sometimes a drink’s all you get,” he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked—brief, involuntary—to where Jack’s hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. “Ortho must’ve been a dream, though.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.”

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered.

Jack’s hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re gonna fall asleep right here.”

“Honestly?” you said, eyes half-lidded now, “tempting.”

There was a beat. Quiet again—but different this time. Fuller.

You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.

Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.

You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.

“…You been talking about me?” you asked.

Jack snorted, immediate. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” you said, squinting at him. “And he’s looking at me weird.”

“I always look at people weird,” Robby said, flat, from the grass.

You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, but this is a different weird.”

Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. “We were just talking about your—what was it—immense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.”

His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. “It’s not far off.”

You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.

“What did you say to him,” you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasn’t entirely serious—but not entirely not.

Jack leaned in, said something under his breath—too quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.

You smacked his leg—right on the prosthetic—with a sharp thwack.

“Jack.”

He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.

“If you actually told him that,” you said, pointing at him, “I swear to god I’ll take this thing off and beat you with it.”

“That’s dramatic,” Jack murmured, still holding your hand. “And also physically unlikely.”

“It’s true, though,” he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. “You’re very good at it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.

Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadn’t agreed to sit through, but couldn’t quite look away from either.

“So the tongue thing’s real then?” he asked, almost idly.

Jack groaned. “Alright. We’re done here.”

You laughed—bright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of you—and turned into Jack properly this time.

It wasn’t quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.

Robby looked away. Not fast enough.

You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jack’s.

“I’ll drive,” you said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said automatically.

“You’re pretty drunk,” you corrected.

A beat.

“…Alright. Could be a little drunk,” he conceded.

You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t lose the car,” he muttered.

“No promises.”

You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.

“You good?” you asked, softer now.

He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

You nodded like you believed him.

“Night, Michael.”

There was a flicker at that—something small but real.

“Night,” he said.

Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.

“Text me when you get home,” he called back to Robby.

“Sure. Have fun with your girl.’ Robby had said, lying back down.

“I definitely will,” Jack nodded.

You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laugh—something private, something just for him.

Robby watched you both go.

Didn’t move.

The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.

So, when you and Jack finally put it to him—cornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you had—Robby wasn’t as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably should’ve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermath—those were the things a smarter man might’ve led with. But that wasn’t where his mind went first.

It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.

Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruel—if he held your head down and made you choke on him?

And Jack… steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robby’s hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?

It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasn’t even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.

About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existed—intimate, closed, complete—and being told there was room for him inside it.

And that—more than anything else—was what made it difficult to dismiss.

★★★

Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.

The patient is already under—intubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.

“Yeah, that’s a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,” you say, pen tapping the screen. “You can see the displacement here, and the overlap—this is why the leg looks shortened clinically.”

Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. “Fuck.”

You shake your head. “It looks dramatic, but it’s stable from what we’ve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.”

Santos lets out a breath.

You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. “We’ll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But she’s straightforward.”

“Thank god,” Santos mutters. “I was so not bothered to call for another consult.

A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.

Robby.

He’s already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.

“Ortho’s down in ED?” he says.

“Yeah,” you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. “Santos messaged me. Femur fracture.”

He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shifts—clinical, but not entirely neutral. He’s tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.

“Looks like a clean nail,” he says.

“Assuming ortho behaves,” you reply.

He huffs something like a laugh. “They won’t.”

“No,” you agree. “We never do.”

Santos clears her throat. “While I’ve got you—Huckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.”

You pause slightly.

“A Parisian party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” Santos says, warming to it. “Paris-themed. Like… French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.”

Robby makes a quiet sound behind you—almost a laugh, quickly disguised.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the scan like nothing happened.

Santos continues, mildly confused. “Have either of you been to Paris?”

“No,” you say.

Robby: “Nope.”

Santos nods like that still tracks logically. “Yeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.”

There’s a beat.

“Anyway,” She adds, already backing toward the door, “You’re invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. You’re all close”

“...Sounds good, Santos, we’ll let you know,” Robby says with a nod. “North Twelve?”

“Consider it done.” Santos says dry, nodding.

The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back in—clean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that you’re aware of him in a way you shouldn’t be during a trauma consult.

He glances at the CT again. “Paris-themed party,” he repeats flatly.

“Don’t even,” you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.

“What?” he says innocently.

You turn slightly toward him. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“You’re absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.”

“I’m thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,” he says.

“Liar.”

That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.

“You think you’ll go?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Jack and I have the night off. We’ll be busy.”

“Right,” he nods.

A beat.

“You?” you ask.

“I’d rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,” Robby says with a quiet exhale. “So, no.”

“Come over then,” you offer, stopping at the nurses’ station.

Robby gives you a look. “Thought you said you two were busy.”

“You can be busy with us,” you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. “Or just Jack. Or just me. He told me you’ve thought about it either way.”

A faint sigh leaves him. “Right. I forgot he can’t keep anything to himself.”

He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the station—Dana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like she’s clocking something she hasn’t labelled yet.

“Have you?” he asks softly.

“Thought about you? In that way?” you clarify.

He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.

You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.

“Yes,” you admit. “You’re tall. Kind. Your beard’s nice. You’re probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.”

That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.

“Abbot’s a lover boy at heart,” Robby says. “Gives in easily. ‘Specially for you.”

You nod, like that tracks. “Most of the time, yeah.”

That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, “Is it true you had a crush on me?”

You tilt your head. “God, he really just— Doesn’t keep anything to himself.”

Robby exhales through his nose. “Not at all. I’ve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.”

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.

“Was it a yes?”

“To the crush?” You consider it. “Yeah.”

That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.

“Before Jack,” you add, like it matters in a technical sense. “Older, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailable… I think I might just have a pattern.”

Robby hums, low. “Tracks.”

There’s a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, “And now?”

You don’t look away when you answer. “Now, it’s just… different.”

That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.

You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.

“I’ll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.”

And then you’re gone—already walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.

A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.

Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like she’s been waiting for exactly this moment.

“What’s with that?” she asks.

“...What’s with what?” he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.

“I mean,” she says slowly, “what’s with flirtin’ with Abbott’s girl in front of everybody?”

He doesn’t look at her when he answers.

“That’s not flirting,” he says evenly. “We were just talking.”

Dana hums, unconvinced. “Talkin’ real close.”

Robby exhales, already shifting focus. “New patient?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding toward the bay. “Just rolled in. Need you over there.”

“Alright,” he says.

And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.

★★★

“—Hey. Hold on a second,” Jack says, breath a little uneven.

“No, don’t—don’t hold on,” you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waist—firm, grounding, stopping you.

“Hey. Easy.” A breath. “Just—gimme a second, alright?”

You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit.  “This better be good.”

He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah, I’ll try not to waste your time.”

A beat. He looks at you properly now—focused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.

“Just… wanna get this straight,” he says.

Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. “Okay. Then say it.”

He nods once. “He can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.” A pause. “But there are lines.”

You tilt your head, watching him. “Such as?”

His grip tightens just a fraction—not enough to bruise, enough to mean something. “Such as—you don’t forget who you’re with.”

You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Hard to forget when you’ve got your dick in me half the time I’m not at work.”

“Smartass,” he mutters. Then, quieter—“I’m serious. He doesn’t get to know how you taste. That’s mine.”

“Uh-huh…” You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. “So this is allowed?” You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.

“Yeah, allowed,” Jack nods, his jaw tight.

“Mm. This?” You lean down and kiss him—sweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.

He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.

“Yeah? What about this?” You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.

“All allowed,” he grates out, “but his mouth isn’t getting near this, alright, that’s all—” He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of you—loud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.

“Yeah? That good with you?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, already starting to ride him—slow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. “What about you and ’im?” you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.

Jack shrugs—or tries to. “What don’t you want?”

“No blowjobs either, then,” you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. “’S for me.”

“Sounds good to me.” His hands find your hips again, but he doesn’t guide—he just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.

You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.

“Right here,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze. That same look—steady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.

“Good,” he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.

And when you move again, it’s slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him again—dirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your lips. “That’s better.”

★★​​★

It’s late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.

“No, can’t,” Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. “I’m home. She’s cooking. Smells like I’m about to get fat and happy.”

“Baby, can you come try this?” you call from the kitchen.

“One sec,” he says, then quieter, back into the phone—“What’d you wanna do?”

“Nothing,” Robby mutters. “I… I don’t know, man. I don’t feel like crashing Santos and Whitaker’s… house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.”

Jack stops mid-step. “A hike,” he repeats. “At nine-thirty at night.”

A beat.

“Yeah, not happening,” he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.

You’re at the counter in that barely-there nightgown—soft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.

Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.

Then—business as usual.

“Alright,” he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. “What am I trying?”

You nod at the stove. “Carbonara.”

He leans over, tastes it, hums—low, approving.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “She’s showing off.”

You bump his arm lightly. “I am not.”

“You are,” he says, kissing you quick, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times. “It’s working.”

You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.

On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.

“Hike’s dumb,” Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. “What’s actually going on.”

“Nothing,” Robby says. “Just… can’t sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldn’t shut the fuck up—”

“—Hey,” Jack cuts in, calm, steady. “Take a breath.”

You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you anymore—focused now, locked into that mode.

“You’re good,” he says. “You’re not thinking anything dumb, right?”

A pause.

“…No,” Robby says. “Just need to… get out of my head, I don’t know.”

Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.

“He can come here,” you say, like it’s obvious.

Jack looks at you—quick, assessing—but there’s no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Come over. Food’s ready soon.”

“I don’t know, man—” Robby starts.

You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jack’s hand.

“Hey, Michael.”

There’s a beat.

Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.

“…Hey,” Robby says, slower. “Heard you were cooking.”

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jack’s where he stands beside you. “Plenty to go around.”

Jack’s hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessive—just there.

Robby hears the shift anyway.

“This a setup?” he asks.

You smile slightly. “You always this suspicious, or just with me?”

A quiet scoff from him.

“You should come,” you add, softer—but not innocent. “You sound like you need it.”

A beat. Jack’s thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.

Robby exhales. “Yeah. Guess I can make it.”

“Guess you can,” you say easily.

Silence again—but it’s different now.

You glance at Jack.

He nods once.

“Door’s unlocked,” you say. “Twenty minutes.”

You hand the phone back.

Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. “You heard her. No pressure.”

A pause.

“…Alright,” Robby says.

The line clicks dead.

Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.

“What?” You raise a brow.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll finish the laundry.” He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. “You gonna stay in this?” He asks.

“‘S that alright?” You wonder, leaning into his touch.

He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. “Sure.”

★★★

You’re out on the balcony when it comes up.

Jack’s place sits high enough that the city feels almost staged—Pittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. It’s one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. There’s music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you can’t see but can feel in the background.

The balcony’s not small—wide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, it’d be on something worth standing still for.

Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.

“Have either of you done this before?” Robby asks.

Jack shakes his head immediately. “No.”

You don’t answer.

You’re thinking—actually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jack’s arm like you need him to hold on a second. That’s when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadn’t come up when the idea itself had.

“…Have you?” Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.

“I am thinking,” you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.

Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.

“What do you mean you’re thinking?” Jack presses. “That’s not… I don’t know, something you half do or something. You’d know.”

“Or something,” Robby mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. “Okay—no. I don’t think I’ve had a threesome.”

“How can you not think you’ve had a threesome?” Jack wonders.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You don’t notice how both men’s gaze drop there.

You exhale, already regretting engaging. “Because—technically—no one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?”

There’s a beat.

Robby’s mouth twitches.

Jack blinks. “...Right.”

“Okay?” you continue, defensive now. “It was—hands. That’s it. Group situation, but not… full commitment.”

Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Group situation,” he repeats.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“Another guy or girl?” Jack asks, too quickly.

You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. “…Both.”

Jack leans back like you’ve just told him something deeply inconvenient. “...Huh.”

Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. “So not a threesome. Just… poor project management.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Oh my god.”

“That’s a foursome that lost direction,” he adds, dry.

“Whatever,” you shrug. “Med school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.”

Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. “I’m just saying, that’s a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.”

You smirk faintly. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

Jack scoffs. “I’ve had opportunities.”

“Mm,” you hum, unconvinced.

Robby glances at him sideways. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Jack says, defensive now. “I just—never felt the need.”

“Right,” Robby says. “Till now.”

Jack gives him a look. “Till now.”

Something passes there—quick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.

After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.

Inside, you hear Jack moving—plates, running water. Robby’s voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.

“Thanks, baby,” you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.

You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.

You push him away lightly. “Don’t start.”

Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.

“Next to the fridge?” he asks, like he hasn’t been here a hundred times already—like tonight isn’t slightly different.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Recycling. Thank you.”

He gives a short nod and turns— You catch his wrist. It’s not forceful. Just enough.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

He looks down at you.

There’s a pause—his eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. You’re close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.

You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightly— and kiss him. It’s not rushed. It’s far from tentative either. Close. Testing.

His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a second—then responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasn’t decided where it’s allowed to land. 

Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. That’s what does it.

“Starting without me?” Jack’s voice cuts in, dry. “Bit mean.”

Robby pulls back instinctively, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t—even though—

Even though.

You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.

“Next to the fridge,” Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.

Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.

Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesn’t move out of the way.

He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.

You end up on the couch.

It happens naturally—plates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.

Jack’s in the middle, halfway through some story from work—one of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he can’t quite let go of.

You’re tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neck—fingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.

Robby’s behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thigh—slow, absent movement, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it.

Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.

Jack keeps talking.

You lean in without really thinking about it—your lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.

Jack’s hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.

Robby’s hand doesn’t stop. If anything, it shifts—just slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.

Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your back—then relaxes again.

He doesn’t pull you away. Doesn’t say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.

And for a second—just a second—you’re aware of both of them at once.

Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavier—watching more than speaking.

Jack’s gaze lifts. Meets Robby’s. There’s a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between them—wordless, measured. Something you can’t read.

Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robby’s jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.

Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this time—slow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.

Robby’s already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like it’s nothing—like it’s always been this simple—and kiss him too.

Different. Not softer, not harder—just new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like he’s grounding himself in it.

There’s a quiet breath from him—almost a huff, almost disbelief.

“This is fun,” You murmur.

You don’t give him time to overthink it.

You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.

Jack’s mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.

Robby hesitates for a fraction of a second— then doesn’t.

The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like he’s learning something he’s not used to having.

You exhale, a soft sound you don’t quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctively—one finding Jack’s hair, the other Robby’s, fingers threading through both, holding them there.

For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.

Then you shift, just slightly—hands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robby’s hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.

Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s checking in—like he always does.

His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.

You lean back into him, lips finding his neck again—dragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.

When you pull back, it’s only barely. Your breath catches—not dramatic, just… aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.

Jack’s hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. “Feeling needy?”

You nod against him, answering with your mouth instead—kissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.

“Yeah,” he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. “I know, hon.” A beat. Then, quieter—“You want me, or him?”

You hesitate. Not long—but long enough to matter.

Robby’s hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightly—testing, not taking. Waiting to see what you’ll do with it.

“It’s alright,” Jack starts, voice still calm, like he’s talking you through something he already trusts. “Go ahead. She likes it when you—”

“—I’ll ask you for help if I need it, alright?” Robby cuts in, low and even.

They exchange a look—brief, sharp, understood.

You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jack’s cheek—something sweet, grounding—before shifting your weight and climbing into Robby’s lap.

He stiffens for a second. Just a second.

Robby’s always been hard to read. Time’s etched itself into his face, but there’s still that wall there—something held back, something controlled. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s you. His best friend’s girl, sitting on him like this—close, warm, curious.

“You okay there, Sasquatch?” you tease, tilting your head up at him.

His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicks—down, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.

“Sasquatch? Really?” he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Beard, tall… same thing, no?” you shrug lightly.

That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.

“She always cracking jokes before getting fucked?” Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties

“Depends,” Jack admits. “One time I got G.I Joe for an hour.”

“He was in uniform, in my defense,” You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robby’s fingers, eager. “Come on, Michael.” 

Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him. 

“What a cute noise you make, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs. “Ask me nicely now.”

You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.

“Ask or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,” Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. “Please fuck me with your fingers.”

You crash your lips to his—harsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussy—no mercy, no prep.

You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digits—walls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.

“Move your fingers toward her ventral,” Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.

Robby exhales sharp through his nose—mild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.

“Christ, you’re making a mess on me, aren’t you, kid? Huh?” Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sight—your swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic. 

He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrust—wet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.

He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot. 

“You getting close?” He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. “That right?”

Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.

“What else she like?” Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.

Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.

Robby yanks his fingers free abrupt—your pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively. 

His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deep—tongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.

“Atta girl, you’re a fuckin’ mess now aren’t you?” Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. “You wanna cum?”

You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.

“Not yet,” Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. “Barely seen what you can do.”

You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.

“Go over to him. Make him feel good,” Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.

You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.

“On the floor, knees, now,” Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.

You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.

“You alright there?” he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.

You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining there—heat pulsing under your touch. 

You tug the waistband down, freeing his cock—thick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.

Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead first—tongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.

“Look pretty down there,” Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.

“You’re so soft with her,” Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.

Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steady—saliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.

Robby's gaze burns hot—flicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalp—not shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm. 

Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.

He groans low, head lolling back, “Fucking… perfect. So perfect, always.”

Tension crackles thicker between them—Jack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.

“You alright there, man?” Jack scoffs, a light smile. “Can’t handle it?”

It’s a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.

Jack knows exactly what he’s doing—knows the tells. The slight tilt of Robby’s head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. He’s seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.

Robby doesn’t back down from anything. Least of all him.

Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jack’s—steady, unflinching.

“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” Robby agrees with his own smile. “Go ‘head.”

Jack groans at your relentless mouth—fast and wet, then slowing perfect against him—his hand stroking over Robby’s clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby's—sloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.

You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fist—pumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.

“Oh fuck,” Jack moans into Robby’s mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.

Your free hand joins Jack’s on Robby’s cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jack—your hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure. 

Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jack’s cock.

Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. “Fuck, feel that grip? She’s got hands made for this,” he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.

Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. “Let him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.”

You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes over—fist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheek—wet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.

“Dreamt about this once,” he admits, voice low. “The way Jack described it, you’d think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?” He wonders.

You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re touchin’ yourself too?” Robby notices. “God, so desperate.”

“Seemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,” You remark, not looking away from Robby’s gaze.

His jaw tightens. “He’s pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.”

You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutal—half his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw. 

You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robby’s thigh.

“Shit—yeah, like that,” Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the pace—pulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in. 

He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.

You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robby’s cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robby’s hand tightens harder in your scalp.

Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.

Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.

“I’m good,” Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroat—throat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.

Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: “Fucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?” He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheek—left, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skin—before you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.

“She can take it,” Jack murmurs, voice thick. “Can you, baby? Come on, speak now.”

You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. “Mhm.” You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.

“So damn sweet now,” Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. “That feel good?”

You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberate—thumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.

“No more of that, alright?” Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. “Yeah? You listening?”

You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. “Fuck you—you wanna cum, I get to cum too.”

Robby tilts his head, that piercing look—the one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. “Not how it works,” Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.

You glance at Jack, pleading.

“Don’t look at him,” Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. “Put both hands behind your back if you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat.”

Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lips—slow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.

Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob frantic—suction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist. 

You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.

“Jesus Christ—yeah, there we go…” Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight. 

He floods your mouth suddenly—hot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.

“Fuck,” he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.

You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.

You smile at that. “Go on,” Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. “Jack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?”

Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.

“Atta boy,” You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. “You think you can still fuck me, old man?” You whisper.

“Watch it,” Robby murmurs.

“You can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.” You whisper. “Jack,” you grab Jack’s hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.

“Up and at it,” Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.

“Fucking hell,” Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.

You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.

In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined panties—crotch soaked dark—and a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.

Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yours—passionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.

Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.

Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neck—sucking a mark deliberate.

“Baby, lie down for me,” Jack instructs.

You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robby’s lips trail over his skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. “You gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?”

“Fuck off,” Jack murmurs. “Go sit in a corner and wait, or somethin’,” Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.

“Think I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,” Robby says. “Unless you’re not as skilled as you’ve been bragging to be.”

“Oh, my god, one of you make me cum or else I’m doing it myself, Jesus,” you whine.

“Oh, baby,” Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. “I’m leaving you waiting here.”

“She’s being a brat. Have some patience, honey,” Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. “But she’s right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.”

Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh. 

Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show. 

"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck," 

Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.

Jack’s tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise. 

Your eyes stay fixed on Robby’s as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.

“Wider,” Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. “Stop squirming. Take it.”

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissection—calm, analytical, utterly in control. “How close are you?” he asks, his tone clinical.

“Mm, close,” you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jack’s tongue flicks hard over your clit.

“You make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,” Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. “Callin’ me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.” He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.

Jack’s tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes don’t leave Robby’s as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.

“Want me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?” Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips. 

He doesn’t miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like he’s holding you together.

You’re too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.

“Answer me,” Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. “Who do you want first?”

“You,” you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.

Robby’s smirk widens. “You hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.” He doesn’t look away from you as he says it.

He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robby’s fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.

“I was right,” you murmur, breathless. “Knew you’d be mean.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Robby wonders, though he already knows.

You bite your lip, refusing to answer.

He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure command—dark, expectant. Obey.

“I like it,” you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jack’s hair. “Fuck—I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

“Yeah?” Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. “Eyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep ’em right here.” His gaze holds yours captive. “Good girl… good girl, aren’t you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isn’t that right?”

You whimper as Jack’s tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.

“Good job, baby. Fucking hell,” Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise. 

He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robby’s on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.

“My favourite girl in the world, you know that,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.

You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robby’s mouth.

“You aren’t a brat, are you baby?” Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. “No, honey, not for me, isn’t that right? Yeah, I know, I know… my sweet girl,” He replaces Robby’s mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss. 

“Told you. Lover boy,” Robby remarks to you.

You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robby’s lips.

You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. It’s harsh and sweet all at once—a clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest. 

Robby stands, briefly cupping Jack’s jaw in a gesture that’s both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robby’s hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.

He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.

“Ass up, sweetheart,” Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.

You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a word—a seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.

"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.

Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.

Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.

“Shit,” Robby mutters. “Fuckin’ hell, you know much Jack’s raved about this pussy? Callin’ it the treasure of the fucking ocean.”

His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythm—pounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. “Perfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?”

You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him. 

“How the fuck do you leave home, Jack— Jesus Christ,” Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.

“Life or death, and that’s it,” Jack says. 

“Come on, give him some love, kid,” Robby tells.

Jack’s cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. “Fuck, just like that,” he rasps.

You’re split between them—Robby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jack’s length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robby’s hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet. 

“You like being used like this baby?” Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him. 

You don’t answer, focused on the sensation of Robby’s cock harsh within you.

“He asked you a question,” Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. 

“See? Not so hard,” Robby groans.

Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jack’s cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.

"Just like that… Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."

The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."

You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.

"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you. 

Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.

"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder. 

Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fucking—hell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"

His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke. 

"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. 

You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.

"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."

“Go ahead, cum,” Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electric—each thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Now.”

You moan around Jack’s cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robby’s thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.

"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.

He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you. 

“Goddamnit,” Robby murmurs, a pant. 

Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jack’s cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.

“Your turn,” Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.

But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until you’re straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jack’s chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robby’s cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jack’s length.

Jack’s hands come to your hips, steadying you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.

From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. He’s kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jack’s fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.

You open for him, tasting Robby’s salty tang on Jack’s skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jack’s eyes never leave Robby’s as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.

Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Atta girl,” Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.

Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. You’re so sensitive it’s almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.

You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jack’s thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it,” Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your body—gripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.

You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes open, sweetheart.”

Robby’s command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. He’s moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where you’re joined with Jack. He’s watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.

“Look at you,” Robby murmurs, his voice thick. “Takin’ him so well."

His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Your moan, soft.

“Fucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum f’me,” he moans. 

Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.

Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. “Fucking—just like that—”

As you’re pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jack’s mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. It’s raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.

Robby breaks the kiss. “Lift up for a second, kid,” he breathes against your skin.

Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jack’s slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robby’s hand replaces you, wrapping around Jack’s shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.

“Missed the taste of you,” Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friend’s face as he works him.

Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jack’s cock until you’re fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.

“Go ahead, finish,” Robby growls, his command for both of you.

You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. He’s close—you can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.

“Come on, Jack,” Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. “Fill her up. Give her what she needs.”

That does it. With a shattered cry, Jack’s hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robby’s already there, flooding you.

Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarbone—checking, not asking out loud but asking anyway. 

Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice rough, softer than it’s been all night.

“Mhm,” You nod, catching your breath.

“There she is,” Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.

Robby doesn’t move right away.

He’s sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier now—but there’s something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at least… dialed down.

You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, there’s that flicker—uncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Just… recalibration.

Then you lean in and kiss him. It’s different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.

Robby’s hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demanding—just holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto something.

When you pull back, you stay close.

“Hey,” you say, softer.

“Hey,” he echoes.

Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when he’s settling you.

Jack kisses gently at your bare back, “Be right back,” he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic. 

You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.

You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jack’s shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.

“Jesus,” you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. “I think my legs might actually fall off.”

That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looks… different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Think you’ll live.”

You glance over at him, managing a small smile.

He’s already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low light—the Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. There’s something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.

There’s a beat.

Then, softer—

“…You good?” You ask.

He turns your head toward you. “Yeah.” He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admit– “Needed that. Needed to be… not alone, I think.”

You watch him for a second—something thoughtful in your expression.

“That something you’d wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?” You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. “

Robby doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at you—really looks, like he’s trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.

Your hair’s a mess, Jack’s shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Just… asking.

His jaw shifts slightly.

“…You always this direct after something like that?” he mutters.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m an ortho resident. I don’t have time for interpretive dance.”

That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like he’s trying to settle something under the surface.

“It’s not—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “It’s not really a ‘one and done’ kind of question.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why not?”

He glances at the door—where Jack disappeared—then back at you.

Because Jack’s not just some guy. Because this isn’t just sex. Because there’s history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.

You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. “Do you have… like, real feelings for him? Or me?”

Robby scoffs a chuckle. “I don’t have time to think about that.”

“Just time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure he’ll give me a complaint about that later.” You murmur.

Robby smiles a bit. “You two are… perfect for each other. I still don’t get how he found you.”

“I don’t know either, to be honest,” You admit. “But he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And it’s not just because your dick is great, promise. You’re always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We aren’t picky people.”

“Picked up on that,” Robby nods, quieter now. “What are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.”

You smile a little—more to yourself than anything—your hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.

“No idea,” you admit. “However long he wants me around, I guess.”

Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, if age’s anything to go by, you’ve got a good couple of years.”

You smack his arm lightly. “You’re literally older than him.”

“I’m not marrying you,” Robby shoots back, deadpan.

“You’re an ass,” you sigh.

That earns you a small smile.

The door opens.

Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweep—quick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.

“My leg’s killing me,” Jack mutters, like it’s an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like pain’s just background noise. He hands you the glass. “Drink.”

You take it, still watching him. “You say that about everything.”

“Because everything’s fine.”

Robby snorts under his breath. “Yeah. That’s a healthy coping mechanism.”

Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to compare notes?”

Robby raises his brows. “Not particularly.”

Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automatically—absent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.

His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.

“What’d I miss?” he asks.

You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. “Marriage.”

Jack huffs. “One night with my girl and you’re already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.”

Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.

“With you, idiot,” you correct.

Jack glances down at you. “Oh, him and I are getting married now?”

You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby instead—curling lightly into his side.

It lasts all of two seconds.

Jack’s arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.

“Relax,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.

Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.

Robby stays the night.

Not in the same way—there’s a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.

He’s not intrusive. Never has been.

But he doesn’t leave, either.

if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D

a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.

anyway thank u guys all for the support on my (wo)man on willpower, so proud of that fic and so sweet the reblogs and comments! i wish u could see my grin every time! and yall hammered me for this so i hope its up to standard, meets an expectation or two. i had a lot of fun just exploring the dynamic, you x robby, robby x jack, jack x you, like i am a true believer in true love triangles, so hopefully that came across, but admittedly, still keeping jack and reader endgame obvi, so.. also sorry if it aint gay enough, i told yall i do not read mlm stuff, just not for me. i love it! just dont like, actively read it yk! i also just wanted to have fun with the prose, emotional stuff, etc, and idk. hopefully the smut isnt terrible, that shit is hard as hell! like, positions, dirty talk?! dirty talk is hardddd guys!! then like the build to it, ugh. i wish i had a smut class at my uni or something so i could really get into the weeds of it, and spend time endlessly editing it. i really couldve spent another few days editing this but honestly wanted it OUT and DONE !! need to lock in got exams soon team. okay sorry for this long as hell authors note ! lmfaoo. hope yall liked!

[softseasun]

What The Living Owe Each Other

GIF by Ho-ii

Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After a quiet, late-night argument in the kitchen, you retreated to bed before anything is resolved. Jack won't let the night close over something unfinished between you. He never does, not since he learned at the worst possible price what it costs to leave the true thing unsaid.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief, Trauma, Intimacy, PTSD, Slight angst, Mostly fluff, No use of 'Y/N'.

Nobody told you that the worst arguments were the quiet ones.

Not the kind with raised voices and slammed doors—those are almost easier, almost honest in their violence. No, the worst kind are the ones that happen in bright kitchens at nearly midnight, where everything is too fluorescent and too still, and the words come out measured and controlled and precise, which is somehow more cutting than cruelty. That is how it happens with Jack. He does not shout. He withdraws, pulling inward like a tide, and you are left standing on the shore wondering if you merely imagined the ocean.

It was a weekend. You had said something careless. He had said something careful. And the careful thing had done more damage.

After a while, the counter stretched between you like a verdict, and you were too tired—five in the morning until that moment, the whole long corridor of a shift behind you—to keep your footing in this.

“I’m not doing this tonight,” you finally told him, and your own voice sounded foreign to you, flattened by exhaustion. “I need to sleep, Jack.”

He looked at you. His jaw was held in that particular way of his—not rigid, not cruel, but contained, a man making a choice about what he lets reach his face. The kitchen light was unkind to everyone at that hour but him. Somehow, it only found the silver threaded through his curls, the faint constellations of freckles across his face, the dark on his left hand resting against the counter. He was still in the James Perse he wore that afternoon. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.

“Go to sleep, then,”

You do. Or you try.

You laid in the dark with your eyes open. The ceiling above you stared back like a blank page, and you listened to the house breathe—the ac, occasional cars outside, the particular silence of a space where someone else refuses to be still. You knew he was still awake without having to check. You have learned most true things about Jack Abbot the same patient way: not through confession, but through accumulation. Eight months of small data points that, gathered together, form something resembling the full outline of a person.

He does not sleep when things are unresolved between you. He has never said so. He didn’t need to.

Thirty minutes dissolved into the dark, and then, the bedroom door (which you had not fully closed) opened without a sound.

He didn’t reach for the light. There was enough amber bleeding in from the street to find him in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, as he looked at you with an expression he probably believed was unreadable. It wasn’t. It stopped being unreadable to you sometime around month three, when you started learning the difference between the face he showed the ED and the face he had when he thought no one was watching.

“You’re not asleep,” he said.

“You’re very observant,” you said to the ceiling. “They teach you that in the medical school or the Army?”

A pause, brief and weighted. “Army. Medical school only taught me to document it.”

You almost smiled. You didn’t mean to and you did it anyway, small and private, belonging to no one.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed—your side—and the mattress conceded under him, and the warmth of him reached you even across the distance of a foot of sheets. He rested his elbows on his knees. His hands hung loose between them, and the black ring caught the amber glow from the window and held it like something it was given to keep.

“I’m not good at this,” he muttered.

You turned your head to look at him. “At what, specifically?”

“At—” he stopped. There is a version of Jack Abbot who would have deflected there, reached for a quip, and let the humor do what the words couldn’t. That dawn, he didn't. “At leaving things open.”

You knew, without him elaborating, exactly what he meant. You have known for a long time, pieced together from the parts of himself he has handed you one at a time, slowly, the way you’d offer something fragile to someone you weren’t yet sure could hold it.

His wife died twenty-six months before he kissed you for the first time. An aneurysm—no warning, no preamble, just ordinary life and then the end of it. He had been forty minutes away at a SWAT callout when it happened, and by the time he got to the hospital, there was only her hand in his and the hallway and whatever a man carries home from that and never fully sets down. He told you once, at eight in the morning with the honesty that surfaces when exhaustion dismantles every careful boundary. He had told you plainly, and then went quiet and looked at his ring for a long time, and you did not push because you understood that some silences are not absence but foundation.

You have understood since then that he does not leave arguments unresolved because he is stubborn, though he is. He does it because he learned, at a level beneath reasoning, that tomorrow does not honor anyone’s assumptions, and if the world reached in and took something from him again—if it decided, with its characteristic indifference, to collect—he could not bear for the last thing between you to have been silence.

Four months ago, you were in an accident on the Parkway East. Black ice, a truck that did not stop, and then you woke up looking at the other perspective of PTMC hospital rooms and your whole body a dull, massive ache. Jack was in the chair beside you. He was still in scrubs from his shift, his prosthetic leg an extension of the stillness of him, both hands wrapped around yours on the blanket. He did not say much when you opened your eyes. He didn’t have to. His face had already said everything his vocabulary was not constructed to carry—scraped raw and exhausted and grateful in a way that looked almost painful to feel.

He has been worse about unresolved things ever since.

“I know why you do it,” you told him, back in the bedroom at dawn, in the amber-laced dark.

He was quiet for a moment. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You sat up and drew your knees to your chest. “And I’m not saying it’s wrong, Jack. I understand it. I just need you to know that sometimes, I need sleep more than I need resolution, and neither of us is failing by admitting that.”

He looked at a stripe of streetlight crossing the floor. His profile in that low light is something a painter would have opinions about—the scruff, the weathered handsomeness, the way exhaustion sat on him differently than it sat on most people, like something he’s simply incorporated.

“I know that,” he said. “Intellectually.”

“And non-intellectually?”

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh, but the sound he made when something he cannot argue with arrived.

“Non-intellectually,” he said, “I spent forty minutes in the kitchen not reading the same four pages of the new novel I bought.”

The honesty of it undid you a little. That was what no one in the ED would believe about Jack Abbot (except Robby)—that beneath the composure and the dark humor and the controlled authority of a man who has managed casualty events without raising his voice, there was this: a tenderness so plainly delivered it sounded almost accidental. Like he reached in for armor and found something else and decided to hand it over anyway.

“Jack.” Your voice landed softer than you intended.

“I’m aware it’s a problem,” he said, and then, quieter, with the particular self-deprecation of a man who has made peace with being a project: “My therapist has made that point. Several times. With visual aids, I think, at one point.”

“Visual aids?”

“A chart. Don’t ask.”

Despite the residue of the argument that was still faintly present in the room, you felt something in your chest release—a tension you’d been holding so long you’d stopped noticing its weight.

“Come here,” you said.

He casted a sidelong glance. “I’m already here.”

“You’re sitting on the edge of our bed like you’re checking a jacuzzi’s temperature. Come here.”

Something in his expression crossed a threshold you recognized—the moment he decided to stop managing the distance—and then he was lying beside you, not quite touching, both of you addressed to the ceiling with its shifting amber and its dark. His breathing was even in the effortful way of someone making it so.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” you told the ceiling. “About you not letting people in. That was unfair.”

“It was accurate.”

“Being accurate and being fair aren’t the same thing.”

“No.” A pause. “They’re not.”

“And you shouldn’t have gone quiet like that. You know what it does.”

“I know.” Another pause, and then, plain as anything: “I’m sorry.”

He said it like how he said all important things—stripped, unadorned, with nothing decorative attached. No qualifiers trailing behind it. Two words delivered as though he meant every syllable in both, which he did. You spent months learning the difference between an apology that sought to close the conversation, and an apology that opened something. His opened things.

“I’m sorry too.”

A cloud shifted somewhere over Pittsburgh, and the light in the room dimmed and resettled. Jack lifted his arm—slow, deliberate, a question posed without language—and you moved into the space he made. Your head found his shoulder. His hand found your hair and rested there.

“You need to sleep,” he said, low.

“So do you.”

“That’s different.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

“That,” you said into the dark of his shoulder, “is genuinely not the compelling argument you think it is.”

He made that sound again—an almost-laugh—and his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek. Outside, a car moved through the wet street, the ac hummed its low, tuneless, note, and the city went on existing with complete disregard for the two of you, which was somehow exactly right.

“Sleep,” he murmured. Not a command. The word he uses when what he meant is please.

You closed your eyes.

His hand in your hair does not move.

This is what loving Jack Abbot asked of you, had always asked: to hold two things at once. The man who would not let a night close over something unresolved between you because he understood, catastrophically and permanently, what it cost to leave the true thing unsaid. And the man who, have learned that at the worst possible price, showed up anyway—in a hospital chair with no memory of sitting down, in a kitchen at midnight with a book he could not read, on the edge of a mattress with one honest thing cupped in both hands like an offering.

He was not healed. You had never wanted healed. Not really. What you had was this: someone who carried his losses in plain sight so you could always see them, who was trying, who would sit with forty minutes of silence and a book he wasn’t reading rather than let the darkness swallow something unfinished between you.

You thought, as you drifted, that there were worse things than being loved by someone who was afraid of losing you.

There were worse things than being the reason he was still awake.

You were nearly asleep—that warm, unmapped border between waking and not—when his voice came, so low it seemed addressed to the room rather than you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

You did not answer with words. You pressed your hand, once and open-palmed, against his chest—above the steady, faithful percussion of his heart—and left it there, and let that be everything.

His hand tightened in your hair. Fractionally. Carefully.

Outside, Pittsburgh breathed on. Jack Abbot exhaled for the first time in hours—long and slow and quiet—and was, in whatever way a man like him can be, at rest.

divider by cursed-carmine

[xskywalker21]

touch me deep

pure and true [x]

[xskywalker21]

You make it so easy to love [x]

[ampala-yeah]

“hurry up, you have to find somebody to kiss~”

[rizbert]

beyond infatuation | j.a.

professional yearner!jack abbot x nurse!reader

synopsis: jack abbot is obsessed with you and he's going to make it everybody else's problem - or - 5 moments the night shift (and co) observes between you and jack + the 1 they don't

contains: bsf night shift crew!! dana & the pittlings cameo, he fell first AND he fell harder, age gap (reader is in her 20's), suggestive at times, everyone calls reader sweets, no use of y/n, jack is probably ooc but i refuse to believe that man does not yearn deeply and he is written so, and most importantly: NIGHT SHIFT SUPREMACY

note: first fic for the pitt because i think i might have actually read my way through every fic on here and i crave more pls be nice to me :') this started off as a completely different fic and then it became this instead so there's a half written part 2 (and a part 3 …) if anyone really wants it. yes i did write this instead of the giant piles of actual work i have to do i hope you enjoy <3

dividers by @uzmacchiato <3

1. The Crush

It’s been exactly one week since you joined the night shift. Six days, twenty three hours, and thirty one minutes technically speaking but who was counting. 

In that time you’d made yourself indispensable. You were one of the most competent nurses to ever walk through the doors of the PTMC. You were practically hard wired to thrive in the absolute chaos of the night. And, best of all, you’d become Shen’s caffeine addicted partner in crime. Five out of your last seven days you’d dragged him into a pre-shift coffee run and he always complied with your demands. 

The night shift wasn’t easy for just anyone to take to. It was hard and yet here you were, doing it all flawlessly. And Jack couldn’t look away. Not that he’d ever want to. 

It’d taken no time at all, about five hours into your first shift, for him to become borderline obsessed. All it took was one conversation in the ambulance bay just after midnight. A joke cracked under the light of the full moon, one that broke through the stern expression he’d had on with no hesitation at all, for Jack to want to know every single little detail that made up who you were. 

In a normal way of course. 

Now here he was. Watching. Eyes following you as you walked into the ED beside Shen, both of you carrying trays piled high with various hot and iced drinks. He can’t imagine how much even one of those things cost. 

Within moments most of the drinks are gone, taken by Ellis and Lena and whoever else had placed their order with the two of you the night before. Jack, for just a moment, regrets not having done so. Not that he even likes the sugary sweet monstrosities you always chug your way through before midnight, always somehow armed with another one to get you through your second half of the night. 

He’d pretend though. Especially if it meant you’d stop and smile at him and maybe even talk to him for just a couple seconds about something not medicine related before diving into the mayhem. 

“Hey!” Your voice isn’t a hallucination, Jack determines when he sees you walking up to him with a smile. 

He tries not to look too surprised. Or flustered. Or excited. “Hi.”

Nailed it.

“I brought you something.”

Jack thinks he might melt into the floor. 

You hold out a drink, one clearly meant for him. It’s green on top and pink on bottom with strawberry slices floating above the ice. 

“You didn’t have to.” He takes it from you and relishes in the brief moment that his hand touches yours. You need to calm down, he thinks to himself. 

“I know, I wanted to. It’s on me.” You say it so easily and Jack thinks now might be a good time to excuse himself and go jump off the roof because he can feel his whole body warming in a way it shouldn’t be at the sentiment. 

You’d thought of him. Part of him wonders how long you’d been doing that for and if it was for as long as he’d been thinking of you. Day and night. Hour after hour. In ways he definitely shouldn’t be.

“I just figured you could use a little caffeine that wasn’t the stale black coffee in the break room for once,” You shrug like it’s nothing but it means everything to him. “As a certified drink specialist I thought you might like this one. Shen said I was crazy for picking it but I spent every minute I was awake looking through the cafe's menu debating and I think I finally narrowed down something to live up to your incredibly high standards.”

Jack had stopped listening as soon as you looked up at him. Wide eyed and a little nervous but with that sweet smile he was maybe just a little bit obsessed with already. “What is it?” 

Frankly, he didn’t really care. He’d love it no matter what because you’d been the one to hand it to him. You’d put effort into finding something you thought he’d like and that was more than enough for him.

“An iced strawberry oat milk matcha. It’s not too sweet but definitely a step up from a black coffee. I,” You stop yourself for a second, hesitating a little. One look from him though, one that practically begged you to continue, and you kept going. “I see the face you make when you drink it even when it’s fresh so I thought we’d switch it up a little.”

You’d noticed him. He was one more observation away from imploding. He swirled the drink around to distract himself from the fact and then took a huge gulp. 

“Holy shit,” His eyes went wide as he took a second to savor the drink. It was good. Really good. He had no clue how you’d figured him out so perfectly. Part of him was hopeful enough to think that you just knew him. Saw him. He took another sip. 

“You like it?” You were beaming at him now, satisfied and proud of yourself. 

He couldn’t be more obsessed with you if he tried. He was tempted to propose marriage right then and there. Instead all he said was, “This is phenomenal.” 

Jack couldn’t help himself. He looked directly at you and hoped that maybe these abilities of yours to read him perfectly well extended past the drinks and you’d be able to look into his head to see what he really wanted to say. You’re phenomenal. I like you. Probably more than is healthy. Never leave me, actually.

“Oh you’re kidding,” Jack had almost forgotten where he was until Shen walked over, handing you a half drunk iced coffee along with a fresh one for later, just like usual. “He liked it?” 

“Just like I said,” You held up your hand for a high five, which Shen gave you despite dropping his head and groaning. “Which means you’re buying for me tomorrow.”

Jack rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of you. His smile pushed through the serious facade he was trying to put on. Nothing could ruin his mood right now he was positive of it.

“Is it that surprising?” Jack held his drink a little tighter and held back the urge to take another sip of it. He was seriously already starting to understand your guys' shared obsession with always having some kind of drink on you.

“No, it’s just,” Shen paused for a moment and it hit him all at once. Abbot was in a good mood. And all it’d taken was a personal delivery straight from you. He was wearing a smile, a genuine one. Best of all, his eyes kept straying back to you. Like you were some kind of magnet pulling him in against his will. Oh yeah, he’s obsessed. “I’m glad you found something you like.”

Jack heard it. The tone. His eyes snapped back to Shen and narrowed the slightest bit. All he did in response was wink at him and take a sip of his first coffee of the night. 

He could see right through him.

2. The Confession

It had been three days of this and every time Jack saw you he felt the question at the tip of his tongue. And every time something else came out instead. So here he was. Two weeks into your time here and he was obsessed with you. That much he could admit. 

If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be lingering by the nurses desk, pretending to look at a stack of papers he was pretty sure were blank. Every few seconds he glances up to where you were deep in a conversation with Ellis and Walsh. The three of you had gotten yourself partnered on the same case and were taking advantage of the fact that your patient was doing perfectly after surgery to actually talk about something normal while you could since you found yourselves with a little downtime.

“You don’t have to hover, you know.”

Jack freezes. 

He thinks he might’ve actually stopped breathing. He knows exactly what Lena’s talking about though and he’s determined to lie his way through it.

“What?”

Okay, maybe not the best start. He doesn’t look up from where he’s pretending to flip through whatever papers were in front of him. Definitely not eavesdropping. 

“Oh, please,” Lena rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. “She’s not gonna disappear into thin air. You can get work done and I promise she’ll be there after.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jack betrays himself when he glances back over in your direction. He smiles to himself when he sees you laugh, a beaming grin on your face. When he looks back towards Lena she’s already staring at him with her arms crossed.

“I think you just might be the world's worst liar,” Lena leans forward conspiratorially. Her voice drops when she asks, “So when are you gonna ask her on a date instead of moping around?”

Jack freezes again, “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh at his bad attempt at faking innocence. “You’re worse than a kid with their first crush, it’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed yet.”

Okay so maybe she had a point, Jack could admit that much. He remembers the first time he’d seen you here clearly. He’d felt some kind of pull towards you the moment you entered the PTMC just over a year ago. It’d been easy to ignore then, though. You’d just graduated and had been doing an emergency medicine residency program under Dana during the day shift and it was only every now and then he’d be there at the same time too. Yet every time he did happen to work with you, even for a fleeting moment, it was like the entire place shifted a little bit.

Dana had even stopped him one time, so casually that he hadn’t even questioned why she was calling him. “You better watch yourself, Abbot. That’s my girl, best one to come through here in ages. Last thing she needs is you distracting her.”

He’d scoffed at the statement at the time, claiming that it wasn’t like that. It had been exactly like that, though. He knew that now. You’d been easy to avoid when you were on day shift but now you were here all the time and he couldn’t imagine not finding every reason he could to stick to your side. 

“She’s not one of yours, you know. She’s one of mine,” Lena’s voice brings him out of it. There’s an I told you so look on her face that he rolls his eyes at. “I’m just saying, the paperwork will be a lot easier to fill out.”

“Aren’t you a romantic,” He knows he can trust Lena, though. If it was really a bad idea she’d tell him so with zero hesitation. So finally, hesitantly, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

***

Jack barely needed time to think about it. He had made his choice quickly and it was eating him up inside. It was just past 7 AM and he could hear the day shift and night shift looking for you both. His time with you was running out and fast. It was just the two of you alone in the room, your patient had just miraculously gotten a bed upstairs and you’d been there to ensure a smooth transition. Maybe that was his sign that you’d say yes. 

He stops you before you can pull the curtain open to let them know the room was now open. He reaches for your hand, grabs your waist, and spins you around to look at him in a single swift move. “When can I see you again?” 

The question doesn’t phase you.

“In about twelve hours.” You answer him with a teasing smile, choosing to stay just a little bit too close to him instead of stepping back. 

“You know what I mean, honey.”

And then you look at him in a way that’s new. Your smile turns less teasing and falls a bit. It makes you look a little more vulnerable. He watches your eyes flicker across his face and he knows you’re trying to see what he’s really made of. If he really means it. He wants to shout the truth to you in that moment. That he can’t get enough of you.

“Say it,” Your voice comes out soft and he wonders briefly if you can read his mind. You step a little bit closer to him. “Tell me what you really want from me.”

Jack is painfully aware of the voices and footsteps coming closer. They’ll walk in any moment now, he knows it. He glances towards the door and when he looks back he can see you about to step away, thinking he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. He blurts it out before you can. 

“Everything.” He says it so easily that it makes your breath hitch a little bit, he can see it happen. “I want to take you on a real date again and then take you home with me because you will not believe how hard it is to sleep without you next to me. When I wake up I want to just lay there looking at you for a little bit wondering how the hell you agreed to all of that. And then I want to do that over and over again until you get sick of me.”

You don’t say anything after his confession. A few seconds pass where you just let the words sink in and then, “Only if your plan includes taking me to that cute little cafe down the street too.” 

“Whenever you want.” Jack’s never agreed to anything so fast in his life.

“Right answer,” You finally will yourself to step away and swing the curtain open. Before you walk away you look at him again and the teasing smile is back. “I’ll meet you outside in a bit?” 

He walks towards you again and he’s really pushing it when he stands so close you can feel the heat of him. “Odds we can sneak out of here before they can stop us?” 

“Abbot!” Dana's voice.

You laugh at the way he groans as his head falls onto your shoulder briefly. “Not likely.”

3. The Kiss

It’d only taken a month for everything the night shift knew about Jack to change. It had also been a month since you’d joined them. The two things had to be related. They just couldn’t prove it yet. 

“Hey,” Ellis whispered as she practically ran to where Shen and Lena were deep in a conversation. There was an uneasy look in her eyes as she looked around, as if she was expecting someone to overhear what she was about to say. “Is he being weird?” 

They look towards where she had subtly nodded and found Jack. He was in an exam room laughing with a patient as he finished stitching him up. Laughing. 

Night shift chief attending Dr. Jack Abbot was in a good mood. For the first time maybe ever, as far as they knew. At least publicly in a good mood. He was never like this at work, always opting for serious and stoic with his patients because he needed to be at a job like this. 

But this was his third patient in a row now that he made easy conversation with. It was a lot more than pleasantries and small talk, it was real conversations. Questions about themselves and their lives and jokes traded back and forth. It was unsettling, frankly. 

“Thank you! I told you something was up with him,” Shen slams a hand down on the counter before looking at Lena and leaning forward the same way Ellis was, mocking concern. “ Have we tested him for any substance use lately?” 

“Alright drama queens,” Lena rolls her eyes at them and leans back in her chair. “Why can’t he just be having a good night?” 

Ellis shakes her head at that, nose scrunching as she disagrees, “No, I think he might actually be physically incapable of that.” 

“Well what do you think it is then?” 

“I think he got laid,” She says it confidently and with zero hesitation at all. Shen chokes on his drink and Lena’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What? He’s all glowy and shit, there is literally no other explanation?”

“Explanation for what?” Your voice comes out of nowhere and Ellis and Shen nearly jump out of their skin. 

“For,” Ellis recovers faster and quickly glances at Lena and Shen, neither of which provide any help. “For why Shen’s guy in south 18 is really concussed.”

“Oh he’s having an affair with his neighbor for sure,” You set your tablet down and swipe your badge along the card reader at one of the computers. “This guy shows up with his pants backwards, shirt inside out, and his left shoe missing and he expects us to believe he just tripped while on a late night walk?”

It’s at that moment that Shen notices it. There’s no iced coffee in your usual place. It’s always right there, tucked in the corner of the desk Lena sits behind. You always reach for it every time you’re nearby, it’s how you make your way through it faster than almost anyone else. He watches carefully as you reach in that exact direction subconsciously before pulling your hand back. Empty.

“Where’s your drink?” He blurts the question out suddenly and you glance up at him.

“What?”

“Your drink,” He glances at Ellis and Lena and they can see the real question in his eyes. “You always leave it right there. It’s barely nine, there’s no way you’ve had enough downtime to finish it already.”

“Oh,” You go back to the computer screen and shrug. “I just woke up late, didn’t have time to stop.”

“Right,” Shen’s eyes narrow at you but he doesn’t say anything else. That’s when he notices Jack leave his patient's room and walk in the direction of the break room. “Hey, my second one is in the fridge if you want it?”

You sit up instantly and immediately a little bit of life fills you again. So maybe you both had a little bit of an addiction. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” And that’s all he has to say before you’re making a beeline to the break room, steps faltering just the slightest bit when you see Jack disappear through the door. Then you glance back at them, smile, and disappear in the same direction.

“Hang on,” Ellis immediately leans forward again. “You don’t think -”

“No,” Shen shakes his head immediately. “It's a coincidence. There’s no way.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Lena, admittedly, is invested now. 

“Uh, because Sweets is my best friend in the whole wide world and would have told me obviously,” He rolls his eyes like it's obvious. “Plus there’s no way Abbot would admit how deep he is in his feelings already. He’s due for at least another couple weeks of yearning from afar.”

“I don’t know, he might’ve,” Lena shrugs as she recalls all the little things she’s witnessed the last few weeks. “This is intense, even for him.”

“Besides, look who we’re talking about,” Ellis points out the fact that they all know is right. You were sunshine personified. The piece they didn’t even realise the night shift was missing. And it was just like Jack Abbot to want you all to himself. “He’d be crazy if he didn’t.”

“Wait,” Lena pieces it together first. The missing coffee. The good moods. The hesitation before your smile, the one that was just a little bit different than usual. Softer. “Didn’t they walk in together today?”

There’s a moment of silence as they all realize the same thing at the same time.

“First one to find out pays for the others drinks for the next two weeks?”

“Deal.”

“You’re on.”

***

“You’re insane.” 

Jack only grins at you as he locks the door of the supply closet behind him. He wastes no time at all and immediately wraps you up in his arms, skipping all formalities and letting his mouth fall to your neck. “I thought that’s why you liked me” 

He knows now how easy you are to distract. One glance at you and how your eyes have fluttered shut already confirms that. You let out a content little sigh as you pull him closer to you, “Among other reasons.”

The noise that fills the pitt disappears and suddenly all you know is Jack. His hands wandering underneath your shirt. His mouth on every bit of skin he can reach. The way he cages you in between his body and the shelf behind you and holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Jack seriously,” It takes every bit of your self control to pull yourself back and attempt to look at him for real. “We can’t do this here.”

“We're alone, honey. No one has to know,” He doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on your lips instead. He slips your scrub top over your head leaving you in just the thin, see-through, white undershirt. You're both quickly losing all sense of rationality. 

“Someone’s gonna come looking for us”

“I'm their boss, I'll make them go away,” One of his hands tangles in your hair this time and he pulls your head back so he can look into your eyes. Blown out pupils, breaths falling heavy, lips swollen from how you’d been biting them in an effort to keep quiet. He groans a little bit at the sight. “Just this once, baby, I swear,” He kisses you. Really kisses you. Long and slow and deep. Enough to make your thoughts go blurry and your knees weak. He pulls away the slightest bit and smirks when you chase the feeling of him. “Promise.”

“You know, somehow I don’t believe you.” He laughs then, pretending he doesn’t notice you start to push his own shirt up little by little. Your hands are cold on the warm, bare skin of his chest and he shivers a little bit, smiling even wider. He's addicted to you, he thinks.

“Can you blame me?” Another kiss, this time picking up where he left off before. “You’re perfect.”

Someone pulls on the door seconds later, just as his hands start wandering lower. 

“Why is this door locked!” 

You slip your scrub shirt back on in record time and Jack pushes you behind him when he goes to open the door as Ellis starts pounding on it. “I swear to god I -”

She doesn’t see you when he opens it. Not at first. 

“Can I help you?” Jack asks the question like nothing is wrong in the slightest. 

Ellis looks around for a second, trying to determine if anyone else was seeing this or if she had finally entered a state of hallucination. “I just need -”

That’s when she sees you. Tucked behind Jack, clothes a little crooked on your body and a little more disheveled than before. You’re smiling at her, only the slightest bit shy but mostly looking a little pleased. “I - hi?” 

She doesn’t know what else to say to you. 

“Hi,” You smile at her and step around Jack. “What did you need to grab?”

“I just - I just need a suture kit.”

You grab one off the shelf next to you and step around Jack, stopping for just a second to shoot him a smile. She watches him return the smile, absolutely noticing the way he reaches for you. His fingers barely skim against you when you step just a little too close to him, like even that feather light touch will get him through the rest of the night. You turn back towards her like nothing happened. “Do you want any help?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ellis tries not to stare when Jack grabs your hand for real, pulling you back and kissing you again, modestly this time. On your forehead as he whispers something to you that she can’t hear. 

It’s not until you’ve walked further away from the storage closet that she leans a little closer to you. “Hey, are you two…you know?” 

You laugh a little bit at the question. “Dating? I thought it was kinda obvious after that.” 

“I didn’t want to assume.” Ellis laughs along with you and shakes her head, leading you in the direction of one of the rooms. Then she notices Shen and Lena out of the corner of her eye again and stops. “Hey, can you get started? I need to check with Lena about some lab results real quick.” 

“Yeah, go for it! Take your time.”

Ellis watches you pull the curtain of the room closed. Then she waits until Jack has disappeared into another room on the other side of the ED, the most smug looking grin on his face, before she practically runs to the nurses desk. “They’re dating, I told you so.” 

“What?” 

“And we’re just supposed to believe you? How do you know?” 

“I asked,” She pauses for a moment before leaning closer. “And I found them both in the supply closet with the door locked, you connect the dots.” 

Shen’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew.” 

Lena on the other hand only lets out a sigh. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on them aren't we?” 

“Probably.” Ellis looks incredibly pleased as she starts walking back to the room you’d gone into. “I’ll send you guys my drink order before next shift.”

4. The Reveal

The day shift doesn’t usually notice when the night shift starts to trickle in. You remember it clearly, the way it feels like every single person with every single ailment known to mankind seems to congregate in the pitt all at once right before it’s time for shift change. That’s something you don’t miss. By the time you guys come in it feels settled. Or maybe you all just like to think so. 

Either way, they definitely don’t notice when you and Jack walk in together, your bag slung over his shoulder. They’re too distracted by the drinks Shen and Lena walked in with, relegated to delivery service after losing some bet to Ellis. 

All the noise is forgotten quickly. This, the rare quiet moment in the staff locker room where it feels like the whole world comes to a stand still, is Jack’s time to breathe. He watches you throw all your things into his locker, somehow getting to the point of sharing custody of one now in the last couple of weeks. 

He knows you’re saying something. He can hear the sound of your voice but you’re also tying your hair up so it’s out of your way for the night and he loses all ability to think straight. Some kind of pavlovian response overtakes him and this feeling fills him up inside and suddenly he can’t help himself. 

He stands up and it's like his hands move on their own without him meaning for them to. They set themselves firmly on your hips and pull them back, completely flush against him. He bunches the scrub top up and settles his hands underneath the long sleeve shirt you’re wearing under it. Your skin is warm under them and the little noise he lets out is perfectly content. 

“Can I help you?” He can hear the smile you’re wearing when you ask the question and he can picture it perfectly. 

“No,” Jack shakes his head a little and kisses your cheek. It lingers for a second before he starts moving down the expanse of your neck. “I’m fine. What were you saying?” 

“You're so needy, you know that?” 

“Are you complaining?” He doesn’t get a response from you. Instead your arms settle over his and you relax into his hold. He smirks. “That’s what I thought.” 

You don’t get very long to escape into the moment. 

“There you are. Robby’s looking for - woah,” The exhausted look on Santos' face turns into a shit-eating grin in a fraction of a second. “What’s going on here?”

Jack frowns when you wiggle out of his hold to turn to look at her. 

“Hey,” You smile at her like she hadn’t just seen what she clearly just did. She shares a look with both Javadi and Whitaker who’d walked in with her. “How was your shift?”

“Uh, I'm sorry,” Javadi laughs in disbelief a little as she looks between the two of you. You, smiling brightly at her in the way she misses seeing so much on the day shift, and Jack, who looks like he’s never hated three people more. She’s pretty sure he’s committing their murders in his head. “What is this? When did this happen?”

Jack all of a sudden feels protective in that moment. Over your relationship that very much fuels his will to live and over you. Part of him is surprised you hadn’t told them yet. The first friends you’d made here, probably some of your closest, clearly had no idea about you and him. Then he remembers your opposite schedules and the constant cycle of work and being completely enveloped by the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship he thinks might actually never end.

“Wait, did I not tell you guys?” You’re trying your hardest to trace back every moment of the last few weeks. Jack takes it upon himself to hand you your drink and grab his before shutting his locker, taking a second to just listen. One of his arms wraps around your waist again.

“You did not, sweets,” Santos shakes her head and speaks slowly, trying to push through her absolute shock at this revelation. And trying very hard not to stare at the casual display of affection from Jack Abbot of all people.

Whitaker is the one who recalls the last real interaction you’d had with them fastest. Somehow he’s the least surprised. “You spent all of breakfast the other day telling us about that kid you patched up with Ellis. The one who slipped off the fire escape trying to sneak into his girlfriend's room."

“You told Mel, Samira, and Langdon," Jack says it in between sips of his matcha like it’s nothing. “When you had them over for dinner at yours your last night off. You sent me a picture of their reactions.”

“Right!” You try your hardest to hold in a laugh at the recollection. Samira had shouted into a pillow. Mel had asked a lot of questions, incredibly excitedly. Frank had decided he needed to take a walk to process and stood on your balcony for ten minutes. “I guess I forgot, everything kinda blurs together. They didn’t tell you?” 

“Sweets, I think you told the three least nosy people in the ED,” Santos makes a mental note to yell at all of them for keeping this from everyone else. “Of course they didn’t.”

Then your attention slips from Jack completely when Javadi prompts Whitaker to tell you about something that happened earlier. He stops listening completely, now perfectly distracted by the excited look in your eyes and the way you smile at them. And okay so maybe he’s a little bit clingy. 

Jack wraps himself around you from behind again, arms now fully circling your waist. He does not hesitate in the slightest to pull you flush against him again either. He does exercise a little bit of self control though. There’s no kiss this time. Instead he let out a soft sigh and let his head fall onto your shoulder, chin resting against it silently as you talk.

He doesn’t notice the way Javadi covers her mouth with one hand to hold back the comment she wants to make out loud. Instead she points at the sight as subtly as she can and mouths “oh my god!” you only grin at her. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed at Jack’s display, but you settle back into him anyway.

He also doesn’t notice the way Whitaker stares at him, eyes narrowed in his direction and head tipped to the side curiously, debating to himself whether or not Jack was actually in the room with them. Physically or mentally.

Santos, ever curious, is the one who finally cracks and breaks him out of his self induced trance. “Okay, I have to know. How did this even -”

“Hey!” Ellis cuts in before she can even ask the question all the way. She pops her head in the door, eyes skipping past everyone until they land on you and Jack. She doesn’t look phased by the sight in the slightest. She nods at you with a smile in greeting before looking at Jack. “If you don’t get out there in the next five seconds for hand-offs, Robby might just track down a guillotine and use it on you.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack rolls his eyes and takes his time standing up straight again. He lingers for as long as humanly possible. Another kiss, to your forehead this time, before he very begrudgingly lets you go one arm at a time. “I’ll see you out there.”

Jack keeps holding your hand as he walks out of the room, not letting a single second go to waste. He holds on until he takes a step too far and lets it fall out of his own. An absolutely devastating moment in his eyes. 

“Later, kids.” He just barely glances at Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, saluting them with two fingers before taking another sip of his drink and walking out of the locker room with Ellis, who hands him a tablet.

The silence sinks in around you. In those few moments your friends realize that Abbot’s whole little display is evidently very much normal for the night shift. And then -  

“Since when does Abbot drink matcha?”

5. The Declaration

It was bordering on 2 AM when the trauma came in. A young girl, who’d just wanted some pancakes and coffee while pulling an all nighter studying for her upcoming SAT exam. She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the diner and was in rough shape.

The room was already tense. She’d coded in the ambulance and they’d only just managed to get her stable. Every single one of you held your breath as you all did everything in your power to try to save her. 

It was really with no hesitation that everyone else took a backseat to you and Jack moving easily around each other. The two of you were the girls best bet at surviving, a well oiled machine at this point. In every sense of the phrase. You could anticipate what he was about to do before he even said it. All he’d have to do is give you a look and you just knew, you’d hand him whatever he needed, or ask someone else if your hands were full, and you were right every single time. 

“Honestly I think the rest of us can go home,” Walsh, who’d been paged to consult and make sure the girl was stable enough for surgery, said from where she stood on the other side of the hospital bed from you and Jack. She was watching closely and honestly, was more than a little impressed. Especially when you pointed something out to Jack that he’d missed right before she could. “Our sweet little angel face over there has this whole place locked down.”

“Including Abbot,” Shen watches from beside Walsh, looking on curiously at the silent understanding between the two of you. “It’s like they have some freaky mind meld thing going on.”

“You think its contagious?” Walsh puts up her side of the bed railing, seeing that Jack was just about done. 

“Hopefully not,” Shen makes a face at the thought. “I'm more than happy letting her be the one to keep him too busy to yell at the rest of us.” 

Neither one of you notice their conversation in the slightest, too involved in each other even in a trauma room. It’s almost unsettling. The small little smiles and the bedroom eyes and whispered comments passed between the two of you. The way Jack pauses for just the briefest moment mid procedure to turn and send you a wink that makes you roll your eyes and grin back at him. 

Walsh watches the whole interaction, positive the two of you have forgotten everyone else is the room. “This can't possibly be normal. Are they like this their whole shifts?” 

Shen thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “It’s usually worse. Boarding on an HR violation is their normal.” 

A moment passes where Walsh realizes that yeah, that kinda tracks considering the moments she’s been witness to up until this point. Then, to Shen’s horror, she smiles. “Hey, do you wanna see something funny?” 

His eyes narrow at her but ultimately his curiosity gets the better of him. “I’m not taking responsibility for your funeral expenses if this goes badly.” 

That only makes her smile wider.

Walsh maneuvers her way to your other side, taking the place of one of the other nurses that was there. Shen’s eyes go wide when she looks at him again. She speaks before he can shake his head to stop her, breaking you and Jack out of the little bubble you’d put yourselves in.

“You know you’re really good at this, Sweets,” Walsh grins when you look over at her instead and Jack hesitates for just a second. “When can I steal you to help me in the OR? You’d be amazing in there.”

“Anytime,” You meet her smile easily. “I’m always down for a change in scenery.” 

“Perfect,” She smirks a little at your answer. “Name a day and time and I'll steal you all for myself.”

“Done,” The other side of the railing snaps up, maybe a little more harsh than it needs to be. Jack looks up, not a hint of the smile he’d been using with you left when he looks at Walsh. “You can go now.”

Walsh looks more than pleased by his reaction. She looks at Shen who’s trying his absolute hardest not to laugh giddily at what he just witnessed. 

“Down, boy,” She unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed and smirks even wider when Jack removes his gloves and loops his fingers into the hem of your scrub top, pulling you back into his side. It’s completely subconscious, she realizes, when neither one of you seems to even notice it happens. “Even when I steal her from you for my OR you’ll still get to take her home at the end of the night.”

“Wait, hang on, that’s where I draw the line,” Shen unlocks the wheels on the other side and starts wheeling the bed out with her. “You are not taking our best nurse all for yourself. Especially not when she’s the one who also brings us our caffeine every shift.” 

“You know, you’re only giving me more reasons to steal her.” 

Neither one of them notices that you don’t follow. Instead, the room empties out and then it’s just you and Jack. The silence settles between you as Jack unties the back of your surgical gown. When you turn to face him again he speaks softly.

“You could go, you know. To the OR. If you wanted to.” Jack says it before you can say anything about it. “Walsh is right, you’d be a natural up there.” 

“Jack -” 

“You don’t have to stay here forever. I mean, Shen is also right. We’d miss you down here. It hasn’t even been a couple months yet and it feels like you were made to be here with m- with everyone -” 

“Jack -” 

“Even if you just wanted to try it out. I think you should. I mean it’s-”

You kiss him. Not in the storage closet or the locker room or in an on call room or behind a curtain like usual. Right there in the middle of a trauma room, windows wide open and the ED buzzing all around you. 

Jack melts into you immediately. Hands moving to your hips to pull you closer before one moves to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. A small groan leaves him when you pull away, the sweetest, most innocent smile on your lips.

“You talk too much,” A moment passes where you just stare at him, making sure he’s really listening to what you’re saying. “I’m not leaving the ED,” and then you add a little quieter, a little more shy, “You’re here.”

“I love you.”

Jack doesn’t know what possesses him to say it out loud here and now of all places for the very first time. But he feels it and he acknowledges it and there’s no way he can hold it in after that. There’s a need that settles deep in his bones and he knows he’s never going to want anything less than you right there with him always. Forever. He doesn’t know how he’d survive otherwise. 

It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. You can see the intensity in his eyes, how much he feels it and means it. You really wish you were anywhere but the ED right now. Maybe if you wished really really hard you could somehow will everyone and everything to slow down long enough for you to sneak away with Jack for just a little bit. 

Jack Abbot who loves you. The knowledge of that fact makes you feel warm all over. 

“I love you too.” 

+1. The Move

Jack is obsessed. He knows that for sure now. 

With the way you kiss him and how you look at him after. With the way you let him be as attached to you as he needs to be at any given moment and you don’t mind at all. With the way you hold his hand and pretend not to notice when he moves his fingers to rest on your pulse point out of instinct. And especially with moments like these. 

It’s pushing ten am and the two of you have only just left the hospital. A morning rush hour pileup meant that not only was there an influx of trauma’s coming in right before 7 but also that a good chunk of the staff were stuck behind the backed up traffic. 

Despite the fifteen hour shift, you’re still happily nodding your head along to the soft music that fills Jack’s car. He watches you out of the corner of his eye. You’re mumbling the words to the song playing and taking sips out of the drink he’d just bought you, your third one of the day. His drink is sitting the cup holder. His second one, your habits had rubbed off on him.

The song switches once and then twice. By the time it switches a third time he’s watching you frown as you reach the bottom of your drink. 

“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way,” He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the road. “But I think you might have a problem.” 

“I do not!” You feign offense and turn towards him in your seat. “God forbid I treat myself to something nice after a long day.” 

“What were the other two for then?” 

“A treat for going to work and a pick me up for halfway, clearly.”

“Clearly.” Jack shakes his head as stops at a light. Silently, he drops one hand from the wheel and sets it palm side up on the center console. Almost immediately you’re placing your hand in his, the exact way he was craving. 

The light turns green and he makes the split second decision then. He turns right, the direction that’ll let him turn around to head towards his place, instead of continuing straight, the direction that would take him to yours. 

You watch as he does so, driving further and further away from your apartment. “Jack, what are you doing?” 

He kisses the back of your hand. “Taking you back to mine since you’re clearly not planning on sleeping after all that caffeine.” 

“Okay, one,” You turn to face him again, even while he’s driving. “I’ve built up a tolerance. This is nothing. And two, I've been out of clean clothes for like a week. I can only wash the ones I have there so many times.”

“So steal some of mine.” Jack shrugs and maybe the thought of you in his clothes is a little bit for him too.

“Bad idea, cause then neither of us will ever have clean clothes again.”

“I’ll buy you new ones then.”

“Not if I don’t let you.”

“Good luck stopping me.” 

He’s winning and you both know it. So instead you say, “I have to stay at my place sometimes, what’s the point of even having it if I give in and always let you win these fun little arguments.”

The stop is sudden. Jack pulls over into the first empty spot he sees on the side of the road and turns to face you fully before you can ask him what he’s doing.

“You know what, honey? You’re right,” He leans towards you, fully leaning on the center console until he’s close enough to kiss you if he really wanted to. “There’s really no point in you paying for an apartment you’re barely ever in so I think it’s the perfect time for you to let me move you in with me.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. Maybe he was right and the cocktail of caffeine and sleep deprivation was finally making you imagine things. “What?” 

“Move in with me.” 

So you definitely heard him right. 

“You’re not serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“It’s barely been three months,” You shake your head as if that should explain everything. “And we haven’t even technically been dating for that entire time.”

“What can I say, I know what I want,” You’re still looking at him in disbelief so Jack takes your hand again and he sounds more serious when he says it plainly. “What I want is you. Every morning, every night, every shift, every minute you’ll let me. If you’ll have me.”

“It’s too fast.” You’re only trying to convince yourself at this point.

Jack smiles at you, softer than before. “You’re forgetting I’ve been pining over you for more than a year now.” 

You catch the implication immediately. It went way further back than just three months. All the way back to the day you walked through the doors of the PTMC halfway through him going through shift change. He’d lingered a lot longer than necessary and you had thought it was just normal for him. 

“You’re crazy.” 

“That’s why you love me.”

And he’s right. It’s the reason why you finally give in. “Will you at least let me split the rent with you?”

“I own the place.” Jack shrugs and you know for a fact that he’s not sorry in the slightest. 

“Mortgage then.”

“Already paid off.”

“Bills?”

“Paid in advance for the next three months.”

“Groceries?”

“Not a chance.”

“50 50?”

“90 10.”

You huff a little and pout at him. He doesn’t fall for it, only pausing for a second to kiss the look off your face. “Are you ever going to let me win one of these arguments?”

“Not unless it’s in your best interest.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for that too.” 

Jack finally thinks for a moment and that’s when his eyes land on the drinks in the cupholder between the two of you, his half full one and your empty one. “How about I let you pay for my drink every time we stop for one?”

You light up at his proposition. “Will you let me pay for mine?”

“Only after the first one. First one I’m paying for,” He leans in a little bit closer, knowing he’s got you on his side now. “Consider it a compromise.”

“Works for me.”

“You can pay for Shen’s too,” He adds quickly before you can agree. “I refuse to fund his addiction, he’s worse than you.”

“Deal.” That makes you laugh and you finally lean in and kiss him, sealing everything in place. 

He can taste the sugary vanilla drink that still lingers on your tongue and it makes him smile against your lips. “Will you let me take you to our home now?”

“Okay,” You kiss him again. You really can’t help it. “Take me to our place.”

[poetatorturadaa]

i need latino mutuals 😭😭😭

[pinkandblueblurbs]

[lukovsnirvana]

PALM OF HIS HAND ⋆˚࿔ jack abbot smau

my mouth hasn’t shut up about you, since you kissed it. the idea that you might kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since well, before any kiss.

summary following your six month leave, you’re back at ptmc ready to continue your residency. you tell yourself you’re fine. the weight is manageable. the rush of the hospital should keep your thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t. for a while that mindset will work, but there will be times, fleeting, where you remember why you left, and will have trouble remembering why you’re back. he won’t make it any easier, and he’s not going to let you leave again, and maybe you aren’t ready to leave either. he’s already figured you out, and he’s tightening his grasp on you, ready to hold you steady in the palm of his hand.

warnings fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, conservative usage of y/n, suggestive language, slight angst, sexual references, mostly fluff, reader is referred to as gerbil (explained later), the author tries to be funny 😔 age gap (29/50), mentions of grief and loss, estranged parent(s), reader often misses social cues. (will include chapter specific warnings) past emery x reader (if you squint) ambiguous ending

a/n came across this tweet, after a night of binging the pitt, and here we are now.

MASTERLIST

01. day one 12. day fifty-eight

02. day four 13. day sixty-four

03. day eleven 14. day sixty-seven

04. day twenty 15.

05. day thirty 16.

06. day thirty-one 17.

07. day (nth) 18.

08. day (null) 19.

09. day forty-one 20.

10. day fifty 21. epilogue

11. day fifty-one

EXTRAS

prelude

[youleftmenochoicebut]

DROP DEAD!!!

the pitt x fem!reader smau

jack abbot x fem!reader

KISS ME AND I MIGHT — a silly little crackfic typa smau where reader, a third year resident, navigates through last months of being 29 meanwhile trying to fight a crush on a certain attending and debating all of the life choices that lead to this.

LEFT HOOK, RIGHT PUNCH (warnings.) — me trying to be funny, horny corny jokes, plot all over the place, curse words(duh), idek. reader is dennis and trinity’s roommate (maybe i’ll take some inspiration from house tour), hucklerobby, garsantos into santellis eventually, reader is bi, reader’s nickname is rosy thanks to a joke santos made about rose toys after learning reader’s birthday is on valentine’s day!

IT’S FEMININE INTUITION (a/n.) — im trying smth new alright. i wanna do smth on here but im literally so out of my mind that i cannot write anything coherent so for now it’ll just be this i fear. amazing dividers by @robinavitchslut !!!

1... HR

2… the double and the date

3… secrets

4… fuck my fucking chungus life

5… work?

6…

7…

8…

9…

10…

[secretofthesong]

i want someone badly a frank langdon x reader smau

in which an accidental text very publicly reveals a certain doctors feelings for one frank langdon

content: black!fem!reader implied but no descriptions used, divorced!langdon, use of (y/n), gen z speak, foul language, mentions of addiction, suggestiveness, spoilers, doesn't follow the pitt timeline or canon, lotssss of creative liberties taken, switches between conversations frequently

inspired by: @p1ttlings and @tequilai + jeff buckley for title

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

taglist closed

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

[iri-sponsible]

The Pitt is baby's first fandom for so many people. Wdym I should hate Langdon, because he was stealing pills and treating patients high? I was 9 years old watching Dr House pop 3 stolen Vicodin with a half bottle of Whiskey and then treating the Black Plague. Who am I to judge?

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

three's a crowd

summary: your head being turned due to frank's return leads dennis to unexpectedly snap in the breakroom.

pairing: fem!reader x dennis whitaker, fem!reader x frank langdon

warnings/tags: season 2, ep 14 spoilers!, abby and kids do not exist in this universe, jealousy, jealousy and more jealousy!! lowkey dennis is a little bit of a dick in this (maybe?) but it's just because he's got unresolved feelings and insecurities okkkkk, kinda possessiveness but not really? flirting, angst, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you’d expect from the pitt!

notes: this gif makes me feel things. that is all.

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍

masterlist

The first thing Dennis noted when he woke up was that it was hot. Disgustingly so.

The kind that settled over your skin before you were even fully conscious, already clinging, already demanding. The air in his apartment felt thick - stale and unmoving - like it had been sitting there all night waiting for him to wake up and breathe it in.

Hot weather made patients come in even more on edge then usual - like the heat burned through whatever restrained they usually had. Like the sweat melted their frontal lobes, prohibiting them from making logical decisions.

Mix that with a public holiday and excessive drinking?

He already didn’t feel like working today, but now he was dreading it.

His phone buzzed against the bedside table.

Still on for fireworks after today's torture session?

His mouth involuntarily curved upwards as he read your text.

The tension in his chest eased before he could stop it, something softer threading through the irritation.

Dreading it might have been an exaggeration.

Because for Dennis, nothing that involved you had ever felt like something to dread, even a 12 hour shift on the fourth of July.

Definitely, but don’t be surprised if I ask if I can be catapulted into the sky too by tonight.

You laugh reacted his message just as he walked through the doors of the pitt.

A smile was still lingering on his face as he headed towards the lockers.

He heard the familiar sound of your voice before he saw you.

“Oof, 10 months off and you’ve already been demoted to bottom locker status, kinda harsh.”

“Got to find some way of keeping me humble.”

Dennis slowed for a split second as he rounded the corner, before freezing at the sight that greeted him.

You were there, as he'd expected. But what he wasn’t expecting was that you’d be standing there, leant against the lockers, laughing with Frank Langdon.

He knew you and Langdon had been close, and he knew Langdon would be coming back to work eventually, he just didn’t realise it was going to be today.

Dennis felt something tighten low in his chest, sharp and immediate, like his body had reacted before his brain had time to catch up with it. A brief, involuntary bristling that he tried to swallow down just as quickly as it came.

You looked up first.

Your expression shifted instantly, your smile widening like it always did when you saw him.

“Morning sunshine.”

It hit him the same way it always did - quick and disarming, making him feel warmer than it should have in a place that already felt like it was overheating.

Frank turned, following your gaze. “Hey man, long time no see.”

Dennis forced himself to move again, stepping forward, reaching for his locker like everything was normal.

“Hey.” Dennis nodded, sending you both a tight lipped smile as he opened his locker. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

As if he was satisfied that he'd discharged his duty to be a polite co-worker, Frank's attention slid back to you. As if that had always been the more natural place for it to rest, as if Dennis had simply been a brief interruption rather than someone worth lingering on.

"So, how much am I going to have to bribe you to get you to relinquish your top locker?"

You snorted. "Absolutely nothing." You patted your locker affectionately. "This kind of real estate is priceless."

"Not even a month's long supply of free double shot vanilla iced lattes?"

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Points for a good attempt at manipulating me Langdon, but my answer is still no."

He shrugged as he rose to his full height. "That's alright, I'll wear you down eventually."

Dennis, who had been very intentionally keeping his focus on the inside of his locker, finally relented at that.

He peered over to see Frank smirking down at you, with an ease that suggested he’d slipped right back into place without resistance.

"It'll certainly be fun watching you try."

You glanced down at your watch.

"Come on, I want to show you what we've done to the break room since you've been gone before handover."

You locked eyes with Dennis over Frank's shoulder before he had time to avert his gaze.

You shot him a warm smile, one that never failed to make his heart speed up just a touch faster.

And then you were gone.

"What about six months?" Frank tried as he followed you out.

Your laughter drifted back in, curling through the air and settling somewhere low and uncomfortable in Dennis’ stomach.

"Did you know he was coming back today?"

Dennis looked up to see Santos approaching him, her thumb jerked back in Frank's direction.

"Nope." He couldn't quite manage to smooth the edge out of his voice as he stared at the doorway you had just walked through.

"Great, that's just what I need." She muttered.

She turned back to her locker, rummaging for a moment before adding, almost casually -

"Kinda sucks for you too I guess."

Dennis frowned. "Why?"

She paused, then said your last name slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What about her?"

She shut her locker, an unimpressed expression on her features. "Seriously?"

"What?"

She shook her head. "Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Something uncomfortable shifted in his chest.

He reached for his badge, clipping it onto his scrubs sharply, the plastic snapping lightly against the fabric.

"So?"

"So..." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway, like the answer should be obvious. "You're going to have to get used to sharing Huckleberry."

He didn’t respond to that.

Instead he swallowed, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat, before shutting his locker a little harder then necessary.

-

By the time he reached the centre of the floor, the heat had already seeped into everything.

The pitt always ran warm, the air conditioning overworked, the vents struggling to push cool air into a space that demanded too much of it. But today it felt suffocating.

A sheen of sweat had already formed along the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his scrubs.

You were leaning against one of the counters, sipping an iced beverage no doubt left for you by Shen, condensation dripping down the side of the cup.

"Still taking it with too much sugar?" Frank asked, leaning against the opposite bench.

You shot him a look over the rim of your cup. "It’s not too much."

"It’d probably have to be legally classified as a dessert." He tutted mockingly. "I need to talk to Shen about limiting your intake."

"I never heard you complain when you got to finish it."

Frank smirked. "Waste not."

"You’re unbelievable." You said as you shook your head, but there was no bite to it.

Just… fondness.

It sat wrong in Dennis’ chest.

Dennis tried to listen to the handover, he really did. But his attention kept drifting to you and Langdon, dragged back like something physical, something he couldn’t quite control.

You were standing shoulder to shoulder. Frank leaned in slightly as you made a remark about one of the patients, your voice low but animated, completely at ease.

"Alright, let’s move, we’re already backed up." Robby called, clapping his hands once.

"Today's going to be a scorcher people, be prepared."

-

"Don't you remember how she was practically Langdon's shadow?"

Santos' words lingered, looping, catching, replaying at the most inconvenient moments as Dennis moved through the start of his shift, trying and failing to settle into a rhythm that usually came naturally to him.

Truthfully, he didn't remember.

He'd only worked one shift with you and Langdon together before. A shift that happened to be one of the worst days of his life.

He'd been a little too preoccupied with catching a rat and dealing with a mass casualty event to really notice anything as subtle as the dynamic between the two of you.

But as the morning wore on and he watched you and Langdon interact, fragments of your first shift together started to come back in pieces, stirred up by his subconscious.

Santos' assessment hadn't been far off.

Back then, you'd been an R1 and were clearly Langdon's favourite. Dennis remembered him shouting your last name as his first port of call when a trauma came through, how he'd leaned on you in ways that felt effortless rather than forced. You’d taken his teasing without flinching, never quite on the receiving end of anything harsher, even when you slipped up.

Dennis hadn’t noticed it then.

He noticed it now.

And it was everywhere.

Even with Langdon stuck in triage, somehow the two of you kept crossing paths, orbiting each other like it was instinct rather than intention.

He watched from afar as you worked together - so seamlessly it was like you shared one stream of consciousness, like no time had passed. When you stepped back, Langdon shifted automatically to give you space. When Langdon needed something you would have it in his hand before he could even ask for it.

There was no hesitation, no missteps.

You and Dennis worked like that too. Or, at least he thought you did.

Something began to take shape in his chest, slow and ugly. It crawled upward, heavy and unfamiliar, nesting somewhere under his ribs and refusing to move.

It was uncomfortable. He didn't get like this. This wasn't him.

He didn't do jealousy or possessiveness.

You weren’t an object that something to be hoarded. You weren’t his. You had never been his in the first place.

And yet for these past ten months, it felt like you had been... something.

Ten months of inside jokes, weekends at the gym, knock off drinks with Santos and Garcia. The quiet, steady presence of you at his side, shift after shift.

Ten months of just you and him.

And now... now the dynamic was all wrong, like the ground had shifted under his feet, like something unspoken had been quietly rewritten without his permission.

“See what I mean?”

Santos’ voice cut through his thoughts.

He followed the tilt of her head, his gaze landing once more on you and Langdon.

“Shadow.”

He felt the ER grow a degree hotter.

-

The first patient the three of you worked together came in not long after.

Middle-aged male. Heat exhaustion bordering on heat stroke.

"Pulse ox is dropping." Princess warned.

"Push fluids." Dennis replied, stepping in without hesitation.

Langdon was on the other side of the bed, calm, steady, slipping seamlessly back into the rhythm of the department like he’d never left.

"We need to cool him down fast." He said. "Ice packs-"

"-axilla and groin." You finished for him, already moving to put them in place.

Dennis watched you for a half a second too long. You were efficient, focused and completely in your element.

"Whitaker."

He snapped back, heat prickling under his skin. "Yeah."

Langdon’s gaze flicked to him briefly. "You with us?"

There wasn't any malice in it, it wasn't pointed, Frank was senior to him - he had every right to call him out.

But the way he said us, as if you and he were a little team - it made Dennis' stomach twist.

"I am." He replied, a touch too quick, a fraction too sharp.

Your eyes flitted to him briefly, your brow furrowing just a touch at his tone.

Langdon held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded. "Good."

-

"Did we get the CT back on our backflip girl yet?"

"No, still waiting."

Frank nodded, leaning over the desk as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly, taking a moment to watch you as you typed in your notes.

He knew you were good, you'd always been good. But in the past ten months, you'd clearly blossomed. You were more confident, carrying around an air of undemanded authority that you hadn't had before.

He hated the fact that he hadn't been here to watch you grow. That it was his fault for missing out on such a vital part of your career.

His eyes met Whitaker’s from across the room. Dennis looked away suddenly, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It made Frank think about the tense interaction they’d had over Louis a little earlier.

"Whitaker seemed a little off earlier, don't you reckon?"

"During our heatstroke guy?"

"Yeah."

You peered over the top of your monitor and followed Frank's gaze through the glass into Trauma 1 where Whitaker stood.

"Yeah a little."

Frank hummed. "Maybe he was looking for another rat to kill."

He looked down at you, expecting to hear your laugh, the easy one you usually gave him.

Instead, your brows were knitted, your expression tightened just slightly.

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "He's not the nervous student he was when you saw him last time you know. He’s a doctor now and he's good... really good."

Frank blinked, slightly taken aback.

"I know." Frank admitted slowly. "I've watched him this morning."

"Then you also know that he's an easy target."

Your eyes shifted to Dennis again for a moment, lingering.

"And he cops enough teasing from the others."

Frank watched you carefully.

"You guys are close, huh?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, the tension easing out of your expression. "Yeah. We are."

You sighed when Frank raised a brow, like that explanation wasn’t sufficient. "He cares, a lot. Sometimes too much." A small shrug. "I just don’t want people to take advantage of that.”

“You’ve got his back.” He observed.

“Yeah.” You replied without hesitation. “I do.”

“And he’s got yours?”

You smiled faintly. “For his sake, he better.”

Frank huffed out a quiet breath.

“Ok well that’s good enough for me.”

“So no more rat jokes?”

He mimed a cross over his heart. “No more rat jokes.”

Your smile made something twist behind his ribs.

“Thank you.”

Something unreadable flickered across his expression. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

An uncomfortable truth curled up in the pit of his stomach.

That things that had kept growing here without him, some more than he'd realised or expected. And some that he hadn't foreseen at all.

-

You found Dennis in the stairwell not long after lunchtime.

The air in there was marginally cooler, but not by much, the faint echo of footsteps and distant voices bleeding through the concrete walls.

"Hiding already?"

Dennis looked up at you.

"Just...needed a breather."

"Yeah I feel that." You sighed as you leant against the wall opposite him.

A pause settled between you.

"I'm sorry about Louis."

Dennis exhaled quietly. "Thanks."

"You know you did everything you could, right?"

"I know... I just-" He shook his head. "I mean, I think I know that I did."

"Den. There was nothing else you could have done. This is not your fault."

The way you gently said his nickname slipped under his guard in a way nothing else had that day, soft and familiar and yours.

Dennis' jaw tightened.

You noticed it, like you always did.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

You studied him for a moment, something searching in your expression. "Nothing, I just feel like you've been a little off today."

A beat.

"You didn’t tell me Langdon was coming back today." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You blinked, a little surprised. "I didn’t know. He told me HR cleared him but he didn't tell me when he was actually coming back."

The stark, casual revelation that the two of you talked outside of work dug it's claws into him.

"Oh, right."

Silence stretched.

"I know him being back must be kind of weird... given everything."

Weird.

That wasn’t the word he would’ve chosen.

From outside, faint but unmistakable, Langdon’s voice carried through the hallway.

Your attention flickered toward the sound without you even realizing it.

Something in him snapped.

"I just don't get how he gets to walk back in here like nothing happened."

You turned back towards him sharply, taken aback by Dennis' tone. "What?"

"He messed up.” Dennis continued, the words coming faster now, edged with something he couldn’t quite rein in. "And now he's just- what- joking around about being a drug addict like everything's fine? Like nothing happened?"

Your expression shifted, confusion giving way to something firmer. "He made a mistake."

"A pretty big one."

"And he paid for it." You fired back sharply. "He wasn't on a holiday for ten months Den, he was in rehab."

Dennis sighed. "I know that."

"Then what is it?" You pressed. "People are allowed to make mistakes. God knows we both have made plenty in this job."

"Yeah, except neither of us stole drugs from this hospital."

He saw it on your face instantly. You already knew.

The realisation was a slap in the face. That you were embracing Frank back with open arms, despite being armed with the full knowledge of the depth of his fuckup.

“You knew.” It landed like an accusation.

“Yes.”

He hated that there had been a small part of him that had hoped you didn’t know, that finding out would have circumvented all of this, would have brought you back to him.

"Trin shouldn't have told you that." You muttered after a moment, shaking your head.

"Yeah well.... she did."

You stared at him, something hurt and frustrated flickering behind your eyes.

“What is happening with everyone today?”

Dennis faltered.

"Everyone’s acting like I’m doing something wrong by talking to him." You continued, exasperated now. “He’s my friend.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

“Yeah,” Dennis muttered. “I can see that.”

He saw the hurt that flashed across your features again, except this time it was engrained deeper.

"You know, I expected some judgment from Santos." Your voice was quiet.

"But I didn't expect it from you."

The quiver in your voice was like a bucket of ice on his temper, dousing whatever heat had been building.

Somehow this felt worse than you yelling at him.

He let out a small groan, dragging a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."

He did. He just couldn't say it.

"This shift has just already been a lot and Santos is upset and..."

"It's ok." You cut him off gently. "I get it."

Your understanding only made him feel worse.

"It's not ok." He insisted firmly, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

"You don't deserve to be treated like that, you're doing the right thing."

He exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"Dinner and drinks before the fireworks are on me tonight ok? And I'm not taking no for an answer. My way of apologising for chucking a tantrum."

Your expression warmed, just a little. "...and dessert?"

Despite everything, he let out a small chuckle at the hopefulness in your tone. "And dessert."

Your smiled widened slightly. "Ok. Deal."

You moved to leave, then hesitated, turning back.

"I know he was kind of a dick during your first day." You said carefully. "But he's a really good guy. I promise. Just... try and give him a chance?"

Dennis withheld a sigh as he studied you for a moment.

"...sure."

-

Frank did a double take from across the hall when he noticed you and Dennis step out of the stairwell.

He lingered on you for a moment, noting the way your smile seemed to be pulled tighter than usual, the usual sparkle in your eyes slightly dulled.

Then he looked at Whitaker, catching the way he seemed to keep glancing over at you anxiously, like he was waiting for something to break.

He forced himself to look away.

-

You tried to push your interaction with Dennis out of your mind as you made your way back into the chaos of the floor.

You ended up at the nursing station to see if any of your patients results had been dumped in their trays yet, flipping through charts with a little more force than necessary.

Movement caught your eye.

Dennis and Frank walking straight towards each other.

They both stepped to the right to move out of eachother's way, nearly bumping into one another.

Then, they both went left.

Finally they both stood still, each shooting the other a weird glare. Then, wordlessly, they finally passed each other with stiff shoulders and tight expressions.

You huffed, loud enough for Dana to glance over at you.

"You ok sweetheart?" Dana slipped her glasses off. "Not used to hearing those sort of grumblings out of you."

"It's nothing." You muttered. "It's just-" You slammed the papers down in frustration. "Why is everyone acting so weird today?"

Dana’s lips twitched, but she smoothed it out quickly. "The heat makes people crazy down here."

"Crazier than usual you mean." You grumbled just as you finally found the result you were looking for in the mountain of paperwork.

Dana watched with eagle eyes as you stalked off.

She glanced across the floor to see Langdon in one corner, his eyes on you despite being in the middle of a conversation with McKay.

Sure enough, when she spotted Whitaker by the bed of one of his patients - he was doing the exact same thing.

"....and love does to." She added under her breath.

-

It wasn't until well into the afternoon that you finally found a chance to slip into the breakroom.

You slowed as your eyes fell on Frank seated at one of the tables, his back leant against the poster littered wall.

"Hey." You called out.

"Hey."

You hesitated. "You want some alone time?"

"No, you're good."

He exhaled slowly. “I'm just....figuring out if I’m ready to be back here.”

You frowned.

“What makes you think you’re not ready?” You asked as you took a seat opposite him, just far away that your knees weren't brushing.

Frank shrugged, gaze drifting. “This shift has just been… rough. I don’t know I just… I feel like you and Mel are the only ones happy that I’m back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Robby’s been on my ass all shift and I feel like everyone else is either treating me like I'm made of glass or trying way too hard to be normal."

“Robby’s been on your ass all shift because he’s angry at himself because he feels like he failed you and doesn’t want to admit it."

He paused. "You think so?"

"That's my running theory."

Frank looked up at you for a moment. “Didn’t realise you were doing your residency in the psych ward.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “I did a psychology elective at uni, doesn’t that make me practically an expert?”

Frank huffed a laugh at that.

“As for everyone else… they’re happy you’re back. I think they’re probably just trying to be as normal as possible to not to make you feel weird about it.”

“Thanks.” He spoke quietly. “For supporting me.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sure it’s probably a bit weird for you with Santos and Whitaker.”

Your face faltered slightly. “You noticed that huh?”

“Just a little bit.”

Your attempt at a weak smile floundered as you shrugged. “I get it. You were a bit of a dick to Santos and she has her own shit going on and as for Whitaker…”

You glanced out towards the hum of the chaos, your interaction with Dennis replaying in your mind.

“I don’t know… I think he’s just a bit protective of her y’know? Being her roommate and everything.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Frank’s features. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

You shrugged. “They’ll get over it eventually.”

“Besides-" You continued, your tone lightening, "- they’ve only worked one shift with you. You’ve got plenty of time to charm them with your terrible jokes and tangents about your love of civil war reenactors.”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

Frank huffed a laugh at that, his expression softening as he eyed you.

“You’ve made this shift bearable, you know that right?”

You offered up another shrug, trying to ignore the way heat wanted to creep up your neck at that.

“I’m just being a good R2.”

“You’re more than that, you’re-“ Frank stopped himself.

“I guess what I'm trying to say is-" He stopped again, huffing in frustration.

"- I missed you... that’s all.”

Your chest tightened.

“I missed you too.”

You eyed eachother.

Something unspoken lingered between you.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you stood and grabbed his empty mug, needing movement to distract you from the emotions that you were too scared to dissect coursing through you. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You doing anything for the fourth?” Frank asked as you approached the sink.

“Yeah Den and I- sorry- Whitaker and I are going to go watch the fireworks.”

Because your back was to him, you missed the way that Frank's expression flickered.

He watched you clean the mug in smooth, rhythmic movements, the way you moved when you were working on a patient.

“Oh that’ll be fun.”

“Yeah I’m keen." You smiled faintly. "I haven’t gone since I was a kid.”

You placed the mug on the edge of the sink to dry. “You doing anything?”

“Oh no, I’m off tomorrow so might stay up late and then enjoy a sleep in.”

“I’m off tomorrow too." You twisted around to face him, placing your hands on the bench behind you.

"I need to somehow force myself to go shopping for homewares. The new place is looking depressing.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said instantly.

You looked over at him in surprise. “Really?”

“I mean, only if you want the company.” He added quickly. “And totally ok if you say no because you want to you know…maintain professional boundaries.”

Your mouth twitched. “I came and visited you in rehab. I think we’re past that.”

“Touché.”

You studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You really want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with you? Besides, my bachelor pad is equally depressing. I could use a pot plant or two.”

You both looked up at the sound of your last name being called. Princess stood in the doorway.

“They’re asking for you in Trauma 2.”

“Ok be right there."

You looked back at him, already moving.

“Do you even know how to look after a plant?”

“Do you?”

“No. That’s why I’ve only got fake ones.” You called over your shoulder.

His laugh followed you out.

-

"Anyone seen Whitaker?"

"Last time I saw him he was on his way outside to go and give Ogilvie a free therapy session."

You turned immediately to Santos, brows knitting. "What's wrong with Ogilvie?"

Santos didn’t look up from her shredding. "One of his patients died on the table."

"Oh the guy where he missed the-"

"-yep-“

"-shit."

"Yeah.” Santos sighed. “Apparently he's in a pretty bad way."

You were already moving.

"Ok, if anyone's looking for me tell them I'm outside with Whitaker." You called out over your shoulder.

"Will do."

Santos watched you go, then glanced down at her paperwork. "Except for Langdon." She muttered under her breath.

McKay snorted beside her.

The air outside was different.

Still hot, but moving steadily by a gentle breeze at least.

Sure enough, you found Dennis in the ambulance bay. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands braced on either side of him, his expression more raw now that he was away from the prying eyes of his coworkers.

"Hey."

Dennis looked up, his face softening slightly at the sight of you.

"Hey."

You perched beside him, leaving just enough space between you that your shoulders didn’t touch, your legs swinging idly over the edge.

"You send Ogilvie home?"

"Yeah...” Dennis exhaled, glancing out towards the street. “He’s been through a lot today."

You nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, nothing on your first shift though huh?"

That loosened a short huff of laughter from him.

"You think he'll come back?"

Dennis shrugged. "Honestly.. I don't know. I tried to give him a little pep talk but I don't know if it stuck.”

"Oh yeah? What'd you say?"

"Oh you know just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish, “stuff about balance and acceptance."

Your mouth twitched as his cheeks reddened. "Geez I wonder where I've heard that before?"

"It's a good speech!" He defended quickly.

"No, no it is." You agreed, although your inability to control your laughter undermined your assurances. "I just can't believe you Robby'd the poor guy."

Dennis winced, bowing his head in defeat. "Yeah I guess I kinda did."

The laughter faded.

Your smile faltered as you studied his side profile for a few moments, noting the way his gaze kept drifting, like he couldn’t quite settle anywhere.

"Everything else ok?"

"Yeah." He said half heartedly. "I mean I'm a bit worried about Santos and-"

"I mean with you." You gently cut him off.

He blinked. "Me?"

"You’ve had a pretty shit day too. Or do you not remember your self-classified tantrum from earlier?”

“I’m fine.” He assured you, shooting you a small smile. “But thank you.”

Dennis could tell by the look on your face that you didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press it. Like always, you knew when to push and when to let things lie.

“That’s ok.” Your tone lightened. “Someone’s gotta be looking out for you while you’re busy talking everyone else off ledges.”

Dennis studied you for a moment, "and that person is...you?"

"Well obviously."

He let out a small, breathy laugh, "ok well... who's looking after you?"

"You are."

You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t up for debate, just something that had always existed. Always would.

"That's how this works right? You and me, surviving this place together.”

"Yeah.” He said quietly, forcing himself to look away from you. “I guess it does."

He glanced down.

Your hand rested beside his, curled over the edge of the ambulance.

So close that he would only have to move an inch and his hand would brush yours.

Self-doubt flared.

His fingers flexed, but he didn’t move.

"I'm really glad you're here." He hadn't even really meant to say the words out loud, slipping out so quietly under his breath you almost didn't catch them.

A beat passed.

"Me too."

He missed the way you tucked your chin slightly, angling your face to hide the faint flush that crept into your cheeks.

"Alright." You announced, jumping off the ambulance and onto your feet after a few moments of silence stretched between you.

“Let's get back in there so we can still at least try and see some fireworks."

He hesitated. "You still want to go?"

"Yeah, of course." Your brow creased slightly. "Don't you?"

"Yeah no totally I just-um-well I wasn't sure-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind."

Your grin widened. "Let's go then Whitaker, these documents won't scan themselves."

For a brief moment, as the two of you walked instep back into the pitt, Dennis felt the pressure ease slightly.

Like maybe he’d overthought it. Like maybe the heat had just gotten to him, twisted things out of proportion, made something out of nothing.

Like maybe - this was still just you and him, whatever this was.

Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last long.

-

The three of you ended up being pulled into a MVA trauma not long after.

It went smoothly. Cleaner than most cases that chaotic.

By the time the patient stabilized, the tension in the room had eased just enough for everyone in the room to breathe again.

You pulled your gloves off with a small sigh. "Nice save boys."

Langdon glanced at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You led that."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "I did not."

"Are you kidding me?" He said your last name sharper this time, more deliberate, enough to make Dennis' skin crawl.

"Your call not to intubate probably saved his life. Seriously, that was a great pick up. Most doctors would have missed it."

You ducked your head just slightly, a soft smile slipping through as a faint flush crept up your cheeks.

To most, it would look like a junior glowing at receiving praise from their mentor.

But Dennis knew you too well.

He saw it in the way your expression shifted, subtle, quick - but unmistakable. You were flustered. Done by something more than just professional pride.

Something in Dennis' chest pulled tight. Hard.

The sweat at the base of his skull prickled like pins from the heat.

He walked out of the trauma bay without another word.

After that, things just kept getting worse.

His attempt at good karma got thwarted by a racist grandma resulting in a $250 charge to his card. Someone drank his last protein shake left in the fridge that he’d been saving.

Then, he lost his ID badge, the one he’d had for less then half a day.

His thoughts were already scattered, his patience worn thin, the heat pressing in again, suffocating, sticking to his skin like it wouldn’t let him breathe.

And then Langdon offered to help him look for it with enough sincerity in his voice that it made Dennis see red.

And lastly, Santos teased him for it, with Langdon behind her clearly trying not to laugh.

He felt like he was one step away from overheating completely.

-

The last thirteen hours felt like a weight around his neck as he stepped out of the chaos into the break room.

His last hope at finding his ID.

“Woah.” He muttered as he nearly collided with someone.

Langdon.

His eyes flickered down to the pills pressed tightly into Langdon’s palm. “Uh-hey.”

Frank’s eyes trained on him carefully as Dennis moved past him.

“Relax buddy, it’s Advil.”

Dennis turned back with a start at Frank’s clipped tone. "No, I didn't think you were-" He cut himself off with a sigh, not having the energy to try and explain.

"Headache?" He offered instead as he knelt down to look under the vending machine.

"Uh, I tweaked my back a little lifting that overheated kid." Frank twisted around after filling up his mug with water, leaning his back against the sink.

"Guess I should get used to playing through the pain again, huh?" He remarked dryly as he threw the Advil down.

Dennis was debating whether he respond when Frank continued.

"You look like you got into shape since I saw you last.” Dennis turned to face him. “Didn't peg you as a gym guy."

"Oh no um.. I mean I've been going a little bit." Dennis chuckled awkwardly. "And I've been helping a friend move. Been building some furniture and stuff, so..."

Frank nodded, then said your name.

Dennis stilled as he glanced up from the floor in surprise.

"Right?" Frank continued as he placed the mug onto the bench, crossing his arms over his chest. "She told me you were helping her out. That's nice of you to do that."

Dennis wasn't sure if he was just sleep deprived, or if there was actually an edge to Frank's words.

Either way, he found himself tighten further. The weight pressed heavier.

He was already frayed, already overheated, already one wrong word away from snapping - and this felt like the final straw.

Frank's mouth twitched slightly. "Now I'm picturing her ordering you around and getting you to change the angle of her sofa like fifty times-"

The pressure cooker boiled over.

"Can you cut the shit?"

The words left Dennis' mouth before he could stop them.

Frank froze, one hand on the door to the medicine cupboard. "Excuse me?"

The words tumbled out of him like smoke trying to escape out of a chimney.

"The sarcasm thing, the- the little buddy routine like you're what, you're the Skipper and I'm Gilligan?“ Dennis took a step towards him, squaring his shoulders. “You're not the Skipper, dude."

Frank blinked. "I know I'm not the Skipper. Robby is the Skipper."

"No Robby's the professor, Dana's the Skipper."

"Ok, somebody's watched a lot of Nick at Nite.” He paused carefully. “So what am I?”

Dennis sighed as he felt the anger start to ebb out of him, replaced by a crippling exhaustion.

"Play whatever part you like. Just…don't pick mine for me."

Frank studied him for a moment, something shifting behind his expression. "Ok, ok that's fair. You got it."

Dennis felt a flicker of guilt course through him at Frank’s understanding.

Dennis nodded once, turning toward the door.

"Thank you."

"But-"

Dennis stopped.

"-you should at least be honest about why you're pissed."

"What do you mean?"

Frank's brows raised as he stepped back to lean against the counter. "I know there's more to this then my lame jokes."

"Santos can take care of herself-"

"-I'm not talking about Santos." Frank said quietly.

Dennis held his gaze for a moment, then despite himself, he glanced through the glass.

You were out by the nurses station, laughing at something McKay had said as you scanned in your notes.

Blissfully unaware of the friction your existence had sparked.

When he looked back, Frank was watching him, a knowing look in his eye.

"You know... she was the only one who came to visit me in rehab." He admitted quietly.

The fight in Dennis faltered slightly.

“Of course she did.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She’s….”

"Yeah….she is."

Dennis saw it then, that unmistakable emotion flash across Frank's face. The one he hadn’t wanted to name all day. The one he saw every time he looked at himself in the mirror.

Longing.

"Her and I we...” Frank debated his next words, like he wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase it.

“…we work well together." Was what he settled on.

“So do we.”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

Frank studied him.

"So this is about you being territorial."

"That's not what this is about-"

"-isn't it?"

Dennis' stare hardened as he felt heat creeping up his neck, his pulse loud in his ears.

Frank pushed off the counter, taking a step closer - not aggressive, but grounded. Certain.

“You know she can make her own choices, right?"

"I know that." Dennis bit back. "But you've been gone for ten months. Things are different."

Dennis knew the words sounded pathetic the second they fell off his tongue.

They still hit their mark though. A barb lodged in Frank’s ribcage, reminding him how much had changed.

How Robby looked to Dennis during cases the way he used to look to Frank. How you had fallen into a routine with Dennis that you used to have with him and him alone.

Frank's brows pulled together slightly. "I'm not doing anything, I'm just trying to do my job."

Dennis scoffed, more bitterly than he'd intended.

"Yeah and you just get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened." He muttered.

Frank went still.

The air shifted.

"So you're mad at me because she's decided to forgive me?"

Dennis didn’t answer.

Frank let out a slow breath, something sharper creeping into his expression now.

"Or mad at yourself because you had ten months to make a move and didn't?"

The harsh truth in Frank’s words cut Dennis deep, acting like salt in an already festering wound.

Frank took a step closer.

"Either way, that’s not on me."

Dennis straightened at that, meeting Frank's eyes with a glare of his own.

Frank moved towards the door, then paused.

"And I'm not going to stay away from her just because you have a crush."

Crush - like it was some childish fantasy. Like there wasn’t a possibility that there was something real between the two of you.

Dennis’ jaw clenched as he gritted out his next words.

"Guess that makes two of us."

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