hi more fauxcest please. god these idiots make me crazy. concept: trinity jokingly calls dennis a daddy’s boy in reference to how polite + nice he is to the two hot attendings and it does something. that’s it goodbye
this one got away from me, but also, I kind of love it.
She has no idea how right she is, that's the thing.
It's meant to just be a little taunt, Dennis knows. Trinity is mean, and can often find the exact sore spots she wants, pressed down on them like a bruise.
It's just this one. She thinks she's being funny. Embarrassing Dennis in front of his attendings, a little good-natured fun.
Except.
"Jeez, okay, you're such a Daddy's boy, Huck. All sweet and polite and yes sir, no sir," she teases, rolling her eyes.
Dennis can see both Jack and Robby still. They're not even in this conversation, they're just near enough that they can overhear it all. Because of course that's how Trinity planned it. She's a bitch, but a very strategic one.
"I - shut up, Trin," he manages, cheeks pink.
Even to his ears, it sounds truly pathetic. He can usually hit back with at least a little fire. Something equally mean or quippy. People don't call them twins for nothing.
But this time? Well, this time Dennis can only splutter.
There are images racing through his mind, and not a single one of them the kind he'd like others to know about. Robby standing above him, cock deep in Dennis' throat, and moaning that's it, baby, being so good for Daddy.
Robby is standing right fucking there.
He can't help but flick his eyes over to the two men, and … yeah, they're watching him too.
Trinity looks like she's hit the fucking jackpot. For her, she has.
"Oh, wow," she drawls, looking between the three of them. "Are y'all actually - I mean, it does make sense, Huck has crazy Daddy issues."
Jack raises a brow, his mouth curling into a smirk, and Dennis' flush deepens.
"Okay that's enough goodbye!" he hisses, taking trinity by the arm and dragging her away down the hall, her cackles drifting behind them.
"What is wrong with you!" he snaps, when they're far enough away from Jack and Robby for his comfort. Around several corners.
"It's not my fault you're so obvious!" she laughs, clearly delighted with this turn of events.
"We are not," he insists, lowering his voice. "Sleeping together. And lay off about my Daddy issues. I told you that in confidence."
She shrugs.
"If it helps get you laid, no apologies," she brushes off.
It is not going to help get him laid. Would he like to fuck the hot married attendings? Yeah, of course. But so does everyone in this damn hospital. Dennis isn't special. He's just another in a long line of thirsty medical students.
They only have eyes for each other, those two.
It's just that. Well, maybe it's in his head. It's probably in his head. But he could swear, over the next few days, that Jack and Robby are being quite deliberate about fucking with his head.
They have an emergency birth down in emergency, the Mom tumbling in out of their car, already mostly dilated. She delivered on her own, and when a crazed looking man sprinted into the department, looking around frantically, Jack leaned into Dennis and murmured
"I think that's probably the Daddy, don't you?"
Dennis shudders.
"Um, yeah," he agrees, and turns around just in time to see Jack's wide, smug grin, before the man leaves him be.
Robby, too, is touchier than usual. If that's all fucking possible. He lays hands on Dennis' shoulders, as usual, but they linger. They stay, and Dennis can feel the warm weight of them even once they're gone.
"You got scans down from Radiology on the guy in C11 yet?" Robby asks him, laying a hand on Dennis' back. Nowhere too - inappropriate. Nothing low. Just. There. Present.
"Yeah," he answers, swallowing hard. "Looks like a tibfib, like we thought."
"Good boy," Robby murmurs. That is not his usual encouragement. Dennis can feel himself going pink. No, no, stop. Just look normal. Just be normal. This is all in your head. "Send him up to surgery. You can scrub in, son."
Dennis stops in his tracks.
Robby just raises his brows, like nothing has happened.
"You want to scrub in, don't you?" he asks.
Dennis has to genuinely think about it, because all he can hear rolling through his mind over and over is sonsonsonsonson.
"Yes!" he chokes out. "Yes, sir, I definitely wanna - I'll go and - okay."
Fucking humiliating.
He thinks they might have forgotten about their fucking with him, or maybe his brain has just stopped making it up, weeks later, when the comments have died down.
The bus stop is empty, and it's cool, if not cold, out. He's waiting alone, because Trinity has kicked on directly from work to drinks with Crash, and he doesn't want to - well, crash. Trinity told him in detail all the shit she had planned for that night, and good for her, but he doesn't need to hear or see any of that.
"Hey, kid," a voice calls out, and fucking Robby is hanging out the side of a truly absurd looking truck. Not the kind of truck Dennis grew up with. One of these stupid city rigs. Figures, this is what Jack would drive.
"Oh, hey," he says, waving weakly.
"Need a ride?" Robby asks, looking him up and down.
Yes, he probably does. This bus is seven minutes late and he's starting to think it's just … never coming.
"Nah, I'm okay," he brushes off. "You guys head home."
Robby's face turns down into a frown, displeased.
"C'mon," he insists. "Jump in. Let us take you home."
And hell, he's heard that in his dreams before.
He hesitates.
"For fuck's sake, sweetheart, get in the car," Jack calls from his place at the wheel.
Sweetheart?
It's enough to get him opening up the back door and climbing in.
Both men grin at him, wolfish.
"Buckle up, kiddo," Robby reminds him.
He feels like there's something going on here.
"I, uh, I'm just over in the Flats," he says, dutifully buckling himself in. "Not far. Thanks."
Jack seems to ignore him, driving right past the exit that would take him home.
"Uh, Jack?" he asks, leaning forward. "You - it was back there."
"I know," Jack says, not looking away from the road. "We said take you home. To ours."
Oh.
"Look," he snaps, temper rising. It's been fucking weeks of this. Not knowing if something was real. If it really meant anything. If he's going crazy. "If you're just messing with me for fun, cool, whatever. You had your fun. I'll get out and walk home, thanks. But if you're - not. Then just fucking say something."
Both men go quiet in the front. He feels like a child here in the back, all buckled in. Like his … Dads are driving him home from school or something.
"Well," Robby finally says, voice low. "What do you want us to say, baby boy?"
Dennis' dick twitches.
"Are you gonna fuck me?" he asks, emboldened by the adrenaline running through his veins.
"I'm going to feed you," Jack says, peering just for a second over his shoulder, barely anything. "Then put you in a bath. And then I'm going to fuck you, kid."
Dennis chokes.
"Oh, he does like it," Robby purrs, eyes lit up with delight. "Santos was right."
"Why didn't you just - you - I thought I was going fucking insane," Dennis sputters, once he's regained the capacity for speech. "You kept dropping all these stupid little hints!"
Robby laughs, and shrugs, turned in his seat to face Dennis.
"Well, not everyone wants to be an old married couple's little boy," he reasons. "We had to … check."
Dennis scoffs.
"I think you'll find there's a line around the fucking block for that," he mutters.
Jack snorts with laughter.
"Lucky we only ever wanted one baby then, huh?" he teases, and Dennis thinks he might just melt into the seat and die.
True to his word, Jack does feed him. He sits in Jack's lap, carefully balanced so he doesn't put too much pressure on his stump side, and lets the man handfeed him forkfuls of pasta. He gets a kiss for every bite, and fuck, he's never been more motivated to eat.
Robby sits in the bath with him, legs spread and bracketing Dennis' body, and washes his hair. Dennis can feel the man's hard-on pressed against his ass the entire time. He scrubs every inch of Dennis, gentle, with soap that smells like creamy honey, and then lays him out on their bed, spread and wanting and theirs.
"Sweet angel," Jack coos, the warmth and love of it entirely at odds with the way he thrusts, rough and brutal, inside. "Daddy's little boy, huh?"
He can only nod, desperate, almost sure this isn't even real, while Robby murmurs affectionate filthy nothings into his ear.
Suffice it to say, the next time Trinity calls him a Daddy's boy, he agrees, wholeheartedly.
yeah sorry I think it's so icky and pervy and wonderful to refer to cum as "love." robby fucking into dennis and murmuring daddy's gonna put all his love inside you, okay? shh, just take it... robby petting over den's stomach and cooing does that feel nice, baby? all of daddy's love stuffed inside your pretty little tummy. mm, is it warm? yeahh, I know. so full of daddy's love.
mmm okay well now I'm thinking about baran fucking trinity in a headlock. trinity fuzzy-headed and whining, neck in the crook of baran's arm, who's squeezing with just enough pressure to make her so deliciously dizzy, cunt pulsing around baran's thick strap.
baran laughing low, driving her hips up, free arm locked around trinity's waist. ohh, good girl. that's my girl, taking me so well. do you like that, sweetheart? yeah, you do? I know, I know it... just take it, just take it...
The three alphas- Robby, Pope and Jack- had been settled in their cabin for a good 20 years.
The thing that stalked their cabin has been settled there for much longer.
They don’t know when they first noticed him; the lines between thinking it’s animals, then wishing it’s animals, then knowing it wasn’t have run over the years.
Their routine usually goes as follows; Jack, up the earliest before dawn starts coloring the sky. He carries his lantern and a satchel of salt and dutifully pours it in a circle surrounding their cabin and the tiny farm behind it. And- dutifully, every morning- it walks alongside him on the other side.
Human if you didn’t look hard enough. Blue eyes a touch too big and sandy curls the color of a dried mud bank. Skin as pale as a corpse’s, fingers too thin to be hand-waved as dainty. Always barefoot, always dressed in a dirty beige shirt and blue jeans. When he talked it was like there was mud in his throat, the words coming out garbled and wet.
“Do you like being a doctor? How did you lose your leg? You look very strong, a very capable alpha, is Robby your mate? Do you have an omega? Well what kind of home doesn't have one?”
They both politely ignore the salt line that sits between them both. Jack stays silent as Dennis babbles, broken up by soft, warbly cooes and cackles that make Jack think of the crows that circle the house. Sometimes he doesn’t talk in anything but borrowed words, garbled and throaty, sometimes a woman’s panicked call for her husband and sometimes a boy explaining how to get through the passage near their house. Sometimes a man, sleazy and growly asking why a pretty little thing was out here at night.
He doesn’t talk to Pope, but Jack thinks it’s because Pope takes his axe with him when he goes out to chop wood. It suits them- Dennis stares, wide blue eyes taking in every detail while Pope stares right back as he dutifully splits the logs.
Robby’s last to wake, as the sky starts to lighten, when the smells of cooking meat and coffee waft out the open window. Robby always throws the bones out into the woods, and Dennis always comes to retrieve them like they’re something precious. On quiet mornings, Robby could hear the scrape of teeth on bone, and the cracks of an animal breaking them open.
Once the morning light broke through the canopy, Dennis would retreat into whatever den he’s made for himself by their home. Only then is it safe for the Rural doctors to make their house calls.
Their hours are very strict- do not come before the sun is up. Do not leave after the sun went down.
.
.
.
.
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idk Rural Appalacian horror!Dennis trying to court the pretty alphas in the salt line enclosure brought to you by @crazyamoeba
Dennis has just spent the last of his money at some run down motel in the middle of nowhere. he doesn't know where he is, his phone is almost dead and now he's got no money to travel to the closest city. coming to terms with the fact that hitchhiking may be his only option, he sets off on foot in hopes a kind stranger will give him a lift.
he walks for what feels like hours but when be checks his phone, it's only be an hour. he can feel his skin starting to burn and his eyes are sore from the dry air. tears burn his eyelids as he feels the weight of frustration at the situation he's landed himself in.
suddenly, a vehicle approaches in the distance and Dennis feels a glimmer of hope. the vehicle becomes clearer as it comes closer to Dennis; a standard SUV, nothing crazy. this might be his rescue. he waves the car down and his heart races when the cars blinker comes on followed by it pulling over. Dennis can see two men in the front seats, both quite handsome if he had to be honest.
he walks up the drivers side as the window rolls down. the man introduces himself as Jack and that he's with his partner, Michael. Jack happily lets Dennis hitch a ride when he explains his situation, "a pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out here all alone." Dennis isn't sure he hears that right but smiles nonetheless. he's certain these kind strangers will get him to the closest town.
Jack asks Dennis more questions and makes small talk to pass the time, Michael joining in the conversation every now and then. they told Dennis they were on a little roadtrip as they had a couple days off work. when dennis hears that they're doctors, he mentions he has a headache in hopes they have some pain relief. of course they have some on them at all times and Dennis is ever so greatful when they give him some water as well.
the seat Dennis is sitting in feels so comfortable and he's feeling so relaxed. he's so glad these lovely strangers picked him up. whoever told him that hitchhiking was dangerous is wrong. he's just met two men who are doctors for god sake, they are harmless.
time passes as Dennis leans his head on the window, feeling floaty as he watches the world go by. his mouth is a little dry but he doesn't think much of it. one of the men say something to him but it sounds distant; muffled. his goes to sit up straight but he feels dizzy and a little nauseas. ah, maybe he was just car sick.
he feels like he's sinking further into the seat, his eyesight becoming blurry. what's happening? his heart races as he tries to come back to earth but the feeling is getting worse. he looks up and can just make out one of the men, Michael, looking back at him with a soft smile on his face.
"do you think he's feeling it? he looks dazed and confused... it must be kicking in."
very normal looks to give your intern. very normal. the look up-down and lick your lips combo? standard. the sparkly-eyed impossibly fond grin? regular protocol.
So! This is a perfect case study in situations where you should be wary of misinformation.
Take a moment and ask yourself, a project like this requires a lot of time, money and dedication of resources, why would scientists dedicate that time to something that could just be done by a tree?
The answer is they wouldn't. So that means this claim requires further investigation!
This project is called LIQUID 3, and it's not meant for cities with wide open spaces, it's meant for cities like Belgrade in Serbia. These cities are densely populated and heavily polluted, to the point where pollution actually chokes out current trees and makes creating green spaces difficult.
Liquid 3 was a PhD scientists answer to these problems. The microalgae tank is intended for spaces where you either:
Don't have enough space to plant full trees, or
Don't have enough time to plant trees and wait for them to grow up.
The tank is extremely efficient when you consider the amount of space needed compared to the amount of CO2 turned into oxygen. The tank can operate throughout the winter. And most importantly, it can be quickly set up in areas that desperately need relief from air pollution NOW not in 10 years when trees are done growing. Children currently suffocating on polluted air can't wait for trees to grow, they need to be taken care of now, and Liquid 3 is one of the ways to take care of them. Depending on the species of microalgea used, a number have shown a pretty amazing capacity to pull heavy metals out of the air which is something trees can get choked up by.
The tanks aren't just tanks either! Liquid 3 have solar panels placed on top, they have lighting and mobile phone charging, and they work as public benches. The designers of it want to encourage green spaces where there's room, but where there isn't room or time, Liquid 3 can step in. Realistically, this isn't a replacement for trees. It's replacing boring metal city benches with new, cooler benches that also clean the air (and have at least some heating during the winter).
Not only that, but the microalgea that grows is native to Serbia and all that microalgea has a ton of great uses! It makes for great fertilizer, compost, wastewater treatment, cleaner biofuels and even for helping create new tanks for further air purification. They only require a quick algae divide once a month, and the produced algae can be carted off to where ever it's needed. This makes them effective solutions for areas that can't sustain complex installations.
So yeah, there's actually quite a lot of places that would like these. Lots of people currently breathing in terrible quality air would much rather have their boring city benches replaced with really fucking cool algae tanks that clean the air and can be used to help create + sustain future green spaces in cities. I dunno about you, but I'd take that over a dumb metal bench any day. Put these at every bus stop and I'd be delighted.
Serbian here living in Belgrade! This is all true and I've actually seen some of these around the city a few times. They're amazing at what they do and really cool to watch up close because you can see pretty swirling inside them. It's not only functional but aesthetically pretty nice as well!
For Robby, a hug from Jack is almost too overwhelming to really feel good. There is the proximity, the warmth, the strength, the others' smell, the touch, the care that is so evident through it all.
For Robby, each hug stays with him for much longer than he knows it should. They touch something deep within him that he tries to bury day in, day out.
For Robby, each hug is like a reminder to himself that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fights, he is still broken. Beyond repair.
To Jack, they're everything.
To Jack, they serve as a way to connect with the one person he couldn't bear to lose anymore.
To Jack, they're a reminder, a fucking neon sign screaming: This one. It's been this one for so long!!!
To Jack, they feel like the one time Robby doesn't actively try to slip through his fingers. Stops performing. Stops being Chief Attending Robby and truly becomes Michael Robinavitch.
Something that Jack has learned to treasure more than most other things.
To Jack, every hug is practice for the one he's terrified he won't get to give anymore. The one that would be too late.
Then there are the ones that mean something different to each of them. Those long ones, where neither of them really wants to let go first, yet fears to hold on for too long after all.
To Jack, those are an answer. The message of 'Still here. Still mine to hold on to.'
For Robby, they're a question he doesn't know how to stop asking himself. 'Why does this feel so much like home, when it's nothing I deserve to have...'
The ones that happen after a bad shift. Jack's hand on the back of Robby's neck, pulling him in without asking.
For Jack, it's nothing but natural behavior that almost happens on its own, whereas to Robby that's the most comforting and terrifying gesture at once.
After all, Michael is more than aware of the fact that somewhere, underneath all that careful burying of his emotions, he knows that Jack's arms are the only place he doesn't feel scared.
