Working as an IT professional at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center means monitoring everything that happens in the hospital while keeping exactly five steps away from the real trauma. You’re the one paged down to The Pitt for login errors, crashed monitors, and uncooperative fax machines, trading tech support for the camaraderie of the Pittlings and keeping the real-life savers fueled on company-sponsored energy drinks.
But staying five steps behind the trauma line only works if your past stays buried. When you’re running from a devastating FBI history, unopened medication, and a suffocating amount of survivor's guilt, the safe distance you've carefully constructed begins to crumble. An attending physician in the emergency department with his own visible and invisible scars sees past the IT badge and the deflection, refusing to let you face the crash alone. In The Pitt, you can try to hide behind the screens, but eventually, you have to learn how to let someone step into the trauma zone with you.
001. fourth of july
-SMAU
002. "In sickness and health."
-SMAU
003: Too many iced coffees
-SMAU
004: "Mentor and Acolyte"
-SMAU
005: “You can be so cold, Midwest Indigo."
-SMAU/Fanfic
Small Summary: Recovering from a press altercation, you reunite with your former BAU team and confront your deep survivor's guilt during an emotional conversation with Hotch. Upon returning home, you find a exhausted and relieved Jack Abbot waiting for you, pulling you into a desperate embrace.
Content Warning: Physical violence/injury (black eye, bruising), survivor's guilt, trauma, emotional distress, mentions of harassment, smoking.
006: Alive and Not Well.
-SMAU/Fanfic
Small Summary: You bring an exhausted Jack into your bare apartment to care for him, but he discovers your unopened medication and realizes you're secretly struggling. Later, an emotional conversation reveals your deep survivor's guilt from your FBI past, and Jack promises to stand by your side as you heal.
Content Warning: Emotional distress, survivor's guilt, untreated mental health/medication non-compliance, discussions of past trauma and death, crying, physical injury (bruises/black eye).
007:"Don't Wanna Vortex Again"
-SMAU/Fanfic
Small Summary: After reluctantly letting Jack track your location, you navigate rising romantic tension at the hospital before sharing an intimately charged moment with him in your car. Your buried past violently resurfaces when your former lover is brought into the ER, forcing Jack to shield you from witnessing his death.
Content Warning: Unhealthy relationship dynamics (surveillance/tracking), emotional distress, grief, character death, medical emergency/code blue, dissociation, smoking.
008: I Don't Wanna Backslide
-Fanfic
Small Summary: After stealing Nico's sweater and discovering a necklace engraved with your shared initials from the morgue, you suffer a devastating breakdown at home. Flashbacks reveal how Shen stepped in to care for your catatonic state at Jack's desperate request, leading to the present day where Jack comforts you at a garden center while Shen helps you slowly navigate your grief.
Content Warning: Grief/mourning, character death, morgue setting/description of a corpse, blood, emotional breakdown, depression (catatonic state, self-neglect, dehydration), stealing from a morgue, mentions of phantom limb pain.
009: "Somebody Catch My Breath"
-SMAU/Fanfic
Small Summary: Jack vulnerably confesses his struggle with medication-induced erectile dysfunction, shifting their intimate focus entirely to her pleasure. After bringing her to climax with his hands, he commands her to sit on his face, finding profound satisfaction in worshiping her despite his own physical frustrations.
Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, erectile dysfunction/medication side effects, oral sex (facesitting/female receiving), fingering, overstimulation, mild impact play (spanking/biting), praise kink, emotional vulnerability.
Double Trouble
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Small Summary:
Sandwiched between two versions of you, an overwhelmed Jack quickly comes in his pants from the dual attention. Unbothered, you both keep touching and whispering to him, pushing him into desperate, breathless overstimulation.
Content Warning:Explicit sexual content, overstimulation, premature ejaculation (coming in pants), clone/doppelgänger trope (two of the reader), dirty talk, praise/worship, sub-leaning male character.
Standstill
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Small Summary: Stuck in gridlocked traffic after a grueling shift, you initiate a heated encounter with Jack in the car. He quickly becomes a desperate, moaning mess as you take control and go down on him.
Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), semi-public intimacy (car/traffic), edging/teasing, praise kink.
At Your Service,Captain.
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Small Summary: Overwhelmed by his secret kink for his wife's authority and tactical gear, Jack drags his SWAT Captain into an ER supply closet for a frantic hookup. They bring each other to a desperate climax in their uniforms just minutes before duty calls her away.
Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, mutual masturbation, uniform/tactical gear kink, dirty talk, semi-public intimacy (supply closet).
Anatomy of a Surrender
(Ben Pointdexter x Y/N x Jack Abbot)
Summary: After a shift in his tactical gear, Jack Abbot is used to being the one in control—until he’s caught between his two lovers. With Y/N in pastel blue lingerie setting a torturous pace and Dex whispering filthy demands in his ear, the good doctor doesn't stand a chance of keeping his composure.
Content Warning: Explicit Sexual Content | M/M/F Threesome | Handjob | Dirty Talk | Light D/s Dynamics (Dominant Y/N & Dex, Submissive Jack) | Uniform Kink (SWAT/Tactical gear) | Lingerie | Praise Kink | Overstimulation | Orgasm Delay/Control
Something something,,,,,
(Reveal)
Link
Helloo, I am Murdock!
-overly close to my 30's. fandom elder in a way of "GET OFF MY LAWN."
-bilingual (due to English not being my mother tongue)
-he/him they/them
Hello, hello my friends. Welcome to the One Big Bash. We are celebrating all the things this month.
Even though it's a big celebration, we're going to keep things simple. Here are the rules: send me an ask with 1 character or pairing and 1 trope or AU. That's it. easy peasy.
The fine print: i will remove characters and/or prompts if i feel I'm getting too many for a particular option. No anon requests for this one HOWEVER you can let me know you want the request filled anonymously and i will do so. if i have written a request for you before and you did not interact with the post with anything beyond a like, i will not be filling your request for this event. eta: you can request on anon as long as you sign with a blog name. i know not everyone wants people to know their main.
Due to the nature of this event, these will be full length fics. As such, I am also limiting requests to 1 per user. If i still have room in a week or so, I'll open it up for more.
Now, let's get to it.
Characters
Jack Abbot
Michael Robinavitch
Rabbot
Brendon Park
Charlie Reid
Andrew Pope Cody
Titus Danforth
Brett Richards
Harry Wilson
Thomas Shelby
Steve McGarrett
Chris Argent
Clint Barton
Ironhawk
Klaus Mikaelson
Elijah Mikaelson
Negan
Tyler Owens
The Doctor (specify 9-11)
Prompts
And they were roommates
They were neighbors
Forced proximity/trapped somewhere
Miscommunication/Overheard conversations
Drunken Confessions
Enemies to lovers
Exes to lovers
Friends to strangers to lovers
Best Friend's Sibling
Mutual pining/idiots in love
Arranged Marriage
Marriage of Convenience
Omegaverse
Mafia AU
Fairytale Retelling (specify the fairytale)
Rockstar AU
Magic AU
Kidnapping AU
Stalker AU
Parallel Universe AU
Reincarnation AU
Fake dating
Secret Dating/secret family
Secret admirer
i will not be responding to asks as they come in. feel free to message if you want to know if I got it.
full length fic is anything over 1.2k or thereabouts
thank you to @snoopy-abbot-archives for the header. :)
Okay, so July is a big month over here in my universe. What's going on, you ask?
July 2 is this blog's 8th anniversary
July 18th is my birthday
I will also hit 10,000 followers, 10,000 posts and 1.5 million words uploaded to AO3.
Wow, that's a lot of big things all at once, hence the One Big Bash
So we're going to celebrate with full length fics of some of my favorite characters, tropes and AUs. And maybe a couple of other surprises along the way.
I am finalizing things now and will post the event later. (i so didn't want to put all this in that post, so sneak peek)
My health put me behind on finishing up other stuff before this event started but I'll make it work. Fics will start posting after the 4th and the event will run through the end of summer.
if anyone’s wondering why i stopped uploading, i’ve got writer’s block right now, and on top of that my delivery guy told me yesterday that my 48-pack of red bull got canceled because the package was damaged… rip winter edition fuji apple ginger red bull, i miss you like a mf
Also, I’ve got six works in progress going on, and I’m happy with absolutely none of them. Ugh.
Thanks go to @theariespov for tagging me in a literary tropes game. I won't be tagging others, but below is my body swap for The Pitt
Baran/Jack Bodyswap challenge (read or comment on AO3)
WC: 3,437
When Baran woke up in Jack’s bed her first thought was “Shit, how much did I drink?” She didn’t have a hangover (yet) but when she tried to slink out of bed her right leg gave out and she crashed immediately to the soft carpet of Jack’s dark bedroom. She glanced around from the floor, trying to get her bearings. Jack wasn’t in bed but if she was going to make a quick exit it wouldn’t be so quiet now.
As she flashed her eyes on the red lights of the clock radio she realized she could read the numbers easily. “Oh, fuck, I left my contacts in, too?” Asked Jack’s voice.
“What—” Baran looked down at the hands propping her up on the floor and they were masculine with thick, short fingers and a wedding band that she knew was for a ghost.
Across town, Jack was jumping up and down on Baran’s bed in her apartment, whooping and hollering. He hopped on his right leg. He did flying air kicks. He slipped out of bed, stood up, and stamped his feet wildly. An angry knock rapped twenty-three times on the door before he could answer it, sliding poorly across the wooden floors in Baran’s socks. The locks took him a moment but when he threw open the door he found the startled face of an older woman.
“Can I help you?” Jack asked sweetly in Baran’s mellifluous voice. He cracked himself up.
“Ms Harshimi, could you please—I mean—”the woman averted her eyes, covering her face. Jack realized with all the jumping around Baran’s shirt had flown open. He had quickly learned why women don’t usually jump on beds without bras, but it had been so good to have two—TWO!—legs again that he’d ignored the mild discomfort. He flushed at this, for the first time feeling a sense of responsibility for the body he had taken. He pulled the pajama shirt closed, apologizing.
“Do you have a circus in your apartment?” Asked the old woman, eyes still averted.
“It’s Doctor,” Jack said, “Doctor Al-Ha! Shi! Mi! Or Baran to my friends which means you will please address me as Doctor. And what I do in my apartment is none of your business, but I will ask the circus to take it down a notch.”
“It becomes my business when—” Jack closed the door, giving the neighbor just enough time to yank her nose out of the way. He danced and spun through the small apartment, but it didn’t feel quite the same. He should get Baran’s body dressed. Was Baran in his body? He slowed down from a flutter-kick, a moment of anxiety welling up in his chest. And then—suddenly, he felt as if his stomach dropped out on a roller coaster. Or no, that wasn’t quite it, because Jack had never been afraid of roller coasters. The deep irrational nightmare of PTSD fuzzed reality and for a moment Jack wasn’t sure if he was moving or frozen.
Then it passed and a terror gripped him, like he had only just escaped death and couldn’t remember any of it. “Shit,” he grabbed a table to stabilize himself, but Baran’s body was strong and steady. It was his terror gripping him. But this wasn’t his PTSD. It felt different in Baran’s body. “Baran,” he suddenly said, in her voice, realizing.
“Jack?” Baran asked, having finally found the crutch Jack kept by the bed and shrieking in an un-Jack-like voice when the phone lit up with her “unknown” number. “Why the fuck don’t you have Face ID? And why did you take my body?” She had been angrily staring at the phone for fifteen minutes, helplessly locking herself out with bad password attempts.
“I didn’t take your body, you took mine!” He said in her voice, “Listen—we don’t have time to argue about this. Something bad is happening to me. I just… I don’t know how to explain it, but—”
“You fell down a rollercoaster while standing in place and then woke up to deja vu of the worst nightmare you’ve ever had?” Baran asked. “Sorry,” she said in Jack’s voice, “I hadn’t disclosed yet. It’s a kind of epilepsy. You’ll be fine, but I have to talk you through my medication and you can’t drive.”
“And here I thought I was the asshole for taking your leg,” Jack said. Baran’s voice didn’t sound like her own. She was speaking in a clipped, higher tone with Jack’s body but he was so easy and relaxed in hers. For a moment she was jealous. “Can you come to me, then?” He asked. “Then maybe we can figure this out.”
“You want me to drive?” Baran asked, looking down at the missing leg. “Didn’t you have to take a certification course or something?”
“You’ll catch on quick,” Jack said, “Or just Uber. You can use my account. Oh… and uh… my password is 8675309. I’m changing it as soon as I get my body back, though.”
“Jack,” Baran said, inhaling deeply to take control of the situation, “I expect you will treat my body with the same respect I have seen you use toward all patients. And I will do the same for you. But if there is anything you need to tell me, or anything I should avoid—”
“You’re going to get a migraine if you don’t get coffee in me within the next hour,” Jack said, “I take it sweet, I don’t know if that will change or not. But then you need to get yourself to a bathroom within twenty minutes. The downstairs shower is best for that and already has a full set-up that is pretty intuitive. Don’t be a hero, crawl anytime you feel unstable. Enjoy how many push-ups I can do. I’ve been… dancing. And I might have jumped a little too vigorously on your bed.”
“Get a bra on me as soon as you can,” Baran said, “Please. Enjoy the dancing. I did ballet so the body might remember it. And I can sing, if you want to try that,” Baran wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but she felt something familiar in her chest. Grief. A bittersweet, familiar kind of sadness. It wasn’t just familiar to Jack’s body, but to her own. “I also drink coffee, but I use an aero press. You should be able to YouTube it if you can’t figure it out. I’m on my period but I’m not going to ask you to use the menstrual cup. There are emergency pads for when my daughter visits under my sink. I hate them, but maybe you won’t mind them as much. I’ll text you my medication routine.”
“I’ll send mine,” Jack agreed. “And maybe I’ll see you in two hours? Give us both plenty of time to wake up. Shit—weren’t you scheduled to work today?”
“I’m already late. Damnit—”
“Baran,” Jack said with Baran’s voice, “I have an idea. I am going to call in as you, warn them that you aren’t coming in. But then I am going to say that Dr Abbot is aware of the situation and will be calling with more details—that’s how they really know it is an emergency, when you can’t even give your own excuse. You just have to tell them we were out last night for drinks when you got called out of town for an emergency and you’re still there.”
“I’ll keep it vague. We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck like this,” Baran agreed.
“I mean,” Jack laughed, “you can do my job, Baran. Maybe not like the Nightcrawlers do it, but we could fill in for each other.”
“Please don’t jinx us,” Baran said. “Now call me in sick. I’ll wait two minutes and also call in.”
Baran hopped over to Jack’s walk-in closet and began looking through the women’s shirts and blouses when she realized she was looking at the wrong side. Then she remembered what Jack had told her of his dead wife last night. She paused, a hand on the black silk sleeve of a gothic blouse. Then she brought the fabric to Jack’s face and inhaled. His body responded with relief, and a deep sorrow that made Baran want to cry even as Jack’s eyes stayed dry.
“Oh, Jack,” she sighed. “You poor thing.”
She took Jack’s advice, throwing the clothes she had picked out for him down the steps and then slowly crawling down from the top floor to the bottom. He had explained that he left his leg downstairs the night before and sent a YouTube video for how to put it on later. She figured out how to make his coffee and while it was percolating decided to see just how many push-ups he could actually do.
“Holy shit,” she laughed after thirty, still feeling strong and stable. She began counting aloud after fifty and then in Arabic after seventy, panting with such exhilaration that she felt slightly ashamed of the sound she made with his voice when she reached one hundred. She closed her eyes, laying flat and laughing on his kitchen floor.
Without thinking, her arms straightened along her body and she curved her back into a bend that lifted her chest and legs off the ground, throat forward like a figurehead at the front of a ship. The counterpose felt delicious after all the work tightening his chest muscles, and she let out deep breaths that came from Jack’s lower back. “Are you good at yoga, Jack?” She asked finding herself getting onto hands and knees to shake out her spine with cat and cow poses. If she thought too hard she would lose balance or lose the thread of his body leading her to the next pose. But if she took her time breathing, counting in Arabic or humming in his not-so melodic voice, the poses came.
Jack put one foot on the lid of the toilet. “Don’t you fucking laugh,” he said to his wife’s ghost, who he assumed had something to do with this. He had laid out towels all over the bathroom floor just in case. As a doctor, Jack knew the uterus only sheds a mere five tablespoons of blood during the course of a period, but as a husband he also knew that those five tablespoons would feel like five cups and find their way to spilling on any white surface in a bathroom. Then, furrowing Baran’s brow like he was mid-procedure, he began feeling for the tampon string she had told him he had to find before he could have any coffee. Luckily the string was readily apparent, but the sensation of pulling out a tampon was not something he could have prepared himself for.
“Oh, yuck,” he said, “it’s like throwing up from holes I didn’t know I had.” The tampon itself was inconsequential. He wrapped it nicely in some toilet paper and threw it in the trash. Then he applied the sticky side of a pad to the “ugly” panties that Baran had explicitly told him to use and hiked up the underwear. “Nope,” he said immediately, “no we do not like this, Baran. Wow!” A surprising roil of anger welled in him and he had to brace himself against the bathroom sink. It was as if his skin was peeling off in slow, anxious, sloughs. “Oh wow, we really don’t like this. Sorry!” He yanked the underpants off and the anxious rage dissipated. “Fucking hell,” he sighed. “What the fuck?”
By the time Baran was knocking on her own door with Jack’s body, Jack had committed the following to Baran’s search history on her phone: everything I need to know about menstrual cups now that I have a uterus; sanitize menstrual cup; please how to aeropress coffee; coffee that delivers near me; promo code dunkin; can I do yoga on my period.
“What are you doing to my apartment?” Baran asked, holding two iced coffees and wearing Jack’s backpack over both shoulders.
“Wow, you don’t even look like me,” Jack said.
“You look like me,” Baran shrugged in Jack’s body. She handed him her favorite coffee. “If you haven’t noticed yet, the tastebuds belong to the body.”
“Oh,” Jack accepted the coffee gratefully, taking a long sip and raising his eyebrows in surprise, “I like this?”
“You have the tastebuds of a child,” Baran sighed, putting his backpack on her kitchen table. “What music is this? Have you been working out?”
“Uh, Sepultra,” Jack said, wiping sweat off Baran’s forehead. “You got really angry so I was helping.”
“I don’t get angry,” Baran laughed.
“Wow, I am so cute,” Jack admired. “I think I get it now. And yeah, you definitely have a lot of rage. I should know. Come on, sit over here so I can check the leg.” Baran sat down, swapping Jack’s phone for her own and immediately reading through the browsing history as the apartment door buzzed. “Oh! More coffee!” Jack jumped up and flew out the door, taking the stairs in leaps that made Baran squeak in panic. He came back and set two more iced coffees on the kitchen table. “Hey, did you know you could do this?” He asked before cutting a caper.
“Jack, I’m glad you’re having such a good time—”
“We got to make the best of it, right? Wow, you did pretty good here!” He was checking out the prosthetic sock and the fit. He’d asked Baran to dress him in shorts so he easily review her work. He popped the compression of the fit and did a slight readjustment that would have irritated Baran if she didn’t immediately feel a sudden relief as the prosthesis fit back into place.
“Oh,” she said, “thank you. That is much better.”
“I bet you are so grumpy,” he laughed, “you really got the shit end of the stick. Sorry, Baran.”
“It’s not so bad,” she lied, thinking about the way his body responded to the clothes in the closet. The way she had been slowly growing irritated and impatient when the prosthesis was slightly out of joint. The cloud that always seemed to be there, like he was forgetting something important—forgetting how to be alive. “I did one hundred pushups,” she said helpfully. “Or you did, I guess.”
“One hundred?” He straightened from where he had been attending to his leg. “Damn. I usually stop at forty because I get bored.”
“You’re good at yoga,” she offered. “You told me what to do most of the time, I just had to listen.”
“That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” He agreed, “We could publish a paper on body memory, if anyone ever believed us. I know how to dance, but not like you know how to dance. I was doing stuff with my hands I’d never thought of. It was really… pretty!”
“Jack, what happened to us?” Baran asked, leaning forward. It felt good to sit down. Jack couldn’t stop fidgeting in her body though. She realized he hadn’t showered and wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not.
“I don’t know. We went out for drinks, not too much, and then went home and body swapped, right?”
“Right,” Baran agreed, holding out Jack’s hands in front of her eyes and looking at them. “And now I’m you.”
“Well, you’re in my body. You are not Jack Abbot. Just like I’m not Baran Al-Hashimi. Oh—which reminds me, we might have to apologize to your nosey old neighbor.”
“Jack!” Baran shook her head, “No, never mind. It’s fine. We’ll figure this out.”
“I do have a theory, though,” Jack said. “Jesus, I didn’t realize how easy it could be to just breathe. It’s intoxicating! Okay—” he stopped pirouetting in the kitchen. “Okay, so my first thought was maybe this has to do with Mary, my wife. She’s a ghost, and mostly she is in my head. But what if she isn’t? If this is true, maybe she is, too. I could ask for her help?”
“Why do you make me look so young?” Baran asked, looking at the hopeful brown eyes staring out of her face.
“You make me look like a nerd,” Jack smiled. “I’m just happy to be alive. It’s easy in your body. You’re lucky I’m so vain or else I might not want my body back.”
“The seizures didn’t come back?” Baran asked. Jack shook his head. “Okay. Um… okay,” she took a deep breath as if hearing Jack for the first time, “Your wife? You think a ghost can help us?”
“Can’t hurt,” he shrugged.
“Jack,” Baran sighed, rubbing her forehead and then stopping suddenly at the alarm of feeling an unfamiliar face. “Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that,” he said. “Baran, I’m inside your body. Until today I didn’t know what a focal seizure felt like, or what period cramps felt like, or that you like disgusting coffee and that it tastes great with your mouth.”
Jack could read his own facial expressions and saw the discomfort and mild horror on his face from Baran’s reactions. “Sorry,” he apologized, “it’s all very intimate. It’s frightening. And it is supernatural.”
“That implies there is no natural resolution to this,” Baran said. “Which means, Jack, we’re fucked.”
“No, Baran,” Jack smiled with Baran’s face, “it just means you need to open your third eye. What is your history of drug use?”
“With epilepsy? The craziest I get is a couple drinks, maybe a pot gummy at a wedding. Jack, I didn’t take you for a hippie!”
“Well, good news, you don’t have epilepsy any more and I happen to know which drugs are likely to give my body a bad trip and which don’t. So how about we finish our coffees, I can put on a bathing suit, and you can wash my hair in the shower? I know you don’t want me trying it myself.”
“I mean, you have curly hair,” Baran began.
“Mary had curly hair. I have waves. I’m a 2-C on a humid day, you’ve got 3-B at least. She made me promise not to fuck with 3 hair and I keep my promises.”
“You’re making me like Mary,” Baran said.
“I hear that a lot. She was sort of hard to get to know, but once you knew her, she was glue. Oh wow—” Jack realized he had made Baran’s body start crying. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at his eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You’re upset, you’re just feeling it easier. It’s muffled in this body,” Baran said. “I can’t believe you said we should write a paper before I did.” Baran took a deep breath. “We can’t finish these coffees without giving ourselves a heart attack, but you’re otherwise right. I’ll clean you up and then we can try your method until… six P.M. Then we try whatever I’ve thought of by then that must be better.”
this is honestly the funniest thing ever, i was literally just scrolling through the edits i’ve saved in my tiktok folder and APPARENTLY,,,, @peatreewrites used my Pope/Shawn poster as a tiktok sticker LMAOO
"That's your husband?" the woman asked, nodding toward Jack. "The silver fox?"
"And my wife," Y/N said pleasantly. "The one in the water."
The woman's face did something complicated. "Oh. So you're—"
"Married to both of them. Yes. Legally. Three names on the certificate, one hyphenated last name on my license." Y/N smiled with all her teeth. "It's a lot to explain at parties, but the sex is incredible."
The woman laughed—nervous, startled—and changed the subject to the resort's spa menu.
When Y/N told the story at dinner that night, Jack put his face in his hands and Emery let out a sound that was, unmistakably, a laugh. A real one. The kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her put her wine glass down before she dropped it.
"The sex is incredible," Emery repeated, deadpan. "That's what you led with?"
"It shut her up," Y/N said, shrugging. "And it's true."
Jack's ears were pink. "I can't take you anywhere."
I need y’all to hear me out:
Adrian and Y/N gets on Dex’s nerves, but he’s like, “fuuuuck that is my circus. are those…? yep… those are my monkeys….. goddammit.”
Ben Pointdexter x Y/N x Jack Abbot
Summary:
After a shift in his tactical gear, Jack Abbot is used to being the one in control—until he’s caught between his two lovers. With Y/N in pastel blue lingerie setting a torturous pace and Dex whispering filthy demands in his ear, the good doctor doesn't stand a chance of keeping his composure.
The bedroom was bathed in the low, warm glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and arousal, the quiet sounds of heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence.
Jack was sprawled across the bed, the dark tactical fabric of his TEMS SWAT uniform contrasting sharply against the pale sheets. He hadn't even bothered to take off the shirt—just unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and shoved them down just enough. He was propped up on one elbow, his silver curls falling across his forehead, his hazel eyes half-lidded with a haze that made him look utterly wrecked.
And he was. Completely, utterly wrecked.
You straddled his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. The pastel blue lingerie—delicate lace trimming the edges, the soft fabric hugging every curve—shifted as you moved. The color looked almost innocent against the dark, tactical bulk of him beneath you. Almost.
Your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly, torturously. You didn't speed up, didn't give him more than that maddening, deliberate pace. Your thumb dragged across the tip with every upstroke, smearing the precum that had already gathered there, and you watched with a hungry kind of satisfaction as Jack's jaw went slack.
But it wasn't just you.
Dex was behind him.
The assassin was pressed close, one arm slung casually around Jack's broad chest, his chin hooked over Jack's shoulder. From this angle, Dex could see everything—the flush crawling up Jack's neck, the way his stomach tensed under the tactical shirt, the way your hand moved. His pale blue eyes tracked the motion with predatory focus, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips.
"Look at you," Dex murmured against the shell of Jack's ear, his voice low and velvety. "All that tough guy swagger in the ER, and now? Now you're shaking apart from just her hand."
Jack let out a strangled noise—half groan, half gasp. His free hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. The blush on his cheeks had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his uniform. "Dex—"
"Ah-ah." Dex's fingers found Jack's chin, tilting his head back toward him. His lips brushed Jack's jaw, trailing up to his mouth. "Don't look away. She's putting on such a pretty show for you."
Dex kissed him then—slow, deep, claiming. His tongue swept into Jack's mouth with a possessiveness that made the older man groan against his lips. Jack kissed back clumsily, desperately, his hips bucking up into your grip as if on instinct.
You squeezed him firmly, and Jack broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his head falling back against Dex's shoulder. His chest heaved.
"There he is," Dex purred, his lips dragging against Jack's stubbled cheek. His hand slid down from Jack's chest, fingers deftly popping open the top buttons of the tactical shirt, exposing the flushed skin beneath. He splayed his palm over Jack's racing heart. "You're so desperate for it, aren't you, doc? Both of us, and you can barely hold it together."
"Shut—shut up," Jack managed, but his voice was wrecked, thin and ragged. His hips stuttered again, chasing your fist.
You leaned forward, pressing your weight down just enough to pin him, your free hand flattening against his chest. The lace of your lingerie dragged against the rough fabric of his shirt. "Don't be rude to Dex, Jack," you scolded softly, your thumb circling the sensitive head of his cock. "He's just getting started."
Jack's eyes squeezed shut. A shudder wracked through his entire body.
Dex's smile widened against Jack's throat. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just below Jack's ear, feeling the rapid pulse there. His hand joined yours—larger, rougher—and together, both of you wrapped around Jack's aching length.
Jack's elbow gave out. He collapsed flat onto the mattress with a broken moan, his head still pillowed against Dex's shoulder, his chest heaving. His hips bucked up into your combined grip, helpless, unraveled.
"That's it," Dex breathed hot against his ear, his voice dropping to a dark, filthy rasp. "You're doing so good, Jack. So good for us. Look how hard you are—dripping, actually. You're making a mess of her pretty blue lingerie, you know that? Can't even help yourself."
Jack whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Dex's teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging lightly before releasing. "I can feel how close you are. You wanna come, doc? Wanna make a mess all over her hand while I hold you down?"
"Please—" The word tore out of Jack before he could stop it, raw and unguarded. "Please, I—"
"Please, what?" Dex goaded, his hand tightening alongside yours, stroking faster now. "Use your words, Doctor Abbot. You're always so good with those."
Jack's hand flew up, gripping Dex's forearm hard enough to bruise. His silver curls were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, his hips moving erratically, chasing the friction. "Please—I need—I need to—"
"Need to what?" You leaned down, your lips brushing his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. The pastel blue lace shifted again, and Jack's eyes flew open, hazy and desperate, fixed on you.
"Need to come," he rasped out, his voice cracking. "Please—I can't—"
Dex's grip in your hair tightened, pulling Jack's head back further, exposing the long line of his throat. He bit down gently on the junction of Jack's neck and shoulder, soothing the sting with his tongue, and then whispered directly into his ear:
"Then come for us, Jack. Now."
Jack shattered.
His whole body arched off the bed, a guttural moan tearing from his chest as he came hard, spilling over your intertwined hands and onto the delicate pastel blue fabric of your lingerie. His hips jerked erratically, riding out the aftershocks, his grip on Dex's arm white-knuckled and desperate.
You stroked him through it, gentle now, coaxing every last tremor out of him. Dex pressed slow, grounding kisses along his shoulder and neck, murmuring soft praise against his sweat-damp skin.
"That's it," Dex soothed, his voice stripped of its earlier sharpness, tender now. "Good. You did so good, Jack."
Jack lay there, boneless and breathless, his chest heaving. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, the blush still burning across his cheeks and down his neck. He looked completely, utterly undone.
You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, weak but present, holding you there.
For a long moment, the three of you stayed like that—tangled together, breathing heavy, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a blanket.
Then Dex huffed a quiet laugh against Jack's shoulder.
"Didn't even get your pants off, doc. Disappointing."
Jack snorted, his eyes still closed, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Shut up, Dex."
"Make me."
You grinned, pressing your forehead against Jack's. "Give him a minute."
"I don't need a minute," Jack muttered, though he made absolutely no move to get up.
Dex pressed another kiss to the back of his neck. "Sure you don't, old man."
Jack's hand shot back, grabbing Dex by the front of his shirt and dragging him down for a slow, messy kiss that said more than any words could.
Maybe later, you'd clean up. Maybe later, you'd take turns.
But for now, this—sprawled together, breathless, and utterly content—was more than enough.
By the way, I wanted to mention that this isn’t exactly what I promised earlier, but I am working on some ideas in the background for Dex x Yn x Jack that we discussed in the original post!
also my blog feels pretty male-heavy right now, don’t worry though—I’m planning to create more content for the girls and theys too
And the Redbull series hasn’t been forgotten, but I did run into an issue that made me hit the brakes, so I have to go back and rewrite a few chapters to fit the new direction we’re moving in.
