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Depressed!Reader who got assigned a “buddy” to help during her recovery. Said “buddy” being intimidating Dr.Park (he needed volunteer hours), and now you just sit in the garden space and stare at the clouds in silence and it’s perfect. Brendon Park is the perfect buddy.
sometimes you think your smoking habit is a result of Robby’s broken promises. Every date and anniversary missed because of his late shifts meant you celebrated your failing relationship with a new carton of cigarettes. How bittersweet would it be if Robby finally begins to pay attention to you after your recent diagnosis of lung cancer.
Dennis who couldn’t do his curl routine while homeless. Jack who had a horrendous curl routine (if any at all). Robby who does the bare minimum because he barely has any hair.
Robby who buys the most expensive, high rated curl care products he can find for his men. Dennis and Jack proceed to do each other’s hair, detangling, defining etc. Robby gets to watch them be all soft and domestic with eachother, using the products he bought.
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Gosh just imagine sitting around allllll day by your phone, waiting for an ounce of attention from Robby. Only, he never responds to your multiple messages, back to back texting not really his memo. In fact, his personal phone is always stuck on “do no disturb.” Still, you continue to ping him, even if he never responds. A girl can dream.
And what if I say Jack and Robby plan out their week by who’s fucking you for each day of the week. It helps, with their odd schedules and constant overtime. They hate to overlap, especially after a bad shift, so sharing sometimes isn’t caring. The schedule helps you mostly, Sundays and Wednesdays are your rest days. Not that Robby and Jack ever really follow that, but it’s still marked on the calendar. For your sake.
camping this weekend and it’s making me think of how Jack and Robby try to plan a fun camping trip with you but…you hate the outdoors. You’re a brat all weekend, complaining about the bugs and the hard floor you have to sleep on. Robby cracks first and drills you down in your little tent until you’re drunk off that dick. Jack takes mercy on you after that. He likes how cuddly you are as you sit with him as Robby starts a fire for the night
Jack is not a fan of your obsession with getting a coffee every shift. Drinking coffee while working the night shift was nothing new. Yet, it worried him when you’d get $7 lattes weekly. He makes you drink water if there’s a moment of stillness between patients. He tells you time and time again that your habit is bad, but also gifts you a gift card with $100 on it from your favorite cafe on your birthday.
For a guy who advocates for therapy, he doesn’t like the idea that his partner is sharing their issues with a third party. When you bring up possible solutions to your problems in your relationship (thanks therapy), Jack immediately shoots your efforts down. He’ll berate the cheesy little exercises of “hold eye contact and give the other person a compliment.”
“I compliment you enough, ya brat.” He’s all bark, and his words have a bite. Hence, the therapy.
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After an argument, Jack is stubborn and will wait out your silent treatment because he believes he was not in the wrong, even if he was. It’s annoying, he’s annoying, but the sex makes up for it
Robby makes it a habit to track when you do/don’t take your lunch. If you pass two days in a row without stopping to eat anything during your shift, Robby’s pulling you aside and giving you a stern lecture about taking care of yourself while he has the audacity to be living off cheap cups of black coffee himself.
Simply thinking about Jack Abbot correcting your posture.
He’s a doctor, so sure it starts there, in the territory of alignment and strain and long-term damage, all the tiny indignities a body absorbs when nobody’s paying proper attention to it.
And he worries about you, of course. Worries about the set of your neck and the rounded drag of your shoulders, about how you curl in on yourself over your charting like the screen might swallow you whole, about how you hunch over your phone texting those ridiculous little emoticons and memes he glances at with visible suspicion.
So he makes an effort to fix it.
A broad hand behind your chair, angling it closer to the desk until your spine has no excuse but the lengthen. Two fingers slipped beneath your chin when you’re bent out of shape around your phone on the couch, tilting your gaze upward until the vertebrae stack properly and the ache in your neck eases. Even in transit — plate to sink, fridge to stove — he stops to cup your shoulders, easing them from your ears with a downward glide of his thumbs.
A silent reward hums through the touch: a silent good girl, there you go.
“Sit up, sweetheart.” “Uncross your legs.” “Laptop higher.” “Relax your jaw.”
He knows he’s a perpetual nuisance, aware he sounds like someone’s dad, can practically hear the eye-roll you swallow every time.
He also knows it embarrasses you, especially at work, where your face goes warm when he corrects you within earshot of other people. And it isn’t that he sets out to make you squirm, though he’d be lying if he said he got nothing out of that quick little fluster he can pull from you with a word, a hand, a look.
It’s just that once he notices you folded in on yourself for too long, something in him firms. His voice drops into that clipped, authoritative register, flipping a switch to brisk certainty and command, and by then it’s already too late to pretend you’re not going to listen.
So when he catches you slouched at the station again, practically kissing the monitor, he doesn’t hesitate.
Steps in behind you. His palm fits against the ridge of your upper back, heat seeping straight through the thin cotton.
“Up.”
You mutter, “I hate you,” eyes never leaving the vitals grid, and Jack takes it as the green light it is.
His thumb glides from back to shoulder to nape. The opposite hand curves under your jaw’s hinge, guiding your head until your spine clicks back to neutral while the entire nurses’ station pretends their screens are riveting.
Public proof that your posture, and maybe the rest of you, answers to Dr. Abbot’s touch far faster than to your own irritation.
“There’s a whole skeleton under all that,” he observes dryly. “Try using it.”
You bat at his hand, a half-hearted slap. “Stop manhandling me at work.”
He ignores that, drops the chair one notch (ignoring your surprised squeak too), angles the monitor to proper eye level, then squares your shoulders with both palms. A measured squeeze follows, equal parts reassurance and warning.
“Better,” he decides. “And if I catch you bent over that phone again, I’m taking it.”
He likes the line of you best when he’s the one arranging it.
You figure that out later, breathless and flushed, forehead buried in his sheets while he kneels behind you, two sure hands repositioning your ass in the air like he’s smoothing kinks from an instrument only he can tune.
“Uh-uh,” he grunts, and you’re too far gone to know what he means until his palm presses between your shoulder blades and eases you down, down, down, your hips staying high as your face sinks into the pillow. “Arch for me — c’mon, deeper bend, don’t cheat your lower back.”
Your breath catches when he palms the dip he’s just created, fingers splaying and then he’s sliding his cock in your folds slow. It earns a pleased mewl from you, angle perfect because he’s engineered it that way.
Every push has a tiny corrective tap — shoulders down, knees wider, perfect girl — until your pussy clenches and drips all over his rigid stomach and he finally lets you break form, hips snapping while his palm settles, triumphant, at the very spot that first straightened you hours ago.
MARIA NOTE hello this is my trying out little blurbs/drabbles bc this random thought rlly evoked something in me... don't know how to feel it ab. it feels naked without my fun graphics but alas! and the tiny text??? what do we think?? yes or no i'm in the middle right now so feel free to share opinions... it looked a little strange as regular but idk i'm lowkey having an existential crisis over this ok bye
THE BIT ABOUT HIM ENGINEERING IT TO BE THE PERFECT ANGLE….. perfect dom jack writing im in awe. like yes he’s manhandling you into the positions that’ll make it feel the best for you UGH
You don’t want to tell Jack when you don’t feel well. He’s a doctor, he’s constantly taking care of people. So, you instead distance yourself for a week while you fought a common cold. Jack is distraught all seven days apart. He gives you space because he respects your wishes, but he’s confused. Jack is beating himself up trying to remember what foul action or word he might’ve idiotically spouted. When you text him to hang out after you’ve healed, it shocks you how quickly he just shows up at your place, favorite takeaway in his hands.
when you walk the wrong direction robby corrects you with a sharp “ah ah!” and a grip at the back of your shirt <3 looks down at you, brow raised while he clicks his tongue all patronizing “gotta pay attention, sweetheart.”
jack gives you a breezy “this way, baby” n his hand finds you— your hip, your waist, the small of your back, your hand, whatever’s closest— with a gentle steady pressure to guide you the right direction <3 flashes you a teasing smile with amusement in his eye “you just stay close to me, yeah?”
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You never should have accepted a drink with Jack Abbot. Your shift had been all noise. Incoherent ramblings, and screaming, ringing on the machines, direct orders, soothing plastic over motionless limbs. You stood at the hinges of conversation, not speaking, staring at the deep crimson curling into your palms, rhythmic beats against a crackling ribcage. You cracked open a door and the print of your palm stained the frame red. You staggered in the corridor past hues of blue, past fluorescent yellow and pale white, past dead bodies in motionless plastic. Smoke unfurls from between your lips, a white halo in the ambulance bay. Grey smog, new menthol. Your fingers dye the orange filter a deep red. He had come out under a fluorescent halo and the promise of alcohol and a ride without the taxing guilt of waking your boyfriend who was soundly sleeping away the early morning. It was all too tempting.
You tasted of cheap beer and cigarettes, tongues slipping together on the leathery couch, morning sun beginning to peer over the living room window sill, fingers wrangling with the stretchy scrub fabric of Jacks waistband. His chest caged yours against the cushions, clothed hips driving against yours, the prominent unrestrained outline of his hard cock rubbing against the thin veil of fabric covering your cunt. Your phone rings behind the sound of heavy breathing, screen glowing bright on the coffee table beside empty bottles, the spindling bundle of nerves settling in the pit of your stomach jerks in anticipation at the press of his tip nudging against your covered clit, "Yeah? You feel that?" he rasps against your lips, your brows skewing together with a quick nod, panties slipping against your pussy, soaking through the thin fabric with each rock of his hips, "Oh, look at you. Needed this so bad, hm, baby? These young boys just don't know what to do with a sweet thing like you, do they?" the callous pads of abbots fingers dip under the elastic band of your panties, stroking your sensitive clit, making your pussy stutter up into his palm with a soft cry, he hums. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I got you. Gonna fuck all that disappointment out of that pretty head, okay?"
18+ mdni (some cnc vibes towards the end— safewords are in place!)
when jack comes back to the table you start picking up your purse and sweater— “you ready to go?”
he flashes you an amused grin as he pulls out his chair. “still gotta pay the bill, honey. sit tight.”
“oh,” you shake your head, casual as ever, eyes all innocent, “i took care of it.”
he stops in his tracks. his eyes flit around your face, waiting for you to crack a smile or bust out laughing, waiting to hear your lilting ‘just kidding!’
when none of it comes jack’s chin tilts forward and his brows furrow. “scuse me?”
“I took care of it.” You repeat, slowly, like he just didn’t hear you the first time. “The bill.”
Jack’s eyes narrow. He catches the flash of excitement in your eyes despite your efforts to appear nonplussed. “Right. Let’s go.”
When you stand Jack sidles up beside you like he always does. But when he slips a hand around your waist his grip is tighter than usual. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hip. He leans down, lips brushing against your hairline.
“You wanna drive home too?” Jack says lowly against your ear. Somehow he makes that simple question sound like a threat. Your stomach flips
“No,” you murmur. Jack grunts.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
when you’re home he helps you shrug off your jacket and hangs it up beside his own. then, the moment your shoes are off, he nods down the hall.
“Bedroom.”
You swallow at his tone. “Am I in trouble?”
Jack chuckles and hooks a finger under your chin. His thumb swipes over your lower lip. The way he’s looking down at you makes your knees threaten to give out.
“C’mon, sweetheart, trouble? You treated me to dinner. I’ve gotta make it up to you.”
he ends up eating you out until you’re a crying writhing mess <3 thighs squeezing his head, hips lifting off the mattress, mouth running mindlessly with pleas for him to stop
STOP. The whole “you wanna drive home too?” Thing!!!! Because if you’re paying for dinner obviously you don’t need him anymore. You’re just such a big girl. And if your that much of a big girl you can take another orgasm right?
N’ Jack disguising his punishment as a reward just has my toes curling.
this made me SO HAPPY you literally mentioned all the exact things i was hoping to get across ugh thank you
and plz that is definitely the kind of shit he’s growling out against your pussy </3 “think you’re such a big girl paying the bill, huh?” “c’mon, my big girl can give me one more.”
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