Hnnnggghhh im thinking about Jack talking you through it when Robby's balls deep in your pussy
Cw: older!Jack & older!Robby, younger!reader (20s to 30s), kissing, fluff, praise, subspace kinda mentioned, r kinda gets there but Jack pulls her back, no use of y/n!, petnames, creampieee, Jack talks R through it because hes Dada man, sir and daddy kinks so sorry also not, check ins, the L word..., lowkey these characters all have history but I dont feel like expanding
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Between the girth of Robby's cock splitting you open, two large hands wrapped around the plush of your spread thighs, and Jack's gruff voice, soft and gentle, whispered against your temple, you feel like you're about to float away.
"Y'r doin' so good," Jack's lips press against your skin, one of his hands holds the inside of your knee, spreading you open.
Robby groans from above you, circling the pad of his thumb over your clit in tandem with each stroke of his cock.
You can feel the veiny girth of him pressing against your velvet walls — heavy and warm, stretching you deliciously wide. You've cum three times already and you're not quite sure you can handle another orgasm right now.
"Robby–" you gasp, eyes blown wide and lips parted, you can hardly breathe, "Robby, Robby, Robby, oh my god—" your voice trails into a wet choke as you try to soothe yourself through the wave of your next orgasm.
Robby nods from above you, smiling smugly at you when Jack presses a kiss to the side of your head and gathers your hair in a fist, pulling it off the nape of your neck.
Cool air hits your spine, sending shivers down your arms and thighs. There's too much happening and at the same time, it feels as though nothing much at all is. There's too much to focus on and you just cant quite seem to get a grip on where you are. You've been quite literally fucked dumb.
With lidded eyes, you fall lax in Jack's hold, spine colliding rather uncoordinated against Jack's knees, earning a hiss from both men.
Robby tries to grab you halfway down. Dropping his hold on your thigh to slip behind your head.
"Easy, kid... Christ."
Jack manages to manuever you to settle between where he rests on his haunches, your back pressed into his chest. A freckled hand cups your jaw, holding you upright, the other laces with your hand on atop the comforter.
Your'e so fucking out of it. All you can really focus on – or see, for that matter – is Robby pumping into you. You struggle to grasp onto to cloudy images of Robby's cock, the weight of his hand on your hip, Jack behind you. You feel like you're underwater.
Jack holds the back of your head, "look at that," he practically goads at the way your cunt swallows the length of Robby's cock, "prettiest thing I've ever seen."
Robby hums something in agreement that you don't quite catch.
You mumble something that sounds like a word but you're not quite sure. You're not even sure what you need, or if you said anything at all.
But in the midst of your foggy headspace, Jack notices.
Because of course Jack does. He's your lighthouse when your rafts lost at sea — when you find yourself farther from shore than you thought you were.
Its a gentle squeeze at the base of your neck, thumb and forefinger pressing against your pulse point just enough to kinda wake you up in the heavy fog of your head.
You jolt a little, slipping further into Jack's chest, tucking yourself into him in an attempt to hide yourself away for a moment.
Robby slows, gradually pumping into you but giving you a moment of reprieve while you tremble in Jack's lap.
"Jackie," you sniffle.
Jack pulls back some to look at you. "Y'okay, sweetheart?"
You fluster, whimpering under his gaze and shutting your eyes and tucking yourself further into his chest.
His brows furrow at that and he urges you upwards, detangling you from the warmth of him, "No hiding right now, c'mon."
Robby smoothes his palms up and down the length of your thighs, pressing whiskered kisses to the skin of your hips.
Jack cups your jaw in one hand, the other holding the back of your head. You both watch eachother for a moment.
"Y'okay?"
You nod, you can tell he seems unconvinced.
"Use your words."
Jack's voice deepens in that oh-so gooey heavy way that makes your head feels like its been covered in honey.
You nod again, wrapping a small hand around Jack's wrist, thumbing the vein right beneath his palm, dragging his hand up to slip his thumb past your lips, "m'okay, daddy," you mumble around his digit.
That word shifts the tone of the room and suddenly Jack is everywhere he wasn't and Robby's cock pulses within you.
"Yeah?" He slips the hand from your head down between your legs to spread your folds open where Robby's girth stretches you wide, thumb circling over your swollen clit, "just needed daddy here, huh."
He watches the way tears well at your lashline as you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him under your wet lashes, "mhm," your voice is strained and wrought.
Jack presses kisses to your cheek up your temple, whispering "daddy's here," he soothes you when you whimper, brain melting away at the warm place that Jack's presence moves you towards, "s'okay, baby, you're okay," words muffle when he turns your jaw, pulling you into a kiss.
Robby pumps into you and you moan into Jack's mouth, holding his wrist where he cups the underside your jaw.
"She okay?" Robby cocks his head, thick brows raising, towards Jack. You can feel him nod against you and you try to hold onto some part of Robby but just end up looking up at him under heavy lashes, lips parted.
Robby seems to understand, "just needed daddy t'calm y'down a bit, huh, honey."
You nod tearfully, "yes sir."
Robby chuckles a little at that, "yes sir," he muses and leans forward with a groan, grabbing ahold of your cheeks, smushing them together so that your lips pucker, catching your swollen lips in a kiss.
His nose bumps against your own and your tongue swipes over the roof of his mouth earning a deep-rooted groan from the older man.
Robby pulls away from you but keeps his hand on your cheeks as he pumps into you. "Give daddy a kiss," he urges you towards Jack.
Jack hums once you've turned back to him, silver eyes watch the way his thumb runs over the plush of your bottom lip, whispering "hey, baby."
"Hi," you whisper back, breath catching in your throat when Robby angles his hips just enough so that the swollen head of his cock bruises against the spongey part of your heat.
You try to look at them both, eyes shifting from either man as you struggle to warn them, the wound string in the heat of you wrought tight, bordering on snapping.
A whimper falls past your lips, settling in your throat when Robby circles your clit and spreads your sopping folds open where his girth parts you.
"Think m'gonna cum again," you sob, eyes settling on Jack when he shushes you softly.
"I know. Just keep breathin' fr'me, sweetheart."
The tears fall faster than you can stop them, brows furrowing and lashes tickling your flushed cheeks when your scrunch your eyes closed, the heavy pleasure sinking you underneath it all.
It feels almost like you're drowning. Your ears ring and there's an uncertain fuzziness that settles in the core of you. Wading out on a raft.
"Thank you sir, thank you, thank you," you ramble through heavy tears and choked sobs that dont seem to stop.
Jack holds you to his chest, his chin atop your head as he strokes a hand down down the middle of your breasts, massaging your sternum softly.
Robby hisses from above you when your walls clamp down around him. He circles your clit as he gently rocks you through it, balls pressed up against your folds when he spills into you, "fucking good girl."
You're shivering in the warmth of Jack's arms, trembling as you grasp on to him.
"That was a big one, huh," Jack hums when he feels you begin to relax, legs no longer tense and your grip on him turns soft.
You nod against him, eyes heavy. You swallow dryly, coughing a little when the back of your throat
"Was a lot," you mumble through a wet giggle.
Jack hums and strokes a hand over your warm cheek, pulling back strands of hair that stick to your clammy temple, "and y'did so good," he coos, pressing a kiss to your temple.
Peering over at Robby, he smiles down at you, slowly and gently pulling out of you. He takes a moment to spread the swollen lips of your pussy open, watching the way his cum dribbles out of your swollen cunt.
"Good girl," he whispers softly, looking back up at you before leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your lips, "so pretty fr'us, honey."
Still breathing heavily, you let yourself settle in their hold of you, sandwiched between the two of them.
"I love you, Robby... love you, Jackie," you nuzzle either of them with each confession, running your hands over any inch of skin you can reach.
Robby kisses your nose, "I know."
Jack whispers it back into your hair and presses a kiss there.
part one | part two | part three | part four | Masterlist | ao3
frank langdon 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. And today, it's Langdon's turn.
|| smut MNDI 18+ f!receiving oral, fingering, dirty talk, free use kink, dom!robby, praise kink, pussy inspection, m!masturbation, face riding, medical malpractice lol, they do it at the hospital, orphaned reader, reader has trauma, no reader age specified but always legal, reader has no physical descriptions except for having breasts and hair long enough to grab, takes place during s2e14, reader likes Flamin' Hots cause I like Flamin' Hots, the relationships in this fic are not healthy!!! I do not condone this!!! but its kinda hot!!!!! power imbalance, pet names like honey / sweetheart / baby, reader calls langdon 'frankie' sometimes ||
a/n: listen... I had ONE little daydream about being shared by the pitt men....... and here we are....
"Look who we have here!" called a familiar voice from the center of the bustling ED.
The cool air hit your bare skin the second you stepped inside, AC blasting hard enough to slip under the hem of your shorts and across the damp curve of your chest where your blouse hung low. You shivered at the abrupt change, rubbing your hands once along your arms as your sandals flipped over the tile. The place was alive in the way it always was: doctors and nurses calling codes and medication orders, rumbling of stretchers over tile, machine chirps overlapping one another as you walked by.
"Just what the doctor ordered," came the same voice, her Pittsburgh accent thick. Dana came around the desk before you could answer, her sneakers squeaking with each step, and pulled you into a hug that smelled of hand sanitizer and coffee. As she pulled back, her palm slid down your arm, eyes checking you over.
"Was that a nurse joke?" you asked with an eyebrow.
"I only got a few, so I use ’em when I can," she shot back, not missing a beat. Then her eyes narrowed. "You eat today? You look a little peaky."
"Yes, Dana," you said, a little put-upon, you’d heard her mothering comments a hundred times, but even now your mouth pulled into a smile.
She gave you that look. Her brows lifted and lips pressed flat like she didn’t buy it for a second.
"I had a bagel!" you insisted, tipping your chin up just a bit.
"Okay, okay," she relented, one hand lifting in surrender, though her eyes stayed on you. "But just so you know, I got my good LaCroix stash in the lounge and some flamin' hots I know you like. Hidden behind the protein shakes in case anyone got greedy. I’d make an exception for you, though, angel girl."
"Thank you, D—" your face lit up, "the tangerine?"
"With your name all over it."
You grinned, and she hooked an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side as she steered you through the emergency department. Her hand was warm and firm where it rested against you, guiding without asking.
As you passed Perlah and Princess, they both paused at the desk. Their eyes followed you and Dana across the room, widening for a second before flicking to each other, something silent passing between them before they looked back at you.
"Not a word, ladies—" Dana said, pointing at them without even looking. They both straightened and spun their chairs around to face away.
Dana walked you a few more steps before stopping, turning you in front of her with a light hand still at your shoulder. Up close, you could see the tired lines at the corners of her eyes, her lips pursed tightly like she was thinking too hard about something.
"Now listen—" she said, lowering her voice to separate it from the rest of the noise around you. "Robby’s havin’ a bit of a day." Her eyes flicked down the hall, then back to you. "I’ll send him over as soon as he’s free, alright, angel girl?"
"Yes, Dana," you said gently, "is he okay?"
"Are any of us ever really okay?" she shot back, but there was something heavier sitting under it.
You nodded, your fingers brushing absently at the hem of your shorts. "I understand."
"But that’s why you’re here, innit'?" she said, her tone easing, the hand that was on your shoulder sliding down squeeze your upper arm. "Brighten things up a little. They need you, kid."
You smiled softly. Dana was always like this, as much as she had once hated the idea of it all the moment she became aware of you and Robby's…situation. But it grew on her the more she realized how much you meant to everyone, how you lifted their spirits too, nevermind the fact that you and Dana just plain liked each other. And yes, sometimes there was the typical testosterone shoot out where the men of the ED became territorial or antsy if you were around, Dana always said they were no better a pack of hungry wolves! when they got a whiff that you were in the hospital.
"Right in here, hon," she said, pushing open a door with her hip.
The room was quieter, the hum of the main floor dulled to a low murmur, curtains pulled tight across the glass and the overhead lights dimmed. The bed in the center was clean and fresh, no blankets or usual patient gown.
"Robby said go on ahead and get changed," she added, nodding toward the bed. "Leave the top on, alright?"
You nodded, already hooking your thumb into the button of your denim shorts.
"He’ll be here any minute," she went on, pausing in the doorway, one hand still braced against the frame. "You holler if you need me. And don’t you go leavin’ without sayin’ goodbye."
"Yes, ma’am."
She gave you a quick wink, then pulled the door shut behind her with a soft click.
When the room quieted, you took a moment to gather yourself, shunting your shorts down to the floor before picking them up again, folding them neatly and setting them off to the side. It was almost always the same routine when you came to see Dr. Robby. Once, sometimes twice a week if his schedule allowed. Sometimes he’d text you not to come in if things were bad. Sometimes he’d tell you to come in now if they were worse.
You and him had a good deal.
He’d found you after the crash. Or what was left of you, anyway. You’d come in shaking, blood barely beginning to dry down your arms that wasn’t yours, your parents already being rushed past you on separate gurneys, machines breathing for them before you could even understand what was happening.
That day--and the months that followed--were all a blur. But you remembered him, his steady voice and kind eyes. He was always there.
You never left their bedside, not when the machines took over or when the doctors would come in with those sad eyes and pitiful looks on their faces. People who you thought you were close to started to avoid you once your parents got moved permanently upstairs to a shared room on life support.
But Robby came every day to check on you. Other people started to come too. For him, you knew realized after a while, since they all had those same scrubs on, all of them had badges--residents, attendings. They'd bring you coffee, or just sit with you when he couldn’t. You got used to seeing the same faces, and they got used to seeing you.
You’d promised your parents you’d never date again. You weren’t sure if they could hear you, but you told them anyway. You told them if you could go back and change that night, you would. You would’ve never taken them to that god-awful dinner with your piece of shit boyfriend—now ex, thank you very much. His family was just as bad as he was. You should have known. About him, about them. About how the car ride would go after, your parents telling you that you deserved better, that they couldn’t believe you’d settled for any of that.
The whole ride had been tight with hurt feelings and raised voices, your dad turning in his seat to argue, your mom trying to calm him—and then the light, run red, and the sound that followed.
You’d never let them down again.
When the time finally came to take them off their breathing machines, to let them go naturally instead of artificial lifesource, you didn't have anything to go back to. Your job had let you go for not showing up without telling them what happened. Your bills went overdue and you were evicted from your house, the recliner by your parents’ bedside becoming the only thing you could even kind of call yours. Even then, you knew you’d be buried in debt for how long you kept them hanging on.
Robby took you in.
He had no hesitation, he didn't even let you argue. You vowed to him you'd never be his girlfriend, and that was fine by him. You told him you'd be an easy roommate if he let you stay for free. You'd cook for him, keep his place clean though he was barely there. You'd do and be anything else he needed.
And he needed you.
He'd come home to find you after his shifts, and you'd be there on his darkest days, and on the good ones too. You were something soft for him to fall into, something warm and steady after everything he carried through those hospital doors. A place for all that restless energy to land, for his hands to find you, for him to press his cock into you until the day finally left his body. Sometimes he'd let you take care of him instead, climbing into his lap, easing him back, letting him breathe while you did the work. In exchange, he gave you a place to stay, his credit cards, his company. He rebuilt you from scratch, a broken girl who'd been left all alone, now his one way or another.
And he began to change. His fellow attendings noticed, his residents noticed. People started asking questions. He'd bring you around just so you could say hi and get out of the house. He wanted the hospital feel like something other than the place you lost everything. You’d stay close to him at first, tucked into his side or in the break room, smiling when people spoke to you, letting them fuss over you a little because it felt…good. To be seen, wanted, loved. They already knew your face. They already knew your name. They felt like family.
Robby saw how his staff gravitated towards you any time you came in. And he was never territorial like some of your exes had been. If anything, it made him more confident, standing taller. Whenever anyone paid you a compliment near him he'd always puff his chest up, smile, and say That's my girl.
It wasn't anything at first-- when things really changed. that is. You'd gotten so used to Abbott's long and intense eye contact, Langdon's lingering touches and sweet words. Even Park, with those cocky smirks he never bothered to hide when he saw you. You'd started wearing less and less, choosing thinner fabric so if you got a chill, your breasts might peak and they'd get an eyeful, or you'd bend over in your little skirts Robby would buy for you to give them a flash of a pretty black thong beneath. You’d catch the way their eyes followed you around the ED, the way conversations stalled for a second before picking back up.
It was the night that Robby told you to give his resident a kiss goodbye when things really shifted direction. You'd listened, did as he told without hesitation, and that night he'd taken you home and nearly broke his king sized headboard with the force of how he fucked you into the mattress.
So…yeah. Things changed. He saw how much happier his staff was when you were around, how the whole place seemed to ease just a little with you in it, and you liked the way he looked at you because of it, the quiet pride in his eyes.
You were like his little reward to give out, and you were more than eager to please.
Though, there was a catch.
Robby saw you first. Always. He needed that moment with you before anyone else got their treat. He'd come in and check that everything was in 'working order' and that you were ready for his chosen resident or attending. Only if someone earned you, did they get to enjoy what was his.
"And how is my best girl doing today?"
It was a familiar voice that cut into your thoughts, one with a kind, rough crack through every word. He was so tall, hair mussed and fussed from where you knew he'd dragged his hands through it all day. Brown eyes twinkled down at you as he pulled on the usual blue sterile gloves, coming to the bedside of the hospital bed.
"Good." You sat up on your knees and pursed your lips, waiting for his greeting. He bent down and pressed a fat peck to them, humming contentedly. "How are you?" you added.
"Oh, living the dream as always," he said, shaking his head, laying his hands on either side of the guardrails raised around your bed.
"That bad?"
"I've had worse," he said softly, smiling at you, and then patted the end of the bed. "Scoot."
You grinned back and moved toward him, coming to the end of the bed, beginning to lay yourself down—but not before planting one more kiss to his lips, then along his bearded jaw. Your hands pet over his shoulders, his arms, until you could no longer reach him and you were flat on your back. His fingers hooked into your panties immediately, pulling them swiftly down your legs and putting them in his pocket. Then he guided your feet up to the stirrups and placed both hands on your knees, his touch warm despite the gloves, and opened your legs for his gaze to settle between them.
He hummed his approval, and dragged one hand light down the center of your thigh, "And how is she doing?"
"Better now," you whispered, breath catching as his gloved fingers pressed against the pearl that had throbbed all day at the thought of this. Your eyes closed in contended bliss.
"You haven't been playing, have you?" he asked, glancing up, head tipped.
Another rule: no touching unless he says so.
"No," you said quickly, opening your eyes. "Just thinking about you. About coming to see you."
"That so?"
Your hand came up, finger pressed between your teeth in anticipation. He dragged his finger down the seam of your center, and you could hear the humiliating shlick of wetness that gathered there for him, making your tummy flip.
"You must've been thinking some filthy things to be this soaked already, honey," he said, voice edged with amusement.
You nodded.
"You gonna tell me what you were thinking about?"
He worked two fingers along your folds, slow, thorough, up and down, spreading you open, circling your clit, making your hips undulate under his touch.
"Um—oh—yes, please, oh—"
And then you heard a thick, throaty sound, and he was spitting onto your already soaked core, making you mewl.
"Easy, easy," he added softly, "Gotta be a good girl and stay quiet now. These glass windows are only so sound proof, honey. Now c'mon—tell me what you were thinking about today."
"Well—I heard—um, I heard…"
You hesitated. Robby wasn’t going to like it. Maybe you could pivot.
"You seemed in a bad mood when I was texting you—and—" you scrambled, grasping for something safer, "and when you're in a bad mood you get rough with me and—and—"
"Hm…" he hummed thoughtfully, and reached up with his hand that wasn't teasing you, pulling the fabric of your top down so your breasts spilled over the neck band. You gasped, but smiled when his fingers twisted your nipples, making them pebble beneath his touch.
His other hand now pressed at your entrance, the slick sound of latex and wet making your eyes roll back so you couldn't watch him play. "You like when I'm a little rough, honey? That it? Thought I'd take my reward for myself tonight?"
"Mhmmmm," you moaned.
You opened your eyes once more, and instead of seeing his usual sweet demeanor, his kind brown eyes, he was now looking down at you with a stone face.
"You're lying."
"I'm not!" you squealed, and then choked on a moan as he entered two thick fingers into you.
He pulled back, then thrust again, hooking them up, working against the front of your walls as his lip lifted in a sneer. "Good girls don't lie to their doctors. Now tell me what you meant—go on."
"Ah! Ah!" you moaned, head thrown back.
"Tell me or this stops and you go home."
You brought your head back up to look at him over your breasts, sweat beginning to dabble your skin.
"Frank—" you hiccuped, "I heard Frank is back."
He paused the thick, long thrusts of his fingers inside of you. His eyes darkened even further, huffing out a sarcastic laugh you knew all too well.
You had been right, bad day to bring it up.
"I just—I missed him, Robby, I'm sorry—it’s been a while, and I kept thinking how—oh fuck—"
He began finger-fucking you in earnest then, the loud sound of your slick all over his hand as his lip curled, eyes black, "Language, young lady." he growled.
"You're lucky he's earned you today." he went on. "If you'd come in here moaning his name with my fingers inside you without him acing that fucking manual reduction—"
He spat on your pussy again, the glob hitting you right on your clit before his thumb began working the little bundle of sensitive nerves. You were wailing like a damn cat, back arching in a boneless arch.
"Come for me, baby, c'mon, show me what's mine, make her soaked for my fucking resident."
Your thighs seized up, and jaw came unhinged, mouth open wide as you moaned his name.
"Robby, Robby, Robby," you gasped, thighs shaking, hips riding his fingers, until you were all breath and sweat and heat and all he could do was watch you.
"That's it, that's my good girl, nice and easy now, breathe," he soothed, his other hand sliding from your chest, down to your waist where he squeezed you assuringly, then resting warm at your knee, petting slow as he eased his fingers out of you. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. "Think she's ready for him. Don't you?"
You nodded, eyes half lidded. Your brain felt light and foggy, dazed as you watched the chief attending strip off his gloves.
"Robby…" your voice came quieter now, uncertain, your fingers curling into the hospital bed sheet beneath you. "I'm sorry I brought up…"
He moved to your side, bare hands replacing latex, fingers combing through your hair, grounding, warm, welcome. He helped you cover up your breasts again to keep warm. "I'm not mad at you for wanting Langdon, honey. Just—caught me off guard. I know you missed him."
"You missed him too, didn't you?" you murmured, leaning up just enough to press a soft kiss to the bridge of his nose.
Robby closed his eyes at that, a breath leaving him before he straightened, tossing the gloves into the bin. "Stay put. I'll bring him in."
It was only ten or so minutes later that the door was opening again, and Frank Langdon entered.
"Frank," you sighed, a smile pulling at your lips. You sat up in the bed.
"Hey, you," he said, but he didn’t come any farther once the door shut behind him. He stayed there, leaning back with hand still on the handle, like he hadn’t decided if he was staying or leaving.
"Umm… how are you?" you asked, a little unsure now.
"I’m good. I’m—yeah, I’m good," he said quickly, then glanced up at you, "You?"
"M'good."
You watched him—he'd changed since the last time you saw him. He wasn't as antsy as he usually was. Sometimes he'd come into the room bouncing off the walls, sometimes he'd come in irritated, but the ten months away seemed to have settled him down. It almost put you off a bit. He was suddenly hard to read.
"Come here, please," you said, reaching out from where you sat at the edge of the bed, your legs dangling.
His eyes flicked to your outstretched hands first, then up to your face, then down again, catching himself. It made your heart twinge. You always liked when he looked at you. Why didn't he want to look at you?
"I—" he shook his head once, like he was trying to clear it. "We should probably just—talk first."
"Hug me first?" you asked softly, wiggling your fingers where they were waiting for him.
You missed him too much, you didn't even bother trying to hide it. You just needed to know he was okay, that you and him were okay. There was a funny feeling of butterflies in your belly that didn’t quite feel like excitement, something you weren’t used to having around him.
He let out a slow breath, looking down at the floor for a second before finally pushing off the door.
"Yeah. Okay. Just—" he muttered, more to himself than you, as he crossed the room.
You didn’t give him time to finish the thought. You were eagerly at the edge of the bed, arms and legs wrapping around him the second he got close, clinging tight like a little barnacle.
"Missed you," you said softly, muffled by the way you pushed your face into his chest.
He stayed still for half a second before his hands wrapped around your shoulders, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. "Yeah?"
"Mhm," you hummed, fingers wandering up his back, over the ridge of his strong shoulder blades, then down along his waist. "You smell so nice. Just like I remember."
He let out a quiet chuckle, but his hands slid down to your upper arms, gently pulling you back. "Listen… we need to talk."
Your stomach dropped. Your brows pulled tight as your thoughts started to spiral, one worse than the next—he didn’t want you anymore, he was leaving for good, you’d done something wrong. So many things began to cloud your thoughts, worries, insecurities you thought you'd thrown away after all this time. The confidence you'd built over the past few years crumbling under his intense stare. You pulled back from him too quickly, but he didn’t step away, still standing between your legs like he hadn’t fully committed to the distance.
"I—" he exhaled, dragging his hands over his face. "Do you know why I was gone, sweetheart?"
You nodded.
"You know I was in rehab, then?" he said, quieter now, his hands lowering again, hovering near you like he wanted to touch but stopped himself again.
"Yes," you whispered.
"Well, I've been making my amends, owning up to the things I did. Trying to be better," he went on. "Been 186 days."
"That’s amazing," you said softly, your hands finding his waist again. Okay. Now you understood. This wasn't about you. This was about him. His journey, his need for reassurance.
He nodded, licking his lips as he looked down at you. Once it had clicked that he wasn't rejecting you, you suddenly could see how hard he was fighting himself from giving in. "But that means I can’t— as much as I appreciate you asking for me, sweetheart—we can’t—"
"Oh, but Frankie," you whined with an exaggerated pout as you pulled him in again, arms wrapping tighter around his waist. You had to crane your neck to look up at him, your legs wrapping around him again, breasts pushed up into his stomach. "I missed you so badly! Didn't you miss me?"
He let out a breath, his hands settling on your shoulders, steadying you. "I did, baby. I missed you too, but—"
"What if—" you wet your lips, your gaze dropping briefly to his mouth before lifting again, "what if we just kissed? Please? I've been thinking about you all day."
He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, eyes fixed on you. You could see it there, the wheels turning in his head and how he paused. He was hesitating. Your feet pressed into the backs of his knees, waiting.
"Just a kiss?" he asked.
You nodded.
"I—" he sighed, "Okay. But only kissing, you understand?"
"Yes, Frankie," you said, already beginning to purse your lips up at him, "I promise."
He leaned down, finally, finally. You let your eyes flutter closed, waiting for him, and when his lips pressed against yours, you sighed dreamily into him, winding your legs tighter around his so you could feel him flush against you.
You couldn't help the noise that slipped out of you when his tongue traced the seam of your top lip.
"You're getting too excited," he murmured, but he didn’t stop.
You moaned again, hands gripping at his back, trying to keep them from wandering where you wanted to, keeping them locked around him instead. With how close you had him against you, you could feel the growing press of his member through his cotton pants on your stomach, and you shifted just slightly, pressing yourself even closer.
You opened your mouth for him, his thick, wet tongue finally finding yours, and it wasn't only you making pathetic little whines anymore— Frank had let out a suffocated moan at the taste of you, too.
"Fuckkk…" he whispered against you, his hands sliding from your shoulders to your face, tipping your head back even more so he could deepen the kiss, taking more, licking and eating at you, each press of his lips and slide of his tongue more urgent by the second.
He was fully hard beneath his black scrubs now, and you could feel him pushing into you just as much as you were pressing into him, not an inch of space between the two of you. Your breasts felt sandwiched against him, almost to the point of soreness, but they were aching for his touch, the throbbing between your legs only getting worse.
"I missed you so much, Frankie," you said again, pulling back to breath for only a second before kissing him again, his pillowy, swollen lips panting for breath. He smelled like mint, like that aftershave he always used. It was Pavlovian, only making you want more, practically drooling from your mouth—and between your legs—for him.
He let your tongue explore his mouth just the same, tasting behind his teeth for more of him, and when you suckled on his tongue between your lips, he groaned as if it pained him. He pulled you away with one more gentle lick to your lips, looking down at you.
His blue eyes were half lidded, a mirror of your arousal with pupils dilated, his pulse thick and quick where you felt his heart against your jaw when you rested your chin on his chest.
"I know, I know," he said softly, pressing one more kiss to your lips. "Come on, get up."
Your heart jumped in your chest, "But you said—"
"—Only kissing," he nodded, and he reached back behind him to unlatch your fingers from his shirt where you'd clung to him. "Be a good girl and listen now."
You knew better than to disobey, and pulled yourself away, albeit reluctantly, sliding off the bed and coming to stand beside him.
"Just kissing," he murmured, quieter this time, more to himself, the words coming out under his breath as he climbed up onto the bed. He shifted the thin pillow, flattening the stretcher before looking back at you as he settled onto his back.
"Take that off, baby. C’mon now, not done with you yet," he said, voice gentle.
You obeyed instantly, pulling your top over your head and tossing it aside, leaving you bare while he stayed fully dressed.
He patted his chest, coaxing you. "Up here, you know I've got a bad back—"
You climbed over him eagerly, a soft giggle slipping out when he smiled up at you and pinched your ass. He let you resume kissing him again, and you couldn't help but rock against the outline of his throbbing bulge. He didn’t let it go on long—his hand slid into your hair, fingers threading through before tightening at the nape, making you gasp, then tipping your head back.
"Getting too excited again—" he warned.
"M’sorryyyyy," you whined, hands pawing at his chest. "I told you I’ve been thinking about you all day."
"Yeah?" he whispered, nipping at your chin, and you nodded. "What a sweet girl you are," he added, cooing as he brushed his lips against your skin while he spoke. You gnawed at your bottom lip as he kissed up your jaw, suckling the skin under your ear, until you felt his breath against the shell of it as he said, "gonna let me kiss your pretty pussy, baby?"
You gasped, and made to pull away, but your hair was firmly in his grip.
"Yes, Frankie," you moaned in answer.
"Climb up." he ordered.
He helped you climb on top of him, your knees settling at the top of the bed, your hips lining up with his shoulders before you pushed yourself upright.
"Are you sure I’m not gonna suffocate you—"
"Trust me, if this is the way I go out, I’d die a happy man," he said with a breath of a laugh. "Besides, we’re in a hospital. If I pass out, there's plenty of doctor outside that door."
You giggled again, carding your fingers through the front of his long brown hair. He brought his hands up to squeeze the cheeks of your bum, hoisting you up so your core was hovering above his mouth. He leaned up and planted a light kiss to the top of it, and you gasped.
"Just as sweet as I remember, come closer," he murmured, and as you let yourself down onto him, he hooked his hands over the back of your hips and suddenly pulled you flush on top of him.
"Frankie!" you gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, worried you might hurt him.
"Shh, sh, sh," he cooed, his hands locked around you, "let me enjoy this."
You moaned when his tongue flattened over the slick seam of your folds, gathering all the arousal you'd made for him. Finally, you gave in as his lips closed over your clit, pulling hard. Your head fell back, a hoarse moan leaving you as your hips began to move against him, up and down, slow at first, then needing more.
"Ohhh, Frankie, holy shit—" you mewled. Your tongue peeked out to catch the bit of drool that had began to pool at the corner of your open mouth. "Feels so—ohhhhh…"
"Yeah, baby? Tell me." he moaned, a little muffled against your skin. His tongue kept up a rhythm then, cupping your entrance and back up to your clit where it swirled around, lips closing on the nub. You jolted a bit at the abrupt pleasure.
"So good, so so good," you whimpered, and as you opened your eyes to the feeling of the bed rocking, you looked behind you where his hips were moving, gently up into the air with no relief.
"Let me—"
"No, no," he cut in, breathless. "S’okay. Let me take care of you. You just—enjoy."
"But I wanna—!" you said petulantly, reaching around to touch his cock through the cotton pants.
He groaned at the contact, letting you quickly untie his scrubs and shove them down just enough to free his pulsing member. Your hand wrapped around him, velvet at the head and thick and warm at the shaft, but only for a second before he pulled your hand away, replacing it with his own, working himself with a rough grip. The sight of him like that—pleasuring himself, his cock red and angry with a pearl of arousal at the tip—made your mouth part and your brain fuzzy.
His other hand came up to cover your mouth as you let out a loud moan when his tongue plunged deep into your pussy, and you held onto his wrist for support. His hand moved to press two fingers into your mouth, and you sucked on them, hard, tongue sliding between his two fingers, letting your teeth graze the top of his knuckles just how you knew he liked his cock sucked.
You heard a very muffled oh fuck come from between your legs, and you let your hips rock harder and harder against his face. You no longer seemed to care if you suffocated him to death. You were so so—
"Close! Frankie, I'm so close—I'm gonna—"
"Come all over my face, pretty girl," he said, tongue flat so you could ride against it, "doin' so good, you're such a good girl, I'm gonna fucking come too, oh fuck fuck fuck—!"
You weren't able to watch how his eyes rolled to the back of his head as your spine arched, stiffening, toes curling as one hand gripped his wrist, the other flat against the wall to steady yourself. You tried your best to stay quiet, the ecstasy coursing through your bloodstream too strong, and Langdon took his fingers that were in your mouth and buried them deeper down your throat. The pad of his fingers pressed at the back of your tongue where you began to gag on him, choking your moans, and he went stiff under you as his own orgasm tore through him.
You road out the wave of your orgasm with his, feeling the thick ropes of his spend shoot over your back. Soon, it quieted with only the sounds of your breathing and those of the hospital coming back to you outside the doors.
Frank was panting beneath you, both of his hands coming down to sooth you at the junction of your thighs, kissing sweetly at the apex of your center until you were a fidgety mess, twitching from overstimulation. You shifted back, giving him room to breathe, but he didn’t let you get far. You ended up seated on his stomach instead, his arms wrapping around your hips from over your legs.
"Thank you for…asking for me today," he said, a shy smile tugging at his mouth as he looked up at you. His lips were still shining, parted as he caught his breath, taking in slower, shallow lungfuls. "I think I needed it."
You rested your hands flat on his chest, letting your fingers drift back and forth over his pecs, up along his collarbones, to his strong shoulders and neck—tracing, remembering, like you were relearning him all over again. Your smile softened, just a little sad around the edges.
"You almost said no." you said quietly.
He pressed his lips together, rolling them once before answering. "I know. I’m sorry… it’s not—you, you know? It's a me thing. I wasn't sure if ..."
"I know." you whispered, touching his lips to quiet him.
"C’mere," he said gently, patting your leg, guiding you off him. You swung your leg to his side, and he scooted over to let you lay against him. He tucked himself back into his scrubs without much thought, more focused on pulling you close, his arm sliding under your head so you could rest against his shoulder.
He let out a long breath, "I meant what I said, about trying to be better." he whispered.
You believed him. Though you never saw anything the matter with him before, once you heard about his addiction, it made you wonder if you ever really knew what he was like beneath all the hubris, if the fidgety Langdon you knew was really him. You were glad that he was still here, beneath it, next to you now. He still had his gentleness, his sweet way with words. He was just… more mellow.
"And I owe you an apology too. I let a lot of people down. And you were nothing but good to me."
You tilted your head up, resting your chin against his chest. "That must be so hard to admit. You’re doing so well, Frank."
He huffed out a small laugh. "I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry."
"For what? You were perfect. You still are."
"Far from it," he said, softer now, "but thank you, sweet girl." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your nose.
You hummed, eyes slipping closed.
"I should probably clean you up and get back out there," he said after a moment, though he didn’t move.
"Stay for a few minutes," you murmured, wrapping your arm around his middle. "Just lay here with me."
He looked over at you with his eyes half closed, a grateful smile pulling at the edges of his lips like a string was tied to each end. "Alright."
You settled your cheek against his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed under your ear, so steady, so warm, so him— and let your eyes close, drifting asleep as he dozed beside you.
you hate fighting with Robby. Because once you do, it gets out of control fast and neither of you thinks fast enough to swallow back hurtful things and take a moment to breathe
when Jack is there, it sometimes tones down to some bickering and eye rolls and everything is forgotten in half an hour. When he's not though...
You've retreated into the guest room no one ever uses, still dressed in Robby's stupid shirt and crying stupid tears because of stupid Robby. The fight was stupid too, you can't even remember what started it.
But before you knew it, his voice got louder and so did yours and he called you pushy and you said he didn't even want to get better
Both of you had slammed the door behind yourself. Jack is at work. Hours pass where you both don't come out to reconcile.
At some point, you fell asleep and wake up to the soft feeling of knuckles brushing the tears away, nearly making you flinch stubbornly because for just a second, you think it's Robby
"What happened, sweetheart?" Jack looks at you, without judgement but with the frown on his face only you and Robby are able to bring out. The fight is written all over the quiet apartment. He did not even have to talk to Robby first to know.
"I don't want to talk about it." Your voice is still wobbly and you want to squirm away, but Jack is already there, not letting you.
"You don't have to tell me anything, baby. Tell him."
"No."
He leaves the guest room for now with a deep sigh. It's seven in the morning and here he is, trying to mend the broken pieces you two have left. Robby and you should've been pressed together underneath the covers, your cheeks rosy from Robby's body heat while he held you close, not like this. Not apart.
Jack can tell Robby has been crying.
The two of them stare at each other for a moment, silently communicating. Jack knows Robby feels fucking awful before he even opens his mouth.
"She's right there, man. Just talk to her. Make it right. She's been crying. Just- you gotta love her. You've gotta. Otherwise this won't work."
"I do. Fuck, I- of course I love her. It's just-"
"Is it so hard to believe she loves you too? That she cares?"
Jack leaves him with that question. While he's making three cups of tea, exhaustion clinging to his shoulders, Robby is silently crossing through the living room past him and disappears into the guest room.
Jack doesn't need to eavesdrop. He's close enough to hear deep, mumbled words and a few shaky sniffles before the bed squeaks and Robby and you hug it out, his large hand stroking your hair while you bury your face in his chest and cry
And when he sees Robby coming out with you in his arms, kissing your temple like you're the most precious thing in the world, he knows it'll be enough for today.
SUMMARY: The ER is not a pleasant place to work when you’re six months pregnant. The constant check-ins from your coworkers and patients is one thing, but the attention from Jack Abbot? That’s another thing entirely, and it thrills and terrifies you all at once.
NOTES: Pregnancy, single mother reader, mentions of absent co-parent, canon-typical workplace stress + scenarios, mentions of Jack’s wife, vulnerability, Jack is so sappy and sweet in this.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
You hated being treated differently. The frustrating thing was that everyone seemed to think they were being kind.
Ever since the pregnancy had become impossible to hide, people had started looking at you differently. Patients asked if you should really be working. Nurses tried to take things out of your hands. Residents hovered whenever you lifted anything heavier than a clipboard. Every conversation seemed to begin or end with somebody asking if you were alright.
You knew they meant well, and that somehow made it worse. You were twenty-six weeks pregnant, not made of glass.
Most days you could ignore it. Most days you smiled politely, accepted the concern for what it was, and carried on. You had chosen to keep working. You loved your job. The emergency department was exhausting and chaotic and occasionally heartbreaking, but it was yours. It gave structure to days that might otherwise have been swallowed whole by anxiety.
The anxiety was harder to admit, but nobody seemed concerned about that part. Nobody saw the moments you sat alone in your apartment after a shift with one hand resting over your stomach, wondering if you were making the right choices. Nobody saw the nights when you woke up terrified by the sheer scale of what was coming.
You were going to be somebody’s mother. The thought still knocked the breath out of you. You were going to do it alone, and that part was worse.
The baby’s father had left months ago, long before anyone at work knew about the pregnancy. There had been no screaming argument. No dramatic betrayal. Just a gradual retreat until one day you realised you were the only person still fighting for something that no longer existed.
You had survived it. You would continue surviving it. You didn’t have any other choice. Which was why you absolutely refused to become somebody else’s responsibility, especially Jack Abbot’s.
“Why have I got room fourteen?”
The question escaped before you could stop yourself. Dana looked up from the desk.
“What about room fourteen?”
You stared at the assignment sheet in your hand. Room fourteen contained the sweetest little old lady currently waiting for discharge paperwork. Room twelve contained a man with a minor fracture. Room nine needed routine medication.
That was it. No aggressive intoxication. No psychiatric hold. No combative family members. No complicated trauma patients. Nothing.
It was practically a holiday.
You narrowed your eyes. Across the department, Jack was discussing scans with one of the residents, words thorough and professional despite the toll the rare day shift was taking on him.
Your gaze lingered. Unfortunately, Jack’s eyes lifted almost immediately. Straight to you. The man possessed some supernatural ability to know when you were looking at him.
Your stomach performed an irritating little flip. That was becoming a problem. Actually, no. The crush was the problem. The stomach flipping was merely a symptom.
Jack’s expression remained perfectly neutral. You pointed at your assignment sheet. He looked away immediately, seemingly guilty.
You knew it.
Ten minutes later you cornered him near the medication room. “Stop it.”
His eyebrows rose. “Good afternoon to you too.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You keep changing my assignments.”
“I don’t make assignments.”
“Jack.”
His mouth twitched. That tiny almost-smile somehow made him more infuriating.
“You have no proof.”
“I don’t need proof.”
“Yes, honey, you do.”
“Don’t ‘honey’ me, Jack. You keep giving me easier patients.”
Jack folded his arms. The movement pulled at the sleeves of his scrub top. Your traitorous brain noticed entirely too much about him these days. The broad shoulders. The wedding ring he still wore. The permanent exhaustion around his eyes.
The gentleness he tried so hard to hide beneath sarcasm. “You think I have nothing better to do than secretly manipulate patient assignments?”
“Yes.”
That earned an actual laugh. A short one. Rare enough that it briefly distracted you. Jack shook his head.
“I think that’s insane. You’re being a bit… God, what did Javadi call it? Delulu?”
“Never say that again. I’m serious.”
“God forbid a guy try something new.”
You stared at each other. The familiar tension settled into place almost immediately. Neither of you ever acknowledged it. Nobody else seemed to notice it either, which felt impossible.
You noticed everything when it came to him. The way his voice softened around frightened patients. The way he instinctively positioned himself between vulnerable people and whatever was upsetting them. The way he always appeared beside you whenever a shift became overwhelming.
That last one was definitely intentional.
The problem was that Jack never did anything obvious enough to challenge. Every act of care was disguised as practicality.
A patient would need transferring and somebody else would mysteriously volunteer before you could. You would arrive at the break room to find tea already waiting. A difficult relative would somehow end up redirected towards an attending physician instead of a pregnant nurse nearing the end of a twelve-hour shift.
None of it was dramatic. None of it could be called out without sounding ridiculous. Still, you knew.
“You don’t need to look after me.”
The words came out quieter than intended. Something changed in his expression. Not much. Just enough.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the department seemed strangely distant.
“You know,” Jack said eventually, “it’s possible for people to help each other without it meaning something.”
The statement should have reassured you. Instead it hurt. You weren’t entirely sure why. Perhaps because you wanted it to mean something. That was the truth you kept trying not to examine too closely. You wanted his attention. You looked for him at the start of every shift. You noticed when he wasn’t there. You noticed when he looked tired. You noticed everything.
The feelings had arrived slowly and then all at once. Now they sat heavily in your chest, impossible to ignore.
You forced a smile. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“You still need to stop.”
His eyes held yours. For a second you thought he might argue. Instead he sighed.
“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”
You laughed despite yourself. “That’s rich coming from you.”
A trauma alert sounded overhead. The moment vanished instantly. Jack pushed away from the wall. Professional mask sliding neatly back into place.
You hated how easily he could do that.
As though he could simply lock parts of himself away whenever necessary. You wondered what it would be like to be that controlled. To not feel everything so intensely all the time.
“Come on,” he said. “Work calls.”
You fell into step beside him. Close enough to hear his breathing, and to smell hospital soap and coffee. Close enough that the ache in your chest returned before you’d even reached the trauma bay.
You wished it would stop. You wished it would get worse. Neither option seemed particularly safe.
Especially not when Jack glanced at you as the doors opened and asked, quietly enough that nobody else could hear,
“You feeling alright today?”
The concern in his voice was genuine. Simple. Uncomplicated. Somehow that made it harder to answer than any question you’d faced all week.
The trauma ended up being far less dramatic than the alert had suggested. A motor vehicle collision. Two patients, both conscious. One broken wrist, one nasty laceration that looked significantly worse than it actually was. Nobody needed a miracle.
For once, the emergency department managed to survive a trauma call without the world ending. You should have felt relieved. Instead, the restlessness that had settled beneath your skin earlier refused to leave.
Jack’s question kept replaying in your head. ‘You feeling alright today?’. Such an ordinary thing to ask. People asked it all the time. The difference was that most people weren’t really asking. Most people wanted reassurance. A quick smile and a simple yes.
Jack always seemed to want the truth. That was what made him dangerous. He paid attention. It would have been easier if he didn’t. Easier if he were merely an attractive older guy with freckles and muscles and curls. A crush based on appearances would eventually burn itself out.
Unfortunately, every shift seemed determined to reveal another reason to fall for him. You hated that. Mostly because there was absolutely nothing sensible about it.
Jack was older than you. Widowed. Emotionally complicated in ways you suspected only a therapist fully understood.
You were carrying another man’s baby.
The timing couldn’t have been worse if someone had deliberately arranged it.
Yet every time he looked at you, some foolish part of your heart seemed convinced there was still something worth hoping for.
By three, your lower back felt like it had been replaced with concrete. The baby had apparently decided sleep was for cowards and had spent the last hour enthusiastically rearranging your internal organs.
You were updating notes at the nurses’ station when a sharp kick landed beneath your ribs. The involuntary wince escaped before you could stop it.
Unfortunately, somebody noticed. Of course somebody noticed. “Everything alright?”
You looked up. Jack. Again. The man appeared with the consistency of a haunting. You straightened immediately.
“Fine.”
“You know I was literally standing here when that happened, sweetheart.”
“I’m still fine.”
“You made a face.”
“I make faces all the time.”
“You looked like somebody stabbed you.”
“That’s slightly dramatic.”
His expression remained unconvinced. The irritating thing was that he wasn’t hovering. Not really. He wasn’t fussing or ordering you to sit down. He was simply standing there looking concerned. Which somehow made it impossible to dismiss.
The baby kicked again. Your hand moved automatically towards your stomach. A subconscious gesture. One you’d barely realised you’d started doing.
Something softened in Jack’s face. The sight of it nearly undid you. There was no pity there. No awkwardness. No discomfort. Just warmth.
Your pulse stumbled. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
“You should take ten.”
“No.”
“Five.”
“No.”
“Two and a half?”
A laugh escaped despite yourself.
“You negotiate with trauma surgeons like this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They aren’t as terrifying as you.”
You rolled your eyes. Jack looked suspiciously pleased with himself. The sight made something warm spread through your chest. You hated how often that happened around him. The feeling had become increasingly difficult to ignore. Particularly during the quieter moments.
Those moments were always the worst. Those were the moments when you remembered how easy it felt to talk to him. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started. At some point he’d stopped feeling like an attending physician and started feeling like Jack. The distinction mattered more than it should have.
“You know,” he said eventually, leaning against the counter beside you, “it’s alright to admit that you’re tired.”
You stared at the computer screen. The blinking cursor suddenly seemed fascinating.
“Who says I’m tired?”
“You’ve had three cups of coffee in ninety minutes.”
“Maybe I like coffee.”
“You hate coffee.”
Your head dropped backwards. “Oh, come on.”
His smile widened. “You told me.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
You looked at him. Actually looked. The man remembered entirely too much. The realisation struck with uncomfortable force.
Six months ago.
You couldn’t remember half the conversations you’d had yesterday. Jack remembered an offhand comment from six months ago.
Your chest tightened. The feeling wasn’t entirely pleasant. Part of you wanted to bask in it. The rest wanted to run. Nobody had paid attention to you like this in a very long time. Not before the pregnancy. Certainly not after.
The baby’s father had forgotten things constantly. Appointments. Plans. Conversations. You had spent months shrinking your expectations just to avoid disappointment.
Now here was Jack remembering your coffee preferences. The comparison felt unfair. Your emotions didn’t seem particularly concerned with fairness.
His gaze lingered. Not challenging. Not pushing. Just waiting. You wondered whether he knew how difficult that made things. Most people demanded explanations.
Jack simply offered space. The urge to step into it was becoming overwhelming.
A sudden rush of emotion caught you completely off guard. Exhaustion. Fear. Hormones. Loneliness.
Whatever combination was responsible, it hit hard enough to sting behind your eyes. You looked away immediately. Embarrassing. The last thing you needed was to start crying at the nurses’ station.
Jack didn’t comment. Another kindness. He simply moved slightly closer. Close enough that you could feel the steady presence of him. Not touching. Never assuming. Just there. Ready if needed. The gesture nearly hurt.
“You’re allowed to lean on people sometimes.”
The words were quiet. Careful. As though he wasn’t entirely sure he should be saying them.
You laughed softly. A humourless sound. “That’s easy for you to say.”
His expression shifted. Something sad flickering briefly across his face. “You’d be surprised.”
The answer lodged somewhere deep. You knew enough about Jack to understand what wasn’t being said. The grief he carried everywhere despite pretending otherwise. Perhaps that was why being around him felt so different.
He never treated pain like weakness. He understood it too well.
A call light sounded down the corridor. The interruption should have felt annoying. Instead it came as a relief. The conversation had wandered dangerously close to honesty. Neither of you seemed entirely prepared for that.
You pushed away from the desk. Professional instincts taking over. Work was easier. Work always had been. People made sense when they were patients. Charts and medications and treatment plans were infinitely simpler than feelings.
Jack watched you stand. Something unreadable lingered in his eyes. Then it disappeared, locked away behind professionalism once again.
You found yourself wishing, not for the first time, that he would let you see what lived underneath it. The frightening thing was that you suspected he wished exactly the same thing about you.
The shift should have ended an hour ago. That was the thought repeating itself through your head as you stared at a computer screen that no longer seemed capable of forming coherent words.
Every part of you ached. Your feet hurt. Your back hurt. Your shoulders felt impossibly tight. Even the baby seemed exhausted, the constant movement from earlier reduced to occasional sleepy stretches beneath your ribs.
The emergency department had entered that strange period between night and morning. The chaos was winding down. Exhaustion was settling over everyone like a heavy blanket.
Those were always the dangerous hours. The hours when emotions started slipping through cracks you’d spent all shift holding together.
You rubbed a hand across your face and tried to focus on the discharge paperwork in front of you. The words blurred. For a moment you simply sat there staring at them.
Then, completely without warning, your eyes filled.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” You muttered it to yourself.
Nobody else heard. At least, that was what you thought. You blinked rapidly and forced yourself to take a breath. You were not going to cry.
Not here. Not now.
The ridiculous thing was that nothing had actually happened. It was just exhaustion. Pure, relentless exhaustion. The kind that seemed to hollow you out from the inside.
You loved your baby already. Loved them with a fierceness that still startled you.
That didn’t mean you weren’t frightened.
Every day seemed to bring a new thing to worry about. The nursery. Money. Childcare. Labour. The future. The endless responsibility waiting just around the corner.
Most of the time you managed to carry it.
Tonight it suddenly felt very heavy.
“You missed a spot.”
You jumped.
Jack was standing beside the desk, a takeaway cup rested in one hand.
You stared. Then frowned. “What?”
“The discharge summary.” He pointed towards the screen. “There.”
Sure enough, you’d missed an entire section. Your shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
Jack studied you for a second. Long enough that you knew he’d noticed. The tears. The exhaustion. All of it.
You looked away first. Humiliation immediately flooding your chest.
“You should go home.”
You laughed quietly. “I was planning to.”
“No.” His voice softened. “I mean now.”
The concern in it almost made things worse.
You swallowed hard. “I’m nearly finished.”
“You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.”
“Then go home, sweetheart.”
Something inside you cracked. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that holding everything together suddenly became impossible.
You looked down at your hands, at the hospital ID badge hanging from your neck, at anything except him.
The words came out before you could stop them. “I don’t get to stop.”
Silence.
Your throat tightened. You hated this. Hated feeling exposed. Hated feeling weak. Most of all, hated how desperately you wanted somebody to understand.
“I don’t get to fall apart,” you continued quietly. “Everybody keeps telling me to rest and take breaks and ask for help, but at the end of the day it’s still just me.”
The confession hung between you. Entirely honest. You hadn’t meant to say any of it. Months of fear seemed to have slipped free without permission.
“I go home and it’s just me.”
Your voice wavered. You pressed your lips together immediately.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. The department carried on around you, life continuing exactly as normal. Meanwhile your entire chest felt like it had been turned inside out.
Then Jack set the coffee cup down. Carefully. As though sudden movements might break something. And, maybe they would.
His gaze never left yours. “You know what’s been driving me insane for the last few months?”
The question caught you completely off guard. You frowned. “What?”
“You.” Jack huffed out a short laugh. Not amused. Nervous. The sound alone was shocking. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him nervous before. “You refuse help from everybody.”
Your mouth opened.
He continued before you could interrupt. “You carry everything yourself. Every shift. Every appointment. Every problem.”
“Jack—”
“You never let anybody look after you.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Emotion immediately tightened your throat again. You looked away. He wasn’t finished. You could tell. The realisation sent your pulse racing.
“I keep telling myself to stop.” His voice had gone quieter now. Rougher. “I keep telling myself you’re perfectly capable and none of this is my business.”
You slowly looked back at him. Neither of you seemed capable of looking away anymore. The space between you felt impossibly small, despite the fact neither of you had moved.
“I know you don’t need me.” The confession sat heavily between you. “I know that.”
His jaw tightened briefly, the way it always did when he was forcing himself to continue.
“But every time you walk into a shift looking exhausted, I want to help.”
Your heart stumbled, then stopped entirely.
“I want to take the difficult patients.” His eyes never left yours. “I want to make things easier.”
Another breath. Another heartbeat.
“I want to be the person who carries some of it when it gets too heavy.”
The world seemed strangely quiet. Every sound fading into the background. Your eyes burned again. This time you didn’t care. You’d spent months convincing yourself you were imagining it. Misreading kindness. Projecting your own feelings onto harmless gestures.
Now Jack was standing in front of you looking like he’d rather face another mass casualty event than this conversation.
The sight nearly broke your heart.
“You know why that’s a problem?” he asked softly.
You shook your head. The answer came anyway.
“Because somewhere along the way I stopped doing it just because I care about my staff.”
The breath left your lungs. “Oh.”
Brilliant response. Truly. Jack laughed quietly, a little helplessly. The sound made your chest ache.
“Oh,” he echoed.
For one terrifying second neither of you spoke. Then something shifted. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or relief, or simply the fact you’d both spent too long pretending.
Whatever it was, it finally pushed you forward.
“You make me feel safe.”
The words escaped before you could second-guess them. Jack froze. You continued anyway.
“If that’s a horrible thing to admit, then fine.”
A shaky laugh slipped out. Your eyes filled again.
“You make me feel looked after. I keep trying not to need that.”
Jack’s expression softened completely. “You don’t have to earn being cared for.”
The sentence hit harder than everything else combined. Nobody had ever said that to you before. Not like that. Not as though they genuinely believed it. A tear escaped, and then another, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.
Jack stepped closer. Slowly. Giving you every opportunity to stop him. You didn’t. His hand settled against your arm. The simple contact nearly undid you.
For months you’d been carrying everything alone.
Not because you wanted to, but because you thought you had to. The difference suddenly felt enormous.
Neither of you said anything for a while.
There wasn’t much left to say. The truth was already sitting between you. Visible at last. Jack’s thumb brushed lightly against your sleeve. A tiny movement so careful that it made your chest ache.
The man looked at you as though you were something precious. The realisation was terrifying. It was also wonderful.
For the first time in a very long while, the future didn’t seem quite so frightening.
Nothing had magically been fixed. You were still pregnant. Still scared. Still facing a thousand uncertainties.
Jack was still carrying grief of his own. Life remained complicated. Messy. Difficult.
Yet standing there beneath fluorescent hospital lights, with exhaustion pulling at both of you and dawn beginning to creep through distant windows, something fundamental had changed.
The loneliness wasn’t quite so sharp anymore.
For months you’d been trying to convince yourself that strength meant carrying everything alone. Looking at Jack now, you finally understood how wrong you’d been. Sometimes strength looked a lot more like letting somebody stay.
"Man, going to this thing stag is gonna suck," Abbot remarks while carelessly tossing down a floppy manilla folder.
Robby smirks and shakes his head while finishing up with a bit of charting on the iPad he holds whose battery is draining faster than he can type. Which is thirty words per minute if he's lucky... "Not the only one who's going to be flying solo," he mumbles while clicking through a series of X-rays. "It's also not about us having women on our arms, but the hospital getting the funding it needs."
Jack purses his lips while studying him from narrowed eyes. "Because you're so eager to attend in the first place, Mister High and Mighty."
Robby chuckles amusedly. "If I could skip, I would. But if it gives us the money required for more security, then..." he shrugs.
Clasping his hands together and hanging them over the edge of the counter he stands at, Jack watches people mill about in the ED. "Could always show up in jeans, t-shirts, and boots. Be a hell of a way to never get invited back."
"Treating it like a BBQ would accomplish that end," Robby agrees while setting the tablet down.
Glancing across the room, Jack catches sight of you at the nurses station and something stirs to life within his chest. "Might've found a solution to our problem."
Robby looks up and follows his line-of-sight to the head of the room. "Y/N?" he questions.
Jack shrugs. "I mean, it's not like either of us have ever shied away from making it obvious that she's our favorite." Turning his head, he scowls at Robby. "'Til you stole her from nightshift."
Robby grins. "She had to switch to day if we wanted to keep her on when she became a resident."
Jack rolls his eyes sarcastically. "So, are you going to ask her, or am I?"
Robby crosses his arms while keeping his gaze focused on you. "You really think that'd be the best look? Both of us on one of her arms and squeezed between us all night at an already cramped table? There's going to be photographers, Jack. She'd never hear the end of it after the photos go up online." He takes a step closer. "How long before a rumor gets started that she's sleeping her way to the top?" he whispers.
Jack stands at full height with his feet evenly planted on tile floor. "Listen, the invitations stated that we can each have a plus one. So we bring one." He raises a brow. "Weren't you just complaining the other day about Park circlin' her more than you cared to see? You know he's going, too, right?"
Robby's eyes flit to Jack.
He continues. "You okay with the idea of him taking her instead? Because I wouldn't put it past him for this to be the first year he finally takes an actual date instead of a one-night stand, so long as it's her."
Robby wavers for a moment, then drops his arms before heading in your direction.
"You got much left to do, sweetheart?" Robby asks while pressing a steady hand to the small of your back.
You shake your head and return the clipboard you were just signing paperwork upon to its corresponding cradle. "No, that was the last of it," you reply with a gentle smile. "Why?"
"Somethin' we wanna talk to you about," he states while nodding toward Jack, who stands on the other side of you.
"C'mon," Jack says while bobbing his head in the direction of the ambulance bay outside.
Shifting nervously from atop the brick half-wall you're seated upon, you stare up at Robby who's standing in front of you, then glance to Jack out of the corner of your eye who's sitting on your right. "Am I in trouble?" you ask quietly. "Did I—"
"Course not," Jack says while cupping the back of your head.
A statement Robby mimics the sentiment of by shaking his own. "You're aware of the gala that's coming up in a few days, right?"
Your brows knit together and you nod slowly. "Yes..."
Robby looks to Jack with an unreadable expression, which seems to be bordering on entertained.
"Come with us," Jack offers while winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his side. "As our date."
Your eyes flit to asphalt and you blink dumbly. "To the...gala."
Robby's lips twitch into a smirk. "Yes, sweetheart," he replies while stepping forward. "We both want you there."
You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. "I... I don't have an invitation."
Jack rests a palm atop your thigh. "No, but we do. Invitations which explicitly state that we're each allowed a plus one. We want that to be you."
Your head feels rather empty all of a sudden, like all thoughts and words have been suctioned out. "Oh."
"So?" Robby asks while sliding an index finger under your chin. "Could you do that for us?"
"Will you get in trouble?"
Jack snorts. "How about you let us worry about that?"
You feel like there's many other concerns to discuss, but can only focus on one. "I don't have any appropriate dress wear," you supply helplessly. "Just...some sundresses and—"
"Another thing for he and I to worry about," Robby interrupts while wagging a finger between himself and Jack in gesture. "We'll pay for it. Dress, shoes, jewelry. Whatever you need."
It doesn't feel right to let them foot the entire bill for a black tie event. "But—"
Jack slips his hand firmly between your thighs then. "No objections. We're the ones extending the invitation, so it's only fair that we cover whatever costs come along with it."
"Alright?" Robby questions with a raised brow of expectation.
You suppose that whatever is purchased can always be returned for a full refund, so long as you keep the tags on and receipts in a safe place. As for shoes, you'll make sure to pick a dress that matches the cheap pair of heels you have at home that're already broken in just enough that you should be able to make them work. You nod hesitantly. "Only if you're both absolutely sure..."
Jack presses a kiss to your cheek, followed by Robby planting one atop your head. "We are," the latter whispers.
a/n: this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i lost all interest in it & idk what even inspired this much to be written in the first place, so here u go
summary: When Jack and Robby first proposed "sharing" you, so to speak, you hadn't anticipated how competitive the two would get. Or how often you'd be the one facing the consequences.
tags: f/m/m, hard dom robby, soft dom abbot, degradation, face slapping, choking, rough oral sex (m recieving), spitting, age difference, power imbalance, humiliation kink, praise kink, manipulation, sexual overstimulation, bondage
wc: 3.5k
ao3 link
previous | next
You don't need to be told to strip naked. You shed your clothes quickly, without much fanfare; Robby was never a fan of the strip-tease. You settle nervously on his queen bed, smoothing down the blanket and kneeling while you await further instructions. You try not to feel embarrassed, sitting naked while Robby is still fully clothed. He stands in front of you for a moment, assessing you like you're a patient. You bite back the urge to quip what's the diagnosis, doc?
After a painfully long and silent moment, he steps toward the top drawer of his dresser. You know that drawer well.
"Lay on your back."
You oblige, nerves dancing through your belly. When he turns around, he's carrying silk restraints and a wand.
Yes, Robby and Jack each have separate wand vibrators. Because of course they couldn't share. And yes, they both bought ridiculously expensive ones, just to watch you squirm when you saw the price tags.
Before he can tell you to, you've spread your arms and legs to allow him to tie them to the bedposts. For a moment, you expect him to give you just a morsel of praise — a good girl — but he doesn't even acknowledge it. Dammit.
The bindings are… noticeably tighter than usual. You had thought that he got out the brunt of his anger on you earlier, but that seems to have been false. You can feel his frustration in the way he pulls the ties, a small huff escaping him as he does it. The knots aren't painful, but they're not not uncomfortable. You pout, twisting your wrists to try to loosen them a bit, but still your movements at the warning look he gives you.
"Sorry," you whisper. He nods, still eerily silent, and moves to your ankles.
Spread like this, with no way to close your legs, you become increasingly aware of how… obvious your arousal is. You can feel wetness trickling down onto the bedsheet, and from Robby's smirk, you'd guess he noticed it too. He chuckles.
"Got you all worked up, didn't I?" he coos. You flush but give a small nod. He reaches up to pet your hair, and you lean into the touch
"That's okay, baby. Gonna make you feel better soon. Much better…" he lets his hand trail down until it's resting on your neck, then slowly squeezes until you can barely draw a breath, "than Abbot ever could, hm?"
Something between a whimper and a squeak falls from your lips. Robby smiles, eyes drifting to your core, and finally takes his hand off your neck. You gasp, gulping air in desperately, before moaning loudly when you feel his thumb run over your swollen clit. Without warning, he plunges two fingers in you and curls in harshly. You whine at the sudden and painful stretch, trying — failing — to pull away from him. He wordlessly places a hand on your lower stomach to still your movements before curling his fingers inward, making you moan again.
"You can pretend," he starts rubbing light circles on your clit, "all you like, that you're a good girl."
You mewl and shake your head. "I am! I am a good gi—"
"Shut the fuck up. Christ, you just don't stop, do you? An adult is speaking, little girl. Keep that filthy mouth closed." He's growling, now thrusting into you harder and faster; the pain mingles with pleasure and makes you go a little empty headed. But you're acutely aware of how mad you've made him: you've disappointed him; you've done something wrong. You press your lips together and try to hold back the moans and whimpers he's pulling from you. He sighs in relief at your silence.
"Much better. You think I give a shit what you have to say? Think anyone does?" He laughs at how slack you've gone. "That's right, sweetheart. Just lie back and take it. This is what you're meant for. Not talking. Not trying to be a person." You're trembling, trying to focus on his words but his thumb is pressing harder now, and he just doesn't stop and you're fast approaching your peak and God you hope he lets you cum. He notices.
"That turns you on, doesn't it? When I tell you how worthless you are? It's okay, you can tell me."
You gasp and let out a whine, looking down at him pleadingly before nodding. "Yes, sir, it does," you whisper, burning with shame.
"Wanna cum, doll? You real close?"
You nod furiously, and he puts on a show of pondering the question. "Hm… tell me what you are, and I'll let you cum."
You pause, unsure of what exactly he wants you to say here — he's called you a lot of things just in the last hour — and flounder. "I-I-"
Robby chuckles, putting you out of your misery. "Too dumb to even know what you are, huh? That's okay, I'll tell you. Say, 'I'm a useless whore," and you can cum. Just four words, I think you can manage that."
You suck in a breath. "I'm a useless-useless whore— fuck!" Your orgasm crashes through you. Your entire body trembles as Robby keeps finger-fucking you through the aftershocks, until your moans turn to soft whimpers and he retracts his hand. You're starting to wonder how this is a punishment when you hear the buzz of the vibrator that you'd forgotten about. Your eyes widen, and you start shaking your head.
"Wait-wait-"
You're cut off by the wand being pressed to your oversensitive clit. You cry out and thrash as much as the restraints will let you, pain and overwhelming pleasure colliding into each other. He tsks and shakes his head.
"'Wait'? I don't recall you calling the shots here, dummy. I'm in charge, remember?"
You whine, trying desperately to pull away from him, but he only presses the vibrator harder into you. Tears start pooling in your eyes. He shifts the angle of the wand slightly, and you let out a high pitched whine despite yourself. Slowly, slowly, the pain starts to subside. Pleasure takes over again, and your sobs turn to moans. Robby clicks his tongue.
"God, you're fuckin' insatiable. So goddamn needy. Whore already got one orgasm — didn't even thank me — and she wants another so soon? Christ. You're lucky you have me, 'cause no one else would put up with this shit."
"Ab-Abbot," you gasp out, before snapping your eyes open. Why the fuck did you say that? You really don't know what spirit possessed you. You knew, of course you knew, that the single worst fucking thing you could do right now is bring up Jack. But you fear all brain cells have been killed off by the vibrator against you. All amusement disappears from Robby's face. He flicks the setting on the vibrator up and presses it directly against your clit, making you cry out. Overstimulation sears through you again, hot and unrelenting.
"Dumb fucking cunt," he snarls, "you don't know when to keep that fucking mouth shut. Do I need to gag you? Shut you up for good?"
You shake your head, the words tumbling out of you before you can think them over. "No, no, I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean it."
His jaw ticks. He lifts himself up to be above your face and slaps you hard enough that you go dizzy for a second. You barely have a second to cry out in pain before he's slapping you again, calloused hand colliding with your soft skin. Your body doesn't know what to focus on: the pain in your face, or your clit. You sob.
"Please sir, it hurts…" Your voice is shakey, and tears have started spilling over your cheeks. The sound of your voice, all wavery with barely-restrained crying, begging for relief, nearly makes him forgive you for that Abbot comment. He can't stand how pathetic you look right now.
"Fuck, baby, say that again," he groans, eyes locked on the fear and pain on your face. Your lower lip wobbles.
"Please, Robby," you whisper desperately. He sighs and smiles down at you.
"Fuckin' love it with you beg me like that. No, doll, this is what you get when you act like a fucking brat. You're gonna cum like this and you ain't gonna complain."
You want to protest, to tell him that you can't, but you think better of it. Maybe if you focus real hard you can feel pleasure rather than pain. You take a deep breath and try to will yourself to feel good.
"Aw, look at the dumb bitch, trying so hard to please me. What's wrong, whore? Can you not do it? I'll stay here as long as it fuckin' takes. You think I got somewhere I'd rather be?"
You're ashamed to admit it, but his words send a spark through you. Pleasure starts to build again.
"I don't think you knew what you were gettin' into when you knocked on my door, baby. If you knew what was good for you, you'd stay away from men more than double your age with nothin' to lose."
You moan, finally starting to relax again, and he laughs.
"That's what fuckin' does it? Me reminding you how fucked this is? It is, you know." He leans in closer, and your eyes flutter open to see the predatory grin on his face. "You know how sick you are for enjoying this? I'm old enough to be your father," his hand reaches up, and he chokes you again, eliciting a strangled moan from you, "and I could fire you without a second thought. I could make your life hell if I wanted. But you just keep coming back, like a kicked puppy going back to its owner."
That sends you over the edge. It's a violent orgasm, if such a thing exists. Ripples of pleasure and overstimulation run through your body. Your skin is now coated with sweat, and you raggedly pant when he loosens his grip on your neck. Finally, he moves the position of the vibrator — but doesn't turn it off, because of course not.
He pulls out two more orgasms from you — violent, jagged, brutal orgasms — before he finally switches the vibrator off and sets it down on the bed. For a foolish moment, you think that's the end. At this point, your mind is so empty that you find it difficult to conjure up words. He's pleased, of course, at your relative silence, though his mocking has only increased. But just as you're relaxing into the bed, waiting for him to undo your restraints, he licks a stripe through you.
You nearly scream. Your nerves feel like they're on fire, and his tongue is moderately better than the vibrator, but it's still overwhelming in a relentless kind of way that makes you want to cry. But it isn't until he sucks on your clit, hard, that you shout "Yellow!" desperately, before your brain can even catch up to the word. Immediately, Robby lifts from between your legs, and you sigh in relief at the break from stimulation. All anger or malice has disappeared from his face, replaced by concern and softness.
"I'm sorry, I just — I just need… it's too…"
Robby shushes you, shaking your head. "It's okay, you don't have to explain. Don't apologize. It's alright. Here, you want some water?" His voice is soothing, none of the earlier cruelty in it. You nod, and he lifts a glass of water from the bedstand to your lips. The feeling of it sliding down your parched throat, cool and fresh, is heavenly. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before speaking, soft and slow.
"Do you want to stop?" he asks, setting the water on the bedstand again and squeezing your shoulder. You pause before shaking your head.
"I don't— I don't think so. It's good, just intense. I think…" your eyes drift to the bindings on your arms and legs, and you bite your lip. "I think maybe if you untied me? Is that — is that okay? I'm sorry." You avoid his eyes, terrified of the prospect that you'll disappoint him. He takes your chin and shakes his head.
"That's fine, baby. Don't worry about it, I can undo them. And stop apologizing. Every time you do, I'm gonna make you cum again."
Your eyes widen, and he laughs at the terrified expression on your face. "Relax, kid, I'm joking. Here." He gently unties the restraints, letting them fall to the bed. You sigh in relief and rub your wrists. After another big gulp of water, he raises his eyebrows.
"Ready?"
You take a breath and nod, smiling. "Ready."
He leans down again and wastes no time tasting you. After four consecutive orgasms, your cunt is drenched, and he doesn't think he's ever tasted something sweeter. He groans against you and attacks you expertly, flicking his tongue over your clit before flattening it down. You moan, your short break making the overstimulation recede a bit, and relish in the ability to tangle your hands in his hair. Once he's satisfied with how much he's built you up, he lets his teeth drag against your abused clit, and you cry out, jerking your hips away from him. He looks up at you and glowers, pulling away for a moment.
"Did I make a mistake untying those restraints? You need me to re-do them?" he growls. He never would, of course, but the threat is enough to make your breath hitch. You shake your head insistently.
"N-no, sir, I'm sorry. Please don't."
"Better stay still, then," he says, his jaw set in something like anger.
Each time he nips lightly at your clit, it takes everything in you not to pull away. You shake, more tears spilling from your eyes, at the pain. You end up panting from the effort it takes to stay still. You've long been drenched in sweat. He's thoroughly and completely broken you down.
When he thrusts his fingers into you again, you tremble. He hits your g-spot, over and over again, curling inward while his tongue continues its attacks. When your… fourth? Fifth? Sixth? orgasm arrives, it's without much fanfare. You tighten your grip on his hair, let out a long moan, and tense up your legs. With how loud you usually are, he wouldn't have known you'd even cum if he hadn't tasted you gushing into his mouth.
Robby pulls away and stares at you, lips twitching into a smile. You're panting hard, eyes half-lidded and glassy. A string of drool trails from your lips; your legs are shaking slightly. You're essentially a breathing puddle on his bed. He thinks you've never been this beautiful. He whistles low and leans in, brushing sweat-dampened hair from your forehead.
"Look at you, sweetheart. Twelve hours ago you were one of my best damn nurses," he murmurs, his voice softer than earlier but just as piercing, "You were an intelligent and capable woman who put herself through nursing school and didn't take shit from anyone. Now…" His eyes trail down your body, from your parted lips to the sheets stained with your arousal mixed with sweat. He tsks lightly, as though in disappointment, and shakes his head.
"Now, you're nothing. Not a thought in that pretty little head, is there?" He smiles down at you and taps your forehead mockingly. You shake your head dumbly, barely aware of what you're agreeing with. He chuckles and nods.
"That's right. Just a toy for me to play with, hm?" He cocks his head to the side, and you nod, entranced. He clicks his tongue.
"I asked you a question, honey. You can still form words, can't you?" God, he thinks, you look so fucking pathetic. Just a dumb little girl who fell into his lap and doesn't know what's good for her. You furrow your brow, trying to conjure up a sentence to appease him.
"Ye-es, sir, yes… 'm your fucktoy… you can do — can do whatever you want to me, sir." Your words are slightly slurred. The crack of his palm against your already over-sensitive pussy makes you cry out in pain, your legs snapping closed on instinct. He shakes his head disapprovingly.
"Fucking liar. Thought I could do whatever I wanted to you, isn't that right? Now open your legs like a good whore and let me play with my toy."
Your lip trembles, but you nod weakly and open your legs again. You press your hands into your knees to spread yourself wider, giving him as much access as he wants. He barely seems to notice it. He slaps you again, the sound of your juices making it an obscene sound that drowns out your sob, and though your thighs twitch, you manage to avoid closing your legs this time. The small smile of approval that he gives you in response — not even out loud, God, how pathetic could you be? — makes the pain worth it.
Robby would praise you, would tap your cheek and thank you for being his good girl, but this is oh-so-much more fun. Where Jack gives his praise freely, enjoying the look on your face when he tells you how good you are for him, Robby knows that withholding his praise is far more effective. This way, you chase it like a damn dog after a bone, eagerly eating up whatever little morsels of affection he doles out. You're much more obedient when you're aching so deeply to be called good that you'll keen and light up at something as small as a well-timed smile or nod of approval from him.
He planned on holding out more, but Robby doesn't think he can wait any longer before fucking you. He undoes his belt buckle and takes his cock out. Your eyes, half-open, lock in on it. You wince in preparation for the pain to come. He doesn't exactly seem to be in the mood to wait for you to adjust.
"On your stomach. Ass up," he commands. You try to lift yourself, but your limbs feel like jelly, and you can barely hold up your own weight. His jaw ticks in anger.
"Jesus, you can't do anything," he mutters before roughly picking you up with a grunt and positioning you how he wanted. You feel like a doll. He presses your face into the mattress and, without warning, presses into you with a groan. It's hard to breathe fully with your face at this angle, and you feel like the wind is knocked out of you by him fully thrusting into you so quickly. You mewl, but he ignores it, grabbing your hip with his free hand to keep you up and pressing into your skin with enough force to bruise. It hurts, but you're glad for it; you don't think you could keep yourself up without it. He wastes no time, setting a punishing pace without much build up. He can barely contain the urge to tell you how velvety you are, how warm and tight, how good you're making him feel — but that would be far too much praise for a night of punishment. His pants and grunts mingle with your whimpers and whines. You moan when he slaps your ass.
"Tell me what you are," he pants out. You desperately try to remember what he'd said earlier.
"A-a useless… fuck… I don't-I don't—"
"A dumb fucking bitch, that's what. Can't remember four words? You're a useless whore, doll. You're my fucking whore, and no one else's. You're a filthy slut that needs to be put in her fuckin' place. You let me do whatever the hell I want to you because you're so desperate for attention that you'll take it from anyone, even a dirty old man like me. You're nothing."
You can hear how close he's getting from his voice — it starts to take on a more frantic, urgent tone, like he needs you to know exactly what you are. Your mouth is wide open and pressed against the blanket, blissful moans spilling from you. You feel like you're floating; you aren't aware of anything other than the feeling of his cock inside you and his deliciously cruel words. Through the fog, though, you're aware that he had asked something of you. You're desperate to be good for him.
"I'm a... fuck... I'm your whore... your dumb slut, your-your toy, your-" your words are interrupted by your own loud moan as another orgasm washes over you like a wave. You clamp down on him, and he spills into you with a groan. He keeps fucking you through both of your aftershocks before slowing and reluctantly pulling out of you. He moves his hand from your hip, and you collapse on the bed, exhaustion suddenly crashing into you all at once. You don't think you can move or speak.
Robby leans over you with a light laugh, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck.
"Six orgasms in one night. Still think Jack takes better care of you than I do?"
If you had the energy for it, you'd come up with a good quip in response. But all that you can muster up is a weak, "You guys… suck," through pants. He laughs, and you feel him nod against you.
"You know I couldn't let that shit slide, baby."
He has to keep a close eye on you to make sure you aren't falling asleep in the bath. You nearly do, many times, and he gently shakes you each time. After the fourth time that you start to slip down his chest into the water, he laughs and shakes his head.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea."
You shake your head and yawn. "No, 's perfect… so good."
You wish, for a fleeting moment, that this moment of intimacy could be stretched further — that you could stop pretending you weren't developing feelings too strong to call 'hooking up'. The same thought runs through Robby's mind before he brushes it away.
summary: When Jack and Robby first proposed "sharing" you, so to speak, you hadn't anticipated how competitive the two would get. Or how often you'd be the one facing the consequences.
tags: f/m/m, hard dom robby, soft dom abbot, degradation, face slapping, choking, rough oral sex (m recieving), spitting, age difference, power imbalance, humiliation kink, praise kink, manipulation
wc: 2.8k
ao3 link
next
It all started with that damn video.
You, splayed on your back with your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Hands desperately gripping the sheets like you'd float away without them. Sweat coating your body, face flushed red. Tits bouncing, hair mussed and partially covering your eyes. Moans and whines falling from your swollen lips.
And Jack, standing at the foot of the bed, pounding into you — into that spot — with enough force to make you see stars. Just how you liked it. A wand in his hand, pressed to your clit at just the right angle. He was panting, growling curses under his breath every so often. Your eyes had fallen closed some time ago.
"Eyes on me, baby," he muttered, and you obliged, fluttering open your eyes obediently. You weren't surprised when you were met with his phone positioned above your body; no doubt he was filming a video to be sent to Robby the minute you were finished.
They'd brought it up back when all of this started, and the three of you were nervously establishing boundaries and how this would work. How you'd feel about pictures. How you'd feel about videos. You'd paused, thinking it over, before shrugging: "As long as it stays between us. If anybody else sees shit, you're both getting castrated."
So. Jack filming was not foreign to you. You even offered a small smile to the camera, arching your back off the bed just a bit more than you would naturally. You liked performing for them.
"Feel good, doll? I take care of you, don't I?" Jack rasped. You nodded insistently, too fucked out to form a real answer. Jack didn't like that. He clicked his tongue before shifting the angle of the wand just slightly so that it pressed directly against your clit, making you cry out in overstimulated pain.
"I asked you a question. Am I making you feel good?"
"Y-yes, yes, you're making me feel good," you babbled, pleading with your eyes for him to make the pain stop. He obliged, as always. He could never resist giving in to you. Then, almost imperceptibly, his mouth curved into a smirk.
"Better than Robby can?"
Your eyes flicked to the camera, a small gasp escaping from your lips. Fuck. What were you supposed to say here? After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head desperately.
"N-no, I didn't say that."
Jack's jaw ticked. Wrong answer. His thrusts slowed, the pressure of the wand letting up just a bit. Just enough to keep you from cresting the wave of an orgasm that had been fast approaching. A warning.
"Might wanna rethink that decision, sweetie. I might just not let you cum unless you admit that I take better care of you than Robby." Your eyes flashed wide at that, and he laughed.
Jack was, to be sure, far more lenient with you than Robby was. Robby would call him soft. He called himself a giver. But still, in moments like this, he couldn't help but revel in the panic evident in your face. There was a sinister glint in his eyes. He knew what the fuck he was doing. He knew exactly how Robby would react to a video of you saying what he wanted you to, and he knew exactly how desperate you were to cum in this moment. You whined, shaking your head again.
"Please, please, he'll be mad…" It was a pathetic attempt, you knew, and one that he'd never listen to. But it was difficult to think of anything in this moment, Jack's cock still deep inside of you, much less an argument that could actually convince Jack Abbot to change his mind about anything. He chuckled.
"Guess someone doesn't want to cum," he sighed, starting to retract the vibrator. You shook your head vehemently, feeling that crest recede again.
"No! No, I'm sorry, I…" You trailed off, eyes drifting agian to the camera. You tried to communicate, silently, that you didn't really mean it. Maybe Robby would take pity on you.
Yeah, fucking right.
You sucked in a breath and nodded. "You take better care of me than Robby," you whispered, moaning as soon as the wand was returned to your clit. Jack's pace sped up again, a triumphant grin plastered on his face.
"Atta girl. That's right, just lay back. Let Jackie take care of you. Hear that, Robinavich? Our girl likes me better."
Before you had a chance to say anything, he'd stopped the video and tossed his phone on the bed. His newly free hand reached out grab your hip, giving him better leverage to thrust into you. It wasn't long before you were gasping and damn near writhing on the bed as your orgasm again approached.
"Yeah, baby, cum for me. That's it. Good girl." Jack's praise sent you over the edge. Your vision blurred at the edges as you finally reached that crest.
An hour later, the two of you were cuddling in bed, eating takeout and watching 10 Things I Hate About You — your choice. Jack's hand absentmindedly stroked your spine as he did something on his phone. When you glanced over, you saw his text chain with Robby. You could feel the anger radiating off of him in his curt reply: I told you not to send me that shit when I'm working.
A flimsy response. Both men sent each other pictures and videos of you at all hours of the day — or night. In fact, they seemed to prefer sending messages while the other was working.
You pouted at the messages, poking Jack in the arm. "You're a dick, you know that?"
He glanced over at you and shut his phone off, an easy smile on his face. Moments like this made you forget that this was meant to be strictly sexual.
"Kid, I just bought you seventy dollars worth of Indian food. How am I a dick?"
You rolled your eyes. "Robby's gonna be pissed about that video. And you're not the one who'll get punished."
He just grinned down at you and shrugged.
Fucker.
Five hours later, you and Jack came into work separately. You could come straight from his house — you had all your stuff there, just in case — but, aside from keeping suspicions from being raised, you liked having some time to yourself before going from fucking Jack to working with him. It helped draw a line between the two worlds, which was an integral part to this whole thing.
So you were already talking to Robby, nodding at his request for Central 15's bandages to be replaced, when Jack sauntered over cockily. You rolled your eyes at the look on his face, and Robby crossed his arms over his chest.
"Hey, brother," he said casually, leaning against the counter. Robby gave him a nod.
"Long day?" Jack asked. Robby shrugged.
"They're all long."
Jack nodded, "Heard that. I had a damn good day, myself. Spent the whole time in bed. How 'bout you, kid? What'd you do today?"
Robby looked like he was about to strangle his friend. He was about to say something when you grit your teeth, squinting at the two of them.
"Rule one, fuckers," you reminded them before turning on your heel, ignoring their bashful apologies and "won't happen again"s.
Rule one was, to you, the most important rule of your dynamic: none of this enters the hospital. You turned a blind eye to their habits of sending videos to each other while working since they always did it when you were off, but if you were working? It never got brought up. Not even a little bit. Not even a sideways glance. No checking you out, no "harmless, subtle" flirting, and definitely none of whatever the two of them were just doing.
Partly this was to make sure no one caught on. Mostly, though, it was to make sure that none of what you did in the bedroom ever clouded their judgement of you as a nurse. If you ever had an inkling that they were favoring you, or withholding criticism at the expense of a patient, you'd promised yourself you would shut it down immediately. And weirdly, it worked. Work was work and sex was sex.
Most of the time. Sometimes you each slipped. Right now, for example, you were thinking about the buzzing of a vibrator as Jack fucked you rather than the patient you were making your way towards.
The rest of the shift was absent of anymore slip-ups, though. Jack became your attending rather than your partner. And when, hours later, day shift showed up to relieve you, Robby's gaze was free from the anger that had been there last night. For a moment, you thought maybe he'd slept it off.
As you were getting ready to leave, he approached you. "You're off tonight, right?"
You stiffened, shooting a warning look at him, before nodding. He leaned in and lowered his voice.
"Good. Don't think I've forgotten about that video."
Your breath hitched, but before you had a chance to reply, he was gone.
Bringing us to the here and now. You, standing outside your attending's door on a cold October night, trying to muster up the courage to knock. You, in an outfit that you hope will maybe lesson your punishment just a bit: his favorite jeans of yours mixed with a low-cut shirt, and some light makeup to top it off. Him, on the other side, probably drinking a beer with some half-eaten fast food next to him. Not a care in the world, while you've been thrumming with nervous energy all damn day. And horny energy. You'd never admit it, but you're more turned on than ever in this moment. You heave a sigh and knock hesitantly. As always, his response is a gruff "It's open" yelled out from inside — apparently, standing up from the couch is too much effort for Doctor Robinavich. You walk in meekly.
"Hey, doct—"
"Don't speak." It isn't said with anger, not exactly; more certainty. Quickness. He doesn't even get up as he says it; just glances over at you with a set jaw. It feels like the air's been knocked out of your lungs. You gasp quietly and close your mouth, staring at your feet. He stands, finally, and drags his eyes over you. Normally, especially in an outfit like this, he'd say something about how damn good you look. Not tonight. His eyes are hardened. He walks towards you slowly, enjoying the nervous look in your eyes as you glance up at him.
"I've been waiting two goddamn days for this. Look at me." You snap your eyes up at him obediently. He pauses for a moment, hand flexing at his side. "Color?"
"Green," you murmur. He nods, satisfied.
"Uh-huh. On your knees," he orders, crossing his arms over his chest. You comply, looking up at him with those doe-eyes you know he loves. Then: sharp, stinging pain. It happened so quickly that it takes you a moment to process that he slapped you, hard. Tears prick your eyes.
"Think Abbot's better than me? Think he knows what the fuck you need, huh?" He's practically growling, jaw set in anger. You wince and shake your head.
"N-no, I don't—"
"I didn't say you could talk, dummy. Bitch can't even follow one simple order." He laughs, and you burn with shame. More shameful than his words, though, is how fucking soaked you are. Thoroughly. You can feel your clit pulsing with need, crying out to be touched. You rock back and forth, grinding into the seam of your jeans. You're trying — desperately — to be subtle, but Robby catches it. Of course he does. He shakes his head slightly, like he can't believe what he's seeing.
"Fuckin' knew it. Knew you'd turn into a needy goddamn mess the second I started calling you what you are. This," he grips your hair at the root, making you wince as he pulls you in close to his groin, "is what your precious, soft, sweet Abbot doesn't understand. That you need to be treated like the dirty whore you are."
You can't help but moan at his words. You're practically salivating, face pressed against what you can feel is a very hard cock.
"Whore just can't keep quiet, can you?" he mutters before shoving his fingers in your mouth. You gag, eyes widening a bit, but suck them obediently. When you start rocking back and forth again, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
"No. Fuckin' stay still. You think this is about you? You're gonna take what I give you and nothing more." You still your movements and try to communicate an apology with your eyes. He thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, groaning at the sight. Still, it's not enough. You need more. You need him. You look longingly at the tent in his pants. He pouts, all faux-sympathy, and removes his fingers from your mouth to unbutton his jeans.
"That what you want, doll? Want this cock in your mouth? Wanna be useful for once?" His free hand still has a vice grip on your hair, and he pulls you away to be able to remove himself from his briefs. The second his cock springs out, your eyes are locked on it. But you're pulled out of your trance when he slaps you again, harder this time.
"I asked you a fucking question, whore," he growls. Normally, you might argue the hypocracy: earlier, when you'd tried to answer him, he'd gotten mad at you. Tonight, though, you are playing it extremely safe. You answer in a meek and small voice.
"Yes, sir, I want it."
"Then fucking take it."
He grabs the sides of your head and shoves himself into your mouth all at once, not giving you the usual few minutes to get adjusted to him. As soon as he hits the back of your throat, he groans, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You panic, sputtering and gagging on him immediately, and push against his thighs on instinct. He glances down at your hands, watching for the three taps that mean stop. They don't come. You don't want this to stop.
"You can take it," he mutters, pulling out halfway before thrusting all the way in again. Spit drips down your chin. With each thrust, you gag harshly; tears start to prick at your eyes, and soon enough they're spilling over. So much for your mascara. He uses your head like a toy, fucking himself on your mouth without a moment's consideration for your comfort.
He pulls out all the way and you cough immediately, gasping to catch your breath. Your throat is already sore. When you bend over, bracing yourself on your hands, he tuts.
"Nope, try again. Look at me, bitch."
With shaky arms, you push yourself up to face him. He groans at the sight: lips swollen, spit covering the lower half of your face, tears covering the other half. Red-rimmed eyes with runny makeup. Aw, he thinks, the whore dressed up. Your hair is tousseled, and you have that look in his eyes that makes him rock fucking hard: slightly scared, eager to please, eyes a bit glazed over from arousal. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and shoves the camera in your face.
"Say cheese, whore!" He taunts, laughing at the look of slight confusion on your face. To your surprise, after he's put his phone away, he tucks himself back into his waistband and cocks (ha) his head to the side.
"Get up." He starts walking before you've even had a chance to scramble to your feet, and you can't help the word from spilling from your lips: "But—"
He stops in his tracks, turning around like he can't believe you'd dare contradict him.
"But what?"
You stare at your feet, feeling like the most idiotic person in the world. Guess that's why he always calls you a dummy.
"You didn't… you didn't finish, sir. I thought… I thought that was…" you trail off. There's a moment of silence, and then he laughs, walking over to you. He takes your chin in his hand and roughly pulls your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. He towers over you, and you cower under his piercing eyes.
"Oh, honey… did you think that was your punishment?" he mocks, a grin plastered over his face. Like it's the funniest thing in the world that you could think that. Like he can't believe you'd be so naive and idiotic. Your brain might short-circuit from how turned on you are. You give the tiniest of nods, and he taps your cheek lightly.
"No, baby, that was just the warm up. Now get on the bed."
Summary: Just you making Jack's shift happier with hidden notes.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
Part 2 :)
It all started one day when you discovered that Jack didn't really eat proper food during his shift, and came back home starving and more tired than he should. So you decided, since you would stay at his home that day, that you would prepare him a proper lunchbox with different things that were healthy and he could eat quickly during those five minutes of peace that he could have during his shift.
You didn't put so much thought into it when you grabbed a pink neon post-it and wrote on it and then stuck it on one of the tuppers. He was a little confused when you handed him the lunchbox and left a kiss on his lips, but he didn't say anything and just left it in the fridge in the on-call room.
And it stayed there until twelve am when he started to feel a little hungry, and thought of going for something from the vending machine until he remembered the lunchbox. When he opened it, he saw a few tuppers with different fruits already cut, a sandwich along with a bottle of water and some more things that he didn't notice because his eyes were captured by the pink neon post-it.
“Have a great shift!! Save lives and stay hydrated!! I love you so so much, honey.”
And your name as a signature alongside a heart that you drew.
Jack took the note and read it again, and again and again. He looked at the note then at the lunchbox and he could feel his heart explode with love. A smile grew on his face that stayed the rest of his shift along with him taking all the free time that he got going back to that lunchbox to eat the next tupper while looking at the post-it.
Everyone noticed his change of humor but nobody really wanted to mention it, a little afraid that if they did his humor would decay. And nobody really wanted the grumpy Jack back.
When he got home, lunchbox in hand and completely empty, he left it on the table and ran to your bedroom. You were there still asleep, tangled in the sheets, he crawled into bed with you, his arms finding your waist pulling you closer to him, making it easy for him to fill your face with kisses that made you wake up with a smile on your face.
“Nice shift, huh?” you said once you woke up a little more, feeling his kisses go down your neck.
“One of the best,” he answered, leaving a sweet kiss on your lips.
“You liked the food?” you asked with your hands going from his broad shoulders to his salt and pepper curls.
“I like everything you do,” he said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “And I like the little note on it much more.” He started to trace kisses from your neck to your jawline until he found your lips again.
“Glad you liked it,” you responded between kisses. “Gonna do it more often then.”
“Please.” He started to take off your clothes spreading kisses all over your body making you giggle.
Since then you started doing it more often until you moved in with him and it became an everyday thing. You began to be more creative, every day it was a different type of color; blue, yellow, purple, green, pastel pink, among many more. Then they came in different shapes; hearts, stars, flowers, there was a cloud once along with one that had a teddy bear shape.
Jack kept every single one of them, some were stuck on his locker, the ones he liked the most;
“You save and take care of so many lives that I'm here to take care of yours. Eat something and come back to me in one piece.” A purple star with a heart drawn on the bottom.
“Eat some of it, doctor's orders!!! And remember that I love you and I'm waiting for you at home.” A baby blue one with a mini stethoscope drawn on the bottom.
“I dunno what makes me fall in love with you more; your big heart or how sexy you look in those scrubs.” It was an orange one with a heart shape.
“I keep doing this because I'm madly in love with you and you need your own doctor that takes care of you, my love.” It was a pastel pink heart-shaped post-it.
All of them had your name as a signature but sometimes said “Your beautiful girlfriend” or “The only person in this world that can bear your changes of humor” or “The madly in love woman that lives with you." The rest of the notes were in a little box in the drawer of his nightstand.
By that time everyone had noticed the notes. One time Langdon had told him how lucky he was, Robby had mocked him a little but Jack could see the jealousy in his eyes that Jack didn't take personally; he knew that Robby longed for something like that. Lena told him how sweet it was from your side to do it every day and that she could see the effort that you put into the notes, and Dana told him that he better not screw it up with you or she would personally act against him.
Jack Abbot definitely knew how lucky he was and it reminded him every time that he saw you preparing his lunchbox and when he found himself counting the minutes to open it and be surprised by a new post-it of a different color and shape alongside some new words of yours reminding him how much you loved him in different ways.
And he kept every single one of them.
When he came home finding you in your shared bed waiting for him to join you, he made sure to also show how much he loved you so deeply in a very Jack Abbot way.
Idk how I got the inspiration to write this after weeks without being able to write something, but I hope you guys like it!!!
Summary: After leaving your boyfriend some little notes of love in his lunchbox, you became very famous throughout the night shift. But you didn't know this until you had to step into the ER trying to give Jack his forgotten lunchbox.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
Thanks to the anon who requested a part 2 for Little Notes of Love and illuminated my brain because this little fic wasn't meant to have a part 2.
Hope you guys love it just as much as the first part.
(Sorry that this took me more time than I planned to 🙃)
The ER wasn't a place you liked. Really, you didn't enjoy being at a hospital. Ironic, since your boyfriend is an ER doctor. There is nothing specific for you to dislike about the place, it's just a hospital, and no one really likes being there. But this time, you drove voluntarily to the place all because Jack forgot his lunchbox, and your concern about the rare times your boyfriend gets to eat at his job is more important than your dislike for the hospital.
You don't really know where to get in. You're not a patient, and you're afraid that the lady at the desk would not let you in, so even if you're a little embarrassed, you get in through the ambulance bay. Your plan is not to stay too long and to bother people as little as possible. It's a very busy place, and you don't want to get in anyone's way.
You stand near the place where a desk is (the nurse station), trying to find Jack through all the people moving from one side to another so quickly that you could get dizzy.
Someone taps your shoulder, making you turn around.
“Ma’am, is everything okay? You should go through the desk at the front door.”
She said calmly with tired eyes, but she still gave you a small smile. By Jack's description, you think it's Dr. Ellis.
You smile at her, letting out a relieved sigh.
“I’m not a patient, I'm fine,” you assure her. You lift the gray lunchbox in your hand, and by the expression she makes, you think she recognizes it. “I’m looking for my boyfriend, he's an attending here,” you explain to her.
“So you are the mysterious Lady Notes, huh?” she said, smiling widely, her eyes suddenly bright with interest.
Your cheeks burn because you never thought that Jack would show them the notes, or that they would see them.
“Guess I am,” you said, telling her your actual name, but something tells you that you're stuck with Lady Notes.
“I’m Dr. Parker Ellis,” she introduced herself by shaking your hand. “Follow me.”
You do. She guides you through the nurse station toward a nurse who looks like she is in charge, and by the look she gives you above her reading glasses and Jack's description, you think she's Lena. By her side, there is a tall man who looks completely relaxed and not even bothered by the rush of the ED.
“Look who finally visited us,” Parker said, too excited.
You stay a few steps behind, a little embarrassed by the attention the three of them give you, and again, they seem to recognize you the moment they see the gray lunchbox in your hands.
Lena gives you a full smile, looking really excited, while Shen just says:
“You are Mysterious Lady Notes?” he asked, taking a sip from his Dunkin' coffee, looking as surprised as he could.
Lena gave him a look that made him shrug.
“You are beautiful, hon,” she said, walking toward you. “I’m Lena, the charge nurse from the night shift.” She smiles at you, and you give her your best smile as you introduce yourself to her.
“I don't want to disturb you or anyone. Jack forgot his lunchbox, so I thought I'd stop by and give it to him,” you explain.
“You don't disturb anyone. We all have been waiting to meet the woman who has softened Abbott.”
And you can clearly see that because of how excited the three of them seem at your presence, and their reactions attract more people.
“I thought Jack was having hallucinations when he said he would take five minutes to eat the lunch his girlfriend made for him,” Shen told you from where he was standing a few steps back from Lena. He had been talking about something with Parker before. “I’m Dr. Shen.”
You tell your name again, giggling at his comment.
You told yourself it was going to be a quick visit: give Jack his lunchbox, a kiss, and then head back to your apartment to sleep. But twenty minutes later, you have said your name more times than in your entire life, introducing yourself to anyone who tells you, “You're the mysterious Lady Notes.” You get to know Nurse Mateo, Dr. Henderson, the student Nazly, Nurse Vivi, and you think that by that point, you have met everyone who works there.
“What is happening here?” a well-known voice cut through the crowd surrounding the nurse station.
Jack stood there waiting for an explanation when his eyes met yours, and realization quickly hit him.
“Okay, you guys, stop overwhelming my missus.” He walked toward you, placing himself by your side and resting one of his hands on your lower back as usual.
“I don't think you get to call her missus if you haven't married her yet,” Mateo said playfully, pointing to your bare ring finger.
Jack looks at the nurse, narrowing his eyes, and points at him.
“Careful, or you'll spend the rest of the night with the bad cases,” he warns while the rest of the people laugh.
“He’s right, Abbott. I have no idea how you haven't put a ring on that finger already,” Parker says, raising both eyebrows.
If your cheeks were warm before, now your face was burning hot. All the eyes were on the two of you, and everyone was supporting Ellis and Mateo's thoughts.
“Okay, okay, all of you, leave them alone. Go back to your jobs. There are sick people who need you all,” Lena commands with a tone of voice that actually scares you, and it is a warning for everyone because they all say goodbye to you and go back to work as soon as they can.
Jack guides you to an empty room. Your face is hot, but the wide smile is something nobody could get rid of no matter what they said.
“So I'm the mysterious Lady Notes,” you said, giggling.
He looks at you in that intense way that only he is able to do, that hazel gaze that makes your legs tremble like jelly and your heart race so hard that you can hear it in your ears.
He huffed, rolling his eyes at your words.
“They insisted on calling you that until they knew you,” he mumbled, trying to look irritated but failing because of the smile growing on his face.
His hands go instinctively to your waist, and your arms settle around his neck. There is not an inch separating the two of you. You brush your nose against his, which finally makes him give you that crooked smile you love so much.
Jack didn't wait. He kissed you, not caring that anyone could walk in and catch you.
“You forgot your lunchbox,” you said through the kiss.
He breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against yours.
“And you brought it to me instead of going to sleep when you have to work early,” he whispered in disbelief.
“Your shift is long. You need to eat, and I don't trust the vending machine,” you said as if it wasn't a point of comparison, and just imagining him eating something from the vending machine felt like a betrayal.
He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh.
“I love you.” He leaves a kiss on your temple and another on your cheek.
“I love you too,” you respond, leaving a short kiss on his lips.
You wanted to stay a little longer, but you saw that the ER was full and that you had already attracted too much attention and distracted several people. You didn't want to take up too much of the chief attending's time.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” You leave the lunchbox in his hands and another kiss on his lips. “Eat something,” you said, pointing at him with your index finger like a threat.
He just smiles at you.
“I will. See you in the morning.” He watches you disappear through the door.
He's quick to open the lunchbox, finding just what he wanted: a little Post-it note. It was white, and written on it was:
“Lovely grumpy doctor, if you ever forget your lunchbox again, you will be temporarily banned from these masterpieces that I put my heart into.
(I’m being very serious, please don't forget to eat like you forgot your lunchbox.)
Should I be worried about memory problems? They are very common at your age.
Your beautiful girlfriend ;)”
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head.
That one was going to his locker.
Jack keeps the Post-it in his scrub pocket after reading it a few more times before Parker finds him and tells him that they have an incoming trauma. She also tries to see what the note says, but he makes sure to hide it from her view.
It was just for him.
After the trauma and doing some rounds, he finally has time to sit and do some charts. But peace was something that never happened in the ER, and definitely after your visit, he would know no peace for a while.
“What?” he asked Lena, who was looking at him above her reading glasses.
She gives him a look that Jack completely ignores.
“What are you waiting for?” she said as if it were obvious. “She deserves that damn rock on her finger.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
Jack goes back to his chart, but the last thing he was thinking about was the patient. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, but it had only been a year and a half since the two of you started officially dating. He didn't want to scare you. Even though you didn't seem bothered by the comments his co-workers made, maybe you thought they were just kidding and trying to bother him.
There was nothing that he would like more than to call you his wife, Mrs. Abbott, seeing you stop signing your notes with “girlfriend” and replacing it with “your wife,” the title you deserve because there was nothing in that life that would make Jack let you go.
You were stuck with him for the rest of your life. What better way than to make it official?
Since your visit to the ER, your discomfort with the hospital has faded, and you have visited more often, dropping Jack off and picking him up, always making a little entrance to say hello and gossip a little with Lena, Ellis, and Shen.
Now you make sure to pack Jack more food than before and tell him specifically which bowls are for each nightcrawler: the dark blue one for Mateo, the red one for Parker, the green one for Shen, and so on with the rest of the crew.
He complains, telling you that you are spoiling them. But deep inside, he loves how you worry about all of them, so he gives them all the bowls, threatening that if they don't return them empty at the end of their shift, they will be stuck at triage for an entire week.
But something that keeps staying on his mind, and that everyone keeps telling him, even Dana and Robby, is about the ring that is missing from your finger.
It doesn't sound like a rushed step if everyone keeps telling him that he's been taking a long time.
I have to admit I was smiling like an idiot while writing this 😽
It's nearly nine when Jack walks behind Trinity and Dennis at the hub, peeking at whatever they're looking at on her phone—a post of some trendy commodity that’s gone viral for the month.
He stops in his tracks and chuckles, “Oh, my wife loves those.”
They practically snap their necks to look at him, confused. “Your wife?” Trinity asks, incredulous.
Jack nods toward a vague direction in front of them, and their eyes lead to you, yawning your way through charting at a desk. In the middle of it, you put your head down to sneak a few seconds of shut-eye.
The two slowly turn their heads back to him, with Trinity squinting her eyes at his affectionate gaze to you.
“I thought you guys had only been seeing each other for, like, a month.”
Jack shrugs. “I’m, uh…what do you kids call it? Manifesting.” He pats Dennis’ shoulder. “Finish your charts and go home. It's late.”
He walks away, leaving them more confused than before. They watch him round your desk, kiss your head, and murmur something to you. You sigh and lift your head, visibly a bit lighter.
Trinity gags. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hey, I think it's nice!” Dennis nudges her with his elbow.
synopsis jack really wants to take care of you, you're really not used to that feeling, but when an accident has you in harms way and rattles jack more than you, you have little choice but to accept how he feels about you. (I want to take care of you- it's rotten work- not to me, not if its you) type.
warnings, fluff and angst but with a happy ending. guns. insecure reader. reader is described with hair long enough to braid. insecure reader. angst with happy ending . younger reader though not a massive plot point. miscommunication/misunderstanding
authorsnote uncle pee-paw i'm growing very fond of you. sometimes i get so in my head about how things preform on tumblr and i completely forget that fanfic is so self indulgent so as long as i'm happy with it but i'm so happy with the love these pitt fics are getting they really do mean a lot
Pitt masterlist. Jack Abbot fic!
“ You need a ride? ”
When you'd called Jack to tell him you were going to be late into your night shift because the buses you relied so heavily on to get you to and from work weren't running due to some strikes or something, you really were only calling to let him know you'd be late. Not to subtly ask for him to give you a ride.
“No- no. I just didn't want you to think I was not turning up, I'll be there.”
“ What's your address again? ”
“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.
Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.
“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.
Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”
“ Your address. ”
“How do you have my address?”
He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”
Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.
“Right, yes. You should delete that.”
“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”
There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.
Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.
It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.
He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.
You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.
There was nothing wrong with his affection.
You just didn't know what to do with it.
The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.
Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.
You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).
His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.
“Hi,” you greeted.
You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.
Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”
You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”
“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”
There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.
“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”
Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”
Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.
“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.
“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”
“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.
Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”
It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.
“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.
“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”
Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.
Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”
“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.
“It's on my way,” he shrugged.
“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.
You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.
“Just take the lift.”
“Thank you.”
“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.
You groaned.
There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.
Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.
“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”
She smirked. “Nice of him.”
“I've told him not to do it again.”
“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”
He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.
“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.
“That he is.”
“You deserve someone like him.”
You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.
And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.
You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”
“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“Night.”
You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.
“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.
“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”
He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”
“I listen to your advice-”
He levelled his gaze onto yours.
“- I try to.”
His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”
You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.
Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”
He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.
Your silence was an answer.
“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”
He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.
“Will we?”
“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”
You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.
You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.
“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.
This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.
“No, I guess I didn't.”
“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”
“I'm sure I'll manage.”
Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.
“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.
“Helping you.”
“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”
Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”
His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.
Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.
You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.
Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.
“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.
Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”
You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.
Though you hadn't technically asked.
“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.
“Nothing more important right now.”
Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.
Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.
“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.
Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”
His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”
You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.
Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.
He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.
“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.
The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.
The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.
“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.
“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.
“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.
You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”
“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”
The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.
“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.
That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.
There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.
Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.
Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.
But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.
“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.
“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.
“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”
Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”
“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.
“I like running fast,” she said.
Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.
You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”
You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.
So you supposed there was a double meaning.
Jack's gaze was heavy.
“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.
“Rude,” Jack mumbled.
It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.
The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.
“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.
You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.
“Why not singing?” asked the girl.
“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked
You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”
Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.
Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.
A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.
Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”
“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.
“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”
The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”
Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.
Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.
You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.
“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.
“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.
“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.
You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”
Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”
“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”
Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.
You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.
It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.
“You cooking for me now?”
Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”
You took a careful spoon.
Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.
“You like it?”
“It tastes... kind of...”
“Healthy?”
You looked at him, feigned aghast.
Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”
“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.
“I like to take care of you.”
He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.
“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.
“Why what?” he asked.
Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.
You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.
Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.
“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”
At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”
You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.
Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”
“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”
“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”
You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”
“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”
Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.
So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.
“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.
Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”
His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.
You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.
“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”
“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”
Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”
“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.
“But-”
“- a minute!”
You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”
“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”
You waited.
There was nothing.
Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.
One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.
“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”
Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.
The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.
You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.
There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.
“I need you, GSW to the chest!”
The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.
It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.
“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”
The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.
“Three... two... one- move!”
All together you lifted her over.
There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.
You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.
Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.
“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.
Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.
Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.
“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.
Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.
“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.
“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.
“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”
You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.
“Clear!”
The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.
You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.
“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.
“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.
Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”
Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”
Two units were hooked up.
“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”
It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.
“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”
“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.
Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”
Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”
You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.
Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.
“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.
“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”
“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”
Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”
It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.
Five minutes later she was stable.
Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.
But there was life.
And that was the most rewarding part of the job.
“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”
“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.
Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.
Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”
You stared at him.
It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.
Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.
Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.
You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.
Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.
As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.
“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”
You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.
“Can you tell me your name?”
You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.
The doors to the trauma room pushed open.
A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.
“Is she alive?” she asked.
Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.
“Do you know her?” you asked.
“She's my sister.”
“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”
You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.
Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.
“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.
Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.
Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.
“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”
“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”
Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.
Everyone ducked.
People screamed.
Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.
Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.
They came from behind him.
From the room he'd just left.
“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.
Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”
You.
“No!”
The two of them took off toward the room.
A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.
She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.
“Gun!” someone screamed.
Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.
There were three shots.
He knew three shots were enough to kill.
Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”
The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”
“Oh god-”
“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.
You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?
It was already gone.
“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.
The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.
Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.
The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.
“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.
There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.
Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”
Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”
Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.
“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”
“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.
There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.
When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.
Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”
You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.
He heard retching as the door closed.
Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.
“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”
He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.
The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.
One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.
Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.
Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.
Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.
What kind of doctor did that?
The cowardly type- you.
“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.
Jack.
His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.
“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.
“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”
You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.
He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”
If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.
You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”
You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.
Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”
You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”
“Yeah.... it always does.”
You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.
This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.
“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”
“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”
“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”
You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”
“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”
Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.
“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”
It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.
“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”
He sniffed.
“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?
He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”
His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.
Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.
Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.
“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”
I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.
“I'm sorry.”
His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”
“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”
“- you weren't horrible, no-”
“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”
“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”
“- I don't know why you put up with me-”
“- well, it helps that I love you-”
If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.
You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.
“What?” you asked.
Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”
Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.
“Oh.”
“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”
It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.
“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.
Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.
You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”
He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”
You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”
Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”
Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.
Setting/Tags: Daryl as a dad, sweet domestic moments,, no specific timeline.
Word count: 890
<masterlist>
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“Daryl!”
You scream from the top of your lungs, the small bundle of joy kicking and crying in your arms is more like a nightmare in this very moment.
“Daryl!”
You yell again, hoping your better half would come and rescue you from this mess.
“The hell’s goin’ on here?”
The door flings open, there stands your man with the sun at his back. He wipes his oil stained hands with a rag, eyes scanning the room – food scattered all over the table and floor, milk still running down the table.
With your daughter in one arm, still crying her heart out like she’s finally realised the world ended ages ago, you pick up the plastic plate from the floor.
“Apparently, her pancakes broke. Can you just take her? Please?”
Daryl’s brows knit together at the reason you just provided but his hands are already under her armpits, picking her up effortlessly and sitting her down on his arm like she’s the queen of the world.
“What does that even mean?”
He rocks her from left to right, confusion blurred with an infinite affection in his eyes as he tries to figure out his daughter – still a mystery, one that he didn’t sign up to solve but so willing to after she came into your lives. Neither of you have imagined building a life that constitutes more than survival during the apocalypse, but here you are. Being in love with each other is one thing, but being in love with a human that came from this shared bond is entirely foreign and unnerving.
“Enlighten me when you find out.”
You fish the rag off his pocket and throw it on the floor to absorb the liquid while your other hand efficiently swipes the pancake crumbs into the plate. Daryl coos her with a voice so cheerful that makes you look twice. It’s a voice that rarely escapes the confinement of your house, a tone that he’s adapted to use with the just two of you. The three-year-old is still crying, her chubby finger clutched tightly on his shirt as she buries her sobbing face into his shoulder to seek comfort.
“What is it, girl?”
He pats her gently on the back, the yellow frock she is wearing is now stained with blue.
“Mama cut my pancake!”
“Don’tcha want that?”
“No!” she exclaims.
“Ok, bad mama, bad mama.” He mutters, it’s evident that he is trying his best to not let a smirk escapes the corner of his mouth.
“I..I…wan…pancakes…round.”
“Ok, ok, mama won’t cut em’ up for yah next time.”
To provide her a serenity and love that he never owned growing up, Daryl seems to have lost all sense of willpower in front of her. Her crying is the most jarring and harsh sound in the world, her demands are the only finish lines he intends to get to, her chuckles at even the silliest things are music in his ears he never gets tired of hearing. You don’t blame him, look at her.
She finally looks up after hearing Daryl’s affirmation, which she has learnt to count on even though she is only 3 years told. Her watery blue eyes are dazzling under the morning light, the trembling lips in the colour of soft pink are muttering broken words that she tries so hard to piece together in her little head. She’s got your charm and his resilience.
“Don’t encourage her.” You say, eyes rolling to show discontent at his constant coddling, but betrayed by a smile. “You realise you just rewarded a tantrum.”
Your fingers dance on her tummy before you reach over to take her off Daryl.
“She was sad.”
“She was being unreasonable.”
“Same thing.”
“Fine, you go make them again for her then. All round and perfect, just the way she wants.”
At the sudden request, Daryl is caught off guard more than hearing walkers approaching 5 feet away. He scratches the back of his neck as he mutters.
“How hard can it be? Just pancakes.”
He gives her nose one last boop before making his way to the kitchen, looking around casually to conceal how clueless he is.
You and your daughter pause to study him, watching his hands touching and roaming between the jars and tools laid in front of him. For the first time this morning, you both burst out into chuckling.
“Daddy gonna make bad pancakes.” She circles her arms around your neck.
Daryl turns to her with furrowed brows and a finger pointed directly at her, trying to look offended.
“Traitor.”
She giggles harder, reaching to him again and he wastes no second to take her back, embracing the familiar and comforting scent of his girl in his arms. You lean against the counter, a sigh that carries only affection fills the room.
“Great. I carried her for nine months and somehow you are still the favourite.”
You pick up an empty bowl, ready to re-make her breakfast. As unreasonable as she is being, she is your whole world and you will make pancakes for her in any shape and form she desires.
Daryl sets her down on the edge of the counter before passing you a bag of flour, an undeniable smirk on his face.
Your beautiful, chubby toddler asks why Dada sleeps during the day. She doesn’t understand how the night shift works, she just wants Jack awake, and all she knows is that he comes home when the sun is up and rising and disappears into bed.
So…just to really do your and Jack’s heart in, she starts bringing him toys while he’s asleep.
You find the offerings. Her stuffed bunny on his pillow, a toy teacup on his chest, her baby blanket “tucking” him in.
“Tea Dada. It very hot.”
And of course, she makes sure to kiss him and his prosthetic “good morning”.
You cry, and you’re crying laughing when Jack wakes up with his daughter’s toy dinosaur under his arm.
“…The hell is this?”
“Your daughter missed you.”
And because that makes Jack’s chest sink in on his lungs, he just…happens to start leaving her things before he goes to sleep.
They’re usually notes you read out loud to her.
Things to make sure Chubby knows Dada’s still here.
Daryl figures out you're touch-starved. It ruins both of your lives.
Daryl Dixon figured out you were touch-starved entirely by accident.
Which honestly made it worse.
Because once Daryl noticed something—
Really noticed it—
He became impossible about it.
And unfortunately for both of you, Daryl noticing you practically melted under casual affection ruined the remainder of your lives permanently.
It started small.
Tiny things.
The prison had become strangely gentle lately.
Not safe exactly.
Never safe.
But calmer.
There were routines now.
Gardens growing in the yard.
Laundry lines swaying in the breeze.
People laughed sometimes.
You still startled when people touched you, though.
Not in fear.
Just surprise.
Like you weren’t used to it.
Daryl noticed because Daryl noticed everything about you.
The way you froze slightly anytime Carol squeezed your shoulder.
How your entire expression softened whenever Beth linked arms with you.
How you lingered embarrassingly long after hugs.
At first, he didn’t think much of it.
Then one evening Glenn threw an arm around your shoulders while telling some stupid story during dinner.
And you—
You leaned into it instinctively.
Tiny movement.
Barely noticeable.
But your whole body relaxed like someone finally loosened a wire pulled too tight.
Daryl stared.
Because the look on your face—
Jesus.
Like warmth physically surprised you.
Then Glenn let go after a second and you smiled like you were trying not to miss it already.
Something uncomfortable twisted in Daryl’s chest.
The realization hit fully a few days later.
You’d gotten hurt on a run.
Nothing major.
A twisted ankle and a few cuts after slipping down an embankment.
Still enough that Hershel ordered you off your feet for the day.
Daryl found you sitting alone in one of the prison cells that evening changing the bandage around your ankle.
You looked frustrated.
Mostly at yourself.
“Need help?” he asked from the doorway.
You startled slightly before relaxing.
“Oh. Hey.”
Daryl crouched beside you automatically.
Large rough hands reaching for the bandage.
You hesitated only a second before letting him help.
Silence settled comfortably.
Then—
When Daryl’s hand wrapped carefully around your ankle to steady it—
You went still.
Not tense.
Still.
Your breath caught softly.
Daryl glanced up immediately.
You looked embarrassed suddenly.
“…Sorry.”
His brow furrowed.
“For what?”
You shrugged awkwardly.
“Nothin’.”
But your face had softened in that same strange way again.
Like simple touch affected you too much.
Daryl stared at your ankle in his hands.
Then slowly:
“…When’s the last time somebody took care’a you?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
You blinked.
Then looked away.
Daryl’s stomach dropped immediately.
Because that silence?
That silence was answer enough.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
You laughed awkwardly.
“It’s not a big deal.”
The words sounded rehearsed.
Like you said them often.
Daryl hated that instantly.
He finished wrapping your ankle carefully.
Then without really thinking about it, his thumb brushed lightly over your skin once.
You visibly melted.
Not dramatically.
Just—
Your shoulders loosened.
Your eyes fluttered slightly.
Tiny reaction.
Huge impact.
Daryl’s brain short-circuited completely.
Because suddenly he understood.
You weren’t just shy.
You were touch-starved.
And apparently nobody had been taking proper care of you.
Something deeply possessive and furious rose inside his chest.
Not at you.
Never at you.
At the idea of someone going this long without softness.
Without affection.
Without being held.
Daryl swallowed hard.
“…That feels nice, huh?”
Your face immediately turned red.
You looked horrified at being noticed.
“I—”
Daryl’s expression softened instantly.
“Hey. Ain’t makin’ fun.”
You stared at him uncertainly.
Then quietly:
“Yeah.”
The honesty in that tiny word wrecked him.
After that, Daryl couldn’t stop noticing it.
And once he noticed it—
He started doing something about it.
Not consciously at first.
Instinctively.
Like his body made decisions before his brain caught up.
He’d hand you things and let his fingers linger slightly.
Stand close enough your shoulders brushed.
Rest his palm briefly against your back guiding you through doorways.
Every single time, you reacted.
Subtle.
But there.
A tiny breath.
A softened expression.
A quiet almost-startled look of relief.
And every single time, Daryl felt like he was losing his damn mind.
Because you looked at touch like it was something precious.
Like you weren’t used to being handled gently.
It made his chest ache.
The first hug happened because of a nightmare.
You woke the prison with a scream.
Daryl was moving before he fully woke up.
Knife in hand.
Heart pounding.
He found you sitting upright on your cot breathing hard, eyes glassy with panic.
No danger.
Just fear.
Daryl lowered the knife slowly.
“Hey.”
You looked up immediately.
Humiliation crossed your face.
“Sorry.”
Again with the apologizing.
Daryl hated that too.
“You ain’t gotta apologize for nightmares.”
You rubbed at your eyes quickly.
“M’fine.”
Bullshit.
Daryl stepped closer carefully.
Then stopped.
Because he wanted to touch you.
Badly.
Wanted to comfort you.
Wanted to ease that awful lonely look in your eyes.
“You want a hug?”
The question came out rough.
Awkward.
Like he physically wasn’t used to offering things like that.
You stared at him like he’d spoken another language.
“A what?”
Daryl shifted uncomfortably.
“A hug,” he repeated. “Jesus Christ.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“You’d hug me?”
The sheer disbelief in your voice nearly fucking killed him.
Of course he would.
Jesus.
Daryl’s chest tightened painfully.
“…C’mere.”
You moved instantly.
Like your body decided before your brain could.
And the second Daryl wrapped his arms around you—
You collapsed against him.
A tiny broken sound escaped your throat as your hands clutched weakly at the back of his vest.
Daryl froze.
Because nobody had ever held onto him like that before.
Like he was safety.
Like he was home.
Your entire body relaxed by degrees in his arms.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like you were afraid it might disappear.
Daryl tightened his hold immediately.
Protective instinct hitting him so hard it almost hurt.
“It’s okay,” he murmured awkwardly into your hair. “Gotcha.”
You trembled once against him.
Then whispered so quietly he almost missed it:
“Thank you.”
And that—
That absolutely ruined him.
After that, things escalated quickly.
Because now Daryl knew.
And now you knew he knew.
Which meant every bit of affection became charged with unbearable awareness.
Daryl started touching you constantly.
Not even on purpose anymore.
A hand at your waist.
Your knee pressed against his during dinner.
His arm slung around your shoulders during watch duty.
And every single time, you unconsciously leaned into him like a moth to a flame.
Daryl became addicted to it immediately.
The way your eyes softened when he touched you.
The sleepy little sighs you made.
How naturally you started seeking him out afterward.
It destroyed him.
Completely.
Carol noticed first.
“You’ve gotta stop looking at her like that.”
Daryl frowned.
“Like what?”
“Like she hung the moon and invented kindness.”
Daryl looked offended.
“Ain’t lookin’ at her like nothin’.”
Carol stared.
“You carried her juice box across the yard yesterday.”
“…She asked.”
“She was fifteen feet away.”
Daryl grunted and walked off.
Carol laughed herself breathless.
You were not doing much better.
Because Daryl Dixon touched like he meant it.
Careful.
Steady.
Protective.
Every casual touch from him felt devastatingly intimate because Daryl wasn’t casually affectionate with anybody else.
Only you.
And the worst part?
He always looked at you afterward.
Like he needed to make sure you were okay.
Like your comfort mattered to him more than breathing.
One evening in the common area, you ended up tucked against Daryl’s side beneath a blanket.
Halfway through the conversations, you realized his fingers were absentmindedly rubbing slow circles against your arm.
Your brain nearly shut down.
You tilted your head slightly to look at him.
Daryl noticed immediately.
“What?”
“…Nothing.”
His hand paused.
“You want me t’stop?”
Immediate panic hit you.
“No.”
Too fast.
Too desperate.
Heat flooded your face instantly.
Daryl stared at you.
Then very slowly resumed the gentle motion against your arm.
Something soft and wrecked crossed his face.
Like that answer affected him way too much.
Truthfully?
It did.
The breaking point came during a storm.
Heavy rain hammered against the prison roof while everyone crowded into the cafeteria overnight.
Space was limited.
Blankets everywhere.
People sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder.
You sat beside Daryl shivering slightly from the cold.
Without a word, he opened one arm toward you.
Invitation.
Your heart stumbled.
“Y’sure?” you whispered.
Daryl looked at you like the question offended him.
“Get over here.”
You curled against his side carefully.
Daryl immediately wrapped his arm around you fully.
Warm.
Solid.
Safe.
Then—
Without thinking—
You nuzzled slightly closer.
Tiny movement.
Instinctive.
Daryl stopped breathing.
Because holy shit.
You trusted him.
Trusted him enough to seek comfort from him naturally.
His hand tightened carefully against your shoulder.
And then quietly, rough like confession:
“Ain’t nobody been takin’ care’a you right.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
You looked down.
“No,” you admitted softly.
Daryl went still beside you.
Then after a long moment:
“Gonna change that.”
Your breath caught.
You looked up slowly.
Daryl was already staring at you.
Eyes dark.
Intense.
Terrifyingly honest.
“Don’t think I can stop now anyway,” he muttered.
And suddenly you realized something equally devastating.
Daryl wasn’t just comforting you because he pitied you.
Daryl liked touching you.
Needed it too.
Maybe almost as much as you did.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Daryl…”
His hand slid carefully up your back.
Slow.
Gentle.
“You got any idea what ya do to me?” he asked hoarsely.
No.
No, you really didn’t.
But judging by the way Daryl looked at you right now—
Like touching you had become something dangerous and necessary all at once—
You were starting to understand.
Then finally, slowly, Daryl pressed his forehead against yours.
Daryl isn’t one to hide his affection for you, he simply expresses it in ways that most people miss if they aren’t looking close enough.
Whenever one of you comes back from a supply run and you spot the other, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you in for a hug.
Whenever everyone is huddled around a campfire, he never moves away from you no matter how close you get. If you sit flush against him with your arms and legs touching, he welcomes the warmth but doesn’t address it.
Whenever you two are working together and he gets a cut somewhere, he doesn’t push you away when you gently grab him to see if he’s okay.
Whenever you two are in the back of the truck, he gets out first and turns back with his hand out incase you need it. If it were anyone else getting out the truck after him, it wouldn’t even occur to him to offer his hand.
Sure, Daryl isn’t the type to profess his love from the rooftop or pull you in for a kiss when there’s an audience, but everyone can see how he’s softer with you than anyone else.
They see the way he doesn’t pull away from your touch, the way his shoulders relax when you’re with him, and even the way he starts to expect some small affectionate gesture when you pass by.
He may not be the ideal man for pda, but he never denies himself your affection. He considers himself to be a very lucky man.
if you liked this, my reqs are open for short blurbs similar to this and hcs <3
You love the power of having Jack's face nuzzled into your tits before work. This formidable doctor, respected and casually stoic, casually fun, is currently reduced to a needy heap of pale skin and deep breaths.
He's practically pliable.
"Just breathe, Jackie. Just be here with me for a minute."
You dig your fingers into Jack's scalp, massaging. He shifts. You couldn't guess how purposeful the slight thrusts of his hips against your cunt are. You smile at that, despite and because the friction's just a lil too much, considering you have to clock in in five minutes.
His lips graze the swell of your tit as he moves to rest his other cheek on you.
Sorry, kiddo. Can't help but want to be inside you before he has to spend the next twelve hours pretending to be a professional machine.
"You smell good."
"...You smell better."
And while you and Jack are lost in the tenderness of acting like teenagers experiencing puppy love for the first time, Robby decides this is the perfect time to get something from his car.
He stops dead in his fucking tracks the moment he spots the truck, or what's going on.
He should look away the minute he gathers it's your figure sat on Jack's lap as you smooth your hand over his neck, and the way his head is buried in your chest.
"...The fuck?"
Robby should look away. This is fucking weird. He gets it, you two can't keep your hands off of each other. Risky shit like that can be...arousing. Fun. Even though it's highly unprofessional and you shouldn't be doing it. He should look away.
He freezes. You're whispering something to the guy.
And the guy---Jack, his best friend who he couldn't keep from you if he cared to try, looks dominated between your tits. You could pull your scrub top over his head if you wanted.
And...fuck.
Everything about him is still as he can't help but watch like a freak, saved for his cock when a jolt of heat is sent straight to it.
He stops his hand from drifting toward his crotch. Well. No. He wasn't going to in the first place. He wasn't. He was just wondering...
